© J A D Healey 2014
After lunch at Fred and Daisy's, Frank drove to the New Docks and I was surprised that he was allowed to drive right into the Customs; this was certainly the easy way of doing things. We soon said goodbye; I had my documents inspected, and Dad, Frank and Betty mounted the stairs to the visitors balcony. In a desperate effort to get through my film I took a couple of the "Corfu", from a very poor position and then boarded the boat. I ignored the men waiting to show me to my cabin and went along the dock to wave but, to my horror, I found my visitors had no intention of going. I felt so sorry for them waiting in the cold. I had several little sorties, to try to find the way down. Eventually someone volunteered to take me; he even carried my brief case and I began to realise what I was in for.
I missed the afternoon tea; it didn't seem right to have that while my visitors were in the cold, but I was glad to see they disappeared in relays.
It was a fine sight to see the "Arundel Castle" towed up the Solent by three tugs. Very late, it seemed to me, the boat train arrived and the people streamed aboard. It was disappointing watching them; at Newhaven I can be sure to see familiar faces, but here there wasn't a soul I knew. The fascination of watching the crane move the luggage didn't diminish, and then it had a different task – to remove the gangways. At 5.15 p.m. there was a hoot and we were off; we backed out clear of the wharf and then started down the Solent, with visitors waving, handkerchiefs a-flutter.
I returned to my cabin for 4 o'clock where I was told that we seemed a nice little party. I wrote a frantic note to mum, which would be sent ashore with the pilot, and also took the film out of my camera. I had been all set to photograph the grey skies of old England, as we drew away from the shore, only to find that I was at the end of the film.
I had a temporary card to go to the first sitting for dinner; it wasn't a very jolly meal, but the food was excellent. I had soup, fish and turkey, and then turned to the sweet. I envied the capacity of two boys opposite who then went on to the cold meat and salad! Coffee was in the lounge, but, as always, it wasn't very hot. Light music was played afterwards, but I returned to the cabin and found that the others were preparing to turn in, so I did the same.
Tea was brought at 6.30 a.m. The tea was a lovely idea, but I wasn't so enthusiastic about the hour, as I had been given my permanent meal card, and found I was for the second sitting at 9 o'clock for breakfast. In the morning I started on Dr. Banners Urdu book, helped a little by Miss Gankroger of my cabin.
At lunch a purser joined our table which made things more interesting. I had soup and fish, and then decided I ought to get used to Curry. The purser immediately asked for the plate of oddments which we ought to eat with the curry. Our steward didn't understand, so the head steward was sent for and the plate was produced (and re-appeared each lunch time). In the afternoon I walked through the smoke room with my Urdu book, and a little Indian made room for me and helped me a little, but he talked much more. He had been in England for six years, had just got through his exams and was given leave by his firm for three months in India! The help he gave me was limited as he was no expert in Urdu, however many other Indian languages he might know; also he had never learned a language from a book and thought I'd do better to learn by ear(!) and finally he was far more interested in talking than in the language.
It was rather a dreary day, no land in sight, but I suppose I should be thankful that the Bay of Biscay was calm. The morning was very overcast, but it cleared a little in the afternoon and this was the pattern for several days to come. Once more I went to bed at about 9 o'clock, worn out with doing nothing
I looked at the map before breakfast. I could see the usual route marked on the map, keeping well out from the coast, but I was thrilled to see that our pins were put to follow the coast along. How pleased I was to be in the "Corfu", for I gathered that this doesn't usually happen; in many little ways I began to realise that the "Corfu" is run to please its passengers and not, as I expected, that the running of the ship was an end in itself.
At lunchtime, another purser joined us and I told my usual tale, that I was going to India for a holiday, but he soon told me that he'd had a letter all about me, so I was soon telling people all about the expedition, although still hardly using that word.
The afternoon break in the clouds came a little earlier and the gloriously coloured rocks of Cape St. Vincent were in sunshine, so I tried out the telephoto lens on them, for the ship was quite close.
By this time I was really enjoying life on board. I wasn't doing much more than one lesson of Urdu a day (I'm sure I'd have managed two with some help!). I alternated Urdu with gossiping and reading. My first book from the "Corfu" library was Jean Cocteau's "The Silent World" (It made me long to try to use an aqualung) and then went on to Bannister's "The First Four Minutes". Despite its tediousness, I was most grateful to the Urdu, to give me an aim in life.
The doctor joined us for dinner that night; he was quite interested in my trip, said that his son had gone to Barnard Castle School, simply because it had a climbing hut in the Lake District! He even wrote down the name of our glacier to tell his son.
I was vaguely conscious in the small hours that we had stopped and, for once, when tea was brought at 6.30, I had to get up, for I wanted to get the 7.15 breakfast and go ashore in the first tender at 7.45. At Gibraltar the first call was at the tourist office to get stamps for our letters, and then Col. and Mrs. Ellery, Mrs. Butler, Miss Gankroger and I climbed into a taxi and started up by the gardens, stopping at one point for photos. I tried a little harbour below us with the telephoto, then realised I was getting too little in, and exchanged it for the 3.5 cm. lens – then I got both the coast of Gib. and Spain beyond!
When we got above the main harbour, with the "Corfu" lying outside it, the sun wasn't shining, but I took one, nevertheless. The high spot of the trip were the apes. I'm not used to zoos, so they seemed too wonderful to be true. I have seen humans imitating them looking for fleas (or dandruff, as the soldier looking after them insisted it was), so I couldn't believe that the weren't imitating humans! A little one made to swing over the edge, but a parental hand came down and pulled it back!
We weren't quick enough to photograph Col. Ellery as a little one tweaked his nose! Next we went down to the air-strip on the flat land between the rock and the mainland, beneath a magnificent cliff and built right out to sea in both directions, built in the early days of the war, apparently.
Next we went to the P. & O. office in the middle of the town, left the taxi 5/- each, and Miss Gankroger and I made our way to the museum; we were interested in a large model of the rock, rather out of date, but we were able to examine the parts we hadn't seen. Several rooms contained military relics, and then we had to hurry through the natural history section, saw a skull claimed to be 100,000 years old, then down to the Moorish bath and so back to the tender and to the "Corfu". I stood, camera poised, to photograph the old ship, but the sun wasn't shining, so I thought I'd hope for a better opportunity.
As we were leaving, from 11 o'clock onwards, the view was superb; the harbour remained in shadow, but Point Europa was in the sun, and then the superb cliffs round the back came into view, with the water catchment area between.
In the afternoon, the snow clad Sierra Nevadas came into view (how I longed for my skis!).
When I arrived on deck for my before breakfast stroll, I found that we were quite close to the coast of North Africa, which we followed along, as we had followed the coast of Spain. The next day we passed close to the coast of the Island of Pontellaria, and after that saw no land until we reached Egypt. We had various friends to our table these days, the deputy purser to lunch again, also the chief engineer, then one night we were invited to visit the Captain before he joined us for dinner. Captain Fox was so pleasant, nearly as interested in me and my trip as the chief engineer had been!
Once more we were awakened in the small hours by the porthole being shut. There wasn't really a great deal of sleep after that. We had arrived at Port Said and it was rather noisy. I was up for the 7.15 breakfast and walked ashore over the planks on top of the floating drums, and reached Port Said at 8 o'clock, for which time we'd booked a tour of the city. Miss Gankroger and I found ourselves in a taxi with a couple of first class passengers and immediately Guliguli came up to us (he found that I had a little chicken up my nose, then he got an egg from the chicken, nearly as large as the bird itself, but it wasn't my half-crown he guli-gulied away! I was quite impressed by the man; he asked the man if he could keep the coin if he could get it, and the man said yes. I felt that Guliguli was honest and kind, but all the other Egyptians I suspect of being just as light fingered and quite unscrupulous.
We stopped at the war memorial, then passed the De Lessops statue and on to a mosque. It seemed very modern; we had to take off our shoes before entering, but what a privilege to feel those Persian carpets worth thousands of pounds, under my bare feet. It seemed to me to be simply a show place.
Next we went on to the Catholic cathedral; the effect on entering was lovely. There was a blue light coming through the windows of the nave, which was quite plain. The chancel was ornate, and this was lit by a yellow light.
One more stop in the town, at an English church, and then we went on to see various canals, the sweet water canal which brings fresh water from the Nile. There were various small-holdings by the side of this, yet the Chinese boy tasted this water to see whether it really was fresh! Then we went round to see the various salt canals, and so back to the town in time to shop. I only got a few post-cards, and then Miss Gankroger and I walked to the de Lessops statue, but there was no photographic view point from onshore. By being slow, I missed a lovely shot, looking down onto a barrow of lovely, brightly coloured crabs, with a crowd of Egyptians haggling round them.
I succeeded in throwing off all the sellers, although I had to admit that it was difficult when they halved their first price. And so back to the "Corfu", past all the little boats bargaining. Miss Gankroger bought a wallet for 2/6d.
It had all been too eastern to be true, a caricature of people's descriptions of the east. The entertainment wasn't yet over; we were called to the dance space on 'B' deck, where Guliguli was giving a show. He was splendid; he asked a boy to help him, and when the boy hesitated, a girl volunteered – she was splendid, tried hard to see how things were done, but without success. He would mix a clever trick with a bit of fooling, and went on for quite a long time.
After Guliguli, the amusement wasn't over; there were still the little crafts, throwing up a line if anyone showed an interest in anything. Stools and portmanteaux went aboard, some to stay, and others to be returned. Miss Gankroger bought a leather bag.
Eventually we left and followed the Strathmore down the canal. Once more it was too life-like to be true, the sand, canal and palm trees. The sand fascinated me with its similarity to snow. I hadn't realised that most of the way there is a concrete bank to the canal. The buoys don't mark out a three lane road! they indicate the central channel, which is deep enough to take large ships! In the evening we reached the lake where we had to wait for the ships coming from the other direction to pass. They were late, having been held up apparently, by a sand storm at Suez. We were still anchored when I went to bed, and we were stationary when I woke up the next morning, so when I looked out I was surprised to see that we were in the Red Sea. Apparently, during my sleeping hours, we had moved on to Suez, and when I woke up, we were dropping the pilot there.
It had been cold the whole way until Port Said, but then the weather changed overnight and my winter clothes looked so silly hanging up in the wardrobe. I found the Red Sea rather to much of a good thing, although I always love the heat. I thought I'd sunbathe gradually, but after about an hour in the sun, I turned rather red, and thought I'd wait until my skin recovered before having another dose.
There was quite a strong breeze all the way down the Red Sea – which tilted the boat slightly, but didn't slow us. Apparently the larger "Strathmore" was delayed; she had overtaken us at Port Said, and should have been clear of Aden by the time we arrived, but we had to wait until she was away before we could start oiling.
It was pleasant not to be awakened in the small hours by our arrival at a port. We reached Aden by mid morning, but couldn't get ashore until 3 o'clock. It had a really rocky outline, quite thrilling, but how bare, what a relief to the eye to see the occasional green tree near the buildings. The coast of the Red Sea had been too arid to be at all attractive, gloriously shaped granite peaks, but nothing living in sight, not a single palm tree; no, it didn't attract at all.
We went ashore by tender, and bought our return tickets when we landed. Col. Ellery had organised a couple of taxis, which took us to Crater, the old town about 6 miles away. The driver stopped there, thinking we wanted to shop, but it was the tanks we wanted to see. There was a lovely green oasis amidst the arid country and in the gorge were built the tanks. They only held a little green water in the bottom, but apparently their capacity is millions of gallons. A boy told us that during a rain storm they fill up in about three hours, but I have read that they must have been built when Aden had a wetter climate. Their age is unknown, but they were rediscovered in about 1854 and excavated. They were surrounded by lovely rock, firm and with plenty of holds. I found myself working out possible routes.
And so back to the main town, to shop. I was in the second taxi going back and he wouldn't stop when we had a lovely view of the harbour (he was afraid of losing the first car) and we arrived back in plenty of time for shopping. I walked around a little with Miss Gankroger, but we found everything very expensive. Apparently the money brought by the oil has raised the prices, although Aden is a free port and should be inexpensive. I was able to get a postcard of a windmill for Frank and a little information, and Miss Gankroger was willing to accompany me, so we had a taxi out to the salt pans.
Unfortunately the sun was low and in the wrong direction, but I took a few shots. I had lost all faith in my exposure meter, and I took a few more with a wider range of exposures and then my film ran out, so I went back to the taxi, although I'd have liked to have found better view points. We were short of time, so I changed my film in the car, and then we went up to the gorge to photograph it and also the harbour, but the sun was a little too low for this. We were back on the boat in good time, but the "Corfu" was in no hurry to leave. We sat on deck and watched the light fade, and the lights of Aden appear, before going down to dinner.
The next few days were out of sight of land, across the Arabian Sea. The sea was perfectly calm, but soon we started to record fewer miles for each day's time. It was obvious that we were ahead of schedule, for we'd had such good conditions. The time was flying by now, I didn't get much more than one lesson or Urdu a day and I finished a couple of books. "The Cruel Sea", which I found a little too long and tedious and "Doctor at Sea", which I found a little too slight.
Thursday is Gala night. Dinner was preceded by drinks with the purser. Then dinner itself was beautifully done, and decorated, and afterwards there was a fancy dress parade and dance on 'B' deck.
Once more we arrived in the small hours at about 3 o'clock. It was impossible to sleep on; it was too hot, but also this was Bombay, my port.
Tea came at 6.30, as usual, and then I got up and was just going along for breakfast at 7.15 when a man from the American Express delivered a letter asking me to meet a representative of his firm at the customs. I didn't want to miss breakfast. While I was eating, a call came for me over the Tannoy, but again I didn't let it hurry me. I took my time and went to the dance space on A deck where I found that Mackinson and Mackenzie (M. & M.) had a letter for me. It was from the Commonwealth Relations Office and enclosed a sketch map and note for Mrs. Dunsheath. I told them about the American Express (A.E.), and the A.E. about M. & M. Neither firm seemed very pleased!
Eventually I was ready, had my passport stamped and went ashore. There was no Mr. Wingrove waiting, so I joined my queue at the customs, but before I had got very far, Mr. Sarkar brought along Mr. Wingrove. He also wasn't very pleased when I told him about the A.E., but otherwise he was very kind. He wanted M. & M. to organise things so I agreed, but when M. & M. saw that A.E. were to issue the bond to the customs, they said that A.E. ought to handle the whole thing.
Eventually my baggage form reached a customs man and he wanted to know the value of the camera I had declared. I said £100 for everything, but this didn't seem to suit, and eventually he put down £50.
By this time I was sitting down and people kept coming and going. The A.E. sent a man from the press across, and he wanted to know all the details of the expedition. I eventually left Mr. Sarkar to tell him the latest details while I had to talk to Mr. Wingrove. The latter came and went, brought me a cooling drink of a bottle of Mango juice and eventually decided that my three items of personal baggage should go through first, and we should come back later for the rest.
My baggage was loaded onto a lorry and disappeared in the direction of the Ambassador Hotel, but poor Mr. Wingrove's driver had starter trouble, and eventually we had to take a taxi; we called at Henley House and sent some man to the car, then we called at the garage, and finally I was taken to the Ambassador Hotel, where Mr. Wingrove left me, and said he'd call back at 2.45.
I had taken cigarettes through the customs for Mrs. Maynard, but she had collected them from me. I had also taken currency and cigarettes for Mr. Sarkar and he had told me that he would remain at the Victoria Station until his train in the evening. I thought I had better get rid of them before Mr. Wingrove called again, so I left my bath and fan and took a taxi to the Victoria Station. The driver didn't understand what I wanted, but he asked a friend, and soon found out (my Urdu was no use!).
Downstairs I saw a couple of Indians from the boat and asked them, if they saw Mr. Sarkar to tell him where I was staying. Meanwhile I looked around upstairs, and immediately saw him with another Indian from the boat. They insisted that I lunched with them. We sat at a table which served Western style food, but it was very hot. I explained that I had the permit to change the sterling notes into Indian currency in my name, so they agreed that I'd better do it. We eventually found a bank (Lloyds) and I changed it. How well my passport was inspected just for that.
By this time it was about 2.30, so Mr. Sarkar called a taxi to take me back to the hotel. He also said that he hoped to see me again before his train went. I thought that Mr. Wingrove had other ideas, but I didn't like to say so.
I had time for another very quick bath and was ready for 2.45 when we went to the A.E., but nothing seemed doing; they said they'd have to go through the lists, so we started out on a sight-seeing tour. Firstly to the Gateway of India and then round the bay to Malabar Hill, where we looked out over the whole bay.
Mr. Wingrove was determined that I shouldn't miss anything that India had to show and when a man came up with his two baskets of snakes, he asked him to open them. The first contained a cobra, and the man seemed rather terrified of it. He blew a note or so on his instrument, but that seemed to do no good. I felt he was very relieved when he shut that one up again. Next he got out his harmless snake and set the mongoose on it; the poor snake hadn't a chance! (although it tried to wrap itself around the animal, its head was held firmly in the mongoose's teeth).
Next we passed many maharajah's palaces and finally left the city itself and went through exclusively Indian parts, bazaar areas, and other dwellings consisting of little huts. More shelter than you'll have in your tent was Mr. Wingrove's comment, but I hoped our tents would be more waterproof than these shacks looked. I can't imagine what they do in the monsoon.
Soon the ground became more hilly, and we entered the government milk station; we went up to an observation point first of all, and then up to a restaurant for milk shakes. I had been warned never to drink milk in India, so this was a very pleasant surprise. Next we went on to the reservoir which forms the bulk of the water supply for Bombay. What a lovely setting among the hills, dotted with the exotic palm trees.
We weren't lucky enough to see any crocodiles, and went on to the smaller lake, which is supposed to be well stocked with fish. In the car once more, we went north until we crossed the bridge, leaving Bombay Island and went on a little way along the Poona road. There were some lovely shaped little hills with real cliffs, but it would never occur to me to want to climb them in the heat. In the distance we could see the higher hills Poona way.
And then back after dark, the Indian parts were thronged with people, with no road sense whatsoever, but we managed to avoid them all. Back in Bombay, we stopped for a green coconut. We drank the juice first, then the boy loosened the nut part, which we ate. I hadn't known what to expect and my first reaction was that it was a little tasteless, but afterwards I agreed that it was very refreshing. Then up Malabar Hill again, for the lights of Bombay and a stroll through the gardens, where there were queer topiary animals, and so back to the Ambassador Hotel.
Even with the windscreen open and a gale blowing through, it had seemed no cooler for the air was so hot. Back at the hotel I didn't bother about dinner, but went straight to bed, to try to catch up on the sleep lost on my last night on the "Corfu".
Mr. Wingrove called in the morning and we visited the A.E. again and found that they'd done nothing with our lists, were still pointing out the difficulties and that was all. Next we visited Mr. Parr at the High Commissioners and he promised to do what he could. He tried to ring up a Mr. Pushkarna at the Customs, but couldn't get hold of him, so spoke to a Mr. Badlani instead, and promised to see him in the afternoon. Meanwhile, Mr. Wingrove started to go round to get things valued. A visit to a chemist for the value of the medical stores, then to an optical instrument shop for the surveying instruments, and finally to Kodak. The Indians had been quite helpful, but we saw an Englishman at Kodak, and the English are certainly in a class by themselves, as far as being calm and helpful is concerned. He promised to find out the price we had paid for it in England and give us a ring.
In the afternoon we picked up Mr. Parr and went to the Customs and saw Badlani. He seemed very calm and not at all the dragon A.E. had made out, and he quite agreed with Mr. Parr that we could cut down the value of the medical supplies and Badlani agreed to be helpful over the other things. Mr. Parr looked so cool and English, coming straight out of his air conditioned building, and I'm sure he must have been a great help. He gave full marks to the Scottish women who had everything so well organised, and got through with no trouble at all.
Next we went back to Mr. Wingrove's office and settled down to about 6 hours work. He firstly warned his head typist and a boy with an adding machine that on no account were they to go, until they had permission. I didn't realise quite how long they'd be kept.
We went through each item in the invoice list, and counted them up in the packing list; they were mostly correct, but then we had to go through the packing list and add up the things not on the invoice (we added another £20 to the value of the food). Then we cut out the other consumable goods and priced them, and finally we priced all the gear for which the bond would be required. It was like some ridiculous party game, looking through the lists and seeing who could be the first to spot the things, and then we had the boy in to work out the sums. I felt it was like an exam for him, working out improbable problems, which no-one would ever come across in real life! It went on and on, and at times I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at it all.
By 9 o'clock everything was added up and summarised, and we were ready to go, and Mr. Wingrove suggested a visit to a Chinese restaurant. This was lovely, what a contrast to the powdered soups and corned beef which had kept coming up in the lists. It was delicious, so different, and nothing was hot (I didn't add chilli sauce). We had asparagus and crabmeat soup, followed by sweet and sour pork (why isn't this sort of thing more common?) also chicken rolls and something with egg and fried rice.
We seemed to leave half of everything for Mr. Wingrove had even less of an appetite than I had; it was such a shame to waste the excellent food.
After a little run round suburbs I hadn't seen before, I was back by about 11 o'clock, but I'd
had about a week's ration of sleep the night before.
Once more we went to the A.E. and they promised to get the bond ready and eventually I signed it and it was taken to the Manager for his signature. Mr. Wingrove thought that, in case I should run short of money, it might be an idea to get the A.E. to pay the customs etc. as they had been asked to guarantee a bond up to £400 and we were only asking for £150, but the manager wouldn't do a thing, said he'd have to get permission from London first. He was a hard-headed Yank personified. I can't imagine why the Indians wanted to get rid of the British, they stand out a mile from all other nationalities.
We saw the customs again and they told us to come back at 10.15 the next morning, when they'd see to our case, but later Mr. Wingrove found out that Thursday was a Hindu holiday, and everything was put back a day. At the A.E. we tried to get a ticket, found there were no air conditioned reservations on the Western line, but managed to get one on the slower more expensive Central line. We also visited the Eastern bank twice; firstly to see if my money had come and then, when we'd added up my probable expenses, we went back to draw out the whole amount.
In the afternoon we went firstly to the Natural History Museum. I soon found I was with an expert, who could tell me just what I was likely to see. How I wished I knew more about the subject; I expect I'd find it even more interesting when I came back. We went straight on to the zoo and fed birds and deer with peanuts and grass.
After this we went for a ride round, going round the Burma Shell oil refinery with its conspicuous torch. On the way back we stopped for a meal at a little restaurant, and had an Indian dish of rice and chicken, which wasn't curry, and wasn't too hot. Previously I had had a drink of sugar cane juice. I seemed to be doing all the things I'd been warned not to, drinking things from little Indian huts, but Mr. Wingrove assured me that he stood over them and watched how they prepared it.
Another stop by the coast and a ride up Malabar Hill, and so back at about 11.30.
