Proceeding from the hilltop overlooking Woodhouse Eaves,
Here, the remnants of a windmill can be seen.
If the viewing platform's open you could see to Loughbro' town
If it wasn't for them Outwoods in between.
Descend the leafy bower from the windmill and you'll find
A wayside chapel, lower down the lane
Through a trio of arched windows, do I spy a wisp of smoke?
Mrs Mollart's burnt the welsh-cakes yet again!
Across the road to Maplewell, you'll spot a timbered hall
Where the lib'rals often met, in days of yore.
Here they spouted rousing speeches from the balcony above,
Even though the peasants found it quite a bore.
From this hall of liberty, raise your eyes towards the arch
That still stands below the summit of Nanhill.
As a tribute to those lads who went off to fight a war
Gone forever, though the memories linger still.
There lies a hidden gem, just beyond these hedges tall
A roundhouse, 'neath the thatch, to store the game.
What sort of game? I hear you ask, I haven't got a clue
But the balls must have been massive all the same.
A stroll along the donkey slip, which posh folk call 'Church Walk,'
Leads us on towards the rect'ry of St. Paul's.
For those who like their facts, 'twas the home of Basement Jaxx
Though no longer does their music rock these walls.
The "stone hole" lies behind the school, some folks call it a cave
Where the village children played come rain or shine.
But I think it is a shame, that they removed the old school bell
I would want to nab it back, if it was mine.
The Forest Rock has bit the dust, the Pear Tree is still serving
They have pastas, pizzas even panacotta.
But I mustn't say much more now or they'll say this is an 'ad'
Yet given half the chance, I'd eat the lotta.
The charming Slaters' Row is quite a picture to behold.
Hydrangeas grace each plot and cottage door.
All those blooming flowers, don't they make a lovely show?
'Bet you've rarely seen such bloomers here before.
With barely one more hop, you're at Oakwood, Chemist shop
Where the staff dispense advice with caring smiles
They'll never make a fuss as they sort you out a truss
Or recommend a cream for all those piles.
On your right, the village hall, just in time to make a call
If we're lucky we might find they've got a rummage
Young farmers, guides or cubs have been scrounging round the pubs
Get there early or it can be quite a scrummage.
The surgery lies straight ahead, they strive to keep us healthy
The Methodists, next door, will deal with sin.
And if you cry, "But I am fit and pretty close to perfect."
Then you're a 'better man than I am, Gunga Din.'
Stroll across the King's Field, picnic here or watch the cricket.
To Woodhouse next, with little time to rest.
Through meadows, passed old Rawlins' school and on to 'Pepper Lane'
To that cottage which, quite frankly, is a Pest.
For here lived Thomas Rawlins, who escaped a horrid death
When a pedlar called for rest and B and B.
Thank goodness he did not unpack his rucksack full of plague
But carried on to Eyam after Tea.
With Garat's Hay behind your back, approach the Welbeck site
No photographs! They'll slap you in the cooler.
The milit'ry security is pretty tight round here.
So we don't mess with the forces, as a rule-r.
The Old Bull's Head is looming up, we've no time for a snifter
For it's on towards the Beacon we are bound.
If you jog up to the summit then back down to Broombriggs' walk
You must follow all the signs to bring you round.
There's a new fence round an orchard where they've planted sapling trees,
Autumn fruits; like damsons, pears and cherries
So don't try any scrumping, for it just ain't worth the risk
And the warden of the trees might squeeze your berries.
Returning past the windmill. Many thanks, the tour is ended.
I'm heading for the Curzon, it's down here.
Oh! My wallets in the pocket of the coat I left at home,
So I'm hoping one of you will buy the beer!
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