Windswept

I’ll sing of a place to my heart very dear, a place where I always would dwell
And if you would kindly lend me your ear, a few of its beauties I’ll tell …


The opening lines of a traditional folk song, Song of the Swale. I remember going to the Black Bull pub in Reeth on Saturday nights many, many years ago and the whole pub would have a singsong escorted by an elderly lady who played the piano. The Song of the Swale was always sung with absolute vigour.

 

Swaledale tree

Swaledale, North Yorkshire, England

 

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