Hardknott Pass ‘old banger’ drive inspires 78-year-old poet

Peter with his daughter Belinda, son-in-law Rory and grandchildren Charlie and Lola. <i>(Image: Supplied)</i>
Peter with his daughter Belinda, son-in-law Rory and grandchildren Charlie and Lola. (Image: Supplied)
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A 78-year-old man who only took up poetry last year has seen his work praised after entering the Verey Books 'My Cumbria' writing competition.

Peter Whitehead, who lives at Calgarth Park in Troutbeck Bridge, drew on memories as a 20-year-old terrifyingly coaxing an “old banger” over one of the Lake District’s most daunting passes to write his poem Hardknott Pass.

Peter moved to Calgarth Park, which offers independent living for over-55s, in July 2025 and joined the site’s poetry group soon after.

“It was my first venture into poetry writing since my schooldays, but I did write hundreds of articles during my days in the music industry as an A&R adviser,” he said.

“The poetry group had lost a few members so I decided to have a go. My first few contributions were inauspicious but I was encouraged by our group leader, Jenny Truch, under whose guidance I have developed my own style of wry observation and, hopefully, the occasional touch of humour.

“It didn’t win but it got really positive feedback from my Facebook page, my poetry group and from others who heard about it,” he said.

The competition was won by Jackie Risman’s blank verse piece Northside, Solway Shore, while a primary school pupil, Aster, took the younger category with a poem called My Cumbria.

He added that he would “love to know” what readers make of his rhyming tribute to Hardknott Pass.

Peter's Poem:

Hardknott Pass 

Peter Whitehead 

I drove from Ambleside to Ravenglass when I was only twenty 

Past Wrynose Bottom which was frightening enough 

My brakes were far from great and there were moments aplenty 

Then on to Hardknott Pass where the going got really tough 

Returning next day I found it even tougher 

One-in-three and the engine’s ragged breath 

Echoing off the crags, sounding even rougher 

A climb that danced on the periphery of death

The hairpins eased, the summit opened wide 

No longer road, but ladder made of slate 

Leaving no tyre marks on the winding track 

The zig-zag path to heaven’s heavenly gate 

That was sixty years ago but the memory's still strong 

Raising my soul above the Cumbrian scars 

The zig-zag path, so easy to get wrong 

My Hardknott Pass, my stairway to the stars 


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