This was a holiday so Mr. Wingrove called at about 9 o'clock and we went out to see the beaches. We went along the road I had seen before in the dark, round Calabar district, where they're reclaiming the land, and then away from the city, past the creek with its strong smell of sewage and so on to the creek where the original Portuguese settlements were made. There was a lovely Flame of the Forest Tree, but it wasn't situated in a position to photograph the creek with it, so I left it hoping for a better situated one, and there wasn't one. The road went up and down and returned to the creek where there were some salt flats and huge piles of salt.
I photographed a couple of palm trees, the first a date palm with birds nests hanging from it and the second one, further on, a coconut palm with a boy climbing, which I tried to photograph. We saw parts of Pharvi Beach; at the second beach the children ran up to us offering rum, gin, whisky – they didn't know how close we were to the customs men! We had orangeade from a shack and Mr. Wingrove tried some Indian gin they offered. I hadn't the courage to take more than a sip. I was afraid it might be denatured.
We went on to another beach, nearer Bombay and where there were more people. Mr. Wingrove seemed to know the restaurant there, and ordered a meal. It was about 3 o'clock and I thought I didn't fancy food at all, but I enjoyed it, surprisingly, when it came. There was fish and chips, pomfret the fish, then came pork vindaloo. I'm sure it was very good, but a little too hot for my taste. At my suggestion we finished with tea.
Back in Bombay we returned to the office and Mr. Wingrove wrote to Mr. Singh in Delhi telling him that I hoped to arrive on the 22nd and depart on the 25th . He also wrote to the Kulu Valley transport, to get transport for me from Pathankot to Menali, and so back to the Ambassador in good time.
This was the great day, when we were to get sorted out with the Customs. We arrived in good time and actually met Pushkarna, but he wasn't very helpful. He saw our valuation of the food and said it was too low. How could we say that Badlani had agreed to our cutting it down! Badlani wasn't about as there was another ship in. When Mr. Wingrove mentioned Badlani, Pushkarna only said that it wasn't his work – we were in the soup if those two didn't get on together! Next, Pushkarna saw the Bond which the A.E. had drawn up and said that it was useless. It was on 1 rupee paper and they'd been told to make it on 15 rupee paper.
We had our orders to come again in the afternoon, when two or three of the packages would be opened. He was much grimmer than Badlani, but didn't seem too bad. He wrote down all details about me, even as to the district to which I was going. He also noted that I had a train reservation for Saturday night.
In the afternoon still another man appeared to see the opened cases; he was very pleasant and agreed to open the ones we said, the one of surveying instruments and the two chop boxes. He'd had his orders to open one containing food, and fortunately lemonade crystals had been put with the air beds and he was satisfied with that. I suppose he saw that the lists in the cases corresponded to our lists; the cases were screwed up and we went upstairs to the desks, while the man worked out the exact tax on every food item. They could have changed the maximum amount (66%) on it all, but instead they went through a list of about 30 items, working each one separately.
Mr. Wingrove had the lists we'd made on Tuesday night, and they saved a lot of time, but the customs man worked each amount out himself, didn't let himself be talked down by Mr. Wingrove.
It was so funny; the A.E. had painted them as being so inhuman and here they were, offering me tea and doing all they could to make the amount as small as possible. By the time all was ready it was about 4 o'clock. The cashier had gone, and we were told to return the next morning.
I had a short stroll along marine drive to take a photo, but the light was in the wrong place. Mr. Wingrove called in good time and we were at the Customs punctually at 10.15. After about half an hour, the customs officers turned up, and eventually I handed over the money. While we were waiting, Badlani told us that he had told the A.E. man just what to write for the bond, but after an hour and a half he had made scarcely any progress. What he had written the typist couldn't read, so the A.E. had to send another man down to write it out.
Eventually when we thought that the place would soon be closing for lunch, we got our receipt, and the .A.E. carted away the things, promising to meet us at the station at about 3 o'clock.
Next I called at Mackinson and Mackenzie, while Mr. Wingrove made a few calls. I filled in a form for a ship home in late July, suggesting the Himalaya on the 25th, but the lady said that everything was booked until October. However, she said she'd bear me in mind for a cancellation. She said that if I were offered a berth I'd have to accept it straight away, so I gave her Mr. Wingrove's address, and told her to contact him instead of me.
Mr. Wingrove was soon back and took me to his office for a final briefing and then he had the outer door locked and we drank to the expedition in Scotch!
Back at the Ambassador I found that there was no-one in my room so I had a quick bath, and then paid my bill, talked myself into a free lunch, and had nearly finished it by the time Mr. Wingrove arrived at 2.45. Henley's lorry hadn't arrived, so the cases were put in the car and taken to the station, where they were put with packets 5, 10 and 15, which were also to go into my air conditioned coach.
We saw my case and packet 15 into my compartment, where Mr. Wingrove seemed to take a dislike to Mrs. Randolph, then we found that the other 12 pieces of luggage were in the van in the front of the train, and so we were able to pay off the A.E. men and wait for 4.15. We went up to the engine to see if Mr. Wingrove knew the driver (he didn't), but all the same he said he'd travel out the first 35 miles with me. He wouldn't buy a ticket because he wouldn't be allowed to travel on my train unless he was coming 130 miles. He spoke to my car's attendant, and said that I'd need two blankets and then we got into the restaurant car for afternoon tea.
Mr. Wingrove was a little shocked when two ticket collectors also got in the coach, but they didn't bother about him. I was rather sorry that the train made several stops, for that seemed to me to take away all his excuses. We crossed over to the mainland from Bombay Island, went through the terminal and then very shortly we came to Mr. Wingrove's stop where they announced a train back for him in about ten minutes.
Back in my wonderful air-conditioned compartment, I found that Mrs. Randolph wasn't at all bad, she was from California, but had been to most places (Japan, South Africa, South America, Mexico). At the moment her husband was working in the Persian Gulf and he had booked this tour for her. She was having a day or so at Agra before going on to Delhi.
She was having her meals brought in for her, so I had the same. The snag was that the food got rather cold. There was no connection between the dining car and the air-conditioned coach and they had to wait until a stop at a station before the trays could be brought along.
It was interesting as the train wound its way up among the hills, some of them of lovely shape, but soon the country became flat again. I had expected to go through the lush plains of India, but instead the ground was dry and brown. I expect I'll notice the difference when I return after the monsoon.
By about 9 o'clock I was having difficulty keeping my eyes open, so we called the boys in to make the beds. They brought three blankets and insisted on giving me two, as Mr. Wingrove had said, despite the fact that I said one was plenty. I soon found that one was too much and just used the sheet. They were lovely bright blue blankets edged with ribbon.
We were up in good time, and didn't bother with morning tea, but had breakfast at about 8 o'clock. The day passed very quickly, although there wasn't really a great deal to see, a few animals, making towards any water, the odd bird or so, animals trampling the corn to thresh it (a common sight). Then in the afternoon it became quite hazy with dust. The ground was most peculiar, sandy and cut into deep ravines. I'd have called it completely arid, had there not been a considerable number of bushes growing on it.
Paddy fields waiting for the water were a common sight. The day wasn't completely wasted as far as I was concerned; I got out the blouse I had been making at home, and was going to finish on the boat, and I got on with that as far as the last half button hole, but after lunch the motion of the train was too much, I became very drowsy and put it down.
Mrs. Randolph and I exchanged addresses and she got down at Agra. I was glad to see that the man from Lowries Hotel met her, for she was travelling Cooks, and her impression of the English travel agency was similar to mine of the American one (only I felt she didn't really have so much cause). Her only real complaint seemed to be that occasionally the porters reached her before the couriers!
Soon after Agra, we stopped again and I was about to put my things together when the boy came along to clear up and I found two more people coming in, an American lady and an Indian. They started speaking to me and at once mentioned an expedition. I suppose they must have seen my luggage. Immediately the lady moved over so that the man could sit next to me and talk to me. They were introduced to me as though I ought to know them. Mr. Rakil had lost some toes apparently. He had climbed with Swiss and Americans, and we very keen on Indians taking up climbing themselves. He knew of my party, knew that we had an Everest grant, but could give me no news of Joyce and Hilda.
They alighted at New Delhi, while I went on to Delhi Junction. I got out at Delhi Junction and in no time a great Sikh was coming my way and the queries "Mr. Singh?" and "Miss Gregory?" coincided. He soon had everything organised, but what a change from Mr. Wingrove. In Bombay I'd learned to use the car, even to go a few yards up the road, and now I found Mr. Singh running up the steps two at a time! We went over to the left luggage office, then came back for the 12 pieces from the van, only to hear that there would be a delay of half an hour, so Mr. Singh decided to leave it until the morning.
My trunk and no. 10 were put in the left luggage and my two smaller cases and nos. 5 and 15 were brought along to the hotel. The second case wasn't locked and so they wouldn't accept it.
I had been warned by my friend in the train that the Cecil was the nicest hotel in India, more like a country club than an hotel, but I was a little horrified by its size.
The bedrooms are separate; once more I found I had my own bath (couldn't do without it), but the fan had been off and it was very hot. It was 2 or 3 hours before I went to bed, but my bed seemed unbearably hot.
Mr. Singh was so disappointed that I hadn't come a day earlier, so that I could have seen Agra on the Sunday. He explained that he wasn't in Mr. Wingrove's position of being able to leave his office to several competent men, but In Delhi, with Mr. Paniket away, he had to be there during working hours, so suggested that I should see Delhi in the cooler hours of the morning and evening. Tea was brought me at 6.30 and at 7 o'clock Mr. Singh arrived, and we drove to Raj Ghat (Ghandi's cremation place).
To go to the shrine, we had to remove our shoes and Mr. Singh said that people were impressed that I should do the same. The lovely lawns round it were laid out quite symmetrically, in the shape of a square. They're fond of that in Delhi I found. We had driven past old Delhi – with a considerable amount of wall standing, on to New Delhi, seeing the Janter Mantour on the way. This is an old observatory, built in the 18th century to study astronomy, using these great buildings instead of little instruments.
Then we went on to India Gate, seeing the statue of George V. Then the gate which is a memorial to the first war. It had carved on it the names of all the troops which had served in that war. Then up a magnificent way to the Central Secretariat, again quite symmetrical on each side of the road, with the President's residence behind (Rashderi Bhawani?). Then we drove round the seat of the Government – quite round and housing the houses of lords and commons, all about 40 years old.
Then, at the driver's suggestion, we went out to see the tomb of Hamayan, the second Moghul emperor. It was erected by his wife in 1565, about 10 years after his death. Before going out to the tomb we had seen the Birla Temple, built in 1938. Odd, was the only way I could describe it; we took off our shoes and went into a little side chapel, where Mr. Singh pointed out the significance of the paintings, of Buddha's early life. He had been shut away from the world in his father's palace and, when he first went out into the world, it was a shock to find men blind, crippled, and then to see that men died. There was another one with him leaving his wife and family.
We called in the railway station after a visit to Henley's Delhi and found that we needn't move the stores to the left luggage, and then I was taken back to the Cecil for a bath before lunch and an afternoon letter writing.
The car came punctually at 5 o'clock and the driver took me to Mr. Singh's office. The poor man was still hard at work, and had to continue for a few minutes, for he has to do a double quantity of work, besides taking me around.
We went first to a picnic place on the Janna River, a few miles out; the water was very low, but a dam diverting some to a canal, increased the amount visible. There were quite a number of monkeys about, but we didn't get very near. On the way we had passed the Secretariat buildings for me to get a photo looking down to India Gate, the light was in the right direction this time of day, but the view was far less effective.
Then we went to Connaught Square, through which we had passed in the morning. It has a glorious garden in the centre, and around is the colonnade of shops. We walked all the way round, but only glimpsed the shops in passing. The whole place was thronged at this time of night. Then Mr. Singh suggested a cold drink, so we went into a beautifully air-conditioned restaurant where I had a pineapple juice, followed by a mixed fruit sundae (Switzerland couldn't have bettered it!). Then back to the hotel by a devious route, past Henley's to see their neon sign, past the rostrum which was put up for Mr. Bulganin's visit (someone was talking from it as we passed) and apparently later Mr. Nehru addressed the crowds, with the aid of loud speakers his voice reached all the crowds on the green.
Then the car fought its way through Chandra Choh in old Delhi where the crowds were thicker than ever, and a vehicle simply had to hoot its way through.
Before dinner I had a peculiar visitor. "So you don't like Indian people" was the telling phrase he used.
Mr. Singh was a little late, apparently Mrs. Paniket needed the car early, but there was plenty of time for our visit. We went out to Delhi's most famous monument, Qutb Minar, a tower over 200 ft. high. First we went to a little dome, on the ground, apparently it was once the top of the tower, but has been brought down. There were other ruins around; for instance the South Gateway, built by Alai-Darwaza in 1311. He was the second king of the Khilji dynasty. There was the most intricate carving on all the stones.
Then on to Qutb Minar; it was begun in 1202 by Qutbaddin Aibal, the first Sultan of Delhi, who built the lowest storey. It was finished in 1210-35 and repairs and alterations to the uppermost two stories were made in 1351-1386.
The man who finished it also tried to build his own, but didn't get it very high. Mr. Singh said we must go up the tower, and I was afraid he meant only the first storey to the lowest balcony, but not a bit of it. He tells me he always goes to the top. I think he had a reasonable amount of sympathy with this mountaineering. He tells me that once, when he was in Kashmir, he went up to 16,000 ft.
The longest stretch was up the first stage, then we came out onto the balcony, with its horribly inadequate rail (they didn't let solitary people up, for fear of suicides!). A few photos, a walk around to see the view in all directions and then up the next storey, and then the next, and so on. The stories gradually got narrower, until we were on the top, with its light to warn aircraft. There were the marks on the stones where the pillars had stood. We admired the view in all directions, over to Delhi, 11 miles away, over various old semi-ruined places.
Then down and round to view a much older relic, Chandra's Pole erected in the 4th century. It was of iron and had a most peculiar inscription on it.
On the way back to Delhi we stopped at the Kashmeri arts centre. There seems no branch of the arts at which the Kashmiris don't excel, wool, silk, creating embroidery, furs, leather, ivory, ebony, silverware, wood carving, the setting of stones, the enamelling of papier maché and so on. In the evening we went to the bridge across the river and then to New Delhi.
We stopped in Connaught Square where I enquired about the advisability of getting some silica gel for my films; they told me not to worry until the monsoon, and I also noted the Central Bank of India. We walked once around Connaught Square and so back to the Cecil for dinner and an early night again.
Mr. Singh was in good time; I was still in my room. We went first to the railway station to get the goods booked for Parthonkot express. I couldn't understand why they wanted to get everything on two trolleys; I didn't realise that they had to pay for the use of the trolleys. It was a terrible shambles, and they gave the very heaviest work to the oldest man. There were one or two little quarrels, but that was quite understandable when the men were straining themselves to their limit. Eventually everything was weighed, stacked and labelled.
Then came the paying of the porters. Mr. Singh offered them 2 rupees, there was nearly a riot, so he offered 3. They wouldn't accept that either, so we waited quite a while and then tried 3/8 which was accepted. I could well believe Mr. Singh when he said that they wouldn't have accepted 10/- from me. How glad I was of him. Then we went straight on to the Red Fort, built in 1631 (?) and, to save a lot of time, we had guides to show us round.
Inside the outer walls we came to another gateway and then on to the House of Commons, with the king's throne raised above the multitudes. The dais for the throne was of white marble. Then on to the House of Lords, where the king's throne was only just raised off the ground. There were some wonderful white marble buildings – a little mosque which was their private chapel. Lots of the marble was inlaid with colours, but some of the pieces were missing. Apparently the place suffered rather in the mutiny.
Next we went on to exotic marble places, one where scent came through the fountains and the ladies' clothes were hung from the ceiling above the scent. There were various fountains, the king's bath, queen's bath etc., then a place for heating the water in colder weather. Through it all flowed a canal, which brought water from some distance.
Then we came to the place of the dancing girls, where mirrors in the inlaid work were to reflect the light – our guide showed us how even a match was reflected. And so, on to the museum where a man appointed himself our guide, and showed us round; it saved a lot of time.
Then back to the office for the usual coca cola and then the driver took me to the Central Bank of India, near Connaught Square. This branch knew nothing of my £100, but rang up the main branch in Chandri Choh in Old Delhi and told me to call there. We went back and collected Mr. Singh and went to the bank. Chandra Choh is nearly as crowded in the daytime as it is at night.
I was expected, and we went upstairs to the foreign room, where I signed a letter asking them to look after it. I also signed a receipt for the money. It seemed to me that they only had to lose my letter and there was no evidence that they hadn't paid the money. I felt that I ought to be given an acknowledgement, but Mr. Singh seemed satisfied, and it was a lot simpler than the New Delhi branch had suggested, that I'd have to go to Amritsar, the position of their nearest branch to Manali.
They said that they could send me the money to Manali; they could sent it back to England for me, or I could collect it in Delhi – or is it all too simple?
I passed the day about the hotel, as usual, then packed and went to the terrace for afternoon tea. I was having to tell the waiter a second time my room number, when the English lady employed at the hotel shouted it across, so I joined her for tea. We talked a little about ourselves and, when she heard where I was going, she called Mrs. Hotz across. Mrs. Hotz was most helpful, but made me feel I hadn't a clue.
She said she'd give me a letter to Major Banon, and a couple of jars of adrenaline rub, and also a letter to a Mr. Irwana, a Parsee hunter who was in the district and could give me information about the various nullahs (she said that Henry was beyond much active exercise and warned me not to be surprised at his two wives – a local custom). She told me to send a wire to the Dak Bungalow at Nalbak and to insist that the bus took me there, she also said she'd give me emergency rations for the journey.
I was beginning to get rather worried; there was Mr. Singh nearly wringing his hands and saying "If only I knew someone to meet you in Pathankot". He and Mr. Wingrove had taken so much trouble to check and recheck everything that it didn't seem possible I could cope on my own, and now here was Mrs. Hotz, who had everything in her favour (charm, local knowledge, language etc.) and it was as much as even she could do to get there. However, there was no turning back now, I had to go on.
Mr. Singh called for me at 6 o'clock and took me for a drive round until 7 o'clock when he brought me back to pay my bill and get my things to the entrance. I had one last bath and then came down to the office where Mrs. Hotz found me and gave me the things she'd promised, even a thermos of iced water.
About 7.45 we were away, had the things weighed and put in my compartment; we counted the other things in the van, and then we said good-bye. Later on, Miss Ruth Nelson of Philadelphia claimed her berth. She was so typically American that she seemed a caricature of her race, but she was good company. She had been staying at the Cecil, but had then gone on to Agra and had just come back. They brought us dinner from the station restaurant and then, soon after the train started at 9.05, we settled down for a very good night's sleep.
We got up at about 6.30, but the view didn't become interesting. Morning tea was brought to me at about 7 o'clock and at about 8 o'clock we reached Pathankot, a place of no interest, now the dreadful moment had come. I had to cope. There was nothing to it at all they saw that there were 6 packages in the compartment, and they seemed to understand that there were 12 more in the van. I pointed them all out; they also understood "Kulu Valley transport" and said they'd take them there. Meanwhile, I made my way to the bus office and found there a kind man who spoke excellent English. He had the letter from Major Banon, but not my letter, posted on the 19th! I began to realise what communications would be like in this part of the world. He said that I could go by bus or car. I mentioned the truck to take my luggage and he said I couldn't travel on that, that most of my things could go on the bus with me, but the 4 crates of food would have to follow in a day or so.
Everything seemed straightforward, so the man told me to get some breakfast in the place opposite. There wasn't room for my luggage on the 9 o'clock bus, so I'd have to wait for the 12.30, which didn't reach Manali until 9 p.m. That's all right I said, little dreaming that it'd be 11 o'clock before we arrived, nor knowing how I'd feel by that time!
After breakfast I wrote a letter home, warning that communications would be bad from now on and then I joined my American friend. She had found some fellow country people, also bound for Kashmir and they were all anxiously awaiting news of the flights, for there had been no planes for three days.
When I left her, she was temporarily booking a place in a car; she had no bedroll with her, but some of the others said they could help her, for it is two days' ride. At about 12 o'clock we went in for lunch; once more this consisted of toast and omelette and tea. I had just finished when I was called across to my bus, for I had still to pay, and at my request the seat next to the driver had been reserved for me. I didn't notice the driver as much at first, it was the bright little conductor who took my eye. I was soon to learn why they need a conductor on such a small bus, and I soon learned that the driver was in a class above his assistants.
What particularly amused me was the two-way sounding bell the conductor used to sound, when he could so easily have spoken to the driver. It was thrilling to be starting, leaving all other Europeans, and the two girls with the nose ornaments and earrings on the bus intrigued me. How glad I wasn't for the tourist centre of Kashmir.
At first I was very intrigued by the camels and I wondered whether I should manage to get a photograph, but no such luck. Then we started to mount up and the road got a little more interesting, but my only thought was that I'd had far more excitement in the Alps. The bus had seemed rather ramshackle to me, so I wasn't surprised when it stopped, and the conductor had the bonnet up, and I found that, as a cooling aid, duct moss was packed around the engine; there were also a couple of cans for collecting water for the radiator.
At a later point, we filled up with petrol. The two men in the seat behind me had to get out and the tank was filled from there. There was no cap to the tube, only a rag stuffed in the pipe, and on top of that were sitting three men, smoking. A little later the bus wouldn't start; they tried all the dodges, the starter, the handle, running backwards, but all to no avail, so a piece of rubber tubing was produced to procure petrol from the tank. The driver fiddled with the engine, while the conductor and a helper he'd acquired, sucked at the tube, all to no avail. The driver was a little triumphant when he got the siphon working first go and that seemed to help the engine for we continued our journey.
We stopped once at a café; I thought the little conductor said to me "drink", but then thought I must have misunderstood him; however, too late I found that they were mostly in drinking tea. It was after this that he said to me "Why did you not drink tea?" and then several of the others brought out a few phrases of English. The driver didn't seem to speak it, yet it was at the next stop that he invited me into tea.
He didn't even sit with me, yet kept the whole bus waiting while the water was heated up to make the tea, and the tea became cool enough to drink, and then at the end he insisted on paying – what a nice gesture I thought.
We went on and on, the halts became fewer, and then it began to get dark; the little conductor had warned me that it would be 10 o'clock before we reached Manali, but 10 o'clock came and went. Then I could see lights ahead right down the valley and I thought it must be Manali. Then we came to a chain across the road and a book was taken out for inspection, then the chain was lowered and we were allowed to proceed. I opened my eyes just in time to see the narrow archway to the bridge and then we were in Manali, where the bus emptied. No-one spoke to me, but I was left in the bus and taken up to the bungalow, where I seemed to be expected. I was disappointed to find that it would a different bus in the morning, and all my stuff had to be unloaded – at 11 o'clock at night. It was taken into my room, so I carefully locked all the doors and windows. The man offered me supper and I agreed to an omelette, although he said he had bread to go with it, but it was the tea I really wanted. As I had shut the windows, I had to turn on the fan, even so I was a little too hot in my Daley bag.
