Jim Ward points out that Arthur Beckett was scathing about this song. He perpetrated some dreadful drivel of his own, being under the illusion that he was Hilaire Belloc and overlooking the fact that Belloc was. I know, because the band I'm in recently had to learn his 'Song of the Sussex Downsman' for a particular event. The curious may like to know that Rumbold's Wyke is now a gravel pit, but it probably wouldn't have grieved Beckett too deeply as he must have chosen it for the rhyme rather than its scenic beauty. As to his yearnings for Beachy Head - well, it's a popular spot for the suicidal.

(Don't for pity's sake put this in the Digitrad.)

SONG OF THE SUSSEX DOWNSMAN

(Arthur Beckett)

You may sing to me of the wolds of Kent,
Of Devonshire lanes and their sweet content,
I know nothing of these to their detriment,
Nor of Surrey's greeneree,
You may praise, if you will, the northern dales,
The Cotswold hills and the peaks of Wales,
But give me the land of the Channel gales,
The Sussex Downs for me!

Oh, I will climb to Mount Harry's crown,
I'll sniff the breeze on Amberley Down;
I will scale the slope of Wolstonberee,
For the Sussex Downs are calling me!

Give me a coombe and the spur of a hill,
A bostal to climb, let me wander at will,
In the lands that lie north of Selsey Bill
And roundabout Devils' Dyke.
The scent of the thyme that covers the down,
The smell of the gorse and the beech tree brown;
I claim all these in that land of my own
From Beachy to Rumbold's Wyke.

Oh, give me the cliffs of Beachy Head
On Blackdown's summit I'll make my bed;
And I'll walk from old Steyning to Chanctonberee
For the Sussex Downs are calling me!