The way from Lyme stretched far ahead,
Our spirits high, our muscles strong;
Out to the right the sea lay spread
As through the hills we trekked along.

Those hills went up, then they went down,
Our loads we carried strapped behind;
And nature wore her brightest gown
beguiling all who were not blind.

The Spindles and the Fossil beach
We battled and we overcame;
Apprentices to stature reach,
Skilled protagonists of the game.

The hours passed slowly when we thought,
or quickly sped when we could dream,
The riddle of the effort taught
us to see what life could mean.

Linked as we were to times gone by,
Travellers in a land of myth
Searching for answers to the why?
And what, And where? And when? And which.

We reached Bridport late afternoon,
A weary yet triumphant band;
A welcome hostel very soon
Came in sight as we had planned.

Next day the heavy rain came down
We trudged through mud and soaking grass;
All day it fell as if t’would drown
The land our sodden footsteps pass.

Joined at Weymouth by John next day
We set out to commemorate
D-Day’s splendour at Portland Bay
Close where Chessil beach lay in State.

Then on again to Lulworth Cove
The Way lay by an inland track
Through barren hills and fertile grove
Where field, sky, sea all interact

We feel mature campaigners now,
We joke, we banter as we go,
Still higher hillsĀ  to climb we vow,
Adrenalin begins to flow.

Lulworth, Wool, Corfe, on to Swanage
Over the Purbeck hills we stride
Heedless now of endless footage
We go together, stride by stride.

Along the golden sands by Poole
Across the ferry, hurry, hurry;
We can scent the homeward pull
To destination – do not worry.

On Poole Bay the weather mellows,
From Lyme Cob all dashed with sea
Together trod those four stout fellows,
Arthur, Myron, John and me.

May 1994