The bus came soon after 7.30, a Himalchal transport this time, and they soon had all my luggage on the roof (for 2/-). There was a long halt in the village, where I had to pay the 2/- for the ride down from the bungalow and at about 8.30 we started. Soon there was another chain across the road, and a man came down to inspect the bus; the play in the steering wheel, the play in the foot brake, whether the two hooters and the conductors bell worked. It was all too superficial and I wondered whether they were only doing it to harrow their passengers. The need for supervision soon became obvious, the surface of this track had never pretended to be tarmac, and it was very rough. Then we started along the side of the gorge, absolutely vertical, with the road winding in and out, the driver going much too fast. At times, parts of the edge of the road had slipped down and what remained didn't seem wide enough.
I longed to ask the driver to stop for a photograph, but I felt he had enough worries on his mind without that, so I kept silent. Then there was the bridge; we waited for a while until a man with a red turban beckoned us on. As we came closer, I could read the notice on his back (in English). "This man is ordered to walk in front to enforce the 4 m.p.h. space limit", just in case I doubted the strength of the bridge.
We had a longish halt at a village and then on again, but this time in Kulu, for there was the notice "Kulu Valley welcomes you". The road was still exciting from its position and later it became exciting because of its surface. At one point I thought the driver had gone haywire, for he seemed to be steering us over the edge. Then I realised that he was meaning to do this, that the stones on the road indicated that it was closed and that we had to go down a steep bank and across the fields to rejoin the road after the obstructions.
At many places men were working on the 'road' and, although there was one way traffic, at times we were inconvenienced by lorries parked at awkward places. There were several more diversions, for one we drove across the stones by the side of the river.
We had a longish halt at Sultanpur and I felt I should be looking around, but I was already quite drowsy from the travelling and couldn't be bothered. I think it was here that the little girl couldn't take her eyes off me, so her father apologised and said that she'd never seen a memsahib before.
Then on up the valley; I was looking for orderly plantations of fruit trees, but the place seemed very natural, with magnificent groves, firstly of deciduous trees, and then of deodars.
Then we reached Manali Village. I had seen nothing which could be Major Banon's place, so I sat on, which I think worried the driver, who spoke no English. He procured an interpreter, and then told me it would cost 2/- to go to Major Banon's and he enquired his way there. At "Sunshine Orchard" there was much sounding of the horn, and men appeared followed by the Major. We left the luggage while he showed me my room and I had a wash, followed by lunch. After about 15 minutes, the Major asked me how many packages there were. He had kept the bus until I confirmed that there should be 14. He didn't seem worried about the 4 left behind. I had a late lunch at about 3 o'clock and then, to my amazement, I found myself starting to walk uphill for the sheer joy of it.
I should have had more faith in this mountain air; I had so little energy on the boat and then at Bombay and Delhi, that I began to think that the last thing I wanted to do was to climb a mountain, and I'd almost have backed out of the whole thing, had that been possible, but now I felt like a new person. I soon came to the terraced fields; who said Kulu were lazy, it wasn't a lazy people who built such fields; to me it seemed the work of a typical thrifty mountain people.
Back for afternoon tea, and then the Major looked out a few maps for me the ½" was stuck to a board and terribly worn; he also handed over four 4" maps, but they were in rolls, terribly worn (although on canvas) and only one was of a nearby district. This was useful, for I soon noticed Madan Kot, an 11,000 ft. peak, which seemed to be possible in a day from Manali. Major Banon said it was a morning's stroll, but told me not to do it for a day or so.
I had had a good wash when I arrived, but at 7 o'clock there was a tap on my door and I was told that my bath was ready. I went through to my bathroom and found that a large zinc bath was half full of hot water – it was too hot!. After this I thought I'd better change my dress and put on my red one and went down to dinner, which turned out to be a solitary meal. The little man with a hat made such a ceremony of waiting on me. I was right up the other end of the room, at the long table; he'd walk up and past me to hand me everything from the left. He'd come in and put down my plate, go out and bring me the food to which I'd help myself. He'd come back to offer a second helping, then he'd come back to remove my plate, back again with a fresh plate etc. I went to bed soon after that.
Tea came at 7 o'clock and I got up soon afterwards and breakfasted at 8.30. The Major, the little boy etc. were going to Sultanpur for the day, and I was left to my own devices. I found the list of the kit, and we soon had a bale undone, and, at the top of the second kit bag we tried, were my old boots. Then I felt well equipped for exploring the neighbourhood.
That morning I went down to the village to buy a stamp, then went up to the Manali and crossed that, and spent a lot of time photographing the little watermills, going back for my tripod for interiors etc. I could hardly resist photographing every woman I saw; they are so minute, carry such enormous loads, and are always so cheerful and unselfconscious. I also took several of the flock of sheep and goats on the bridge.
In the afternoon I went up past the temple and continued on up. At first there was a path, then that seemed to peter out, and I was on a water channel, but this had been very well constructed, and I followed it up and up. Apart from a few views across the Manali, there wasn't much to see, apart from these glorious trees, and I knew from the distant view of the hillside that I wasn't likely to get above the trees, but I continued on up for the sheer joy of it and I found that there were exciting flowers up here. I was glad of my boots for, at one point, an avalanche had destroyed the leat and the going was rough.
It was after 4 o'clock and I knew I ought to return, but couldn't bring myself to do it, until I came to a craggy place, where a wooden trough bridged a gap above a 50 ft cliff. I stamped on the trough and it seemed quite firm and would have made a safe crossing place, I'm sure, but I was alone, and wasn't very keen; also it gave me the excuse to turn back. I was soon down and was determined that Madan Kot should 'go' the next morning, so I asked for my tea to be brought at 6 o'clock and some breakfast with it.
Major Banon was about at 6.30 when I came down and he suggested I should take some sandwiches, but I said I wasn't interested. I wondered whether I should regret not taking any water, but I decided to take only my camera and accessories, with some sweets and biscuits. I didn't take the map, as it was so awkward, and also as it marked a path, all the way up. I was to regret that. I knew I was to follow the east ridge, but which was the true east ridge? At the end of Manali Village (much bigger than I expected, 600 people according to the Major), I continued straight up, but wasn't really on a path; however, that joined me from the right, fairly soon, and took a leisurely way, zigzagging to and fro - it was all too easy.
Next there was a turn to the left, and from the end of that a level track led back to the right. This track almost lost a little height, so I wasn't too happy, and then at the right end it petered out. There was a clearing in front, but no sign of a track and, thinking I had to go up the ridge, I cut diagonally back to the left, sometimes having to go through the undergrowth, which slowed me considerably.
On the ridge I found the posts of a fence and a cairn or so, but no path; however, I continued up and later a path developed from nowhere. Then there were some rocks and a very well defined path led down to the left, round the bottom of them, and then lost itself in a glade. A little higher I saw a path traversing the glade, so I followed it across, and slightly up, but at the far side I lost all trace of it among the huge felled trees. They looked as though they'd been down for some time, yet no-one had tried to move them.
I then tried to go up, climbing over the enormous trunks, but too soon I was stopped by vertical rocks. I peered round to the left, but it seemed very steep that way, so I descended a bit until I could get into the glade, and I forced myself to zigzag to and fro up this. Forced is the word, for it was hot and steep; yet in a way it was a delight, for there were purple irises in flower and at times I could hardly avoid putting my feet on the leaves of bulbs. Eventually I reached the crest of the east ridge and followed that up, sometimes going over the trees to the south, and sometimes kicking steps up the snow to the north.
I had been surprised to find extensive snow slopes on this side. Then the trees seemed to be thinning (no, it couldn't be, not already) and I cautiously contoured round, but at last, when I could see over, I found that I was on the summit plateau. It was 10.50; I had been slow and I was pleased to place my cameras on the cairn, but I didn't need to sit down. I wandered round looking at the view and coming back to the cairn for more biscuits for I had started spreading them with snow, and tasty they were like that.
My first Himalayan view, and what a view, all around the most superb peaks, mostly virgin and also mostly climbable. I was at the top of the tree line, and could see over the wooded slopes which rather blocked the view from the valley.
The Robtang rather interested me, but there seemed a lot of snow that way and I couldn't make out the exact line of the pass. The Nanuta Pass of course was hidden behind a hill. I greatly regretted not having a map, for I didn't even know which was Deo Tibba. I spent about 20 minutes wandering around, completely overwhelmed by it all. My greatest disappointment was in finding that there was no other bit of this height; there was a snow peak across the Manali, but it seemed to me to be too high to be done from Manali in a day.
I looked down in all directions and found that there was no path up, which I had missed. I had intended to descend by the way I had come up and began carefully following my steps in the snow, but these glorious snow slopes to the north were too much of a temptation and I decided they'd make an easy way down. They did too, although I'd hoped to come out in the glade I had seen in the morning, but I was much too far round for that and there were no paths in my direction. I had to continue straight down towards the village until I struck a path running south, then to my horror it started going uphill. I followed it for a little way, but then struck diagonally down through the undergrowth until I reached the easy ground above Manali. I was half an hour late for lunch.
I rested on my laurels for the afternoon, then after tea decided to go to the village bazaar to buy soap. I walked down, looking for a likely shop and then back again, when I saw two Europeans whom I assumed to be the Swiss missionary couple. I went up to them, but they got their say in first, "Miss Gregory I presume?". "How did you know that?" was my reply. "We read it in the paper" – they knew all the details too, that Frances was soon coming from Africa. They waited while I bought my soap, and then I accompanied them for their stroll through the woods. When they heard that I had been up Madan Kot alone, they were horrified – and hadn't I even got a stick in case of bears? I could only think that where ignorance is bliss …..
On Saturday I realised that I had taken about 50 exposures on one film, so decided to investigate and found that it hadn't caught on the take-up spool, so I went round the village again, retaking quite a number; also those of the watermills. Then I came to the time exposure of the little wheel, took my camera out of the case and, oh horror, the bottom fell off. Was there ever such a nitwit! However, the film still in the cassette would be all right, so I wound on and took the interiors, and also one or two more of the group of mills.
In the afternoon I made my way up to Manali village, taking people and houses, until I had run out of film. I returned to "Sunshine Orchard", accompanied by a woman. I should have loved to have talked to her, but couldn't. However, I understood what she meant. She was telling me that I ought to carry a sunshade; also that I ought to wear thick woollen clothes, down to my ankles and my wrists.
I changed my film and then took the old one down to the post office; I persuaded them that I had sent one 2nd class insured mail from Delhi, so they accepted it the same, but I'll keep my fingers crossed until I hear that it arrived.
On the way back there were some lovely shots, but I over-exposed them; there were some fields they had just flooded. In one, women were working and in the other animals, and the background to all this was the snow peaks at the head of the valley. After tea, I went up to the terraces to try to retake the photo I had taken the first evening, but I couldn't seem to find such a telling viewpoint.
This was the day to start getting worried about the 4 crates, but the Major said they'd arrived, so I gave him the form and 36/- and he said they'd be collected.
I went down to the bazaar, crossed the bridge and went up the opposite hillside until the track ended where the trees thickened. There was a fair amount of cloud about and I hardly took any photos until, on my way down, I made a divergence to a village, where there were people and buildings again. The light wasn't very good for the buildings, and one little girl was camera shy, but a lad made up for her. Then lower down under a balcony a girl was sitting weaving the lovely material, the black and white check, with the red border. I thought that would make a good continuation to my spinner the previous day.
Back by the bridge were some shepherds with kilts and bare legs – are they the sort of men who go over the passes? I was thrilled to try to photograph them.
In the village I followed a musical procession, but it was going too fast for me. On the way back, a tribe of monkeys crossed the track ahead of me; it was fascinating to see them swing on branches over a 6 ft stone wall. Then they scampered through the fence opposite and were having a lovely time playing in the trees, until I followed them (nearly more than I want to talk to the people, did I want to talk to the animals), but they soon disappeared, climbing trees, and some swinging from branch to branch, to get away. Others were confined to their one tree, so they went up and up. I was so sorry to see two youngsters, obviously making rather heavier weather of it. I put in my 9 cm. lens, but any movement of mine only sent them even higher up the deodars, so I had to return.
The afternoon I spent getting up to date with letters and diary, for I felt I'd have a long day out the next day.
I'd had a broken nights sleep. One thing and another woke me up. I had one very vivid dream, that I had got up and was ready to go, and found a heavy scotch mist outside – only in the dream thank heavens. I was in quite a heavy sleep when my breakfast came at 5.45 and in half an hour I was told that my coolie was here (and at about 6.30). He was a young lad, pleasant, and spoke a little English – so much for the vocabulary of Urdu I was carrying with me. Major Banon had procured him to show me the way – certainly he knew a better way than I should have found, but I've rather looked down on this sort of thing before!
He kept a most respectful distance between himself and me; made me realise how slowly I was going. We started up a path in the woods, but then left the main path and went up a faint one, then zigzagged up a clearing. Back to the woods again, and then (oh joy!) onto the snow, with the peak ahead. It looked quite a long way to the foot of the peak itself, and the boy kept traversing up left, as though trying to get to the crest of the East Ridge. I had one ghastly thought, that he wasn't making for the peak at all, only for the point at the top of the woods. I misjudged him.
I was amused at our footsteps up the snow; the lad was in rubber shoes which he didn't even bother to lace up – handier to take off and empty out the snow or soil that way, I suppose. My boots certainly gripped on the snow better, and were infinitely better for kicking steps, but the boy had the great advantage of being lighter weight and had less tendency to fall through. Sometimes I'd find myself up to my waist, when there was only a thin layer of snow over some branches or rocks. We went on up and up; it seemed to me we'd never reach the crest and, if we did, that we'd have to go down to the foot of the main peak, but no, there were only a few yards down, and then we were making for the actual summit. This part had taken three hours and I reckoned another two to the top (actually it took nearly 3 hours).
We only had two stops to sit down for ten minutes; it might have been an idea to stop for food before continuing, for I was going very slowly by this time, often halting in my steps for a minute or two; sometimes the boy would sit down while waiting for me, but always got up before I arrived. Sometimes we went up the grass and rocks to the south side and at other times up the snow crest. I always found this more tiring as, although the snow was in fairly good condition, it was of unpredictable texture. When I had first seen the peak I felt a little foolish in not having an ice axe with me, but there were no dangerous slopes. The boy had procured himself a stick from the forest, but I felt rather free, having nothing to carry.
Major Banon had shown me a photo, mentioning the third false summit, so it was in fear and trembling that I approached the miniature cornice – was this really the top? Oh joy, it was a level plateau, the highest point for miles around. No sign of the boy, but his steps went southwards and he was sitting on a grassy patch.
I undid the rucksack and gave him his lunch and he took it and disappeared out of sight to eat it! I ate my jam sandwiches – liberally spread with snow, but didn't fancy the meat or hard boiled egg. We had arrived at 12.20 and in about half an hour the boy was back and by 1 o'clock we were ready to leave. The boy didn't really know much English, just enough to stop me trying Urdu, and he took any little remark of mine very seriously and thought he ought to understand it.
Back on the summit for a few last photos – Deo Tibba and Indrassan had been magnificent all day. I don't know why, but the higher I got, the higher and more imposing they looked, but they were certainly not the only peaks in sight. I also found the view down the Kulu Valley interesting. From the top we looked straight down a side stream to the main valley.
"Two hours down", said the boy. Now I could see his point of view, and would like not to disappoint him, but at the same time I could have had fun photographing flowers on my way down. However, I was soon as keen as he was on the two hours business. We started down very much the way we had come up, but keeping to the snow wherever possible. Sometimes we'd avoid a very steep patch, but on the whole we took things very directly. We both had our slips, and after one of mine he offered me his stick, but I was enjoying myself without.
At one point I followed his example and tried a sitting glissade – great fun. Then we reached the forest – we'd gone straight down, instead of following the ridge by which we'd ascended, but then we traversed horizontally for some way.
We passed one glorious clearing with pink and pale blue flowers. I tried a photo or two, but didn't really have time, for I had been told "two hours down". We both drank at a stream, and then started our leisurely way down through the woods, rejoining our track up. The boy remembered the way exactly – he hadn't been bluffing when he'd led up. Seldom have I had such a good pace set – perhaps it was because of his untied rubbers on his feet that he didn't go faster, but we continued down and down, and at ten minutes under the two hours, we arrived a the "Sunshine Orchard", rather to the surprise of Major Banon.
"Would you like some lunch?" he said. I replied no, but I could do with a pot of tea. I went upstairs, took off my boots, got on my bed and when the tea came, I drained the pot, although I couldn't tackle the bread and butter and cake for about an hour.
At about 4.30, there was a knock on the door and one of the men brought in some luggage and mentioned something about memsahib. I went out and met Frances and saw at once that she was all I hoped – what a relief!
The three of us had dinner together that night, but Mrs. Maire wasn't in a talkative mood.
The days passed very quickly; I had meant to show Frances the sights of the valley, but somehow didn't have time. The chief excitement was meeting Mr. Irani. The Major said he was back from the hunt, having shot a red bear, and had invited us to dinner for the Friday night.
Then on Thursday evening, the Major said we were to visit him for a drink and he took us to the Forest Rest Home at about 7 o'clock. There were also a couple of Banon nephews and a niece (by marriage?).
Mr. Irani was completely anglicised and had lived in England from 10 to 23 he said. He insisted that we mixed whisky with ginger wine and was terribly proud of himself for having shot his 5'3" bear.
We talked a little about his trek and he suggested we came down the next morning to discuss practical details further.
The next day we were surprised to find that practically all his equipment was Lawries. He was terribly proud of it, but to us it all seemed far too heavy. Obviously he'd never carried for himself – why should he? why rough it? He told us of the Jagatsukh Nullah where he'd got his bear and promised to introduce us to his hunter, Beno.
In the afternoon we visited him again and he drove us to the house he was just buying down the valley. He stopped on the way to show us the Jagatsukh and also to pick up Reno.
At the house he acted as translator for Reno and us. Reno at first wasn't keen to encourage us to climb a peak; said that it'd be his responsibility if anything happened to us, and told a tale of a young Rajah's son who'd slipped etc., but eventually he was talked round and he agreed to send us a headman for 5 rupees a day and porters for 3½ rupees a day.
Shopping was made easy by Mr. Irani; he sent a man down to carry the stuff home for us. We bought rice, ata, sugar, powdered milk, raisins, tea etc., besides paraffin and spirit for the stove.
Dinner was a pleasant meal; Cheni Sahib took us down. There were just the four of us; it was about 9 o'clock before we really started, having filled in the time, mostly with whisky and ginger wine again. There was a red wine with the meal. Cheni had supplied the glasses for it. The soup was Bovril, which was followed by a very nice lamb etc.
Frances is the sort of person with the courage of her convictions and at 10 o'clock she decided we must go, for we had a lot to arrange in the morning.
Tea came at 7 o'clock as usual, and at about 7.30 we were told the coolies were there. We had to finish our packing. We had two kitbags of 40 lb. each, but decided we'd need another with things for the man who was to sleep in the snow with us. Five men appeared; the trouble was that Cheni Sahib had to go early to Katrain, and we weren't sure how far we were imposed upon. One older man spoke English, and we assumed he was the man Reno had promised us; then there were four porters. At first we said that was too many, but they persuaded us that their own blankets and food were heavy. I was quite impressed by the head man; he'd seen us pack a few loaves, jam, eggs etc. and was afraid that was all the food we had. We assured him that we also had 2 lb rice, 2 lb ata etc.
We were expecting to equip the headman with boots etc., but he assured us that he had his own at home and would collect them and come on. Meanwhile, Frances and I had breakfast and set out with the coolies at about 9 o'clock.
We went through the bazaar, crossed the river and continued down the other side. The coolies went much faster than we did, but presently we found them sheltering under a tree. We asked if we had to go straight on and one of them got up and said "This way" and started to lead us up a side stream, then through a very steep village, and we stopped by a little temple. We wanted a drink, so our little hero (or Joe Soap as Frances would call him) disappeared and returned with a little bucket of water. The other porters then appeared, having taken a higher line.
Next we continued up, following the spur fairly well, then traversing to the right. One more halt and, oh horror, we started to go down. Fortunately we didn't lose too much height, and then when below the rocks on the spur, traversed again, until about 4 o'clock, when near the main stream of Jagatsukh we stopped at the most idyllic campsite that ever was. The nullah faced due west, so we had the pleasure of the evening sun shining on the glorious deciduous trees down the nullah. There were a few rhododendrons out.
I was glad Frances and I had practiced pitching the tent; we were able to show the porters how to do it! Then they moved back to some rocks and lit the fire and presently the tea was made. There was soup, then curry for supper and some scrambled eggs.
We asked for our breakfast at 7 o'clock, but the men don't seem to go by the clock; at the first sign of day break they start the fire, and tea followed soon afterwards. In the cool of the morning, we started up for Seri. Reno had mentioned Seri, and it was on the map, the only thing we were sure of on this trip was that we had an easy second day and camped at Seri.
The woods had thinned by this time, but the valley was still lovely; we went slowly on and up until the men stopped by a large upstanding stone, and told us we'd be spending the night there. "Is this Seri?", we asked. "No" we were told, it was Dudo. There'd be snow at Seri, we couldn't camp there. We agreed to have a brew of tea at Dudo, but said we were going on up. Eventually it was decided that the men could sleep there if they arrived at Seri at 7 o'clock in the morning to carry higher for us. The tea was slow in coming, the young lad used a lovely expression, he said there was no anger in the wood – and I wanted a second cup!
We left the egg basket and one or two odds and ends, and then continued up. The trees by now were bushes and then they ceased altogether. We were mostly on the snow with a few patches of brown showing through. The men announced that this was Seri, so we found a brown patch level enough for a tent, and a few of the bigger stones were removed and the tent pitched.
We asked the men to carry up firewood, but they refused, although they also swore that there was none up there (their excuse for not coming). We had paid off one men at Dudo (Hubble Bubble as I called him, one of the youngest who seemed to find it breath taking work to carry up the big green kit bag, and seemed the instigator of many halts, when his hubble-bubble was popular with all. We paid him for two days, saying that he'd get back to Manali that night, but he seemed dissatisfied and eventually it was agreed that we'd discuss it with the Major when we returned. We left another in the woods and three came up to carry to Seri. On the steep hillside above the camp were juniper bushes and I fetched down one or two pieces of dead wood. Then we demanded that the men should collect wood; they examined our axes and decided they weren't suitable as hatchets (sacrilege) and so went up with pen-knives and cut masses of the living wood.
Like fools we let them go and then Frances and I tried to light a fire, then tried again. Neither of us was very gifted and we both had different theories (fortunately we are both reasonable people!). The rice was eventually cooked, the curry made and eaten, and then it was an easier job to make a camp fire. I felt honour bound to use the wood the men had bought (they'd see by the ashes that the memsahibs had had a jolly camp fire! The camp fire was easy to get going, I was amazed how well the living wood burned, first the green part would crackle, and then the smaller twigs, and the whole lot would be ablaze in no time.
We had told the porters to arrive at 7 o'clock; at 6.15 we were getting the first lot of tea when there were footsteps outside, the men had arrived! They had to wait while we finished breakfast, but then they were useful to do the packing. Our headman had refused to sleep in the snow for us, even when we'd shown him the lilo sleeping bag and groundsheet we had brought for him, but to our delight the young lad volunteered to come. The three men would carry for us but the two descended to Dudo for the night.
