EILEEN HEALEY DIARIES

© J A D Healey 2014

VOLUME 18: 1953

CUTTING FROM 'THE OBSERVER'

SUNDAY, APRIL 26, 1953

SECTION 1

1953, MARCH 27-APRIL 11: YUGOSLAVIA

1.1 1953, March 27 (Friday)

The holiday definitely started on the Friday night. In fact, that was when we had our only real hitch. I caught the 6.20 at the L.N.E., which Joy had picked up at Sheffield. My skis weren't labelled, but an official insisted on taking them off me and putting them in the guard's van with Joy's, whose were fully labelled. I impressed on the man that they had to go all the way to London.

We sat and chatted, and ignored the call for dinner – I wound my pink wool, which I had brought to knit up this holiday. When we thought the dinners would be over, we went along to the refreshment car and asked for a pot of tea. We waited and waited, and nothing happened, so Joy went along to investigate and received a fully apology from several officials. When the tea eventually arrived the man was still apologising. After draining the pot, we made our way back to our carriage. After a little while it dawned on us that the guard's van had been empty as we had passed through it; where were our skis? We went back and confirmed it, and then found an official in a nearby carriage. Oh yes, he knew all about them, they had been standing by a trunk and so they were put out at Aylesbury. No of course they weren't labelled for Aylesbury, but they were standing by a trunk …

A note of Joy's future profession crept into her voice as she'd repeat … And so they were put out at Aylesbury!

The man could give us a little hope by assuring us that we'd get to Marylebone in time to ring up Aylesbury and get them put on the next train, which arrived at 11.02. At the terminus I followed our half-wit to the station master's office, but he didn't need to explain, for Aylesbury had rung up, the mistake had been discovered almost before the train had left the station and they were being put on the next train. I told Joy the good news and suggested that she went on to our digs at Mrs. Hinson's as I had said we'd arrive at about 9.30. I spent my time between the refreshment and waiting room, and the time quickly passed.

As the train drew in an official told me to follow him – apparently he was no mere porter, for he told me that he thought it best to look after something like this himself; no telling what sort of a mess a porter would make. The brake was at the far end of the train, but the skis were soon handed over and I made my way to the underground. At that time of night the trains didn't run as frequently as I should have liked, but while I was waiting, a little old porter who was also waiting for the train came up and sympathised – I really felt the majority of officials had come off with great credit.

I got to Victoria just as the left luggage had closed, so I had to take both pairs of skis to 23 Hugh Street, where a very pleasant woman opened the door and said I could leave the skis in the passage. The place was beautifully clean, and Joy was in bed in quite a nice front bedroom, with an electric kettle, and no meter. I wasn't long in joining her.

1.2 1953, March 28 (Saturday)

Breakfast came up punctually at 7.45 a.m., poached egg on toast – I had Joy's as well, and she contented herself with marmalade. It was raining as we made our way to the station. Everyone was most helpful about the registering of our skis, and then we met Cecily on the train. I slipped out of the station to buy a loaf of bread, and was back in good time. At Folkestone, Cecily met her old friend Fred, and we boarded the "Könige Albert" – a Belgian boat. We sat up on deck at first, and ate the lunch Cecily provided (she had a half shoulder of lamb, hard boiled eggs, tomatoes and chicory).

Soon it became too cold outside, so we found seats in the bar where two American couples provided free entertainment. They were all keen colour photographers – "The best one you every took was of Cologne cathedral with that big red bus sitting right outside", said one of the wives. Naturally the talk then shifted to washing machines.

At Ostend the customs gave no trouble and we found our seat in the carriage which was going right through to Belgrade. After leaving our luggage, Joy and I went out into the town, into the church which had, apparently, been restored or rebuilt very recently, and then round the local sort of "Marks and Spencer". We went back to the station to find Cecily, who had been claiming her skis from the customs, we didn't see her, so again went into the town, where we saw her in a café, and accepted her invitation to coffee.

We soon realised that life wouldn't be dull for us in our carriage, for two other women were Greeks (one half Italian) with, apparently, husbands in Scotland. One of them was taking her two children back to Greece; between them they had quite half a dozen trunks piled up in the corridor, besides numerous smaller parcels on the racks. The children were very good considering, but both were ill, and the boy was sick on the floor. It was amusing to hear the women talk Greek to each other, but they had to talk English to the children, who had Scottish accents. The other inhabitant of the carriage was a great mystery; he never said a word, but finally turned out to be English and very pleasant.

We had dinner while going through Belgium, a typical wagon-lit meal. I enjoyed it very much. Cecily chose the wine – a white Luxembourg one, as the most local one on the list. As we approached Germany, leaflets were brought round, giving the towns and times for the rest of the journey – it proved very useful and we were most impressed.

At Aachen the fun began, the little courier had promised the Greek party sleepers (and how they needed them) and then promptly forgot about them. Our sleepers were supposed to be from Cologne, but people told us that no extra sleepers were put on there, so if they were ready at Aachen (10.28-11.14 p.m.) we might as well claim them there. Joy and Cecily went out to investigate, while I saved their seats (for there were many people in the corridor, having rather a thin time with all the Greeks' luggage). They came back having eventually found out that our sleepers were put on at Cologne and that they were to look out for a blue car there. Eventually the Greeks found some sleepers (we could never really make out whether they were the ones they had booked). I settled down for another hour of agony in the train – it was stifling hot and I had no energy, could neither sleep nor keep awake. There was so much chaos in the carriage that I couldn't be bothered to get down my pack and exchange my jumper for a thinner blouse.

At Cologne, again the other two went out to investigate. They went to the back of the train and were sent to the front. Said Joy to Cecily, "Now if a red coach is put on, you must take it calmly and not stamp your foot and say I was promised a blue one". Eventually, they came back to fetch me and say that they had found our reservations in a blue sleeping car, and we let our seats go to some of the miserable people in the corridor.

I soon undressed, took off all the blankets and crawled under the sheet, and was sound asleep I expect, before Cecily had finished washing; what luxury. How cheap it seemed at the price, compared to a nightmare night in the carriage.

1.3 1953, March 29 (Sunday)

I woke up in fair time and the world seemed a much better place. I was on the top bunk, there was a little ladder for climbing up to it, and then straps from the ceiling to stop me falling out. The little table lifted up to reveal the wash basin, and the mirror opened out to show the drinking water and glasses. We got up at about 8 o'clock, Cecily had another complete bath, and eventually we went along for breakfast.

I was disappointed that it wasn't a blue car – it belonged to the German company. There were little plastic cartons of honey, and bread and rusks, but the coffee was café-crème instead of the notable stuff served in the "blue" cars – however, it all went down very well.

We left our sleeper and made our way back to our old carriage (with our luggage) before Munich, and were able to reclaim our seats. People were getting frantic over the Greeks' luggage. Their sleepers were no longer attached to the train.

At Munich at 10.15 we went out of the station for a little walk – I was amazed at the size of the place – we were back in good time for the departure of the train at 10.50.

We found that the officials were starting to put the Greeks' luggage in the van, so eventually Joy and I went in search of them and found that their sleepers had been re-attached – and they rescued their luggage, for they refused to pay for it to be registered.

At Salzburg the customs were too busy to allow us to see anything of the town, and it was after this that the run began to get really interesting on this lovely, sunny, yet sleepy day. I remember at Badgastein the teleferique was running, but there was no sign of snow, up where it was going – all the way along. That was my one thought; there is no snow, except high up on the mountains on impossibly steep slopes. After the tunnel came Mallnitz – again no sign of snow at a reasonable altitude and then on to Villach where we were shunted about before proceeding to Rosenbach for the Austrian border.

Joy and I had no trouble getting our skis, which had been registered as far as this, but when Cecily asked about getting tickets to Lesco-Bled, she was told to pay on the train.

We seemed to go further and further into the mountains, but then after the tunnel we came down into a very broad plain, with not a patch of snow in sight.

At Jesenice a complete army of officials came round; we declared our cameras, and that caused quite a consternation, but eventually they found what to do – enter it in our passports on the currency page!

A Putnik man came round offering to change currency, so I changed 200 Austrian schillings. No-one seemed to take kindly to the Greeks, although they explained that they were only in transit through the country.

Joy amused herself by going into the corridor and smiling at soldiers; they presented her with a buttonhole of wild flowers, from the bunches they carried, and when Cecily and I appeared we were treated similarly. I felt how appropriate that, after Tito's visit to this country, we should be welcomed to his with flowers. They were the first schnee blumen I had seen.

Eventually I realised that the other two were holding up the train, while they got a form filled in about their various currencies; I could see that everyone was impatient to be off, so I didn't bother with one.

We paid 400 dinars for the three of us on the train (half price with our tourists' visas) and very soon we were getting out at Lesco Bled, and into a waiting bus, for Bled. I was the first in the bus, complete with rucksack and skis, and I realised the people in the bus were speaking to me, but, of course, I couldn't understand them – I just stood there, couldn't make up my mind whether luggage would be allowed inside, or would have to go on the roof, eventually I realised that something would have to be done, so I said in desperation, "Can't anyone speak English?" To my amazement a girl replied, "A little" and told me to put my things on empty seats. She was most pessimistic about the amount of snow at Pokluka and said we'd do better to spend our holiday swimming in the lake at Bled – from which I wrongly gathered that the season at Bled had already started!

Far sooner than I expected, we were told to get out and go to the Hotel Lovec, the only one open. I was a little pleased at this at first, it wasn't a tourists hotel, and I thought "we're living more as the people" – but really it wasn't altogether a success. Upstairs it was beautifully clean; it was the dining room which was so miserable, with locally types staring at us, and the bar just across the way.

We ordered a wiener schnitzel which came with potatoes (which satisfied Joy) and lemon and green salad. We finished off with café tirch. I'm afraid I was all for bed after this, but keener types insisted that we went outside, and how glad we were that we had seen the place under the brilliant full moon. All the lamps were reflected in the lake, and we walked along by it and then up by the church, longing to come back by daylight with our cameras, and wondering whether there would be time to get up to the castle in the morning.

Joy was very pleased with life – while Cecily and I had single beds she had a cheaper 'ottoman' and Cecily and I began to call her 'the child'.

1.4 1953, March 30 (Monday)

For breakfast we ordered café complete – there was no butter, so we fetched some of our own and the 'confiture' was a little square of brown stuff. The café au lait was made with powdered milk, and the others didn't drink much. We collected the passports we had handed in on arrival, and learned that a Jeep would be going to the 'Sport Hotel' at 11 o'clock, so we said we'd be back for our luggage then. We set out for the 'Putnick" we had noticed the night before, only to discover that it was only a window, the room behind was unfinished. Then I saw a 'pharmacy' and thought I might be able to get a filter for my colour film, but when I opened the door I saw a sight which would have delighted the heart of many an English pharmacist – it was certainly not a "chemist's shop". I called in the post office and found that a letter for England needed a 30 dinar stamp, and a postcard 17 dinars, and I bought a stock. We enquired our way to the bank and there Joy cashed £5 for herself and £10 for me. The business being over, we set out with our cameras towards the lake and then up to the church. Joy and I went on to investigate the photographic possibilities of the nearby houses, and then, when we got back, we couldn't find Cecily. We sauntered slowly back by the lake, and when Cecily came we found that she had been up to the castle!

The Jeep (what an international word that has become) arrived in very good time, and a boy in a blue sports jacket loaded our things onto it, but it was well after 11 o'clock before it got away. Joy and Cecily sat in the front, and I was in the back with a girl in skiing clothes and a healthy tan, the boy in the sports jacket and a local type. We soon left the lake, and started up a valley, climbing up far more quickly than I had dared hope, and the snow patches became larger and larger, and the jeep had more and more trouble! The men got out from the back and fiddled with the engine, but it didn't seem to do any good! Then at one point they got out to push. It would stick in the snow, and the driver would let it run back and then have another go – the running back upset Cecily, for there was a considerable drop on the side of the road! When she suggested getting out and walking, they said that it was much too far. We stopped at (I suppose) Zavetišce, where they put water in the radiator – we had no more trouble after that! It was a lovely place to stop, it was at a clearing in the trees and, while the snow was thick under the trees, here it was clearing rapidly and the crocuses, blue and white, were appearing on the brown turf. I asked about the roofed wooden racking we had been seeing all the way along, and learned that it was for drying hay.

And so we continued along the forested plateau, until the road came to an end at a large building which we recognised as the sport-hotel Pokluka, from the pictures we had seen.

Again we had to hand in our passports first of all, and then we were shown up to room no. 1, a room for three, the maid following us closely and making the beds. She couldn't put the table cloth on the table as we already had too much clutter on it.

Lunch consisted of soup, liver and chips and then pancakes with sugar and jam. The quality was good and the quantity more than adequate; we retired to the bedroom for tea, to finish off the meal.

There was a snow-slope outside the hotel, but the snow was soft, it wouldn't have been much fun, so we set out roughly in the direction of Lipanca where a path was marked in the picture diagram in the entrance hall. We wished to get somewhere with a view. The hotel was in a ridiculous position, in the middle of a well wood plateau, with no view whatsoever. We continued for about a mile through the forest, and eventually approached some higher ground, and then we got a view! – over towards some mountains! – they seemed so far away, I doubted whether we should ever get there, and the patches of snow seemed far too steep for skiing. The great thing was that they were above the tree line, apart from the numerous dead-looking trees (actually they were larches, about to come to life). Below us was a lovely little clearing, with a dozen or so chalets, it took my fancy at once; the place was so absolutely dead, so unlike the usual winter sports places. I found the run down thrillingly fast, but not so Joy, and when we got down into the hollow we started going up again for the joy of a schusch down, for the snow was too heavy for turning. We soon found that the snow was very treacherous – often the skis would sink right in as we were plodding uphill. After several little schusches, I wondered whether the snow further west would be in better condition, and I made my way up in this direction – I certainly got onto a steeper slope and I was soon haring down at a terrific speed, and Joy said that a plume of snow was spraying out behind me. At first I was doubtful, and then I was happy, thinking that I was going fast enough to ride over any soft patches. No sooner had I thought this than I was buried, head first, face down in the snow. I opened my eyes and could see nothing but snow all around, but I soon groped my way up into the daylight. I had my skis in the uphill position; I expect that helped me to get out. I didn't try that run again, and the little ones got monotonous, so we sat down for a short sunbathe, and then started home. After walking up the first rise, Joy tried to run down the first icy part of the track and had quite a time trying to get her ski unstuck. Cecily and I have reached years of discretion!

We reached the sport hotel the same time as the jeep, and who should get out again, but our friend in the blue jacket. Everyone looked at my face and made some remark, for, although I had only slight scraped my nose and forehead, I hadn't been able to wash off the blood, and it looked far worse than it was. We asked about the possibilities of getting from Pokluka to Komna and were told that it couldn't be done. We were advised to go up to Lipance, where the hut was open (all others were closed, we were told).

One very good thing came out of this conversation, I found that it was possible to buy a map at the hotel, with a scale of 1/75,000 – not a very good one, but it certainly covered the whole of the Julien Alps – if only it had marked the forest!

After a wash we went down for dinner – a slice of bread and butter had on top würst, gherkin etc. as hors do'oeuvres, then the main course consisted of potatoes, hard boiled eggs and a little minced meat or bacon – very good and filling – the last course was "Jugoslav tea" – a sweet lemon tea, made from herbs, instead of the good brown leaves, as were used in room 1 of the same hotel.

At another table the Jeep party were eating and, just before we finished, the familiar figure in the blue jacket came across and asked us to drink slivovitz with him. We said no at first, wondering how we could repay him, but we eventually agreed, and I slipped up for a packet of English tea, to give him in return. Long before we had finished the slivovitz the jeep driver joined us, obviously trying to hurry up Ivan, as the boy was called, but he wasn't to be hurried and said we must drink a "bruderschaft" – when I learned that kissing was involved, I wasn't very keen. I was afraid of two things, firstly that the lights might have to be put out, and secondly that old 'whiskers', as I thought of the Jeep driver, might be included in it, but neither of my fears was realised. We shook hands across the table, exchanging names, and then stood up, one at a time to be kissed very formally on both cheeks.

The conversation was in German, so Cecily had to do all the talking. I listened in very intently and was very pleased when I could understand a little; Joy I'm afraid was rather bored.

At last 'Whiskers' got his way, and Ivan left and we went to bed.

1.5 1953, March 31 (Tuesday)

I was in favour of an early start, to get away before the snow became soft and slow. I got out of bed at about 7 o'clock, meaning to wash my hair, but the water was cold and, as neither of the other two had stirred, I got back into bed, for I knew that it would take Cecily twice as long as it would me, to get ready, for she had unpacked her hold-all. At about 8 o'clock I got up and eventually washed my hair as the water changed from cold to tepid. I divided my things between my large rucksack I was leaving behind at the hotel, and the small one I was taking up to the hut.

For breakfast there was the same square of brown sweet stuff, masquerading as jam, but at least there was a little butter – the coffee was sweetened and made of powdered milk again. I took a photo or so of the hotel, while waiting for the others, and then we all set out along yesterday's track. At Javornik we stopped for a sunbathe, Joy and I roaming round, looking for photographs, before we redressed and continued on our way, looking for the red markings. We went blindly on through the wood, until we came to a clearing, where we stopped for lunch (Cecily still had the remnants of her half shoulder of lamb, and hard boiled eggs) and I made tea on my spirit burner. Actually this wasn't too successful; I had to melt snow and it took about 1½ hours to boil! For the next part of the way, Cecily showed great energy, going straight up the cleared gully. Joy and I took the easy way, round the zigzag track, having to take off skis for one bare patch. Above this was a path where we carried our skis; how a longed for a tripod and extension tubes at one place for a patch of heather with schnee blumen in front. It wasn't our purple heather, but a lovely red shade.

