To quote from Ewan Maccoll's "Manchester Rambler":
He called me a louse and said "Think of the grouse".
Well I thought, but I still couldn't see
Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about
Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me.
He said "All this land is my master's".
At that I stood shaking my head,
No man has the right to own mountains
Any more than the deep ocean bed
(One of Gladman's recent fieldnotes reminded me of the bit about grouse).
Full lyric here:
