© J A D Healey 2014
It was a very easy journey; I had time to leave work at 5.30, go home for tea, change and pick up my rucksack, before Alf called for me at 6.30. He already had Bob and John in the car.
We went straight through via Lichfield to the Shrewsbury by-pass, where we stopped for a drink and then on to Llangollen, where we stopped for fish and chips. Two obvious motor-cyclists were just finishing; they seemed to know me and spoke; they turned out to be Valkyrie members, Pete and the Norwegian. I showed them my Chamonix photos and delayed them quite a lot. Soon the Marriotts also arrived and said that they'd camp en route. Alf preferred to go right through to Beddgelert, and we camped behind the 'Goat' in what Bernard called the paddock, but what we called the chicken run. It was a lovely night and we didn't bother with tents, just slept in the open.
Kay Hunter arrived by train and hitching quite early, and we had breakfast, and then spent a few hours waiting for other people, firstly for the Marriotts and Marjorie to come, and then for the hotel people to sort themselves out – eventually some of us started walking along the Caernarvon road. We realised that there wouldn't be enough transport for everyone to get a lift, so we thought that we had better start walking. The party contained Ernest, Kay, Peter and John, while Alf and Arthur were to follow with Joan, Marjorie and Bob. We went at a good pace and time and distance passed very quickly. I felt that this was thanks to John Cotteril. The subject turned to him and a discussion of his hobbies passed the time for us. At Rhyd Ddu we turned along the side road and, after about a mile, the cars passed us and picked us up. Ron Naylor had arrived by this time. Arthur mistook the position of the crag, and wanted to stop too soon, but fortunately Alf came back, thinking there was someone else to be picked up and was able to put us right. We went up in ones and twos, but all gathered together in the sheepfold by the lake below the crag.
Joan went in, brave soul. We had a little to eat and then I went to the foot of the slab with Bob and John, and sat, awaiting the others. Soon I realised that everyone was making for the same climb and, in my usual selfish way, I though "Why should I be last?" – everyone else seemed to have a climbing partner, so I scrambled up to the top of the first pitch tied on and threw down the other end of my rope, asking for someone else to tie on, and lead me up the climb. Arthur organised things, he tied Peter on, and then, despite my protests, he put Alf behind Peter. Now it wasn't that I didn't want to climb with Alf, but, as Ron pointed out, a party of three in front would slow up the whole caravan. I traversed along the face of the slab, and then, using a scratched hold, I started to move up, and soon tied on, and brought up Peter. I had an idea that the route continued to traverse, so, when Alf came along, I suggested that he looked at the other way, and he went along to a belay and said the way was well scratched. He seemed to expect me to go ahead, so I did so, up the arête at the edge of the slab and got most surprisingly to the grass ledge below a chimney, which the guidebook mentioned (Arthur had called on Paul Work and had copied details from the guidebook). I wasn't altogether proud of my lead of the chimney, it was very easy, but this was the first time I had worn nails since my holiday when I had on vibrams and I wasn't used to them. I was surprised how well the holds had been scratched, for I hadn't expected many people to get to cwm silin.
On the pitch above the chimney I felt that we were getting to some real climbing, and would soon be on the slab proper, so imagine my disappointment when I realised that our route went up the edge, not touching the slab itself. By this time we were practically above the slab. We were soon on the top of the ridge, getting the view towards Snowdon and then descending the gully. There were some magnificent short vertical cliffs to the right of the gully, but we passed them and got back to the foot of the crags where we were surprised to find that Ernest with Joan and Marjorie were still on the most exposed pitch (i.e. the one above the open chimney), and behind them were Bob, John and Arthur. Ron and Kay had the best idea, they were wandering about on the slab, occasionally posing on the sky line as I used my camera. The five of us went down through the heather to the foot of the lower tier of rocks, and Kay scrambled up them, Peter went some way up and I was turned back by an 'unclimbable' pitch, very near the bottom. I followed Ron and Alf to the sheep-pen where Ron made some tea, which was very welcome, for I had got cold standing about. When Kay got down, he got colder still for he went in the lake – but not for long. We went our various ways down to the cars, and I suggested that I should like to go back in the first one as it was spitting with rain and I still had my tent to pitch, so I joined Ron and Kay.
That evening I joined John, who paid the hotellers a visit (Bernard, Freda, Nesta, Marjorie Dawson, and Jack) and when we got back to camp, John learned the sad news that his tent had burned down. He had left a candle alight and, when it had burned right down, it fell through the holder. John came into my tent and Bob joined Joan, but John was rather upset at the loss of the Scout Company's tent!
There were some very heavy rain showers, and no-one was in a hurry to get up; I was ready by about 9 o'clock, but no-one else was. I filled in time by visiting Ron's tent and showing him my photos. I knew where I wanted to go that day (Cloggy) and I dare say I should have got some followers, but it needed transport, and no-one with transport was interested. There were two main parties, one walking over Cnicht, and the other for Lockwoods Chimney; we were so late setting out that the latter seemed the only sensible climb to attempt, and I joined that party. We drove to the beginning of the old road where the cars were left and we crossed the river, and Alf took us up to the first crag to the north of Llyn Gwynant and we scrambled up this on the side overlooking the lake, but he couldn't find the beginning of the chimney, so we all came down again, and continued through the wood, looking vaguely up towards the rocks, wondering on which crag the chimney was situated. The walk through the woods was rather infuriating, so most of us came down to the path by the river. It was rather funny to look back and see the others in the woods. It looked as though they were standing on the tops of trees. We continued northwards and, since we were so near the Pinnacle hut, I suggested that I should call in and see if they had the guidebook. I got the key from the power station and got in the hut, but I couldn't find the electric switch, and the others preferred to sit outside and eat their lunch. It was a long time before I could find a guidebook, and when I did, I couldn't find the climb, the book had no index. Finally I locked up the hut, returned the key and we walked down the old road to the cars, by which time Alf decided he should start home and some of those staying on thought that there would still be time for them to get to Cnicht. I was back in Nottingham by , say 9.30, a record I should think for Wales!
I got into the train, and settled down with my knitting, expecting to see Joy at Derby, when I saw her running up the platform, a minute before the train was due to leave. Apparently she thought I'd be expecting to hear from her, and so she had come to Nottingham, and only just made it. We arrived at Tamworth at about 10.30 and made our way to the tea hut, where we were surprised to see a young girl serving. Presently she came over to talk to us, having put on her jacket so that we could see her Y.H.A. badge, but she was soon called back to the counter. The train was 20 minutes late, but it got us to Crewe in plenty of time, where we settled down in the Ladies waiting room. After my efforts on the lab floor, I was most interested to watch the attendants' technique. It was a very pleasant surprise to find that the Windermere carriages were added at Crewe, and Joy and I were able to have a compartment to ourselves, and slept quite well, arriving at Windermere at about 6 a.m.
We were too late to walk to Ambleside and catch the early bus and, as Margaret and Isobel had promised to wait at the bus station, I thought we had better not chance a lift, but had better get a taxi. A lady was wanting to go to Bowness and the porter persuaded us that the same taxi would do for both o us. We waited in a little hut along the platform until the taxi came and then Joy and I got in the back with our luggage.
Considering the lady paid 4/- to Bowness, I though he needn't have charged us as much as 12/- to Ambleside, but I suppose 6 o'clock is rather early to be called out.
Margaret and Isobel were at the station, having left the hostel at some unheard of hour; they were rather surprised to see us get out of a taxi, and we all made our way to the Langdale bus, which dropped us at the door at Rawhead. There was a party of St. Andrew's U.M.C. in residence in the cottage and we joined them. I sent Isobel to the new D.G. for milk (I hadn't realised that it was quite so far) and Margaret soon had breakfast on, with Joy and I helping in little ways!
We set out for Middlefell Buttress and, as Margaret went back for her field glasses, she told a girl in the dormitory that she was going to Gimmer. Margaret said that she had them practically on their knees, begging her not to go near Gimmer unless she was very experienced! Joy, with all the upset of moving digs, had forgotten the other rope, so all we had was 100 ft and I didn't really see how four of us could climb on Gimmer with that! After the new D.G. we took to the path and duly arrived at the foot of the buttress, where I advised the others to follow me up the easy way on the first pitch and, perhaps come down and do it properly at the end of the day. Margaret and Isobel followed me and Joy tried the difficult way. I was interested to try to give help on ¾ wt nylon, when Joy said she was coming off. I did what I always hope my leader will do for me; I pulled on the rope as hard as I could, yet Joy said that she practically reached the ground.
I was able to go down to the bottom and bring up rucksacks, boots, jumpers etc. (the others were in rubbers; I thought it a good opportunity to get in some practice in boots).
After this pitch, the gear which we couldn't carry on our backs had to be hauled up. I found that the buttress was made for a party with insufficient rope; there was always a wonderful stance where the third person could sit, untied, while the rope was sent down for the fourth.
I was a little ashamed on the last pitch, I traversed at the bottom from the right, and then started to go straight up, but suddenly realised that my hands were too cold and retreated about a foot and traversed to the left, before continuing straight up. Margaret came straight up the last part, and I think the others came straight up from the bottom.
We coiled up the rope and continued up until we reached the path from the new hotel, where we stopped for lunch, before continuing to Gimmer.
I had really thought that it would be better for me to do the climb three times, than that we should try it with insufficient rope, so perhaps I wasn't altogether sorry that only Margaret wanted to climb there. It is so many years since I had climbed there that I changed into rubbers, although it was only Oliversons which I had in mind (or perhaps I envied the others the neat way they had come up, compared with my tricouni progress on the polished rocks). We scrambled up to Ash Tree Ledge and roped up. When I came to the wall below 40 ft Corner, I thought that I must have missed the way, that that couldn't only be diff. – or perhaps I was seeing it through Margaret's eyes. As soon as I tackled it, the wonderful jugs appeared; I remembered that I usually fiddle descending 40 ft Corner, so I was surprised that I got up, in the corner, with no trouble at all. Margaret had no trouble with the climb, but I think she was far more impressed with it than anything she had done before. It was good to traverse into the Crow's Nest again. I thought of letting Margaret lead the top pitch, but the move out looked as though it should be difficult, so I did it myself, only to find it perfectly simple. We were soon down the Southeast Gully, and joining the others and discussing what we could do next. I knew that Main Wall should be quite easy, but against it was the fact that clouds were gathering in the sky, also that Margaret was rather anxious to do the first pitch of Middlefell, so we put on our boots and went down. As I had left Nottingham, I had made up my mind that this weekend was going to be like the autumn weekend I had had with Wyn in 1945. I was pleasantly surprised when I found that the train was not held up by fog, but I was very disappointed that the day was dull and hazy (although reasonably warm) instead of being crystal clear on the tops with a sea of mist in the valleys below.
Margaret gave me a rope down, and I got up the first pitch with less trouble than I expected, although I found it so polished that in some parts even my rubbers didn't grip.
Margaret then romped up it, on my rope, and we both came down to compare techniques; we both went up to the overhang and then had to have shoulders to come down! I realised that it was high time that Margaret did some leading.
I went on down to the old D.G. to order a pot of tea and was told to share the tea pot of a gang who had just come down from Gimmer. One of the boys had fallen 110 ft and had hurt his arm, but was able to walk down unaided. I asked for more milk and water, and then I wasn't allowed to pay, being told that I had only got tea at 6 o'clock because of the accident!
What a meal we had that night, two sorts of soup, steak, tomatoes, and a very little pom, fruit salad, and finally tea and brandy snaps. Later we went along to the new D.G., taking our milk can. Most of the St. A.U.M.C. had left during the day, and the other inhabitants at Raw Head were in the barn. We met them in the bar and, when we found that there was no milk until morning, one of them promised to fetch ours with his own. Most surprisingly I met Jacky with her husband, and she gave me messages for Peggy.
Margaret and Joy were in good time, and soon had breakfast ready for Isobel and me. I consulted Margaret as to whether she thought the others would climb or not, and she said she thought they would, so I decided on Scout (Gimmer would have been the best plan for two people). I stopped at the two 50 ft pitches below the crag proper and Margaret came up the easier one, but I couldn't interest the others in it, so I gave Margaret a rope down for the more difficult one and then she abseiled down. I was sorry that I hadn't a spare rope to give her a lifeline, but I lent her my sling, and she was O.K.
Next we went up to Scout proper, and Joy said she wasn't climbing. I thought that she wasn't feeling too good and didn't press her, but when Isobel also said that she wasn't climbing, I got quite annoyed, thinking of the routes Margaret and I could have been doing on Gimmer. I gave her a talking to, saying that had Joy said she was climbing, she, Isobel, would have taken it for granted that she also was climbing – and, at this, Joy (to whom I had not been speaking) started to tie on, and Isobel meekly followed, leaving Margaret to be the one at the end who had to wait for the rope to be sent down again. I started up the more interesting route, although I knew I hadn't enough rope for it. I was most amused on the nose; Joy wanted to photograph Isobel, and the latter posed, 'frozen' to the rock, as soon as Isobel was allowed to come on, she moved her body away from the rock, in the good climbing style which she had been adopting. It was above this that the rope was insufficient. I had to get Joy to untie, so that I could move up to a belay and then, in the roping up, again, at one time I was the only one tied on – I thought of the film 'the White Tower' and the poor guide saying that it wasn't done to have ones clients all in ones at various heights on the mountain and I thought equally that it wasn't done to have ones rock-climbing novices all unroped on the climb, but eventually the position was sorted out. Isobel came up first, and sank down on a good ledge, and improved her morale with lipstick and cigarettes – I considered that her sophistication was an asset to her on the climb, for she would never let herself become ruffled mentally or physically, hence she climbed well and easily, and tried to pretend that it was all nothing. Margaret led the last pitch; Joy took a photo or so at the top, and then we went down to the foot of the other climb, where Isobel and Joy decided to watch. I went up the easy way on the first pitch. Margaret had a look at the severe crack, but soon gave up, joined me, and then agreed to lead the next pitch. When my turn came, I found that I had given her the hardest pitch of the climb. We led through on the next two pitches and then hurried down to the severe crack, but Margaret still couldn't do it, although I think she made a date with it for some other time (I didn't try it). We hurried back to the hut, for a meal of bacon and eggs, and much tea, tidied up and then left for Chapel Style. I left first with the key and then shouted back for someone to bring my tin plate – Margaret put it in my rucksack and it wasn't until I got in the train that I found she had put in an F. & R. plate instead of the top to my fry pan!
The others seemed to leave me behind on the road, but we had plenty of time for the bus from Chapel Style, and then an extra ½ hour to wait at Ambleside, as it was the winter service operating. Joy and I easily caught our train, leaving the others to hitch to York.
The train from Carnforth to Leeds was painfully slow, and I began to worry about my connection, but apparently the halts were all scheduled. Joy got out at Skipton to walk and bus to Ilkley, while I went on to Derby to wait for the Nottingham train, getting in about 2 a.m.
I raced home, changed, had my tea and arrived at the bus at Station Street at the appointed hour of 6.15 p.m. I was one of the first to arrive, the last arrived at 6.45. I was surprised to see two tables at the back, as in a railway Pullman coach. Marjorie was in the back corner, so I sat opposite her, facing backwards (it was raining, and there was no moon, so I wasn't afraid of missing the view!). Further along were Arthur, Alf and Bob, and on the seat corresponding to mine was a young boy, Roger. Miss Aynsley followed me into the bus, but she preferred to sit nearer the front.
We picked up two more at Beeston and then many more at Derby. Joy sat next to Miss Aynsley and Margaret joined me, and a Norman sat between Marjorie and Arthur; also, at Burton, George sat on the back seat. Soon the 'pubbers' started arguing with the 'chippers', but the 'pubbers' got their way and we stopped for a drink which meant that it was too late for chips, when we eventually passed a chip shop.
We stopped again at Llangollen at about 11.45, the milk bar appeared closed, but Margaret Draper got the man to open and we had tea and chocolate cakes.
It was still drizzling when we arrived at Glan Dena at about 1.30; Paul came out to meet us, I thought he was too conscientious a meet leader, but apparently he was afraid we might try to drive the bus across the bridge! I had quite enjoyed the journey; I had no trouble in keeping awake until about 11 o'clock and then Joy, who was just getting to her liveliest came back to talk, and she kept me awake until we arrived.
I woke up and realised that someone had asked me the time, it was 8.10, and apparently it was the third time I had been asked.
Margaret was the first up, and Joy and I soon followed, and soon the breakfast was under way.
Just as I was about to make the tea, there was a knock at the back door and Joan Leech appeared, having spent the night on Bangor station and then hitching a taxi up the valley. She was very useful, she was able to give us some milk for our tea.
It was an overcast day, but we were actually able to start out in the dry; Margaret, Joy and I and Jack Striffler, with John Goldsworthy and Bas not far behind. We made for the Milestone and the rain very soon started. I roped up with Margaret and Joy and left Jack to rope on the end if he liked. After I had done the first swing over to the left, I was told to stand still while Jack exposed some Dufay, but I shouldn't think it was much good. Margaret then started up in her rubber soled shoes, but she found that she couldn't trust them very much and, at the stance, she took them off, preferring socks. Meanwhile Joy untied, to join John and Bas on the ordinary route, and Jack roped on behind Margaret. I continued up the next pitch, which was a little interesting in its streaming wet slate, considering that it was fully exposed to the wind. After the second swing to the left, I traversed and found a belay and used that, and told Margaret to bring up Jack (or rather I had told her to do so before I left her, for it was impossible to shout against the wind. Next I was asked to flick the rope over, but by this time I realised I had only enough slack to reach the next belay, which would place me directly above the awkward moves on that pitch, although I would be fully exposed to the wind. I found it as much as I could do to keep the rope reasonably taut, the wind was so strong. Margaret didn't like the swing over and, eventually, she avoided it, coming up the groove. Jack followed without any trouble. By this time we were moving parallel to the other rope, but fortunately our route kept distinct. I went up one more pitch and then I felt sorry for Jack being at the end of the rope, so I suggested that he could go on – it was such a long time since I had done the route, how could I remember that I was giving him the hand traverse? I was glad my nails didn't slip on that, for I should have hated to have done it as a real hand traverse!
It was my turn to go first out of the sheep pen and that gave Jack the final chimney; I was a little reluctant to give that to Jack, as I rather enjoy it, but he did it easily enough.
On this last part, George, Norman and Roger passed us on Rowen, and then we went along Heather Terrace, more or less together, after John's rope had caught up. Just before the start of North Buttress, John, Jack and Bas decided to stop and eat (Joy, Margaret and I decided we were too wet for more than chocolate and dates). There was a stream down the cream on North Buttress and George said it would be a case of swimming up, so I suggested there were alternatives which rather horrified him, so I started quoting the time I had climbed it when it was festooned with icicles, thinking that after that I couldn't weaken, for the water wasn't very cold, and the East Face was quite sheltered from the wind. It was 2 o'clock, so I wasn't sorry that Joy wasn't very keen. Margaret and I rope up and I started up, telling Margaret that the bottom 6 ft were the worst. I really thoroughly enjoyed it, stopping every few yards to warm my hands; once when I was explaining why I was stopping, Joy said that it was quite alright, that I looked as happy as a sand-boy. I'm not quite sure what she meant! My technique all that day had been appalling, but that groove did at least teach me not to put my hands above my head, for if I did so, the water streamed down my sleeves. I wondered how Margaret would get on, but, apparently she was able to jam her stockinged feet very well. Meanwhile the other three had arrived and Joy decided to join them for a walk along Heather Terrace, over the bwlch and down by Llyn Bochlwyd. I had always thought that the climbing stopped after the first pitch of North Buttress, but there were quite three more pitches where we had to belay and take things seriously, and then Margaret was able to put on her shoes and we moved up mostly together. This part had taken an hour and it seemed to me that the light was failing rapidly. When it came to the traverse we moved one at a time, but we didn't spend much time over belays. It seemed such a pity not to take Margaret to the Terrace, but just to say in passing "That's Belle Vue Terrace on your right, we'll talk about that later". Another pitch or so and we were below the optional chimneys. I had no intention of trying them. I considered it too late, in any case, in the half light – I could make (by their voices) quite a large party negotiating them (Bob, Joan, Arthur etc.).
Margaret and I were soon up the easy way and, at 3.45 were on the top of North Buttress. I know I ought to have taken Margaret to Adam and Eve, but I hadn't a torch and I didn't fancy the way down in the dark (I remembered the Rognon rocks), so we started down North Ridge straight away, Margaret didn't trust her boots so she was quite pleased to keep on the rope. I was quite pleased to do so, for it gave me a little practice in managing it. Very soon Ernest and Don Wilman caught us up, and we came down together. Ernest thought I was making Margaret into a bear on a string! Below Heather Terrace, everything was very messy, my nails didn't grip too well, so I didn't envy Margaret her shoes. Someone had some tea ready at Glan Dena (we arrived at about 4.50, while visibility was still quite good) and I found that Joy and Miss Aynsley had everything under control as regards supper, so I was able to change – I found that on my shirt there was a patch about 2 inches in diameter which was quite dry, so I couldn't claim to be soaked to the skin. I hadn't another dry shirt, so I put on my pyjamas, which seemed to take people's fancy – that was rather silly of me, for I so rarely carry pyjamas that it must have looked as though I wanted to show off that I had some!
We had some tomato soup – Nat, Don and Ray had called in to wait for Don Cowen and Ernie, and Nat was sitting next to me and I remember feeding Nat with a teaspoonful of my soup. Next we had potatoes, tomatoes and steak, most of which was provided by Miss Aynsley, and we finished with fruit salad. Margaret and I had contributed the latter, when I had unpacked my rucksack and had come across some very bruised apples and we thought that the best thing would be to make some fruit salad.
I was about to settle down for a quiet evening in, when we found that the bus was going to Capel Curig and I decided to go, although the other girls preferred to stay behind. I sat with Joan and, on the way back, discovered that she knew Sheila Pick, Elaine Shaw and Jean Ogden – small world.
I had insisted that we went to the Royal, because I thought the Valkyrie would be there, but later I found that they had gone to the Pen-y-Gwryd.
At about 11 o'clock, with Margaret, I started to go to bed; I got my shoes off, but that was all, the next 3 hours passed very quickly. We got on to skiing and I mentioned long thighs – of course I was laughed at, but only at first, very soon I had Paul round to my way of thinking – he saw my point of view! Next morning someone said that it was only because he had had a pint or two!
Once in bed, Joan seemed in a chatty mood, but I should think I was asleep by 3 o'clock.
It had been a lovely evening, and we had resolved to get up at 9 o'clock, but the wind and rain during the night put us off. I woke up at 6 o'clock and very soon heard Margaret say that it was 5.15, but very soon the light agreed with my watch. We dozed again and finally Margaret was first up at about 7.30. Jack heard us about and joined us for breakfast and, at about 9.15, we were ready to start.
I had looked out and thought that it was quite a promising morning, it was Joy who drew my attention to the snow higher up. I was so afraid that Margaret would insist on climbing, but she left the decision to me and I chose a walk on the Carnedds in preference to a climb on a low crag. The four of us set out, John and Bas saying that they'd follow later. The whole of the time Jack would forge ahead, but he'd wait for the rest of us at intervals; we made our way up to the north of the hut and, at the level of Llyn Ffynon Loer we turned west, ascending a ridge. The lake was really impressive, with the rocks, the snow, and the tops in mist, and soon we were making our way up through several inches of snow. The wind increased and, at times, the driven snow hurt, but I think everyone enjoyed battling against it. We followed round the Horseshoe round the lake over Pen-yr-Ole Wen to Carnedd Dafydd, Jack using his compass where necessary.
At one time we got a view of Y Garn, it looked most impressive – a mixture of black fell, white snow and grey mist. We sheltered in the summit cairn of Dafydd, and divided up some chocolate and dates, took our compass bearing and continued on - ¾ of a mile due east took us past the top of the Black Ladders, with memories of last April for me, and then we made our way northeast to the top of Carnedd Llewellyn. I was about to start from that when Jack told me I was going due north, so I changed my direction and we descended southeast – keeping the crags to our left. I don't think anyone took much notice of Craig-yr-Ysfa, for we had the fiercest conditions of all on this descent. We continued on until we came to the path along the shoulder of Pen-yr-Helgi Du, where we traversed and then continued down the spur. I was the first along the shoulder, and it pleased me a lot to trace out the little path beneath the snow. Neither Margaret nor I had had any head covering and our hair had iced up, as we got lower it began to thaw out – it was a case of jingle bells as the icicles bounced against each other during the process.
We found the bridge over the leet, continued across country as far as the chapel and then took to the road. At the bottom, Jack had gone ahead, and he was just pouring out the tea when we reached Glan Dena. It was 2.30, the hour by which we had said we ought to be back.
Jack joined us for our meal, mushroom soup, bacon, spam, potatoes and tomatoes and then chocolate cake.
The bus arrived at about 3 o'clock. No-one from Idwal end had gone out, but we weren't ready until 4 o'clock.
Margaret and I were able to get the same seat as on the outward journey, and Joy was in Marjorie's place. Margaret and I had the best of it, for we were facing the view. By the time we left, it was a really beautiful evening, with the snow taking on a blue tinge, instead of the yellow there had been during the day. After Capel we were able to show Margaret the Snowdon Horseshoe, and then again after Bettws they still showed up black again the sky and this time Tryfan and the Carnedds were also included. A dark band of cloud was forming near the tops.
The journey went very quickly. We had one stop, and were at Derby by about 9 o'clock and Nottingham by 9.50.
I caught the 7.10 to Crewe. The train was a little late in, but the connection hadn't left, nor did it leave until after 11 o'clock. At Chester, I just had time for the connection, but no time for the cup of tea I was hoping for. At Llandudno Junction I asked for the second train, and was told it wasn't in, not would it come until about 5.30 a.m., so I got in the first train. The seat was hard, so, remembering Joy's trick in April, I got out to get in a 1st class compartment, when the man appeared. He suggested that I shared the fire in his office, but I said no, I'd rather lie down somewhere. Then he said would I come along for a cup of tea and of course I jumped at the offer and then he said there was a table in a sub-office on which I could sleep, heated by an electric fire. After the tea I settled down for the night, but not to sleep. I had on a woolly, my padded coat and my jacket, and the electric fire was on, yet I was still very cold and then the noise! When there wasn't someone walking about, or talking in the main office, they'd be loading a train outside the window, and altogether I wasn't sorry to get up and get into my train which was waiting on the platform.