Soon we were at the hut, or rather at the group of three huts, but a lady appeared on the balcony of one, so we knew that was the one to make for. I shall always remember the welcome we got, the lady showed no surprise, and she didn't fuss, but she made us feel we were really welcome. I hoped that the family lived up there, keeping cows beneath the hut, so I was a little disappointed to find she was on her own, and was there only for the sake of visitors.

While we were looking round, the lady fetched in our skis and put the skins to dry on the balcony. There was a loft which we never examined and below that the hut was divided into two, half being the living room and the other half dormitory. A trap door led below, but we never examined this, for the door on the outside was padlocked. Joy and I chose separate bunk beds, but Cecily preferred the trough, and the lady soon produced sheets. We were amused to see that even the huts were not without their photos of Tito – the only good thing about this was that they were all different, the marshal being depicted at various ages in various establishments.

Cecily soon had her skis out again, I used the last of the sunlight for a photo of the hut and then Joy and I wandered up the bare slope to the east. I tried to make a round trip of it and got into some very deep snow, but got down eventually. Next we followed a track round in the opposite direction, passing heather of all colours and lots of schnee blumen and went up until we came to a little hut, which was well locked and shuttered. We retreated and when Cecily got back she told us that she had followed the sign-posted path until she had got to considerable snow patches, which looked promising for the next day's trip.

The lady understood Cecily's perpetual need, and soon had bowls of hot water for us to wash in, and boiling water for tea. "So stark?" she said as I threw in a handful of leaves, but she soon had it strained away from them. Cecily had ordered supper – simply noodle soup, which I though a little meagre, but we filled up with cheese and the usual black bread, afterwards the lady was most apologetic about the bread, saying that she'd bake some white the next day – we told her we preferred black, but she didn't seem convinced.

That evening I knitted, and was taught to play Canasta by the others. The lady ate at a different table, but came over to watch the complicated game.

1.6 1953, April 1 (Wednesday)

There was a typical scotch mist all day (at times it was almost raining), so we didn't stir from the hut. I had no change of clothes, and it didn't seem worth getting wet for no view, and no skiable snow (hadn't we been told Debela Pec was one of the best view points in the Alps?).

In the morning I wrote a few letters, besides several postcards, and we again played Canasta and my knitting grew far too rapidly. We looked through the hut book and found no English names, although there had been two people from London (but not Britishers).

I tried to take a hut interior. The lady was very good, but the others moved all the time and then informed me that I hadn't told them I had opened the shutter!

It seemed to be clearing a little in the evening, so we went to bed in a slightly more hopeful frame of mind; I slept better for substituting a blanket for the hard pillow.

1.7 1953, April 2 (Thursday)

It was lovely at first, but clouded over during breakfast. I wanted to try out my theory of getting onto the snow before it had thawed out, and went down into the basin by the hut, I found the snow shatteringly fast, in its uneven state.

Eventually, we were ready to start, and took the path up to the first signpost. We put on skins and skis after this and set out for Debela Pec – Cecily was in roaring form, Joy was most unhappy, so I made more gentle tracks up in the snow. Eventually, I joined Cecily on the ridge, where only one dip separated us from our peak. How right had been Ivan, what a view, it was practically sheer down about 3,000 ft of limestone cliffs to the Koma Valley and that long narrow valley led right up to the highest point, Triglav – it seemed incredible to think that the valley didn't contain a glacier, but as we looked at its higher reaches, we realised that the greyness was caused by larch trees in the bed of the 'glacier'.

The previous fine day I had done nothing but try to photograph people walking through magnificent pine forests. This day I tried all the time to photograph the scrubby bushes, coming through the snow, with the mountains behind.

In the other direction we could always pick out the Javornik clearing, but not, of course, the sport-hotel. We decided that the woods looked as we imagined Canada to be. Cecily went on in the direction of the peak, while I awaited Joy. Joy didn't sound as though she'd get much further, so I followed Cecily. She had found a peculiar circular crater and said that there was perfect powder snow in it, but it looked quite a trial to get out of it, and as Cecily was up before I got to the top of it, I didn't bother to go down.

The next slope was east facing and in lovely condition, I decided it would be worth coming this way another time, just to play on that snow. We traversed round on the snow until we came to the bare hillside, where we left our skis and continued on foot. Just before leaving the snow, I noted a circular hole down to the rocks. I remembered the lecture I had attended just a week before, and realised that it must be the breathing hole of a cave – I felt I ought to report my find to the nearest spelaeologist! Cecily and I sauntered up to the top, where the view was superb, stretching right across the Jesenice Valley to mountains beyond (for it turned into a lovely day, after all). A slight haze on the distant mountains made them look rather like an oil painting. Cecily investigated and found the book, but neither of us had a pencil.

Cecily had been reading a detective novel and noticed that all the entries had been made with a similar pencil, so we looked in the bottom of the tin, and sure enough, there was a pencil. Cecily remarked in the book that this country was more like New Zealand than anywhere else she had been. I was absolutely thrilled with it all, to have it to ourselves. I felt it was the wildest country I had ever known and this made up for my disappointmjent over the skiing.

We sat just below the summit and started lunch, when who should appear, but Joy, who had made the peak after all.

We ran down the band of snow, and then traversed to our skis, and made our way up to the last good slope, and Cecily and I played here, letting Joy go on, as she was slower.

A narrow band was in good condition for practicing christies, but to the side it was very soft. We put on skins and continued up, bypassing the next little summit, and went on up the next one, Bdr – going up the ridge and having a nice little run down the flank (Cecily made a much better show at this than I did) and so we rejoined Joy and continued down the slope we had zigzagged up in the morning. At the bottom, Cecily and I sunbathed on a rock, but not so the "child", she was in her element, she could go up a little hump and 'Schuss' down it (Cecily and I couldn't hold it when we tried!).

Eventually we were on again, Joy and I trying to photograph each other, skiing through the old knarled, bare, larch trees.

At the signpost, Cecily was waiting and we agreed to leave our skis there, to save carrying them up on our shoulders for half an hour the next morning. Cecily was first down and recovered the cable which I had dropped on my way up that morning. Fortunately I had a spare one in my rucksack, but it was too small. I could feel my boot buckling under the strain, even in the uphill position.

After tea and a wash we were ready for supper and then, before we had settled down for the evening, there was a step outside the door, and Hriber (as we later learned he was called) arrived, with a small rucksack of provisions. Now a man was just what I wanted, they had tried to fix the basket on my ski-stick at Pokluka, but it didn't last very long, I had borrowed the pliers at the hut that morning, but hadn't done much good. At the sight of a man, I hurriedly fetched in the stick and started opening the split pin, when I broke part of it off. At that, it was taken out of my hands, I was afraid he wouldn't have another split pin, and offered him a hair-grip, but he didn't think that a very good idea! He soon put it down and said he'd do it early in the morning.

Life was made very much easier when we found Hriber spoke French, even Joy could understand that – and Cecily used French to teach him Canasta. I've never known anyone so quick on the uptake – he said he played rummy, I suppose that helped. I admired the way Cecily even counted in French. Hriber remained quite a mystery – he spoke excellent French and German (according to Cecily) and also, he claimed, Italian and Russian, besides Slovenish and Serbo-croat. He had been a prisoner of war in Austria and he had been with the maquis in France. He had also spent two years in Russia, but we never knew why. He tried to tell us that really he was unemployed, that he got what work he could, for instance he helped at the hotel, when there were many guests there.

1.8 1953, April 3 (Friday)

Everyone was up late, so I expected my ski-stick to be already mended and I began to lose faith in Hriber, eventually he appeared (he slept in the loft) and the stick was beautifully repaired, with a new split pin, before we were ready to go.

I rewarded him with three of Cecily's cigarettes, and then, remembering how thrilled the lady was to have her photo taken, I took his, which was, I gathered, quite a good thing to do and he gave me his name and the sport-hotel as address, for a copy.

Hriber had suggested that we went up the other side of the hut to the Veliki Urh hut, as our skis were up the other side; we decided to make two half days of it.

We were soon up to our skis, and then, instead of traversing to the right as we had done the previous day, we went straight up to the top of Lypanski Urh, and Cecily and I sat down and enjoyed the summit for quite a while. Just as we were starting down, Joy appeared, but without skis, so we went on down towards the east and made for the signpost, which said Koma 1¼ st. – at first it was easy enough with made steps, but lower down there was snow on anything which was flat. I don't suppose it would be very easy under those conditions. The run down to the next signpost was ridiculously easy; even I had no trouble with the turns. We then carried our skis a little way down before putting them on and getting down through the woods, but it would really have been easier to have walked down the path!

We had a very long lunch hour. I began to doubt whether we should ever set out, but eventually we started up the "couloir de neige" (as it had become through talking French to Hriber). At the top I was surprised to find that a marked route continued quite steeply up the hillside – it was marked by pieces of red paper attached to sticks stuck in the snow – the paper had become rather wet and faded, but it still showed up. Much side-stepping was involved, then there was a little run down, and finally we were on a broad snow slope of promising angle for the return. We went to and fro, and eventually arrived at a summit, from which we looked straight down onto the hut. To the east was a slightly higher summit, but I said it would need a rope to reach it, for a definite rock scramble was involved, and I didn't fancy it unroped, on strange rock, with a 3,000 ft drop on one side.

Looking on the map, I found that we were on Urh Razora, that Veliki Urh was the next to the west, but its slopes didn't look as promising as those on our little peaklet.

There was a chill wind on top, so we soon started down, the way we had come up, passing another of the conical craters.

The snow was a little heavy, but the slope was excellent, above the tree line, and then we continued straight down for a little way, hoping we should be able to avoid the steep way we had come up, but the snow petered out, and we carried our skis in the direction of home, and then found ourselves above the seep part. I had a great thrill while carrying my skis. I suddenly came across a patch of dead twigs (so I thought), with a glorious little purple flower sprouting at the end, and a scent even more wonderful than the flower. I picked some, but back at the hut, they didn't know its name, only that it was forbidden to pick it, for it was rare. We wondered what would happen to us for picking it, for we had been told that one could be locked away for stealing wood.

Joy laboriously sidestepped all the way down the steep part, and then I flattened all her beautiful steps by side-slipping. We had been rather looking forward to the last gully, but by the time we got there, it was breakable crust, so we took a long time, traversing and kick turning.

At the hut we were surprised to see that Hriber was still there (we had expected him to go down that morning) and this evening followed the same pattern as the previous one. Then Joy partnered Hriber, and they had won at Canasta. This time I played with him and we lost.

1.9 1953, April 4 (Saturday)

We took a little food for mid-day and set off up the snow gully again, and on up Urh Razora, then, much to Joy's disgust, we went down the steep way, soon carrying skis, to the col before Veliki Urh and had lunch, hoping that the rain wouldn't come, for it was quite a threatening day. We continued on, firstly on foot, and then by ski to the top of the Urh. Hriber had told us to follow the path along further. We looked out the place he had marked on the map, but it would have been very tedious getting there, it was so black and white, and skis were needed for the white. Also the day was too threatening.

We had a better run down our peak than I had expected, and then walked up to our old friend Urh Razora, and went down the same way as we had come up. We were earlier this time, and the gully wasn't crusted. Cecily continued down it; I traversed off to the right, and finished on foot. At the hut there were two people on the balcony, the familiar face of Ivan, and one strange one.

We had finished our tin of milk, so the slivovitz bottle of fresh milk, which Ivan had, was more than welcome; fortunately we managed to stop the lady from heating it. The lady had cooked some delicious doughnuts. Cecily asked Ivan what he was doing and he said Triglav, so she immediately invited us to join them, - or me at any rate (as though I have no principles!). I asked which way they were going, and they said down to the Koma Valley and up there. I measured up the map and realised that it would involve about 14 miles and 10,000 ft of ascent, and thought I wasn't capable, even if the others were capable of kicking all those steps in the snow. As the evening wore on, it became more and more obvious that they had never had any intention of doing any real mountaineering, despite the one axe and crampons.

We could really be most grateful to Ivan. One good thing came out of his visit; he told us to go on to Kranjska Gora for our second week. Hriber had also been right against Komna – no snow, no water even, 8 hours walk to get there etc.

Later on, the evening really started. I think Ivan had brought up one bottle of red wine, and when that ran out we had a couple more from the house, and then a bottle of white.

The gramophone was put on and Ivan firstly asked Joy to dance, but she refused, and soon went to bed, giving Ivan the impression that he had offended her!

We found that Ivan also had learned French while with the maquis, and he could talk to me occasionally. Finally when we sat down, I was half asleep, but not so Cecily, on the other side of Ivan, she was at her best and most animated, and kept the whole company amused. Finally at about 12 o'clock, we went to bed, allowing Meta, who slept in the living room, to get to her bed.

1.10 1953, April 5 (Sunday)

The two boys were up in good time, and we followed at about 8 o'clock, for the mist was low, and there didn't seem much to get up for. Cecily invited herself to go skiing with Ivan, but Joy, who couldn't bear the man, wanted to go down to Pokluka at once, so I went with her. The weather improved, there was an occasional rain shower, but not heavy, and we got back to the sport-hotel in time for lunch; there had been still another flower on the way down, a cream coloured one, with bells. We had hoped for a little skiing at Javornik, but the snow was too slow. Cecily had asked for a single room, so Joy and I were shown to no. 2, a double one, and, after lunch, we retired to it for tea.

Next I explored the immediate neighbourhood, and found that the mountains could be seen from the hummock opposite the hotel. I went up the mound behind the hotel until the track gave out. I didn't want to make my shoes as wet as my boots by going in deep snow. Back at the hotel I waited and waited for the electricity to go on – but finally realised that it was kaput, and that it was worse off for oil lamps than the hut had been. Fortunately, I had some ends of candle which we used in the bedroom.

Joy seemed to wish to avoid Ivan altogether, but as the management asked us to come down soon to supper because of the light problem, we couldn't choose a different time for dinner, merely sat at different tables!

Supper consisted of a very nice plate of hors d'oeuvres, with salad potatoes, to be followed by tea, and then we went across to the other table for a chat. Joy was glad enough to be able to ask Ivan about the men in air-force blue uniform; they are Tito's bodyguard, because the marshal has a hunting villa in the district.

We were also very pleased for Cecily to tell us what she had learned of Ivan. He worked at the Town Hall in Bled, and was very dissatisfied with the present regime – he said that it was terrible living in a communistic country and he thought that every English and American person ought to try living in a Communistic country to learn just how terrible it is.

Actually I felt that they were a little unreasonable and that communism got blamed for all their post-war difficulties. For instance, Meta had said that before the war she had had enough money in the bank to buy a house, but she had left the money there, and now it was worth nothing. Then Ivan quoted the familiar case of income tax, he said that a man might earn 13,000 dinars a month, but half of it would be taken away and he'd never know what happened to it.

Then they'd quote the people who ran away and got to America. Now they don't like it there and would like to come back, but they can't because they've been blacklisted. They didn't see this as I did, that those who escaped found that it isn't all honey in a democracy such as America.

Ivan admitted that things had been better since they broke with Russia, three years ago.

1.11 1953, April 6 (Monday)

We packed, had breakfast, paid the bill, and then retreated to the bedroom for tea, for Joy wouldn't drink her coffee. In the middle of all this, the girl came up to say that she had added up the bill incorrectly, that Cecily owed another 500 dinars (she seemed no better than Meta had been).

Then Joy and I went out and found the grave of the 30 partisans, and then the Jeep arrived, well before schedule. The driver had shaved quite recently. He was able to satisfy my curiosity over the age of the hotel – it was built three years ago.

We were left at Bled Jezzoro, in plenty of time for the 1 o'clock train, so we went in the nearest hotel for a meal. Some locals were singing at one end, so, in deference to Joy, we went to the other end of the dining room. We had soup, meat, potatoes and green salad, and then a slice of the stuff we had suffered from the previous lunch time; I don't know whether it is a sort of Easter cake. It is like bread, with a brown, alcoholic, fruity substance wound in with it and it is very stodgy and Cecily and I had a quarter bottle of white wine with the meal.

It was quite fun in the train; it was a little crowded and we had rather a lot of luggage; Joy stayed outside the door (it had those sort of carriages), but the locals inside helped Cecily and me with our things.

The train slowed down just before Jesenice and all the locals rushed off, according to Joy, jumping off in the middle of a viaduct.

At Jesenice we expected to wait about 20 minutes (actually it was more like an hour). As I got in the carriage I made a few of my usual remarks about a communistic country, forgetting that the schoolgirls were probably well advanced in their English studies. There was a little boy near us who occasionally grinned in the right places, at our conversation. Eventually he got a book out of his bag and started looking at it. Eventually Joy was able to get hold of it. As we suspected, it was his English book; we got him to say a few words and his pronunciation was very good. I was very amused at a recurring diagram – two rows of teeth with a tongue between to emphasise the 'th' sound. Some older people tried to encourage the boy, which made him very shy.

We were surprised that an official came round the train to see our passports – I suppose it was because we were so near the border.

At Kranjska Gora, Cecily asked a policeman for the Hotel Slavec – he walked with her into the town, eventually carrying her grip, and took her to the hotel Razor, where she left her grip, explaining that we'd be staying there Friday night. Then Cecily went on, a couple of miles up the road, to the hotel which Ivan had recommended. Joy and I looked round the church, acquired more stamps at the post office, noticed the Hotel Slavec further down the road, and then I made my way after Cecily, leaving Joy to bring up the rear. We passed a bathing pool, it was empty and apparently being used as a cycling track by local lads!