At first all was easy going, but, as we approached there were steep rocks, so we took to the snow slopes on the right. I was horrified at the responsibility of having the men unroped on this, with their inadequate footgear; I wanted to go ahead and cut steps for them. The trouble was that, despite their loads they went at twice my pace (although requiring frequent rests). At one or two places I was allowed to cut steps, and I made a sensible zigzag track, but, as soon as the ice became even a little less icy and the men could possibly manage without, they short-cut in front of me. I found that the brown patches I had seen with horror from below as rocks, were steep dead grass, and the men used these as much as possible.
Frances and I were behind where the slope eased off, when two ibex bounded out from the rocks in front of the men and were soon out of sight.
On a level patch, we stopped for second-breakfast. It looked as though the men were eating potato off chapattis. Then came a traverse in very steep snow, which had softened considerably in the sun and then down a little way to a place where the men wanted to pitch camp, but we told them we must go higher. When they set off again, they did so with a will; we went up an easy-angled spur, mostly free from snow (each time I nearly caught the men up at a resting place, they'd be off again) and so to the top of the rocks and over a little snow dome to the place where they assured us that the last people to climb our peak had camped. We moved up a few feet higher to what we hoped was a slightly more sheltered position and pitched the tent.
It was a gloriously hot afternoon, but I felt I was having quite enough of the sun. I lay down on my lilo with my anorak over my head, but wished I'd brought up something to do. Towards evening a few clouds appeared and then it turned colder as the sun disappeared behind some clouds, so I invited Chandra in the tent for supper (it hadn't occurred to me that this would be embarrassing for him).
I set myself in charge of the primus, but the soup took half an hour to boil and at that altitude it should have had much longer. After that we couldn't be bothered with rice.
Between cooking, we had some most glorious sunset effects, as the sun would appear from behind the belt of clouds. With the sun it got warmer again, and Chandra went outside for his chapattis and stayed there; he seemed happier outside. We boiled some eggs and made some tea and called it a day.
It wasn't a very happy night for me. For one thing I was too hot, even at 14,000 ft. in some sleeping bag; for another – avalanches – we were thinking of Deo Tibba all night, but mostly my worry was for the next day.
The snow on Watershed Ridge looked desperately steep and there was avalanche debris to cross – how soon could we get down again? As though that wasn't enough, we were a party of three, with only two axes and two pairs of crampons. Chandra had told me that evening that he was going to cut the steps onto the ridge (he'd watched me in the morning and seen the use of the axes). He also had his own idea as to where the ridge should be ascended, and altogether sounded as though he might be an overconfident menace and, if I couldn't keep up with him, how could I control him? I couldn't give him Frances' equipment, so it looked as though I might be the person left to ascend without crampons and axe and the responsibility would be mine!
I had decided to start the primus at 5 o'clock and did so, made the tea and had a couple of bites of bread and butter and jam. I was rather sorry for myself; I thought I had a trace of a headache so I wasn't really surprised when Frances said she didn't feel up to setting out. I felt a brute, but I had to admit that it was a load off my mind, for there was then equipment for Chandra and me.
Chandra and I made our own routes to the foot of the steep part, well to the left. There we met after 1 hour and put on our equipment. I was surprised that Chandra didn't need to be shown how to fasten the crampons; he understood all about getting the bar up at the back. My new lightweight ones were a joy, with their quick straps, and I set off in front of Chandra, knowing that he'd catch me up. He didn't go as fast as I'd expected and would ask me the way. We followed more or less the way we'd decided the day before, starting at the Deo Tibba end of the ridge and traversing a little to the right, taking the less steep snow above the jutting rocks. As I put my axe in, the snow seemed about 45º, but I'm sure at the top it was 50º, in fact on the last traverse I cut myself a step or two, pretending they'd help the descent. Chandra wore crampons as though he'd been born in them.
At the top at 8 o'clock, we had a rest in the sunshine, had a bite to eat and started the tea in the thermos, made the night before and still hot. My camera was an asset; this was the view we'd walked for three days to see, just rock and ice, impossible peak after impossible peak; rock for generations of Joe Browns, and ice to match. Deo Tibba looked terribly complicated; mine was a very much lesser summit.
The next half hour consisted of walking over the plateau, contouring round to avoid losing my height and avoiding the gendarmes – what ski slopes on this side! I was going slowly, but Chandra was behind and I forced myself on until I could rightly say I was at the foot of the final slope, where we had another halt and took out the rope. At 17,000 ft. I gave Chandra a quick resumé of the use of the rope! (“If you fall that side of the ridge, I shall have to jump the other!"…) I don't know whether he understood. I roped us in the middle so that we each had a spare 30 ft coil, and I could only hope that the boy's common sense would enable him to use it in an emergency. We each had a sling and carabiner. I was happier without crampons in the softening snow, but Chandra kept his – I was only kept happy about this by the fact that he knew to tap them at frequent intervals to remove the sabot.
Slowly, slowly we mounted until I was in a position to photograph the summit cornice. Here Chandra sat down and said that he thought the avalanche debris would be softening rapidly in the sun. I have been in the position of the nervous second too often to ignore his idea (besides I wasn't altogether happy myself!). I asked him to go on just a little further so that I could photograph the second summit. It looked quite a slog to get to it, so Chandra made quite a good excuse for turning back. We were soon down to the sack, finished the tea, and then came the slog over the plateau. My feet were trailing in the snow, I didn't envy Chandra, who had to lift his with each step to put in his crampons.
I was glad to find that the upper steep slopes were still hard, the sun had only just got round to them. We went one at a time, belaying each other (Chandra did as he was told, but I don't think he realised why we belayed). I sent him down first and suggested he should cut some steps.
Several times near rocks I broke through the crust into a hole – this upset Chandra, I think he thought I was slipping; he told me that I'd do better in crampons, but I couldn't see they'd stop me breaking through.
I got Chandra to cut steps on the steep part, but I seemed to worry him terribly not having crampons on, so that I eventually stopped on a steep place and put them on – almost immediately of course the snow started to soften. We went down more or less the way we had come up. I'd have liked to stop to de-crampon, but didn't want to stop until we were over the avalanche snow, then I waited until we were past the last incipient bergschrund, where we took off both rope and crampons.
We strolled back to camp together, both going rather slowly – we almost felt someone when we realised that our arrival was being filmed. The porters had arrived at about 11 o'clock and were busying themselves packing. Frances had a brew of tea ready, bless her. We still had our water melter going (throwing snow onto the groundsheet); we had filled a water bucket of it the previous day and in the morning I had to give quite half a dozen blows of my axe to get through the ice on top.
It was still a lovely day, everyone was very happy and we were down by 12 o'clock. There was no need to hurry to get down to Seri for the night. I began to appreciate our headman; the youngest, first Hubble Bubble and then Chandra had to carry the big green kitbag, but now that Chandra had obviously had a good day, the headman carried it down himself.
Eventually we set out – sitting glissades were the order of the day. I don't think the men knew any better, but certainly the snow was more suitable for them than for standing ones. We started off the last spur like that, down to the left and then, instead of doing the high traverse of the day before, we kept to the floor of the valley and then traversed left.
We spent a long time sitting on the first patch of earth; it was quite brown, only just uncovered from the snow, but it smelled good after 24 hours on the snow, but we missed the yellow flowers (rannunculae) we'd passed on the way up. Frances' binoculars were much in demand to see the four ibex on the opposite hillside. It took Frances and me an age to see them, but once seen there was no mistaking them. There was quite a cold breeze blowing down, but eventually we moved again and found more sitting glissades the order of the day (how the men were enjoying themselves). I could do a slow standing glissade part of the way, but at the end I succumbed to the easy way down.
I was rather left behind on the last slight rise to Seri, but I was in the mood to sit back and be waited upon – except that it seemed all wrong for Chandra to have to work! The men got the tent up, and this time we weren't such fools as to let them go before they'd cooked for us, so we got them to light the fire. Chandra then announced that he was staying with us, and would make us chapattis . I don't know whether he had a lesson there and then, or whether he already knew. I asked him whether he'd not be too tired to climb with Frances the next day, but he said no (I was afraid I might be too slow).
Frances went to bed at about 6 o'clock, leaving Chandra and me to enjoy the camp fire of juniper.
I felt rather a brute calling Chandra at 6 o'clock and suggesting he should light the fire; we enjoyed the chapattis for breakfast.
Eventually we set out up the valley marked 'Ghoru' on the map (Pakeri for cow, so Chandra said). This time we were short of equipment, Chandra soon said he needed crampons, and this time he chose mine to put on! I also let him have my axe; my point was that even if I was unhappy without it, I should have been even more unhappy seeing someone who was my responsibility ill-equipped.
We went very slowly up and up until we approached the gully we'd seen from below – and this steepened considerably towards the top. I was holding Frances' geological hammer and a great comfort it was too, in one or two places. We eventually came out at the top and traversed to the right and found there were easier slopes down, further in that direction.
We sat for second breakfast and then continued up, slowly, each at their own pace, with many halts. I think Chandra and I were feeling the effect of the previous day, and this was Frances' highest of this trip. We kept saying we'd at least look over the col, and the higher up we got the further appeared the col. Eventually Chandra made the col and I followed him; we were so pleased when Frances also appeared. We sat on the rocks, looking down the Malana Nullah and Frances was soon busy with her hammer, showing me the blue crystals in the schist.
We'd taken about 6 hours coming up, but only about 1 hour on the descent. Chandra did most of it on his seat, horrifying me as he disappeared down over steeper edges – had he really looked to see that the slope didn't go over a cliff? I chose a more gentle route and, out of respect for my pants, I descended standing as far as possible. Frances had to walk down the last part as she'd worn through her pants!
Back at Seri, there were too many men and, as we got closer, we recognised a sahib. He turned out to be a very pleasant Frenchman and had been sent up by the Major to climb the 17,000 ft peak, despite the fact the he had no boots, axe, crampons etc. We were amused to find Hubble Bubble among this three porters.
Tea wasn't brewed, but the Frenchman produced some from his thermos, bless him! After more tea, camp was struck and we all continued down, past Dudo to Chikka for the night. Chikka was a fair sized clearing and the porters pitched the two camps about ¼ mile apart; however, we'd already made a pact with the Frenchman that we'd share rations for an evening meal.
At just about dusk the meal was ready and the Frenchman produced his bottle of whisky (this put me in the right mood for the rest of the evening), with the rice we had curry and garden peas and the last tin of salmon.
I slept outside that night; I was tired of being too hot in the tent, but I found my ears were sunburnt, and it was so awkward having to be on my back all night; also I think I had had a little too much sun that day.
We set out at about 10 o'clock down the valley, but the porters (all but one) soon overtook us and were lost to sight. Eventually we found we were going steeply downhill, not on our path of ascent at all, and we were glad of the last porter behind us who assured us that he knew the path and that it would get us safely back to Manali. Actually it was a lovely route; it was such a glorious torrent down the nullah and was at its best with the morning sunlight shining through the trees. Fortunately, the porter with us was the one carrying the Frenchman's thermos; the tea proved very popular.
Through the village, with its little shrine and the school children waiting for the bell to silence them, and then along the hot and dusty road (at least we had the sun behind us). Halts were frequent in shady parts. At the tree where Chandra had first taken us in hand on the way up, we passed the porters who had descended the other way.
At long last we saw the bridge. "A mirage?" queried the Frenchman, but no, it was solid, and we then had the familiar track to 'home'. I couldn't have looked as done-in as I felt, or Mister Sahib would never have stopped to speak to me, I felt. Back 'home' I was trying to suggest a pot of tea, but the butler felt he was the one with some news for me and showed me to the bedroom through the lounge, where Joyce and Hilda were well installed, and had arrived the previous day. I was able to get a bath in their place before lunch.
I wished Mr. Wingrove could have been in the store room; this time it wasn't a case of going through the lists to sort things, but of going through the boxes and emptying them all and starting again; they hadn't been packed correctly apparently! It was Hilda's pigeon and Frances was her chief assistant at first.
Joyce was all for going on a local excursion to fill in time, but Frances thought it would be more useful to get first hand knowledge of the Rhotang Pass and we chivvied them into making the trip to Roti on the Saturday. Joyce at first said she couldn't leave, as the Sherpas were on their way, but we persuaded her that if they didn't arrive by 2.30, they wouldn't come that day and we could safely set out at 4 o'clock. We needed a man to carry for us; we had about 30 lb between us, and who should appear for this work but Chandra. He didn't seem very eager to carry on his own back, suggested he should take his horse and, to my horror, Joyce at once agreed, also to pay 4/- for the horse and 4/- for the boy! for 2 days!. I was disgusted, but she'd agreed and I didn't say anything as Chandra was a friend of mine, also I felt so guilty about his changed appearance. He'd been quite a chubby faced lad before our trip; now he was only a shadow of his former self, with the bones standing out on his face, also he was losing the skin of his face, the same as Frances and me.
At 4 o'clock we were ready, but firstly came the ceremony of loading the horse, with the help of the sub-butler. There were two full kitbags by this time, as Chandra had suggested that the rest house might be full and we'd better be prepared to camp outside.
It was frustrating to have to descend to the bazaar to cross the bridge, but then the way was new. There was the official who made us sign the book, then the people who (I think) tried to direct us up to the hot springs. Fortunately, Chandra sent us down. Then there was the fun of seeing Chandra send his horse across the river; he started it across, asked us to catch it, and threw stones at it to try to force it on, but it wouldn't go, so Chandra had to roll up his pyjamas and take it across himself (the bridge was too frail). We continued gradually upwards, to the village where the road doubled back.
The people here were delightful; the children giving the greeting we were getting used to, putting out their tongues. And so on, slowly upwards, by the side of a river now in a magnificent gorge. Oh! for some sunshine for photographs, on the return. At about dusk we reached Koti, no question of going on further. Joyce was going strongly, but Hilda was behind. She had a bad cold and a bruise on her foot was hurting.
At the rest home a bottle of boiling water was produced, with which we made tea, and then Chandra cooked for us. Hilda went straight to bed. Joyce and I stayed up for the soup, rice and corned beef, followed by pineapple.
While waiting for the meal (it came at 9 o'clock), I went outside to watch the lightning down the valley and think how lucky we were not to be in the storm, but the rain was very heavy after we were in bed.
Frances had stayed behind; we decided that Joyce and Hilda ought to get some acclimatisation and Joyce suggested that one of us should come. Frances and I tossed for it; the coin really helped us because Frances was by far the best person to leave behind to organise the gear and to chivvy the carpenter. I wasn't keen on going up the Rhotang twice in quick succession, but after all climbing was my pigeon.
Hilda's cold was at its worst, so she decided not to come. I was in a deep sleep at 5 o'clock when Joyce woke us, and Chandra appeared soon afterwards. We had tea, and bread and jam, and Joyce and I were ready to set out. Chandra didn't seem at all ready; he had his “horsey” to see to for one thing, so Joyce and I set out.
At first the way was flat, then the route had to ascend a steeper part. Joyce and I were glad to follow round the zigzags of the mule track, although the laden local people were cutting straight up the "chota pagdandi" as I was to learn to call it. At the top of this section, Chandra caught us up, having cut straight up, of course. He didn't want to go on; he said that his head was bimar, but we told him that he must go on, to tell us whether the track was suitable for mules. We had another stop before the snow really started and when Chandra complained again, I said nothing, thinking I must use my own judgement. I got ahead of Joyce at this point and I was so surprised when Chandra caught me up. I hadn't realised that he'd feel honour bound to follow me. I must admit I enjoyed his company. We tried to learn a little more of each other's languages. He'd usually ignore my Hindustani remarks, so I'd have to query him "Thick?" and he'd give me a look just like a child asking for praise.
The going was almost level, and eventually we reached the summit, but found we'd have to go quite half a mile further on to see the Chandra Valley (the going was still pretty level). I had been observing the tracks of a mule on the snow, but Chandra said it would have been unladen; the view down the valley was interesting. Reno was right, there was lots of snow in it, certainly the left hand side was quite under snow, but much of the right hand side was clear, only the occasional avalanche cone, which surely we could cut our way through? but Chandra said no.
And so back to meet Joyce near where I'd left her; she'd made her way to the summit (good work, I'd thought). I couldn't resist following Chandra, although I was much slower. I had felt I'd had too much sun on the last trip, so I'd carried an umbrella on this, feeling very conspicuous (however, I had to fold it for the "chota pagdandi". At the bottom, at the "Rakla Hotel" (one windowless hut!), Chandra asked me if I'd like tea, but I said I'd no money, so he'd said he'd lend it to me! and we had very hot sweetened tea and ate a mattli(?) – a pleasantly flavoured fried savoury chapatti (?).
We waited for Joyce, and she also had tea, and then back to Koti, where Hilda was just back for a short expedition. I was glad she'd been able to go higher.
Tea was brewed; Chandra packed for us and, leaving the chowhidar to help Chandra pack his “horsey”, we set off down, with the weather rapidly deteriorating (actually we avoided the rain). When we reached the flat part I kept my eyes open for one of the bridges marked on the map and found it. To my enquiry as to whether the track led to Manali I was told yes, so encouraged Joyce behind me to follow and Hilda from in front came back.
I felt so ashamed of myself when the track petered out and we had to follow little ways up and down, and in and out until we came near Manali village. The whole village was out to see us pass and it was the first time Joyce had been this way, so it wasn't all loss, and soon we were back at "Sunshine Orchard".
When Frances and I had returned from the Jagatsukh Nullah there hadn't been a room for us, so we'd been put in the partially finished place over the garage. They'd installed electric light then and there, but no switches to turn it off. The manager supervised the drilling of holes and placing of the wiring, but the men with the ladder to get up the pole and tap the source of electricity were at a loss. They couldn't lift the ladder high enough for some unknown reason.
This was when the butler came into his own. He was such a versatile man, with his pale indoor face, always serious, with his hat, his shirt and pullover, and now, when he waited at table, he had his long white coat and 6" belt. It was when one looked lower down that he appeared a little incongruous. Firstly his shirt was worn outside and lastly his feet were bare. These bare feet came in useful on the pole, which he climbed, pulling up the ladder with him. When I came back, I moved into what had been Mrs. Mayer's room, where Frances was already installed.
Frances had some real news, that the Sherpas had arrived. Her description was most apt. Pansy, our Sirdar, she described as quite an elderly gentleman (the latter word wasn't misplaced) and the others she said looked like 16 year olds; it was because they were so tiny that they looked so young.
The day went very quickly, reorganising stores and plotting and counter-plotting to get away before the end of the month, when Cheni Sahib promised us the pass would be open. Mr. Irani invited us to Sherry at 12 o'clock; outside, he had his two bearskins (his second one was 7'6"), but his leopard wasn't cured yet. As he said, you might hunt for a leopard for five years and not see one, and then this walked right into his hide.
Reno was there, so I asked him to recommend a nullah leading to Indrassan and he immediately said Jobri Nullah; he was all smiles. I thanked him profusely for recommending the Jagasukh Nullah and said what a wonderful time we'd had. Mr. Irani interrupted my English and said that I couldn't expect Reno to understand me, but I knew he'd understood every word I'd said!
We then started to plan a few days up the Jobri Nullah before going over the Hamtah to meet our mules in the Chandra Valley.
There was the usual afternoon rain.
The excitement this day was the parading of the gods in the woods near the temple; we missed the 3 o'clock procession, but were ready for the 4.30 one. First the Manali goddess was taken out of the temple and paraded with much banging of drums and blowing of horns. She seemed very heavy, the men carrying her were staggering at times. The masks, apparently, were of silver, and she was gorgeously coloured, presumably with donations of silk scarves. Then she was put on the ground near the fair, and then three other gods were brought to join her. It was an ideal scene for colour photography, but there was no light in the wood and, at the moment, when another procession was approaching from the south, through a patch of sunlight, I ran out of film.
We talked to Mister Sahib and he strongly advised us to take porters over the Hamtah, so we returned and discussed things once more. This time we decided to cut out the Jobri Nullah and cross the Hamtah as soon as possible and Cheni Sahib suggested that we couldn't get the porters before the 18th, as the celebrations in the woods carried on for days. Frances went out of the room saying that that left two days for two females to do things with two Sherpas. None of us twigged her meaning, but eventually she explained that two of us could leave the next morning and go up the Jobri Nullah for two days. Joyce said she'd have to stay behind to organise, and the rest of us had better toss for it. It was incredible, but Frances and I were the two who must have paid homage to the gods in the wood that afternoon, for we won.
Poor Frances was up at 5.30 to continue her work of organising the stores (she had been solidly at it since the previous Friday). We had to wait for Cheni Sahib to send for a man from across the river to organise the porters who he hoped would be a little cheaper. They came at 12 o'clock, and while they were tying up their loads, Frances and I had an early lunch, which we'd talked ourselves into.
When we had finished, we found the porters and Sherpas had gone to the village and we connected up there. Passang and Mingma were our Sherpas; they had large sacks, but one of them would tail me and one Frances.
Of the three porters, the outstanding one was "purple hat" with his long hair (actually he was smaller than the others, but he was often in the van).
We crossed the bridge and then started straight up the hillside; of course, there were zigzag tracks, suitable for laden men, but not for these porters, they just cut straight up, but had to have frequent rests. Frances and I were well in advance when we reached the crest of the ridge. Mingma had stayed with the porters, and Passang had followed us, which was very nice as Passang had the thermos of tea.
Eventually we all met, and started on the track along the other side; this cut us off from the sound of the drums, to whose accompaniment we had ascended the other side. Dancing etc. had started in the wood at 2 o'clock.
We could see the trees of the Jobri Nullah and, all too soon, it seemed we stopped for the night. We were hoping that tea would be made pretty soon, but the Sherpas had been well trained and were not to be diverted. Firstly, they "ploughed" a patch of ground, and then pitched the tent (did it beautifully too), by which time Frances and I had our rucksacks unpacked. Immediately our spare undies were whisked away out of sight, and then all the kitchen things were stacked in great order – certainly these were professionals!
Passang gave us a real shock; he had produced some magnificent tea, milkless and sweet, but I'd enjoyed it, then after supper he brought the tin of tea and asked if we had any more – it was almost empty. The blow lasted for some time, but we were supplied with tea for the rest of the trip. I suppose the Sherpas had a good store.
We set out in great style, but seemed continuing up the Hamtah and I began to wonder whether they knew we were going up the Jobri Nullah. Actually they didn't know, but we had to go a little further to the bridge. This consisted of a broad tree trunk, with smaller logs lashed to the side, to prevent the feet slipping sideways. It was actually quite efficient (unfortunately the light was too bad for a photograph). Just before we crossed it, we saw the skeleton of a bear, minus head. Across the bridge the men played the old trick of bashing straight up and then wanting a rest.
Frances suggested that Passang and I should go on and try to find a campsite; we didn't find many paths in the woods. I wondered whether the men would do better, then we came to a lovely alp (grass covered moraine) and the mountains also came into view; Indrassan and Deo Tibba, with a terrifying glacier between, with two enormous icefalls. The first would have been avoidable in the time left, but from below no way was visible up the upper one. There were sheep on the alp, and a shepherd who offered us a mule.
