Navvies of the Narrow Gauge

Navvies of the Narrow Gauge

Through Snowdonia's ancient hills
Comes the rhythmic sound of steel on stone.
A sweat-stained navvy swings his pick once more
As he nibbles away at the landscape,
Changing it all over again.

Not since the awesome power of nature
Forged this timeless land,
Has anyone dared to challenge her
Or change the way she looks.

A link was forged from sea to slate
And so began the pillage.
Her hills were raped and left to weep.
Her soul torn out and laid out left to die.

Even Snowdonia's Park forsook her,
Ashamed of how she looks
And drew a ring around her
A warning that this outcast
Has long since lost her charm.

Now the navvy comes again,
As if he hasn't done enough.
The floods of progress mean a change
And the sod must be cut again.

No, the navvies are not poor,
Nor do the slave to live.
But volunteers for heavens sake
Intent on having fun.

The purpose now to ride for leisure
To scan Snowdonia's tranquil hills,
But journeys end is still the same -
Ffestiniog's shattered, greed-scarred slopes