I recently wrote a caver's version of the classic Four Yorkshiremen sketch, for a club newsletter that is yet to be published. Another forum post (https://ukcaving.com/board/index.php?topic=26351.msg321740;topicseen#new) mentioned the sad passing of Tim Brooke-Taylor, one of the writers of the original sketch so I'm posting this as a tribute. That post includes a link to the original sketch. I've tried to keep as close as possible to the original format, just included some caving references. 





Four ageing northern cavers sit in the salubrious surroundings of the Marton Arms, Thornton in Lonsdale, chatting in a self-congratulatory mood. The sound of a distant brass band playing ?On Inkla Moor Baht ?at ? can be heard faintly in the background.

EZEKIEL:
Very passable, that, very passable

OBADIAH:
Nothing like a good glass of Talisker, eh, Josiah?

JOSIAH:
You're right there, Obadiah

HEZEKIAH:
Who'd have thought forty year ago we'd all be sittin' here sippin? Talisker whisky, eh?

EZEKIEL:
In them days we was glad to have the price of a cup o' tea

OBADIAH:
A cup o' cold tea

HEZEKIAH:
Without milk or sugar

JOSIAH:
Or tea

EZEKIEL:
In a cracked cup, an' all

HEZEKIAH:
Oh, we never had a cup. We used to have to drink out of a rolled up survey

OBADIAH:
The best we could manage was to suck a pair of damp long-johns

JOSIAH:
But you know, we were happy in those days, though it were tough

EZEKIEL:
Because it were tough. My old Dad used to say to me, "Luxury doesn't buy you happiness, son"

HEZEKIAH:
Aye, 'e was right

EZEKIEL:
Aye, 'e was

HEZEKIAH:
I was happier then and I had nothin'. We used to spend weekends in this tiny old hut with great big holes in the roof

OBADIAH:
Hut! You were lucky to have a hut! We used to be in one room, all twenty-six of us, no furniture, 'alf the floor was missing, and we were all 'uddled together in one corner for fear of falling

JOSIAH:
Eh, you were lucky to have a room! We used to have to stay in t' tackle shed!

EZEKIEL:
Oh, we used to dream of stayin' in a tackle shed! Would ha' been a palace to us. We used to sleep in an old digging bucket on a spoil tip. We got woke up every morning by having a load of muddy boulders dumped all over us! Hut? Huh

HEZEKIAH:
Well, when I say 'hut' it was only a shake?ole in the ground covered by a sheet of tarpaulin, but it was a hut to us

OBADIAH:
We were evicted from our shake'ole in the ground; we 'ad to go and live in a sump

JOSIAH:
You were lucky to have a sump! There were a hundred and fifty of us in t' box in t' middle o' road

EZEKIEL:
Ammo box?

JOSIAH:
Aye

EZEKIEL:
You were lucky. We spent three months in an old haversack in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean the ?aversack, eat a crust of stale bread, go dig down t? pot, fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, wearing a knackered old wetsuit and when we got back our club Secretary would thrash us to sleep wi' his belay belt

OBADIAH:
Luxury. We used to have to get out of the sump at six o'clock in the morning, clean the sump, eat a handful of 'ot carbide, dig twenty hour a day down pot wearing a leaky goon suit, come back, and Treasurer would thrash us to sleep with a broken ladder, if we were lucky!

JOSIAH:
Well, of course, we had it tough. We used to 'ave to get up out of ammo box at twelve o'clock at night and lick ropes clean wit' tongue. We had two bits of cold carbide, dug twenty-four hours a day down pot, naked! and when we got back our tackle officer would smash us to a pulp wi' crowbar

HEZEKIAH:
Right. I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night half an hour before I went to bed, drink a cup of lamp acid, dig twenty-nine hours a day down pot, and pay estate owner for permission to dig, and when we got home, our Chairman and our President would kill us and dance about on our graves singing Hallelujah

EZEKIEL:
And you try and tell the young cavers of today that ... they won't believe you

ALL:
No they won't!

Excellent! There's now a vacancy on Clue - fancy having a go?

No chance! No where near quick witted enough!

A similar one from the musical 'Carry on SUSS' performed at the 50th, back in 2011.

?Digging over, a student caver?s experience isn?t complete until several in-depth caving discussions are listened to, and eventually participated in, with what are affectionately known as the old scroats ? whatever that means.?
Scroat1#: Hello young ?un, who?ve you come with?
John: SUSS
Scroat2#:How long have you been caving for?
John: Only a few trips really, still very new to it all.
Scroat3#: (Guffaws) I remember when I was a fresher, all those years ago!
Scroat4#: Back when we didn?t have all these fancy trappings. Back in my day we didn?t have all this jingly jangly rope stuff. We made do with ladders, all swinging about.
Scroat2#: Not to mention dangerous
Scroat3#: And tiring
Scroat1#: Yup, one thing?s for certain you young ?uns have it easy. Nowadays they have all manner of fancy clothing. All we had were plain and simple boiler suits.
Scroat2#:Oooph boiler suits, you were living the high life. We had scraggy cloth wrapped around ourselves, barely enough to cover ourselves ? every trip it would take 2 weeks of the strongest antibiotics to clear the pneumonia.
Scroat3#: Antibiotics? We only had a cup of tea after we had caught the most hideous Victorian disease, something like consumptive tuberculitic syphallis, crawled around for 4 weeks solid with only soggy cardboard for protective clothing.
Scroat4#: What I would have given for a bit of soggy cardboard! All we had was a brown paper bag, between the 3 of us, Edwardian diseases and very very dim lamps.
Scroat2#: Dim? I?d have loved dim. Our lamps occasionally flickered almost non-existent light.
Scroat1#: Flickered? Well at least you could occasionally see. We had paraffin lamps that made so much smoke that you couldn?t see more than 3 inches from your face and you couldn?t breathe.
Scroat4#: By the way when I say dim, I mean that you get more light out of a badger?s arse crack than our lamps.
Scroat3#: Light? All we had was a single match in case of emergencies. We got around by making loud clucking noises. But that wasn?t the worst of it either. The food we had was just terrible.
Scroat2#: Grey lentils, grey beans, grey biscuits and porridge. I wasn?t just the telly that was monochrome you know.
Scroat1#: Vegetables? All we had was gruel and one biscuit a week. And if you weren?t grateful they would slap you cross the face with a sledgehammer.
Scroat3#: I?d have given my right arm for gruel! All we had was midges to eat. 11 or so would make a fine meal.
Scroat4#: Food?! We had to eat the cardboard that we had been wearing. My, you were lucky. I remember those long cold nights huddling in an old train carriage.
Scroat1#: You had a train carriage! Try a dilapidated old sheep pen with only the faeces to keep you warm.
Scroat2#: What I would have given for some faeces?
Scroat3#: Right, well when I was a caver our hut consisted of a box that was (gestures) this big and we had to fit in 27 people in the cold damp misery. It may have also been the place where we kept catching the consumptive tuberculitic syphallis.
John: Could I point out that we don?t have a hut?
Scroat2#: Terrible, the golden years have passed and our generation has spent all the wealth. I can?t imagine what it?s like for you young ?uns.
?In the years that followed, John stayed with the club, guiding his own fledgling freshers to caving maturity as generations have done before him and will do so in the future. Societies are only as good as the people that contribute to them and SUSS?s legacy of exploration, science, teaching and friendship is thanks to many, many people. And we would like to thank everybody??