Cecily was already installed at the Dompod Prisojnikom, and called to me from her bedroom window; she soon let me in, and said that the place was empty, was being spring cleaned, and that the woman was in a complete dither about taking us in until Cecily produced her passport with its tourist visa (this is in the frontier area!). Then she had shown Cecily over the whole of the hotel and let her choose her room. I found the woman exceptionally kind, and I accepted the room on the floor above, with its view of the mountains, for Kranjska Gora is superbly situated, with peaks to the south which were to remind me more and more of Chamonix Aiguilles, the more I was to see of them; there was one double peak with a flat summit, exactly like the Charmoz-Grépon, and another like the Balitière, and several times I found the Southwest Ridge of the Fou. Not only in form, but in colour also did they remind me of the good granite peaks, and the amount of snow was also reminiscent of the usual bad August wather! I had to keep reminding myself that they were of limestone, and that the snow in the valleys did not cover glaciers.

Cecily was able to attract Joy's attention, and then we settled down for tea in Cecily's room.

I strolled a mile or so up the valley before dinner. We had ordered the meal, so inevitably it was Wiener Schnitzel, with soup before, and stewed apples afterwards, to be followed by more tea in the bedroom.

1.12 1953, April 7 (Tuesday)

I had been watching the peaks for hours before I got up. It didn't seem a perfect day, but the cloud kept revealing blue sky.

We gave the management Englishy tea to make for us for breakfast, but there was no milk. When it came to eating we thought we'd be modest and ask for only "Brot und Marmalade", but we had fried eggs pressed upon us. Joy ate nothing at all, but she put a little of the jam in the honey container she had scrounged from the train, and it came in useful later.

At about 9.30 we put our skis through the tops of our packs, and set off up the road.

We all kept together until the first hut, and then we seemed to separate. The others had the best idea, the path through the woods; I thought I might prefer the road for two reasons; it was at an easy gradient and I thought the going might be firmer. Actually I was wrong about the second point, for everyone used the track. I went up, taking innumerable short cuts, and when I crossed the path I saw some ski tracks and thought Cecily was ahead, as I had expected (she had left most of her things in her grip, in the valley. Joy said she was taking all her stuff up, so I did the same, for I could see no point in my having a lighter pack than Joy). I went up to the third hut, and then I was fairly committed to the snow, and found the going treacherous, so I got out my skis, and attached skins, which I found right at the bottom of my pack. Still thinking Cecily was ahead, I started on, only to be stopped by a shout from the rear, and I waited for Cecily to skin and ski up. Cecily went round by road while I side-stepped up a steepish track which I thought ought to give fun for a downhill run and then we had an irritatingly long strip of level going to get over the pass to the last hut. We took off our skis and walked doubtingly up to the hut, for it was shuttered and locked. We saw the name, Ticarjev dom, and checked that it was the one Ivan had recommended, but both doors were locked, so we removed our skins and went down to the next one. With heavy pack, I didn't go down the way I had gone up, I mostly traversed and kick-turned.

We missed Joy, but we were able to shout and bring her back. Inside the hut, Cecily's first action was to order slivovitz and then soup. We took to the lady immediately and her first reaction to Cecily's German was to think that we must be Dutch, as the German was so good!

We learned that there was a party of seven staying there, making a film. The girl was in the hut, but didn't speak. Apparently she only spoke her own language. We were shown into a dormitory, with Youth Hostel type beds, and when we accepted the offer of sheets, the girl was soon sent up to make the beds. Eventually we got outside; my first idea was to take a photo, or so, in case I had no other opportunity.

All the way up I had been noting view points for taking flowers and mountains on the way down, when we'd have a brilliant day (although the morning hadn't been bad, it hadn't been particularly clear). I tried to find some schnee blumen to take, but realised that they were all facing to the southeast and the sun was coming from the other direction, so I thought I'd better wait until the morning.

I went to the corner of the road, above my downhill run, and tried to get down, but found it was too steep for me to turn, so, at the bottom, where it was flatter, I started to practice my turns, gradually getting higher up until I could do them on the steeper slopes. It was a lovely run, for there were little bumps on it, round which I could make the turns. I'd side-step up, and then come down again, until all the turns were really beaten into the slope. Cecily soon gave up, and Joy found no 'joy' whatsoever in the slope. At first she said her skis wouldn't go, so Cecily advised her to try downhill, instead of uphill wax, and then she said her skis kept sticking on the schush and, as she wouldn't try turning, she followed Cecily up to the nearest Col. I didn't bother to go, thinking that I'd have plenty more opportunities; I enjoyed myself watching my skiing improve, until it suddenly went to pieces, and I knew it was time for me to give up.

Back at the hut, the film party were settled in the dining room, but I had my usual introduction. I went in with my kaput ski-stick, and asked the hut lady for "Zange". I didn't at the time understand the way she immediately handed the stick to a boy, as though he were expecting it. While I was about it, I thought I had better get nails put in my boot, where the rubber sole was tearing away. That was put on a seat, until they had attended to the stick.

The three of us sat round the table behind the stove, and nothing more was said, until the repairs were complete, when the boy handed them over, with a few words of English, and then walked away before he could be thanked – in other words my kaput ski-stick hadn't proved an introduction! I had only expected the split pin to be refixed, but he had also replaced a broken piece of leather, and had fixed the split pin so firmly in the groove that I knew it would be some time before I could use that stick again to try to get an introduction.

They were also the first English words we had heard from a Yugoslav, and I realised I must stop making remarks about people and communism in English.

We sat on at our table, playing canasta, until supper appeared. The lady suggested that we should have Pfancuchen, and we agreed. When it came, it consisted of three lovely big pancakes, each with jam and sugar, but I didn't considered one sweet plate sufficient for an evening meal and we asked for Käsebrot, only to learn that cheese was off the menu, in the hut. The lady suggested sardines and I jumped at the idea, but the others were horrified, so I had to eat the whole tin myself.

The others were intrigued by a game being played on the opposite table; I recognised it as the parent game to the one with match-sticks, which has wiled away many an hour when I have been weather bound in a hut. They called this Mikado and it was played with sticks about 6 inches long, each painted differently, and with a different score – it was amazing the way that, if any fell completely clear, they'd always be twos! Joy accepted the invitation to join in and I watched until I also couldn't refrain from joining the game (I'm no good at it, I lack the patience!). On my right was the one we were to know as the skier, and opposite the one with the little tasche – Viki.

We didn't keep a score and after a bit it faded out, but eventually everyone was to collect round that table, wine was provided and we talked. Only two spoke English Little Hjulio, who had mended my stick (his was more willing than fluent), but he had the most incredible personality I have ever met. Whatever wanted doing, it was always Hjulio who did it. If it was only that the wireless programme needed changing over, you could tell that he'd have been most upset if he'd have thought that anyone else had had to do these things. When we asked who was the film-star of the outfit, they pointed to the other one who spoke English, but he seemed to think it quite a joke. Apparently he taught music and also did some composing, and had four months holiday a year! Half way through the evening I noticed that one of the two badges he was wearing was a C.A.F. one, so I told him that I also was a member; he said that he didn't belong, but had been given the badge in France. This led on to Chamonix. He said that he had done the Verte by the Whymper couloir, the Charmoz-Grépon traverse, and had traversed the Grand Jorrasses from the Col des Hirondelle, starting from the Lelchaud hut – how envious I was of that climb. He also said that bad weather had stopped him from trying the 'Diable' – how I could sympathise with him over that.

We got onto politics – Cecily has an idea that she ought to make Europeans more satisfied with their lot and can do so by running down England – I don't see that it does any good to tell Yugoslavs that Churchill is a dictator.

A subject in which I couldn't join was films – that seemed something dear to Hjulio's heart, but he and Cecily didn't have the same tastes (Joy, as usual, had gone to bed hours before the rest of us).

The lady always stayed in the room until everyone had gone to bed, but she wasn't necessarily awake, quite a bit of the time she was snoring by the side of the stove. This was a favourite place, there was always someone lying down there.

1.13 1953, April 8 (Wednesday)

There was a typical scotch mist, no-one went out in the morning; I decided that half a day would be long enough to play in the snow in such conditions.

There was no jam in the hut, so for breakfast we agreed to try polenta – it was a bright yellow colour and looked quite exciting, and had pieces of crisp bacon fat on top. The only snag was that it was swimming in fat, and we were given a heaped plateful each. Even I couldn't get right through mine; Joy scarcely touched hers, and Cecily got about half way through. The lady was most upset, for, apparently, they think a lot of polenta with fat.

We spent the morning continuing the last night's conversation and learning a little more about the language, e.g.

but apparently 'we' is different according to whether there are two or more people.

My Yugoslavian map came in useful as we discussed various parts of the country. I gathered that the southern part was almost as foreign to them as it would be to us.

A thing they never tired of, was hearing the prices of commodities in England. When he heard the price of alcohol, Hjulio said perhaps he'd better stay where he was. We didn't appreciate at the time the significance of this, but, apparently, he is very bitter against communism for, when it first came, his brother escaped across the border, and he was put in prison for that. We gathered that he was only waiting to finish at the university before trying to do the same.

Having two people speak English, we never tried to talk any other language. The rest of the party were very patient about all the English which was spoken. On the last night some of the others came out with odd words and we realised that they probably knew as much as Hjulio, but lacked the self confidence to try it.

After lunch it cleared a little, so we went out with our skis, soon followed by Hjulio and the skier. I tried my little run again (I expect it had nearly a dozen turns on it), but found that the rain had undone a lot of my good work the evening before, for it was much softer. The two boys carried their skis up much higher. Hjulio came down first and, on the top part, he must have had quite a time on the heavy unpacked snow and, although he got down rapidly and safely, it was evident that he wasn't a particularly elegant skier. The other boy followed in splendid style, and we learned that he was quite a champion – but such is the penalty of being so good, after one or two runs, he went in, for it must have been very boring for him, while I could play for hours. Hjulio naturally stayed out as long as we did, for he had taken us under his wing for the afternoon.

Later on a few patches of blue appeared so I went back for the cameras. It was a great help to have a professional near. He was able to tell me to get in a tree as foreground! I wanted to go to the col the others had visited the previous evening, but Hjulio dissuaded me, and suggested instead that we went up to the Uršic Pass, and he'd show us the way up to the little peak, Mojstróvka, which we had been told we could ascend. To my horror he pointed out the terribly steep snow slope, where I'd wondered what lunatics had made tracks, when I'd seen it the previous day, but Hjulio warned me not to take skis far up it!

When we came to go back we found the surface transformed, normally we'd have had to punt along, but now it was freezing and shatteringly fast, my skis jumped out of the ruts, but that didn't slow them in the least, and when we came to the slight bed, I was afraid I should go over the embankment. After that dreadful experience, I'm afraid I fell most of the way down my pet slope!

That evening was rather a contrast, the boys spent it mostly in the kitchen, listening to the wireless. We tried Canasta, but it soon palled, in fact we went to bed early.

I had intended to buy some wine, but it didn't seem appropriate.

1.14 1953, April 9 (Thursday)

It was a slightly better morning first thing, in fact the film people were away by 6.15, but we watched the clouds coming over, and had another hour in bed, and the others were soon back, having done nothing.

We spent another morning in, mostly talking and then in late afternoon, having decided that it wouldn't clear enough for Mojstóvka (we had intended to set out at 3 o'clock, to be on the top for the usual 5 o'clock clearing, but this day it didn't come). We went for a short walk down the valley. In the morning Hjulio had brought in a bunch of heather and schnee blumen, with which he decorated their table, so we picked schnee blumen for ours.

Cecily and I found another road, taking us round to the next valley further to the east (we had been curious to look up this valley) and we followed it up, sometimes taking short cuts between zigzags, especially if the ground happened to be clear of snow.

We had gone down some way, so we were surprised to find, ages before we had expected, that we were above the level of the hut, and going up Uršic. It became tedious with the soft snow, it was such a long way round by road, and it was hard work cutting straight up. Eventually we reached a little fort and, as she had been up the 'vrh' the day before, when Hjulio had been showing me the way, she decided to call it a day, while I went on up to the flagpole. Right at the top there was less snow, and then I had a wonderful moment when the mist almost cleared – it was all the more precious because it was so short. I walked along a little ridge, and down the easy way, which brought me almost to Ticarjev dom and unfortunately there were no skis waiting for me at the bottom. I got back at the same time as Cecily, who was very thrilled, having seen a chamois, after, as she said, having followed their trails all the holiday.

I expected supper to be early, so I didn't bother to change, as I had done previously, whenever I had a change of clothes with me. Supper wasn't in a hurry to come; we became a little impatient, I think I felt in Joy's pocket, and she accused me of tickling her – a pillow fight followed, when I decided I must put Joy in her place – on the floor! Unfortunately, there was a chair in the way and Joy's head hit it, and she saw stars and had a bump the size of a small egg on the back of her head. Poor Hjulio was most upset to see us fight.

There had been three causes for celebrations that week, Viki's 29th birthday, the skiers 23rd and it was Hjulio's 'name-day' (whatever that is) and there had been some hint of a celebration that night.

Eventually, a man arrived with supplies, together with the fair photographer who had gone down in the afternoon for supplies, and the supper was quickly prepared and put on the table for the film people (so we thought) at about 9 o'clock. Hjulio came across to us and said "Please will you come to our party?" and we realised that we were all to have supper together. Dinner consisted of Wiener Schnitzel, with rice, and also a plate of salad potatoes. I was ravenous and started tucking into mine at a very great rate. It was delicious, but by the time I had got half way through, I had slowed down considerably; in fact, I only just managed to get to the end. Needless to say, Joy nowhere near finished hers. After a whispered consultation Cecily and I decided to produce some dried figs and chocolate as a second course, but the lady produced great plates of shortbread etc. and our small offering looked a little silly; however, it disappeared during the night.

Then the wine appeared, three bottles of it, and I thought we would do fine; however, as they were emptied, three more were fetched, and the old ones removed. There had been 13 of us for dinner, including the lady, the girl and the new man who had brought up provisions. I was surprised to find them so superstitious – they poured out 14 glasses of wine.

Really the party had been a little slow in warming up, but with the wine we began to sing, and then Hjulio got up to amuse us. It didn't matter at all that we didn't understand a word he said! – he took off various types of schoolboys – the average boy, the brilliant boy and the dud, and then the German (it wasn't particularly complimentary), the Russian and the American, but he wouldn't do the English, although it was obviously normally in his repertoire. After that, the singing really got under way and there were various schemes for encouraging the slower drinkers, e.g. we'd tell our name, and then they'd keep singing at us all in turn, until we'd drained our glass (the experienced wine drinkers drained theirs straight down) and they'd continue at the one person until their glass was placed on the table upside down.

The skier yodelled, and Viki took a few solo turns, and then they went round the table expecting everyone to sing a solo. Their girls were exempt from this, so I don't see why I shouldn't have been, as I explained I couldn't sing a note. Eventually Joy helped me out with "What shall we do with the drunken sailor".

Cecily kept asking them to sing German songs, but they refused; however, they eventually quietened her by singing a line or so of "Gegen England" which soon ended in general laughter.

All the time more and more wine was being brought in, and every time I took a sip my glass was filled right up again, but eventually our dinner had worked down far enough for a little more active amusement. The tables were pushed back and the Klagenfurt station obligingly played dance music all night (as far as I could make out).

Viki first asked me to dance. It was rather a pity, for he was a splendid dancer. To add to my lack of practice, lack of knowledge of what the dance was supposed to be, and the fact that I could hardly walk straight for the wine, my hut slippers wouldn't stay on and I had to dance in my socks on the splintery floor. However, Viki put up with me for the first two or three dances, but then I was pleased to see that Cecily was doing elaborate steps with him.

Next my partner was the man who had brought up the supplies – he spoke German, and we understood each other surprisingly well, the only difficulty was that I wasn't in a chatty mood. The next day I found that he had been conscripted into the Austrian army during the war. Soon after this we sat down again for another drinking bout, the old man was in fine form by this time, and kept making speeches which the film star tried to translate, but, as the speeches were really about nothing at all, they didn't really translate very well. I remember at one time Hjulio got very confidential across the table. He started, "Now Eden, he is a good man, and Churchill, he is the best, but Attlee, he is no good" and he whispered to me, "he is a communist". I tried to explain that Attlee himself wasn't so bad, but Hjulio started on, "And where there is communism, there is no freedom". Next I started "climbing shop" with the film star, and had the next few dances with him. The old boy was getting more and more pally, he was even remembering a few German words, to try to talk directly, instead of through the film star; at one point he brought down an ice axe, and we all put our hands on it and drank to something, I am not sure what. I believe we were being sworn into the brotherhood of Yugoslav mountaineers. I made one dreadful faux pas – the old boy wanted both Cecily and me to say "beautiful" and remarked how differently we both said it, and wanted to know why – on the spur of the moment I found myself saying that Cecily was a New Zealander and I was English – I didn't realise quite what I had done until Cecily said "I'll let you know I have an Oxford accent!"

The film star had obviously been to Chamonix in 1951, for he was on the Whymper Couloir of the Verte when the five French men were killed. He seemed to want to go back one June. They are not prevented from travelling from Yugoslavia, but they need a passport, a Yugoslav visa, and then a visa of all the countries they are passing through, and it becomes very expensive.