I found Peggy and Doreen on Bettws station; they had arrived on the early train. I felt a little guilty when Peggy told me that they had caught an earlier train to Crewe, hoping to pick up my connection there, but being told it had gone and having to wait until after 2 o'clock.
The bus dropped us at the Bryn Tyrch at about 7.15 a.m.; hardly anyone was up and I really didn't expect to be greeted with tea, but I didn't expect to have to wait for the 9 o'clock breakfast. As the man carried my rucksack to my room, he mentioned tea in about 20 minutes, so I was down on the dot, but it didn't come and I was shifted about as they 'did' the rooms. I got it as soon as I asked for it, but I couldn't help but compare it with the Black Bull, where we'd have a special breakfast at about 8 o'clock. Breakfast was at 9 o'clock and Bray and the walkers set out soon afterwards, but the rest of us hung about, not knowing what we were doing, and whether there'd be any lifts. Eventually, some of us set out along the road for Tryfan.
We hadn't got very far when a car stopped. I continued walking for I thought it couldn't take us all, but Chris Wood's car took 7 easily (when I told Joy about this, she said "which car had she got with her?"). We got out at Gwern y Goch Uchaf and Marjorie Woods and Dr. Arning started walking up Heather Terrace, and Peggy, Doreen, Eileen Pyatt and I were bound for North Buttress.
At one point we got off Heather Terrace even, for the snow was quite deep at that level, and I hardly recognised the start of North Buttress. One good thing was that the bottom 6 ft were snowed over, for I always say that's the hardest part of the climb.
I suppose I ought not to have tried it, but Peggy had never before climbed on Tryfan and was very keen to do so. I knew Doreen hadn't done much, but she had climbed in Switzerland in the summer so I thought she ought not to be quite incapable. The others thought Doreen ought to come on my rope, and Eileen led Peggy for most of the way.
The snow must have drifted from the East onto the rocks. First, I'd have to biff them with my axe, and this would get down the sheets of fairly soft snow, and then I'd have to chip out the ice which had accumulated behind some of the handholds. On the whole, conditions could have been a lot worse, for one thing the snow came away leaving the rocks pretty clear, and for another the ice was easy to chip out – or perhaps it is that the holds on North Buttress are so big that a little ice left on them doesn't matter! The snow got thicker higher up – I'd have to uncover yards of rock before I could get the direction of the holds and clear them. I began to realise that this could be tiring work. Sometimes I'd have to come down and rest before using the holds I had cleared. Eileen belayed me on the first pitch (she was the other one in the party with an ice axe) and I must have showered her with snow. I don't know whether Doreen was able to avoid it on subsequent pitches.
I was slow, obviously, but so were the others and by 1.30 we had only got to the top of the first 200 ft, i.e. to the beginning of the Long Walk. Soon after we had started, another party had started up the gully, and I thought that they would move more rapidly than us and we should be able to follow their steps in the gully, but when I looked over I realised that they had retreated even before we had. Eileen and I held a council of war, and decided to retreat after we'd eaten a few sandwiches. We weren't too slow going down; Peggy would go first, and Doreen would follow her pretty closely and, when they were down, Eileen and I would move together. Personally, I kept warm and was quite happy, it wasn't until the next breakfast time that it dawned on me that it may have been a little bit of an ordeal for the younger ones, for Peggy and Eileen at my table both admitted that they still hadn't got the feeling properly back in their fingers!
I found the descent easier than the ascent, for a little more snow had been knocked away before it was my turn to come down.
I decided that we should abseil down the lat pitch, perhaps we could have climbed down one of the easier variations. We hadn't a sling between us, but the others had all done at least one abseil at the Harrison rocks.
Doreen went down first, Peggy held the spare rope round the boulder, and I gave her a lifeline. Next it was Peggy's turn, and as she started the rappel rope moved about 6 inches – Eileen and I both saw this, and were both put off by it! I told those two to go on down as soon as they were ready – it was then about 3.30. Eileen was rather slow, she said the rope wouldn't run round her, but I know that she was loathe to trust it, after seeing it move with Peggy, but she got down at last, and I was glad to think that she was belaying me, when my turn came.
Despite the precarious way the spare rope was put on, I couldn't flick it off, but I was able to pull one end, without any trouble.
Eileen did up both ropes, while I tried to tie on my sole – the rubber on the centre of my sole inside the nails was loose, but I managed to fasten it on until we reached the road, and then I was irritated by it for the 5 miles of road walk. We hadn't a torch, so I was very glad that we reached the road before it got quite dark.
We hoped all the time for a lift, but we had no luck. We learned later that the other two had had a lift in an empty taxi for the last mile. Was it their personality which had won them it, or was it our axes which had frightened him off Eileen and me?
We were back about 6.15 in nice time for a bath and change before the dinner. As I went down the stairs, I met Eileen Austin on her way up, she was staying at Glan Dena. Among other faces I knew were John Lawton's – as he said, the last time we had met was after Joe had taken me up Narrow Slab. Evelyn Leech, Joan Cochrane and Annette, from the hut, Paddy and John Hirst, Cyril Maebin, Joan Carter etc.
All that evening I rather suffered from the fact that we had got back too late for tea. I was rather surprised to be put on Eileen Austin's table (the organisers didn't know that we knew each other). There were the five of us, Eileen's husband John Wilkes, and Michael Westmacott and Antony Rawlinson.
We started with chicken patties and then had far too little soup and this was followed by the poultry, Christmas pudding and ice cream, and finally cheese and biscuits. The men, fortunately, organised the wine. The speeches started before we had our coffee, after "The King". Evelyn Leech proposed "The Guests and Kindred Clubs" – as she said she had had only a few hours' warning. Gwen Moffatt was down for it, but, the night before she had sent a wire saying that she couldn't as she had a job stage managing, but she wished the club a Happy New Year. Evelyn said that the last time she was called upon at short notice, she had been so good that no-one believed that it had been spontaneous, so she wasn't making that mistake again; this time she was going to be kind but dull.
Norah Welshman, the L.A.C. representative replied, and then Mrs. Walker proposed "The President and Club", she was splendid – and Trilby Wells replied. In her speech she mentioned a man from Leeds who stuttered. I guessed that was Joy and Margaret's friend. She bemoaned the difficulty the club had to get speakers, both among their own members, and among the guests.
How relieved I was that there were no party games this year, instead, Mrs. Walker entertained us with her films. I've never before known an amateur show done so well. When she showed a film of Engleberg, a record of music from there was played at the same time and, during one humorous film, a baby's cry was heard at exactly the right moment. Lastly, she showed a film she had entered for a competition for films on sport. The judges rejected it as not being about a sport. Their definition of a sport was something competitive. I was surprised to see Arthur Marriott at Brassington, in this film.
I found it a very pleasant evening, but had to agree with Evelyn the next day when she pointed out that the club had sunk very low when they could provide no entertainment of their own, but had to get outsiders in to do it for them.
I awoke at 8.55 a.m., but I was down by 9 o'clock. After breakfast I hung about wondering what to do. No-one seemed climbing and there seemed no lifts towards the mountains. Peggy and co. didn't think they'd be able to get in a climb and also get to the coast to pick up the 9 o'clock train from Bangor. Corbet had offered me a lift to the Junction in time for the 5.50 from there, so I was alright to leave Capel at 4.30.
Presently a Jeep drove up with Beryl Woods and Ruth, prospective new members from Beddgelert. There seemed no-one to climb with them but me, and someone had persuaded them to do Lockwoods Chimney, and then call in at the hut, so I again found myself setting out for that climb.
I found the Jeep a grand vehicle for those roads. We left it at the last farm and set out for the climb. Ruth had done it in the autumn with Beryl's husband. It seemed such hard lines that Beryl and Paul could never get out together. Ruth missed the first pitch, but started leading up the second. The holds were almost of the Brassington pocket variety, and the first part gave far more a feeling of exposure than I had imagined. The pitch below the chimney Ruth went round, but brought me straight up. I was quite glad of the jug afforded by the tree. We unroped for the chimney – not the least what I expected, it was a great rift going right through the mountain. We were soon up, eating Ruth's sandwiches on top, and then made our way to the Pinnacle hut, where Evelyn, Joan and Annette soon presented us with mugs of tea. Ruth offered to run me part way back, but I said I'd have time to walk, but by the time I got to the Pen-y-Gwryd, I realised that I'd have to go at 5 m.p.h. to get back to the Bryn Tyrch at 4 o'clock as I had planned. Very soon, a little green sports car came along. It was a two-seater and I assumed it would be full, so I didn't bother to thumb it, although I looked rather hard. Fortunately, he stopped (he said he couldn't understand why I didn't ask for a lift) an I got to Capel at 60 m.p.h. instead of my calculated 5. Dr. Corbet met me at the Bryn Tyrch; she was so glad I had come back early, for her car wouldn't start, and she said Marjorie was trying to get a taxi to catch the 4.25 from Llanrwst. We cancelled our tea, and then ordered it again, when Marjorie said she couldn't get a taxi until 4.45 and that it would have to take us all the way to the Junction.
We got off eventually and had a pleasant drive to the station, in time for another cup of tea before the train. At Chester I left Marjorie and the L.S.C.C. representative and caught my usual to Crewe (more tea) and then the 11.25 from Derby to Nottingham.
I arrived at Station Street at 6.15 exactly, but we had to wait half an hour while Arthur drove home to find Eddie's boot, and then drove back when he learned that Ed had it! At Derby, Joy and John joined me on the back seat, and we proceeded, picking up at Burton and Lichfield. Mr. Walker kept to his speed limit far too well.
We stopped at a pub; Joy and I weren't thirsty, but Scotty and I renewed acquaintances there.
We stopped again at Llangollen for the ever welcome tea, and then went on to Idwal, where some people were dropped, and then to the Pen-y-Gwryd, where Joy and I were dropped at about 3 a.m. and proceeded to walk down to the Pinnacle Club hut. There is one thing, there is no mistaking the power station of a night. I was a little put out when I found the door locked, and no sign of life, but Joy went round the back and heard voices and tapped on the window, which fetched a man and the key. We let ourselves in, found the master switch upstairs, put on the lights and made ourselves tea. I said I didn't feel a bit like sleep, but I saw Joy prick up her ears, so I quickly explained that I didn't feel like a moonlight walk. We looked at some of the books, and eventually went to bed at abut 4.30, well wrapped up in the red blankets.
We got up at about 7.15 a.m., made tea, porridge, fried bacon and tomatoes, then fetched milk from the farm, and about 9.15 set out for the Pen-y-Pass. It took longer than we expected, I hurried on, for I wanted to get there by 10 o'clock. I was so glad I had a camera with me, I thought the day showed great promise. I remember one beautiful moment when the sun shone on Lliwedd. I looked in the window at the Pen-y-Pass and realised that everyone was still at breakfast, so I went along to the campers. Bob and Joan, unknown to each other, were camping in neighbouring fields near the hotel and Margaret, Joyce and Norman of the Innominate were further along the track (we had seen their tents as we made our way up from Cwm Dyli).
We set out at about 11 o'clock, along the Pen-y-Gwryd track. At first a strange bod made the steps, but eventually it fell to me and I kept very warm until we got to the col. Here there was a council of war. Bob wanted to do Trinity Gully, and he and Don Wilman, Grace and Ray Burrell, and Phil Falkoner and George Sutton set out for that. I asked John Drury what he wanted to do and he said Crib Goch, so he and I set out for that, also Joy and Joan. I had no hesitation in taking three beginners, as Arthur had said that he was coming that way when the tail of his party caught up.
We soon forgot about climbing, and got out our cameras, when the sun shone on Llyn Llydaw. We continued on up in the steps made by two strange people, but fairly soon they traversed to the right and started to rope up, so I traversed to the left.
Half way along this part, four strange people overtook us, one of them, on hearing that I was from Nottingham asked me if I knew Ken Brindley and Pete Parkinson. I was to tell the latter I had seen the man in the red hat! Very soon we stopped while those ahead got up the little chimney. My party preferred to rope for it, all on one rope, but after the one pitch, John and Joan unroped, but Joy preferred to keep it on. Next it was very easy, merely plodding up snow slopes, and then we had a stretch of ridge until we got to the top. The other party of course were well ahead, but their steps were visible in the snow, and I thought that, if any work were necessary, it would have been done, so we set off along the top. Joy and I still being roped together. I suppose really I should have got someone else to tie on the other end of Joy, but I thought it quicker just to move as a two. John and Joan followed on behind quite happily. For the first few yards, the way was to the left of the ridge and I rather felt the absence of belays, but after that we kept to the crest and I felt that I could safeguard the rope adequately. John kept asking how much further it was, I could only say that it was not very much further, just along to the pinnacles, but of course, we couldn't see the pinnacles through the mist. I've never known it to be so far to the pinnacles; we were so slow, it wasn't as though it were icy, it was just masses of powder snow and frost on everything. We traversed round the pinnacles and then, at the end of the ridge at 2 o'clock stopped for something to eat. I wondered whether, by waiting a few minutes the sun might come out, but my hopes weren't realised.
Everything was at least 6 inches deep in the most wonderful frost crystals. I've never seen a photograph showing such wonderful conditions, but, of course, the sun was necessary for a photograph. As Joy had pointed out, it would have been possible to descend the gully we had traversed round at the pinnacles, but I suggested that we went on, firstly because I didn't know what the gully would be like lower down, and secondly because I thought there'd be time to get round to the Pen-y-Gwryd track, where I hoped there'd be tracks and, if it proved difficult, I determined to go down to Llanberis if necessary. I didn't expect that we'd be so slow over Crib-y-Ddysgyl. I had unroped and coiled up the rope, only to find that Joy had not intention of untying. I carried the coil of rope leading to Joy, reminding myself of André's habit, of which I disapproved!
The trig. point on Crib-y-Ddysgyl was quite unrecognisable; it was made about three times its normal width, with the crystals piling up to leeward. Soon after this, we were at the top of the Pen-y-Gwryd track, which was well marked. We all roped up for this (I had a lot of respect for the place). Joy stayed on the end, followed by Joan and then John came next to last to belay me if necessary, but it wasn't necessary, you simply couldn't go wrong. I preferred to go down to the side of the others. It reminded me a little of the snow slope down from the Plan when I think even Frank enjoyed his standing glissades.
I soon had the others trying to glissade, and I showed them how steps should be kicked (shows how easy it was, that I should be able to kick steps properly!), but I was soon to learn that that lesson hadn't sunk in.
Next we came to the little traverse, but I had forgotten about that. Some marks went straight down, but we continued traversing, until the tracks started to go up. At this stage I made my mistake by suggesting that we went straight down. I was afraid that the traversing tracks continued to the col on the Pen-y-Gwryd track where we had left the others in the morning, and I considered that our best way was to get down to the Miners Track. I started down, realised that there was crust which I could break through and make good steps; but I suddenly thought, suppose one of the others slipped, so I went up and we roped again. At first, Joy was on the end, but soon John changed places with her, so that he could kick the steps.
How I should have loved to have been on both ends of the rope, but I felt that I'd better stick to being last man down and I had to watch John slowly kicking the steps, while the light was going rapidly.
When I found that Joan and Joy were also kicking steps instead of using those already there, I knew it was time to get out my torch. It was incredible, it was the first time for donkey's years that I have taken one out for the day, like that, but how glad I was of it. John had a powerful one, which he tied onto his wrist, and we got on much quicker with the lights.
It wasn't difficult snow in the least; the axe would have gripped anywhere. I would have quite happily walked down unroped, and I always thought I was the world's greatest duffer on snow. At one point I was belaying Joan over a steeper bit, and I realised that she had her pick in, in the best glissading manner, so I got her to go down like that, and Joy to follow, but I realised that we'd be no quicker if they went down all the way like that, but I was glad they had both practiced the brake.
Llyn Glaslyn had been an incredible sight, when it first came into view, dead black, and I forget whether that was at a time when the snow was blue (it was only the tops which were in mist). Then we started making down towards it, yet it got no nearer, and the hours went by, until suddenly we realised that we were there, and had only to walk along the Miners Track home. Joan had to feel the water, I think she was in two minds whether to have a swim or not, and we kept a cheerful party for the rest of the way back. John had had a cold before he came and had practically lost his voice.
When I heard him croaking on the last part, I somehow felt that I had caused it by making him do the kicking.
We reached the Pen-y-Pass at about 8.45, and I apologised for any anxiety I had caused. Of course, I got a binding at from Arthur, but Ernest had pleased me no end. He said that they had no anxiety as to our safety, for they knew that I was in the party; they thought we had got down into the wrong valley.
All day Joy and I had been cursing because we hadn't ordered our dinner; I was absolutely amazed when we got in to find that we could have a meal. John had disappeared quite early and then, when the soup appeared, Joy also disappeared, and I had eaten my soup and also lamb with mint sauce, before Joy and John came down. Joy certainly looking very splendid in her skirt and best skiing jacket, but her dinner must have been quite cold. Christmas pudding and tea followed. I was only too sorry that I couldn't tackle the cheese and biscuits, but I wasn't as hungry as I should have expected.
Next I had a very pleasant hour or so in the lounge with the others, not to mention the glass of sherry, which was Joy's idea. I discussed the subject of Milner's lecture with Grace, and was glad to find that the club fully approved. Lastly, while waiting for Joy to change back again, I had a very long talk on skiing with Ray Beurle, who Grace had brought along. George Sutton had come up from Ynis Etws for the evening and Bob had come across from this tent; he had been most disappointed with Trinity Gully, as the snow had been too soft to give any fun. Eventually Joy and I set out down to Cwm Dyli, arriving at about midnight. I had crossed the stream, but Joy thought she'd go round by the bridge. I got to the hut first, I unlocked the door, took out the key and put it on the table and thought to myself "wouldn't it be easy to lock yourself out of the hut". I put on the light, filled the electric kettle to the brim, and put it on. Next I went outside, wondering where Joy was, and the door slammed to on me!
Joy and I went all round it, but could see no way in, so I went down to the power station, to see if there was another key, but no such luck. There was a light in a cottage, but they could give me no help. I went back and Joy and I went round the back to try to get in the window over the sink, but it was too small, so we went round the front and discussed which would be best, to break the door or a window (the windows didn't look to us as though they'd open).
Oh, we independent women who run our hut without any help from men – how relieved I was when I saw a torch coming our way from the power station and realised that a man would help us get in! He told us that the left hand upstairs window at any rate would open, and a sheet of metal replaced one of the panes of glass. We went back to get a ladder; the man looked in two or three places before he found it eventually inside the power station. Back at the hut he took out all the nails holding in the piece of metal, and then found that the window simply pushed in and that he needn't have bothered. I eventually got in the window and rushed down to turn off the kettle, the water was only half way down the element. And so, despite having only 2 hours sleep the night before, it was 1.30 before we got to bed.
Again, we got up at 7.15, but we seemed to get through breakfast more quickly and we had packed and were able to leave by 9 o'clock. We had left our ropes etc. at Pen-y-Pass the night before, so we didn't have too much to carry up. Again we arrived at 10 o'clock, only to find the others still at breakfast, but this time Bob also was nowhere near ready, otherwise, if I'd had a party ready, I should have gone off straight away. I left my large rucksack in the bus and took my nylon rope in my small one and, at 11 o'clock, Joan, Bob and I set off up by Llyn Bochlwyd.
Bob made all the steps and hard work it must have been too. I didn't offer to help for I could hardly keep up as it was; soon we realised that we were being followed. There was Arthur with all the rest of the party, carefully following up in Bob's footprints!
We found some icicles and stopped to suck them, Bob suggesting that Arthur could take his turn of step kicking, but Arthur had no such idea, and eventually I took a short turn at kicking up. Eventually we got to the steeper part and, at last, we were among those unmistakable blocks which mark the summit of Glyder Fach. We stopped for a bite to eat. I put on my woolly and we studied the map and compass. We decided that, if we went due northeast for a good 10 minutes, we'd hit Bristly Ridge, which Bob wanted to descend. I must say that I wasn't whole-heartedly with him, having been so late the day before, I didn't want to chance being late for the bus. Before I expected to reach Bristly Ridge, we came to some rocks which corresponded to it, and also to its position on the map, but it looked so formidable that I said we must be above the main cliff at Glyder Fach and we'd better continue round to find Bristly Ridge. Soon we came to a line of cairns which Bob eagerly followed down, thinking they led to Bristly Ridge; I said nothing, until we got to the lowest point, when I said that we had better go down the Miners Track. Bob agreed because the top looked interesting – but it was only for about 10 feet. The wind was hitting the edge, making the visibility nil, and the snow was frozen. Next we had a long traverse on snow, which, I think, Joan found more interesting than Bob or I. We traversed round until we came to the cairn. Bob was in front and he thought this was the col to Tryfan, and he started to drop. We continued to traverse but, when we came to the final rise before the real Bwlch Tryfan, we decided to drop instead, and we came down Cwm Tryfan. We had to stop several times on this part, for when we got below the mist we could see the sun shining on Pen-yr-Helgi-Ddu, or one of those hills, looking incredibly white and ski-able. We reached the road just before Glan Dena, and thought there'd just be time for a pot of tea at Ogwen Cottage. Bob even ran along the last part to order it. I met Ray Colledge on the road and was able to congratulate him on being chosen for Everest. Joan and I reached the cottage at about 3.50, to be told that we were to have afternoon tea or nothing. Thinking there was only 10 minutes before the bus was due we decided on nothing and then we had to kick our heels for 70 minutes. It got so cold waiting too.
We ate all our food and I was complaining of being hungry when Scotty's friend gave me a bar of chocolate, which made me feel a little silly. At just about 5 o'clock the bus drew up, apparently the meal at the Pen-y-Pass had been very late.
After talking for over an hour about tea, what a delightful surprise it was to be handed a flask of tea by John; I've never appreciated tea more. I soon had my wet socks off and was prepared to enjoy the ride. This time I got my way, we went through Shrewsbury and stopped there, so that there was the choice of a milk bar and pub. The trouble was that Jo Della Porta wanted to go to his particular pub, and took us through the narrowest of one way streets, much to the horror of the driver, and then we spent as long there as we normally spend on two halts.
There was no tea, so I had coffee while I was waiting for soup. The tomato soup was the best idea.
It was a good job everyone didn't stick to the milk bar, for Scotty and co. entertained us with songs for several hours. Apparently they weren't used to singing in mixed company, for certainly their repertoire was a little limited, but it was very pleasant.
I was one of the last to leave the bus, at Huntingdon Street. Geraldine, Jo and I walked along Shakespeare Street at about 12.30 a.m., Geraldine talking ten to the dozen; I don't know how she does it.
I wasn't ready in time to catch the 7.10, so it had to be the 9.06 to Tamworth. It had been raining all day and I wasn't looking forward to the weekend in the least; I was quite surprised that it wasn't pouring as I went to the station, and was astonished when it turned out to be a lovely night. At the tea hut, "Bill" looked after me; three more cups of tea were presented to me by various locals (all sweetened!) and Bill showed me photographs of the animals he made from match sticks – one spaniel had nearly 40,000 in it.
I made my way to the platform at about 11.45 and found the train already in; that was typical of all train timing that weekend. At Crewe I walked around looking at time tables and then settled down in the ladies' waiting room, where John found me. The next train wasn't very crowded (only three a side) and I dozed quite a lot and we got out at Ulverston punctually at 5 a.m. and settled down in the ladies first class waiting room (it was the most comfortable). After 1½ hours we had to move again, I was so interested to make my way in daylight to the Palladium, I had gone that way so often in the dark. We caught the 7 o'clock bus to Coniston, and for once I didn't sleep, I was too interested in the scenery. Firstly the way made me think of the motorbike journey to Wasdale last Whitsun, and then it was so lovely by the lake, with the sun breaking through. I had wondered whereabouts at Coniston "Gatesgarth" would prove to be, actually it was on the Ulverston side of the village; there was no mistaking it, or rather the 'Polaris' tents in the Orchard. Arthur and Ed, Bob and Alf were asleep. I put up my tent and then, to my amazement, John cooked the breakfast, or rather the difficult part of it. He had never camped before, but immediately proved himself a first class cook.
At Gateside I met Helen and Evelyn, also the Polaris party in the house, Grace, Nesta and Jack. Ernest arrived about 9.30 by bus from Windermere.
At about 10.30, we set off for the rocks, having lunch in the cave at about 12. The weather wasn't too bad, although the tops were in mist, so I took up my rubbers to the climb, and how they got in the way! Bob felt like a 'vd' and someone said Jones' so I immediately jumped at the idea, as it was a new climb to me. We started up Easter Gully, roping before the little pitch, Bob leading and John coming last. On the climb proper we put John, the beginner, in the middle, which left me a long way down to give advice on a climb which was quite new to me! I was afraid Bob was going up too high before traversing to the right, but in reality he hadn't gone far enough (John got out his range finder to check distances). I didn't find the slanting crack so difficult (the others found that you had to start with [apparently] the wrong foot), but the next crack I found quite strenuous on the wrists. Next came the crossing of Hopkinson's crack and Bob got to the foot of the scoop and decided that he wanted the moral support of a second. John suggested that I went next as, he said he didn't think that he could do that last pitch. Personally I rather lost interest in this last pitch with the thought that, even if we got up it, we'd have to come down again to take John down the climb, and afterwards John admitted that had we got up, he'd have had a try.