I then found that the porters weren't far behind, so I waited for them. Frances told me that our being ahead had kept then going, but they'd done it practically all without a halt, although I rather felt that I was being called names. "Purple hat" with the long hair opened his shirt to tell me that his heart wouldn't stand this (and I'd reason with him in English). I didn't feel that he really had so much against me, for instance every time we met he'd give the usually greeting – put his tongue out.
Frances and I went on round the corner and decided that, even if we went on, we'd get nowhere up that glacier, so we came back and cut up to the left, keeping ahead of the porters. This upset "purple hat" again, as I took an easy line, he cut straight up, panting terribly and gave me his usual talk. I went on ignoring him. From Ratti Tol we cut back to the previous, slightly deeper nullah, leading up to Talhar. We were on a little path, but "purple hat" ran past me with a more purposeful air, got ahead, sat down, and removed the straps from his load – the strike was on with a vengeance.
Frances and I walked on until we were just out of sight and the men came up to us, but we had to give in, it was obvious they'd come no further. We paid them for two days, nothing for the return, and gave them cigarettes to try to quieten them.
The weather was fast deteriorating; we knew we ought to carry on higher, but sloth won and we sat down to cook a meal. While waiting I went up to prospect. Each time I could see over a hump, I realised how much better a viewpoint I'd have if I went 500 ft higher and so it went on until, thinking of the meal getting cold, I returned, ate, and spent a lazy afternoon, sheltering from the hail at times in the tent.
I had amused Frances on the way up by asking what the insects were, a cross between a spider and a beetle. She wasn't able to tell me until I pulled still another one off and showed her, when she told me it was a tick. I must admit that word had occurred to me, but I dismissed it as not the sort of thing I was likely to find on myself! There was worse to come that evening. Frances and I were in the tent preparing our sacks for the morning; I picked mine up and vaguely saw a ghastly black thing on it, quite three inches long. How ashamed I was as I shrieked and dropped the sack in the middle of the tent, enough to get me dismissed from the ranks of tough women mountaineers. Fortunately, Frances recognised it as a scorpion and seemed experienced at killing them. She asked the Sherpas about it, and they assured us that the bite isn't fatal in these parts, as it is in Africa.
We had asked the Sherpas to get up at 4 o'clock, but it was long after that – and we set out far too late. Frances and I set off up the nullah and the Sherpas followed quite half an hour later and we waited for them where the ground flattened. Now I made an incredible mistake – it had always been my principle that in this range one always chosen the easiest route, but Frances wanted interest, and she'd had such a boring time on the easy slopes above Ghoru, that I blithely set off up the slopes leading up the north face of the mountain, despite the fact that the previous day I'd seen that the right hand ridge gave the easiest route up. How I regretted that I hadn't prospected it properly the previous day, but as I set off up it never occurred to me that the weather wouldn't clear, and I'd be able to pick a route. As I say, I learned many lessons.
The slope was easy at first and then there was an icier part, where I cut a step or two; then it steepened again and we decided to rope up. Mingma had been following me and Passang followed Frances, so we roped up in that order. We traversed to the right to some rocks where the angle eased a little, then I could vaguely see higher up to the right, steep snow and a cornice, so I traversed back to the left. This gully was full of little hailstones; it looked OK to me, but I felt Mingma should know these mountains better than I, so I asked him if he thought it likely to avalanche. "Oh yes", he said. I looked horrified, so, realising he'd said the wrong thing, he quickly changed it to "Oh no". Typical of the Sherpas I thought, anything to please.
Belaying each other we crossed the gully and started up the rib on the other side, but it was all very nasty; it just consisted of a few rocks sticking out of the new snow, and was still steep with no sign of the angle easing out, so, knowing it was all my fault for choosing a bad route and not reconnoitring. I suggested retreat and there was no dissention. Passang amazed us, he had mentioned crampons once or twice and, as soon as we started down, he insisted on putting them on, although I thought they were a menace in soft snow. We were soon down and unroping and then Frances and I enjoyed little glissades, or at least skating steps back to camp.
The weather did not clear up as I'd expected in the afternoon, and most of the time was spent in the tent, waiting for the porters who were to take us down. There was no sign of them; we suggested sending one of the Sherpas down, but thought better of it, decided to spend the night there, but couldn't make up our mind about the morning. If we tried to take everything down, should we go down to Jobri and hope to meet the porters, or should we go across to the Pataori Nullah (the sensible thing to do).
The rain continued, an efficient trench was dug round our tent, supper was brought, and then I thought Mingma said that water was coming. Actually it was that the porters were coming by the high track at 7 o'clock. Joyce sent a note that we were to spend the night there and go to Jobri for breakfast. Frances and I said it was ridiculous to go all the way down to Jobri and walk all the way up to Pataori, and beyond, also we were horrified that they were camping so low, for we thought that the pass was to be crossed that day. I suggested that I should go down to Jobri that day and the others do the traverse. The porters were against it at first; they had their orders to go down, but Frances talked them out of it and said that the Sherpas would feed them (they had no food) and so it was left.
Frances woke me at 5 o'clock. I had been sleeping heavily the last few nights. According to Alan, my only reason for coming was to have my breakfast cooked and a cup of tea in bed in the morning. Actually I resented the first Sherpa cup of tea, for it awakened me from a deep sleep. My socks and boots were wet, and, after dressing and struggling with my boots, it was 5.30 before I got away.
I took the high level track, and envied the others continuing the traverse; it was delightful alp country – with curious bits of rock sticking up. I found it a long way down to the river, and then I was a little below the bridge, but, seeing a tree trunk across the river I thought I'd cross it. How I underestimated these river crossings! I certainly missed the little bits lashed on at the side, and where a slight branch stuck up, I found it most difficult to lift a foot high enough to step over, but I got across safely and then had the problem of finding the others.
We had camped downstream from here and, if I went down and then back up, it would waste time; however, I had the hint that they were near the river, so I turned up and soon came to a group of porters. They pointed nearer the river and there I found the men sahibs and Sherpas. It was about 7 o'clock by now and I expected everyone to be packed and ready to start, but breakfast wasn't even thought of! I had an early morning cup of tea. I was amazed that even after my early morning walk, I could hardly force the cooked breakfast (sausages) down, and that porridge was much too filling. I was sorry for Pansy, with only Nyma to hold him, while up above, two Sherpas had only one memsahib and three porters to cope with. It was 9 o'clock before the loads were weighed and the caravan was away.
Joyce, Hilda and I set out first, with Nyma our faithful shadow. We crossed the bridge and continued up, at one place photographing the porters behind and then on again until Nyma (in front) sat down and asked if we wanted a halt. I went on, hoping to meet the others, and stop them crossing the pass that day. I had left my map with Frances, but thought I'd know when I got to Pataori, and saw a possible rake down, but it wasn't the easy track I expected.
There was no sign of Frances and her party. Thinking they must be ahead, I continued up, then saw other people ahead, but there were too many, also they were coming down. They were long haired wild men, but I was so thrilled to see them, and I said in my best Urdu "Memsahib Wahan?" pointing up. The leading man hesitated, then tried a syllable or so doubtingly, and I unbelieving asked him if he spoke English. He did, beautiful English. I don't know why it thrilled me so to speak to him; of course he was a most intelligent man.
He said they'd been travelling for seven days over snow, over the Boralacha Pass etc. He had come from Spiti he said. He knew Cheni Sahib well; it never occurred to me at the time to connect him with the Spiti men for whom Cheni Sahib was waiting to bring news of the Chandra Valley. I just went on talking to him. I don't know why, I don't usually tell my life story to every stranger I meet, but that man must have thought I did, for eventually he said to me "Will you allow me to go?" He had his hair short (it showed up his curls better) and was dressed in long purple robes – a llama I suppose, escorting the people over. He was on his way to Simla and wondered whether we'd meet on our way back.
I continued on some way, although he'd told me Frances wasn't further on, then dropped my sack and returned, in time to see the others on the last stretch down from Jobri. They were above the rake I had seen, but there was an obvious made path along the rocks – they didn't seem to recognise the path when they saw it, so I supposed it wasn't so good. I wasn't able to give much instruction. I wanted to cross the stream back to them, but had to go back to above my sack to find a snow bridge. Eventually we met and sat down for a cup of tea before joining forces with the others.
The porters were giving great trouble, kept resting and wanting to stay for the night. I had to agree that the weather was deteriorating and the pass looking grimmer. Many were carrying sticks, for there was obviously no fuel higher, not even juniper. Eventually it was agreed that we should go over the next rise and stop there. The Sherpas were in front and soon had the tents pitched.
I should imagine it was below Ratuni Thal on the map; we hadn't the heart to go in the tents away from the hail, when the men kept arriving, having nothing but boulders for shelter, we just sort of stood around in pacamacs. The weather gradually improved, but we went in the tent for supper. I succeeded in spilling my soup. There was a shortage of tents (two mountain tents and one small one). Joyce and Hilda had the small one and complained that it was too tiny, so we decided to change on alternate nights and Frances and I had it this night.
We all got up very early, as the head man had said we were to be off at 6 o'clock. Pansy had said breakfast at 6 o'clock, which rather horrified me. We got really cold, waiting in the draughty valley. At last Hilda and I set off, before all the loads were weighed; we kept together most of the way up the pass, occasionally we saw the marks of the Spiti men, as the hail had blown over them, but for long stretches there were no traces. We kept to the left round one band of moraine and then the way steepened a little and I lost Hilda.
How thrilled I was to have the top to myself, I soon had footprints wandering aimlessly in all directions. There was a flag just above the col – it was a stick with various bits of cloth tied to it, some colonial, others white with lettering, prayer flags presumably, and I had that for my foreground.
Then I tried to look down the other side, decided it was too steep, and traversed further to the left. Then I saw the party of Sipinti men; they were nearly up, chopping their way with a little hatchet! I realised how much easier it would be for me to make steps, so I hurried back to the place where I'd decided it was too steep, and cut a few steps down to meet them, but we soon joined forces and I came up. Hilda had arrived by this time. The leader spoke no English, but a young lad knew a little and he asked if we were going down and said that it was very difficult!
Hilda and I sat on a rock to await the others; then I thought I'd like to have a photo of the Spiti men going down, and amazed myself by running up to the flag. That made me recognise the altitude, but on the whole I felt on top of the world, that I really came to life at altitude. Joyce, Nyma and Mingma arrived, but there was nothing we could do until we got a rope from a porter. Eventually I set off down to meet the porters, but instead met the three Ladakhis. These men had impressed me right from the start, when they arrived at 6 o'clock that morning. There had been four of them, but one complained of being ill and went down again.
As soon as I mentioned ropes to these three, one of them knew what was wanted and dropped his pack and went literally rushing back for it. I picked up the pack and was pleased to find I could carry it at that altitude, but the faithful Mingma soon arrived and offered to take it. On principle I let him. We sat on the stone until the rope arrived, and then I took it and put my axe in at the beginning of the traverse. While I was fumbling over a clove hitch, the Ladakhi (Namgyl) tied it for me (shame!), but I was allowed to take the rope along the traverse.
There were rocks at the end and, having no axe, I was clearing the snow away with my hands, when the Ladakhi arrived with his axe and planed more snow away. There was still no belay so he put his axe in, we tied the rope round and let the rest of it hang down the steep part, where the other two Ladakhis were hard at work making the steps. I decided that we needed more ropes for this part and went back for them. I met the head man just above the porters; he dropped his load and came back with me. Our appearance was a sign for yet another rest, but eventually we were able to find two ropes in kitbags and I took them back.
By this time, Pansy was with the Ladakhis, organising, and they'd taken my rope away from the traverse to use it all on the steep part. For the traverse, they'd made a proper 'vine au bicyclettes' and said they didn't need a rope, but the snow below steepened and then gave place to rocks in the gully. It was a dangerous place and I felt I couldn't take the responsibility of seeing laden men cross without a final rope, so I put one on, much to the disgust of Pansy.
I gave Joyce and Hilda a sling end, and told them to clip themselves onto the ropes. I'd have like to have roped them properly, but daren't suggest it; actually a Ladakhi took Joyce in hand and saw her safely down.
There were two little bits of excitement, one as a little snow fell from the rocks above, (fortunately it missed everyone, and it was only snow, not rocks), and the other was when someone took another route from the prepared one, but no-one came to harm.
I waited and removed one of the fixed ropes and put it in my sack, and then had a lovely time glissading down, past the porters. The snow was in ideal condition, until right at the end, when I disappeared in up to my waist! I produced my rope and it was duly accepted; the next part was a traverse with quite a nasty rock corner. Everything was becoming wet in the melting snow; I went round the corner to see if there was anything I could do, and found my axe useful to fix the rope at the end of the traverse. I stayed there to photograph and to recover the rope and axe.
The next part of the route was on soil (a little slimy in patches, but not bad) and I greeted many of the men as they came to the end of the traverse. Some salaamed respectfully, but others I had the impression rather swore at me – but quite good humouredly!
Eventually everyone was along and I could set off down. Pansy gave my rope to someone else to carry. At the bottom, everyone gathered on the snow for a well earned rest, include a Spiti school teacher and his beautiful wife. Morale was high and everyone had made a good job of the very steep descent, and there was time for the slog down to a reasonable campsite.
We started down the river valley, on the hard snow, but after a while, Frances and I decided that it wasn't theoretically a good route, so we started up the right hand a little way, at times walking on the surface and at other times, floundering waist deep in the snow. This might be safer from the point of view of delicate snow bridges, but was hardly safe from the point of view of rocks falling from the cliffs above. However, these were a gift from the gods for Frances, who found large tourmaline crystals, impregnated with mica.
More deep snow and then we got over the lip, on the last lap down to the Chandra. We noticed that the men had crossed to the left hand side of the river, to a place with a few bushes (the last up the valley apparently, for the words "Nor tree, nor leaf, but only god" were constantly in mind). I wasn't really prepared for no grass; there was none, as early as this.
It was such a happy campsite, bleak, but sunny, with large boulders for the men. I disappointed Frances by not making straight for the largest boulder which had a chimney up it. It hadn't occurred to me! but once Frances suggested it I was soon up. Technically it was of easy standard, but I found that after each move, I had to pause, to get my breath back. At the end it was a case of standing on the lower summit and handing myself onto the higher and I waited even longer before making that. Later the lads besported themselves, Mingma trying daring face routes.
There was the usual delay in getting started, and we all went on in advance, leaving only Pansy and the headman to cope with the men. We thought it was to be an easy march, and we started gently, but later found our mistake. We were off the half inch map and still continued. I was very surprised at the country. I had heard of, for instance, Puti Runi meadows and grazing land at Sligin, so I expected the valley to look a little more hospitable higher up, but not a bit of it – it got more and more bleak (and I hadn't bothered to say goodbye to greenery the other side of the Hamtah.
I followed the Ladakhi (Namgyl); he obviously knew the way well and besides that he took a good line. At one or two places we made steps for the porters and once Nyma cut an interesting little traverse. I was going to leave my axe in as a handhold for the porters, but Namgyl went back and made a less interesting line for them. I and the two Ladakhis stopped for a long time at two little patches which might be green in the summer, they looked so out of place and were level so that I thought they must have been planted. I wondered whether they were the famous Puti Ruri meadows, but Namgyl said no, they were further on.
Frances, Mingma and Passang caught up and we went on uphill, then some way upstream to find a bridge. Then up again, sometimes crossing the most treacherous snow; occasionally Namgyl allowed me to go ahead and make the track, but mostly he made it, load and all.
Eventually we came to a delightful spot, sheltered from the wind by large boulders, but in the sun, and we gathered we were to stop for the night. I expect I amazed Mingma, by immediately demanding soup from him – he produced it at once, too. I wanted to give my things time to dry and the afternoon was getting on. I asked Frances to keep cave while I went downstream (before it disappeared in the snow) and washed self, undies and socks, and then reappeared to drink the tea Mingma had prepared on the primus, but there was bad news. A Ladakhi had signalled that we were to go back as the others were camping lower. The last campsite we could remember was the squares of grass where we'd stopped and that was 1½ hours away.
I put my socks on my sack, my blouse on Mingma's and carried my undies, but the latter got wet when I met water under snow and even my hands went in. Once when I was blazing the trail, I literally went in up to my neck. We were delighted to find that we only had to go as far as the bridge. We hadn't recognised the ground there as a possible campsite.
There was a last night atmosphere about; the headman was particularly friendly, told us that the side valley was the Chota Shigra and that it connected up with the Parbathi (ideas for the return?). After supper he dressed me in his blanket, as a Manali woman. I was thrilled, but I didn't quite take in how to do it. The blanket wasn't quite long enough and the bottom of my pants showed, which rather spoiled the effect, I thought. I then demanded to have a carrying rope put on and tried instrument box no. 6. I was amazed to find how easy it was, that the cords didn't cut through the blanket and that I could jump. I asked to be put on the pay roll for the next day.
The loads seemed very light this morning and the men left behind their own food and blankets; we watched the weighing ceremony and all set off together; there were no halts this morning! We passed one or two lots of Spiti people. One lot had a dog; he was picked up and given to me, his fur was as soft as a kitten's; they were lovely people. Then there was a crowd, mostly women. I had to go at quite a pace, not only had the head man put on my boots for me, but he carried my sack, so I felt it was up to me to keep up. As we neared Shigri, halts became frequent, as the men said we'd reached the last possible campsite, and we said we wanted to go further and the Ladakhis would go and prospect.
Eventually we followed up a band of moraine and, at the end of that, it was declared that we had reached base. It didn't look a very promising spot, the ground was very bouldery; however, I was soon to learn that the men could remove mountains, if necessary.
Then came the ceremony of paying the men; first, the discussion with Joyce, Frances, Pansy and the headman, and an agreement over rupees, 4 a day, and 2 a day for 2 days return (actually they'd get back to Manali in 1 day) and then cigarettes all round. For the headman 5/- and 5/- backsheesh.
We spent the rest of the day about camp, had spaghetti for lunch and one of Pansy's special stews for evening. I caught up a little with my diary, but quite a lot of time was spent in weighing loads for the morning. I was horrified when Pansy said the men would only carry 30 lbs. I thought now we'd got rid of the porters we'd have no trouble that way.
Frances woke me at 4 a.m. and shouted to Pansy; there was no action, so I dressed and went out, only to find that someone was up. At about 4.30 I went out again to wait for breakfast, which eventually came, but then I had to wait until the men had eaten their rice. At 5.30 we set out, some of the Ladakhis had gone on, so I chased after them, fortunately Mingma waited for Hilda. Frances had volunteered to help Joyce survey, and Hilda and I were to go up the glacier with the men.
At the second little halt, Hilda and Mingma caught up. We started on again and I lost sight of Hilda in my effort to catch up and I thought Mingma told me that memsahib had turned back – perhaps he was asking me if she had. He had been looking after her; I assumed there was some reason for him to neglect his post.
The mad race continued, we crossed the glacier and continued up the true right, and so on with halts every half hour or so. I tried to make a mental note in passing of the glaciers, coming down to the left hand bank, so that I'd have some idea how far up we had gone. Namgyl had explored some of the side glaciers with the R.A.F. and wanted us to stop at the third one, but we'd only been going for 3 hours, so I said that we'd better go on a little further, although I knew it was only because they had such light loads, they'd made such good progress.
We had some more halts, but no suggestion of downing loads, and then on again. I was certainly regretting not stopping, but then at about 9.15 (3¾ hours), the suggestion was made again and I willingly agreed. We were just beyond what I called the 4th glacier (the 2nd actually was indistinct). I took a rough bearing on the peak behind the glacier and the compass read 230º. I tried to impress upon Mingma that he must remember the spot, even if everything was covered with snow, he must be able to find it again; he didn't seem to worry about it. My couple of tins and two packets of sugar seemed so little to leave, compared with what the men had carried, and then we started back.
Soon we got worried about Mingma's coat, which he'd left on the way, and I'd left the thermos I'd been carrying for Hilda, besides sweets and biscuits. I think I waited about, while they searched, and then we went on and eventually they informed me that Pansy had found it and we sat down to drink the tea and eat a biscuit or two.
When we continued, we found downward footprints and in the softening snow, and realised Hilda must have come on, and couldn't be so very far ahead; then we saw her, trying to cross the glacier at a ridiculous place and in deep snow. I went to meet her, having help and sympathy to offer, but I was informed that I had broken one of the first of mountaineering rules, leaving one person alone on a glacier. From feeling on top of the world, I was brought back to earth with a horrid jolt. The way from then on wasn't very funny; as often as not we'd be up to our waists in deep snow. We kept to the rocks whenever possible, but after we had to cross the snow, Nyma and Namgyl were the keenest leaders. When I took a turn, I found myself crawling along on my knees.
Back at camp, tea was just ready when Joyce and Frances arrived. Frances also didn't think it had been a good way of splitting the party, so we decided to recombine for the next day. In the afternoon we weighed loads and decided that there was plenty to make another lift the next day and return to base. Pansy agreed that they could take 40 lbs. as I explained I could hardly keep up when they carried only 30. There was quite a lot of time left to catch up with my diary. The moon that night was almost full. I've never seen it more brilliant and it was just above the snow col (as Frances said, Oh for skis up there).
The men started to get up at about 5 a.m. and were away by 6 o'clock. Frances and I had breakfast at about 7 o'clock and were away at half past. On the way up I realised I had forgotten to take a rope, and after an hour we came to the place where we needed it, so I dropped my pack and went down for it (65 minutes wasted).
It was strange to be on rock again, I found I wasn't trusting my vibrams; it was fairly easy at first, then a longish part of loose stuff where we moved together, and then a crack entered by a long stride. Above this was a slab, the only place where the jug handles were missing. We kept thinking it was not much further to the summit and still the summit would elude us. We were both short of breath, and both feeling our socks, and thinking that a Sherpa was definitely needed to carry surveying things.
We avoided all the snow we could, it was so soft, there was one rock chimney choked with snow, which kept collapsing as I tried to make steps up it. Then, at long last, the top of the ridge came into view, so we sat down for some lunch at about 1 o'clock. There was higher ground to the right, but we only traversed over to the top of the ridge. I put three stones on top of each other, as a minor cairn, and Frances set to work. I was secretary and she hardly gave me time to take my own photos; she set up the camera and took 26 photos as a panorama. Then she got out her compass and took bearings both in direction and elevation of all the points in sight, and then we started down.
The descent went much better than I expected; Frances gave me a shoulder on the slab and that was all. We unroped at the same spot, then started down the scree until, rather daringly, we took to the snow. It was glissadable most of the way. Tea was ready almost as soon as were down, and I got up to date with the diary.
This was the day for the general move up to Camp I. I slept soundly until awakened by noises in the kitchen. Frances and I waited until tea appeared, and weren't in a hurry to get up even. Then we wanted the others to have breakfast first, so that we didn't have too much waiting about to do (and it worked). The Ladakhis were as keen as ever, hovering around to help strike the tents, and then loads were weighed. I only saw two weights, one was Ungels (64 lbs.) and the other was a Sherpas (50 lbs.).