At about 2.30, Cecily announced that she was going to bed (Joy had gone at about 12). I didn't want to hold the fort on my own, so I soon joined her.

At about 3 o'clock there was a funny incident, our light was put on and who should walk into our bedroom but Hjulio and the film star, "Please won't you come back to the party?" they said, but they looked a little dazed, and a little surprised at finding themselves in our room, and when we said no, they went away very quietly. I don't know when the party ended, I heard a noise at 5 o'clock. I don't know whether they were just going to bed.

1.15 1953, April 10 (Friday)

I was wide awake at 6 o'clock, and there was some blue sky, but I hadn't the sense to get up and go up Mojstróvska before breakfast.

I got up at about 7.30, the room looked dreadful, there were 14 bottles on the table and I don't know how many hadn't been moved earlier on. I started moving the tables back. I suppose the lady heard me, for she soon came down after that, and then the "man who brought the food up" came out of a downstairs room, followed by the dog and then locked the room up again. I had been amazed that the hut door was barred and bolted with a broken piece of ski. Eventually I asked for breakfast and took the others up coffee, and I was able to get 'brot and marmalade' – yes the latter had arrived – liquid yellow stuff too, instead of the usual brown. The day before we had had polenta cooked à la Scots Porridge and it had been good eaten with milk, sugar and raisins, but, as with porridge, it didn't last very long.

The weather was obviously deteriorating rapidly, but whatever the weather I was going to get up the peak this morning and Cecily and I eventually set out. Cecily took her skis up to the top of the pass, and got behind. She followed the path. I followed the steps going straight up the gully. I think Cecily had the best of it, for the snow had softened considerably since my steps had been made and I found it very hard work. Cecily caught up right at the top of the couloir, which took us just an hour.

Earlier that morning, I had played with the dog, a 10 month old Alsatian; he would hardly let me touch him, but he loved having a stick or pine cone thrown, although he would never give it back to me. I felt a little conscious-stricken as he started to follow me up the mountain, but he certainly didn't understand my English when I said, "Go home". It was easy enough to keep him amused on snow, I had only to throw a little snowball and he'd run after it, and dig right down in the snow for it, although most of the time he was leaping about and running round me just for the sheer joy of it – how different was his progress from mine, as I'd move up with the utmost weariness in the knee deep snow. At the little col we left the snow and continued up a little path over the stones, the dog followed most obediently until we came to a patch of snow, and then he'd start leaping about again, until I felt his name must be Kanger – short for Kangaroo.

The path followed just below the crest of a ridge, but really the summit seemed to get no nearer, until I found that the path turned off to the right and went up to the first little peak. This had taken 1 hr 40 minutes – about the right time – I was so pleased to have done one thing at any rate this holiday in under our usual three times the prescribed time.

I got out the map and realised that I was at the top of the red track, but there were two higher summits yet to come.

I had been really thrilled with the view. It was snowing by this time, and there was no question of seeing over Austria, to the Gross Glochner etc., but I could see down several valleys – Plonica, to Ratice and then to Kranjska Gora, and in the other direction towards Trenta. It was very lovely the way the view came and went, but, of course, it was no good for a camera.

It was cold on top, so I started down before Cecily arrived, to start to kick steps up the next peak. I found that this next peak would be rather a different kettle of fish, although the steps were made, in the old frozen snow, they were covered with new powder snow, and not always easy to find. Cecily was against continuing without an ice axe (for the slopes were steep), so we retreated, and again went up the point 2,332 metres, and sat down hoping it would clear.

Normally I think people are crazy who give precious stuff like chocolate to mere dogs, but Kanger was different. He had so obviously adopted me as his mistress for this trip, and a dog has never done that to me before, that I felt myself so pleased to have a little chocolate I could share with him.

It was cold sitting, and the snow was becoming thicker, so we soon started down – actually the snow slopes would have been beautifully skiable on this side, but there was no point in thinking of that, at this stage of the holiday. We kept more to the crest of the ridge, going down, instead of to the zigzag track, and then there came a few gendarmes. I started to scramble over, until I realised that Kanger was very upset at not being able to follow. I waited until Cecily caught up, and told Kanger to go round with her, but naturally he didn't understand my English, and continued to look so miserable, that I came down.

At the col we went up the little lump the other side, where there were gun emplacements, for this pass was the old frontier.

I can't remember when I've enjoyed a snow descent as much as I did that gully. It was all thanks to Kanger. He leaped down so easily that he even got me trying it occasionally. He'd never had enough; he kept coming up for still another snowball. Eventually we were down on level ground. Cecily found a note on her skis. It was signed Hjulio, but was written in Slovenish! I hurried on, having no skis, and found Joy, Hjulio and Film star sitting by the stove. Hjulio tried to explain the note, but I didn't get his explanation.

We ordered soup for lunch, and I did my packing. We eventually paid our bills. My bill for sleeping was separate, because, they told me, I got a C.A.F. reduction. Fortunately Hjulio helped us with the bills; the man made out the sleeping bills and he firstly charged the others too little, and then altered it to too much, but eventually it was just right and they paid up.

The girl with the bill for food was just as bad. At first she left out a whole day; we paid just under 1,000 dinars each for over three days. Naturally we had nothing on our bill for the party, and Hjulio wouldn't hear of our paying; fortunately I thought of one way of getting a little even with him. I had a spare colour film, which I handed over, trying to impress upon him that it must be sent to England for processing. I hope there is no customs snag. Hjulio said he'd send me some photos, but when the time came, only Cecily gave him her address, so just before we left, I thought I'd better write out mine. The trouble was that the film star came over, obviously expecting it, so I gave it to him!

Cecily gave Hjulio all her odds and ends of tea and food, and Joy gave the lady her coffee beans. She was very, very touched by this, but it caused consternation, there was no grinder in the hut! Needless to say, Hjulio was sent for, and soon found that a mallet would crush them very well. A round of slivovitz was drunk and then we were ready for the road.

Trouble was caused by "the man who brought up the food". He insisted on carrying my pack. I felt I couldn't go down empty-handed, so I took Joy's. We skied down the first slope and then the man said there was no more, so I put my skis through Joy's rucksack. I was surprised that the dog was still following us, but when I spoke to the man about it (for we could talk together very well) he explained that Lehrer was his dog and that normally they both lived at the hut, and they were going down now to bring up some meat.

At first I alternated between Joy and the man, but eventually left Cecily to amuse the man – she learned that the road had been built by the Russians, when prisoners of the Austrians in the 1914-1918 war and that the Russians had been starved by the Austrians.

Naturally I took second place to his master, in Lehrer's eyes, but he certainly hadn't forgotten me. One stick I threw, the man managed to get from Lehrer, and the buried it in the snow – we all walked sedately on until, at a word from his master, Lehrer was back several hundred yards and had dug out the stick and come proudly back with it.

Later on he wouldn't repeat it, and soon after this he was put on a lead. "Er muss lernen", said the man (did he know how English most of the things he said sounded?).

Once, Joy admired some flowers and he picked her a buttonhole, and later on the same thing happed with Cecily.

How it grieved me to pass once more the flowers I had noticed on the way up and still to have no opportunity to use a colour film.

We arrived in Kranjska Gora at about 4 o'clock, in nice time for the train. I simply shook hands with the man and said "Huele Lepa" – another time I must have a stock of cigarettes for these occasions.

I was afraid that Joy's jacket, on the top of her pack, might be a little damp from my skis, but I didn't expect to see a hole in it – Joy just managed not to say anything!

While on top of the mountain, it had been snowing. At the hut it was raining, and we left in the rain, but it soon cleared, to start again when we reached the village. The 5 o'clock train soon got to Jesenice, where we all got out, and Cecily saw about leaving her skis for a couple of days. We eventually left her and made our way to the Hotel Koratan, whose name we had been given at the hut. It seemed a strange place. There was no entrance where the name was, but round the other side was a café which didn't look very promising, but quite a nice girl was sitting in a hatchway, so I went in to give my German an airing. I firstly enquired whether it was an hotel, and on being told yes, I asked for a room for two, only to get the reply that they didn't sleep people.

I asked the name of another hotel and was told to go to the Posta along the road.

Here again we had trouble with the entrance. We didn't like to go through the restaurant, so we went to a side door, which led into an unpromising looking passage. We met a strange man here, so I told him what we wanted and he told me to ask a woman in the kitchen.

She wan't at all a nice type and immediately told me that all the rooms were taken. The man tried to argue with her, and she had a lot say in Slovenish. All I could recognise was "Englischen" and it seemed to me that, on principle, she wouldn't take in English people. We didn't like the place, so we were rather pleased to walk out.

It seemed too strange to be true that, of the two hotels, one should have no rooms and the other should have all its rooms taken. I know I didn't believe it, I didn't want to stay at the Posta, but the Koratan girl had been very nice, so we went back there, wondering whether it would make any difference if we waved our passports and tourists' visas.

Knowing the sort of hospitality we were used to, I could only think that they were afraid to take us in. The girl still said she had no beds. I could understand that, but I couldn't understand her explanation, so I just stood there, until she told us to sit down at a table and wait. I called Joy in and we sat and drank café tirsch. As on our first night, it came in those copper things, but it wasn't a success; we had so much trouble with the grounds.

We waited and waited, and nothing happened. It began to get dark, and a worse and worse type of man began to come into the café; Joy got terribly impatient and expected me to do something. She was quite helpless herself, knowing even less German than I do. I refused to move, saying something was cooking, and it was bound to be in our favour. Eventually or girl came back, dressed in outdoor clothes and I went across to speak to her. She told me a long tale, the gist of which I didn't get at the time, but I was quite sure it was a face-saving way of admitting that there were beds, so that I was astounded when she ended up "And so there are no beds".

Afterwards it dawned on me what she had said. She had been to the Posta, and learned that they were expecting 30 Austrians, but five hadn't turned up, so she had waited to see whether they would come, and they did, so there were no beds".

I tried to ask for another hotel, although I knew there wasn't one, but I wouldn't go, for I could tell that we had the sympathy of the other women behind the scenes, and eventually the girl admitted that there was one bed. Joy and I willingly accepted that, and we were allowed in the kitchen while the forms were filled up - father's name, mother's name etc. I asked if we could have an evening meal, and was told that that was understood. Then the cook came across and took hold of my arm and asked what she could cook for us. I immediately said potatoes and then Wiener Schnitzel, as the only thing I could think of.

I went outside only for a moment, to bring in the skis, but a passing man took that opportunity to have a long, one-sided conversation with me, continuing inside. Next we were told to leave our things in the kitchen and we were shown upstairs to quite a stately dining room, and our supper soon arrived, complete with green salad, which I had forgotten to mention. Joy could only get through half her meat. When next we went down to the kitchen our things had gone, and we then went up another staircase. We began to realise why there are no rooms, the place is being altered, or redecorated, or at the very least spring cleaned. Our girl unlocked a door and we went through a bedroom with one bed, into another with two beds, the other apparently was her bed, and she didn't hesitate to leave us there with all her things unlocked.

Our rucksacks and skis were already installed and we were soon undressing and washing in the tepid water, my first wash since I had washed in the icy stream on Wednesday.

We went to bed at about 9.30, for there was nothing else to do. We couldn't brew tea there, and we knew that the girl would soon be coming to bed, as she had set the alarm for 5.30 in the morning.

1.16 1953, April 11 (Saturday)

After a night of not very sound sleep, we pretended to be unconscious until about 7.30 when the girl came in to ask what we wanted for breakfast. Joy had agreed to try the local tea again, and then I asked for "Brot und Marmalada" – the reply was a sad shake of the head, "Das habe ich nicht" she said, so I asked her what she had, her reply was not in the dictionary, so I said we'd try it all the same, and she brought two trays into the room. There was a cup of the sweet, lemon, herb tea and a glass of an alcoholic drink, and then two rolls each, with cheese and what would have been lovely ham sausage, had it not contained garlic. Joy didn't like the tea, and of course didn't like the garlic, so I did rather well. Actually we could neither of us eat the second roll, so we took them with us.

We packed, left our things on the landing, and went into the town to look round the shops. We soon found that there was nothing to buy, obviously there were no local crafts, and there no shops with tourists knick-knacks. We bought a few things for the journey – patisserie (they were quite good), a tin of jam, which turned out to be a very thin syrup, a tin of pears and some cheese.

We both bought a half bottle of slivovitz to bring home. After buying our tickets to Rosenbach we had nearly £1 left between us and thought we ought to change it back to Austrian currency. We enquired firstly at the Putnik, and then at the bank. A very pleasant girl chatted to us in English, while one of the others worked out the figures. Our bedroom had had masses of narcissi and the bank also had a few, so I asked where they came from, and learned that they grow wild at a place 2 hours away – we were offered a buttonhole each, but refused, as we had a long journey; however, I felt it was a nice touch, to try to speed us on our way with flowers, as well as to have welcomed us with them, a fortnight previously.

We also had a journey to the Zollant – our girl at the hotel said that the cook wanted to know if we had any nylon stockings with us – naturally we hadn't but we said we could send her some if we had her name – the cook said no, for people had often said they'd do this, and never had, so I said I'd enquire at the Putnik. I was sent to the Zollant at the station, and learned that three pairs only could be sent, so I took the names of both girls.

It has been raining all morning, so we really weren't sorry when the train came at 11 o'clock, and we found seats in it, while the numerous officials came round. I remember there was one girl whose duty was to hold a bundle of 50 dinar notes, so that people's 100 dinar notes could be changed for fifties.

Joy handed in her form about her currency, and that caused a lot of trouble. No-one else in the carriage had one. Some Germans got into great trouble (in fact another official was fetched to tell them not to do it again), but they seemed satisfied with me when they got Cecily's name and my various amounts of currency.

Eventually everything was in order and the train was allowed out of the country; at Villach I filled my bottle with water and bought a couple of oranges. It was a lovely journey to Salzburg, with new snow on the mountains, and wonderful cloud effects. I shall always remember the old lady in the carriage, who had lived 15 years in Lubljana and was visiting her family at Bludenz – she was standing up most of the time, so as not to miss anything.

The coffee we were promised from the Buffet Car didn't materialise, so we tried to get out at Salzburg to get some there, but that wasn't allowed, as the customs came through at that point.

The next long halt was München, where our sleepers were attached. They took our half of the train off and backed it onto another train, and at the rear, what should we find but our blue sleeper. We took all our luggage along and found that a very pleasant German girl who spoke English was having the third bunk.

Once we were installed, we made our way to the other end of the train (13 coaches) for the restaurant car. The waiter compared our voucher with the menu, and said that it would buy us a wiener schnitzel – poor Joy, how she groaned, - more of this same awful food as we had been having in Yugoslavia. I'm afraid I had got mad with her when she had started telling people on the train that Yugoslav food was terrible, for I considered it no 'worse' than Austrian, once one got away from resorts.

We drank coca-cola with the meal (I had never had it before), Joy was so fed up with wine, and then I finished up with hot chocolate, and Joy with coffee.

The waiter did some rapid calculations. Our voucher was made out in Deutschmarks. I paid the extra in Austrian currency, and got change in Deutschmarks. One incident which amused me was when two girls dressed in kimonos came round selling metal flags to raise money for the rebuilding of Munich cathedral. It rather amused me that we English should contribute.

Eventually we were able to get back to our precious bunks; this time I was in the middle one. Really this night wasn't as successful as the journey out. Possibly we were rather satiated with sleep after the previous night. We didn't like to suggest to the German girl that we opened the window, and I suppose the thermostat wasn't very sensitive, for the temperature was fluctuating violently all night; however, I looked at it that I spent the night enjoying the sleeper instead of being oblivious to it.

1.17 1953, April 12 (Sunday)

The conductor was most efficient. He realised without being told that we needed calling for Cologne, and he came along punctually at 5.45 (actually we were up) and we took our things along to our old coach and found corner seats, and renewed acquaintance with the two English boys on their way back from Dubrovnik. Next, I insisted on going along to the breakfast car, although Joy considered it much too early. We learned that we had to pay extra Deutschmarks if we had it before we reached Belgium, but I considered it worth it.

This was a proper 'blue car' with the usual café au lait in unlimited quantities. We had three or four slices of bread, finished up the butter and our cartons of jam, and then the 'old' boy came round offering us more butter, which we refused! – he also tried to tell us a funny tale in English, but his knowledge of our language was a little like Hjulio's – more willing than fluent.

We thought we ought to get back to our carriage before the customs came round, which was quite a good idea, as they threatened to put out some unclaimed baggage belonging to Ingham's party. The train was terribly crowded through Belgium, so we put off our return visit to the restaurant car until too late; we found it laid for lunch.

At Ostend we got into the wrong part of the customs through following a large party of English students, and had to go all through again, but were quickly on board the "Prince Philip" – another Belgium boat.

We drank lemonade in the bar, and then waited until the restaurant was serving afternoon tea. Again the tea was in bags, but at least they possessed teapots, and it was quite good apart from the tinned milk to go with it. The huge slices of bread hardly fitted into our idea of 5 o'clock tea, and we were finding the white stuff terribly tasteless after the good black bread we were used to; however, it went down well with butter and jam, and we finished with fruit cake.

We spent the first hour or two going along the French coast, before trying to cross the Channel, but eventually we went on deck to see the white cliffs of Folkestone, and then we were in the harbour, standing near our packs waiting to know where to go, when they put a gangway across just by us, and we were among the first half dozen off, and through the customs with as little trouble as we'd had on the continent.

We soon found our reservations on the train, a porter warned us that the guard might object to our skis, but we soon had them out of sight on the rack. I had hoped we could get a meal on the train, but those S.R. Pullman cars aren't very helpful. We reached Victoria at about 8.30 and went round the Inner Circle to St. Pancras where we just had time for a cup of tea before catching the 9.05.

SECTION 2

1953, MAY 15-17: WALES

2.1 1953, May 15 (Friday)

I caught the 7.10 as usual to Crewe. The Chester train was on time, giving me plenty of time for two cups of tea, before catching the 11.45. At Llandudno Junction, my friend, in whose office I had slept at New Year 1952, was on duty, and seemed to expect a ticket from me; however, when I explained the situation he gave it back and told me to pay at Bettws. I was told that the second train wasn't in the station, so I had to get in the 5.40 and, thinking to get as much comfort as possible, I got in a first class carriage and was soon asleep.

2.2 1953, May 16 (Saturday)

I was woken up at 4 a.m. with the lights being put on, and there was far too much activity on the station for any sleep after that. Eventually the train started and I began to collect my things together so that I could slip out quickly before anyone could notice that I was in a first class carriage. I was a little disconcerted at Llanrwst when the guard came along to say that it was Bettws next stop.

At Bettws I got out at once, but who should be standing by, but my old friend the ticket collector (at least he said 'Hallo' as though he knew me). I explained that I only had a ticket to the junction, but he only charged me 2/3d, so I didn't break my usual rule of not asking for a receipt.

I walked around getting a few soil samples, and then sat and read, until the bus came along, in very good time. I was at Capel by 7.05 and I had told Norman 7.30, so I started walking along the road. Fortunately the shower petered out, for I should have been annoyed to have a soaking at this stage of the weekend.

I passed Dol Llech and then, punctually at 7.30, Norman came along on his bike. I thought it a superb effort, on a dismal morning. He had set his alarm at 6.45.

Bob was up in the hut and was cooking breakfast, but we weren't in a hurry to go out as there were several very heavy showers. Eventually we set out for Glyder Fach, round by the east side of the Llyn.

We sat at the foot of the crags and had a little to eat and discussed climbs. There was another shower, and someone said that Chasm was suitable for a wet day, so we set up that, Bob and I going in front.

I found the little traverse most awkward (I always do), but apart from that it was O.K. until we got to the Vice. Bob didn't think much of that; I joined him at the restricted stance, and he put on a runner, but he still didn't get up, so Norman joined us, but he also retreated. I then had a little look and I worked out the method – right foot behind me, and pressing up with it, right hand on the hold in the groove, while the left reached up for the horizontal crack, but then I came down. I hadn't the ability, the courage or enthusiasm to force it any further, so we came down and watched two others come up it. We even turned back from the last pitch and scrambled up to the top of the mountain (in the mist) and then descended Bristly Ridge, passing Steve with (I suppose) a Y.H.A. party on the way. At Bwlch Tryfan, we had a consultation, Margaret was determined in any case to go down Cwm Tryfan and the weather was on her side, for it was raining quite heavily, which put the rest of us off the idea of going up Tryfan and down North Buttress.

We soon got down to the farm. There was no-one at home, but then the baker called, and I asked him about eggs. He said he'd get some for me from another farm and bring them to Glan Dena.

We noticed that he had some fancy cakes, so we bought one or two each; the others ate theirs straight away, I saved mine for tea back at the hut.

Quite a number of people were already in, and Pete offered us a cup of tea. I changed and then put on my boots again to meet the baker when he called with my eggs.

Ray College called and we discussed Oxygen on Everest with him, and it was soon time to begin thinking of the evening meal. Margaret and Bob didn't see eye to eye, so two separate meals were cooked. Everyone was most impressed to see Bob toss the omelette – we had this with sausage, tomato, onion and potato. We finished off with fruit salad and tinned milk, not to mention tea.

Norman had the idea of playing Solo for money and I tried to read both Dorothy Pilley and Mrs. Aubry le Blond – actually we did nothing much but talk – Stan Moore described his early attempts to join the M.A.M. etc. At about 1.30, I made my bed and crawled into it.

2.3 1953, May 17 (Sunday)

The wind sounded pretty fierce outside; I awoke at 7 a.m. after a sound night's sleep and got up about 8 o'clock, finding myself the first up. I washed up the various cups left from the night before, made tea, and took it into Bob and Norman, as I wanted Bob to get up and cook my breakfast! Eventually breakfast was ready (Grapefruit, Porridge, Bacon and Egg) and, several hours later, we were all ready, apart from Bob, who was taking his bike to pieces. We were for Llanberis, as also were Pete, Nobby and Trevor, so Bob asked Pete if he'd give me a lift round – I warned Pete that I wasn't a very good pillion rider, nevertheless we overtook the others and arrived first at Pont-y-Cromlech. The four of us had discussed the Wrinkle on Carreg Wasted, but the three were for the Cracks on Dinas Mot. We eventually changed our mind and followed them. I was the only one in nails, and there were a few cracks about it being useful to have such a person in the party when the rocks were wet, but all the same I followed their example and put on rubbers. Pete looked at the first pitch and found it too wet, so he came down and Norman looked and looked away again. This was my opportunity, I had on my socks over my rubbers, and was soon over the first move, and accepted the offer of an end of rope, which I took up to the top of the first pitch. Fortunately there was plenty of standing room, for I visualised waiting while the other rope passed me and continued up the climb; unfortunately, I found that Pete and co. were letting my party go in front, and Bob and Norman came up first. Bob was (reluctantly) offering me the lead of the next pitch and, for speed to stop us holding up the others any longer, I untied and was about to go on, when Norman started on, in vibrams. He was an age on the pitch and eventually had to take off his boots and finish in socks. I was so sorry for the sake of the other rope, for I knew that really I had caused all the chaos, by starting up first. When it came to my turn I enjoyed the pitch in socks and we all assembled on "the large ledge with trees".

The next pitch was delicate, and Bob changed places with me and led it, and continued to lead until the last pitch. The slab was very wet, but was quite O.K. in socks, the chimney was dryer. The book mentioned trees at the bottom of the next pitch – as someone said, it was looking ahead, for the trunks had diameters of about ½ an inch! Everyone else found the cracks particularly easy – I found that I had to work out the moves carefully and take my time on them – they had been polished rather smooth by nails. The next 15 ft pitch was fun and then the way went up a steeper single crack. The rock was pretty dry, so I took off my socks and just managed to get up in rubbers, and then we were below the crux, the Mantelshelf. Soon everyone was assembled, while Bob was trying this, but eventually he gave up and Pete led it. Trevor and Nobby followed, and the latter took our rope up and then it was my turn. I never was good at mantelshelves, and this seemed the mantelshelf to end mantelshelves – "Where's the hold?" I asked, and I gathered that there was no definite hold, only a flattening of the rock over the top – I had a couple of tries, and the offer of a tight rope, but then came down. Norman did it very neatly and gave me the impression that I hadn't really tried, but it was well past 2 o'clock and time for me to hurry down.

Eastern Gully had its moments, in its sodden state, for rubber clad climbers, and, just while I was on the crux (of this 'easy') there was the sound of something heavy falling. Fortunately, it was only Norman's boots and they missed me.

At the bottom I put on my boots, collected my rope (we had climbed on Pete's full weight nylon) and Bob and I hurried down to the bikes, where we found Margaret waiting (she hadn't come up). Bob ran me down to the bus stop; I had my rucksack with me, and it seemed better to catch the bus from Llanberis rather than go back to the hut and expect someone to run me down to Bethesda. The only snag was that I missed Bob's elaborate casserole, which he had taken so much trouble to prepare the evening before.

There was no sign of the bus, so I walked on to the next bus stop – I could have gone further for it was its usual 10 minutes late, as also was the bus from Llanberis.

I didn't bother with tea in Bangor, for I remembered the nice man who had come round the train last time I made this journey. However, I was unlucky, there were no refreshments, neither on Bangor station, nor on the train, which rapidly filled up with seaside trippers. I had a couple of cups of tea at Crewe, and also a pork pie, yet when I got to Derby, I thought I'd like another cup. Unfortunately, it was all sugared, so I had to wait until the man made some more, and I got into the last carriage of the train, as it was going and spilled ? of my tea all over the carriage (I was popular), however, I got in about 12 o'clock.

SECTION 3

1953, MAY 29-JUNE 2, CORONATION: WASDALE

3.1 1953, May 29 (Friday)

I caught the 7.10 direct to Crewe, John Drury joining the train at Trent. We were very late in, but didn't mind as we had to wait for the 2.18; we drew into another platform too and didn't have to cross the bridge. After a visit to the refreshment room, John said he was going to get down on a seat up the platform, so, feeling rather mean, I went in the Ladies waiting room. The 2.18 was packed, they kept telling us that they were putting on empty carriages in the front, but I knew they were for Windermere, and I wanted the Whitehaven part of the train and didn't want to have to change in the middle of my sleeping time. We found a nicely carpeted, empty, first class corridor, and settled down in that, and I was just dozing off, when a lady in a compartment came out and invited me in. It was most amusing inside, but not nearly as restful as the floor had been; there were a couple with a boy of about 3, and another man, all on their way back from the Middle East; they had come 3,000 miles in the last 24 hours. The last of them got out at Preston, and I thought I could at last settle down for the night, when who should get in but Nat, Sheila and Peter – quite by coincidence, they had chosen that compartment. I seemed to spend the next few hours chatting to Nat – learning about the traverse of the East Buttress of Cloggy, and about Easter in the Allt a' Mhuillinn (they did Northeast Buttress) etc. Eventually, as it began to get light, I again settled down to sleep, but this time it was the very heavy rain showers which kept me awake. I wondered whether it was an example of what we could expect for the weekend.

After Barrow, I sat up, afraid of oversleeping, and, at about 7 o'clock, we all alighted safely at Seascale.

3.2 1953, May 30 (Saturday)

There was quite a crowd, for the Birmingham Crag and Cave Club were there in force. All the others were catching a waiting bus for Gosforth, and I told John to get on it, but I said I'd better wait as I'd arranged to meet Bob and John Watson, who had said they'd run us to Wasdale on their bikes. I only had time to enquire about trains back, when they arrived, to my amazement – apparently they had spent a very wet night not far away; all the same I thought it a splendid effort.

I was soon at Gosforth and joining the others waiting for the truck, which, complete with motor cycle escort, delivered us at the green, Wasdale – I found it a hair-raising ride – the driver must certainly have known the road very well.

We called in to try to get breakfast at Mrs. Naylor's, but she was obviously too busy, having to get a party off early to catch trains, complete with sandwiches etc., so we made our way to the Birmingham C. and C.'s campsite – by the river near Burnthwaite. I was walking along with Dave Williams, and rather apologised for being a hanger-on at that meet, but he was very nice, saying that the first time he'd come to Wasdale it was to the Polaris meet, 1949. We had breakfast before putting up tents, and I learned that for this camp, food had been brought for hot weather and I was given grape-nuts for breakfast, and other cold fare – at least I was allowed a hot cup of tea.

We camped near, but not among the Birmingham crowd, and then, at 11 o'clock or later, we set out for Scafell. It had been a lovely day below, it was only as we got higher that we began to realise that the wind would be a menace. We stopped at the foot of Lord's Rake to watch two people on C.B., but they didn't move very quickly, so we went on up, and then turned into Deep Ghyll, although John D. told us that there was an easier way to get up the Ghyll!. Rob was trying a variation to the first pitch, and not finding it Moderate, so I started up the usual way, but halted at the Window Sill to rope up, and even then I didn't like the next move, and waited for Bob to lead it – the first time I have ever been stuck on a Moderate! I scrambled the rest of the way up, but John D. had to be roped. There was a real gale blowing further up and I got very cold waiting – eventually everyone was up, and Bob and John D. starting up the first pitch of Professor's Chimney. John W. and I discussed both Jones' and Collier's climb, and West Wall climb, but in the end, John elected to wait for Thompson's route; I think really he was a little overawed, for this was his first time on 'proper' rock. Eventually the way was clear – we didn't bother with the first pitch of the chimney, we traversed across to the start of our route, and then John led the first pitch – a traverse of 40 ft. When I came to follow, I was glad that I had not led it. I was numbed by the chill wind and standing about, and the rock was steep and one needed hands to hang on with, with the gusty wind. Of the climbing, I only remember one long stride across and then the interest of the route was over. We managed to get ahead for the descent from High Man to Jordan Gap.

We strolled along to the cairn on top of the mountain, regretted that we had left our rucksacks at Hollow Stones, and therefore couldn't go down via Burnmoor Tarn, so we retraced our steps and then descended Broad Stand – Bob and I were most intrigued to see this without its coating of ice! and then we had a good scree run down from Mickledore to our rucksacks and so down to Wasdale Head Hall Farm for tea. This was alright, but it wasn't the Cumberland tea for which I had hoped, although the brown bread seemed home-made.

And so back to camp, where Bob cooked the meal which we ate in John's tent – John's frozen mixed vegetables, pom, and my meat chops – to be followed by John's fruit salad and egg custard.

Bob and I then made the trip to the local, leaving the Johns to catch up on their sleep.

I was immediately called across to the Rock and Ice table – they tried to teach me how to drink beer, apparently the whole art is to swallow it without tasting it! I started to ask Nat if he'd done 'CB' and said that there'd been a couple on it that day, when I was immediately introduced to them; they hadn't got up, apparently, although one of them had spent about 2 hours sitting in slings. The rest had done Route II on Pillar that day, and had not been impressed!

3.3 1953, May 31 (Sunday)

We were up at 7 o'clock and away at 8.40, towards Pillar; I set off first. to go at my own pace, but the two Johns came with me, leaving Bob to come with Pete Knapp.

We waited for the others at Robinson Cairn, and I got rather cold, for Bob had my rucksack with my woolly. We couldn't decide what to do, it wasn't the sunny day I had hoped for climbing on the West Face. In fact I was afraid that that side would catch the wind, but there was nothing else we all wanted to do, so we went round. Pete was rather hankering after Walker's Gully, but it didn't seem to me to be worthwhile to do it just to say "I told you so" about vibrams.

We went round to the West Face. I missed the crossing of the waterfall, but enjoyed the scrambling up the rocks; however, John D. had to be roped for this part. We stopped below West Jordan Gully and ate some sandwiches, and then Pete, John Drury and I set off up the New West – Bob preferred the severe 'Rib and Slab'! Pete led, I was in the middle, and often Pete moved on while I was bringing up John, so it didn't take too long. The climb was definitely easier than when I had done it with Freda, 5 years ago, after the long day we'd had, coming over from Langdale. We ran many of the pitches together. I had insisted that we took our rucksacks up (much to John's disgust, I think) and we hauled them up the chimney – they nearly got stuck. We were most envious of Bob and John, coming up the lovely slab of their climb. Bob had well prepared us for the 'dreadful' chimney at the top of our climb, but we none of us hesitated on it!

At the top, we changed out of our boots into rubbers, and descended Slab and Notch, and down to the foot of Appian Way. Pete and I were in front, and Pete insisted that I started up. I put on socks and was soon up over the grass, and I went on until I came to what looked like a bit of rock-climbing, where I belayed and brought up Pete, who tackled the crack in the corner, but soon retreated from the traverse and came down and found a better, thread belay, and said that it was my turn.

Meanwhile, Bob and John Watson had arrived (they said that John D. had decided not to come) and Bob started up the next pitch – I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. When I came to do it I was glad! As John followed up in nails, he was quite impressed, and then it was my turn. John had taken up my rope. It was an incredibly airy stance at the end of the traverse. I had to tie onto the end of the rope again – I tied on the end before removing the old loop! Eventually there was room for me to bring Pete up, and then he led the next pitch, but didn't enjoy it I gather. At the top, we sat and waited quite a time, while Bob tried without success to get up the last pitch. Pete was looking most enviously at the easy alternative, but I wasn't so keen to do that without trying the proper pitch. Eventually Bob gave up and John tried his tricounis on it, and was up like a shot, although, apparently his technique gave his second some anxious moments. We again re-arranged our rope, and Bob took up the end of our rope, and I was next up. I had no trouble on the first slab, which had worried Bob (I wondered whether my fingers fitted in the crack better than his had done) and I got over what I considered the difficulty of the crack when I hesitated for quite a while. I put this down to the fact that my hands were getting quite numb, and making the finger-holds seem not quite as good as I should have liked – a light drizzle was blowing over, as well.

We scrambled on up to High Man and I had a shock not to find my boots and rucksack there; however, Bob said that John D. had said he'd take them down.

Again we descended Slab and Notch, and found John nearly asleep in the sheltered gully. We booted up, ate a few odds and ends, and then set off up Pillar mountain and down to Windy Gap. Bob and Pete then went home, while I went with the two Johns over Scoat Fell and Red Pike, and down the screes at Dove Head. The other two enjoyed the scree run, but I found them too bald to be enjoyable. We had found a rucksack on Scoat Fell, so we called in the hotel with it (and were surprised to find that our other two had already left).

Supper was a little late that night, but we arrived back at the hotel at 10.20. The man behind the bar asked me the time and I told him, but someone else immediately corrected me, and said it was five to ten (from the previous night's experience, I had assumed that they had no licensing laws – but apparently on a Sunday their consciences prick slightly).

I was glad to see that the Rock and Ice were still there. I asked Joe what he had thought of 'CB' – was it just an easy half-day? He said "no", because it had been cold to the fingers, otherwise it would have been O.K. Naturally it had been led straight through. Apparently if the leader had had a second sitting in slings it would have been a piece of cake. There's nothing to the climb apparently; there are only three hard moves on it!

