THERE’S a bracing breeze at Brimham Rocks – but that doesn’t worry Doreen Brigham.

Whatever the weather, it’s one of her favourite places in her favourite county. Somewhere she enjoys picking the bilberries or just admiring the view across Nidderdale.

And Doreen has another reason to be full of the joys of spring, because thanks to her, Yorkshire is about to get a new anthem.

The 98-year-old from Burnt Yates, near Harrogate, has beaten 150 lyricists in the BBC’s Symphony For Yorkshire competition, but didn’t have a clue that she’d even entered.

Doreen’s lyrics began life as a poem for the Yorkshire Countrywomen’s Association (YCA) magazine because she was fed up of reading about the east coast and West Riding.

“They never printed anything to do with people in this part of the county, so I thought I’d send them a poem,” says Doreen. “I was very pleased when I saw it published.”

But unknown to her, the association had also entered it for the anthem competition. And one day, out of the blue, the phone rang. “To my amazement the person at the other end told me that my poem had been chosen as the words for the Yorkshire anthem. I was completely overcome. I was so excited that I had to ring my son straight away and tell him the news.”

The judging panel included poet Ian McMillan, author Gervase Phinn and composer Benjamin Till, who will set Doreen’s words to music.

“I hope he writes something like Danny Boy, something pleasant to sing,” says Doreen who has tried living in the south, but thinks there is no comparison with Yorkshire.

“I love it round here and one of my favourite places is Brimham Rocks. My late husband and I used to get up early and go to watch the sun rise there. It’s a very special place for me.”

The Symphony for Yorkshire will be premièred on Yorkshire Day, Sunday, August 1.


Yorkshire in verse

Sing a song of Yorkshire, from the Humber to the Tees
Of horses, wool and terriers, of pudding and of cheese
I know no other county where the land is quite so fine
England’s lovely county. And I’m proud to call it mine

Where shining purple heather stretches far across the moor
And the lapwing’s cry above me takes the place of traffic roar
And peace comes drifting gently, there’s no place I’d rather be
Than this land of hills and valleys, from the Pennines to the sea

So when I’ve done my roaming, and when my step grows slow
When heart and mind assure me that the time has come to go
Then let me rest in Yorkshire, for it’s there I want to lie
‘Neath sun and wind and heather, and a gleaming Yorkshire sky