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Wessex Cave Club Hymn

This is a collection of known verses sung to the same tune and with the same ideas.

Tune: The Church is One Foundation. Author: Many

Source: They Words, They Words, They 'Orrible Words, collected and compiled by Nick ComwallSmith, GSG / Alfie, to name but a few!


We are the Wessex Cave Club, no bloody use are we,
We have a half of cider, and then we have to pee,
And when we're down in Swildons and haven't got a light,
We stand beside the Forty beside ourselves with fright.

The B.E.C. they help us, through every pitch and squeeze.
We like the way they do it with such consummate ease.
And when we are much better at caving we agree
It is our one ambition to join the B.E.C.

We are the Shepton Cave Club, a family clique are we,
Ken Dawe he was our leader, a clever bugger 'ee.
He led us over field and stiles, down potholes vast and deep,
Because we follow meekly we're called the Shepton Sheep

We've dug down South East Inlet, we've dug in Priddy Green,
And in between the digging, we're often quite obscene.
We tell prospective members, with regularity,
To do just as the song says, and join the B.E.C.

We are the Cerberus Cave Club, we are not worth our salt,
Max Unwin is our leader, but that is not our fault,
He lectured us on caving, his wisdom was profound,
He told us that most caves are located underground

Caves are discovered for us, from digging we all shirk,
And when it gets too dicey, other clubs can do the work,
For they can draw the surveys and they can make the maps,
'Cos when it comes to caving, we really are the chaps.

We hold committee meetings, we talk and never cave,
We pass firm resolutions, to show that we are brave,
We very often argue, but on one thing we'd agree,
If only they would have us we'd join the B.E.C.

We are the Axbridge Cave Club, we know we are so good.
We blow up every Elsan, just as we know we should,
But as we go to blow it, in the middle of the night,
When the turds go skywards, we run like f**king shite.

We are the Cotham Cave Club, but not as we may seem,
You show us a cave entrance, and we will start to scream,
For we do not like caving, but give it all the snub,
The nearest we touch caving, is in a Mendip pub.

Additional Foreign Verses

Swildons goes to Wookey, or so they do confide,
There is a sign to say so, on the Sump 1 downstream side,
But this is misconception, there is a brand new sign,
Now Swildons is an Entrance, to Dan-yr-Ogof 9.

We are the Clockwork Cave Club, and South Wales is our home,
And from our native valleys we do not care to roam,
And when we go out caving it is a certain bet,
That we will carry with us a great Meccano set.

We don't go down Pwll Dufn, you'll find no rawl bolts here,
The thought of ladder pitches, it fills us with despair,
And if you go out caving with S.W.C.C.
You'll always find a welcome, if you've got a B.Sc. (in Engineering)

The U.B.S.S. divers, they've found a brand new hole,
They told no-one about it, they did not tell a soul,
And when we found out about it, they said please stay away,
Until they all got stuck there, one dark and wintry day.

We are the Tratmans Fan Club, we are a shower of shits,
We often need the rescue to extract us from a fix,
And when we are in Yorkshire, before we go below,
Our automatic procedure is to inform the C.R.O.

The U.B.S.S. Choir boys, they are a dreadful crowd,
Each song becomes a death march, at volume extra loud,
And when they get a chorus, they chant in ecstasy,
They only trouble being, it's in a different key.

We are the Mountain Rescue, and a bloody fine thing to be,
The only time you'll see us, is breakfast, dinner and tea,
And when we see a climber, we shout with all our might
Per ardua profundo, blow you Jack, I'm alright.

We never go up mountains, they are too bloody steep,
We never go down potholes, they are too bloody deep,
And when we see a caver, we shout with all our might
Per ardua profundo, blow you Jack, I'm alright.

I am a lazy speleo, and a bloody fine thing to be,
My weekends spent on Mendip, in a hut of luxury,
When someone mentions caving, we shout with all my might
Celeriter ad plumen, blow you Jack, I'm alright.

We never go out sumping, it is too bloody wet,
And when we go Black holing, you know how far we get,
And when we see a sumper, we shout with all our might
Per ardua sub aqua, blow you Jack, I'm alright.

We never help out cave divers, they are a bloody bore,
We set fire to the bat shit, and sleep outside the door,
And as the flames rise higher, we cough with all our might,
Per ignea via asbestos, blow you Jack, I'm alright.

We never go out digging, it is too bloody cold,
And unless Tratty finds it, it's never really old.
But when we find some charcoal, we shout with all our might
Per ardua sub muro, blow you Jack, I'm alright.