Major Mirza DATOO

My Activity Tracking


My target 250 mi

Support my March in March: Hope

Hope Was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.

She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne’er returned again!

Emily Bronte

My Achievements

Uploaded Profile Pic

Shared fundraising page

First Donation

Created a Team

Raised £50

Raised £100

Raise £250

Raise £500

Smashed my 10 miles

Reached Fundraising Goal

My Updates


Wednesday 31st Mar


Tuesday 30th Mar

Sarsen Stones

Sunday 28th Mar

Wild Cherry Tree Blossom

Friday 26th Mar
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

AE Housman [A Shropshire Lad]

Beech Wood

Thursday 25th Mar

Bulldogs Bite...

Monday 22nd Mar

Avebury, Silbury Hill & West Kennet Barrow

Saturday 20th Mar
This mound in some remote and dateless day
Rear'd o'er a Chieftain of the Age of Hills,
May here detain thee Traveller! from thy road
Not idly lingering. In his narrow house
Some Warrior sleeps below: his gallant deeds
Haply at many a solemn festival
The Bard has harp'd, but perish'd is the song
Of praise, as o'er these bleak and barren downs
The wind that passes and is heard no more.
Go Traveller on thy way, and contemplate
Glory's brief pageant, and remember then
That one good deed was never wrought in vain.
Robert Southey

Happy St Patrick's Day

Wednesday 17th Mar

From the region of zephyrs, the Emerald isle,

     The land of thy birth, in my freshness I come,

To waken this long-cherished morn with a smile,

     And breathe o’er thy spirit the whispers of home.

O welcome the stranger from Erin’s green sod;

  I sprang where the bones of thy fathers repose,

I grew where thy free step in infancy trod,

  Ere the world threw around thee its wiles and its woes.

         But sprightlier themes

         Enliven the dreams,

My dew-dropping leaflets unfold to impart:

         To loftiest emotion

         Of patriot devotion,

I wake the full chord of an Irishman’s heart.


The rose is expanding her petals of pride,

     And points to the laurels o’erarching her tree;

And the hardy Bur-thistle stands rooted beside,

     And sternly demands;—Who dare meddle wi’ me?

And bright are the garlands they jointly display,

     In death-fields of victory gallantly got;

But let the fair sisters their trophies array,

     And show us the wreath where the shamrock is not!

             By sea and by land,

             With bullet and brand,

My sons have directed the stormbolt of war;

             The banners ye boast,

             Ne’er waved o’er our host,

Unfanned by the accents of Erin-go-bragh!


Erin mavourneen! dark is thy night;

     Deep thy forebodings and gloomy thy fears;

And O, there are bosoms with savage delight

     Who laugh at thy plainings and scoff at thy tears!

But, Erin mavourneen, bright are the names

     Who twine with the heart-vein thy fate in their breast;

And scorned be the lot of the dastard, who shames

     To plant, as a trophy, this leaf on his crest!

             Thrice trebled disgrace

             His honours deface,

Who shrinks from proclaiming the isle of his birth!

             Though lowly its stem,

             This emerald gem

Mates with the proudest that shadow the earth!


by Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna


Sandhurst, March 17, 1827

A Misty Moisty Morning...

Tuesday 16th Mar
One misty, moisty, morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
There I met an old man
All clothed in leather,
All clothed in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?

Yomping with Giant Oaks in Savernake Forest

Friday 12th Mar

Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud

With sounds of unintelligible speech,

Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach,

Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd;

With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed,

Thou speakest a different dialect to each;

To me a language that no man can teach,

Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud.

For underneath thy shade, in days remote,

Seated like Abraham at eventide

Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown

Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote

His Bible in a language that hath died

And is forgotten, save by thee alone.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Thursday 11th Mar

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Willian Wordsworth

This Land Of Hope & Glory: Blossom

Tuesday 9th Mar
Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free,
How shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?
Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set;
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet,
God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.

The first pale tips of buds are showing on the apple-trees - Just like some floating thistledown that drifts along the breeze - and yet it is a promise that Springtime has begun - and soon the lovely blossom will be opening in the sun...The trees will be half lost in clouds of blossom, pink and cream - The orchard will be like some picture painted in a dream - and I shall think of summer of bright fruit hanging low - So may my dreams like ripening fruit to rich fulfilment grow...And with the Summer's ending when the golden days must cease - Oh, may the heart be quiet - knowing sweet content - and peace.
Patience Strong "The House of Dreams"

Range Walk

Sunday 7th Mar

Suddenly into the still air burst thudding

And thudding, and cold fear possessed me all,

On the gray slopes there, where Winter in sullen brooding

Hung between height and depth of the ugly fall

Of Heaven to earth; and the thudding was illness’ own.

But still a hope I kept that were we there going over,

I, in the line, I should not fail, but take recover

From others’ courage, and not as coward be known.

No flame we saw, the noise and the dread alone

Was battle to us; men were enduring there such

And such things, in wire tangled, to shatters blown.

Courage kept, but ready to vanish at first touch.

Fear, but just held. Poets were luckier once

In the hot fray swallowed and some magnificence.