I offered to take the rope round the easy way for Bob to have another look at the scoop, but Bob said it'd be quite pointless to do it like that, so we retreated back to the bandstand, where John resumed his place in the middle of the rope. The descent proved considerably easier than the ascent, John having a fixed rope for the cracks. Near the bottom I ascended the scoop by South Chimney (the others took a dim view of the waterfall to be crossed at the bottom of this) and then we descended Easy Terrace to the cave and our rucksacks. John was very keen to ascend the 'Old Man'. I was sorry that we couldn't take our rucksacks up a climb to the top of Dow Crags, and complete the round, but there was no time for that, so we traversed along to the Col and then made our way up 'Old Man'. How glad we were that we did so and also how glad we were that we had been no earlier, for we had the best of the weather (apart from the early morning); we actually stood in the sunshine, when all the valleys appeared in gloom. It was a glorious evening but, had we been on Dow Crags, we'd have seen a broken spectre. There was still some mist around the top of the crags, and from where we were even we could see the shadow cast by the top of the crags onto that mist.
To the east of 'Old Man', there was a layer of snow, the remains (I suppose) of the cornice, and in places it stretched down a considerable distance. We followed down the track, sometimes taking a short cut, and then, some way down, I made a silly decision. I decided that the track was leading to copper mines, so we took a lesser path to the right. Our path soon petered out, but we kept on down; it was a shorter way as the crow flies, but there were occasional little craggy bits, and it wasn't shorter as far as time was concerned. We just regained the track before the light went and we reached "Gateside" at 7 o'clock, where we were pleased to learn that dinner wasn't until 7.30.
Nancy and John Carpenter also came in for dinner, besides all the campers, and we enjoyed our chicken; then, over coffee the argument started. The Marriotts wished to camp in Glen Nevis and spend Easter on the Mamores. The meet leader (Ernest) and the President were in favour of being within reach of the Ben, but the latter side seemed losing, so I walked out and entered the bar of the Black Bull (the first time I had been in that door), where I found Don Cowen and Chapman and Alf and two ex Valkyries from Manchester, and we talked until closing time, when we all returned to "Gateside", for Don wanted to beg a lift for his two friends. I was most relieved to learn that the argument had finally been settled in my favour. Eddie decided to join the South Wales meet and everyone else was agreed on Ben Nevis.
The night before, people had stared at me when I had announced that the advantage of camping was that one could start earlier than is normally possible from a house. I also explained to Bob that, if John and I were to catch the 3.15 bus, we'd have to get up in good time if we were to get in a climb.
I woke up at 7 o'clock, and started my primus, I had no need to wake the others, I soon heard activity in Bob's tent. I made the tea (stewed, according to Bob) and the porridge, and then I think I cooked the tomatoes while John was cooking the bacon and egg, with the expert's touch. I was utterly amazed. I had my tent down and rucksack packed and was ready by 8.30 (instead of 9, as I had planned). Bob was also ready, but John was still cooking, but Bob suggested that he and I started up. I agreed, thinking that John walked faster than me, and would catch us up.
As always on the second morning, the way to the cave seemed only half as long, we had a snack to eat, but were too early for lunch (the first time that has ever happened to me), there was no sign of John, so I suggested that we should start up a short 'vd', namely Lazarus. Conditions were hard at first, the wet mist really turned to rain for a time, but then gradually improved. Bob tended to keep a little too far to the right, and didn't find it quite a walk, and then I tied on beneath the final pitch, which Bob eventually led, although he was obviously impressed with it. Then it was my turn; I tried it and retreated, my hands were cold and I thought all would be simple once I had warmed them. Never have I been more mistaken. I made them really warm, and then found finger holds and was about to step up when I realised that my wrists were stiffening and my hands wouldn't hang on much longer, so I thought discretion the better course and retreated while I was still able to do so, and went up 'C' ordinary to Bob, my wrists still feeling cramped. I hadn't quite got the best handhold. I don't know whether that would have made things easier, if it had been bigger and I could have got more of my hand on it, but really I considered my finger holds adequate. Last time, in rubbers, I hadn't been the least bit impressed with the pitch. We descended 'C' to the cave where we had lunch and were surprised that John hadn't arrived. Soon the two Ulverston lads we had seen on Saturday arrival and the two Dons and their two friends. The Dons wanted to try Great Central route and wouldn't believe me that conditions weren't suitable. Bob and I went off after Woodhouses (I thought there'd just be time for it). Bob didn't like the direct start, so I led it (I was a little worried about the time). Then Bob took over, for some unknown reason he didn't like the first open chimney and he positively hated the real chimney (possibly the last climb had taken rather a lot out of him, and, to save time, I led the last pitch (I was climbing very badly). There was no time for the optional pitch, we hurried up to descend Easy Terrace and got back to the cave about 2.15 where we found John waiting. He had missed the way in the mist and had ascended 'Old Man' again by mistake. I started to go down at my fastest 'easy' rate, the others soon caught me up and when I showed anxiety about the time, John started to jog trot down. Actually he reached the village by 3 o'clock, and I had plenty of time to wait for the bus, the sun was shining by this time, and it was a beautiful afternoon.
Nancy and John caught the same bus to Torver. At Ulveston John and I again made our way to the ladies waiting room 1st class, but this time it was food not sleep we had to catch up on. We started with chicken noodle soup, and then had mixed grill of bacon, egg (scrambled), tomatoes, fried potatoes and finished with the fruit trifle which John had made that morning. It was delicious, the custard made from egg, cornflower and tinned milk.
The women who began to collect didn't resent John's presence at all, they appreciated the smell and envied us our meal. The train took us to Carnforth where I was rather shattered to find that there was only 3 minutes for the connection, but we caught it O.K. and eventually arrived at Leeds at about 9.30. We made our way, first to the refreshment room, and then by the barrier we ran into Joy. We rather expected to see her, but she was quite astonished to see us. We were able to get a carriage to ourselves and Joy was suitably pleased and surprised when the rest of the trifle was offered to her and we soon had the blinds down and the light out (Joy breaking the bulb) and were pretending to sleep. I changed at Derby and was in Nottingham at about 1.50.
I finished my packing and got to the Midland Station in plenty of time to catch the 3 o'clock and left my pack and skis in the guard's van and wrote home and then read in the carriage. We reached St. Pancras almost before time, so I had a cup of tea in the refreshment room. As I caught sight of my face in the mirror I thought that people would think that I had come back from my holiday (the last train had been so hot). As I saw Joy coming off her train, I thought she looked just as bad. Joy trusted me to find the underground to Liverpool Street – I just dived down the usual escalator and then found that I had to change that way, nevertheless we reached Liverpool Street in plenty of time. I asked several officials whether it was compulsory to register skis; they were undecided, but the majority were in favour, so we duly did so, sending them to Basle for 3/-. It took me some time to find our seats on the train. I was looking for a 3rd class compartment, I had forgotten that there was no such thing on this line.
Our rucksacks occupied our seats and we sat in the dining car. I had a little running to and fro with a mislaid purse and a ticket eventually recovered from the floor, but nothing serious.
At Harwich (Parkstone quay), we got ourselves and our skis through the customs and boarded "Arnhem" – found our cabin – as Joy said, the best 1/- worth she knew – the hot and cold water, hot or cold air, which could be turned off if desired, the clean sheets on the bunks – and Joy was quite content to have the lower one! The snag was continental time, we had to put our watches back, and I felt we lost an hour of bliss.
We explored the deck, had tea below and then went up again, hoping to see the lights of old England fade, but we gave up the attempt. The boat seemed to go round in circles, I lost all sense of direction, and there still seemed to be lights, all around us, it was interesting to see how we missed a buoy at one point – we could hardly help but see it – it had a red light and a bell. We literally ran round the deck, it was so cold, and to windward, the wind was so fierce, we could hardly make any progress against it, unless we ran. One of the nicest things about the boat was the fact that we seemed the only skiers aboard. Certainly no-one else was dressed for the part and there were no organised parties whatsoever.
Soon we went below and I took a great delight in undressing and going to bed (the first sleeper I have ever had on a journey).
Joy had locked the door, so I had to get up to let our tea in. We dressed leisurely and then people seemed to say that we should have to hurry to catch our train. At the Hook of Holland there are very nice, brand new customs houses; we joined a queue, but we were soon called out of it, as passengers for our train had priority. First the customs and then the military examined our passports, both being as pleasant as possible, and then we boarded the train. We found our reserved seats, but didn't claim them. They weren't corner seats and there were a couple of young children also in the carriage. We found two other seats in another carriage, both by the window with a little table between. We settled down here and I got out the blouses I hadn't quite finished making, and Joy and I did the buttonholes between us. We were quite near the dining car and soon after 7 o'clock we went along for breakfast. I was hungry, but I think Joy thought it a little early to eat.
Despite my good night's sleep, I was a little drowsy all day and felt that I didn't really appreciate the sights. I was very interested in Holland, even I couldn't fail to notice one windmill near Rotterdam. That town fascinated me, block after block of new flats, the Dutch seemed to apologise for their ugliness, but I admired their enterprise in getting the place rebuilt – and they didn't waste their land building houses, they had these flats instead. Further inland the flatness of the ground rather got me down, but it was so different from anything I had seen before, no hedges or fences, no waste land, no large houses, just an occasional old, little farm.
At Venlo we had more officials round, the Dutch civilian and military, and then the German. The Dutch collected the forms we had filled in on the boat, and the Germans entered our various monies in our passports.
The next town was Cologne; it is just beginning to sprout. Joy noticed a difference even since last September, but on the whole there is hardly an intact building. They were just starting to know out the broken glass from the station roof. The cathedral shell looked quite impressive. Next followed various towns, Bonn, Coblenz and Mainz, a visit to the restaurant car for lunch, and the Rhine Gorge. I don't know when I have found scenery more disappointing that I did the latter, the vineyards were bare and they reminded me a little of slag heaps, certainly there were strange castles on islands and on tops of hills, but somehow it was all too near civilisation, with a railway on both sides of the river.
The boats rather intrigued me as I had read about them in my German classes.
The last part of the journey I found the most monotonous, the plain was as flat as Holland, but without the interest. How pleased I was when we had more hills Freiburg way, and then we reached German Basle, with the German and Swiss officials, and eventually we alighted at Swiss Basle. Our first call was at the Bureau de Change; I presented my cheques (last year's), but neither man would look at them because they weren't made out for Switzerland, only France and Italy. Joy cashed all her £25 worth, getting 82 Austrian schillings to the pound.
Everyone seemed to realise that I was in trouble and sympathised, even a little Italian who had been in our compartment (some other English people warned me never to have any dealings with such a person). We walked all round the station trying to think of some way out; we went to enquiries, but they confirmed that I should have to wait until Monday morning, take a train into France and cash them there, so next I tried to find a Cook's man, but he wasn't about. It was amazing the number of people who sensed that I was in some sort of trouble and offered advice! I had vague ideas of going into Italy from Obergurgl, so I eventually went back to the Bureau de Change, to cash one of my this year's cheques.
The man recognised me and looked at the cheque in utter amazement and admiration, for it had written on it "France, Switzerland and Austria". He thought I had written it in and I indignantly denied that I should do such a thing, and then I thought to ask him if he'd cash it if I did write it in and he admitted that he'd do so, if he didn't see me do it. I quickly passed £15 worth of cheques to Joy, who wrote in the necessary word, very well indeed and the man gave me £20 worth of Austrian schillings and £5 of Swiss francs, assuring me that, if asked, he would know nothing about the phoney business.
I was quite happy, I had the money and I didn't care what happened when I got back.
We couldn't make up our minds what train to catch to Austria; there were two, 10 o'clock at night and 10 o'clock in the morning (the earlier morning one hadn't third class on it). Joy seemed to think that I was really too old for a Swiss Y.H. so we decided to catch the evening train (the snag with that train was arriving at Ötztal at 4.30 a.m. when the first but didn't leave until 1 p.m.).
We had coffee in the buffet, Joy took me a walk round the town, we eventually managed to find the right place for claiming registered luggage, where we found our skis, and we caught the train with 10 minutes to spare.
We were in the very last carriage. There were only two other people, so we pulled down the blinds and Joy got on the rack and I had a whole side to myself. Soon the other two people got out and three others got in, but they were quite happy on the seat opposite me and entered into the spirit of the thing. If anyone else looked in they played at being English and not understanding!
Officials came round in the middle of the night, but they were quite well behaved; I started to wake up at St. Anton and realised that the train was ½ hour late and then we stopped at Landech, and then, punctually at 4.22 we drew up at a station whose name we couldn't see. Lots of people started to get out and they assured Joy it was Ötztal so we got out and I started to walk up to an official and to station lights, where I found that we were only at Imst. There wasn't time for Joy to get back on. I wasn't worried, I thought we had 7½ hours to wait for the bus, and one waiting room would be as good as another, but Austrian railways aren't as resourceless as English; together with the party we were put in a goods train and in 10 minutes were on our way to Ötzal. The goods truck was cold, so we went next door to the officials carriage, which rather horrified us; the stove in this wooden carriage was absolutely red hot, and quite unprotected.
When we got out at Ötztal and official started putting our luggage on a truck; I thought that quite unnecessary, for the short distance to the waiting room but then I found it was being taken outside the station to a waiting bus which was going to Zwieselstein, from where the other people were going by jeep to Vent. We could hardly believe our good luck. The bus was cold, certainly, but it all seemed so incredible to be driving through the night, watching the moon set, the same moon as we had seen rise over Harwich over 30 hours previously, and then the cold morning twilight, until the sun lit up the first snow peak.
We were amazed at the number of people about, until we remembered that it was Sunday, and the catholics would be going to mass. The journey took under 2 hours. We didn't realise how lucky we were not to be picking people up all the way along, but we were very glad to get out at Zwieselstein and go into a warm room and order breakfast.
We were rather afraid that the Vent people would have commandeered the only jeep, but we soon learned that jeeps were two a penny in this part of the world, also that they have little trucks behind for the luggage (a point which had worried me). We enquired about the time of a jeep to Obergurgl and were told about 8.30, then someone else said 9 o'clock, so I settled down for a long wait, thinking that by 10 o'clock we might be going. Imagine my surprise and delight when at 8.15 we found that the jeep was loaded up and waiting for us.
I had tried to pay for the bus with two 20 schilling notes left from last year, but was told they were not good, and I felt everyone looked at me a little suspiciously after that.
On the whole I found the ride a little disappointing in that it wasn't quite so hair-raising as the one to Galtur the year before, and very soon we were at Obergurgl.
The jeep stopped and asked us where we were staying, we said (hopefully) the Jenewein, so it went on a few yards to take us right to the door. A boy started to take our luggage in; we tried to explain that we didn't know that they'd have room for us, but he didn't understand. Anna was fetched and said that she spoke a little English and said that she could let us have a very nice room and we began to wonder when we should wake up and find that none of it was true.
There was a wardrobe, but no drawer space, which rather curtailed our unpacking, but the room had a radiator and running hot and cold water which were the chief essentials. Besides having double doors onto the balcony, there were double doors between the corridor and the bedroom, which I considered quite unnecessary – I tried leaving the inner door open, but it would always be closed when I came back, until I got used to it I found it most disconcerting to open the door and be faced with a white barricade.
And so, by 9 o'clock Sunday morning, we were ready to think about skiing; we had gained a whole day! I started to unpack my skis, but the little boy soon took over the job – he was most obliging, so different from Carl to whom Joy had taken a dislike, when she had first seen him in Zweiselstein. Carl moved up the screws in Joy's skis for nothing, but when it came to morning, he demanded 3 sch. for his help. I had taken down my Swiss wax, but Carl pretended that he hadn't got an iron for putting it on. Eventually we were out on the snow; I chose the field to the south of the Jenewein, which I considered suitable for stem christies and I came down it once or twice and then tended to play with Joy at the bottom, partly because some other people were on the top part, and I didn't know whether they were to do with the ski school (which had no classes on Sunday). The ski lift I found was a chair lift, somehow I hadn't the courage to go up in it, but I noticed that the hill it went up was practically bare of snow, so I decided to walk and carry my skis a little way up. I ended by walking nearly to the top of the lift, each time I got to the top of a knoll, I'd think – I'll just go on to the next one. I didn't do the run down very well, one turn and I'd stop and look about me, and eventually I rejoined Joy, and we went in to prepare for lunch.
I thoroughly enjoyed the meal (I was hungry, too). After the soup we had a three-compartment plate with Vienna Schnitzel and trimmings and also pears and apricots. Remembering what John had said about the food, we ate our fruit with the main dish and enjoyed it too. A torte was to follow, and I surprised myself by enjoying that, it seemed less filling that those at St. Anton the year before.
In the afternoon we tried to find another slope on which to practice, we ascended the steep little slope to the east of the Jenewein, past the chapel with the A.T. Hargreaves grave, and then went down to the northeast. I didn't enjoy this run down, but at the bottom we had (I thought) a lovely gentle slope on which Joy could practice, but Joy had other ideas, the only thing she was interested in was fast schushes; she didn't take kindly to stemming at all. Perhaps she did me good though, after her example I found myself schushing from higher and higher up the slope, or perhaps it was that the snow got slower as the day wore on. Joy amused me the next day after her class, when she told me that her instructor had chosen a much more gentle part on which to get them to stem. It hadn't been my idea that she should practice on the steepest part.
Some people with a dog got in Joy's way at one point causing her to fall, but it was another fall which amused me most. True to her Derbyshire form, she never fell backwards, only forwards, getting herself horribly tangled. I was walking up at one time when she fell, one moment she was doing a lovely traverse, and the next she was quite still, face downwards on the snow, then her rear portion tried to heave itself up, only to sink back again to its original, lifeless position. Then she tried to get her head up, but that also sank down, as though she were trying to bite the snow. This was repeated for several minutes and eventually her boot had to be released from its binding, before she could untangle herself.
Joy kept me out until about 6 o'clock. Remembering the short hours of the ski school I felt that I had had quite a good first day. Joy pointed a little anxiously to the clouds gathering in the north, but I said I didn't think they'd be serious, yet thinking at the same time how thankful we should be for this day, stolen from our journey, should the weather break for the rest of the holiday.
We had tried to take a photo or two on our balcony (faced south and got the full benefit of the sun, but otherwise we hadn't bothered with our cameras.
We were sorry to leave our sunny slope and return to the village, already in shade. We went down for dinner at about 7 o'clock, but it wasn't served for another ½ hour. We located one or two other English people; there were the men who tried to sell a nylon rope to old Jenewein (Lawries had advised it) and there was the girl who turned out to be Elizabeth Lower in Joy's class, there with her husband.
I insisted on going straight to bed after dinner; nine hours skiing after 42 hours travelling I thought called for bed at 8.30 and we almost slept the clock round.
We had breakfast rather late, and alterations to Joy's skis took us until nearly 10 o'clock, when we went out to join the ski school. We had got our tickets from Jenewein and he had told Joy that she was a beginner, and told me that I wasn't, so I hoped he'd be another 'Blue eyes' from St. Anton and be able to put us in the right classes, but once out on the field I found it wasn't so. Josl Gstrein the ski school, and he soon had Joy over the other side of the road with class 1, but then he wanted to put me there as well, but I refused to go, saying that I wasn't a beginner. He told me that there were various class 1's, that they weren't all beginners, but still I wasn't interested. He asked me how I skied and all I could say was that I did it very badly but I wasn't a beginner. Then he pointed to the slope to the east and asked me if I could come down that with turning. When I said yes, he said with swinging too, and again I said yes, and so in disgust he told me to join a class 2. The instructor had a red check shirt and grey woolly, unlike the others who were all in green jackets over grey pants. He turned out to be Hans Louis. There was one English girl in the class, obviously in her second week, and one boy who I took to be English; he had on a khaki jacket and shirt, and for this reason I took a dislike to him. Hans Louis took us past the church, down the slope, and then up the first slope, got us lined up and gave us a long talking to in German, and at the end I asked if anyone could translate and the boy in khaki did so; he turned out to be Dutch and called Toni, it was his third day on skis and I began to like him very much.
We started by doing stem turns and I can never do a pure stem, so I wasn't very happy, but we soon got on to uphill christies and then to a stem and a christy to one side and finally to stem christies, so I realised that an Obergurgl class 2 is a little more advanced than a Swiss class 2; we started late, and finished early, but I soon found that that was the usual thing at this ski school.
In the afternoon we were told to meet at the ski lift at 2.30 with skins on our skis and I went back to find Joy. They had divided the beginners into those who spoke English and those who didn't and Joy was a little annoyed at being put into a class with all English people, but apparently her instructor's English was very good, having been learned in an English prisoner of war camp in France, where he had a wonderful time! Apart from Elizabeth, I think all the others were Inghams people from the Curaton, where Barbara in my class also came from, although she was sleeping out, in the Schumacher's living room!
There was another place laid for us at lunch time, the solitary Englishman with the nylon rope was moved over to us. He seemed a little embarrassed over the whole affair and asked the management to be sure to explain to the German he had been sitting with that it was their idea, and not his. Apparently he was sharing a room with a German, and neither could speak a word of the other's language; Mr. Williams took rather a dim view of the whole thing.
I was rather thrilled to be using skins on my first afternoon. I little knew how well I should begin to know that way up. I was the first of the class up on the lift, and I had forgotten to ask what happened at the end, but as it turned out, there was a man to hold the seat away while you stepped off to the right. Apart from this worry, my only recollection of this first ride was that it was quite a strain on the feet, having the skins attached, but I soon forgot about that on subsequent trips.
My impression of ski school is the perpetual waiting for other people, and after waiting an age for everyone to collect (of course, if I will go up first), we set off with a little run down the hill (how I hate going down with skins on) and then we went up to the little bridge. It was difficult at first not to get in front of Hans Louis, but we waited for him at the bridge and then kept behind like an orderly class. Hans took a high line up to the telegraph hut (the last instructor I was to follow who did so) and all too soon we were taking off skins. Two people went on up to a nearby hut. I was most envious, not realising at that time that the real run is no longer from the hut. Eventually, when everyone was ready and all the skins were in Hans rucksack, we set off down, traversing the first bit. How annoyed I was when I fell, when the traverse turned to a schush at the bottom. It was quite an interesting run, and I enjoyed it, although I fell too often for my liking, but we were down so soon, by about 4 o'clock, so Toni asked me if I were going up on the lift again. I jumped at the idea. At the top we wondered whether there'd be an easier way down than the course I'd tried on Sunday, so Toni asked someone about the different ways. He spoke in German, but I suppose the man had heard Toni speak to me in perfect English, for he replied that he'd understand him a jolly sight better in English – Toni didn't seem to mind, and we learned that our best plan would be to cross the little bridge. After the little run down, I took off my skis and carried them in my hands, a practice not encouraged by the ski school, but it is so much quicker. The run down was really just what I was wanting, and I hardly fell at all, but on the last part, after the second bridge, I got rather tied up trying to get round the rocks, instead of taking the traverse to the right.
I think Toni went up the lift again, but I found Joy, and we went to the field where we had started on Sunday. I soon left her and walked up beneath the ski lift; this took some time and I didn't come down very brilliantly either, but when I did rejoin Joy she told me that she had spent nearly the whole of the time since I had left her, trying to stand up after a fall, much to the amusement of some people on the nearby path to the barracks.
That evening I had a full account from Mr. Williams, he apologised for the fact that he had joined in the general laughter. Not only the people on the track, but the whole of those having tea at the Jenewein were watching - according to Mr. Williams they were standing up, just about cheering her valiant efforts, and what brought the house down was her last action, when she eventually got up she put down her sticks to clasp her hands above her head, as a gesture to the audience.
After this, we gave up skiing and returned to our bedroom, carrying up a glass of milk which we used with the tea which we made on the spirit stove.
How thrilled I was to be going for a day tour; I'd no idea where the Gaisberg Glacier was, but I thought I'd soon learn. Monday had been overcast all day (the light had been quite bad on the run down in the afternoon), but this day the sun shone the whole day and my face turned a deep brown, despite the cream I had applied.
We went up the ski lift and then started up the usual way. We saw some people doubling back on the track up a lovely steep slope, and I thought they wouldn't be class 2 in the ski school, but to my astonishment Hans Louis also turned round and started up in that direction, sometimes following a track, and sometimes making his own. We went at the usual ski school ridiculously slow pace and once, to talk to 'Lady Luxenbourg' and also to burn up a little of my surplus energy I made my own track, but suddenly unexpectedly the tips of my skis found the snow very much softer and, when I had extricated myself, I was content to follow the trail. I got left behind in my efforts to get a photo, but the party soon stopped for a short pause, and I got nearer the front again.
I was disappointed in the way the ground had flattened out, after the 1st rise, and I was scanning the horizon eagerly to see which col we'd be crossing (used to runs like the Dissoluzzo etc., it didn't dawn on me that, at Obergurgl, one usually descends by the same side as the ascent was made), but by lunch time it was obvious that we'd get to no col. Other parties overtook us, some going straight up, and other turning off and going up some steep slopes to the left. We went on to a huge boulder for lunch. I had fun jumping down from it to take a photo for the pleasure of climbing up it again. After an age we started up again. I was intrigued about a hanging glacier on the right and was looking forward to getting closer to it. Very soon, it seemed, Hans stopped, for some people were rather far behind. I assumed that Hans had only stopped for a moment, and I started to continue up, only to be told not to do so, and Hans said we'd be going back from there. Toni asked whether we could go on further, while those behind waited, but Hans said no, for in any case we'd only go on for another 20 minutes, and it was much nicer where we were in the sun, so we set to and removed our skins.
The run down was really sheer delight, after making our own tracks in the soft snow, occasionally following another track if we wanted to go a little faster; but how soon we were down, and then came the nearly level part. We all used the same track, which was really deep, my skis were faster than the person's in front, and there seemed nothing I could do but fall when I caught up. Then, after some punting we came to the seat and the corner, where we side-slipped down, and then took a gentle line round the curve of the hillside. Soon we got onto a good piste, and it was sometime before I realised that we had joined the track from the little bridge, the going was very much easier on this part.
Joy seemed absolutely insatiable with regard to skiing; we'd had breakfast at 7.30, and had gone out on the slopes soon after 8 o'clock – we had gone up past the barracks, and tried the last part of the run down from the lower bridge; I found the traverse rather fast, so I advised Joy to keep to the left, but she got rather tangled with the rocks, and didn't seem to enjoy the run.
That evening we practiced on the slopes below the church, I could turn on the slopes where we had been on Monday, while Joy could schush on the slope opposite. True to form she fell in her usually manner – getting horribly tangled, while people going along the road stopped to look.
After the run we were back early so, while I was waiting for Joy, I joined my class and had a ski-wasser at the Curaton. Someone asked Hans Louis where he was next taking us touring, and he said we were to do no more tours with him. We were afraid we had disgusted him that day, but the truth of the matter was that he was going off touring, and we were to have another instructor.
Again we had a good hour's practice before the class started; Joy got me to try her schush, over the little bump, but I fell twice on it (Joy didn't fall) and after that I knew I'd fall every time and there wasn't time to try the bottom part, and gradually work up to the whole thing, I had to hurry to my class and that day I seemed to fall at every schush.
Barbara had said that Josl had taught the class the week before, but this time he said that we were to have Carl. When Josl saw me he looked quite annoyed and asked me if I'd been in that class all the time. I'm sure he'd told Hans Louis to put me down after a trial, and Hans had not done so. Carl was a shock when he was introduced, he looked about 17 and I thought that the ski school must be short of instructors to employ such a boy. How wrong I was; Carl turned out to be the best instructor I had every had; not excluding Simon Rhami. For one thing he could really speak English, instead of just knowing a few phrases, as is usually the case, and then he seemed to take such an interest in everyone as an individual, and, as Barbara said, he started on our worst fault, and then gradually worked up to our lesser ones. He was such a happy youth too. We started below the slalom course, opposite the Jenewein and then went onto the field where Joy and I had practiced on Sunday morning. His chief advice to me was "You must not 'chump' your skis round" – somehow I felt that 'chump' was appropriate, when applied to me as a skier. I hardly ever fell, and Carl seemed to realise this, for some of his words of wisdom to me were, "It is not enough that you should be able to ski, you must also show people that you can ski". As though I wouldn't improve my style if I could!
That afternoon we were going up to the Schönweiss hut, and people asked if we could leave at 2 o'clock, instead of 2.30, to give more time for "thé trinken". Carl went even slower than Hans Louis – such a suitable pace for class 2, the only time he hurried was on the little bit of downhill – he muttered 'langlaufen' and shot off down it with a skating motion.
After that he took a low track and bypassed the telegraph hut. For some unknown reason he crossed the little wooden bridge and I followed him. It looked much simpler the way the others went, over the snow bridge, and up to the hut. I took off my skins and put them in the sun to dry, and then Toni suggested a trip up to the summit. Remembering Hans Louis the day before, I said what would Carl think, so Toni found him in the kitchen, and all he said was that he'd be staying there for half an hour. There were some footprints leading upwards, so we shouldered our skis and followed them. We got to one summit, and got the view down over the village and realised that the lump to the west must be the true summit, so we skied over to that and then, following Toni's example, I skied, legs astride onto a bench, although I had to take my skis off to get out of the place. The stone table and benches intrigued us; Toni thought I ought to be able to produce some tea to put on the table! We skied down to the track from the Karlsruhe hut, and followed that to the Schönweiss, from where the class were about to appear. When we were ready, the two sisters from the Jenewein appeared, and we waited while they had a ski-wasser and then set off down. True to my form in the morning, I fell at every schush. I fell by the snow bridge (I didn't quite go in the water), but on the race track I didn't do so badly, as Carl nursed us so carefully down – hardly anything was taken straight. I followed Carl pretty closely and it was ridiculously easy, I did one of my pet stops, pulling up about 6 inches from him and actually got a 'good' from him. On the way down I had a unique experience. I saw an instructor fall, it was Carl, all the way down he was more interested in looking behind him than in front, and that made him run over a baby Christmas tree – snow led up to it, but there was a jump of a foot the other side. He withstood the shock of that, but he landed on uneven banks of snow, which sent him down on one leg at least. I had the impression that, at class 2's speed, Carl wasn't as stable a skier as some instructors, although the next week I was to find that Hannes also had his moments of precarious balance.
Joy and I went back to our slope below the church and we changed over, Joy practiced her stem turns, while I taught myself to schush. I firstly tried the lower bump, and then started from higher and higher up the slope until I could do the whole thing. We went back for tea in the bedroom to which we invited Mr. Williams.
The weather had definitely broken, and there was new snow on the ground. Joy said that Martin was very thrilled with it, for, in the summer, he was an electrician, and he liked his winter job to last as long as possible. We started by going over to the Sunday morning field, but there was a private class there and, while they didn't seem to mind us, they showed no signs of leaving the field to us, so then we went back to the slope behind the beginning of the ski lift and practiced there. The new snow made everything so much easier, that I began to feel I was 'chumping' my skis less than usual – in fact Carl would even end his advice to me with "…. and then it will be good". I was aiming only at getting smoother turns, but Carl told me what next to aim for – he told me not to stem so widely. We ended with a run down from the ski lift, after some advice from Carl; he explained that in deep snow one had to stem with the lower ski.
That afternoon we went up to the telegraph hut again.
On Wednesday Mr. Williams mentioned that an Austrian boy and he would take us dancing when they had saved up the money. Joy and I rather jumped at the idea, and said we'd like to go that night, to the Tyrolean evening at the Hoch Fest. The Austrian boy didn't materialise and Mr. Williams seemed a little doubtful about the whole thing. Mr. Williams changed into a suit, and was quite indignant when I called "that outfit". Joy and I went in our skiing clothes, but we weren't alone. The room was much smaller than I expected; of course we hadn't booked a table, so we had to sit rather far back (I began to appreciate Mr. Fox who had arranged everything so well at St. Anton). Three men did all the dancing and singing, there were no girls, and really their repertoire was much more limited than at St. Anton. Joy was very pleased to hear the "Third Man" on the zither. There was an occasional general dance. Joy and I both had one with Mr. Williams, but the space was terribly crowded.
Drinks were a problem, Mr. Williams had red wine, Joy and I had said that we'd have ski-wasser, but when Joy saw the list of liqueurs in the wine list, she couldn't resist having one. There was nothing we had heard of among the cheaper ones, so Joy picked hers with a pin, and I chose one two away from it. Mr. Williams remembered the two strange names and ordered them, but when they came they were the same thing and had no flavour at all, reminding me rather of Schnapps. They were 4/- each (Austrian schillings) and we made them last all the evening (we'd had to pay 7 Austrian schillings for admission).
The snow was deep in the morning and I went over to the usual field before the class, but I found it extremely difficult to turn in it.
When we assembled at 10 o'clock there was only Toni and me of Carl's class, so Carl said that we'd better join the class taken by another Carl (Carl Rosa I though he called him); there was a very pleasant English boy and girl in this class, but I was so disappointed at losing little Carl – I hopefully said to the latter "Can he speak English?", but of course he spoke the usual amount. We went over to the usual field, soon had it stamped down and were practicing on it, starting with stem turns and then getting on to stem christies. Finally we tried uphill christies, and at this moment Josl came over to us and told us to vary the uphill christies by doing a stem down the hill to begin with. I asked the reason for it, and Josl explained that it would make it easier when we got onto stem christies – I don't know what Josl thought we'd been doing all the morning! At about 11.30 Josl disbanded the class, and for the first time in my life on skis I tried to show off. I took a great delight in turning in front of Josl in my best manner, to which little Carl would have said to me "…. and then it will be good". After the others had gone, I went down that field several more times, and then went over to the hill behind the start of the ski lift and descended that, where it had been beaten down.
For the first time we had an afternoon also on the slopes; it was still snowing. We walked along the road and then found a slope near some Slalom sticks, where we turned and turned until it got quite monotonous; Carl Rosa also found my turning monotonous too, for he would give me unqualified 'goods', until he could stand it no longer, when he told me that I must come to him in the morning and he'd put me up in another class. I know it was nothing to be proud of, to be too good for class 2, but no other instructor has ever had anything good to say about my skiing, so I was terribly thrilled, as I am the sort of person who thrives on praise. I felt it was all due to the combination of little Carl's teaching and the new, slow snow.
It was find first thing and we ordered packed lunches; I was in rather a quandary as class 3 were down to start out for Festkogel at about 9 o'clock and I wasn't sure whether that was the class I was to join. As it turned out the weather closed down on us again, and we didn't get our packed lunches. At 10 o'clock, I turned up at the ski school and, seeing me Carl Rosa immediately had a chat to Josl and the pair of them took me to class 3, together with little Carl Fender, who still had my ticket.
I was introduced to Hannes Schöpf, who was really quite a success, for I felt that he appreciated my good points, instead of condemning me straight away for my bad ones. We still did the same sort of turns in this class, which wasn't all that much better than my previous one. There were two English boys in it, one was the New Zealand lad who had had dinner with Cecily and me on the train the year before (he didn't say that he recognised me). The morning's class ended with a ride up on the ski lift. In the afternoon we descended from the telegraph hut and then Peggy and I went up to the hut again. I told Hannes that I should be with his class again the next week; I knew Joy and I hadn't discussed it, but with the weather which was obtaining, our tour seemed off. Joy left the decision of the second week entirely to me, so I put it off for another day. We paid old Jenewein and asked if we could stay on another day, which he agreed to. When we came to settle up he said to us "And have you had a bath?" to which we replied, "No, we're dirty".
Joy and I had hoped to take a packed lunch and go off for the day together, but it was still snowing first thing, so we didn't bother. We thought we'd go up to the telegraph hut, and come down before the race, but we were delayed for various reasons and there wasn't time in the end. A biting cold wind greeted us soon after we left the top of the ski lift, but by the time we got to the telegraph hut we realised that it would be a lovely morning, and we regretted not having our lunches with us. I was surprised at how fascinating I found the preparation for the race, but how incredibly lucky the organisers were with the weather. Josl headed the guides who were side-stepping up, beating out the track. I first began to admire Josl, the vigorous way he came up the track. Of course with the new snow, the normal way down was too slow, so a way was made to the right of the hut (looking down) – it looked impossibly steep. Some people seemed to lose their way and were also side-stepping up – directly up to the hut – making what looked like a rival track, except that the top was too rocky, and the proper track was flagged.
The race was supposed to start at 11 o'clock, but by the time the numbers were given out and everything was ready, it was half past. I noticed that the first few numbers had been given to the younger instructors, young Carl and also Mr. Williams' Ernst, both had one. When all was ready I found to my horror that the guides were going down the steep way; Josl started them, stop watch in hand, he counted the last ten seconds, he'd hold the boy back, "Acht", Neun" and then on "Zehn" he'd give a vigorous push, the boy would punt with his sticks to get enough speed to jump those first 20 feet or so, where it was steep and rocky, and then they simply hurtled down, took the turn at the bottom O.K. and rapidly disappeared from sight. And some of the spectators had the cheek to criticise some of them, for I heard them say "Not very fast". Apparently Hermann (class 6) was first, in 1 minute 9 seconds and Carl Fender was third. The standard time was 1 minute, so no-one got a gold and very few amateurs their silver. After the guides, the women went down, at the time I thought how unkind sending them so soon, but afterwards I realised how lucky they were to do the course before the "bath tubs" became too numerous. The first woman fell on the first corner and, after the guides exhibition, we felt how poor that was, but we were soon to see that she was good for an amateur, in fact she got her bronze and was the 1st woman home.
We were interested to see the Indian Englishman from the Jenewein. He went down in better style than any we had seen for some time, and were very surprised when he fell half way along the flatter part, for he had looked so stable.
Half way through Toni appeared with a number, apparently he had just entered for the race; we were waiting for Mr. Williams who'd said he'd enter if the sun came out, but he didn't turn up.
Time was getting on and I thought we'd better start down if we were to be back in time for lunch, so we set off the way we had come up. Joy refused to go anywhere near the track, which meant that we had to start in deep snow, and on which I fell twice. Somehow I didn't make much of the run the whole way down. I was quicker than Joy but I fell more often. Just before the little bridge we turned down to the finish of the race but it was all over. The only competitor left was Toni, carrying his broken ski. He had come to grief in a "bath tub" right at the top of the course.
Over lunch Mr. Williams explained why he hadn't put in an appearance – just as he was setting out the stretcher passed him which put him off completely!
That afternoon, Joy and I set off up the Salönweiss gipfel. There was a cold wind on top; Joy and I both used our cameras and then set off down. The snow was breakable crust, which I found impossible, I just managed to keep my balance as I skied down to the track from the Karlsruhe hut, but only just, for the speed of the snow was so erratic. I fell on the track, for I found it shatteringly fast.
I was so looking forward to the racetrack, it had seemed in such splendid condition in the morning, but when I came to it I found it in hopeless condition. There were "bath tubs" all over the place and, steep as it had looked from above, it seemed twice as steep when I was on it; it was because all the little detours hadn't been beaten out. What I had considered the flatter parts in the morning were shatteringly fast. I envied Joy her unlacquered skis, once I was behind her and side-slipping practically broadside on, and yet I was catching her up, although she was running straight.
The day before, in the snow, we had gone through the glade. I preferred the bumpy track to the right. Even on the lower part I seemed to do nothing right and I arrived back thoroughly depressed about my skiing.
It was rather nice to be second week guests at the Jenewein; we felt privileged somehow. Annie moved us from our table to one by the window – a place in the sun, I felt. Mr. Williams stayed with us, but a fourth place was laid, for a German from Stuttgart – I said I hoped he spoke English and he said he spoke a little, but it was mostly American slang which he learned when he was an interpreter at prison camps. He turned out to be rather a misery and his habit of adding "Ja?" to the end of his sentences irritated the others a lot.
Joy and I had our decision to make about our plans for the next week, and Joy left it to me, so I eventually decided on another week at the Jenewein, making secret plans with myself about having a guide for a couple of days (needless to say they didn't materialise). I really found that skiing with the class was more fun than with Joy, and it seemed rather a shame to drag her away from her class. When we broke the news to Jenewein that we wanted to stay on, he said that he had accepted another booking for our room, and we should have to sleep out, but we realised that we'd asked for that with our indecision and didn't make a fuss. That night we made the most of our running hot water, and did some washing, and then started to pack.
We left our packs outside our room (Mr. Williams, who had a violent dislike for Carl 'The Boots' warned us not to bring them down as it was Carl's job). Joy had to adjust her bindings and there wasn't time to practice before 10 o'clock. I also had to take my stick into the Schumachers for repair, together with Joy's boots. While the older man was doing the minor repairs, I was fascinated to watch the younger one making a new pair of boots. I was also interested in an English couple who came in for adjustments to some skins. I afterwards found that they were in class 6.
I went over to Hannes, not realising that Mondays are different from other mornings. Hannes took the remnants of class 3 up the slope behind the ski lift and there we waited, together with everyone else in classes 3, 4, 5 and 6, and Hannes mentioned a test, and it soon became obvious that we had to ski down that slope one at a time. Now the previous Monday I should have been quite happy to have done that, but, after Sunday, it seemed to me to be quite impossible. I watched horrified while class 6, then 5, and then 4 went down, and then all the rest of class 3, no-one fell and then there was just Hannes and me, and I knew that I should have to go. Actually Hannes was a great help, he waited until I was starting, to tell me to go slowly and then he followed me down saying 'slowly' at intervals. I got the shock of my life when I started down; I found that it wasn't icy and fast, as it had been on Sunday, it was softening rapidly and quite easy. Had I known in time, I might have been able to come down in better style, as it was my one aim to get down without falling, and that I was able to do.
Mark said that he thought Hannes a little disappointed that no-one from his class had been promoted and in addition we had all the odds and ends who weren't good enough for a higher class.
We went up in the ski lift and practiced on the slope to the west. It seemed impossibly steep. I found it a great thrill to be turning on it – at least I turned to the right, but to the left I would sometimes find myself going head over heels backwards into the snow.
The basket on my stick came unstuck again, and I was telling someone what the Schumacher had said when he saw me examining his work doubtingly. Hannes overheard me say "It is good" and, as usual, got the wrong idea. He thought I was talking skiing and said "Yes, it is good for class 3, but it would not be good for class 6". I was glad of the excuse to call at the Schumachers again and see how the boots were getting on.
In the afternoon we had to walk all the way up, the lift had come off the rollers on Sunday, giving a shock to some people who were on it and now it did the same thing, fortunately, there were only about half a dozen on it; one girl hurt an ankle jumping down, but the others were brought down backwards.
To my surprise we didn't go the usual way up, but branched off towards the Gaisberg Glacier. We stopped at the seat at the top of the steep part and deskinned – it was quite a short run down.
Afterwards Joy and I found our way up to Frau Gruetter, our new digs; we found that our luggage had gone, so we went up by ourselves to the last of the barracks. These buildings were built by the Germans during the war and are now turned into flats. We rang a bell, not quite sure that it was the right one, and wondering how we should make the woman understand who we were. We needn't have worried, a smiling lady opened the door and said "Good evening, you are the two ladies …" in some of the best English we had heard in the village. She showed us into a lovely, big, double room; it was on a corner, with windows on two sides, so that we could really get some air into it (I slept much better there than I had done at the Jenewein).
I had told Annie that we'd breakfast at the Jenewein, but I hadn't the heart to tell that to Frau Greutter, although we didn't do so well (we'd got Annie so well organised, she brought us a double lot of coffee each morning). The lady was so pleased to have English people; she said she'd been asking the Jenewein for them all the season. She was surprised that we thought her English so good, for, she said, she got so little chance to practice it these days (she was from Innsbruck and learned it at school there). Her daughter is away at school there now, but the second language she was being taught was French, as the Tyrol is under French occupation). We learned all sorts of interesting facts from her – there were about 100 local inhabitants, and beds for 420 visitors; the maximum number of rolls baked was 6,000, she also, naturally, told us that there was no love lost between the Austrians and the Germans, and that in the war some of the men retreated to the mountains when the call up came.
Apparently butter is still rationed in Austria, but not in Obergurgl, for enough is produced to supply all the visitors (it would normally be sent down to Innsbruck). She said the valley had some of the richest grazing land in the country.
That evening Mr. Williams (as usual) had his book of Churchill's war memoirs with him, and this caused our German table mate to make some comment about politics and this set Mr. Williams on; he said we were in a terrible mess, and it was all the fault of the Germans. I should think it went on for about an hour. Mr. Williams was quite right in every statement he made, and the poor German could do nothing but agree. I didn't realise at the time quite how intrigued Joy was by the whole argument. In bed that night she gave me a thorough examination on the history of the war; she was a schoolgirl herself at the time, and really knew very little about it.
Once more, classes 3-6 were put down for the Festkogel, and this time we actually set out. We started out soon after 9 o'clock, went up the same way as the previous afternoon. We continued along the level part a little way and then crossed the valley bottom and started winding our way up the Festkogel. At 11.30, Mark, who had been that way the previous year, said that we had got to the lunch place – it seemed far too early, but Hannes stopped, despite my protest, and we sat and ate. We were the first class to arrive, and about the last to leave, but it was quite interesting to watch the others come, for instance, class 2 had come up in better style than some of class 6.
The photographer got us to take off our glasses while he took portraits. I took a dim view of this, but the others seemed to think it would be a treat for my family to see a photo of me "all rugged"!
Eventually we set off again, and the ground became more interesting; we were traversing steeper ground, with rocks barely covered with snow. Class 6 was in front and eventually they took off their skis and shouldered them up the slope. When we reached this place, Hannes told us to take off our skis – the 'foreign' boy who I disliked so (a little black beetle, I thought of him) was in front of me, and he immediately stopped in the soft snow and took his skis off, getting in a terrible tangle, besides being in everyone's way. I eventually managed to pass him and, not wishing to get in people's way myself, I continued up a little way, much to Hannes' horror, for he seemed to think that I wasn't going to deshi. Eventually we were all ready and set off up; now without my skis, I was in my element, I didn't need to lean on my sticks, I balanced them both in one hand as I walked up, and, all too soon we were on the summit, where class 6 were having a second lunch.
I again seemed to cause Hannes some anxiety, his English wasn't up to telling me that there was a cornice, but I understood him much better than he realised. I got my camera out, for it would have been an ideal summit for a photo, but the mist didn't clear; there was a magnificent ridge of rock and snow, with the Hochfirst behind, but there was no light to photograph it. Class 6 cleared off, we ate a little and then we started down, collecting on the way those who hadn't quite made the summit.
The way down was ridiculously easy in the soft snow, so I was surprised to see some people make heavy weather of it. The climax was when one boy slipped on a stone, and began sliding down on his back. Fortunately, Hannes was below, and he made a dive at him, and arrested the slide (for the slope steepened below). We put on our skis, watched class 6 down, and saw class 5 arrive (Mr. Williams didn't bother to walk up to the summit) and then set off ourselves. The light was very poor, but the snow was superb.
I found the slope a little steep for turning, and when I moaned to Hannes because I didn't do better, he told me to follow him. The beetly man and his girl friends rather liked to get in front, but, after this, I beat them to it; however, I soon gave the second place to an older lady, who was obviously a beautiful skier, and I followed her pretty closely. Lower down, the slope was more gentle and it was magnificent, but all too soon we got into heavy snow, and, just above the Gaisbergtal, we got in the most horrible snow I have ever known; it was like crust in that it bore your weight all the time you were running over it, but, as soon as you weighted one ski, all the snow for feet around collapsed, and turning was impossible, and kick turns difficult.
Once across the valley, and to the seat, and there was piste running, and all was easy.
It was about 3 o'clock when we got back, so I immediately went up on the ski lift, put on my skins, and set off up to the hut (in some way Hannes found out about that, and used to quote it). The snow was softening rapidly, and I tended to catch an outside edge in it. As I set off, I thought I heard some shouting; Joy told me afterwards that she had yelled at me from the seat at the beginning of the Gaisbergtal, and had been disgusted that I hadn't waved back. I met Joy at the end of the racetrack, and then we went up about three times on the lift, the last time we met Mr. Williams, and he came down the steep way with us. I fell on the first part, and then passed Joy and Mr. Williams, both in the rough, before the last part. I went down as far as the barracks, and was trying to invite Mr. Williams into tea, as he passed me, but instead he fell. Then Joy came down, and, while laughing at Mr. Williams, she did one of her super falls, she had both skis dug into the snow and was quite helpless. It didn't occur to me to do anything, and Mr. Williams was still incapable himself, so it was lucky for Joy that a passing man took pity on her and released her bindings.
We were to have another day's practice, but class 2 were put down for the Rotmoos, so I intended to demote myself, should the weather be good. The weather was appalling, so I stuck to class 3. It was the worst day I have ever had, winter-sporting abroad; the temperature must have been about freezing point, making the snow as cold as English snow. In the morning we practiced below the church, by the slalom sticks. It was an extraordinary run, down the slope by the church. We were quite blind, and I found myself missing people by inches, as my fast skis took me past them. Josl came along half way through to cheer us up. He watched the beetly man go down, and then gave us a long lecture on all his mistakes (this cheered up the English a lot!). Eventually he left us and we finished with a run down from the top of the knoll. The class disbanded, but I found Joy and we practiced for sometime before going back for lunch.
The walk up to the Schönweiss hut that afternoon nearly got me down; I was so cold! My first week, by the third time I had done that walk I was utterly bored with it, and the lack of scope for skiing at Obergurgl, but after that, I got used to the walk, and resigned to the skiing; this afternoon was the one exception. At the hut I went inside for the first time, and had no conscience about enjoying my hot "schocolade mit sahne". The run down was easy, apart from the poor visibility, we got down fairly late and, for the first time, I went to bed instead of practicing until the light gave out.
After dinner, as we made our way back to the barracks, we found it had cleared up, and the temperature had dropped, which made it feel a lot less cold.
It was a glorious morning; apparently Hannes saw me ski down from the barracks first thing and he accused me of going up on the ski lift at 8 o'clock.
We set off up at about 9.30; how different was the walk up this morning, despite the fact that the temperature had been 10ºC in the night. We bypassed the telegraph hut and then continued along the Rotmoostal.
We were a large party, rather disorderly, but some people turned back at lunch. There were amateurs in front, but Hannes didn't fancy their tracks; he preferred to make his own (we were the first of the guided parties). When we stopped for lunch, Jenewein and Sepp Fender passed us, and stopped higher up. Hannes followed their tracks as far as they went and then pioneered the way to the joch – some amateurs had a good start on us, but we easily overtook them, as they struggled up steep slopes. The ground levelled out, but it seemed that the view would never come, so I got out of line and raced on, and eventually I was rewarded by the view across to the Dolomites, with the little Italian village of Pfelders, 5,000 feet below, magnificent snow arêtes leading down to it. The view wasn't crystal clear; nevertheless it was superb.
I clicked my shutter until I had no more film left, and then walked around until it was time to go, for there was a bitingly cold wind on the joch. The snow was very similar to that on the Festkogel, but this time the visibility was good. If only I'd changed the film in my camera I might have been able to get a photo of people making tracks down in soft new snow. I fell of course, but on the whole I found the descent easy, and all too soon we were at the bottom, where we had another slow run in the tracks of ascent, before we had to start to punt along. This time we sat outside the Schönweiss hut and basked in the sun as we drank our ski-wasser, and then we set off down the racetrack, which was in magnificent condition. I felt I hadn't done it as badly as sometimes, so I set off up it again, but the last hour had changed it; I found it quite icy and I fell again and again. A 'green jacket' was taking two people down; I could feel him watching me as I took a short cut on a track which wasn't wide enough to let me side-slip as much as I should have liked, and I did a magnificent fall, head over heels.
As I had feared, the 'green jacket' turned out to be Josl (we were quite pally by this time though). Every time I caught them up I seemed to fall, and I decided that perhaps I had done enough skiing for one day.
Our last day, Hannes was going to the Karlsruher hut, which I was desperately keen to see, although I knew it wasn't much of a run to it. The snag with it was that I hadn't a ticket for Thursday. Joy and I had to have special permission from Josl to buy a ticket between us for the odd day, and it would have meant 30 Austrian schillings for Friday. Joy's class were spending the day going to the Schönweiss gipfel, and she didn't want to join them, so we decided to go somewhere together.