Frances and I were the last away and didn't hurry; we just got across the glacier before the snow softened too much, and then continued up, not halting very often. Once I was ahead of Frances and two Ladakhis caught up, coming from the left, looking up. They must have been resting. I found the glaciers on the true left as confusing as the time before; there were definitely four of them, evenly spaced, yet I was still sure that we hadn't reached the fourth glacier on Gunther's map.
After five hours we reached the dump, as I thought of the spot, but it was beginning to look more like Camp I already. It hadn't occurred to me that we wouldn't be sleeping on snow, but already a fair sized platform had been made, the Ladakhis to the fore. They had to go down again, but said they'd wait for a cup of tea first, and in the meantime helped with our tent pitching. I tried to help, but Mingma dismissed me.
Frances and I had the porridge we'd refused in the morning, as well as tea, of course, and then settled down for a quiet afternoon. I took my soap down to the little "dew pond", found a sheltered little bay and had a lovely time in the hot sun, washing myself and clothes. Then I even had time to get out my Hindustani book and try to learn some of the numbers beyond 10. The camp was superbly situated, with glorious ponds further up the glacier and a most noble cone straight ahead up our side glacier.
We had tea at four and watched the clouds come and go, soon there was a flake or so of snow and we hastily collected our things together in case of a heavy fall, but it came to nothing. Before the clouds cleared away we said we'd better have supper (at about 5 o'clock) in case things deteriorated further. It was a lovely evening later, made interesting by the clouds.
The Sherpas had built another lovely platform, slightly below ours, yet not too far away. It held both the kitchen and their tent. Mingma was full of energy that evening; he built a couple of Sherpa cairns on the nearest bumps, and then spent a long time improving his aim by throwing at larger stones, and then even longer pushing boulders into the lake. It was well and truly snowing as we turned in, and a wilder situation I couldn't imagine; Frances and I were quite happy thinking of our off-day the next day.
There was a cloudless sky in the morning, so, despite the inch or so of snow on the tent, we had no excuse for not getting up. Frances and I swallowed tea, ate biscuits and marmalade, and waited for Mingma and Passang to have their breakfast, but they showed no inclination, said they were ready and we all set out, after sorting loads. We had no balance, so we gave the Sherpas as much as they could get in their sacks, while all I had was a 7 lb. tin of sweets and one nylon rope.
We set off by the right hand side of the glacier; it was bitterly cold, so I was surprised to find the snow soft beneath. We picked our way carefully, sometimes keeping to the rocks. Once more we counted our way up by the glaciers coming in on the true left. Glaciers 5 and 6 were close together, and still there was the range of peaks flanking the B.S. and the line behind, at the head of the glaciers.
This day, life was made more interesting by a couple of glaciers coming in on the other side. The first one was opposite glaciers 5 and 6 and looked a very easy way, the second, reached after 2 hours, had some nasty steep rocks and snow slopes. It looked unpleasant for the descent in the heat of the noon-day sun.
After the first glacier on the true right, we found a medial hump running up the B.S. and followed that. The boys weren't going well, kept stopping, and were behind Frances and me. Then I got ahead, got hypnotised by the long ridge and went on and on, until I realised that with even my light load I'd be glad of a halt. It was the magical time of 3¾ hours, as I sat down and awaited the others. Frances' silhouette reminded me of something in Cromwell's time, her knee length breeches, shirt outside, rather like a thigh length coat, then her hat and, as she came nearer, her scarf all round her face. Eventually the other two arrived and we all had a little to eat and discussed going on.
It was incredibly tantalising, in another half-hour we could look up the cross roads of Concordia, but could we make that half hour. Frances suggested that Mingma and I went on unladen, but that seemed a waste of effort to me; we asked the lads and the expressed themselves willing to continue, but obviously they were a little sorry for themselves, having had no breakfast, so eventually we decided to go down. Frances having taken a bearing on a peak, and I told Mingma to remember the spot better than he had the place where he'd left his coat.
We started down, the rib seemed as long on the descent as on the way up. It wasn't steep enough to make the going easy. We had intended to continue down the rib, but found the going getting soft, so made a little to the right. We were all in up to our thighs at times, but not too often; eventually, after a long time it seemed, the camp came into view. I waved to Hilda, hoping someone would put on the tea, but no-one else seemed about (oh horror, no porters, no new boots!).
Hilda had a dreadful tale to tell; we mentioned that the Sherpas had had no breakfast and she said neither had she! Apparently Joyce couldn't get the stove to work, decided that the pump washer was kaput, put in the spare, tried the two together, still no good, so (oh horror) she had cut one from thick rubber and put that into the paraffin and it had stuck! All Pansy's strength and the pliers couldn't shift it. I found the old washer, quite OK but too dry, only needed a little butter.
Then Frances tried her strength and the top came off the pump. That gave Passang his chance and he was able to grasp the rod longitudinally with the pliers and, so slowly, out it came! We put back a leather washer. The lads knew all about putting butter on it, and put it back in (I was able to show Passang the right way it had to go). Then all would have been well if Passang hadn't damaged the pump container, which now leaked. However, a little soap made it usable and we got our tea, followed by porridge for the two of us.
Apparently Joyce had gone down to Pansy asking him to send someone to Manali, to send a wire to Delhi to get us a new stove! She asked Hilda to send someone down with her bedding, but we didn't feel inclined to ask the lads to go down in the soft snow, after all they'd done (it was about 6 o'clock before we'd eaten). We were sitting discussing supper, when the Ladakhis appeared over the skyline; we were aghast, they were carrying enormous loads. Poor George looked grey and ten years older; he asked me to feel his load, it was ridiculous.
I was so sorry for them that I started to level a platform for their tent. This wasn't really a kind thing to do, for it meant that they helped, before even they'd had their tea, and I couldn't get them to sit down. However, I was able to put stones all along the bottom so as to keep out the draught (they hadn't bothered lower down). They told us that Joyce was still going down, so we were surprised when Pansy and Nyma also appeared. Our supper was just ready and I'm afraid we ate it, although knowing that Joyce must be on her way up. Frances had cooked the meal and delicious it was; she'd used dried onions, rice and bacon, making risotto and we had soaked vegetables with it. There was bacon left for Joyce, also vegetables and rice from the men. As soon as the water boiled, Pansy made coffee and took a thermos and biscuits down to Joyce. Frances and I were horrified at the organisation. It was Pansy's idea that everyone should go down, hoping the porters would arrive, and they hadn't, so he'd given the men their impossible task. However, Joyce had ordered a day of rest for the next day and we hoped that would make amends. Sleep didn't come easily; we had too much on our minds!
We'd ordered breakfast for 6 o'clock, so I was glad to hear signs of activity at 5.10 a.m. At about 5.30 tea came and I got up soon afterwards. Frances' face was still on fire, so I persuaded her to stay in the shade for a day. Hilda didn't seem interested and Joyce had surveying to do, so Frances asked Mingma to come with me. He hadn't had his breakfast, so he had a few biscuits and we set out at about 7 o'clock.
We found a tongue of snow leading up the first glacier on the true right, and then continued up the glacier. It had a stream in the middle, sometimes, bridged and sometimes not.
We continued up the snow until we came to the place where a glacier diverged to the right and we sat in the middle and I took observations. Up the two glaciers, I could only point vaguely at the col, but in the other direction I could take observations of the peaks; unfortunately I had forgotten Frances' names for them.
I asked Mingma if he thought we would get to the col on the right. "Don't know" was his helpful reply. It seemed to be going in a more interesting direction than the other, so we started up. At first we seemed making better progress than I'd hoped, as far as the first two little bumps, but then I began to doubt if I'd ever make it; little halts became more and more frequent.
Mingma was going much faster, but stopped to wait for me frequently. I was so ashamed. I wasn't nearly in the state I was in on the first 13,000 footer I had done from Manali. It was simply that my will to continue was missing. I decided I must have got stale, after all I hadn't had an off day since the 17th. I don't know how high I got, but I'm sure I should have been acclimatised for whatever it was.
We stopped for food, not that either of us ate much, and then I took observations all round again. What I had first taken as the head of the glacier was now to the left, with fiercely steep slopes of rock and snow leading up. What I now considered the true col was to the right, but I couldn't see round the corner and didn't know whether it was possible or not. The points on the other side of the B.S. had changed, so I had to make a rough sketch.
Mingma didn't seem to mind turning back; I was amazed at myself, as soon as I started going downhill, I could run – it was a nice angle, very little was glissadable, but mostly my weight carried me down. I took one or two photographs, and when I had gone sometime without taking another, Mingma offered to take my camera; I appreciated this a lot. And so, back to camp by about 12.30. As we approached, Mingma pointed out that there was another tent pitched, which indicated that the porters had come.
Apparently Frances objected to Namgyl being sent down and, if necessary, all the way back to Manali, so Ungel had been sent. Half way down he met three Ladakhis coming up, they had brought our stuff from Manali, but they all had to go back to join other parties. I was so surprised to see my little primus stove; the porters had brought it and were loath to part with it. I felt I had scored a point when I explained that it was my very own, that I'd had it for 10 years.
Outside my tent were my new boots (oh joy!) and I lost no time in putting them on. Plenty of fuel, so no need to argue for a cup of tea, and as soon as I'd had that, soup was ready. It was a pleasant afternoon in the sun. I celebrated my last day at Camp I by going to the pool again, to give myself a wash all over, in icy water in the baking sunshine, and washed my clothes, Mingma doing my socks. There was a wire about a berth on the Strathaird on July 17th, so I replied. At first Hilda said she'd like it, which solved things very well, but changed her mind later.
Frances asked the lads to build a cairn to help spot Camp I from above Concordia. That was a job after their own hearts, and it was nearly built in the time it took for me to have my soup. I expected a slender Sherpa cairn, but a massive thing, about 4 ft. in diameter was built.
We were up at 6 o'clock, biscuits for breakfast, everyone helping with the packing of tents, sleeping bags etc. Loads were distributed. There were the two ropes left, which I handed to Pansy and he tried to hand them on to Ladakhis, so I said no. By this time, Frances found that Pansy had no load for himself, so she insisted on his carrying up the instrument box. I tried to add the ropes to it, but they eventually fell to the Sherpas.
Frances and I, having seen all was correct, were among the last to leave, but we caught up with the others at about the first glacier from the left. Joyce and Hilda had been in the lead, but we reached them well up the rib, when they were drinking tea. There were numerous halts, and then, after the usual time of 3¾ hours we reached the dump. Pansy, thinking that we were stopping there, started cutting down to the right, but I called him back and said we were camping further on. He pointed out the good drinking water, but I was firm, we were going further on.
I collected the rope and continued, but soon the snow became treacherous, and Frances and I took it in turns to blaze the trail, when one of us went in a hole, the other would get ahead. Certainly after getting out, we needed to halt to get our breath back, for we were carrying well over 90 lbs by then. A steeper part, then the ridge seemed to flatten out, and then, over to the right, we could see a little stream and made for that, found a lovely flat campsite, and soon had the tents pitched, and the primus lit.
We had all arrived in a bunch, apart from Hilda, who, for the last hour or so, had never quite caught us up, but we began to get a little anxious about her non-appearance; however, Pansy, Passang, Ungel and George were starting down before waiting for tea, so we thought they'd cheer her in passing. Ages later, there was a shout, and Namgyl started back without waiting for tea, which was ready. After another age, there was again a shout, and that worried me. Mingma and Nyma started back, but I'm afraid I had my soup before doing the same. Nyma took a flask of cold tea and a rope. I took some biscuits and three slings.
Fortunately, Nyma met me, and came back with me, leaving Mingma to hold Hilda's hand. I kept out of Hilda's way for the rest of the afternoon (I was the butt of her remarks, I gathered). The afternoon went very quickly; I went up with Frances and we measured a baseline 400 ft long. While Frances was taking bearings, I returned for my cameras, for I have never seen anything as beautiful as those three little tents in the valley with the sun skiing on the glistening snow behind.
Frances prepared supper. We had no soup powder but, as for lunch, she fried a little ata, and then added soaked dried vegetables (onions this time). The main course we enjoyed (sausages, pom and mixed vegetables), then there was fruit left from last night, and cherries. We’d had a little picnic on the way up, just Frances and me and the two young Sherpas.
Frances had a bright idea towards evening; with an ice axe and empty tin, she made us all play rounders – running at 15,000 ft!
Naturally breakfast was later than expected, but a fairly good get-away was made, memsahibs leaving at 6 o'clock, and the men about half an hour later. We stopped when we reached the sunshine to remove outer layers, and then stopped again as the way steepened, to leave woollies and crampons on a rock. The way was easy at first, then steepened slightly, and was a little icier underneath. Joyce had one or two little slips (I was following her pretty closely in case of emergency), so Namgyl in front started cutting steps, Mingma took over for a little way, but mostly it was Namgyl who made the way delightfully easy.
After the first hump, it was never very steep; once or twice we took to a band of rocks, but on the whole, took almost no east zigzags of snow, halting every half hour I should imagine. At the end I was behind and was surprised to hear a shout from the men in front, and then I could see over – the top.
I had always assumed that the top was at the end of a long ridge, but had to admit that this looked the highest point; however, a reading from Frances' compass told otherwise; the other end was the highest. We sat and ate, took photographs and discussed whether we were to be purists, and in the end agreed to go along.
It was mostly Joyce's enthusiasm which carried us along the ridge; she wanted to take her panoramic photos from the highest summit. Namgyl was very kind, he let me kick the steps, so that I was the first up, but by the time I got there, what with trying to kick good steps, and to hurry, I was in no state to hold Frances' compass very steady. We had quite a long halt and I took summit groups and individual portraits.
The view all round was superb; Frances named the various peaks and we found possible routes and possible cols (Oh to travel light and traverse the cols!).
Eventually we started down; Frances and Mingma had organised the things we'd left on the first summit on the col, so we were able to cut straight down the slope. Joyce thought it a little steep, also didn't like the soft snow, as she agreed to my suggestion that she should rope. Namgyl took over the management of the rope. This was interesting to watch, for it made me realise that all his ability and commonsense didn't make up for his lack of experience in belaying; fortunately, there was no danger.
We went too far down; I expect it would have been quicker to contour the hillside. We just about avoided an icefall, went a little way down some scree, then I got into some of the abraded snow (up to my neck at times), an incredible sight. I tried glissading between lines of the pinnacles, but they were a little narrow and I tended to get wedged.
I found the last part of the way back tedious and then I got into the middle of a large patch of breakable crust – I crawled on my knees out of it.
The porters had come and gone early, but our kitbags had been brought up, which gave me rubbers to put on (on the snow!) and also my Urdu book. Poor Mingma had been rubbing his eyes all day; the left one was very bloodshot and he wasn’t at all his usual cheerful self.
In the afternoon Frances and I marked out a baseline and Frances did a quick survey, which Joyce used later. Joyce had decreed a rest day for the next day. This didn't suit Frances and me, we suggested that we'd like to use the day to pitch a higher camp. This seemed reasonable enough until Hilda heard. She'd been too ill to come out this day and she said it was her turn to do something. No-one suggested she should come with me; Frances declined the offer of going with her, saying that she didn't want the responsibility of leading and so it seemed to be left that none of us should do anything. When we got Joyce on her own I tackled her, but she stood up for Hilda left, right and centre, and eventually suggested she and Hilda should go off. We asked them what they'd do when they got to their high camp and Joyce replied that they'd enjoy an off day there (if the Everest Trust could only know!).
Mingma was rather hors de combat and, willing as Nyma was, breakfast was a little slow. Frances and I were off by about 7.30. We were determined not to breakfast before the sun reached the tent, which was 6.30. The others, with the porters, left at 8 o'clock. Frances and I crossed the B.S. diagonally and entered the glacier, and then took the true right hand branch. We had been able to see that the one straight ahead didn't go very far, and had no easy col at the end, so the one we chose was the one with a little mystery left.
The views up the B.S. were most encouraging; there were a couple of peaks, either of which could be Gunther's easy 20,000 footer. The snow underfoot was fascinating; it was all covered with sheets of wafer thin ice, which tinkled down as it if was broken. Out of each little crevasse would grow these incredible shapes, terribly delicate, and Frances said that they all faced east and west, even if their line weren't that way, they were still oriented like it.
We halted after two hours and then each short hour for two more hours, until we decided we had seen enough. There were fascinating cols at the top, but glacier lassitude had certainly overtaken us and Frances could sympathise with me the day I had out with Mingma.
It was a tedious trudge back to camp, but everyone had arrived, even the maps had been brought. I made straight for them, sure enough Joyce and Hilda had gone up the wrong glacier for their ice col!
Frances had the plane table out in the afternoon and I had the job of seeing that the ruler touched the point (we had no pin). Supper was early and we were such a happy party. The stream by the camp had extended considerably, but it was only Pansy who foretold that "big waters" would come. It was about 6 o'clock and Frances was in bed, and I had just taken my boots off when Pansy's voice came "Memsahibs, waters coming". I was able to get out and into my boots ready to run in an appropriate direction. Frances had to dress which took a little longer. It seemed a long time coming, blocks of snow being washed down by the water; it seemed like fate as I watched it. It swept clear of our tent, but then came nearer the other tents; it was the last one, the Ladakhis bungalow which had it on the doorstep. They were all inside too, and hadn't had much warning. I think Namgyl's cards got wet, but that was all.
We discussed it for a little while and then decided to move camp. As soon as the decision was made, the Sherpas were up, digging a platform for our tent, which was the first moved. What a life to have the best of everything like this! I took a photo of the evening light with, in the foreground, the shambles when everything had been moved out of the danger zone.
Breakfast was a little late. I suppose with the sun arriving at 6.30 a.m., it is a temptation to wait for it. Our tent and a Sherpa's tent were struck and packed; then Frances and I delayed, while Frances filmed the men's departure. Namgyl, Mingma, Nyma and Passang were carrying up, the first two to stay and the others to return. We delayed again, while Frances went over to hit some rocks – they were worth hitting apparently, for she took a sample, then back to the tracks and in 1½ hours we were at the high campsite, which was packed and added to the loads.
The men went slower after this, and we caught them up again, and Frances told Passang where she wanted the plane table left. We measured out a baseline of 1,000 ft. again and Frances made another map and so back to camp by about 1 o'clock in time for tea, and the usual reception.
I used the underneath of Frances' sleeping bag to melt snow in the sun, but I don't think Mingma really appreciated my efforts, for we had no bucket, and he'd need the cooking pans I filled with it.
Both Frances and I had a sleepless night; we had quite made up our minds to split the party, but decided first to give things a try the next day. Joyce had it mapped out, a slog up to a col, and then on to a peak we considered too high. Joyce said that if anyone didn't make it they could be left on the glacier until they returned! (not if that someone were Hilda, I thought). I was bound to get the blame.
Joyce had suggested that Mingma should start breakfast at 4 a.m.; he awoke at 3.45!. Frances and I had breakfast in bed, and waited until the others were ready before getting up, then leaving sometime later at 5.30. At first it was a slog over flattish glacier and then up the easy tributary glacier. Halts became more and more frequent and Namgyl's thoughtful tracks more and more flat, so I followed Mingma, who made steeper tracks.
When the route steepened, there was another halt, so I went on cutting a way. I didn't really think it necessary to cut steps, but thought it might help those behind. Actually Mingma enlarged them when he followed. I reached the col alone; it was certainly a superb view (to where, I have no idea), but it was impossible to tell which was the oft mentioned Gyundi Valley. Above, to the right, was the peak Joyce had earmarked, but it looked rather steep. Hilda was late in reaching the col, and she had left her warm clothing lower down, so it seemed to me impossible to leave her on the col until we returned. I put it to Joyce that someone would have to go down with her, but Joyce was busy photographing.
Frances and I set out up to make the tracks, but were soon overtaken by Namgyl and Mingma. They brought a note to say that Joyce had gone down with Hilda and it added "Please achieve summit". Frances was furious. I was ahead and the slopes became steeper. I decided it was time we roped and l kept the same order (myself, Namgyl, Frances and Mingma), but almost at once the snow became about a foot deep and I decided Namgyl could increase the pace, and we changed over.
We continued some way, going twice as fast, and then Namgyl and Mingma changed over. The trouble then was that Mingma took such enormous strides, despite the soft snow. It took the limit of Frances and my breath, but Mingma was still able to sing very happily. From below we'd looked out a way traversing to the left, but as we got higher, we decided to go to the right, then traversed back left beneath a miniature cornice, before we found an easy way of crossing it.
Soon after this, we reached the true ridge, and Mingma started along this, almost on the crest. I soon got down below him; it was steeper and icier down here and I cut a few steps. Mingma was about 20 ft. above me. We teased him about his unsafe position, but he took no notice; I suppose I was too light hearted to order him down, which might have had an effect. However, all went well to the summit, where we joined the rock ridge and could look back in safety, and see that the last part wasn't conical.
We spent a pleasant time on the top; Frances' foot had been numb all day, so Namgyl rubbed it back to life – a long and painful process, we were given to understand.
We looked along the ridge to the next and higher summit; the snow cornices were very bad, but it might have been possible to keep mostly to the rocks; however, it didn't really occur to me that we might try.
Mingma erected a couple of long stones in his traditional cairn, and then we started down, in the same order. Mingma was in a very happy mood, and had to be ordered to belay, for we were moving one at a time down the first icy part. Then we started moving together; we were near the end of the ridge before moving over to the right. There was the sound of a crack and the ground beneath Namgyl and Frances started moving away from the solid ground which still held Mingma and me. Having visualised this situation so many times before, I knew what to do and flung myself down the safe side. Frances was almost too near for me to see, but apparently she was able to land with the good edge across her tummy, and scramble back to safety.
It was Namgyl I was watching. I saw him drop his axe and just manage to clutch the edge with his hands. Actually the cornice didn't move right away and he was able to scramble down and recover the axe. My thought all the time was that if the worst came to the worst, the rope would save us. Then to my utter horror, I saw that Namgyl was unroped. Oh my shame! He had originally tied on with a middleman's knot I'd tied, but he'd changed twice after that, once with me and once with Mingma.
When I had flung myself down, I'd expected Mingma to follow my example, but not a bit of it - he'd calmly walked to the edge to watch the fun. I was to have another warning with Mingma, when we crossed the little cornice, the three of us lowered ourselves delicately down, not trusting the landing in the least, then, before I'd had time to belay Mingma, he jumped down.
Frances was afraid of an avalanche on the steep slope, so we separated and roped in twos. I followed Namgyl. I felt there was hope for him when I saw him turn round to see how I held my axe. We unroped at the col, but I regretted it when we came to descend the steepest slope of the morning, for, even doing a sitting glissade, I was often stopped by holds, and felt it very foolhardy to descend it unroped.
Everything but the lads' loads were removed from the camp and then we started down towards the new camp at Concordia. To our disgust we found that it was only a few hundred yards from the old one, instead of round the corner as we'd hoped. Eventually we found someone coming towards us; it was Nyma with a flask of tea and cake – a nice gesture I thought.
