Epitaph to a Lyke Wake Walker
Here lies the body of Charley Cork, who died attempting the Lyke Wake Walk
With his head held high and his shoulders back, he grimly trod the beaten track.
After twenty miles his legs grew tired, his cheeks turned red, his brow perspired.
He walked bow legged, his pack hung low, with blistered feet and swollen toe.
After thirty mile o-er hill and dale, his colour changed to a waxy pale.
We cheered him on, “keep going Pa, just ten more miles to Ravenscar”.
At Thirty five he could do no more, and slowly sank to the muddy floor.
With a wave of his hand and a weary grin, said ”push on boys, I’m packing in”.
Just bury me here in the moorland fog, with my head in the heather and my feet in the bog”.
“Three cheers” he cried “It’s the end of my day”, then quietly, peacefully, he passed away.
So we dug his grave on a hilltop high, where the wide bare moor meets the grey grey sky.
We covered his grave with the moorland moss, and hung his boots on an old stone cross.
Then lest we forget the poor old chap, we marked the place on the Ordnance map.
The moral of this story can only be, don’t do this walk when your ninety three.