On Thursday Joy had gone up the Gaisberg Gletscher, and had found the run down rather bad because of avalanche debris; I rather gathered that the Ferwalltal was similar, for no-one spoke highly of that run. The Karlsruher way was out, for I didn't want to following Hannes without paying, so that only left the Rotmoos again. Joy thought she couldn't join class 2, who were going that way, so we set out together. We were only just in front of Hannes, and I had some trouble in keeping in front of him. Joy had done so little on skis that she kept getting left behind, so I decided I had better follow her; I felt mean later, for she took the track right up to the telegraph hut, and found the side-stepping difficult. I followed her, and class 3 got well ahead. Joy also went ahead on the level part of the Rotmoostal, setting a good pace. The sun was really hot; a woman in front of us stopped to take off more clothes. There wasn't a breath of wind, and then, in an instant, an icy blast started to blow down the valley, and we stopped to put on all our clothes. Soon after this we came to yesterday's lunch place, but Carl Fender's class had stopped there and, as I don't like following another class too obviously, I insisted on going on. It meant making the tracks; Joy seemed going slower, so I took over in front, until Joy said she was hungry and we stopped to eat. Carl soon overtook us, and we watched his party up the slope, as the visibility closed down. Then we had to discuss our plans. I was against going on up, for had we done so we should have been the last party down and I didn't fancy that in bad conditions; fortunately Joy agreed. Just before we were ready, an amateur party came down, and we thought what appalling skiers they were, either that or the snow was in very bad condition. When our turn came we found the snow crusted the whole way down, making turning nearly impossible. Normally I was amazed by the daring of Joy's skiing (which was a reason for not being last down), but this time she was even more cautious than me. I felt sorry for her on the last part, she must have had to do twice as much punting as me. At the Schönweiss hut I tried to introduce her to the delights of hot "schocolade mit sahne", but she merely ate the sahne and gave me the schocolade! – she preferred ski-wasser. We stayed quite a while, buying postcards, and talking to class 2, when they arrived. Joy gave her skis such a good waxing, that by the time we were ready, Carl's class were just in front, and we followed them all the way down; we couldn't quite seem to get in front. At one time I though we'd do it, I was waiting for Joy and she tore past, taking a very fast line, but it was a case of the tortoise and the hare, and we didn't really get ahead until near the little bridge. We met Mr. Williams near the bottom.
I didn't enjoy the racetrack under those frustrating conditions, and should have liked to have gone up it again, as per usual, but it was rather late, and I though I'd do better to go up several times on the ski lift.
Firstly we went down from the upper bridge, and then the next time we went down directly – it was this run which I enjoyed more than I have ever enjoyed a run before; I began to feel that perhaps I was learning to ski. Joy seemed stuck, so I thought I'd go up on the lift again as the quickest way of getting to her, but the lift was stopping, so I walked up, finding on the way that Joy was O.K. and continued up to the top, but this time the run down wasn't quite so good. I don't know whether it was because the light was worse. The basket on my stick had come unstuck and it seemed time to take it to the Schumachers again, and he told me to call for it about 7 o'clock. I spent the time on the slope behind the beginning of the ski lift, practicing turns, but the last time I fell at the end of the schush at the bottom, so I thought it time to pack up.
I packed up my skis; there was to be no last run down in the morning, and started to pack my rucksack, and then, fairly late, we went down to the Jerewein for dinner.
It was obvious that Mr. Williams didn't care much for our miserable German, so the latter removed himself as soon as possible to another table, and Mr. Williams insisted that Mr. Schilling should come and sit with us and share the white wine we were sporting on our last night. Mr. Schilling was Mr. Williams' German room-mate, of whom Mr. Williams had got quite fond, during the fortnight they had been together. It was amazing how well they understood each other, although it was Mr. Schilling's English which had improved and not Mr. Williams; German! They had their little jokes; Mr. Schilling used alcohol to massage his shoulder, while Mr. Williams' only use for it was internal. Mr. Schilling was connected with the coal mines in Cologne, and during the war he went down them to shelter from the .R.A.F. and dug coal. It was the eve of the boat rate and Mr. Williams, by signs, explained that to Mr. S. The first week Mr. S. had got terribly sunburnt, but he had just about recovered from it. Eventually we decided we must go to bed and we all got up. and went outside the dining room, when Annie called the English back, for she had promised us cake and there was more wine to go with it. It was rather obvious the way it showed that this gift was only for the English. Finally, feeling a little mellowed, we went into Jenewein to pay our bill, and so back to the barracks and bed.
We got up about 6 a.m. and had breakfast at half past; we were too early for new rolls, of course, but instead of giving us old ones, as at the Jenewein, there were slices of bread for breakfast. Joy borrowed Frau Gruetter's sleigh to get herself and luggage down, but I thought it quicker and far safer by foot.
So many people seemed to be leaving the Curaton this morning, that I had wondered if everyone would get on the jeep – I should have known better than to wonder; there were about half a dozen jeeps, besides a miniature bus.
Joy and I got on the first jeep. A Frenchman was quite informative on the way down, he pointed out the ruins of Untergingl Church which, together with a couple of houses, was destroyed on January 20th by an avalanche from the other side of the valley.
At Zweiselstein, Joy had a brilliant idea. She called at the gasthaus and got her thermos filled with coffee, while I tried to save seats on the bus; one seat had to be given up to a man with his leg in plaster. The bus filled up and eventually we set off down. Standing in the front with me was Mark, who told me that they hadn't had much of a run the previous day, but they seemed to get on quite well without "Hannes' favourite pupil", as Mark always called me. The bus filled up at the terminus, so I expected it to run straight through to Ötztal – not a bit of it, we stopped all the say down, and more and more people crowded on. When all the roof was filled with luggage, the suitcases, not to mention sacks of potatoes, had to come inside, besides the bods. The bus was a 25 seater, with 4 the maximum number allowed to stand – Mark counted 44 people in it. As it was the end of my holiday I could safely be intrigued by the number of people with legs in plaster, who were crawling out, to get home. At the resorts it is a case of the survival of the fittest and one only sees the whole people, but at the end of the holiday, the others also have to get home.
At Ötztal there was nice time to drink coffee and buy apples and rolls for the journey, before the train came in. Inghams people had carriages reserved for them. We were glad we were free to sit where we pleased, for we found a third class carriage with padded seats. We were joined by three of Inghams from a different centre. They were from Inverness; the boy was a member of the Northumberland Mountaineering Club and was trying to introduce the Inverness skiers to climbing; they made very agreeable travelling companions.
At Sangens Joy got out and filled bottles with water and milk, and both we and the Scottish people got out our spirit stoves and made tea in the carriage.
Eventually, after a journey through pouring wet Switzerland (Joy didn't know it could rain there), we arrived in Basle and made our way to the third class Buffet for a meal. I knew what I wanted, it was a 4 fr. Hors d'Oeuvres. Joy wasn't so modest; nothing would satisfy her but a 6 fr. mixed grill à l'Anglais. There was nothing English about the dish they put before her. Joy then went over to some of her old class to tell them what she had had, but found that they were eating the same themselves. Next Joy looked up the trains and said that ours left at 10.27 and would I come and confirm it. That seemed most unnecessary to me, but when she showed it to me, it was as she had said, so we went off for a walk round the town. Joy showed me the university, some of the old part, and took me across one bridge and back over another. We got back to the station at about 9.30 and had a coffee with our Scottish friends. We said goodbye to them and then to Joy's class again, and then took our luggage along to our platform, which was deserted. Joy wasn't surprised in the least, she'd had an idea all along that we'd miss the train, and we had done so; we had another look at the timetable and realised that the 10.27 was in the morning; at night it leaves at 9.43. The one blessing was that we had both been equally stupid, neither could blame the other.
I stayed where I was, for I didn't want to meet again, all the people to whom we seemed to have said goodbye so many times.
Joy went away to make some enquiries, she found that to go back through France we should have to pay single fare, as our tickets were made out for a different country; she had also amused herself by enquiring the price of an hotel room (it was too late for the hostel) – we both decided the hotel far too expensive and thought we'd prefer to spend the night in the station, so we took our packs back to the waiting room. This was nearly deserted, so we stretched ourselves out on the wooden seats and were soon asleep. An official soon woke us to see our tickets. I was used to third in English stations, but that didn't seem all he wanted, although he spoke no English.
A message came over the loudspeaker; soon the door was unlocked and other people began to come in. I didn't like the way the men were looking at Joy, but I saw no reason to stir so early until I felt a hand on my face, after which Joy and I decided we ought to get washed, and the reason for locking us in became clear.
The woman was most disappointed that we only wanted a wash basin, and not a cubicle, which was far more expensive. Eventually we had finished, wandered round the station again and, at about 6.30, thought of breakfast. We had spent so long in the third class buffet the night before, that this time we went in the second class.
I was so glad they had cherry jam (the night before a Scottish girl had strawberry with her café complêt). Next we went back to the waiting room where we had first settled down the night before and, in preparation for our return, we read an English newspaper.
We had a little amusement watching the room being 'done'; the woman's good nature was such a contrast to Crewe cleaners. Joy disappeared for a time, and came back to say she had been sick – and she had paid 6 fr for her mixed grill the night before.
We made sundry purchases for the journey and then, at about 10 o'clock we made our way along to the train, where Joy found a third class compartment with only 1 woman in it. For the first time, practically, since my journey out, I addressed a stranger in what I hoped was German; of course, the girl turned out to be Canadian, had flown over to Europe for three weeks, and was certainly getting about. She was a naval officer and was travelling in uniform, with only a minimum of luggage. She seemed to have a wonderful effect on the officials, as Joy said they were the first German officials she had ever met with a sense of humour.
It had rained all through Switzerland the day before, and it was dull for the journey through Germany. I still wasn't impressed with the Rhine Gorge, but the vineyards had definitely turned a shade greener in the last fortnight.
Our Canadian friend had ideas about taking us along to lunch, but we were independent for the attendant said that the dinner tickets which we hadn't used on the outward journey would be valid. It was nothing like the austere meal we had last time. Our friend (who comes from a dry province in Canada) would let no drink pass us by; we started with Martinis, with the meal we had red wine (Beaujolais) and afterwards with our coffee we had a Cointreau. The Canadian absolutely insisted on paying for the wine herself; our other odds and ends we paid for in Swiss francs.
Very contented we made our way back to our carriage to continue our discussions with our fellow travellers. At first a woman spoke splendid English and was appointed official interpreter, but when she had gone I was most amused the way the Germans had our dictionaries out of our hands, and were using them to talk English to us, instead of letting us practice our German. Joy embarrassed me a little the way she told the Germans how lucky they were not to have their sugar still rationed (actually they explained that their food was so expensive they couldn't afford to buy it). That made the man who was speaking to me say that if I gave him my name and address he'd send us some sugar or chocolate. I didn't like to do so at first, but when Joy said that she could send him some tea in exchange, I agreed to do so.
Our friends left us at Cologne and we had a fairly empty carriage to the Hook of Holland. Our Canadian friend is a more confirmed restaurant car eater than I am even. She insisted on going along for tea. I enjoyed the tea but was sorry that they had no cakes left. Joy amused me; the man took the very expensive teapot away before we had had our second cups, so she ran after him down two carriages, but she came back triumphant, with the teapot.
I dozed a little through Holland. The Canadian again got a smile from the German officials and when the Dutch, on hearing that she was going to spend a night in Holland, produced a form, she said "Oh must I?" and he then meekly filled it up for her, and gave it to her to sign and keep.
In the Black Forest there had been a few patches of snow, to which we had said our last 'goodbyes'. How surprised we were , as we went further north to find a sprinkling of snow on the ground, and the further north we went the thicker it got.
Our Canadian friend left us at Rotterdam and at the Hook of Holland we got out, feeling half doped, into the cold night air. We had first to reserve a cabin, which cost nothing, and then go through the customs. "Hallo, and have you had a good holiday?" the official greeted me, as though he had remembered me from the outward journey.
The boat was the "The Duke of York" and we tried to find our cabin, only to be told that that number had already been booked. I was a little annoyed, being afraid that perhaps all the cabins would be taken and we should be left without, but the man assured me that there were plenty this time of year. We looked around the boat and had a cup of tea. There was every comfort in our cabin, the only thing I had against the boat was the way the 2nd class were tucked away in one corner, as though they didn't matter. We went back to our cabin, but the man was still waiting for the last boat train, so we sat down to wait for permission to get into bed. Eventually the man took pity on us and said that we'd better have the cabin; he'd show the others to another one, if they turned up.
I was soon in bed and oblivious to everything until the motion of the boat stopped and I knew that we had arrived.
We made the mistake of not asking to be called, so the chink of tea cups never came as far as our cabin. This time we had the advantage of the extra hour, but, after our Basle experience, I was my usual self, allowing a few hours for catching the train, and I had poor Joy on Harwich station ages before the train arrived, saying that we hadn't booked our seats and we wanted to get into the restaurant car etc.
We didn't have tea on the boat and the refreshment room on the station wasn't open. Eventually the train arrived, and we settled down to breakfast, watching the snow in good old England. Somehow the attendants on English boat trains seem particularly sympathetic, and I got back to the usual routine. I would no more dream of having coffee with an English breakfast, than I would accept tea with a continental one. I enjoyed the grill, but couldn't help but compare it with Joy's in Basle. We arrived at Liverpool street punctually at 8.45 and learned that the next train to the Midlands was the Master Cutler, so we took the Underground to Marylebone, and found a carriage near the restaurant car. While we enjoyed our coffee and biscuits we were travelling through country covered in deep snow; how delightful the cornices on the embankments looked in the sunshine, but as we got further north the snow became thinner, and the plans we had made for skiing the next weekend began to look a little silly.
I got to Nottingham at 1 o'clock and was only half a day late for work.
I had a nice time to finish my packing and get along to Victoria Station for the 8 o'clock. At the barrier I realised that I had left my knitting behind, so I ran back for it and still caught the train. At Grantham I met Ernest and Nell, who had been on the same train and we had tea and biscuits and cheese in the refreshment room. My impression of this train in others years has been that it is only about 10 minutes late, but this time it was an hour and 20 minutes late. A few relief trains went through first of all; Ernest remembered last year when the three of us had had a carriage to ourselves, but all I could remember about that journey was the fact that I seemed to be changing all night, so this time I resolved to get in the right carriage, however crowded it was. I think it was the same sleeping car attendant as in 1948 - he not only looked after his sleepers, but guarded the Fort William carriages as well, and wouldn't let people in, who weren't going beyond Edinburgh. He found Nell and me seats, at York; there was also room for Ernest. The latter looked at me rather accusingly and said we were much more comfortable last year. I preferred not to have to change, but I hadn't meant to drag Ernest along against his will.
Don and Nat got in at York, but they didn't intend to look for a seat; they wanted to stretch out on the floor.
After Glasgow it began to get light and I woke up, and soon I was worrying because the door was locked, keeping me from the breakfast car. At one stop I got out and started to run along the train, but the sleeping car attendant sent me back. Then I asked the ticket collector; I couldn't understand him very well, but I understood him to say that the attendant would come round – but I would miss the first sitting. Eventually at 7 o'clock the call came and the three of us trooped along, together with another man in the carriage (who always goes home to Harris this time of the year, as his people are old and he likes to help with the cutting of the peat). The man in the kilt had left us by this time; Nat complained that he spent all night in the corridor, opening windows and singing about his Scottish heather, while Nell's impression was that he spent the night asleep on her shoulder.
The breakfast wasn't quite up to the standard of the Harwich-Liverpool Street boat train; nevertheless, I enjoyed it, especially the tea, and then we were back in our carriage to make room for the next sitting. After Rannoch Moor, the scenery became really interesting – some of the peaks on the 'Stob' Ridge had some lovely snow arêtes on them, and then the Aonachs and Sgur Mor Dearg came into view and, last of all, the Ben. At first, Northeast Buttress looked absolutely vertical, but further round it didn't look quite so impressive and then the cliffs disappeared, and we were at Fort William at 10.30, i.e. we had made up over an hour.
I bought meat and bread in the town and then met Don and Nat, who said that last year's café didn't start cooking until 12 o'clock. This worried me a lot, for I had so made up my mind to have a cooked meal before I started up the Allt a' Mhuilinn with my 56 lb pack (I had weighed it on the station). We went in another café for a cup of tea, and found they were serving breakfasts, so we had another and this time I had egg with my bacon.
Eventually we caught the 11.30 bus along to the Ben Nevis distillery where Ernest and John Cotteril were unpacking, or packing. I didn't wait for them, but started up with Don and Nat. The others waited for me at the little hut at the top of the steep part, for they weren't so very far ahead, and we all had a rest there, but afterwards they soon pulled ahead, and I lost all incentive to go at a fair speed. Soon I realised that three people were overtaking me; they took a long time to do so, but when they got well ahead I found myself going slower and slower. I kept to the left and crossed the stream just above the hut, but this means the hut was out of sight for some way, and I meant it to surprise by suddenly appearing below me – it surprised me by appearing still some way up!
I crossed the rocks and found Nat and Don had their tents pitched, one inside the other on the only really level bit of ground.
There was nearly space for a tent by the side of them, so I pitched there thinking that, as I was only one, I should be able to avoid the slopes underneath. It was raining by this time and I had been offered shelter, but I thought I had better get my tent up before it got worse. Actually it cleared up as soon as I had the thing pitched. I only used pegs for the three main guys, the soil wasn't deep enough for any more, so I used rocks, of which I seemed to carry a goodly number.
The three who had overtaken me said they'd tell the others to have the tea ready by the time I arrived (actually I was the first to brew tea). It had taken me three hours to get to the campsite, and it seemed only half the distance it had been in 1948.
I was camping on my own and had tent (13 lb), rope, primus etc., but I'm sure I had less weight than the other time, when I had put in all sorts of little luxuries, in case they should be expected of me.
After tea there was blue sky, and Mat and Don both seemed worried that they were wasting fine weather. I knew where I was going but, of course, they weren't interested in a gentle stroll. I went up to the head of the glen; fortunately the steps were made, for the snow was much icier higher up. I can't say I altogether enjoyed the ascent; I was so afraid of the descent. There wasn't a clear snow slope, there were rocks in the way, and near those rocks the snow became icier.
I got my view over the Memores. Some of the tops were obscured in a dark mist and, in comparison with this, the lovely heather coloured slopes incredibly bright in colour. I daresay with a companion I might have walked boldly down, but on my own, I'm afraid, I mostly descended backwards, until I was below the last rock, when I enjoyed myself, doing a standing glissade until the snow became too soft.
Back in camp I found that Ernest and John had pitched a snow tent beyond the nearest tongue of snow to Don, Nat and me, and Arthur, who had eventually arrived with Bob, pitched just below in Eddie's niche. Arthur had offered me room in the tent, but it didn't look nearly as snug and serviceable as mine. I was so glad I had taken the trouble to bring it up. The two boys who had come with Bob and Arthur pitched above a rock outcrop. I retreated to my tent and cooked my supper on my own, and then availed myself of Arthur's invitation to an evening in his tent, where I arrived in time for tea. The wind showed some signs of getting up in the night, so I wasn't altogether sorry to leave Arthur's tall tent for the thought of spending the night in my own. Once settled in my tent, the words kept running through my mind "As snug as a bug in a rug". Even while I was pitching my tent in the rain I was utterly thrilled at the thought of camping again in the Allt a' Mhuillinn.
The night wasn't quite uneventful; Nat, Don and I had pitched in the most exposed spot. We'd hear the wind in the distance, then it would come nearer, and finally it would start worrying our tent canvas. I merely lay in my sack and listened, and enjoyed it, knowing that I was invulnerable, but my neighbours had a disturbed night. The canvas of their outer tent ripped and they had to get out and anchor things.
The night before, I had persuaded Arthur that, if anything was to be done the next day, we should have to make an early start (I had no-one with whom to climb, and thus was dependent on the main party, so it was in my interest that they should start in good time). I promised to wake them at 7 o'clock. I made some tea, but only enough to share with Don and Nat, and then at 7.10 a.m. I went across and told Arthur the time. A voice filled with self pity replied "We've had no sleep all night; we shan't be getting up yet awhile". Whatever must they have thought when I replied "In that case it won't be any hardship for you to get up now". I walked away quickly! I went back to my tent, cooked my porridge, bacon and egg etc., packed my rucksack for the day and was ready. The time was 8.10, so I sat in my tent for the next hour and got on with my knitting and listened to the signs of activities next door. They borrowed a needle and thread from Ernest (the efficient meet leader) and sewed up their rip, and replaced some of their broken guys, and then started to cook breakfast. Soon after 9 o'clock, I began to get restless and began to wander round the campsite, trying to find how other people were getting on, and I spent the next 1½ hours like this. By this time, Don and Nat were ready and set off for Tower Ridge. Arthur's opinion was that they'd be blown off the rocks – he didn't know that the wind wasn't so bad outside the tent!
The next excitement was the arrival of Grace and Nell, all the way from Fort William – a fine effort, we thought. Eventually, John, Ernest, the two girls and I were ready and we set off up Corrie na Ciste. I was in front and waited for the others at the beginning of the snow, up which Ernest led the way in such a leisurely manner that, at the first excuse I got in front in an effort to keep warm. When I felt that I was flagging a little, I dropped behind to give someone else a turn, but Arthur, who had caught up by this time kept the lead to the top. We decided eventually on No. Two Gully and, before it narrowed, there was a call to rope up, and Bob and Arthur decided that they and the two lads should rope as a four. Ernest then said that he'd take the two girls, and I was left with John Cotterill. When Arthur roped up as a four, I had no idea that he'd keep the lead the whole time. I had also no idea how inexperienced were the rest of his rope; I thought that at least the last three would move together, but no, they moved one at a time the whole of the way. Arthur seems fond of putting the longest rope in front and the shortest behind. Watching the three in front of me, I felt sorry for the girls, both moving so neatly, having Ernest in front on their rope. As for the last rope, I felt sorry for John, I was above him when we roped up, and I'm afraid I never offered to let him get ahead, and he moved quite neatly too.
Soon we were caught up by another rope, which seemed particularly ill assorted. Only the leader had crampons. I told John about the party in Gardyloo last year, where the boy without crampons had walked up with nearly as much confidence as those with them. Mr. Crampons heard this and said that he'd been on that rope (a good job I hadn't mentioned how clumsy we considered him!). John found that they both knew Val Stevens and, when I said that I also knew her, Mr. Crampons said he knew I did, for he had described me to her last year and she had immediately said "That was so and so". How had he described me?
We got some amusement from this other rope; Mr. Crampons would want to bash straight up and the rest of his rope preferred to use the steps, but all the same the ascent was very tedious. I was ashamed that I didn't enjoy it, but it was the bad organisation which annoyed me. John said that at one point we waited an hour. I know it is easy enough for the penultimate person using the steps to criticise. Arthur did noble work making them; my point is that he shouldn't have had all the work to do, plus the task of taking up two beginners.
There was a depression in the centre of the gully; it was filled with soft snow, and more snow was continually falling down it, either being sent down by climbers ahead, or else being blown off the rocks above. The gully was quite steep, and the scenery magnificent, with the ice covered rocks close in on either side. We started up the snow on the right and then, about half way up, crossed to the left (looking up) and soon went back to the right again.
At some of the long halts I seriously considered retreating, but didn't for two reasons, firstly our ascending steps were covered by this time and secondly I knew I should regret it very much when I heard the talk of the others' achievement. It was snowing by this time and I sometimes wondered whether water or ice was falling on my tent and if it were the former, how it was standing up to it. All things come to an end, and so it was with the ascent of No. Two Gully. Eventually we got above the rock walls into the summit funnel, and then traversed to the left to avoid the cornice, and up a steeper section of snow onto the summit plateau. We realised by this time that we had been beautifully sheltered in our gully! We made our way still roped, to the Observatory and descended through a hole, but it was still very cold inside – too cold to eat, I considered.
Then we realised that Ernest wasn't with us and we concluded that he was seeing the girls off on their way to Fort William. Actually he had been slow in setting off, had missed us, and had failed to find the Observatory. We realised John's value on the descent, we made our way over to No. Three Gully and, while I stood well back (we were still roped up), John looked over. He said that there were no steps on the Three, so we decided against descending it, I was against Corrie Leis (it was after my Friday's experience up to the head of the Allt a' Mhuillinn), so the only alternative was down the Red Burn and over the shoulder into our glen. John had out his map and compass, and possibly altimeter as well, and led us without faltering, while I tried to amuse myself by seeing if I could manage the rope (it would be so easy if one hadn't an axe to carry). It soon became too soft for standing glissades, and looked too wet for sitting ones, so we ran down, often sinking up to our knees in the snow. Then we got to the rocks, and John started across them at an alarming rate. I was very thankful to unrope on these.
We waited an age while the other party unroped, but even so we lost them, for they preferred to go lower, the going was easier certainly, but it was a longer way round. We hit the corner of the fence just as John had foretold, and then we had the path to follow up. As we got lower we had got down into the rain and, instead of drying out in the wind, as I had hoped, I got wetter and wetter. Back at camp I anxiously peeped into my tent, but all was dry.
What a comfort it was to have a tent to myself to get into, after I had removed my wet clothes, I put on all my spare clothes (I had only brought the minimum and then proceeded to cook my supper. My diet was the same each night: Maggi soup, steak, sausage, egg and pom, and then dried fruit – bananas, fresh apples, dates and crystallised fruit salad.
I had just dozed off in my bag at about 9 o'clock when I was invited into Don's and Nat's tent for tea, where I continued the drying of my woolly, and heard all about Tower Ridge. I had seen them at the top of the Douglas Boulder after ¾ hour and I learned that the rocks of the ridge had presented no difficulty, but the top snow had been rather dicey, where they had caught the full force of the wind; in fact they had used two ice pitons for belays on this part, and left them for the two subsequent parties, one of whom was Clive, Ann and another boy, and the other was the man who had watched Don on Lot's Groove.
They had got up hours before us and had found steps in No. Three Gully, which they were glad to use, as the gully was so icy.