Joyce had ordered breakfast when the sun reached camp. Frances and I were in no hurry to get up, for we knew there'd be lots of waiting about. As usual the Ladakhis helped with the striking of our tents and Namgyl was able to carry the tent and our two kitbags himself.
I think it was after 8 o'clock when we set out and started going very slowly. There was a long halt when Joyce started her surveying; I think they thought they'd done their day's work. Frances eventually caught up and gave me moral support in getting the men further on. The day was very hot and they kept asking where we were going. I felt such a brute urging them on, but they were in splendid spirits. George was airing his little English, so I got out my Sherpa vocabulary. They seemed to understand this better than the Sherpas!
Namgyl seemed to be taking an interest in the English translations. I told them we must just go round the next bend and when I caught them up I found that they were only just beyond a snow avalanche, but they seemed to see my point of view that they couldn't stay there. I suggested they went on to a "garm jagah" and they went on to quite a suitable spot.
Namgyl helped me melt snow on the bottom of Frances' sleeping bag, but Passang was rather snooty about using it. We all had a cup of tea, and then the men, apart from Mingma and Nyma, prepared to leave. Nyma had been with Joyce and Hilda, and brought a note asking for food and coffee to be taken down to them. The men could have taken it down, but no-one would have brought the sack back, so, dreading another row, I took it down myself and all was sweetness after that.
The rest of the day passed very quickly, the evening was lovely and I tried to photograph the camp.
Frances and I had ordered breakfast for 5 o'clock, but it didn't come until about 5.30 and an hour later we set out with Mingma and Nyma towards what we called Gunther's Peak. We had decided to go up the third rib, but actually we traversed onto it. It wasn't as straightforward as it had looked with flat lighting; the whole slope was covered with Frances' "penitent men". The rib was very steep; we got on some rock higher up, and then traversed right, over more "penitent gentlemen", to the skyline ridge. We'd had one or two halts on the way up, but I was just about staggering by the time we reached the rocks, and we had a second breakfast.
I looked over to the right, and saw an easy glacier leading up. I also looked up at our peak and saw cornices on that edge. We started up the snow; soon roping up, Mingma and me, Frances and Nyma on the same rope. The snow steepened considerably and Frances, always afraid of avalanches, favoured the few rocks of the rib to the left. I hated this; it was still very steep and, in the event of anything untoward, there were more rocks beneath. We continued up, sometimes on the snow, sometimes on the rocks. I found the latter very difficult at that altitude. I hadn't the energy to take big, carefree steps. I didn't pant quite as much as Frances, but I felt I had no more energy. Mingma was managing the rope superbly, except that he seemed to think a tightening of it to me might help!
Needless to say on such a tedious ascent, there were several false summits; we had several little sit-downs to console ourselves for this, but eventually we reached the rock summit. We could look down the ridge (flanking the B.S. and see the cornices along it, and wonder about the cornices on the dome ahead. Our nerves seemed very bad on the subject of cornices. I let out the spare rope between Mingma and me, and we sent him on ahead.
There were cracks in all directions on the dome, and we followed very carefully and haltingly, but eventually halted together, and got out our cameras. Frances made a rapid sketch of the ridges and peaks between ourselves and Shigri, and took a few bearings. I felt that was a noble feat as there was a bitterly cold wind blowing to the ?northeast. There were deep valleys (green ones), a restful sight after our weeks on the glacier, and then came the problem of the Lion Glacier. It simply did not exist; nothing from the other side of the ridge emptied out into the B.S. (as we knew already), all the glaciers seemed to lead out northwards, possibly in the Chota Shigri direction. We had no means of recognising the peak "The Lion"; there was nothing in the direction we expected it to be, and certainly no peak seemed cut off from the B.S. as "The Lion" was supposed to be.
Then Frances, with incredible will-power I thought, got out her ciné camera. As she said, It doesn't go up every mountain, so she might as well use it this time, as Nyma had carried it up. She took a panorama, and then one of the party, even changing films to complete it.
We set off down in the same order, with Mingma behind, but kept more to the snow. At one point Frances' hat went rolling down, we weren't sure how far, but the Sherpas had kept their eyes on it and, some way lower, Nyma said it was to the right and untied to go and fetch it. We weren't paying much attention to him until we realised that he was doing a sitting glissade. At incredible speed he was going down between the rocks to the snow, which petered out onto more rocks!
As we said later, I was shouting "Oh no, no!", while Frances was being more helpful, putting in a prayer for him. We were too far away to get to him. We could only watch and saw him turn a complete somersault and then stop! We hurried across to him; I think he'd slipped accidentally, so it must have been a shock to him to get a sound lecture from Frances and me (or didn't he know we were lecturing him?). I'm so used to lads of his age trying to scare me by deliberately glissading in such places, that I get annoyed.
Nyma had immediately got up and run up the icy slope to recover his ice-axe and obviously wasn't at all scared of the place. Frances and I tried to give him a lecture in the emergency position of the axe, but he wouldn't practice it, and we doubted if he'd learned a thing.
We continued down, collecting various things on the way (my woollies, Frances' axe) and then started down. We went a little way down the scree (good shale for running) and then down the gully. It was too breath-taking to run down the snow, so we all did sitting glissades. Mingma got left behind. Apparently he dropped the rope and had to go back for it. He caught up with Frances and me on the weary walk back to camp. He didn't offer to tow us in.
Tea and spaghetti were waiting for us, and then I'm afraid I followed Frances' example and got into the tent – was too lazy even to read, but I didn't really sleep. I was out again for supper and heard the plans for the next day, a trip up to the col to the left. Frances and I had promised ourselves an off day and the weather seemed to be playing into our hands. As well as the harmless cumulus, there were layers of clouds, and the peaks Concordia way became covered.
Breakfast had been ordered for 6.30, but at 5 o'clock Passang brought round a cup of tea; nevertheless punctually at 6.30 a.m. Mingma brought breakfast. We had been watching the weather for some time. Earlier the peaks had been clear, although the clouds had been rather broken, then the mist came down and enveloped first the peaks and then the camp. There was no sign of the other tent stirring, although it was obvious that the mist would soon clear with the sun, and Frances and I still maintained we'd earned a rest day. At about 8.30, the time Namgyl arrived from Concordia, we all got up to admire the clearing of the clouds and take photos. Namgyl was very popular, as he'd brought the other primus.
Frances soon had things organised. We were to go up the pass due east and camp there, and climb a peak or so and the lads were to carry up food, ropes etc., before the big move tomorrow. By 10 o'clock the food was sorted out, the loads made up, and we started out, despite the fact that the mist had reappeared. I only carried my cameras, but took my compass from my sack and directed the company in a direction of 100º. We left Frances behind to do some surveying, also Namgyl, who'd done what had come to be regarded as a day's work (actually Frances found him quite a help).
After about an hour Hilda began to feel the altitude and lagged behind. The sun was out by this time and it was very hot. Joyce led on for another half hour which brought us to the foot of the steep part, where we put it to the Sherpas that we wanted to camp higher up tomorrow, and that they could either carry on today, or else come down for the stuff tomorrow. They went on, up the first steeper part and reached camp not long after us.
Namgyl had helped Frances with her surveying (the latter made me feel very lazy), when she went out on her long geological trek in the afternoon.
It was the usual lovely morning, breakfast was at 6 o'clock and then we had fun digging out the tent pegs, removing ice from the tents and then packing. It was Mingma who first pointed out that the loads were too heavy, so while Joyce and Hilda started on, Frances reorganised the loads and arranged that Mingma and Nyma should carry up and then return to sleep, so that their tent and sleeping bags needn't be carried. Frances and I walked up more or less with the lads. At least we'd catch them up whenever they rested, and then they'd wait a little while with us. Once Frances filmed them with a beautiful peak in the background.
They caught up Joyce at the dump, and she was able to lead them a little further on, and then Frances was able to get them to beneath the last steep slope to the col, and camp was pitched. There wasn't much for lunch, as the food was in the dump, to which Namgyl and Passang had to return.
Frances and I had an hour or so in our tent, in which we compared pulse rates. I had been a little sorry for myself at the pace I'd come up the last part (with a heavy load), but my pulse of 76 was quite OK compared with Frances’ of ?116, yet it was Frances who insisted on ascending to the col that afternoon. I was glad to go; for one thing, I thought our steps made in the softish snow would help people up the steepest part the next morning, when all was frozen hard.
There was a very cold wind blowing on the col, but I wouldn't have missed the views for worlds. Looking down the other side, down the glacier to the deep, almost green valleys (Gyundi tributaries?). Then there was the range of snow peaks to the south. I almost found a way up one of them, but it was terribly steep, and depended on one stretch of steep rocks being climbable.
Frances as always took bearings all round, and made a quick sketch, and then we returned. We had been watched apparently by the faithful Passang, who saw us return, and tea was awaiting us.
The view of the weather from higher up had been anything but reassuring, layers of clouds were already hiding peaks in the next range, so we retired to bed with gloomy prophecies. It was at supper time we heard of the fuel situation, that there was paraffin for one more day, and that there was no more until it arrived with the mules. Frances was furious, as she said she'd been going on trek since she was 23, with men's lives depending on her care of water etc. Joyce wasn't as worried as we expected. She said we had food which could be eaten cold for a day or so (she didn't seem to consider fluids more essential than food).
Frances and I had a last look round that night, and a more threatening sky we've never seen. Quite a lot of time was spent in bed discussing getting the party down should there be a raging blizzard. We'd originally told Passang to go down in the morning and tell Mingma and Nyma to come up and take down loads, but fortunately he hadn't understood.
A little snow had started to fall at about 1 a.m., but not nearly as much as I expected, and when we awoke at about 5 o'clock, there was mist about, certainly, but it wasn't too bad a day. We shouted to awake Passang, and breakfast followed in due course. Joyce was the first out and offered to go down to send up the lads, but, with all the horrors I'd imagined the night before, I wasn't so keen for the party to separate. Once more we had to chip out the tent pegs, roll up the tents, and sort loads.
Frances took the large kitbag with our sleeping bags, my little sack was beginning to look top heavy with the lilos and tent on top, not to mention the bag of ata, when I found Namgyl in trouble. He had so much that he couldn't do up the straps of his Everest carrier, and abandoned it in favour of a rope tied in the Kulu fashion. I pounced on it, and thought it would give me an easy run down. How wrong I was, never have I worn anything so uncomfortable, the straps were too long, but, more awkward still, the leather at the back was too high and the metal bar stuck into my hips. When I caught up with Hilda, I begged from her one of the ropes she was carrying, but it didn't seem to do much good; then I tried Joyce's jacket, also useless.
I arrived at the old camp just as Nyma and Mingma (a little subdued) were leaving to fetch down the last two loads. We had a discussion of future plans and Frances decided we'd go down to Concordia, and send a man on to Shigri to hurry the loads, while the other two remained where they were. Joyce wanted to see over the cols, but Hilda considered the altitude too high for her, and there was the problem of the shortage of tents if a memsahib went out alone.
As soon as we'd sorted loads, Frances and I, with Namgyl and Passang, started down. Fortunately for me, Namgyl wanted his Everest carrier; my own sack was much better, Frances and I shared the food, and I made my sack comfortable by a rope through the straps.
At first all seemed to be going well, and there were lovely effects as the mist cleared, but we seemed able to get no closer to Concordia. Then, worst of all, we struck soft snow. Namgyl was ahead (the expert on this route) and started breaking through; I overtook Passang thinking that being lighter laden I might be of use, but Namgyl never let me get near him. Later we all took turns in breaking the trail, Frances once disappearing up to her neck.
Namgyl wouldn't let us cut straight across to the dump (we could see it because the green tent was up); he said we had to go south, to get round all the streams which were melting. How glad we were to reach the tent at long last. They soon had our tent pitched, and we were able to get in before the rain started. We couldn't seem to persuade Passang that we hadn't the fuel for tea, but then accepted it and had cooked a tin of steak and kidney pudding and peas, which we shared with them, hoping it would save fuel.
Wanting to catch Namgyl to see that he took down the petrol tin to Shigri, I was awake at 4 a.m. when Passang brought us tea and the two of them set off complete with sleeping bags. The weather being overcast, we rose at 8 o'clock and, without using any more fuel, and intending to combine breakfast and lunch, set off to reconnoitre the ice fall leading up to the P. de Zinal Plateau. We meandered for a while between lakes and moraines and, passing beneath the north face of the "18,000 footer" climbed, we got round the corner and judged the ice fall as difficult; there had been an avalanche on the chosen route.
By this time, the mist areas were very low, and we were glad of the excuse to return to camp. Alas, to our horror, Camp IV had evacuated on us, keeping no food, plates, mugs, nor even the wooden instrument box for fuel. Feeling it was time we had our breakfast, I lit the primus and made soup for two! Frances arrived back hugging a huge specimen and looking as weary as I felt. Her hilarious reception did not belie her sense of humour. I was busy with the primus when a first-class brawl broke out between F. and J., the latter baiting the former, who gave her candid opinion of the latter. It was a long afternoon, so we started supper at 16.00 hours; we went into the green tent and found that the lack of co-operation on the part of the Sherpas was due to Mingma's illness. We had all the water carrying etc. to do. We only used the primus for Pom, served with cold tongue, followed by Bircher Muesli. The latter was not appreciated by the Sherpas, who returned it to us. Joyce had a little walk with me to discuss future climbing plans. Trying to be awkward, I suggested the Converse Peak for the next day; to my astonishment she agreed. I went to bed relying on the weather to get me out of it.
After multiple nocturnal awakenings due to Frances' indigestion, I woke up at 4.45 and dozed off again for another hour, but J. woke us at 5.15 saying "Eileen it's 6 o'clock. What about this climb?" So I had to get up, break the ice on the water hole, light the primus and prepare tea. The Sherpas refused all refreshments and left before us to Camp IV, to fetch two tins of food and the instrument box, full, for burning. We had looked out nasty (interesting) ways up the first rock buttress, but needing a warming walk myself, we traversed south to attain the second snow ledge and traversed back to the northwest crest. I continued until I reached the sunshine, but Hilda had required several stops before that for hand rubbing and sympathy, and we continued the treatment for another half hour in the sunshine. Both systems failed to warm her and she returned to Concordia.
Joyce and I zigzagged our way up on boulders and snow, Joyce preferring the boulders, which, however, slowed her down immensely. At 9 o'clock she considered that she had reached a notable gendarme (large block) and suggested that I continue alone. I thought the summit was in view, but, judging by the +6% of the summit above the 18,000 footer (F.D.). (Knew Chone to be over 1,000 ft. to the summit and warned Joyce that I would need 2 hours to reach the summit and return.)
There was a move or so of moderate climbing and then the route continued over boulders or snow as desired. I did not follow the actual P. crest, but took short cuts, sometimes regretting it, on snow. I kept traversing right and following up subsidiary ridges until the actual summit was at last in view. This seemed to consist of two towers, but when I got there I found the higher one was easy to surmount.
When I got to it, I saw a third tower, possibly still higher, and joined to it by a 100 ft. of moderate cheval'ing. At first I intended to ignore the third tower, but enthusiasm got the upper hand and I found myself going along, telling myself I had never intended to solo a Himalayan peak. I look down north and saw two little dots: the Sherpas descending from Camp IV. There were few stones and still less flat space, so my cairn was only 1 ft high. I had built a similar one on the other tower and had fun photographing one from the other, also Gunther's Peak. Then crawled back to my rock and tried to take bearings for Frances.
This all took me ¾ hour and it was 3 hours before I rejoined Joyce through soft snow and I had trouble at times extricating my feet. Joyce, soi-disant, came to the top of her gendarme to meet me, slightly worried at the delay. Binocular observation was carried on by Frances from camp, demonstrating that I never proceeded beyond some large slabs, some 50 m below the supposed minor summit. We went straight down, avoiding the snow, but finding boulder-hopping trying, and reached camp at 14.45.
The Sherpas had just arrived with the instrument box which was rapidly destroyed for fuel for lunch. To my amazement Hilda was on top of her form, and lunch (soup, pom, sausage, coll, cake) was served cold, but with a smile. We then retired to bed and Frances saved her sanity, or imagined she did, by acting as my secretary. At 17.30, joyful shouts announced (we hoped) the arrival of kerosene and mail.
Bons mots:
J.D. "I could have got to the top if I'd known there to be enough time"
Hilda: "I don't mind at all not getting to the top, not like Frances"
J.D. at 18.00 "At least we've got the kerosene" - What have I got to do down there (transport across Chandra!).
Tea was brought up at 5 o'clock and breakfast at 6 o'clock, despite Joyce's orders of breakfast at 6.30; yet Joyce and Hilda weren't off before 8.30. I felt this was hard luck on Ungel and Georgi-Georgi who had asked for a memsahib to help and, instead, found themselves carrying down enormous loads in the heat of the day.
When they had gone, we asked Mingma if he could carry down from Camp IV and he agreed to do so; we promised him a rest day the day after. Frances and I set out up glacier no. 10. Frances was slow, hadn't recovered from her carry down. We stopped below the col to the south of the first peak and I forbade her to come further and I struggled up on my own (struggled was the word, for the top was covered with Frances' "Penitent Gentlemen" and if anything is calculated to make a penitent woman of me …). I'd try joining up between them, I'd try cutting them down, I'd try stepping over them (it was very steep too), but I eventually reached the last few feet of rock and then the col.
Immediately I saw that the col didn't reach the plateau to Frances' Pt. de Zinal, and I was most relieved, for I didn't feel that it'd be a way up for laden men! The col was rocky and steep the other side and landed below the plateau. The view was superb, over to the last two peaks, and also towards the Cathedral. It was useful to look down on the ice-fall, from below. I had decided that the route to the left was the least dangerous, but from the col I could see that the central route was at a far more reasonable angle. On both routes, it was necessary to cross an icefall, so an early start up it was indicated.
Going down from the col was much simpler, partly because I glissaded between the "gentlemen", also I took a better line. Frances and I reached camp just before the Sherpas, who'd made very good time to Camp IV and back. It was grand to be able to change into dry socks!
This was an off-day and how! With all the amenities provided by the kitbag we were able to wash both ourselves and our clothes. We had no fuel to spare to heat water, we felt, so we used the icy water. We photographed ourselves on our lilos, washing in background. I even washed my hair and, at the crucial moment, called Mingma over to lend a hand, all for the photograph.
Frances was still very tired, so I persuaded her that a rest was what she wanted and I set out with the lads, for the col between Dent Blanche and the Ogre. I found it quite a slog, I don't know why. I suppose it was retribution for thinking I was acclimatised! We had many halts; Mingma carried the sack (it didn't seem to hold him back). The walk must have been terribly tedious for them. They amused themselves by throwing a snowball uphill and then having a race to it. Nyma didn't have a chance!
After about three hours, we reached the col, and I took a few bearings for Frances (not as many as I should I'm afraid). Over the other side, I could see nothing of the Tichu Na etc., but there was a glacier flowing (roughly) northwest, which I took to be the (lesser) Chota Shigri. I was intrigued by the Dent Blanche; I realised that it might be climbable by a strong party, by the ridge we'd seen end on. Firstly, a traverse in from the left, onto the ridge, then up the ridge, avoiding steeper rocks by the snow, as far as the shoulder, when there'd be a desperate traverse through "Penitent Gentlemen" onto the left hand ridge, which would lead more easily to the summit.
The Ogre looked steep by the snow ridge from the col, but climbable by a bold party.
I wanted to see over to determine whether it would be possible to cross the col. I could see that to the right crevasses were forming, so I insisted that Nyma (ahead) should rope up (actually our line led to rocks and was OK). I couldn't see down, so descended snow and rock for about 200 ft. I found the slope very steep, but possible for a bold party. I don't know what was the matter with me, but I sat down for a good 10 minutes before I could face the ascent of that 200 ft.
I was a different person on the descent; Nyma often did a sitting glissade, while Mingma and I would do a standing one in his tracks, or else skate down. We stopped to go to the col just below the Dent Blanche, which led over to glacier no. 8. It was fun going down the steepish part, but I found the walk back to camp incredibly tedious. I suppose the lads realised how I felt, for they stopped for two little halts on the way. The trip had also been useful to point out the shelf to Mingma. I asked him if he'd be able to carry a load up the icefall and he seemed to think it all in a day's work.
We got the lads off in good time carrying loads round to the foot of the icefall. Mingma promised to choose a site not too close to it(!), while Frances and I waited, praying that more supplies would arrive from Concordia. The Sherpas came back and we all sat rather glumly wondering whether the gamble would come off – and then, at about 2 o'clock Mingma was able to tell us that three men were coming.
We couldn't make them out at first. Actually they turned out to be Namgyl and a fourth Ladakhi who we didn't know, then there was a poor man right in the rear who they said was the postman. Frances recognised him as our head Manali porter and, sure enough, he drew out a bag of letters. He was rather sorry for himself; he'd gone right in some water nearly up to his waist. We eagerly took our letters and also glanced at some addressed to Major Banon (actually about Joyce and Hilda's passages home).
It was incredible how Frances’ eye was able to pick out at once the important sentence "Regret to say that Mr. Wingrove has been killed in a road accident" (which was to give me food for thought for a long time). I read my letters, wrote a terribly hurried note to Henley's Manager at Bombay, explaining about my passage back, and also Frances lent me an air letter to take this opportunity to send another letter home. Frances did all the organising and in an hour or so we were ready to set off, with Namgyl, leaving Tachu and the postman behind.
Frances was carrying nothing, and going slow enough not to get out of breath, yet her pulse was about 150. She still wanted to go on, but I told her I couldn't let her. I consulted Mingma and the result was that Namgyl went down. We thought to ask Tachu to return the next morning to escort Frances down. Actually he came up that night, together with the little tent. I think Namgyl was glad of company; there was singing coming from the tent until very late.
We got up at about 5 o'clock by our watches, but the sun had already reached the top of the icefall, which worried me a little. The men seemed to take a long time getting ready. Frances, the invalid, was up hitting rocks, long before we were ready to go.
Eventually we started, but the sun had already reached the foot of the icefall. We had a rest at the foot of the steep part, so I took that opportunity to rope the party. Namgyl was next to me, so I put him next on the rope, then Mingma and lastly scatterbrain Nyma. I traversed to the left, kicking steps, but I heard a conversation behind me about "Karapongs", so I asked them if they wanted steps cut, and I gathered they did – and so I got myself a job for the next two hours!
We zigzagged up to the left, then back to the right, but we were still too low to cross the crescent. It was snow filled, but looked like a crevasse, so we did another zigzag to get above it and then had to traverse fairly horizontally to get beneath a serac. Soon after this we reached a spot where we could have our first rest (and was I glad!). The rest part was very tedious (we were across the avalanche track by now). Much of the snow was soft, and I had to avoid it, both because it was so tedious to sink into, and also because I didn't trust it an inch and I didn't know quite how the Sherpas would set about pulling me out of a crevasse!
