On Kidstones Brow, in Bishopdale,
There, by the hoary hawthorn bush,
Is told a long-forgotten tale
When passengers got out and pushed
If charabancs began to stall.
There, by the hoary hawthorn bush,
They wouldn’t be surprised at all
In olden times when engines failed
If charabancs began to stall.
They’d all get out, look up the dale
And had to walk behind the bus.
In olden times, when engines failed,
They never even made a fuss
Those times that they climbed up that hill
And had to walk behind the bus
And some old folks remember still,
Though other memories grow pale,
Those times that they climbed up that hill
On Kidstones Brow in Bishopdale.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem