Nationalist doggerel

I was on holiday in the Lake District the week before last, and on my last day, which was (for a change) a glorious sunny day with clear sky and stonking views (though a perishing North wind), I thought I'd clomp up Great Gable from the Honister Pass. At the summit of the pass is a slate mine with a shop and large car park, which is the most obvious way up Great Gable and saves a couple of hundred metres of ascent from Borrowdale. At the entrance to the mine, on a large chunk of slate, is a 'poem' which is a shining example of British (English, really) petit-bourgeois nationalism. It's pure doggerel, of course - even a poetry philistine like myself can see that's it's dire - but it sums up beautifully the backward, reactionary, and lachrymose nationalism of the English petit-bourgeoisie. I can't be bothered to transcribe the thing, so click on the image for a full-size version.