Heather

... a very bleak Barton fell today. The heather was the most colour to be found.
Could have done with a nice drop of Fraoch (heather beer) after cycling over the moor.

This is taken from from Robert Louis Stevenson's poem 'Heather Ale/A Galloway Legend' about the loss of the ancient recipe. Don't fret though, you can buy it now ...

Summer came in the country,
Red was the heather bell,
But the manner of the brewing,
Was none alive to tell.
In graves that were like children's
On many a mountain's head,
The Brewsters of the Heather
Lay numbered with the dead.

The king in the red moorland
Rode on a summer's day;
And the bees hummed and the curlews
Cried beside the way.
The King rode and was angry,
Black was his brow and pale,
To rule in a land of heather,
And lack the Heather Ale.