I was up at 7 o'clock and joined with the next tent in putting all the wet clothes out to dry. My breakfast and preparations again only took an hour, but this morning, despite the fact that it held far greater promise than the previous, I was quite glad to delay the start. Eventually Don and Nat were ready and were disappointed to see someone already on Northeast Buttress. I thought their talents would be wasted on this so I remarked that the rocks of Observatory Ridge were only diff., but I cautioned them that the book gave no indication of the route, once one was up the top of the rocks. They were interested and got me to point out the ridge, and were soon off in that direction. Eleven o'clock came and went and there was no sign of Grace and Nell, so we concluded that they had gone in a different direction. Arthur said he was thinking of Tower Ridge, so I told him he was crazy to think of starting for it at about 12 o'clock. Then Ernest and John said they were thinking of Tower Ridge and I became interested in it, and dropped my scheme of walking over the Aonachs (I found that John had the same idea, that he'd rather walk than trail up something in a party of nine again).
It is Ernest's ambition to climb up the ridge from the bottom of the boulder, but I said there wasn't time and we agreed to ascend the gully to the left. Then I proceeded to lose them no end of a lot of time! I was in front, it was a lovely day by now, and I had energy to burn and enjoyed burning it. I went round the bottom of the boulder and then started up the lower reaches of lower gully, looking for a side gully up to the gap between the boulder and the ridge proper. The first bay I passed bore no such gully, despite the fact that there were steps up it, so I continued up, until John, from right at the rear, told me to come down, as I had gone too far. I thought I was right, but I immediately descended for I thought it would be more pleasant to spend my time going up and down, rather than sitting waiting for the others. I was disappointed that the snow wasn't more fun for glissading.
Ernest and I traversed along, and then John called out that I had been right in the first place and we had better go up. I went up to the next snowy bay and realised that we were definitely too high, so we retreated again to the snow where Ernest and I had started traversing, and crossed this. I went across until I could look down onto the correct gully, but the others wouldn't follow me, they preferred to follow the steps which led up to the ridge, by the first snow crest.
My excuse was that there had been so much more snow the year before, and the light had gone before we were down the gully. We were all most intrigued to see the lay-out of the snow on the Douglas Boulder, on our way down. Of course we were already too high before we began to look for the gully.
The crests and banks of snow were nothing compared with last year, and then we came to the rocks. It seemed utterly incredible to me that I had got up them at all last year, when they were inches deep in ice. They were definitely moderate to difficult under these perfect conditions. We had agreed not to rope until necessary, but soon John decided that the rocks called for a rope, although we were able to move together practically the whole way.
Soon John relinquished the lead to Ernest whom I was less happy following. We seemed to be making very steady progress until we reached the Eastern Traverse, where we caught up all sorts of parties (we hadn't seen the people ahead before this). Those behind us had the sense to wait down in the sun. We sat and shivered for an hour, although the monotony was broken by watching Don and Nat on the cliff opposite. They were up the rocks before we had really started, but on the next part they were moving very slowly. We could hear their axes and on the last patch of rock I was horrified at the time even the second took to climb it, so I knew that it must be desperately difficult. How guilty I felt for the part I had played in sending them up there; I was just about praying that they'd turn back, for I calculated that if they didn't move quicker they wouldn't get up before dark. The part still to come looked terrible, for of course we were looking at it nearly face on, but they seemed to move much quicker on it, and were soon lost to view.
After a wait of about an hour it was our turn for the eastern traverse – which was perfectly easy, absolutely sound belays the whole way. To our horror, once across we found that there was still a hold up, we were still following the people who seemed to take nearly ½ hour to change a belay.
The caravan continued to traverse, and both Ernest and I knew that was wrong. John had a look at an upper route, but said that he was inexperienced in snow, so he encouraged the four behind him to look at this route, which they made to go, and who we then followed – and so we ended up even further back in the queue.
We sat in the sun while those four crossed the gap (the other track avoided this interesting part). The girl in the party found this a desperate adventure, but she obviously wasn't in the same class as the three girls further ahead who were climbing together.
There was a knife edge of snow to walk along to the gap, and then I found that it had its moments. As John said afterwards, did he detect a note of alarm in my voice as I swung down? Indeed he did – very carelessly I had copied Ernest, Instead of looking around and finding my own way. With my camera pushing me out, I was afraid I shouldn't reach the foothold and my hands were too cold to letme hang on for long, but fortunately I just reached it. My cold hands made the ascent far more difficult than I remembered it from 1948. After the gap we had a clear run up the last part; how I enjoyed this, in a moment I had forgotten all the tedious waiting we had had both days. I was perfectly happy and I wouldn't have changed places with anyone else in the world. Ernest followed steps up, and then traversed to the right to the bottom of the scoop where I followed him and belayed – this was where ice pegs had been used the day before, but by this time perfect axe belays had been made, and I felt quite happy watching Ernest ascend this last steep pitch. When he was up I asked John not to come for a moment, until I had used my camera; I normally pride myself that I never hold up my party with my camera, but this was different, this was the photographic opportunity of a lifetime. Little did I know that the negatives wouldn't be worth printing! To my right was a snow slope full of texture, ice crystals with the sun shining through on the edge, and lighting them up. Then if I bent forward, I could just get the sun to disappear out of sight, so as not to fog the film. Then there was the snow slope down to Cairn Dearg in the middle distance, and behind that, loch and mountain so characteristic of the Scottish Highlands. The sky had its interest too, in the shape of streaks of clouds. I tried two snaps of that, and then one looking down onto the Great Tower, but I was still focused at 10 feet, when I took the last one. Soon John and I joined Ernest on the summit plateau; John got out his camera for a group, so I did the same. By this time, the sun was behind some cloud so I took a couple of snaps of mostly sky, pointing straight at the sun, one had Cairn Dearg in the foreground, and the other only the summit snow and both had loch, mountains and the sea in the background.
There was a cold wind on top and, as exhilarated as we felt, we didn't want to linger, but soon made our way round to Northeast Buttress, and looked down at the steps leading up from Observatory Buttress – it looked just as steep as we had imagined, but we could see that the snow was soft on this top part, after the very dicey middle part they had been able to progress rapidly. How I wished I had had a film left to photograph this, and also the cornices on this part. We had again discussed the descent of No. Three Gully, but the others were against it, and Ernest got his way, and we went down the arête to Corrie Leis. I was relieved to find that we weren't the first people to descend this way (I was afraid of finding it icy, as I had found the head of the glen on Friday), the first 2 or 3 feet were vertical and I descended backwards and then the other two were discussing glissading. That appeared very desperate to me, but when I am with non-skiers I feel I oughtn't to show my feelings about glissading and I had a try, and found that conditions were perfect. I took my time getting down, having the excuse that I was waiting for the others, whenever I wanted a rest. Despite Ernest's protestations that he didn't like glissading, and wouldn't try it, he descended by the same means as John and I, but complained that it made his thighs ache. I was most disappointed when it got too soft for a standing one, for it wasn't worth getting wet sitting at that time of the day. We were most interested in the topography of the Douglas Boulder – it all looked so simple! There had been exquisite colours in the sky all the way down, so many different shades of blue, but the clouds were gathering, and I thought that perhaps the parting on the next day wouldn't be as difficult as if it were another sunny day.
We arrived home about 7 o'clock, just the right time, and I cooked my supper and then accepted an invitation to tea at the neighbours and relived their climb as they chatted about it. Apparently on the difficult part, where I was praying that they'd retreat to save a benightment, they put all such thought from them, for it was so difficult they didn't think they'd be able to get down, or a night out would be better than trying. At times they said that the snow crust they were following was paper thin, they'd kick into it about 2 feet from the crest, and still they'd kick right through to the other side. Apparently some from the hut had been so impressed that they'd come over to chat with Don and Nat and had invited them in for the evening, but the latter didn't bother to accept the invitation.
The day was over cast, but at least it was dry; I should have hated to have carried a soaking wet tent. As usual I started breakfast about 7 o'clock, and then struck my tent, leaving it groundsheet up for a little while, trying to dry the underneath. Eventually, I was ready, and set off by myself for Arthur, Bob and their two friends had left very early, and Don and Nat were the only other two leaving, and I knew they'd soon catch me up. Someone came out of the hut as I passed, so I set my watch by C.I.C. time, it was 9.45.
I passed various parties, on their way up for a day's climbing. First of all there was Norman Cochrane, leading an M.A.M. party and, some way behind, was a party including George Sutton. I had expected the slog up to nearly kill me, instead I found it nothing at all (hardly!). I had expected the run down to be nothing at all, and instead it nearly killed me! I had packed so badly, I had all sorts of things sticking into my back, so I took it off and reorganised it, and Don caught me up just in time to tighten the waist strap at the back (even he found it a struggle to do that). The others were soon lost, out of sight, for we were together at intervals all the way along to Fort William. As we did last year, we walked along the railway line, and then along the road. The latter seemed never ending. I began to wonder why the residents of that end didn't agitate for a station nearer to them.
At intervals I rested my pack, but passers-by were so sorry for me when I did this that I had to press on. Eventually we were at the station, left our packs and did our hair, and were back in the breakfast café for a meal – we decided that last year's café was better for a mid-day meal. Next Nat bought some socks and hankies, and then the others bought provisions for the train, and we were back at the station and boarding the 2.15, the extra to Glasgow. What a glorious run it was, the sky was practically cloudless, but somehow the peaks with their snow gullies or snow ridges never have the same interest when you're on your way back. I changed and then I stretched out on a seat and shut my eyes until one of the others described a view which I felt I couldn't miss, but how tantalising it was, leaving under the brilliant blue sky. The officials had advised me to change at Cowlairs Junction for Edinburgh and at how many stations towards the end of the run did the others tell me I was there? Then in the end I found myself at Queen's Street, Glasgow! Don and Nat were going from Glasgow, so I said goodbye to them on the platform, but we all met again upstairs, and went to the enquiry office, but the boy was quite useless. Despite his help I managed to catch my train to Waverly – that station always amazes me by its size – and I had nice time to get a corner seat on the 9.52 to Nottingham, where we arrived about 6 a.m. I was amazed to find the pavements wet; apparently the lovely Easter Monday was peculiar to Scotland.
I caught the 9.06 to Tamworth and Joy joined it at Derby. She was in a most peculiar mood, because she hadn't been able to buy a ticket to Windermere. At Loughborough they would only sell her one to Derby and at Derby they were just as awkward about a ticket to Windermere and then wouldn't even sell her one to Crewe, because, they said, the last train had gone, so she bought one to Tamworth.
At Tamworth, Joy was in no mood to see the funny side of the tea hut – we had one cup of tea there and then retreated to the Ladies waiting room until the 11.58 was due. I went into the only carriage I could find with two vacant seats and expected Joy to follow me, she looked in and then went away and when I next saw her at Crewe she was quite happy. Apparently she had been in a carriage with some Scottish soldiers who were trying to imitate a Somerset accent. They cheered up Joy for the rest of the journey.
At Crewe I had a cup of tea, waited about half an hour in the familiar waiting room and then caught the 2.18, which was on time.
Again, the Windermere carriages were put on the front of the train, and Joy and I had a compartment to ourselves, and I know I slept most of the way to Windermere, and was most reluctant to get up when we arrived. By the time we had packed and got out, the ticket collector had moved up the platform, so Joy had reason to be grateful that they wouldn't sell her a ticket at Loughborough. We were in on time, at about 5.30, with time to walk to Ambleside for the first Langdale bus, but this was our lucky morning, we had hardly got out of the station yard, when Joy thumbed a lorry. "British Road Services, it'll never stop", I said, but I didn't in the least mind being wrong and he soon had us to Ambleside. He also said he was returning 8.30 p.m. on Sunday night to go to Birmingham, but I had a return train ticket and Joy decided not to go on her own.
We found that the bus station was being resurfaced, but we found that the Langdale bus only began from the next road. We walked around, wondered whether Margaret was in the hostel, and eventually found that the snack bar was open. The tea was a very good idea, but I wasn't so sure of the cheese and onion sandwich I had with it.
It had been misty at first and we got not view; then, as we left the lake and got higher up the valley, we began to realise that the blue sky wasn't far behind, and then the hills came into view. I've never known them look higher, I couldn't believe that I'd soon be climbing up them (I doubted the wisdom of doing so later on in the heat of the day!).
At the O.D.G. Joy and I continued on, up the valley looking at the fields on the right for possible camp sites. The first field had cows in it, the second sheep, but the third appeared clear, and also there was a patch of ground at the bottom which was almost level so we went in, pitched our tents there, and started the primus. Soon a boy came along the track with some cows, so I asked him if it was alright to camp in the field, and to which farm it belonged. He replied "Middlefell". We had a very light breakfast and then I went along to meet Margaret off the 9.20 bus. The bus was early, I saw a girl in a blue skirt being carried into the hotel and then I saw Margaret and Isobel in the field behind. I told Isobel I hadn't a sleeping bag for her, so she said that she was hostelling, and bird watching in the valley. Margaret said that, from the hostel, she had heard Joy say "Where are you going" at about 6 a.m. They had reached the hostel in time the night before by bussing from Oxenholme.
Joy, Margaret and I went across the fields to Stool End Farm, and then started up the Band. How hot it was, everyone seemed racing on ahead, even an unlikely looking couple in thin shoes. We didn't make good time either, stopping for a rest where the climbers' path leaves the Three Tarns path. Margaret was able to tell me of her adventures up there in the snow, earlier in the year. We stopped at a spring for lunch, facing the Buttress, and then went over to it and roped up. Joy wouldn't join on, despite the fact that we had taken up an extra rope for her (I was christening my new 120 ft nylon this weekend) and that she had taken up her rucksack with her slacks. I was so interested to do this climb again, but so depressed to think that I had learned nothing (but discrimination) these last 12 years. I was leading this time, but I felt that that should cancel out the bad conditions I had when I first climbed it. This time I noticed the pitch before the chimney, and the chimney I found awkward. I had to take off my rucksack half way up (the first time I did it I tried to do it well, even if I was given a tight rope). This time I just tried to get up it somehow. The next pitch, which impressed me the first time, also impressed me this time, although I don't usually notice it – the holds were very polished for nails, until I could reach the good handhold, and then the next chimney wasn't quite the carefree scramble it had seemed the first time, when I had hoped the real climbing would soon begin.
I began to realise that the holds were of the Tryfan type, that the climb was one of brute force and sheer ignorance, but, of course, it must be much more scratched these days. I remember the first time being so disappointed that, on occasions we'd wander about on grass ledges, avoiding these steep rock. This time I was rather intrigued to see the easy line the climb took up this very steep buttress.
Next was the crack; I had been dreading it, remembering that last time I did the climb, when I was last down the crack I had a doubled rope. I got some way up the crack and nearly decided that I was stuck and should have to come down, when I told myself that it would be worse the next time I tried it, for I should be more tired, so I went on, and didn't regret it.
I had a rucksack with an extra rope in it etc. and I had left it at the foot of the crack, so I soon hauled that up, tied on and brought up Margaret, who seemed to find the upper part more difficult than the crack. Next was what I call the exposed move, which I surmounted with the aid of a knee. Somehow Margaret considered the stance at the end of that pitch to be exposed, despite the good belay.
I had quite forgotten the next move; I moved up standing on the rope and nearly accused Margaret of pulling me down, and then I found all progress barred, so I got out the book. When I read that I had to make a long stride, I tried and found it O.K. The landing was better than I expected. Soon we were at the cairn and making our way up to Joy, who was at the real top of the buttress and not near the top of Bowfell. I had had plans for all sorts of climbs to follow on, but, seeing Joy sunbathing, I was only too pleased to join her, and Margaret was satisfied with just one climb too. I think we spent an hour or so there, eating any fruit we had with us, and then went over to the summit, picked out the view on the map and then descended to Three Tarns where Joy wished to swim. Earlier in the day I had had similar ideas, but by this time it didn't seem worth getting my clothes wet in such dirty little puddles (there were too many people on Bowfell to allow us to take off everything). I did actually feel the water with my hand and found it very warm, of course it is in such a shallow layer – Margaret paddled.
To vary the way up and down the Band, which Margaret knew so well, we went down Hell Gill. My map (1910 vintage) marked a path down either side of it; I could find no path on either side! I forget why I was in front, but I know I went on down, for fear I should come to a cul de sac. I was on the right of the stream and the way got steeper and steeper, reminding of the way I once descended An't Sron to Clachaig, when we got into some quite nasty gullies. All went well, eventually I came to a path and waited for the others. Apparently they were busy talking and had no such doubts. It was a lovely gill, with a wonderful pool at the bottom, but Joy didn't seem to want another swim. All day I had promised myself milk at Stool End, and even Joy didn't refuse a glass when we got there. Next we started to cut across fields to our camp, but an oldish lady at the farm called us back. We went over the first bridge and then cut across fields, hoping we were on Wall End land.
Isobel had just arrived back at camp with the water, and we soon had supper on, sitting in the open, although, towards the end I put the primus in Joy's tent when the wind got up. We had soup (Dutch Maggi) then luncheon meat, tomato and the cooked potato which Joy had brought. She had brought it in a new Gilwell pan (tin) and then couldn't get the lid off, so she proceeded to open it with a tin opener – and I though that Joy was unusually practical for a girl! We finished up with Joy's tinned grapes.
Isobel had several times done the walk that day from the camp to the Y.H. so she knew how long it took, and left at the appropriate hour. Margaret started along with her, but apparently she was more interested in birds than in getting to the hostel in time, so Isobel soon left Margaret, and we met the latter in the old .D.G where we sat outside on the gravel and drank.
I was asleep by about 10.30 that night, before Joy had finished talking.
We woke at about 7 a.m. Margaret's watch had stopped, and she was very sorry she hadn't got up earlier to find the Meadow Pippett's nest further up the valley. Breakfast was soon under way, and then Margaret came back with a lamb from the nearest Stool End field. I looked in a bad way, so Margaret took it to the farm, where they said that they had lost a lot lambs through the disease; that they died within 4 hours of the appearance of the symptoms. This time, the older lady was most grateful to Margaret. Next, Margaret and I set off up for Gimmer; it was quite a pull, and I was very glad we were getting up before the heat of the day.
Eventually we met the main path along and were at the foot of the way up to Ash Tree Ledge and, in the traditional place, we stopped and put on our rubbers, and then went down and round to the foot of Ash Tree Slabs, which we were soon up, and making our way along to the start of 'A' route. It's years since I'd done this climb, but it isn't difficult to find, and I know parts of it so well, for instance the belay half way up 40 ft corner was even familiar to Margaret. The final crack looked a little ferocious, but it worked out O.K. when I tried it.
By the time we started up A route, other people were arriving at Gimmer and, as we descended the Southeast Gully, we could see them coming from all directions – who could blame them on such a glorious hot day, but our time was up. We had on our boots and, at about 12.15, we set off down.
It was a glorious run, so different from the long toil up and we were back in camp in plenty of time to brew tea and have a meal. We were sorry to find that Joy and Isobel hadn't managed to light the stove, and the latter had to have a cold breakfast after walking all the way from Elterwater for it (they consoled themselves with coffee at the D.G.!).
By 2 o'clock I was packed and ready, so I set off for the bus at Chapel Style. It was very hot by this time and I found the road most depressing, particularly the number of private coaches, and I was very glad to get onto the old road, for a bit of peace and quiet. Back on the road again, just over the hill I came to the water trough, so I thought I'd surprise everyone by having a wash. Joy caught me in the act, and then Margaret arrived in time to change rucksacks with me. After all this, we still arrived at Chapel Stile with ½ hour to spare, so we bought oranges, grapefruit squash, postcards, and chatted to the man; he showed us a card of Jim Birkett in action, and we also discussed the local artists.
At Ambleside Joy and I waited for the bus, while Margaret and Isobel went along the road to see if they'd have any luck. Apparently they did, for we didn't see them again.
We had a cup of tea at Carnforth, and then a very slow ride to Leeds. Here Joy's conscience pricked. She said that she'd hate to pay 25/- for a ticket from Windermere to Loughborough, but at the same time she didn't see that she ought to do the journey quite for nothing, so she eventually borrowed my ticket and went out of the barrier and bought a single to Sheffield (5/6) which was very honest of her as she knows the train never has a ticket collector on it (she had a ticket from Sheffield to Loughborough).
I left her at Derby, and got into my train, and only woke up when they shouted "All change" in the window at Nottingham.
Arthur had rung up the night before and had offered me a lift in Geraldine's Daimler. I refused at first, saying that I had told too many people that I should be on the train, but Arthur said that Bob could tell them what I was doing, so I accepted the lift. The time of 6 o'clock was mentioned. I was grateful that Mrs. Marriott rang up and said they wouldn't arrive until 6.30 or 7 o'clock, for that gave me time for tea. Seven o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of them, and I resolved that, if they weren't there by 8 o'clock I should tell them I'd go by train, but they arrived at 7.30. Even then we didn't get away; Geraldine had to go back for her boots – it wasn't as though they were climbing boots, they were little towny ones, but by 7.45 we actually turned towards the Great North Road.
I thought what a joy to be travelling the Ollerton Road in a Daimler. I was soon to learn we rarely touched 35 m.p.h. and never went above, everything passed us, buses, lorries, private cars. How different from the other times I've gone by road with Ron, Bernard etc. and I began to realise that Val's little Ford Anglia was infinitely preferable to a Daimler, for nothing ever passed the Ford.
We went through Ferry Bridge and then soon turned off on the Leeds road, and then onto the ring road. I hate ring roads on principle, so I wasn't surprised when this one had a notice "Road Up". The diversion wasn't signposted; we turned left, but soon started going towards Leeds, then, after some time, we found the Harrogate road, which we followed to the ring road, where we came to the same diversion and Arthur decided to continue along the ring road despite the road closed notice. We went some way along, and then realised we couldn't get much further and turned off on the right. This was O.K. at first, until we got to a fork without a signpost, but eventually got onto the Otley road and, at 11.20 on the outskirts of Otley, we found a chip shop which wasn't quite closed, and they fried us fish and chips and then we continued, on through Ilkley and Skipton and Settle – I dozed all the way, off and on. How different it had been last year, when we had got to Settle in the light and had bypassed Kirby Lonsdale by 10 o'clock, but of course I couldn't doze on the bike!
After the break at Otley, Arthur announced that it had woken him up and he could go on and drive, and this he did until about 2 o'clock, when he stopped and said he could go no further. He and Ed suggested that they'd get out and leave Geraldine and me to stretch out and get comfortable. Geraldine refused; she said there wasn't enough room to get comfortable in the car and she also said that it was too noisy by the main road. Ed then piped up with his usual little speech, saying that we couldn't go into a field as we mustn't do that without the farmer's permission and we couldn't get that at this time of night. Geraldine and I countered that by saying that we could drive up a side road and then get in the grass by the side of the road and at last they agreed to do this. Arthur still insisted on driving, although he admitted that he'd done enough and Ed offered to take over and Geraldine seemed quite eager to drive her own car.
We turned up a narrow little lane to the left and found that it led up to a gate into a farm; we stopped before that, and the others just sat in the car so I got out my bag and got into it, beneath a big tree, for it was spitting with rain at intervals.
Ed woke us; he was up and saying that it was 5.30 a.m. I sat up in my bag and tried to come to, and then sat and watched while someone came out of the farm. It was a tall and very old man, striding down the lane. I was ready with either a cheery good morning, or an explanation of our presence, but he passed Arthur and me without apparently noticing us. He veered more to the left and passed quite close to Geraldine in her bag and then he seemed to notice Ed's bag and stopped and picked it up and shook it. Then he turned back and peered at Geraldine, and only Arthur can imitate the "Uh" noise he made when he saw her. Then he walked back to the farm.
We got out of our bags and rolled them up ready to get away, not knowing the old boy's next move. He returned with a woman a few yards behind him, and she looked a suitable mate for him. She looked at us, but her face wasn't inviting enough to pass the time of day with her. The old boy practically bumped into an open car door, and then a few paces further forward he missed Eddie by inches. I'm sure he was practically blind. The woman swore lustily as she opened the gate, and in the field she rounded up all the cows, and then came into the lane and it was the man's turn to go in. He went up to a cow, quickly put a rope over its head and then led it back to the farm and then came back and repeated the operation with the next cow, and, as we were leaving, he had roped up the third.
We drove on and very soon passed a tent in an open space to the left of the road, where the people were just getting up. This was just before Kendal, where Geraldine told us to stop, as a café was open (I had seen the notice 'open', but it hadn't registered at that time in the morning. Geraldine had noticed the two bicycles outside). Inside we had fried egg and fried bread and lashings of bread, butter and marmalade, not to mentioned the large pot of tea which was our first request.
The bikes belonged to a boy of about 12 and his father; they were cycling to the bird sanctuary at Ravenglas, the boy had always wanted to cycle through the night and hear the dawn chorus, and this is what they had done. Eventually we managed to get ourselves out in the car again, and set off for Windermere, but realised that we were very low on petrol, so made a determined effort to get some in Ambleside. We were sent back to a garage on the Windermere road and waited until it opened, soon after 8.30. Soon the rain started, the windscreen wipers had broken, and I don't think Arthur found me a very conscientious hand worker of the wipers. I thought when it got light Arthur would at least return to his "touching 35" speed, the same as he had done in the light the evening before, but no, 25 was the most he could get up to and, with the rain, he seemed to go slower and slower.
Eventually we were in Keswick, but the others all had shopping to do there – eventually they returned and we turned towards Borrowdale. We drove up to the farm, and they informed us that Marjorie's party were by the stream, where we found Marjorie and Nell, Norman and Margaret, John, Bob, Bernard and Derek, and Kay and his two Australian friends, Margaret and Frank. We were all most surprised to see K, as Ron had said that K was going with him to Wales. Apparently Ron hadn't informed K in time about this. Ernest, Jack and John completed the early arrivals, and Wyn and Rene came along later. Apparently they had come by bus from Windermere, and hadn't long arrived, and I had plenty of time to put up my tent, and even then I was one of the first people ready. The Scafell party consisted of Bob, John, Bernard and Derek, and K and his two friends. Everyone raced up towards Sty Head, but then fortunately stopped to reorganise their clothes, which gave me a chance to catch up. For the next part John seemed quite au fait with the guides' track, and got us along it some way. I started to say I was hungry and, at about 2 o'clock, where we crossed Piers' Gill, we actually stopped for lunch. There had been some quite lovely effects with the mist, as we approached this more rocky part and, after lunch, once over the col of Lingmell, we were in the sunshine. As everyone said, how much more did we appreciate the sun, through having a bad morning.
