Twas the week after Oxmas, and all through the club
Not a creature was caving: they were all at the pub.
The furries were
hung in the clubhut with care
In the hope that they'd dry, in the cold
The freshers were tipsy, all drunk on their beer
While tables were traversed - it's all in good cheer.
And Si with his
flapjacks, and Tom with his maps,
had addled our brains with a long
When out on the Bod there arose such a clatter
stopped all our drinking - it stopped all our natter.
Outside of the
King's Arms we stood, gaped in awe,
We'd been there since
8.30, and now it was 4!
The streetlamps around us were flickering now
one could work out - not one could think how -
We looked up above us,
and what should we see?
A mistaken caver, trying to learn SRT!
With a little old ladder, a jammer and stop,
climbed up our lib'ry, right up to the top.
More rapid than Titan, he
abseiled back down
He whistled and shouted: "What a night on the town!
"Now Cwm Dwr! Now Daren!
Now O-F-D 1!
Swildon's! On, GB!
To the sumps in the wet!
To the pitch in the dark!
Now cave away! Cave away!
Cave away all!"
As cavers that out of resurgences crawl,
reaching the light do stumble and fall
So down from the Bod's steps our
hero he went,
He'd drank too much beer (the money he spent!)
He sprang to his feet, to the gang gave a smile,
we checked him for 'cussion (he'd been out for a while).
But we heard him
exclaim, 'ere he blacked out for the night,
"Happy caving to all, and to all a good-night!"