Don Whillans had led the first rope, and had lost the way at the top, and Joe had led the second rope and found the way. They had had three to a rope.

3.4 1953, June 1 (Monday)

It had been blowing all night, and raining since daybreak. Nevertheless Bob and I had breakfasted and were more or less ready by 9 o'clock, but the other tent weren't (they had great difficulty with the primus stove), so I succumbed to the temptation of getting back into my bag, although the morning was only showery.

Later we got out and went to see how Pete was getting on – another shower drove us into his tent where we stayed for morning coffee! Next it was time for an early lunch in our tent (much to John's disgust I should imagine, for he had been ready for some time) and then we set out for Kern Knotts.

We arrived with a shower of rain. Two Scotsmen amazed me; they gave me the most sheltered place in the corner – I thought chivalry no longer existed! We learned what a thrill the coronation was proving for Glasgow. In fact they were going home that night to be in time to set off the rockets the next evening.

Next, Bob and John W. started up Kern Knotts Crack and I gave the second a rope to take up, so that I shouldn't be left out, although I considered the wall looked terrifyingly steep on such a cold and windy day; neither Bob nor John could get out of the starting box (apparently they wouldn't use a shoulder), so John and I tied together and started up some scratched rocks which we hoped were Kern Knotts Corner, a 'vd', but it was soon obvious that nothing fitted in with that climb, and that our route, although often done, to judge by the scratches, wasn't in the book.

We had fun finding the way, and wondering whether it would maintain its standard of 'diff' – it did – there was a crack at the bottom, then grass to a belay. The next pitch was short – a crack to be chimneyed up, and the last involved a traverse to the right and then up another chimney. I decided that we must go down Kern Knotts Chimney, which Nobby and Trevor had just ascended (they had come round to the crack, but found that occupied, and had gone on to the chimney).

John was an age getting down the slab, and I could see why, when it came to my turn – in fact I put on a runner and then had to go up the easy way to recover it!

We got down the rest of the climb without incident – John, in nails, loved it. In rubbers I nearly hated every minute of it, I don't know why. I just wasn't in a climbing mood. Bob and John W. followed us down, having ascended East Buttress.

There was some talk of going on to Gable proper, but I supported the suggestion of tea at Burnthwaite – actually the weather didn't deteriorate as much as I'd expected, but the showers continued. At Burnthwaite we found George Sutton with a couple of girls – we chatted to him, and I was interested to get some of his impressions of Spitzbergen.

Supper wasn't very easy. Bob cooked it, and then there was rather a lot of running to and fro as we ate separately in the two tents. Bob rather excelled himself in making cheese omelettes. John provided the sweet.

It was difficult because the tent doors had to be securely tied to keep the primus alight in the wind, and then one of us had to keep going out to contact the other tent. After the meal, the Johns made room for us in their tent, but by then Bob and I realised that it was time to be off to the local, and we left them and sauntered down the lane with Pete and co. This time we went in the front door to the other bar which the Birmingham types seemed to prefer.

I took off my boots before going in, and then in my socks, I braved the pebbles outside and went round to the other bar, as I'd promised to let Nat look at my guidebook to Scafell – he was pleased to see that they had taken the direct finish to CB!

When I heard that they had done nothing all day, I didn't feel so bad about our lazy day. They told me that they couldn't get taxis down the valley the next day, and were having to walk, so I was very pleased that Bob had rung up Mr. Rigg and ordered one, even if it wouldn't come any later than 1.15.

3.5 1953, June 2 (Tuesday)

The night was worse than ever, very windy and pouring rain for hours on end. As I lay in the dry tent, snug in my bag, I thought of all the people in the streets in London. How I hoped that they were having better weather.

I had hoped that if the weather were good there'd be time to get up something before even the early taxi, but with the weather as it was, there was no incentive to get up early; however Bob and I had breakfasted by soon after nine, but another shower and lack of activity in the other tent drove us back into our bags. Several hours later (it seemed), John D. appeared, ready for a day's outing. We told him there wasn't time, and he'd got to pack – that took him another ½ hour or so, and by that time, Pete was paying us a visit, so we decided not to move. About 12.45 John returned; he'd just got to the top of Gable and shouted "hip hip hurrah" before running down in record time. He then struck his tent while I made my way to the hotel. Barry came back for me and said that he and Digger were waiting for the taxi at the green. Mr. Rigg and John arrived together, both a little late.

Mr. Rigg had interrupted his coronation celebrations to come for us, a fact which we duly appreciated. He was also able to give us the news that Everest had been climbed, by, he said, an Englishman, New Zealander and a Sherpa, so we were most disappointed later to find that no Englishman had been in the party.

At Gosforth, it was such a pity that we had to boot our way through the crowds watching their procession – firstly there were decorated cars, and then bicycles covered in paper, and then finally children on foot, supporting canopies over themselves, decorated in paper and flowers.

Seascale was rather dead, apart from the 'Rock and Ice' in the station. I enquired the times of the trains and learned that it was best to catch the 2.10 (or so) to Manchester, and catch the 7.35 from there.

The first part of the journey passed very pleasantly. Digger talked "Norway" and nylon tents; I learned from Barry that Stan Granger had closed all the loopholes in the holiday arrangements at Birds. Also we ate. John produced milk jelly and fruit.

We said goodbye to the Birmingham travellers at Preston, and continued on to Manchester. It was raining and none of the people we saw in the streets looked in the least as though they were celebrating – and we weren't very impressed by the decoration either.

The 7.35 was very slow and tedious, so I went to sleep, missing apparently some firework displays. John changed at Trent and I went on to Nottingham; it wasn't actually raining, but the pavements were soaking wet. I didn't envy the people dancing in the square.

SECTION 4

1953, JUNE 12-14: LLANBERIS

4.1 1953, June 12 (Friday)

As usual I got to Station Street at 6.30 for the bus and, as usual, it was half an hour late; this time thanks to the test match. Alf was so pleased with himself, he had been watching it on television and as soon as they stopped play for bad light he rushed out and caught a bus, getting through before the crowds got too dense. Bob and one or two others weren't so lucky.

There were a number of showers on the way; in fact it didn't seem a very promising weekend at all. We stopped at the Hare and Hounds before Wellington, and then at 11.30 at Llangollen – half an hour before expected. I dozed after that and we were soon at Pen-y-Pass (we'd persuaded the driver to come this mile out of his way, for he was really taking the Oread to Cwm Silyn). As we approached the pass we were surprised to see a light in a tent, and then we found Nesta, Joy and Jack. They hadn't been there very long, as they'd had to wait until Jack's train got in from Nottingham, before they could set out.

Alf soon got up his own tent, but Bob and Ernest were to be in mine, and we couldn't decide on a site. The first one I chose, they said was too near Alf's, but, after wandering all around, we eventually came back to a similar site. Ernest was worried about a tuft of rushes inside the tent, he eventually cut them with a pen-knife. We had all been very dopey in the bus; I don't know whether that made us act as though we weren't quite sober. Bob was trying to describe the sight of Ernest's tent after it had been charged by a cow at the Roaches and overcome by the humour of that memory, he rolled over onto Alf's tent, breaking one of his poles! I walked by just as Bob was getting up, and he knocked his face on my little finger nail – and that was exaggerated until people were given to understand that I tried to scratch out Bob's eye!

When the other tent were in bed, I stood in their doorway talking to them until I was startled by hands on my waist. My scream (I am told) nearly pierced the ear drums of those in the tent, and didn't do my throat any good, for it was already sore.

4.2 1953, June 13 (Saturday)

Despite the brick in my back, I slept like a log for the rest of the night, and we began to stir at about 7.30; we had tea and then Bob produced grape-nuts and then, to Ernest's intense delight, Bob proceeded to cook bacon and egg for the three of us. In the middle of all this, Peter Codling arrived, having walked up from the official campsite, below Ynys Ettws (fortunately, he had contacted John Goldsworthy, for none of the rest of us knew where we should be camping). We asked him to tell Pete Knapp at the bivvy below Dinas Mot and then he hurried away to have his own breakfast, while we cleared up and then set off down the pass. Before we had gone very far, Pete Knapp appeared on his bike; he also hadn't used the bivvy, but had camped by the river by Pont-y-Cromlech – I got a lift down as far as that!

We walked down to the campsite and pitched our tents with Peter's and then all set off roughly in the direction of Cloggy. We traversed the hillside, and then ascended the last cwm (the one Bob and I had come down the previous summer).

By this time it was a sweltering hot day, and I was behind, and I was sorry to see the others traversing towards the crags, not thinking of the fleshpots, so I thought, but as soon as the halfway house came into view, they waved from the doorway and a pleasant half hour was spent, before we went on to have another halt at the foot of the rocks. Bob knew what he wanted to do, Longlands, but Pete and I both complained that we had done it already. Ernest hadn't caught us up; we knew that it was his greatest ambition, but I warned Bob that the climb needed a reliable last man. When Ernest came, he said that it needed a good leader, and he didn't know that Bob would do! However, they eventually set off together; Peter and Alf were for the Slab Route on the Far West, and Pete and I for the East Buttress. I had said all along that I'd like to try Sunset Crack, saying that the difficulties were well protected, but Pete didn't seem impressed. However, we eventually both agreed on Chimney route and set off in that direction.

Pete suggested that we led through and asked me whether I'd like to begin. I hadn't briefed myself on the climb, but a glance at the book mentioned a crack on the second pitch, so I said I'd like to begin and set off up. This pitch would be easy enough if one had eyes in the back of one's head, but to an ordinary mortal like myself, it took time – always the necessary hold would appear eventually on one or the other wall, right behind.

There was no technical difficulty, and eventually I had tied on and was bringing up Pete, who then had to lead the more difficult second pitch, where he used a couple of runners. I found the exposure on this pitch interesting and, at the top, Pete had got into the crack and wedged himself as a human chockstone.

I was ashamed of the time I took on the next pitch. I was tempted by the inside route, and I was simply too fat for it and had to come down and do the outside route, which was really quite easy. The slab at the top was very pleasant, and I was glad to find the chockstone belay at the top of it, for it was an exposed stance. Pete made nothing of this chimney, but called it the monolith, 100 ft up, and then he was past me, and tackling the Rickety Innards; after 10 ft or so he got on a runner, but then decided to come down for a rest, and there was nowhere to rest, but on my stance. He came down and sat for quite a while, and when eventually he got up he asked me if I'd like to try it. "Not particularly" I said, in a disinterested voice, and he went on up again. About this time, Nat and Joe passed along the bottom, the former claiming that he had recognised me by my blue pants.

Pete was quite soon up, swinging out to the left (a move not mentioned in the book) and (I suspected) a grab or so at a few of the holds. Then it was my turn – I found it quite interesting climbing, reaching the foothold on the left, fortunately it was large enough for both feet, and I could lean back with my back against the chimney. It was quite a comfortable position, and I spent quite a while contemplating my surroundings. I felt for holds. For my right hand there was a minute slimy flake, but not nearly enough to enable me to swing round to the left and I could feel nothing for my left hand. I leant back and rested. Help from the rope? – no, not in that position. Below me, 10 ft or 20 ft away was the steep slab, and that led down to a vertical wall of more than 100 ft. No, I didn't fancy swinging on a rope over that. I began to imagine what Pete would say should I say that I'd have to go down.

I called up and asked him whether it looked possible to avoid this pitch on the right – he wasn't very helpful – I expect he knew of the crooked finish!

It is so easy when one's leader is taller than oneself to imagine that the secret is a handhold impossible to reach, and I began to think that Pete must have reached a hold at the top of the block, and I leaned back to see it. To my amazement I saw that there was no hold up there and that made me realise that there must be one low down, and I looked round at the next foothold and found that it also provided a lovely jug, first for my left and then my right hand – and I soon had a knee and then a foot and all was plain sailing after that.

The continuation chimney fell to me, I started up climbing the chimney, and was soon pleased to come across a long flake, for a sideways pull – this flake stretched up for several feet, and I was pulling out on it until I felt it rock. It was a huge block of rock, suspended from the top. "This is serious", I said. I tried to warn Pete, who was sitting right below, but fortunately he had seen it move, so he didn't need warning to move from just below it. I rested from the shock the thing had given me, and then back and footed, until I was clear of it. I enjoyed the rest of the chimney, it wasn't too hard, yet the moves need working out to do it reasonably neatly.

The mist had been blowing across Cloggy intermittently for the last hour or so; we gathered that the Longlands party were near the top, and hoped to see them, but they were up before it cleared and we met on top.

Ernest was rather eating his own words. He said that Bob had found it very easy, but he had found it quite hard. We sat and Bob divided his orange and Ernest his cake, and then Joy, Nesta and Jack appeared. I hadn't realised that they'd been watching me; they'd seen me below Rickety Innards – leaning back, they said, and then the mist would blow over, and when it cleared again, there I'd be, still in the same position! I agreed to see Joy at Mrs. Williams' at 5.30 and we set off down Eastern Terrace. Bob was making down between middle rocks and West Buttress and decided he'd have to rappel; I waited to see his rope down (mine I believe!) and then went up and down the easy way to my boots at the foot of our climb. I called over to Nat and asked him what he was on – White Slab was the reply. Remembering Joe's inspection of it when he had taken me on 'Narrow', I said "Is it a route?", "No" was the reply. "Will it be?" - "Don't know", said Nat, and the party looked very low down, for so late in the day.

Remembering my promise to Joy I hurried away, but I shall never forget Cloggy that evening; I wasn't tempted to get out my camera, a view which depicted it accurately would be a bad photograph. It wasn't the details I was interested in, just the bold lines of the slabs and buttresses. I have always known it to be a grand crag, but never before have I realised the utter beauty of it – as the sun began to creep round – at first only touching the middle rocks, and later the tops of the slabs. The human interest helped too, to think of the little party, still so low down, but possibly making history.

I met Joy outside and we went in and ordered tea – and found Mrs. Williams collecting for her autograph book from one of two other climbers – a Pole. The other one spoke to me, seemed to know I had been on Chimney Route and asked how I found it. I rather assumed he was a friend of Joe Brown and really almost apologised for being on anything so easy – he then said that they'd retreated from the second pitch – hadn't liked it (we'd seen their abseil loop). Pete was very bucked when I told him, for he had been counting up their ironmongery, and Joy had been asking was it really necessary.

And so back to camp, a similar way to the one we had taken in the morning.

It was the sort of camp evening I had been longing for – we could sit outside and cook in the open. It was rather chaotic, for everyone had their own ideas, but eventually we had tea, followed by soup (Knorr) and then the main course of spam, pom and cold tomatoes. We made cocoa, as a final drink.

Pete came ages before we were ready, and took Bob to the Royal, eventually, at about 9.30 the rest of us set out; John took Alf, Jack and Peter, and Nesta took Joy, Ernest and me. We got out at the Pen-y-Gwryd and John's carful in the bar beckoned to us, but we couldn't join them, the door was locked. Outside I spoke to Gwen Moffatt and Johnny Lees, and saw the Mont Blanc Guide translations which Dave Thomas was holding. All too soon Nesta sent her minion to fetch me and we drove to the Royal. We were appalled by the bar – the noise and the people in there, all dressed as climbers, yet, we felt, they rarely climbed the hills.

Back at camp, we eventually settled down in our bags, only to be awakened when the other car returned at midnight. Alf, apparently had had a wonderful evening being caught between two groups and drinking with both.

4.3 1953, June 14 (Sunday)

It had been a perfect night, with the thinnest crescent of the new moon early on; in the morning a slight breeze had got up, but it was sunny and lovely. We came to at about 7.30 and had tea, porridge, and sausage, egg and tomato. We couldn't make up our minds where to go until Pete arrived. Bob was all for Main Wall, but Pete had done that. We filled in our time striking camp and packing.

At about 9.30 we were ready to set out and went up to Carreg Wasted, Pete apparently having lost interest in Sabre Cut.

Peter and Alf went on to Dinas Cromlech, for Flying Buttress and Parchment Passage. We sent Bob and Ernest round to Crackstone Rib, and Pete and I tied on for the Wrinkle.

As I had had the choice of pitches on Chimney Route, Pete had his choice on this one, and told me to go up the first pitch. I put on socks, for there were some wet streaks. It went O.K. Actually the rock was quite firm, but I found myself testing every hold. Compared with Cloggy rock it seemed quite treacherous – a traverse to the right took me to the Oak Tree belay. Then Pete was up, agreeing with me about the rock, and then on up the next pitch, which brought us to the foot of Wrinkled Slab. Expecting difficulty on this, I put a runner on quite early, but the expected trouble didn't materialise, and I was up in no time – possibly the handholds weren't very positive, and it might have been more awkward in nails, and also had I not got my eye in on Cloggy the day before, I might have considered it a little exposed. Pete had the next 20 ft pitch, but he cheated, and added on to it the 70 ft pitch which, according to the book might be of higher standard than "severe". I also wasn't impressed by this pitch, but then, of course, I had a rope above me, and Pete told me where to avoid a loose block. At the top we went along and looked down on Ernest and Bob on Crackstone Rib – waited some time while Pete advised them, and then came down to the foot of the crag, wondering what to do next. I kept suggesting Sabre Cut on Dinas Cromlech, but Pete had lost his enthusiasm for it. John G., Jack, Joy, Nesta etc. were just walking away when Pete suggested that they might like a climb, so I called them back and found that the only two interested were John and a girl, Jean, who seemed to have joined the party. Jean was asked what she had done and mentioned Red Wall and that was enough for me. Pete sorted us out, we were to do Crackstone Rib and I was to climb with John and he'd take Jean. I offered the lead to John, but he wasn't interested so I started up, firstly up the mud, and then after, at Pete's suggestion, putting a runner on a tree, I started on the traverse. Everyone else complained that the rock was loose on this part but, having got my mind adjusted to possibilities on the Wrinkle, I didn't notice it. I belayed at the second holly tree, and John joined me; he was rather slow at getting the runner off and, when I found that he had put it out of sight in his pocket, I concluded that he must disapprove of such things as strongly as I do pitons. When I tackled him about this later, he said that it was not so, that he simply did not know what else to do with it. The next pitch was the Rib, but the holds were so good, I didn't notice the exposure and the following pitch was a garden path. I was expecting a magnificent crux on the last pitch; I took a long stride and then put on a runner on a chockstone, partly in preparation for the crux and partly not to be dictated to by John (for it wasn't until after the climb that I found he did not disapprove of runners), but the rest was nothing and I was at the top. We watched Jean lead the fourth pitch and then, when she came up the last pitch, she had to use the intermediate sloping hold, for she wasn't tall enough to make the long stretch.