There was one diversion on the way down, to watch a battle between a slug and a beetle – we thought the beetle was the master of the situation, but we weren't quite sure, the beetle kept having to scrape the slug off its back and would then try to get it round its neck, and carry it down to its hole, but the slug never quite became detached from the beetle, and we wondered what its suckers were doing.
At the foot of the crags we stopped to consider our climb. All along I had suggested Slingsby's, but that seemed rather easy for Bob and me on a lovely warm sunny afternoon, so I suggested that we should try a 'vd' such as Keswick Brothers climb. Kay wanted to take his two friends on a suitable climb, so I suggested Slingsby's to them, and said that if we did another climb it would ease the congestion.
When we were well and truly committed to our climb I began to realise that I had done the wrong thing, that Kay had never been on Scafell before, and that it would have given him a lot of moral support to have had another party in front of him on the climb instead of just handing him a guidebook and saying "yours is the second gully along".
Derek and Bernard decided to walk over the Pike and take photographs and John joined Bob and me. We cut straight up to Rake's Progress. I got in front for this. It was quite a serious if mucky little pitch, and then Bob started up Keswick Brothers, and belayed at the top of the first pitch, but showed no enthusiasm for the slimy green rock. Next it was John's turn; he was in vibrams and very soon retreated, saying he'd prefer to walk with the other two, so I joined Bob at the top of pitch 1. Very soon we came to a chimney; how Bob hated it. I could see that his clothes were all green where he had been in contact with it, so when it was my turn I didn't try to save my clothes, but came straight up. This took us to the Pulpit; I forget the order of two of the pitches, I remember Bob had great difficulty on one, and when I looked at it I wasn't surprised. I soon retreated and traversed to the right, where the holds were excellent (and scratched), even if the situation was exposed. Bob also had difficulty on the short overhanging crack, but that's because he tries to climb properly, not like I do, sitting on the rock as often as possible. A diversion was caused by a shout "Hallo Eileen" – Ray Hanley and Judy sat on Micheldore and chatted. They said that the Dons and Nat had done the diagonal route on Black Crag and would be back on Scafell the next day.
At the end Bob tried to do an alternative finish; I suppose we did the first alternative, up the arête, but my heart wasn't in it; I felt that we'd wasted far too much time that day and we ought to be moving. Higher up, we unroped and Bob said that he'd seen Ernest, so I suggested that we stopped and ate our fruit before joining up (generous soul that I am!). Then we went on round Pisgah and saw Ernest lead John G. and Jack up the arête after Slingsby's. Ernest made some rather pointed remarks. He said they had been delayed because they'd had to give help to another party with most unsuitable footwear. How sorry I felt for that other party who had been so badly advised on their choice of a climb. I realised for the first time the use of Pike's Crag in the sunshine. It was very pleasant watching people climb, but I was worried about the time. For instance I knew beginners would take a little while to get down Broad Stand. Kay led up the arête and, as Bob said, the climbing was improving with each person we saw go up it. Then we watched the first two cross Jordan gap, and then started down saying that we'd get clear of Broad Stand. Bob was a little surprised, and wondered how the tourists got on, on the pitch, and then we were on Micheldore. I had my woolly off and ran down to pick up Kay's party's things below their climb, to save time. Poor Bob, he met me half way up, and pointed to the spectators on Micheldore and said, "What will they think?" I am not used to such chivalry. Soon after 7 o'clock, we set off over the Pike, Broad Crag and Ill Crag, and then discussed going down to the left of Great End, but there was no obvious path, so I was against it as my impression was that it would be very craggy and we went up Great End, getting into the mist. Bob was in front and found a pile of cairns down towards Sty Head, and started to follow them down, this annoyed me for I had intended to keep to the right of the crags and, even if there were cairns, there was no easy path, but the way turned out O.K. after all. We got below the mist and were able to traverse along and down easy ground to Sprinkling Tarn and then down Grains Gill. John had warned us that it was a terribly stony path, so we were pleasantly surprised and enjoyed the walk down very much, but I could have done without the road walk at the end, However, we had a pleasant break, a glass of milk at Mrs. Edmonson's and so to camp at 9.30, where we ate the soup John provided and then cooked sausage, steak and tomato, and finished off on Derek's tin of cherries with John's custard.
It was a great effort to get up at 7 o'clock, but I am a reformed character these days and, soon after 9 o'clock, John, Bob and I set out, in the rain, for Gable, several other people saying they'd follow when the rain stopped. We trod the familiar path up Sty Head, and then started along the traverse. Bob didn't seem thrilled at the thought of Kern Knott's chimney, so we continued onto the Needle, and had our lunch in the Dress Circle, while watching a man take two girls up Needle Ridge. It was cold sitting, and my party thought they'd like to do the ridge, but then another party climbed up to the beginning, so we thought we'd better try another climb and I suggested Eagle's Nest West Chimney; the trouble was I couldn't find it! – we went round to the gully, but it didn't seem to lead off from there, nor could I see a likely beginning anywhere else, and the book was delightfully vague. There was a very heavy rainstorm; we tried to shelter from it and by this time the other party had moved off from the Needle Ridge, so we moved up to that. It was a cold blowy day, and Bob retreated once from the first pitch, but got up it O.K. after that.
I had got my hands cold paying out his rope, but I should have warmed them again while John climbed. However, when it was my turn, however, I found the pitch quite dicey, with its polished footholds and my hands rapidly cooling off, but I was up eventually. Really I suppose it was quite a pleasant climb, but I don't think I was in the mood for it. The most interesting thing was to watch the view over Wastwater, the wind rippling its surface and a watery sun at times lighting up parts of it. I had both their cameras, and usually when I caught them up, they'd get them out and take the view. It was interesting to watch the Needle, for a large party was climbing it. After the climb, when it came to walking along the ridge, I thought it had its moments, with the strong and gusty wind. We then made our way to the summit – quite a popular place on Whit Sunday, and ate and admired the view over Crummooch Water etc. and then set off down to Aaron Slack, and then up Green Gable and down to Gillercombe. this is quite a "hidden valley", and very pleasant in the afternoon sunshine, and we finished with a delightful descent by Sour Milk Gill, among the scented May trees. At one point there was an ash tree in the shell of a mountain ash tree, parties were playing on the slabs. We had tea at Mrs. Edmonson's. I was hoping for a Cumberland tea, but it was quite ordinary and also quite reasonable, and then we wandered back to camp and Bob joined Derek and Bernard for cooking, and I had better put it that John cooked for me, with Bob occasionally popping over with pancake etc. The night before, Marjorie and Nell had given me coffee when I got back. This time we made them tea, but they hardly needed it, having had a real Cumberland tea at Gatesgarth.
I had meant to get to bed early, but firstly we stood and looked at John G's Norway photographs, until it began to spit with rain, and then Bob came into my tent to talk Chamonix.
Margaret Draper and I had agreed to travel back together on the Monday, but it wasn't until we got to Borrowdale that I realised that Margaret intended to travel back by day. I put off my decision saying that I'd wait and see what the weather was like. Monday morning, the weather was doubtful, but I realised that I'd sooner sit looking at the rain from inside a tent, than travel back by day, so I let poor old Margaret go back on her own.
We got up at 7 a.m. as usual, and I was soon packed, but, as usual, John was making nice things for the journey back and was late. Bob was wanting him to pack up, so that he could collect his own things together and the best thing seemed to be for Bob and I to take down the tent. John then packed in a fearful hurry, for it was spotting slightly with rain. We had plenty of time for the 9.50 bus down the valley and, while we were waiting in it, those who were staying on passed us, on their way to Pillar. We got out at the Borrowdale Hotel, and left our large packs in a nearby cottage, where John had once stayed, and then carried our little packs up to the foot of Black Crag Buttress. This climb had been John's idea. I was against it, for John had turned back from a 'vd' on Saturday, because he thought it too difficult and I expected this low crag to be equally messy. Also the climb was 375 feet and we had a train to catch and we were quite a weak party. I favoured Greenup Arête on Lining Crag, but I couldn't get John to see my point of view, so, thinking that if he was game to try Black Crag Buttress, so was I, I set off up it thinking that we must retreat if we were going too slowly on it.
I set off up the crack, and then sent John along the Heather Ledge, and then started on what I considered was the climb proper. The way was well indicated by the scratches, but wasn't polished like glass, like the climbs on Gable etc. I soon began to realise we were on a magnificent route, it was steep, and the holds small, but incut. The first groove I tried to the right and then to the left (they were both scratched) and finally realised that the right hand one was the easier. Next was an easier part, traversing up to the left, until I had a shock and realised that there was nothing beyond, the way then went to the right. I considered the "groove through the overhang" to be a little thin, the handholds were slimy, so I didn't trust them as I should have done. I thought the belay much too poor, so left a runner on it and went up the next pitch. As I took in the rope I realised that we were rather a small party, if John should come off, the runner probably wouldn't stay on, and John would swing round onto unclimbable rock. The running belay came off before very long, but apparently John was quite happy on this pitch, despite his vibrams. Next it was quite easy going to the oak tree, where I left a runner, and belayed on the slab. When John joined me, I thought he'd better go on to the next belay, afterwards John kept referring to this as the part where he went first; I don't know whether he realised that I sent him on as I could protect him better from the first stance. I tried to keep the rope round a nogging, as he came to go down the last part of the slab. I could see that John was finding this part difficult, but that was the east of my worries. I was watching a storm over Keswick and wondering how soon it would reach us, and noticing that the wind was getting up, and also I was looking at the line of the climb. This was the part John G. had told me about, the slab led onto an overhang; there was no break in it. I could see where the rock was scratched, but it literally overhung for 10 feet at any rate. I thought if only I could try it in rubbers, before the water started streaming down it, and before my hands got quite numbed by the cold wind, and I thought what an age it would take if we had to retreat down the climb. I joined John and tied him onto the little belay, and then I felt the hold for the overhang; the book and John G. had said that the holds were excellent, and that first hold was only a finger hold, so I came back and changed into rubbers. I know I ought to be able to lead a 'vd' in boots, but my point was that if I didn't manage it, John wouldn't be able to lead it and the belay was so placed that, with a party of two, a shoulder could not be given, so I thought I'd do best to put everything into doing it first time, instead of tiring myself by looking at it in boots first. While I was changing, John prepared an orange, and then I set off up for a do or die attempt on it. It was only the first hold which was a finger hold. All the others were real hand holds and I was soon up to the belay, and hauling up my rucksack with my boots in it, and then John followed up. I think he was a little impressed with it. I thought it was all over and changed back into boots, and then went on up to the Crest of the pinnacle where, despite the book's description, "A very fine situation with superb views", I was quite unprepared for the magnificent arête I was on. Next I came to the "very steep and exposed corner" which "is climbed on good holds to the finish". I started up this in boots and was a little impressed with it, until I came to the corner, my reaction to the sight of this was immediately to put on a runner! At first every time I looked round to the left the wind blew extra strongly, so I thought I'd wait until the wind dropped before trying it.
Then I had a few half hearted attempts at it. The foothold was a long way up, and outward sloping, and very polished for nails, especially as the handholds were a long way over, so I decided to go down for my rubbers, although I knew it was only the exposure which prevented my doing it. The runner protected me on the way down, for this part wasn't quite so incut for nails as the rest had been. I think John was a little horrified at the scraping of nails!
In rubbers I did it straight away, but of course I knew the holds and I had told myself there was to be no dithering when I hadn't got boots as an excuse. I pulled up the rucksack (it removed the sling) and then tied on and brought up John, who was also impressed with the pitch, but, of course, my two attempts must have increased his respect for the pitch. We went to the top of the heather and then followed a track down, it was delightful country, and I was in the mood for it after that superb climb. I suppose I had enjoyed it all the more as I had not been looking forward to it.
We ran down the scree and then round to the foot of the climb where John had left his rucksack. A party were just starting up; I wanted to tell the girl what a delightful route it was, but I felt that would seem a little too superior, as I had only just done it myself. We went down, past the camp, and then I felt in my pocket, which had been heavy all the weekend with my purse. There was no purse in it, but I concluded that I hadn't dropped it on the climb. At first I thought I'd left it near the campsite, but then we remembered I had had it on the bus. Once I suddenly dropped my rucksack to look in it to see if the purse was in with the map, but no such luck, so I sat outside the hotel and sulked at myself, while John went off to take some coloured photographs of Derwentwater, for it was a lovely afternoon, with stormy clouds and sunshine. We tried to get tea at the hotel, but no-one was on duty. Eventually the bus came and we set off for Keswick. I felt so feminine and helpless as I asked John to pay for me. I told the conductor about my purse and he said he thought the Cumberland ran the 9.50 bus that morning, and he advised me to enquire at Keswick. At Keswick I dumped my pack in the middle of the market square and went down to the bus station, leaving John to make enquiries about the train. The first 'Cumberland' man I spoke to wasn't at all helpful; all he'd say was that he didn't know who ran the 9.50 bus that morning. Fortunately, another man overheard us, so I said to him "a canvas purse" and he said, "and it had a ticket to Nottingham in it". What a load that took off my mind, but then he said that the conductor had it with him, and didn't come back until 3.50. When I said I'd have to get them to send it on to me, they said that there was an express Ribble bus leaving at 4.05 which would get me to Windermere in plenty of time for the train, so I hurried back to my pack, saw no sign of John, so went to the station, where I met him. I borrowed £2 off him and told him I'd see him at Carnforth and went back to the bus station. It was no easy matter to hurry through Keswick so many times on a Whit Monday afternoon, for the crowds were very thick. I got back to the bus station in plenty of time, and took up my position to await the 3.50. It didn't come, the time was 3.55, then it was 4 o'clock; my nice man had been out to wait for it, and then he went inside and then told me that he had been wrong that the bus didn't get in until 4.10, but he spoke to the Ribble people and they promised to wait for me. On the dot of 4.10, the bus arrived and the conductor handed over my purse; he told me I had better count the money, so I didn't tell him that I didn't know how much I had in it!
We neither of us seemed to know how much money I should give him, but eventually we agreed on 5/-, and then I hurried onto the Burley bus. There was a central door and, at first, I sat opposite that, but I soon moved to the front, and sat next to the driver, for there was glass half way down, and it was a superb sunny afternoon for the ride by Thirlmere and Grasmere to Windermere. Somehow, after being told that my return ticket was in my purse it didn't occur to me not to use my last week's ticket!
On a Monday the train is at 5.45 and there isn't the long wait at Oxenholme. There was just time for two cups of tea at Carnforth before the Leeds train left at 7 o'clock. John had had a tea on his last train. Three bookmakers were in our carriage, they wanted to see my climbing guide and, in return, they showed me their race card! I wouldn't have believed that three people could have looked and acted the part of bookies as well as those three! Joy was on the next train, she must have known about John's trifle! Again she borrowed my ticket to get out and buy herself one to Sheffield! She was able to show us the travelling electric iron she had won through coming second in a tennis tournament. I left them at Derby and got in soon after 2 a.m.
The weather was doubtful, and the forecast not at all encouraging, nevertheless, I was bound to set out for Langdale and caught the 9.06 to Tamworth. After a cup of tea in the hut, I retired to the Ladies waiting room, where I was surprised to find the light on. A couple of pairs of older people were on their way to Ireland, and quite friendly.
We got to Crewe in good time and, in the refreshment room, I turned round when I heard, "Hallo Eileen", but it was Douglas, taking some strawberries from Devon to Liverpool, with about half a dozen other L.M.S. people.
I had a carriage to myself to Windermere, but didn't sleep particularly well, and there was a slight drizzle by the time we got to Windermere at 5.40. I set out along the road, and thumbed the one lorry and three cars which passed me, but had no luck. I arrived at Ambleside before the bus came along, but, of course, I had missed the early bus to Langdale. I had tea and something to eat at the snack bar, and was then going to look at the shops when Margaret and Isobel came out of the hostel. They were going to catch the 10 o'clock bus, so that M. could try to get some boots at Stables. I said I'd catch the 8.40 bus and get the tent pitched before they arrived. I pitched it in the same place as last time; I had intended to use Joy's site, but decided it wasn't quite flat enough for three of us, also the drizzle was coming from the east, so it didn't matter that my entrance faced west. When Margaret and Isabel arrived they left their rucksacks in the tent and then the three of us set out up Mill Gill.
I had just discovered Tarn Crag in the guidebook and this seemed a suitable day for it. We took the path up the right hand side of the gill, went a little too high, but eventually got down to the foot of the climb. Isobel wasn't interested in climbing in these wet conditions, and Margaret and I eventually decided on Route I as something easy we could soon get up. Very soon I found that I couldn't be bothered to climb the rock. There was easy ground a foot or so away and I mostly went up that, and Margaret did the same, and at the top decided we'd had enough of Tarn Crag, and followed Isobel who had started round the east side of Stickle Tarn. Below Pavey we stopped for a late lunch, and then we said goodbye to Isobel and set off up to Great Gully. What a grand natural route it was, and the weather began to clear too and I thought we'd dry out on the way down; little did I know that we were to spend the only 2 dry hours of the day climbing up the waterfall. We scrambled up the first 150 feet and then put on the rope. The outside route was extremely wet, so I said that we'd keep drier by taking the through route – Margaret didn't think much of my drier route! It's years since I last did the climb and I thought the through route avoided the move up with a foot on the chockstone, but I found this move awaiting me as I emerged in my very sodden state from the cave. Next was the scramble, and Margaret went on and was half way up Brant and Slape before she noticed any difficulty, and she led the rest of the climb.
She was in fine form so I asked her if she'd like to lead another of similar difficulty; she was only too pleased to do so, despite the teeming rain, so we went down to the beginning of Gwynne's Chimney. I ought to have realised that this was no place for a person in shorts. I overtook Margaret half way up the first pitch and belayed on the gun. I don't think I've ever done the outside route, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to try it, but I soon changed my mind. I got to a place where I wanted to change feet, but my hands were too cold for this, so I retreated and sweated up the chimney, and got a good belay and told Margaret to come up the outside. There was quite a cold wind, as well as the rain, half way up Margaret said that her hands had given out, so I tightened the rope, but I knew that all I had done was to take some of the stretch out of the rope. I wish I'd had her full weight hemp so that I could have given her real assistance – but really she came up quite well without it.
Margaret seemed to think we'd go down Mill Gill, but I was all for following the paths over the Langdales to drop down more directly. It must be 10 years since I followed the path; we avoided the summit of Harrison Stickle and came to another saucer shaped depression with what looked like another Harrison Stickle ahead. Actually it turned out to be an unusual view of Pike o'Stickle, and we found the well marked path down to the east of it. I was following the path down mechanically and suddenly realised that we had followed it quite far enough, and we dropped down to the track from Gimmer and arrived at the D.G. about 5.30. Isobel was waiting for a slackening of the rain before going back to camp, but came in with us, and Margaret and I had a pot of tea in the bar. I took off my jacket and woolly and tried to dry them a little and stood in my very wet shirt and soaking slacks. Val Stevens soon spoke to me. She looked disgustingly dry and I blamed her for the rain; it always does rain when I meet her.
Eventually a boy offered me his jacket and I was able to take off my shirt and put it on top of the stove. As we were preparing to go, Joan Leech arrived, and talking to her gave us an excuse for staying a little longer, but eventually we set out, in the rain, for the tent. It was fine at first, none of us touched the side, and we got the soup made, and the bacon, egg, sausage and tomatoes fixed, but then we began to get a little anxious about the water, it tended to flow over the groundsheet and soon our baling couldn't keep up with it, so we decided to abandon ship. We packed the rest of our stuff into our rucksacks, put on our wet clothes again, and went along to Middlefell Farm, where we had permission to sleep in the open barn; we were told that there were two people there already, so we spread out our bags to stake our claim and brewed another mug of tea and finished our supper.
Next, the other two people arrived. They calmly moved our sleeping bags and arranged the bracken so that there was room for only two people to sleep there. Eventually, we found that by levelling the big mound of bracken we could sleep on top. The trouble was that, in levelling the bracken, Margaret lost her ring, we shone the torch around, but realised that we'd have to hunt for it in the morning.
Margaret was up at 7 o'clock – her lost ring must have worried her all night and we soon had the tea made, and then porridge, to be followed with fried bacon, egg and tomato again, and then Margaret went up onto the bracken and found her ring! There had been a little sunshine early on, but it was very watery, and there was still lots of mist about, so I wasn't hopeful for the weather. I put on my soaking wet clothes again, so sure that I should get wet again, and I expect I surprised Margaret by saying that I'd take rubbers. Margaret was very anxious to climb again and said she'd be quite content to do Middlefell again, so I suggested that we tried the easiest climb on Raven Crag (Holly-tree Traverse, a 'vd') and the three of us went up to the foot of it. Margaret went up to the pinnacle and I followed and tried the next 10 feet, but soon retreated, and Margaret had a look at it and also came down, so I put on my rubbers with socks over the top, and was up the slimy rocks in no time.
I put on my sling as a runner to protect Margaret on this part an then started along the traverse. It was all so easy in socks. I tried to follow the diagram which showed very little traversing in this early part, so I followed the scratches until I came to a belayless ledge with very small holds above.
Fortunately, a party on Middlefell started to give advice; they told me there was a line belay, but then thought to ask me which route I was on and told me I was much too high for my climb, so, reluctantly, I retreated, and continued my traverse to the Sentry Box – I still can't recognise a sentry box when I see one, but I found the belay and brought Margaret along, and then continued the traverse, which had a delicate step in it, round to the Holly Tree. I duly climbed the wall to the right of the gully and was quite trilled with it. Margaret and I decided that it was severe, and noted that it wasn't as well scratched as the rest of the climb. A scramble for a last pitch, and we were up and wondering how to get down; fortunately someone told us we'd have to go over the top and down to the east (it was a very popular crag that morning and we began to realise when someone was talking to us, for the words would be prefaced by a whistle).
We decided that we'd try the next easiest climb, Savernake, which was just severe, but near the foot of it a boy told us that it wasn't worth doing; it was mucky and merely avoided all the interesting parts of Bilberry Buttress.
He recommended Centipede. This was the eleventh severe, but easier than Bracket and Slab which was the climb I had really hoped to do, so we set off up it. Margaret didn't seem over-eager to lead it, so I set off up, and found the first pitch easy enough. My kind friend with the jacket and Paulo were on Revelation and I think their advice confused rather than helped Margaret. I set off up the second pitch and began to get a little worried about the time. This climb was nearly twice as long as the first and it was already 11.30 and I asked our friends if it were possible to retreat and they said not before the 4th pitch. I continued thinking that perhaps we could abseil down, if necessary, but somehow this climb seemed to me to be far shorter than the first. The slabs were pleasant, but in the gully I was most thankful that I had socks over my rubbers.
I belayed on the little chockstone and brought up Margret. I was only sorry that I hadn't found a runner for her for the slab, but apparently the absence of a runner worried her far less than it had done on the 1st pitch of Holly Tree Traverse. Next I stepped down and traversed to the foot of the arête, which was a little thin but wholly delightful. When I had Margaret safely belayed at the top of this, I looked at the next bit. I fiddled with the holds for the pull-up over the flake, until I thought I'd better come down and give my hands a rest. Margaret suggested that she should try it. I was only too delighted, partly because it would give my hands a longer rest, and partly because it would make the climb much more of a partnership and one of the good things about climbing with Margret is that she likes the things I don't. I was able to assure her that the pull up was the only difficulty on the pitch, and she was up it in no time.
I still found it awkward, even on a rope, and Margaret led the rest of the climb.
No-one else agreed with me that this was the "crux"; I suppose it was because there was a large ledge below it, that they considered it easier than the arête.
We made our way round to our boots, and then ran down to the track, which I started along, until Margaret ran after me to tell me that Isobel had taken down the tent. She had a busy morning, had wandered all over the place and had still had time for coffee, to watch us through the glasses, not to mention her conversation with a coach driver who was most annoyed that the boys he had brought out had walked to Scafell, instead of to Bowness or somewhere civilized, where he could have spent the day!
We made tea, had a cold meal, finishing off with a tin of cherries and a banana.
I started down before 2.30 and the others caught up with me before I rejoined the old road. They had Eric with them whose jacket I was still hanging onto, but he left us at the trough, where I stopped to wash. The shop opened in time for us to have a fruit crush before catching the bus and, at Ambleside, Isobel and Margaret went on to try to hitch. I packed up the two sleeping bags which the other two had brought down for me, returned the jacket, and joined the bus queue with Eric. It was at this point that I began to realise that nothing we had done or said this weekend had escaped their notice; for instance, when we arrived, from the size of my pack, we had immediately been christened 'The Tigers'. Eric said that I had said the funniest of all that weekend, when I was talking to Val in the D.G. I had said that it was rather a nuisance getting so wet, as I only had the minimum of kit with me. They thought that, if I was travelling light that weekend, whatever did I look like with my full complement of kit. Little did I know the remarks that were passed, "You see that R.S. with a pair of boots beneath it? Well don't kick it, there's a girl behind it" and so on.
Margaret and Isobel picked up the bus later. They had had no luck, nor had Paulo who had left Langdale on the 1.30.
At Windermere the two girls spent the 20 minutes on the road, but eventually joined Eric, Paulo and me, and the five of us travelled together as far as Bingley. On the first train the conversation was on rope management and accidents. I was glad that we got off it on the second one; it was on this train that Paulo really let himself go. I suppose we laughed at him and that made him ten times worse; the tears were streaming down our faces and we ached with laughing at him. Isobel intrigued them. She and Margaret decided that they were hungry, and the boys were horrified to see Isobel pull out a cold sausage and start to eat it, but they had to admit that she ate it and still looked just like a lady. Poor Paulo's little finger got in the way of his cigarette, he curled it round so far, after seeing Isobel.
At Leeds I said goodbye to Margaret and Isobel and caught the next train to Derby and had an hour's wait, getting to Nottingham at 2 a.m.