Ivor Gurney

On A Lane in Spring

Thursday 4th Mar

A Little Lane, the brook runs close beside

And spangles in the sunshine while the fish glide swiftly by

And hedges leafing with the green spring tide

From out their greenery the old birds fly

And chirp and whistle in the morning sun

The pilewort glitters ‘neath the pale blue sky

The little robin has its nest begun

And grass green linnets round the bushes fly

How Mild the Spring Comes in; the daisy buds

Lift up their golden blossoms to the sky

How lovely are the pingles and the woods

Here a beetle runs; and there a fly

Rests on the Arum leaf in bottle green

And all the Spring in this Sweet lane is seen

John Clare [1793-1864]

Furze Knoll & Wellington Monument

Monday 1st Mar
Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are
Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through
The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy
Calling the cows home.

A bright white star blinks, the pale moon rounds, but
Still the red, lurid wreckage of the sunset
Smoulders in smoky fire, and burns on
The misty hill-tops.

Ghostly it grows, and darker, the burning
Fades into smoke, and now the gusty oaks are
A silent army of phantoms thronging
A land of shadows.

John Masefield

West Woods: Bluebells

Friday 19th Feb

The Bluebell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air:
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit’s care.

There is a spell in purple heath
Too wildly, sadly dear;
The violet has a fragrant breath,
But fragrance will not cheer,

The trees are bare, the sun is cold,
And seldom, seldom seen;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold,
And earth her robe of green.

And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade;
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed.

The Bluebell cannot charm me now,
The heath has lost its bloom;
The violets in the glen below,
They yield no sweet perfume.

But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell,
’Tis better far away;
I know how fast my tears would swell
To see it smile to-day.

For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall
Adown that dreary sky,
And gild yon dank and darkened wall
With transient brilliancy;

How do I weep, how do I pine
For the time of flowers to come,
And turn me from that fading shine,
To mourn the fields of home!

Emily Bronte

St Nicholas Church, Huish: Worship

Thursday 18th Feb
In Nature's Great Cathedral - we may kneel and feel God's power - We lift our eyes and look into a green and lofty tower - of arching branches, fluted columns formed of silver boles - Here we may find sanctuary, and rest for weary souls...Here we worship, freed from every sect and cult and creed - Far from earth's confusion, from its hungers and its greed - Within the secret temple of some green and quiet glen - The great Cathedral God has built for blind bewildered men.
Patience Strong "The House of Dreams"

Always Springtime

Wednesday 17th Feb
When night draws rose-red curtains at the windows of the West - hearts turn in remembrance to the things we've loved the best...Escaping through the secret door, we wander happily - along the green and golden lanes of bygone memory.
Joy comes at last to every lane of hopelessness and gloom - Life brings us to a place where sunlight falls and flowers bloom...For time is kind and God is good. He sends the greening leaf - and melts the frosts of bitterness along the lanes of grief.
The seasons come, the seasons go - the colours blaze and fade - as the fires of the autumn burn in every wood and glade...Winter comes - No flowers unfold - No birds make melody - But it is always Springtime in the lanes of Memory.
Patience Strong "Over The Ridge"

My Hope

Tuesday 16th Feb
How could I find the strength to face - the weary hours of stress and strain - if it were not for the belief that you and I will walk again - in free and sweet companionship along Life's green and pleasant ways...without the hope of happier days?

Patience Strong "Over The Ridge"


Saturday 13th Feb
Don't withhold the word of praise, it may spur someone on - just at the moment when they think that everything has gone - a word of praise for work well done may seem a trifling thing, and from it - some day, something good and wonderful may spring.
We never know what's passing in the minds of those we meet - A smile, a look of friendliness may seem so very sweet - to someone burdened by a weight of sorrow or distress - to whom the world is nothing but a lonely wilderness.
...There's always something we can praise - something that we can say - to lift their eyes above the seeming darkness of the day - and so renew their confidence to make another start, and do the job before them with a brave and happy heart.
Patience Strong "The House of Dreams"

Thank you to my Sponsors


John Hewat


Simon Wooller

Great challenge, great cause. Best of luck


Clive Hunt

Mirza, Well done and good luck!


Karen Datoo

would love yo join you but very busy at work. seriously really proud of you xx


Lachlan Mcintosh

Good luck Mirza.


Guy Bettesworth

A great effort Mirza. I wish you well and hope to see you on a golf course soon. Stay safe!!


Nina Davies

Well done Mirza


David Griffiths

Go for it Mirza! - Well done Old Chap.


Phil Murray

Great charity. All the best. Phil (AOGS)


Nigel Bartlett

Good luck Mirza


Peter Tomlinson


Toni Warner

Good Luck enjoy your walk


George Komoneski

Wishing you all the best.


Jim Bridle

Well done


David Watson


Edward V


Major Mirza Datoo


Andrew Purdy

Well done Mirza.


David Smith

Well done Mirza. Keep up the good work !


Bruce Mcmillan

Well done Mirza. A good cause.


Michael Tennant

well done Mirza hope all goes well


Janice Lock

I'm sure you'll complete this in just over a fortnight ha! Proud of you Mirza!


Dick Jenkinson


Shannon Rose Cox

Well done. Love you!


Michael Fage

Go for it


John Ransom


Philip Kellett

Good luck Mirza


Cameron Reeves

Well done Hon Sec!!


Penny Dorrell

Good luck



Good Luck Murza Go For It!!!


Dena Read



Ian Saunders

Best wishes Mirza, A great cause to support.


Euan Hardman

Great work Mirza.


Ian Holmes

The very best of Luck.


Jim Green

Good luck!


Simon Dunk

Good Luck Mirza


Paul Thompson

Good Luck


Matthew Cox



Well done