COBER HILL is situated in the village of Cloughton, just north of Scarborough, and is the venue that we use annually for our Spring Bank Holiday residential weekend. There are interesting walks to the beach and on the coastal paths as well as all the facilities provided by the Joseph Rowntree Centre. See here for photographs from previous weekends.
Below is a poem by one of our members which gives a real flavour of the weekend!
Cober Hill 2016
When swifts return from Africa, and bright green buds of May
Light up the old West Riding everybody goes away.
They leave the field and factory, the workshop and the mill.
They mostly go to Scarborough. We come to Cober Hill.
Now our gardening is abandoned, so is our U3A.
We simply haven’t any need or wish for them today.
Our Weekend Guardian’s unread since we have sallied forth.
Its even rumoured we’ve left empty seats at Opera North!
And the Allerton Multi Faith Centre lies silent, dead and still.
‘Cos we’re all at the seaside playing here at Cober Hill.
There’s some would seek Greek sunshine in a warmer southern clime,
With taramasalata, wine dark seas and Grecian wine.
Not us – we like our fresh east wind, our sea roke damp and chill.
We are not Shirley Valentine, We prefer Cober Hill.
On Friday night our Quiz Team takes on the local Pub
To show our fearsome intellect, and get some food and grub.
So now when little Cloughton boys and girls are really bad,
And when they drive their parents stark-raving-bonkers mad,
They don’t threaten them with Vikings, come to plunder, burn and kill.
No – they threaten ’em with the quiz team that sweeps down from Cober Hill.
On Friday too, our music, with it being the ‘food of love’,
Brought Bach and Brahms and Beethoven to look down from above.
And this year Bartok joined them (but he quickly went away),
But Beethoven, Yes Beethoven, was clearly heard to say:
“If only I’d my hearing back it would be such a thrill,
To hear them play my lovely tunes down there at Cober Hill”.
So we play for them, the Great Ones, and we play without regret,
And for their earthly agents: Miriam, Andrew, Margaret,
Whose clear beat we always follow- yet – and yet – and yet……………..
The firsts might sometimes come in late, the seconds just too soon.
The Cellos come in randomly, not always quite in tune.
The Violas come in dead on time…….but we don’t judge them ill.
We’re very very tolerant when we’re at Cober Hill.
Our conductors/tutors/muses – they don’t complain a lot.
They’re dedicated maestros, they give us all they’ve got.
Is there some way we can thank them for their patience and their skill??
YES – Tomorrow we’ll play perfectly for them at Cober Hill
So when we play Tomorrow – all relaxed by Sue’s Tai Chi,
No note too sharp, no note too flat, and all in the same key.
Yes, our stickiest staccatos, our lugubrious legatos,
And our pizzy pizzicatos will be such that the Berlin Phil–
–Harmonic couldn’t match us tomorrow at Cober Hill.
All with one eye on the baton and all playing with one mind
All dead in time together and with no one left behind.
And Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow…. even Gill
Will be early for rehearsal when we play at Cober Hill.
Finally, Jenny, do not think that you’ll escape our little song.
Nor should you ‘cos you must have laboured very hard and long.
You’ve done the hundred little things that only you can know,
Like making sure the fridge is stocked with Pinot Grigio.
But when we’ve driven home tomorrow full of tiredness and emotion,
And when we have to cut the grass and find there is an ocean
Of bills to pay and stuff to shift, and to vote on our opinion
As to whether we should exit from the European Union…………
We’ll say “Was it worth it?” and we’ll think Yes – It was brill
And we’ll send a text immediately: “Oh Jenny, if you will,
Please put my name down now to come to next year’s Cober Hill.”