We went down and chose Main Scoop route as our next climb – the same four, as John and Jean didn't jump at my suggestion that they ought to climb the Wrinkle together.

The other two got in front while I was disentangling my rope from the boots etc. which non-climbers insisted on tying to it (actually poor John had to go down again to do this). The Gangway was quite a pleasant rock slab, but I found the chimney awkward. I faced the wrong way and couldn't change over. At the top of the third pitch, conditions changed rapidly, Pete seemed to be having great trouble; it started to rain, and the wind got up. I had left my woolly in my rucksack at the foot of the cliff and, without it, I felt no inclination to climb up higher into the wind. Fortunately Pete came back and we all retreated down the third pitch and then off the crag, and so back to camp to brew and drink tea in John's marquee of a tent. We also ate Ernest's tin of pears and John's jar of plums.

At about 4 o'clock I started to move; John had said he could give a lift to two people up the pass, but even had Nesta said the same, one of us would have had to walk, so I said I'd set out soon after 4 o'clock to make my way slowly up the pass, with my heavy rucksack. Bob and Alf came as well, also at my slow pace and we reached Pen-y-Gwryd at about 5.15, a quarter to half an hour before time. I said I thought the bus would be on time, with the change in the weather, but the others said it would be 30-40 minutes late. How right they were! We sat outside until after 5.30 and then went in and sat over a pot of tea. We rushed out when it eventually came, but then had to wait while some of the Oread bought sandwiches from the hotel.

It wasn't the usual ride back at all. We'd had the lovely weather during the weekend and it was raining most of the way back – no sunset behind Snowdon, or anything like that. At Shrewsbury most people had sausage and chips, but I was content with a cup of tea (I'd been eating cold sausages and bread and butter in the bus).

We finally arrived in Nottingham at about 12.30.

SECTION 5

1953, JUNE 26-28: GLAN DENA

5.1 1953, June 26 (Friday)

This weekend my tale definitely begins at 3.20 p.m. along with the storm – it continued with no abatement for a good hour – the rain teemed down and the thunder came and went continuously. How often did I think of my gas cape which I had turned out of my rucksack at the last minute and I determined to go back for it. I tried to slip away from work, unobserved just before 5 o'clock, but two people stopped me to warn me I couldn't get up Meadow Lane, that the water was 3 ft deep under the railway bridge – so I went the other way, to Trent Lane – I had always wanted to find out where the other end of Daleside Road led, but this was hardly the time I should have chosen. I joined the bus queue at Trent Lane, but it was already disintegrating, and rumour had it that there had been no trolley bus since 4 o'clock and the petrol ones weren't stopping, so I started to walk, with an occasional little run, into town – soon I passed the place where the wires were being repaired, and beyond the buses were running – but not up Bath Street, straight up Parliament Street, where the traffic was very slow and congested. A man started telling me of his experiences; that a new underground post office was flooded, and he had been driving his lorry up a nearby road, when the road had sunk, and it had taken two lorries to pull him out, and he had been wading knee deep in the water. There was no time to go back for my cape. I made my way straight to the bus station and picked up my rucksack and had nice time for the Birmingham bus, where I sat next to Sheila Lindforth. After all my panic, the bus was 10 minutes late in leaving.

Punctually, just before 7.10, we reached Tamworth, where Pete was duly waiting at the bus station; he suggested that we went a little way out, where I could change. He had a spare one piece suit which went fine over my dress, and I put on a woolly and my boots and we were soon away.

I have never before really appreciated the A5. It was delightful; there wasn't too much traffic about, and again and again the speedometer needle would creep up to 60 (once it just reached 70) and this didn't seem at all reckless. I had given Bob's message to Pete, that he'd be in the café at Chirk from 8.45 to 9 p.m. We reached there as the clock was striking 9 and there was no sign of Bob's bike, so we went on to Llangollen, down a side street to collect fish and chips, and then to the local to eat it – where we found Nobby.

At about 9.45 we set out again, with Nobby in front most of the way; I didn't know whether it was because of this, or because the light was failing, that we went more slowly. The mist effects as we left Llangollen were lovely, with the mist creeping down the hillsides. At Corwen we found a policeman talking to Nobby. We arrived to hear, "But I was only doing 30" and the reply "But that's too fast when they're turning out of the pubs".

Before we turned off at Capel we noticed that it looked very black Snowdon way, but in the Nant Ffrancon, there were some lovely effects with the top of Tryfan sometimes showing up above the mist, and sometimes hidden. The North Ridge looked incredibly long and how I envied someone seeing it all for the first time, under these conditions. We found Ray Colledge and a few others already installed. I barged into my dormitory and found Mrs. King already in bed there.

5.2 1953, June 27 (Saturday)

I was up at 7 o'clock, got tired of waiting for the others, so took them in tea to wake them, and then ate my porridge and bacon and egg. I regretted my haste, for Pete and Nobby had plums with their porridge! I was very hungry and begged several slices of bread to eat with my butter and marmalade.

The night before, there had been two suggestions, either Western Gully on Black Ladders, or to walk over to Lliwedd and climb there. Fortunately in the discussion over breakfast, both dropped through and Cloggy was suggested; I produced the old guidebook and said that Bob thought that, Bow-shaped Slab being only a 'vs', it ought to "go". We had just packed up by 9 o'clock and were going out to the bikes, when we saw a figure walking along the road – it had Bob's walk, and looked dressed in a motor-cycling suit. Sure enough it was Bob, carrying part of his bike, which had conked out at Llangollen. He had got a lift in the Tram.

We left at about 10 o'clock, after Bob had breakfasted, called in the shop at Capel for bread and bananas, and then went down to Llanberis, and Pete insisted on going some way up the track – much to Nobby's disgust. It was a very hot day, so the halt at Mrs. Williams was as welcome as ever. She had some new photos of Cloggy, which had arrived that morning, and time was spent following the routes on them. Eventually, we set out again, but I left the others, and went round the path, while the others cut straight over. They sat down by the lake, in the sun – not knowing where I was (I think). I went along, above the middle rocks, making for the foot of the climb, but at the beginning of the Girdle traverse, I found Geoff Piggott and Neil who were impressed to see me in nails! I had to leave them and direct the others; Pete and Nobby came round, and Bob came up the first pitch of Longlands. We had a little to eat and then tied on, as I put on rubbers. I went round the corner, but realised that I was too low and came back. Pete next had a look, but was horrified at the thought of the swing across on the rope and, at Geoff's suggestion, we decided on the Narrow Slab start, and Pete moved up. I followed Nobby rather too closely; I didn't enjoy the last groove, my foot slipped at one point. My other three points of suspension held firm, but it gave me a shock, and I moved out to the edge on the left to recover. I continued up here, but it wasn't gardened. I stopped at the first possible stance, brought Bob up and sent him down to the belay, before the next pitch; thus we got in front of the other rope, who were sitting on a large ledge higher up, recovering! I told Pete that last time I had found this the most hair-raising pitch, but had put it down to the bad conditions obtaining.

Next I was slowly making my way down to Bob, and then getting up the next corner. Last time I had found it a horrible mantelshelf, but Geoff had shown me how to traverse at a higher level, and it was quite easy. I put a hand round the corner, but felt nothing, but I had been seen, and Geoff, who was up the next pitch, was able to direct me to the handhold, and I was soon round the corner, on the good foothold on the white slab and getting a runner on the quartz, before making the long stride across. This had all been easy enough, but I remembered that it was lower than this that I had slipped last time, so I wasn't too happy. I tried to shout to Bob to hold the rope taut, but I knew he'd never understand, so I took hold of the doubled rope and, with my back to Geoff, I went down, pressing sideways with my feet on the holds – cheating, but safe and rapid. After the delicate slab, it seemed clumsy and awkward, getting up the next corner to the belay. I hope Bob understood that if I was needlessly hearty in my instructions to him, it was simply reaction to think that the first of the three difficult moves was over. Once I had started on Narrow Slab, I was determined to finish it. Apparently Bob didn't realise that I had changed my mind about our climb; he thought we were still for Bow-shaped, until I started off up Narrow!

Next I went wrong, and found myself with Bob and Pete, on the next belay on the Sheaf, so we all had to retreat. I tied on at the horrible flake at the real foot of the Narrow Slab, but sent Bob up to the better belay at the corner.

While waiting for everyone to get settled, I made large inroads in my supply of dried fruit, trying to keep away that sinking feeling. I had taken my socks off from the second pitch, but put them on again for the third and kept them on for the ascent of the crack, at the bottom of the Narrow Slab proper. It was some time before I could make the first move up, onto the crack, and then I tried to follow Joe's good example and keep one hand on the rock on either side, although the most useful holds were at the backs of the sods!

It was plain sailing until I got to the top of the staircase of sods, and had to think of the traverse – I wasn't afraid of it, for hadn't I got a pocketful of little chockstones – one would be sure to fit into the crack where Joe had fitted one, and that would give me a runner to safeguard me on the traverses – but what crack? I remembered Joe had used a piton to clean out the crack (I had banked on it remaining clean these two years), I also remembered that Pete carried a piton about, but I have my pride in these matters and I didn't really consider asking for the piton. I turned my back to the crack and faced the slab – my socks were full of earth, I had to rub some of it off, and then my left foot stuck beautifully on the roughness of the slab and, with my left hand in a crack, my right foot also moved over, but then I was stuck, almost a moment of panic before I saw that I had to move down a little to the footholds. Action soon cured the trembling in my leg, and I was across on the edge, and putting a runner round my adequate foothold. I remember last time, when Joe got to this place, he'd said "I don't remember having any trouble here last time" and I could echo his words. I hunted all around for a neat way of doing it, but eventually realised that I should have to "mantleshelf" up. I put my foot on the general roughness of the rock and started to move up, confident that if my foot had slipped off, my handhold would have been quite adequate to hold me on. I made slow progress, but eventually was able to move my right hand to a "pull" hold, a foot or so higher, and eventually up to a good hold, and then the difficulty of the pitch was over, I went up 10 ft to get a really good belay, came down again, and had a second belay and told Bob to come on and had my first look at the others. There was Nobby trying to hide behind a rib of rock, as though unwilling to be a witness to anything so foolhardy – Pete's attitude was rather "If that's Narrow Slab, I'm for Bow-shaped" and, in case I had any illusions left, Bob said "I had to shut my eyes for parts of that". Of course I was jubilant. "There are holds all over the slab", I could honestly say, looking down on them; also the slab is of an easy angle, and I believe that, without the exposure, it would be possible to move up on the general roughness of the rock, which I keep quoting.

I compared it with the cracks on Dinas Mot, which Pete led, and I couldn't follow up, but he had set his mind on Bow-shaped, and disappeared round the corner.

I had taken my socks off for the mantelshelf, and kept them off for the next pitch. I moved up to the belay, and felt the holds of the traverse. "Impossible", I thought, and then I realised that I had to go another 3 ft up the edge, before traversing. I found this mantelshelf awkward, but then the move across was delightful and I was getting a runner on. I remembered Joe's cunning belay at this point – a rope over a spike to his right (looking out) and a chockstone in the crack to this left. All this so that he could safeguard his party adequately! but I went on up, getting to the awkward groove. I remembered that a knee had made things awkward last time, so I tried not to use one, but it was still awkward; however, I thought "this is Narrow Slab, nowhere strenuous or extreme, therefore there must be a hold at the top". Actually it wasn't very good, but after I'd moved up I found that it wasn't really necessary. I didn't go right down to the grass, stood on meagre footholds, but was well belayed and brought Bob up. He was longer on the little mantelshelf even than I was, and he also didn't like the top groove, but then he was passing me, and going down to the stance in the grass, and I was continuing up, although sorry to leave my stance – looking down nearly 100 ft of unbroken Narrow Slab. I put on three runners on the next pitch, although the technical difficulty was nil. On the final pitch, I forgot all about runners, in fact, I forgot all about the limitations of having only 120 ft of rope; however, there was a thread belay handy, just when Bob told me I was out of rope, and so, at about 6.30, we coiled the rope and prepared to sit in the sun on the top of the crag to await the Bow-shaped party. There was quite a wind blowing, but it was such a warm wind that I didn't need the woolly which Bob had carried up the last part of the climb for me.

We had soon realised that all was not well with the Bow-shaped party. At one time I could see Nobby mixed up with a party on Great Slab, but then he traversed off to join Pete, but then the latter asked for a top rope. I had been contemplating Great Slab for some time and thinking that there was nothing I should loath more than to have to descend it, so I quickly said to Bob "I'll pay out our rope until you get to a stance, and then I'll have to drop it, so that you can give it to Pete". Bob didn't demur and that's what we did, except that Bob had to go down about 100 ft before finding a belay. Before letting go of the rope, I tied all our slings on the end of it, just in case Pete was more than 120 ft below Bob, for I couldn't think of anything more awful than for Bob to be left in the middle of that face, with a rope attached to no-one.

I kept thinking of all the people who have said to me "I couldn't rock-climb, I'm scared of heights. I can't even look down from the top of a high building" – deprived of my slings with which I could have belayed myself, I felt quite naked and alone.

I scouted all around to try to find a good position for photographs, but the only place was right on top, which meant I had to tilt the camera. When I had used up all my own film, I started with Bob's camera.

This time we went down Western Terrace; I had been telling the others that 'Red Slab' had been climbed, but when I saw it, I doubted my words. There was one glorious moment on the way down. I had just found some violets when I realised that I was in an alpine glow. Everything was bright and warm coloured, for it was after 9 o'clock by this time. I soon had my boots on, and was down to the lake where the others had left their boots, and then was wandering up, having yet another look at the glorious crag, lit up by the last of the evening sun, with the little party now high up on Great Slab.

And so down to tea at Mrs. Williams; she told us she had been watching us through the glasses, despite the fact that there were about 20 people on the crag. She also told us she was expecting 60 people at the hut in the small hours, for a R.A. party were setting out at midnight for Snowdon.

We got down to the bikes just as the light was failing and reached Glan Dena at about the same time as we had the night before, after a lovely ride through countryside scented with Bog Myrtle.

I was first in and got some sarcastic remarks – "We thought there'd been an accident. Where've you been all this time". To my reply that I spent 3 hours sunbathing on the top of the crag, I was asked "At this time of night?" Bob saw about the main course, I made my asparagus soup (à la Knorr) and this was followed by the casserole, chops and tomatoes, and boiled potatoes, and I opened a tin of fruit salad (and Pete's plums were added to it) for sweet. My table cream hadn't set, so we just had the little tin of cream with it.

I had a wash in the bathroom, but I found Mrs. King wide awake and we discussed mostly the Pinnacle Climb until about 2.30.

5.3 1953, June 28 (Sunday)

I got up at 7.30 this morning and made porridge for everyone (Bob was in the minority) and we also had most of the table cream, and finished the plums, before starting on the bacon and eggs. We couldn't make up our mind where to go. A shower of rain sent us into the lounge to continue our fruitless discussion – it cleared again and finally Pete made up our minds for us. We were to visit the Slabs, and Holly Tree Wall, calling first for tea at Mervyn's. Along the road we lost first Pete, and then Bob, who met various friends, but then we got our tea and reached the Slabs without incident.

Bob started up Charity and didn't want to come down, so a rope was thrown up to him and, long before I was ready, it was my turn to climb. I went up 6 ft (of an easy variant) and then came down and put on rubbers, and then got up the Slabs without incident. At the top of the first pitch, the four of us sat and chatted with two bepitoned types descending the Ordinary, and then we went on up the twin cracks of "Hope" – Bob said they were harder than the cracks on Dinas Mot and I said they were easier, and so up to the top where we sat down and had a snack to eat, before tackling Holly Tree wall, by the original route. Nobby was leading the first rope and Pete told him how to do the first move. Pete followed, and then Bob, and then it was my turn. I had only done the route once previously and then avoided this by the direct start, so I was very interested to try the move. As per instructions, I put my right hand down, into the hold, my left foot up, and started to move up, but this only forced my right hand further down into the hold, which was a V shaped vice, and I found it excruciatingly painful. To add to my discomfort, the left foothold was so polished, that I couldn't seem to transfer my weight from my poor hand to that foot. "Are you alright?" said Bob. "No" I replied – he did his best! The rest of the climb was pleasant enough. We all did the outside route. I should have liked to have tried the crack for a change, but I didn't like the look in Pete's eye as he suggested it, so knowing the outside route was pleasant, I followed Bob up that way. We were lazing on the top, thinking our day's work was over, having diced with death up these two climbs, after the delights of Cloggy the previous day, when Bob said that the bangs which we had just heard were caused by Very lights, red and white ones, so we decided we'd better go down to the hostel to see where the rescue was needed. We went down to the foot of the Slabs. I put on my boots and we set off down, until a boy came hurrying up, asking us to go to Glyder Fach, where, he said, someone had come off the Direct.

