I think that I shall never see A sight to rival Allerburn Lea, I yearn to go for wistful walks Down Hillcrest Park and Oaky Balks, With each passing day my ardour hardens For Alwynside and Clayport Gardens, Enchanting by daylight, haunting by dark, Do the Simpsons play in Springfield Park? My excitement’s such I need to tinkle Just by forming words like ‘Fenkle’, Picturesque places euphonious names, Green Batt, Stott Street, Pickwick Lane, Misty-eyed memories of schooldays rain Down with a shank up Howling Lane, Yes up and down Alnwick the townsfolk repeat: ‘Thuz nowt wrang wi’ Alnwick, thuz allwuz The Street.’ There’s places for spirit and places for sin, A score of old churches and Bondgate Within, You can go on a pub-crawl and paint the town red, But to build bloody Safeway’s they scrapped The Nag’s Head, Where lies the freedom from errant town planners? The best crack in town, in the Arms of the Tanners! I fall asleep nightly and feel proudly blessed But where do the sheep sleep when the Sheperd’s at Rest? Our Fathers’ Fathers’ Fathers with their own hornêd hands Raised Ratten Row and chucked up Chapel Lands, They lived here, loved here, died here and fought For the peace and the freedom of dear Arkle Court, Aye the town is a belter, the people are canny, But how many know that the word’s pronounced ‘Lagny’? I’m an Alnwick born son, I’ll be Alnwick till death… And just for your info I’m taking The Peth.