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Words & Music by Phil Drane. www,phildrane.com

Title track of my 2014 album 'Walking With Wainwright’ and my 2015 album ‘Walking With Wainwright – Unplugged’, this is an English folk-heritage song that unashamedly celebrates one of our most famous, and neglected, English folk-heroes, Alfred Wainwright.
New British anti-English cultural oppression is so pervasive throughout England these days that we ethnic English now have few national treasures and heroes that we can safely call our own. They are gradually being usurped and re-branded as “British” for New British consumption and England’s Lake District and English Lancastrian Alfred Wainwright are two such ‘stolen’ treasures.
I had never heard a song about Wainwright, and a Google search of “Wainwright Lyrics” produced plenty of Louden and Rufus references but not a single mention of Alfred and his work in walking, documenting and mapping the beautiful English Lake District. So I decided to write one.
I wanted to make sure that the exploits of this Englishman were not usurped and re-branded as simply 'British', as so many of our English heroes and much of our English heritage have been. This is my small contribution to reclaiming and preserving our unique, rich ethnic English heritage on behalf of English people the world over.

Lyrics

Words & Music by Phil Drane

Alfred was an English lad, from Blackburn, Lancashire,
At the age of twenty three he took a trip up North to Windermere,
Where the Lakeland Fells, can stir the soul of a man
That’s how Alfred's love affair with Cumbria began

Now it’s 80 years since Wainwright first set foot in Windermere
When he scrambled up to Orrest Head, on that morning bright and clear
He saw woodlands and pastures green, how endless mountains ranged
And the office lad from Lancashire, his life forever changed

Now he guides our footsteps over those ancestral byways
Uncharted paths our forebears trod before,
Now his pictures and his words, set us free to soar like birds
Over Cumbrian hillside, beck and moor

Pike o’Stickle, soaring, like a pyramid stands alone
And on Martcrag Moor, Neolithic man carved axes made of stone
And in these Central Fells why not bide and drink your fill
For there’s warm ale and good company in the bar of the Dungeon Ghyll

Now Alfred guides us over the highest of mountains,
Scawfell Pike, Helvellyn, Great Gable and Skiddaw,
And if the great outdoors, the fells and moors are what set your spirit free,
The Cumbrian hills is where you’ll be
Walking with Wainwright and me

By the lofty ridge of Mickledore, across the wide Traverse
Through the cleft called Fat Man’s Agony, that all but thin men curse
These Southern Fells, Alfred’s words commend its worth
“A little piece of heaven that has fallen on the earth”

By Bassenthwaite and Derwent then, the sweeping slopes pass by
Beyond The Edge and Buzzard Nott, Gibraltar Crag stands high
Here in the Northern Fells, John Peel did a-hunting go
But above the ghylls and the rolling hills, Blencathra steals the show

Now Alfred guides us etc

Now Alfred guides us over the highest of mountains,
Scawfell Pike, Helvellyn, Great Gable and Skiddaw,
And if the great outdoors, the fells and moors are what set your spirit free,
The Cumbrian hills is where you’ll be
Walking with Wainwright, Walking with Wainwright
Walking with Wainwright and me
Walking with Wainwright and me

© PhilDrane Music 2016