We started to traverse up, until Pete told me I had better go back and tidy the hut and get a meal ready; I was most indignant for a moment, but then realised that it was the best thing for me to do. For one thing, I'd be slower getting up, than the others and for another I wanted to catch a train from Birmingham that night, and not the next morning. I walked down with two others who wished to dump their rucksacks before going on the rescue party. They knew me as Eileen and seemed to associate me with Chamonix. One of them quoted Oderitus, that the bottom pitch of 'Charity' is as hard as anything on 'Cloggy'. That man certainly knows a thing or two! I walked along the road, and got my amusement from the parked cars, most of the people didn't look in the least like climbers, yet most had binoculars trained on the Milestone, and one had a huge telescope. They mostly didn't wait until I was past, before starting to pull me to bits, I was carrying the others spare gear in my rucksack and had the heavier rope, but really I felt I looked quite in keeping.

I made a tour of Glan Dena, but all the doors were locked, and the key wasn't in an obvious place, so I tried the men's dormitory, where a window was open. The mantelshelf was greatly aided by a sideways pull on the frame of the window, and then I was inside thinking where do I start, surely I'd have been more use on the rescue, than clearing up the hut.

I put on the kettle, and then got a broom and did a little sweeping. The next arrival I told about the rescue party. He sounded most annoyed, went through all the reasons why he didn't want to be late back that night and then added that he was giving someone a lift back, but then he brightened up. He'd better go along for no doubt she would be on the rescue party. Actually I'd asked for that, for my remarks had been a little pointed!

I made myself some tea, put on a pan of water for some soup (panflake Knorr – instantaneous) and then hard boiled my two eggs. Dr. Edwards then offered me three more eggs, which helped considerably. I cut up my two tomatoes and then one which Dr. Edwards offered me (and I like to think I'm not a scrounger!) and then divided out Bob's tin of vegetable salad. Next I turned my attention to fruit salad, apple, oranges, then dried apricots and sun dried raisins, which I boiled, hoping they'd swell and I emptied someone's tin of sugar, making syrup for it.

I washed, changed and packed, and wondered what to do next. I thought what a good idea to get their bikes along to the hostel – I got Pete's off its stand, but then changed my mind, but couldn't get it back up, and had to lean it against the door.

Fortunately, before I had any other silly ideas, I saw three familiar figures along the road, so I made the tea and soup, with the still boiling water.

No-one seemed in a hurry. We had our meal (the others were too hot to be very hungry) and then they took their time packing, while I sat on the grass outside, eventually at 7 o'clock we were ready. I even got my boot disentangled from the sleeve of the motorbike suit, and got it on properly, and we set off. How I enjoyed the run, it wasn't quite such a lovely evening as the previous one, or perhaps it was that we were low down, but I felt that, if I had to come away from Wales, there could be no more pleasant way of doing it, on the bike through countryside often scented by the new mown hay. I had forgotten to put on my glasses and just when life seemed at its pleasantest I got a fly in my eye, which caused me to shed quite a number of tears. When we stopped for petrol at Llangollen, I took the opportunity of finding my sunglasses.

We pulled up at Shrewsbury just as 'Hannibal' was leaving, and we went over to the Green Dragon. Nobby led practically the whole way and set quite a sedate pace. In the dark we sped through Wolverhampton – no time to call on Joy, for we realised by this time that it would be touch and go whether we caught the 10.40 (originally the 10.11 had been suggested, and the next one was the 1.42). Eventually Pete took over the lead, knowing the way to the station, and at about 10.42 we pulled up outside it, I was half out of my suit, but I still had to get out of the other half, so I said to Bob "run", but he hung about saying "which platform" – Pete gave me my things out of his pannier and then we both ran to platform 7 and bundled in the train which stayed for several more minutes – long enough for Pete and Nobby to come down and see that we were really on it. I felt quite exhilarated, but not so Bob. He said that much more and he'd have been a nervous wreck, but I suppose the behaviour of his own bike hasn't helped his confidence in the machines; also I gathered that I was on the better bike, for he said, on the rare occasions when we got in front, Nobby had to drive quite recklessly to catch up.

We reached Derby in time to walk to the bus station and catch the 12.08 which got us to Nottingham by 1 o'clock.

SECTION 6

1953, JULY 10-12: LLANBERIS

6.1 1953, July 10-11 (Friday-Saturday)

I caught the usual 7.10 (on my own, with no hope of seeing anyone on the journey) except masses of people holidaying in Ireland. We reached Chester in good time where refreshments were most welcome, but I stayed there too long and came out to find all the seats taken in the train. They were only sitting three aside, but I didn't suggest they moved up, as I knew I should be quite happy on the floor. As soon as we started, I got down and pretended to be asleep, but quite enjoyed myself as, one by one, all the six people from the compartment nearest me, had to climb over me! I got out at Bangor at 1.30 and found a nice bench in the ladies waiting room, but before I could settle down on it, three elderly ladies came in, followed by a man who said the porter had told them to come in – the bench was just long enough for us to sit on, and the others didn't sound in the least as though they'd want to sleep, so I soon moved out to the other ladies waiting room and stretched out in peace and quiet.

I got up at 6.15 – the station is too noisy a place to allow sound sleep – and made my way to the bus station, where I had nice time to catch the 6.45. The conductor was quite friendly, showed me the paper with pictures of the Royal visit to Caernarvon etc. I just had time for tea and toast at the People's Café, Caernarvon, before catching the 7.30 to Llanberis (at the time, I didn't realise that this would be my sole breakfast). At Llanberis I asked the conductor about a bus to Nant Peris, but he said he thought it had gone, so I started to walk, telling myself it would be good training. In no time a bus appeared; I hardly had time to signal to it, but it stopped, the only trouble was the conductor couldn't change a 10/- note. I only had 2¾d and the fare was 5d; however, he took 2½d and let me stay on; how did he know I was a child, just cutting a tooth?

Much to my surprise, I arrived at the campsite at 8.30 – the site was crowded, no-one was up, and I didn't like to investigate, so I pitched away from them, the other side of the track. I was afraid that John might go down to meet me (I had said I'd be at Llanberis at 9 o'clock), so I went up to Pont-y-Cromlech, and met him coming down from the cave, and he gave me a lift back to camp on his bike. I called at the farm to obtain permission to camp and also for some milk. I said I didn't belong to the big party; the lady said she didn't know who they were. "Such a lot of life when I looked out this morning", was her comment.

Pete was about by this time, he said he wanted to try Piggotts, but didn't consider the weather good enough and didn't know what he was going to do, so John and I set off to warm up on a 'vd' on Dinas Mot. We went by the farm, but didn't like to climb their newly patched walls, so joined the road at Ynys Ettws and continued up that to our cliff. We went too far to the right, but eventually found Black Cleft which we had chosen as the most interesting 'vd' on the cliff, and we started up the first pitch – 80 ft of scrambling as the book said, but the moves needed sorting out at several points. We roped up, as the gully narrowed. I belayed, so John suggested we led through and started up over the chockstone. He had worked out the moves nicely, and I quite enjoyed it, after I had handed him up my rucksack. The next pitch was "60 ft, the steep water-worn bed of the gully is the crux of the climb". I glanced at it and suggested that John might like the honour of leading the whole of the climb. When it was my turn to follow, how glad I was that I had retreated from the lead before retreating from that pitch! John had got up it so quickly he had only had one armful of water, I had at least four; I was absolutely soaked before I got up. The technical difficulties increased with height, the moves only just worked out, and weren't helped by the numbness of my fingers. I thought I did it reasonably neatly, if slowly, but follow up in socks and then say that we'd have to go down for my boots. I don't enjoy hard severes in boots, so I was determined to do it in socks, which meant that I had to put my boots in my rucksack, and carry it up.

I was very thrilled to find a thread belay at the beginning, for it was an exposed position and then John was up the first pitch in no time. I tried to follow, but couldn't get up where John had done. Some of the handholds were loose, and the others much too slimy to be used on anything so awkward, the rope was no good, for it came right from the side, was tending to pull me off more than anything – so I was very pleased when I found that by going down a step or so, I found an easier way up onto the line of traverse, and so I joined John eventually, thinking that it was a nasty irritating pitch. The next was quite pleasant, up the slab, and the swing to the right. It worked out O.K. with a bit of patience, but I began to realise that something was the matter with me. Possibly it was the unaccustomed experience of climbing Black Cleft in nails, or the soaking I had got on that climb, or the rucksack on my back, or possibly my own conscience at letting young John lead such things in nails!

Next came the Gangway pitch. I couldn't understand why John fiddled on the start. It looked so easy from below, but he kept moving higher up, got on a runner and then traversed to the left. I soon saw why he had hesitated at the beginning of the Gangway. The wall above makes the whole thing quite off balance, and the finger-holds are difficult to use, and then it just got more and more difficult until I was up to the corner. I was a long time making the last easy step up, for there was a handhold missing. Once up, I found the traverse left greatly facilitated by a hand jammed in the crack right, for the finger-hold was terribly slimy and so I joined John to find that his belay was purely psychological; however, we found one further along the ledge before John went on. John had the book, and I was being led blindly up it. I wondered whether it continued getting steadily harder, I thought that, if the 90 ft pitch was as hard as the last one, at least I shouldn't be conscious of the exposure, the technical difficulties would take all my energies. John said he wouldn't like to go down, so we continued up. The next pitch was just a walk, and then John was starting the 90 ft lead. I kept reminding him that I had his rubbers in my pack, but he was adamant that he wanted to try it in nails. Half way up he suggested that he was suitably posed for a photograph and posed while I took one. Soon I was starting on what I thought was the crux, only to find it was sheer enjoyment – the rocks were practically dry. At least there was no slime, although the steepness and exposure were all that I could wish, the holds were adequate, life was looking up, but I thought it a superb lead of John. After this I considered it all over, but no, on the next pitch there was a very awkward move across the groove, and then a nice traverse across the slab brought me to the edge overlooking the great gully, a superb position, with good holds, in fact the mantelshelf at the top didn't materialise; there was an intermediate foothold, and hand-holds higher up – and we just scrambled up the last pitch.

On the way up, as I had watched the thin rope, which I paid out to the best of my ability, I thought what fools we had been to bring only one rope up from the camp, and I vowed never to be caught again on such a climb, with only a single thickness of ¾ weight nylon. When we got back, John remarked that he thought he'd buy some full weight rope!

John said that he'd never been along Crib Goch, so we continued up to the top of Crib-y-Ddysgl and continued along the ridge. The rain cut our faces more like February than July, for the clouds had started coming down on the tops when we got to the top of the climb. The wind was so strong that John suggested we took the little tracks below the summit, to get a little shelter; they were irritating tracks, obviously formed by people going in the opposite direction. And so on to Crib Goch and the Pinnacles. I pointed out the Crazy Pinnacle to John, and he climbed it while I stopped to put on a woolly, and then we went along the edge. At the other end, John asked where the Knife Edge began, and I had to explain that he had just come along it. I tried to tell him that it is much better when iced, or in deep snow, particularly if you have several beginners with you!

We went down the North Ridge, there wasn't nearly the path down this I'd expected. I was surprised to be on it again, so soon after coming up it for the first time last December.

We didn't get down out of the clouds and rain as I'd hoped and we arrived back at camp at 6.30, rather wet. I changed and hung my things outside my tent to dry in the breeze between showers – unfortunately the wind dropped during the night, and also the fine periods between showers were non-existent, and my clothes were soaking wet in the morning.

Just as we had the tea made, Jean Griffiths arrived, and shared the tent; we had soup, Jean had a boiled egg, while John and I had fried sausage, bacon and egg. Our sweet was a pound of fresh strawberries and a tin of cream which Jean had whipped, and we finished off with tea.

I went to bed early, and became beautifully drowsy as soon as I got in my bag – the noises of the countryside didn't keep me awake; there was the roar of the stream, the bleating of sheep, an occasional mooing of a cow, the flapping of canvas in the wind, and soon the incessant patter of rain on the tent.

6.2 1953, July 12 (Sunday)

Poor Jean woke early to find that she was getting wet, through the leaking groundsheet; she sat up, read the guidebook from cover to cover, went for a walk and, at 6.30, suggested that it was breakfast time. After breakfast, I delayed starting out as much as possible, for the sun was hot and I thought it might as well dry my things before I put them on. I went over to the other camp and found that they suffered from the rain almost more than we did, which was surprising as they had a far better site. For instance the ground round their tents wasn't soggy like ours.

When John showed signs of being ready I put on my boots and decided to go up to the rocks in my dry pants, giving my wet ones longer to dry. We went to Carreg Wasted, and I indicated the foot of the Wrinkle – John didn't seem to believe me when I said that it was easy; I felt his heart wasn't in it. Certainly the sun hadn't got round to these rocks, and they were very wet. John went a little way up and came back, so I said that 'Dead Entrance' was a 'vd'. The start was known to Jean and me; John led up the slab and I seconded him (I considered it a nice pitch in nails) as Jean said she'd have to do it in socks. Actually John didn't like the chimney and we abseiled down. I wasn't at all sorry, for I still had on the pants I wished to keep dry for the journey back.

We next went along to Dinas Cromlech; this was quite nice and dry, I tried to point out the start of "Spiral Stairs", but it was Flying Buttress which John finally started up. This went very pleasantly, up the first two pitches, up among the heath and loose rock. I tried to direct John on the third pitch up the way we had gone last November, but he told me I was wrong; sure enough he found a much better way, 6 ft below the belay before the awkward groove. He traversed out onto the face, quite easy but very pleasant.

The sun had been hot, but it began to cloud over, so I changed into the pants which were practically dry, and we ate, and tried to assist two girls on "Spiral Stairs" – as I said an acoustic periscope would be a great help on many a climb. We went up to the foot of the climb; there was a short shower, and then we started. Again I was on the end, and I had similar difficulty to the girls. I couldn't get my rope taken in, and I couldn't shout to John and Jean.

There was a slight delay in passing a descending party, and then we were up the next pitch. This confirmed my original impression of the climb, very pleasant and not difficult. It was after 3 o'clock before we got down, so I suggested that the others climbed "Parchment Passage" while I packed. I filled the two pans with water, kept them both as near boiling as I could, ate my hard-boiled egg and tomato, followed by marmalade and then the others arrived back much sooner than I'd expected, and rather impressed by the looseness of the rock.

The tea was made and eventually the tent was struck – there were frequent rain showers by now, so I couldn't whip the tent from off the others! Jean left to walk to Llanberis, and John started home on his bike before 6 o'clock and I waited for the Crag and Cave to be ready and for their "reliable" bus to appear. We waited and waited, and there was no sign of the bus. Pete (who was organising it) went down to Nant Peris with one of the others to ring up and, just as he got back (at about 7 o'clock) the bus appeared; apparently Jack had taken a party to London, had come back and had got held up 1½ hours by a procession in Llangollen. At least it was so late that I knew there was no chance of catching the 10.40 train.

We stopped just inside the English border. I think Jack had done quite enough driving for one weekend, but I know I was jolly glad of a drink – after that I didn't need the break at Shrewsbury.

The Burton contingent decided not to go home that night; I had the offer of a bed, but knew that I'd be half a day late for work, so refused it and said that the 1.42 was a good train – I forgot why it was such a good train. I found out the reason when I got to the platform; it was already in, at 11.30, so I had a couple of hours stretched out on a seat. Then unfortunately it rather filled up and people were coming and going all the way along. I looked out at Derby, and then dozed off, telling myself next stop Nottingham – I got out at the next stop – fortunately the train hadn't gone, when I discovered it was Trent!

Dawn was just breaking as I walked home from Nottingham Station – it made me think of the Alps, and I was visualising myself walking through a French town.

A lovely salad and fruit salad had been left for me, and by the time I had eaten it and had a bath it was broad daylight and so to bed!

1.1 1953, March 27 (Friday)

1.2 1953, March 28 (Saturday)

1.3 1953, March 29 (Sunday)

1.4 1953, March 30 (Monday)

1.5 1953, March 31 (Tuesday)

1.6 1953, April 1 (Wednesday)

1.7 1953, April 2 (Thursday)

1.8 1953, April 3 (Friday)

1.9 1953, April 4 (Saturday)

1.10 1953, April 5 (Sunday)

1.11 1953, April 6 (Monday)

1.12 1953, April 7 (Tuesday)

1.13 1953, April 8 (Wednesday)

1.14 1953, April 9 (Thursday)

1.15 1953, April 10 (Friday)

1.16 1953, April 11 (Saturday)

1.17 1953, April 12 (Sunday)

2.1 1953, May 15 (Friday)

2.2 1953, May 16 (Saturday)

2.3 1953, May 17 (Sunday)

3.1 1953, May 29 (Friday)

3.2 1953, May 30 (Saturday)

3.3 1953, May 31 (Sunday)

3.4 1953, June 1 (Monday)

3.5 1953, June 2 (Tuesday)

4.1 1953, June 12 (Friday)

4.2 1953, June 13 (Saturday)

4.3 1953, June 14 (Sunday)

5.1 1953, June 26 (Friday)

5.2 1953, June 27 (Saturday)

5.3 1953, June 28 (Sunday)

6.1 1953, July 10-11 (Friday-Saturday)

6.2 1953, July 12 (Sunday)