I caught the 7.10 to Crewe. The carriage emptied at Derby and I was able to get two corner seats, and John joined me. Apparently he had been on the train since Trent. We caught the connection to Chester and had half an hour to spend in the refreshment room, where we ran into Nat. Apparently he has to come this way round to get from Oswestry to Ogwen! At 1.15 we got out at Llandudno Junction and got in the second Bettws train, waiting in the bay, and woke up as it drew out at 5.40 a.m.
Ten minutes before I started out, I had taken my tent out, deciding that it would be a good weekend. John was very heavily laden, and I don't think he was looking forward to the 3 mile walk. He stopped to re-arrange his pack very soon; I continued on at a steady pace, but John didn't catch me up. It was a perfect morning, already warm, but not too hot, and the views were superb, especially at first, with the stream, with dark yet bright water in the foreground.
I left the road a little too soon, but eventually got across the stream, and to the Polaris camp, which was on the farm side of the usual field, which was occupied by the botanists from Reading. Nesta had the tea made and I was very glad of a cup, apparently she remembered I was in the habit of turning up soon after 8 o'clock at this campsite! There was another cup of tea for John when he arrived soon afterwards and he put up his tent, while I started the breakfast in the open and called at the farm for milk.
After John and I, and Nesta and Jack had finished breakfast, Ernest arrived, having been driven by Roger, who had climbed with Ray Hanley about 18 months previously.
While we were waiting for them to get through their breakfast, Nat and Don arrived from the barn, and made notes from my guide book. I had already told Ernest that my ambition was to lead Pinnacle Wall, and then he asked Don to lead him up it. Don was non-committal! Eventually, we set off for Craig-yr-Ysfa. Four of us by the ridge, and firstly Don and Nat, and then Ernest and Roger, straight up from the reservoir. The rest of my four sat down when we joined the main ridge from Pen-yr-Helgi-ddu to Craig-yr-Ysfa, but I went on and had a grand time watching Nat and Don climb, and shouting instructions when they weren't sure of the way – it is the second time I have watched that climb being done! Half way up, the rest of my four arrived and had lunch; they told me that they had told Ernest that I had gone off to climb with Don and Nat, so Ernest had gone round the bottom of the crag. I was furious with Ernest. I knew he had shown no enthusiasm for climbing with me, but he had my rucksack. He had asked to carry it, and put his own things in it, so I had let him have it, with my lunch and camera. I wanted to photograph the two climbers but of course I couldn't and I had told Ernest I wanted to do Amphitheatre Rib, which is obviously done from the top (it was obvious to me, but not to Ernest!). I gathered that Ernest also thought himself hardly done by, as he hadn't a guidebook. He was relying on mine. I was rather amused during the afternoon, the way I'd change from being annoyed with Ernest to being annoyed with Jack and Nesta, who had told him I had gone off with the other two. I thought I had better go round the bottom and try to find him, and John and I set off down. I suppose I cut down too soon. At times it was an interesting descent down heather and rocks. John didn't find it as much fun as I did I'm afraid. We got to the Amphitheatre and saw no signs of the others, so I guessed that Ernest had gone along to Great Gully, the only climb he knew on the cliff, and I decided to try Amphitheatre Buttress, a climb I had always wanted to do, but not on a glorious rubber day like this. I felt a little self righteous following up the nail scratches in boots. The first 400 feet are rather magnificent, practically all the way dividing themselves up into 50 feet pitches. The holds were polished, yet incut, reminding me of the Tryfan or Bowfell Buttress type of climbing. Next we came to the "crux", which was certainly polished, as the book had foretold. I felt the holds and came down and put on rubbers, which simplified the problem a lot. I hauled up the boots and then John joined me, and we repeated the operation on the next pitch. Some scrambling brought us to the gendarmes, these were optional, but we didn't avoid them, nor the knife edge, and then I felt the climb was over; actually there was some interesting pitches on the last part, but I considered it a little artificial. I was hungry by this time, and I helped John with the cherries and chocolate biscuits and then, long before I dared hope, Ernest and Roger appeared, and I got out my juicy oranges. Ernest said he was too tired for Pinnacle Wall and everyone favoured a ridge walk. It was Ernest's bright idea that we should try Elen, the 3000 footer no-one had done. It is quite a nice little peak on its own, with the little Llyn Ffynnon Caseg between it and Foel Grâch, and to the north we looked across the Black Ladders. I shall always remember this walk for the wind, we could see from the water on the various lakes, that all was calm in the valleys, but on the tops a gale was blowing, but it was a very warm wind, quite a delight, although at times it took me right out of my tracks. We made our way back to the col between Carnedd Llewellyn and the ridge to Dafydd and then continued along westwards. I remember in one part I could hardly breathe against the wind. The views were glorious. The distance was hazy, but we wanted nothing more than the sunlight on the Glyders and Tryfan, with the Rivals and the perfect cone of Elidir Fawr, showing among the mountains to the west. It amused me the way that, on each summit, Ernest would sit down and show no sign of moving on again. On Pen-yr-Ole-Wen, there was no cairn, but, at the place where we waited for each other, Ernest rolled over on the grass, not to be done out of his rest. It so amused me to see him and Roger walking together. Roger simply glided over the ground, however rough it was, whereas Ernest walked with his usual "two legged limp" as someone once described it.
Roger led the way down, and soon left the ridge and cut straight down, hoping, I suppose, to find a scree run, but it was just about worn out. Near the bottom I saw Roger sitting – he must have been there some time! There was no sign of the others behind, so I suggested that they might have followed the ridge round (the way we went up in November) and we continued down, Roger adjusting his pace to mine. There were boulders and bracken to contend with on this part, but eventually we were passing Glan Dena and walking along the road. Doug Wright went first this way and then that on the back of a bike and, when he caught us up on his way to the farm for milk. I wasn't at all surprised when he said that, after climbing on Lliwedd, they'd spent the next few hours drinking in the Pen-y-Gwryd!
Back at camp, Roger and I put on the two primuses for tea, and then Roger went to the farm for milk. John soon arrived saying that Ernest had met two friends (Doug and Stan) and we set about cooking supper. Firstly there was the chicken noodle soup, and then I put on sausage and tomato, and John added to it tinned pork, which made my sausage very insignificant! Finally we both made our favourite bed-time drinks. John had Nescafé while I had cocoa.
At about 10 o'clock, John, Bas, Nesta and Jack arrived back. I had admired the energy of the latter two, climbing the Glyders after the Carnedds, but I learned that they had turned back fairly soon and had driven John's new car round to the Pen-y-Gwryd where the others had walked to.
The last of the 'pubbers' to arrive back were Don and Nat. They had met various acquaintances of mine, Gwen Moffat and Johnny L. and Joyce of Chamonix.
At about 11 o'clock, I turned in to sleep in the open under a cloudless sky, only worried by an occasional midge.
I wasn't woken by brilliant sunshine as I had hoped; possibly that was why I didn't get up until 7.30, and then was very bleary eyed.
At about 9 o'clock there were a few spots of rain and thunder and lightning, but it didn't really reach us. I was most grateful when Nesta offered me a lift to Crewe, for Ernest had already offered me one to Derby, and I thought that I could hardly leave John like that. Nesta said that she'd take me and leave John to go with Ernest and Roger, and she said that if we left at 6 o'clock it would be quite early enough.
I felt a brute that morning, everyone else was going on Tryfan, and John was longing to climb there, but I said no, we were going to the slabs! I was determined to do a rubber climb and if, as seemed likely, the weather broke, I thought we'd still try Tennis Shoe in socks. As we passed the Milestone, we saw Don and Nat half way up Soap-Gut and then we soon cut up and passed below the facet of the Gribin, and joined the main path not far below the slabs. I knew that John liked combining a walk with a climb, so I assumed that we'd walk from the top of the climb, but John had other ideas about carrying a rucksack up a climb, so we left them, together with our boots, at the bottom and, mentally, I gave up the walk. Clive and Ann were just starting up Tennis Shoe and I followed them. I used a knee half way up the first pitch, but then I never am at my best on the first pitch. I took in the rope for John, and then it stopped, and John said that he couldn't do it, so I took a little of the slack out of the rope, and then tried to take a little of the stretch out, and he was up like a shot! We both of us got up the next pitch easily enough, where I had a chat with Ann who had found the nose direct on Dinas Mot very pleasant the day before (that was where Don and Nat were going). Then I looked at the guidebook and realised that the other party weren't on Tennis Shoe, and we had come up too high. I confirmed this with two boys who had just come up the first pitch, the second was bearded, and when he asked me if I were going to Chamonix again this year, I recognised his voice as that of Stan Moore. They started to wait for us, but I told them to on up and, as I followed Stan up the next pitch, I was chatting to him about Stan Grainger and one thing and another, and didn't take much notice of the climbing.
Very thoughtlessly I belayed by snapping my karabiner into Stan's sling and then Stan was ready to be off long before John was up. John didn't like the pitch and I wasn't as sympathetic as I should have liked to have been, when he said that he couldn't reach the hold, but he got up eventually. The next 170 ft were straightforward enough, but I couldn't find a belay after the 110 ft run out, until I looked at the book and traversed to the right. Then came another 100 ft in the best slabs tradition and I was at the foot of the final pitch. It went perfectly easily, I used my long reach at one point, certainly, but I thoroughly enjoyed it, and at the top was able to return the sling. John wasn't at all happy about it; I'd take in the rope and then pay it out, but I was quite happy to do so. The view was superb and also I could watch struggling humanity on the slabs! I was amazed to see three other girls leading men and, in addition, to see two girls climbing together. Eventually, John was up and we were deciding on the next thing to do. Stan and Peter were on the original route on Holly Tree Wall (my ambition), but I thought John might prefer a 'vd' such as Lazarus; however, he preferred his lunch at the foot of the slabs, so up we scrambled to get to the easy way down. By the time we had finished, about 2.30, I considered it too late to walk over the Glyders, but John was very disappointed, so eventually we compromised and agreed to go up the Gribin Ridge and down Bristly, leaving out Glyder Fawr. Even this was cutting things finer than I liked, for I should have been happier leaving earlier than the 6 o'clock Nesta had suggested.
We traversed up and northwards and eventually got to the path up the Gribin, which we followed to the top, being pleased to come to a little scrambling higher up. There wasn't as much wind as the day before, and the view was no clearer, but somehow there is something so airy about a ridge walk. How glad I was John had made me come, in fact I even went over the Castle of the Winds, instead of round it, as I should have done to save time.
At the top of Glyder Fach we stopped for some chocolate and some cherries, and then set out for Bristly Ridge. Almost as soon as we left the summit, wisps of mist blew over it from the south. I think Bristly Ridge was a pleasant surprise for John; how I wished we'd had more time for it, so that I wasn't always trying to find the easiest way! I lost the main track at the bottom, but we got down! In Cwm Tryfan, more by luck than good judgement, I found the track, and followed it half way down, but then I lost both it and John, so I cut over towards our farm; fortunately John appeared at the bottom, not very far behind. Apparently he had been able to keep an eye on me, if I hadn't on him!
We didn't slacken on the last part, for we realised that we were having a race with another storm. It was a dead heat, as we got to camp at 5.45, the rain started to pelt down! I put on my cape and put my pack in Nesta's car and then sat in Jack's tent until the worst was over, when I got some more milk from the farm. Soon after 6 o'clock Nesta was ready, and we drove off, Nesta keeping up a steady pace until we were nearly at Corwen, where we had to stop for a puncture. I helped all I could, but I wasn't a skilled hand at changing a wheel. I considered I helped most by standing back when traffic came past, so that they could see that we were two girls. It worked too, very soon a car stopped and a most unlikely looking man got out, but he was so helpful, his tools were good and, most important, he knew which way to unscrew the bolts.
I don't think it took much more than ¼ hr, but it was time we could ill afford to lose; the traffic lights in Llangollen were against us, as were many of the drivers – doing the craziest things. Once Nesta had to slam on the hand brake so that we stopped dead when a man turned off to the right. We gradually realised that we were in a desperate hurry; how I admired Nesta the way she drove along those winding roads, which were quite strange to her, in the pouring rain, for we had run into another storm. We had a little trouble with the route finding out of Wrexham, and of Nantwich, and drew up at Crewe station at about 9.05, to catch the 8.50. I snatched up my rucksacks and, ticket in hand I ran to the barrier on the right, to be told it was the other side. This side the man was deep in this room and people were waiting for him, so I ran by, I say ran, but really it was only a trot. It was almost like being on a treadmill, I'd put a lot of energy into moving my feet forward, but somehow I didn't seem to get anywhere.
The ticket collector wasn't as asleep as I had expected; he ran after me and soon caught me up and when he saw I had a ticket he was almost sympathetic; he was useful too, for he could tell me which lot of steps to go down! Near the bottom I could see an official cycling along, so I said "Derby train?" and he said "straight ahead in the bay", but then there was a whistle and the noise of a train starting. Never have I pleaded so "Please stop it, please don't let it go without me". I expected him to remount his bike and cycle up to it, but his shout, "There's another one coming", was equally effective – the train had slowed to a snail's pace and I got on it and sank down on a seat, a broad grin on my face, and spent the next five minutes recovering from my efforts.
I drank most of my milk in the train, for I had had nothing to drink since breakfast, and missed my station tea. There was no tea at Derby, so I determined to brew my own. I wasn't successful, and when I came out of the waiting room, I found the trolley selling tea, but I hadn't time to get a cup. We spent about half an hour outside Nottingham Station, but eventually drew in about 12.15.
I caught the 7.10 to Crewe again, and Bob and I watched the marvellous sunset through the stormy clouds, and wondered whether it was a good or bad sign for the weekend. The Chester train was only about 10 minutes late, and we had nice time for a cup of tea there, before catching the Bangor train. It seemed strange to be going through Llandudno Junction, but we were able to wake up at Bangor and get out, and find our way to the general waiting room. This seemed a regular dormitory and we got down on the floor and slept well, until after 6 o'clock. This was rather surprising as trains were coming and going all night and also people were doing the same in the waiting room.
I found it difficult to come round enough to pack my rucksack and get out of the station and on to the bus station where we were told we had missed the direct Llanberis but, but the Caernarvon bus left at 6.45. This just gave me time to run after the milk van and get a pint of milk, which lasted the whole weekend. At Caernarvon we sat in the people's café and ate toast and drank tea. When we got up to see if the Llanberis bus was in, a man spoke to us and asked where we were for, and said that he was going that way and would give us a lift. He talked also about Portmadoc, which seemed rather strange, but we put our rucksacks in the back of the lorry and got in the front. Soon Bob and I began to look around rather anxiously. We didn't know quite where we were, but it didn't look as though we were approaching Llanberis. Then Bob pointed out Llyn Quellin, so we suggested that we got out at Snowdon Ranger. This did a good turn to some Youth Hostellers who wanted to get to Devon and gave the driver company, if that was what he wanted.
I was rather depressed; I hadn't packed for a high camp, and wasn't looking forward to the slog, also the weather didn't seem improving, in fact we saw the clouds close down on some hills near the coast. Bob pointed out that it was the nearest way to Cloggy, and once I started I found it very easy going, even with the pack (or rather, I wouldn't let myself be hurried!). I hoped we could cut over the col at Cwm Brwynog but, after looking over, we decided to go higher. I found the descent just to west of the crag to be rather rough with a pack, but we were down eventually and pitching on practically the only spot of level grass big enough for the tent. A late breakfast cum early lunch followed, each meal was the same, sausage, tomatoes and eggs, and then, about mid-day, we set out for the crag. The weather was still doubtful, there was mist on the top, and it looked like rain, but, while the wind was strong at the campsite, the crags where sheltered. We went too far west, intending to try something like the primitive route, but Slanting Chimney was such an obvious line that we found ourselves trying that. I don't think Bob is as fond of chimneys as I am! He hauled the pack up the chimney proper, which was a help. The next pitch I found extremely delicate in boots and exposed, the holds weren't incut, the strata was vertical, and the route wasn't scratched. The last pitch was rather mucky, up grassy grooves. An interesting route might have been found straight up, but I wasn't in the mood, even with the rope above me. We came down the Western Terrace and then discussed further plans. I felt it was too late for my secret ambition of Great Slab, also with the doubtful weather I wasn't in the least in a tigerish mood - so different from last week.
I had broken the news to Bob that I wanted to do the leading and, although I was loath to start, I was also loath to let pass one of the very rare occasions to lead on Cloggy. Eventually I said that, as the bottom pitch was technically the hardest, we could try that. Bob had to go back to camp for his rubbers, so I sat at the foot of the climb and said that I was resting, but I don't really think I did myself much good! Bob was gone some time as I had given him the book and told him to look out the climb (actually it is rather difficult to do so from the little drawing).
Eventually Bob was back, changed into rubbers, belayed, and I was ready to start. I found the move off the ground difficult, but then managed to get a runner on higher up the crack, and started to look at the overhang, several times I got back to the one foothold and rested, and then I surprised myself by putting on my right sock, as the next foothold was wet, but somehow I still couldn't surmount the overhang, so I came down, the sling greatly simplifying this operation. Bob now had a look at it, but he also soon returned and we discussed our next move. I was about to give it up when something Bob said spurred me on to have another look at it, and this time I surmounted the overhang. How proud I was; I felt I had done it really well. I was surprised at the amount of loose rock I had pulled down, but it hadn't put me off my balance. I was able to get on another runner and, after a rest, I should be able to continue, but then I looked about me and realised that the difficulties weren't over, but just beginning. I looked down and saw that a traverse along the bottom of the slab led to the Green Caterpillar and that I should have to go down. My runner protected me for this, so I don't know why I gave myself a shock as I thought I was going to swing out from my holds and, actually, I didn't come off. I flicked off the top runner and then, despite the time (about 5.30), I couldn't resist looking at the proper way; it was so clean compared with what I had done, but I quite saw what the book meant about reach being an asset and I couldn't resist the temptation to hold the rope to the sling in my right hand as I stepped along, and then I reached the Green Caterpillar and seemed fairly committed to the climb, and there had been no overhang at all. The steps had been well and truly stamped in the grass; I remember the wonderful example of Joe Brown on Narrow Slab, how he always had one hand on the rock, but I don't know that I always followed his example.
Then I came to the belay and put a runner on it, for there seemed no stance, and started on up, finding that I could traverse out to the left. I was very puzzled for I had gone no more than 60 ft and yet the book said it was 80 ft. I knew that, according to the book, I shouldn't have enough rope to reach the next stance, so finding a good stance and belay on the edge I stayed there and brought up Bob.
He was a little surprised at the type of climbing, obviously he is a rock climber and this was his first experience of vertical grass! I went up about another 30 ft (instead of the 50 ft the book mentioned) and came to the stance with the cave belay – I succeeded in knocking my head while putting on the sling!
It was glorious really, lovely rough rock without a scratch; I could almost feel I was pioneering and yet my one hope was that I was not, for I knew we hadn't got time to miss the way! The next 80 ft was again only 60 ft and I didn't call it a good stance, but the 4th pitch seemed to correspond. There was a slight descent and then I came to the minor overhang. Certainly I could pull up on good handholds when I reached them, but I considered it a very delicate move up to them. I had to move up the one hand which was safely jammed, the other was only giving a balance press, and then I scrambled up to the approved stance with a good belay, and took in Bob's rope. He was out of sight, and there wasn't much slack, and I thought he was at the corner and then I realised that the rope was running out; I was amazed how my mind worked, I thought "I suppose I ought to stop him" and in a moment the rope stopped running out, "Good old Tarbuck". Next I had to take in the rope very quickly, apparently Bob had trodden on some turf which had come away and gone down 6-8 ft, and then had simply run up again and was over the overhang before he knew where he was.
Now came the last serious pitch, 40 ft of it, up a corner with a slab streaming with water. The first 20 ft were easy enough and I was able to get a runner on; now I came to the difficulty. There were no grassy holds on the slab, in fact nothing but a flake which was just too high for my foot.
When I realised that there was nothing else, of course I got my foot on the flake and then the trouble started for there was nothing above. My foot on the flake was getting tired, and I needed to change feet, but I couldn't do it without handholds, and it was so much more difficult in socks than it would have been in rubbers. Eventually, I realised that I should have to change feet or go down, so I changed feet, for I knew it was up to me to get up the climb. I couldn't say to Bob "Get me out of this mess". I continued to crawl up the slab, fingers in the crack, feet on the slab, until I reached the good footholds in the corner below the crack and I rested.
All the way I had been looking for somewhere for another runner, but I looked in vain, all I could have done was to throw the rope up about 8 ft, and I wasn't in a position to try such a cowboy stunt.
I wedged my hands in the crack, turned to face outwards and put my right foot on a hold far out and tried to push up on it until it gave me such a shock as it shot off the hold, for I had worn through my socks, and the rock was far too wet for a rubber to grip. I was in no position to rearrange my sock, so this time I put my foot further in on a press hold, and it stayed, and I pushed my way up until I was able to get my hands over a "jug-handle" and I heaved myself up on that and then put my sling over it and rested before making the next few feet.
I belayed and then warned Bob to make sure he had a sock over his rubbers before starting up; this gave me time to recover before taking in his rope. He got up without incident, and I felt that it was for this stance I had been carrying an orange up in my pocket.
The next pitch was quite a delight; I put on a runner at 30 ft and then stopped at the next belay in case I shouldn't find another. I went on up, put on a runner over a little nogging of quartz (I wouldn't stop there as I thought the quartz might be treacherous, and the stances were so small on this part that the belay was rather essential!). I went on up and up and couldn't find another belay and decided that the climbing was getting thinner, so I came down about 10 ft and traversed to the left to a good belay which I unearthed (literally) and very poor stance to the side, and Bob joined me. I wondered whether I was too far to the right, but Bob said that he thought I was on the right line, so I retraced my steps up (certainly the turf was foot marked, even if the rock wasn't) and then came to a superbly delicate traverse, and so on up to what looked like steeper rock, and a belay just where I least expected it. There was a line of turf straight up from Bob, so I suggested he tried it, although it did him out of the traverse. It was amazing how much easier the next bit of rock appeared with Bob only just below me, and I was soon up and on the edge - and a few more feet and we were taking of the rope, eating the last of the raisins and then making our way down to the Western Terrace at about 9 o'clock, for there was no view to detain us.
What a comfort it was to have 'home' so near; we were back in no time and Bob had the primus going and we each had our share of hot water. I made tea with mine and Bob made coffee with his. The ingredients of the meal were the same as for breakfast, but this time we had them all cooked up in some tomato soup, and slightly thickened with pom. Finally, we had more hot water, mine made cocoa, and Bob's made more coffee. It must have been about 11.30 before we settled down for the night, but this proved to be much too early on such a blowy night.
I hadn't a sleeping bag, I was plenty warm enough in my duvet and gas cape, but it happened to be the sort of night when the psychological effect of crawling into a bag would have been a comfort.
I had the best of it, my side of the tent was secure, but Bob had to replace the peg his side, every time the wind tore it out, so, at 6.45, I suggested that we should start breakfast. The pans hadn't blown far, The water bucket was the most difficult to retrieve; It was in the middle of the pool.
After an early morning drink we had porridge and then the usual sausage, tomato and egg was greatly improved by Bob's bacon.
We packed everything before taking down the tent, and that went in last. The mist was very low on Cloggy, it didn't look at all inviting, so we decided to go down to the Three Cliffs. It must have been at about 9 o'clock we called on Mrs. Williams; the door was soon opened to us. "Hallo stranger", she greeted me, and was soon telling me all about Joe, and Slim and Dorothy. Bob had to adjust his ideas about the Welsh, after the way she kept trying to thrust free cups of tea onto us. Mrs. Williams told us that it was the Young Conservative Rally on top and they were running special trains, despite the fact that it was Sunday.
Eventually we had to leave, and we cut straight up, and down to Bawdy Mawr; it was alright until we got into the wood at the bottom, but we were soon on the road, and making our way up to the first cliff. We made for the easiest climb, Ledge Way, a 'vd', starting up the central gully. Bob couldn't make the first pitch go, so he made me look at it. I soon descended saying that, although the climb 'went', I didn't! for I wasn't in the mood for a wet gully.
Bob then asked me if there was a short pleasant severe, which we could do in rubbers, and that made me think of Scramblers' Gate, and I suggested that we tried it in boots, remembering that it had gone so easily two years ago, when I had found Hazel Groove so difficult.
The first three pitches were no trouble, and then we came to the long one. Bob went down, along, put a sling on the crack, which he soon climbed, and disappeared from sight. Then the rope stopped. I was determined to keep on the sling, so I kept paying out and taking in the rope, but Bob didn't seem to move either way; he admits himself that he must have spent about half an hour there, but I think it was more like an hour. I imagined him stuck on a little ledge, couldn't get up or down, and couldn't change into rubbers. The more I looked, the steeper appeared the wall with the traverse in front of me, and the less did I like the thought of climbing it, so, for my own sake as well as Bob's, I was praying he'd return. Eventually he was up and pulling in the rope so vigorously that it flicked off the sling and I was climbing, finding everything so much easier than I had expected. When I got round to Bob he told me he had tried to climb a strenuous chimney to the tree belay, instead of the slab to the right, which he eventually got up, which is the way. The last corner was distinctly awkward. I just scrambled up it, but then the climb was over. We only had to scramble up to the top and run down to our rucksacks and set out along the road at about 2 o'clock, the time we had planned.
We were much too early to wait for the bus from Nant Peris, and then there were no bus stops, so we thumbed a car which took us the last mile into the village, where we had time for an ice before catching the bus.
At Bangor we called in for a pot of tea and cakes at the Sportsman's Café (yes, Bob drinks tea when I don't make it!) and at the station I had time to change before catching the train. We changed at Chester, and then at Crewe. What joy to have an hour to wait before catching the 8.50 and to be able to drink tea! This week the trains didn't leave until 9.10. I don't know why it tried to go so early the week before! It seemed quite a quick journey to Derby, the first part we passed very pleasantly eating Bob's cold sausages.
We got a seat in the Nottingham train and then I didn't know a thing for an hour, apparently we again had the long wait just outside Nottingham, but I slept through it, and had great difficulty in waking myself up enough to walk home.