This part seemed very long, we had another rest or so, and then reached the icefalls, last line of defence. The crevasses were lovely, decorated as they were by long icicles, but I kept going over doubtful ground, so that even when it did feel solid to my axe, I didn't know whether the whole block of ice mightn't fall in. I went up a steeper slope and saw that there was no bridge, but that there was a bridge further to the left, which looked to be of new white snow; however, it was the only one, so it had at least to be looked at. I directed the others over to it (and they had to descend a little).
It was rather a revelation, the cautious way they went down. I'm afraid I'd taken their load carrying too much for granted. Once more I didn't like the ice leading to the bridge, so I asked the party to remain spread out (when next I looked back I found them all in a bunch, which didn't give me a great deal of confidence before tackling a delicate snow bridge!). I asked Mingma if he understood about the use of a spare rope and Karabiner for crevasse rescue and he assured me he did, so, leaving the spare rope behind and with numerous slings around me, I set off. I'd had visions of swimming across, but found it far too steep. It was crusted soft snow; the crust wouldn't bear me, and I could get no support from the powder snow. Usually my steps would collapse into the one below, however, I gradually made progress, until I stood at the top, then had a little hole to cross and was on firm ground.
I belayed and then Mingma showed who should have been leader of the party, using the rope as handhold, he was soon up, bringing the spare rope, which he fixed as an extra hand rail, and the other two, making good use of this, climbed it with their sacks. Mingma then descended twice more to bring up his own and my sacks.
We had to take a devious route, even after this, to avoid all the depressions in the ground, and had one or two more halts, although it wasn't at all steep (the leader was in no condition to refuse a halt).
I suggested that we might go to the top of the first rise on the shelf to camp, but Mingma told me it would be too cold; I suggested that we went to the foot of it and started off again, but immediately there were remarks from the rear about a campsite to the left, so, not knowing quite how heavy their loads were, I gave in and we pitched the tent. I think I rather horrified people; I asked Mingma how many his tent would hold, whether it would hold four and when he said yes, I suggested that we only need take one tent. He gave me rather a queer look and he and Nyma exchanged glances, but I knew the suggestion would have to come from me, and it seemed ridiculous that they should have the extra weight to carry, also there weren't enough tents for each memsahib to go off on her own, so I felt I'd forestall future criticism of hogging a tent.
Mingma's reply had been "Yes, Sir", but I was used to this and wondered whether the tent would be put in nevertheless. It wasn't; they'd had far too much to carry. We had packed the black box before the Sherpa's food had arrived and had packed for them. Then they had their own food and, when Frances turned back, I had taken out hardly any food.
We were settled by about 11 o'clock; they blew up my lilo and wanted me to go in the tent, but I refused. I didn't want it to appear that it was 'my tent'. I remembered Frances' fear that the men might sleep outside. They were wonderful to me. I couldn't get comfortable sitting up on the lilo and complained that, while Sherpas were used to sitting cross legged I was used to chairs, so Namgyl propped up my pillow on an Everest frame, while Nyma tied a cord between the tent and an axe and padded it with my Duvet as a headrest.
I had taken no amusement with me, in my effort to travel light, and, halfway through the afternoon, I suggested that Mingma should bring me a book from Concordia. To my horror, he took me seriously, which showed what little respect he had for the icefall! I could never get Mingma to tell me when they were going to eat; they always seemed to do the opposite of what he said. Namgyl came into his own that afternoon, spending several hours making chapattis (the first ones were given to me and I enjoyed them), but I was horrified to think of the fuel being used to this extent. Later I asked Mingma how many day's kerosene we had and he said about three.
Also I found we were short of tea, but, as with the kerosene, when they found how much we had they rationed it, going without themselves, so that we brought down a little of each. I was very impressed by this.
They seemed very anxious to settle me in the tent for the night, while I was just as anxious to stay out and try to get a sunset photograph. Eventually I went in and saw how it was possible to sleep four in the tent; we were to be crossways (as I said to Mingma, it was all right for little Sherpas, but how about great, tall Memsahibs and Ladakhis). With the pillow propped up much too far, it was just possible to get the lilos in, but Namgyl's (on the end) was right up against the door.
There was a little singing, but not nearly as much as on the previous night; the chief disturbance was when Mingma wanted to smoke, for which he was thoughtful enough to put his head outside the door.
I just woke up at dawn and then the next I knew, Namgyl was getting agitated and the sun was on the tent. Mingma's and my watches both said the same time, 5 o'clock, so it was some time before we realised that they were an hour slow. Breakfast was over fairly soon (they had some chapattis left from the previous day) and then we set out along the shelf. I had said that we'd try the 'Bara Tibba' and if that didn't 'go', we'd do the 'Chota Tibba'.
I soon changed my mind, but I don't think the men realised it at first. I seemed to me that the sun had been on the slopes for hours and that we'd have to come very much earlier if we were to get both up and down safely. Also was the thought very much in my mind that the slopes were too steep, but on asking Mingma about this, he assured me that it was nothing at all, that they used to pitch camp on such places as Makalu!
There was a cornice at the top of the col, so I had gone several hundred feet to the left to go round it and that gave a steep descent, so I roped the party, Namgyl, Nyma, Mingma and myself, and we continued in this order to the rocks of the Pt. de Zinal, where I meant to reverse the order, for aren't rocks my own home ground? I had reckoned without Mingma. It was too much for him to arrive third on a rope on rock; as soon as he got there he unroped and started running up the rocks (easy angled slabs).
In an effort to call the party to order, I told him that Namgyl's nailed boots weren't suitable. I don't know whether he told Namgyl that he wasn't to come, but the latter's reaction was to take off his boots and socks and start running barefoot after Mingma. Mingma was carrying the spare rope, so I told him to rope up Namgyl; I knew he wouldn't belay, but he was such a superb climber that even I couldn't be nervous about him and I knew that he could hold Namgyl as a second.
That left me with Nyma, to whom my attitude was partly determined by his slip on Gunther's Peak and the thought that we ought to train him. I determined that he should give me continental belays. He took no notice of me as usual, so I asked Mingma to tell him that it was in case I slipped, so that he could save himself (although why I should want to slip on this lovely rock, after some of the horrid snow we'd been over, I can't imagine). At each stance I had to bully Nyma afresh to get him to belay.
Soon we reached the fore summit where the others had stopped, so getting Mingma to pay out the rope, I continued. Soon Mingma told me that Nyma wasn't coming any further. That surprised me, as the last bit of ridge was hardly moderate, too easy to give a real sense of exposure. Mingma didn't need a second bidding to join me and we gave each other alpine belays. I kept ahead, although there was a plaintive "Me go first" before the last pitch, which was slightly more interesting, but I had already started and took no notice. I retreated from the summit to allow Mingma to build a cairn there, and I duly photographed Mingma and his "tü" (thumb in Sherpa), when Mingma was reminded that he had a red flag. Mingma knocked down the cairn and had to rebuild it with the flag.
Nyma had brought up the flag. I had an idea that I ought to have sent down Nyma with Frances, but how could I treat the youngest like this, especially when I knew that he had the enthusiasm to carry flags for summits?
After the ceremony of the cairn, I had my orders. "You go down, sir" and down I went, and Mingma followed me. When we reached the others, Mingma told me that last year he'd climbed with Mister Couzy, who is a very good rock climber (apparently Terray's not bad either!) Namgyl's feet were cold, so we went down to his boots, roping as on the way up. We stopped at the bottom for lunch. Sardines and biscuits were appreciated by all.
Using the spare rope as a hand-rail we descended the cornice at a place where it was not more than vertical and found the snow ridge below firm. We kept on the rope for the happy quick run back to camp, where, once more, we had to while away a long afternoon.
l was curious to know whether it was possible to get up the back of the Cathedral. I asked Mingma if he'd noticed if there was a way and he'd replied "No road Sir", but I thought I might as well look and went across the basin behind camp. I saw a way across the bergschrund and realised that it would be easy to get up to the col to the south of the Cathedral, but above this were vertical rocks. It might be possible to get behind these, or there was a traverse in front, but this was the doubtful spot. From here on it looked very steep, but possible. I got out my monocular and found that all the lower slopes were covered with "Penitent Gentlemen" in other words it would be terribly tedious as a way of ascent in the early morning, so I decided against it.
This was the day. I said softly to Mingma that it was 4 o'clock, but he didn't wake and I hadn't the heart to use more vigorous methods. Fortunately Namgyl had heard me and was soon out of the tent to make room for the breakfast making. We were away at about 5 o'clock. It seemed far too late and we made our way up to the foot of the seracs, and the route we had seen the previous day. We roped up; I put Nyma at the end and Namgyl next, then I took up the other two positions on the rope and asked Mingma which he'd like, to which he replied that he'd have whichever I gave him, so I gave him the knot of the second man, explaining that I was afraid we'd soon have to change over.
I was in two minds about the leadership; I longed to lead the peak myself and it's such a change for me to have a party willing to follow me who are capable of climbing the mountain. Also I remembered my resolve on the Baby Bastard, that Mingma hadn't a great enough sense of responsibility and that it was far too worrying to me if I could have the lead myself. Against all this was the conviction I've always had that the best man should lead, and it is wrong to play at leading.
I started up; when it steepened I cut a few one blow steps, and zigzagged up, crossing the first snow bridge and then stopped before the last obstacle before the ridge. I got Mingma to belay me, vainly tried to get the others to stand well back and then started up the steep snow bridge. It was of similar consistency to the one at the top of the icefall, crusted too thinly and with bottomless powder snow beneath.
I moved along a couple of steps and then tried to take a step up. I tried again, but no go. I tried to find something firmer to put my axe into, but again no; I seemed stuck (knees were no good for spreading my weight either). Mingma then suggested he should try another place which Nyma had pointed out, so I came back and we swapped places on the rope. He hardly went near the other place, before he was back at my spot, which he ascended without a great deal of difficulty!
Despite his small size, he has the longest stride of anyone I've ever known. I don't know whether it was this, combined with his light weight which helped him to walk up instead of sinking in. I had to untie very soon, and then Namgyl and Nyma, and we had to tie on the spare rope. Just above the bridge it was very steep and Mingma cut huge steps, but I couldn't understand why he continued going up. I realised when it was my turn to follow! I paid out the rope all the way and I paid the usual second's price. I had all the chips down on my head. I'm quite used to this, but it didn't seem right to Namgyl, who stood over me to protect me from them (a nice thought).
When Mingma shouted, Namgyl used his own initiative, tied onto the other end of the spare rope and led up that end, using the original rope as a hand rail. When he was up, this end of the rope came down again, so I did the same thing. I didn't quite approve, but I thought I'd rather climb it that way than have the lads try to pull me. I put as much of my weight as I could on the spare rope, and yet again and again I went through on the steps, and I began to doubt whether it would have been possible for me to lead it (Namgyl hadn't broken through, but possibly he'd had far more of this weight on his arms). I have never read about this problem; I wonder whether it's because such clumsy people don't usually come to these hills, or whether it's because sensible people keep away from such snow.
I could see why Mingma had taken such trouble with his first few steps, it was practically vertical and above it must have been about 60º. We persuaded Nyma to tie on before he started up. I began to worry about the descent; Mingma said it'd be easy, the first three would rappel and only the last man would have to climb down. By this time I had quite a bit of confidence in him as a last man, but felt that a way ought to be found to protect him. I tried cutting a mushroom, but decided that the snow was too soft and the rope would cut through. About 6 ft. down on the other side was part of a rock ridge and I wondered whether we could use a long sling from this. It was a magnificent position, on the ridge and there looked no other reasonable way up to our position, but also I wasn't sure that a reasonable way led on from there!
There was no question of reorganising the lead, Mingma took his rightful position at the head. The lower part had been of good belaying snow, but now it was of hard ice and belays were scanty. It was the sort of position which normally terrifies me. I'm looking for an escape for myself in case my foolhardy leader should slip, but I wasn't this time. I don't know whether the altitude was lulling my judgement, or whether it was that I'd never seen such a safe mountaineer as Mingma.
He cut first up the ridge, which ended in a steep face and a crack or so provided a belay, if not much confidence; then it was straight up the face, which steepened alarmingly, so I suggested he tried to get over to the ridge on the right. Once more there was a crack in the ice, which he investigated well before crossing over it, and so over the ridge until he'd run out the 90 ft of rope.
When I tried to follow, I found I had to cut an occasional handhold, especially for the crossing of the ridge. Mingma had reached a stance where, although there was no belay, the slope was fairly gentle, so I was able to unrope so that the other two could come up one at a time. There was only about one more pitch, up a slightly easier ice ridge, before I joined Mingma in a slight col on the summit ridge. To the left was the snow summit and to the right the rock, so as soon as the others were up, I suggested the building of a cairn on the latter. Mingma offered me the lead of these last few feet, but I got him to go along so that I could photograph him as first on the summit.
A large cairn was built, a hybrid between a Sherpa and a Ladakhi, but it collapsed so a pure bred Sherpa one was put up, which lasted more than a day I know. Nyma wasn't to be outdone, he found a length of rock of about 3 ft, and as it couldn't be incorporated in that cairn he took it to the snow summit – we'd all untied from the rope and I had to tie Nyma on, otherwise he'd have walked unroped and without an axe along the razor sharp snow ridge.
"We go down here" announced Mingma, pointing to the southern side. It was terribly steep, but at least it was of rough, softening snow and easy. I wondered about the gap in the route I'd noticed the night before, but decided it'd be better to chance it than to go, without pegs, down the ice and then over the snow bridge of softening snow. Mingma started down on the rope, followed by Nyma, and I wanted Namgyl next, but he'd insisted that he went last. This slowed us considerably, for he was rather lacking in experience of such conditions and belayed most conscientiously (I didn't like to discourage him). Actually the snow was quite safe and at the end Mingma traversed to the right, thus avoiding the bergschrund.
The great thing which annoyed me was the fact that Nyma was never ready to belay him, which gave me the excuse later on to get the position of last man. I said that Namgyl had better go next to Mingma to give him belays, but actually I think Mingma was happier with Nyma there, as the latter was more sure footed.
We stopped on the little plateau, while I changed both my films. I had great trouble getting my Leica spool out; it was Namgyl who eventually managed it. Then there was another very steep edge to go over and Mingma continued to go down, although starting to hesitate as the snow became icier. I told him that he'd have to traverse to the right, and pointed up to the yellow (rough) snow as a suitable line. He started the traverses, and all went well at first, but then the snow started to soften, to such an extent that the party of four were almost moving one at a time, taking such trouble with belays, although most of the time they were useless.
Nyma kept saying to me in a very pointed way, "Bad road, memsahib", but I knew that he'd see that Mingma's original way was even worse when he got down. I learned that when all the rope was paid out one said "Catum go", although they all seemed to prefer to say "finished". The only way I could ever get Nyma to listen to me was to have real anger in my voice, otherwise he'd just say "Yes sir" and continue whatever he was doing, whether it was walking over a cornice, trailing a rope, or not belaying. I don't know what he thought of me on this traverse. I'd speak angrily to him one moment and joke with him the next.
Things got worse and worse, we were under some rocks and water was dripping down and making too clear a distinction between the ice beneath and the (average) foot of new snow on top; we were simply dependent on no-one slipping.
Then Mingma started going down again, although we were near a crest, so Namgyl went on to look over, and the rest of us joined him when we realised he'd reached rocks (even if it were shaly stuff). Mingma then made a lower traverse; relying on the rope above, he danced across until he reached the platform on the crest (a level place), with a lovely view of the valley down Manikaria way, with the clouds gathering. The platform was almost entirely of ice, but we just managed to get a belay, the descent was again on snow unstable on ice, but this time, not in a dangerous situation.
Three pitches and we were on the col and there started down the gully, full of Frances' gentlemen, but fairly easy for me, with three in front to knock them down. Towards the bottom there was a little ice to avoid, and then they seemed to prefer the broken rocks to the left. "Don't go anywhere you wouldn't take a memsahib" I warned them, but it led down and across the bergschrund OK – and so back to camp at about 1.30.
Mingma had agreed with me that it should be possible to cross the col; he also said that it might be possible to ascend the one by the Dent Blanche in the same day. We hadn't fuel enough to make a longer round of it, so we again woke up at 4 a.m., breakfasted, packed and set off up to the col. Then we looked down the other side. I think Mingma had been a little sobered by the previous day, but he said it was too steep (with crampons OK, but not without). What a fool I'd been not to bring them, but then we had none to fit Namgyl. Afterwards, Mingma told me that of course he and Nyma would have managed it, but Namgyl would have had too much trouble.
I wasn't done yet; I started towards the Pt. de Zinal to see if it were possible to traverse round that to the col between it and the Ogre. Mingma had one look and said it wouldn't go, but I suggested we took a rope and looked further round. The others came as well. Mingma led down on easy rock slab, and I followed, but both Namgyl and Nyma retreated from it, so the two of us went on.
How I enjoyed the traverse, but Mingma described it as very dangerous. We always had rock belays; the rock was broken, but mostly firm. I admired the way Mingma always poked the blocks with his axe before touching them. Occasionally there was a strip of ice to cross. Oh the power in Mingma's blows, as he made the bucket steps, but oh the trouble I had to stride from one to the next! Then we came to a strip of snow (or ice) and Mingma said "No road", so I agreed to turn back, although I knew that it was the inability of the others to come this way, rather than the difficulties ahead, which turned us.
We returned to the loads, consoled ourselves with our usual lunch of biscuits and sardines, and then descended, past the old campsite and stopped at the top of the icefall and re-pitched. I felt it was too late in the day to descend; also I'd had another idea, the left hand ridge of the Doeuvre Blanche was no more that 45º; it had steep rock gendarmes, certainly, but wouldn't they be turnable on the snow? Mingma seemed less optimistic, but agreed to try.
Then I realised that if we did it the next morning, we'd again be late for the icefall, so I suggested we tried it that afternoon and, after a cup of tea, we set out at 12 o'clock. It took about half and hour to reach the crest of the ridge, despite the "gentlemen" in the way. I carried the sack with spare rope and Mingma led (a little rock scrambling, then up some snow), then we avoided a gendarme by a snow scoop, always on the right. The trouble with the snow was that at this time of day it was again a case of snow softening on ice, and I didn't like it.
Next came more rock, but much snow needed removing, for which Mingma took some time. When it was my turn he gave me a very tight rope (it wasn't the first time either). I could have climbed unaided, but would have taken my time to get my breath back – as indeed I had to after every move. Suddenly the whole 'do' seemed pointless. I knew Mingma's heart hadn't been in it from the start and then, looking round the corner, I could see quite a bit of the nasty snow ahead, and then much steeper slabs, so I gave the order to retreat. We were back at camp two hours after leaving it; they had seen us coming and tea was ready. The lads celebrated their last evening on the plateau and were playing outside the tent long after sunset (to spear an empty tin with an ice axe was the favourite).
I had thought that we needn't get up particularly early, as long as we were over the upper part before snow softened, the steeper lower part would 'go' better later. Namgyl had other ideas; he awoke at the crack of dawn (literally) and started the primus (with Mingma's help). We packed, roped and started down. I put Mingma in the lead, with myself last. Too late I realised that this was wrong, that the lightly laden person needed to go first to make the steps, and that Mingma could certainly be trusted to play last man.
Mingma followed our upward tracks (just visible), but stopped at the soft snow bridge, there was a gap above it, and the bridge itself had hardened. Mingma pioneered, probing efficiently with his axe, the others made nothing of carrying their loads down. Mingma, load and all, recut the steps for the traverse until we were above the incipient crevasse, and then I got out the spare rope, thinking they'd use it as a handrail to go straight down, but not a bit of it; they had different ideas. They dropped their loads down the slope and to my remarks said that there was no hole at the bottom! I took in the spare rope, and Mingma continued to recut in the upward line. I stood it for some time, and then got out the spare rope again, but they wouldn't use it. I don't know whether it was because it would leave me last with no steps, but I wasn't worried.
I don't why, but I became obstinate. I suppose it was because I had lost the initiative. I dug in my heels and refused to move. Namgyl, next to me still had his sack and the other two had unroped by now. Mingma came up and took Namgyl's sack and then Namgyl moved up to me, and we moved down together in the steps – it was only a minor incident and they didn't seem to hold it against me. At the bottom I got behind while I was photographing the icefall, and when I caught them up I found that they were talking to a stranger in a yellow hat!
Frances assured me that she'd been down to Camp I and was much better, had been on her way up with Joyce and Hilda, to camp at the col between the Dent Blanche and the Ogre. Joyce and Hilda hoped to climb the former! She guessed we'd done the Cathedral; it seemed more than Mingma could stand, to hear me tell her the details of leadership, and they moved off a little downhill. Frances said she'd have to go up and tell the others that she wasn't joining them, and would then come down and join us at the new camp on the first moraine. We couldn't miss it, there was a red flag on a boulder.
We went down and started hunting for the camp; Mingma investigated various possible cairns on the moraine, but there was no dump to be seen. We sat down, people walked in little circles and I got out my monocular and inspected all around to no avail. Then I gave it to Mingma to see if his eyes were sharper; they were, he saw something suspicious, investigated and called us over. There wasn't much, the chop box with pressure cooker in it, a locked black box, a kitbag, shared apparently between Frances and Joyce, and no fuel.
My wise virgins, or whatever the masculine is, had saved a little kerosene from our meagre supply, and were able to put on the kettle for tea. There was a little rice and ata, but I remembered a few of the luxuries we had brought down, and we had our usual lunch of sardines and biscuits. Then I gave the lads a tin of cheese, while I went over to investigate the old camp.
This was further away than I'd expected, and when I got there, I found the red flag bravely flying from a double bamboo pole, tied together with an elastic bandage. It was on a platform about 18 inches high (snow, protected by the bungalow tent). The only tent there was the small zipped one, collapsed and also forming its own platform. There was a bundle of things to be taken down, a black box with a little food, the rest of our tin of kerosene and a kitbag containing my odds and ends. I recovered my diary from this and put it in my anorak and then looked around for a clean tin in which to transport some paraffin. I couldn't find one so decided to take the whole lot. I had a sling round my waist, so I put the karabiner through the handle, and my axe through that and slung it over my shoulder. It made the journey back seem even longer than the way there. Fortunately, Mingma was there to carry it up the last steep part.
Frances came back in the afternoon with Passang and Tachu, and a list of instructions from Joyce. The next day was rather complicated.
Tea came at 4 o'clock, before Passang, Mingma and Namgyl left for Camp I (much to Frances' horror). I think I got up at about 5 o'clock and left sometime later with Nyma and Tachu who were carrying loads to a new camp, en route for glacier 3 or 4 (right hand side). We went for an hour or so. Nyma asked several times if we'd reached the campsite, which made me obstinate and continue; then we came to a place with water to the side, so we left the loads there. Nyma cairned the way back, and we arrived the same time as Frances returned from Concordia. We sent Tachu up to fetch Hilda down; she had said that she'd have to come to divide the food which the lads were bringing up from Camp I.
Then we sent Nyma back up to the new camp with another load, impressing upon him that he must return to Concordia with the stove to cook Hilda's supper. Then Frances and I went to Concordia, raided the food box, putting quite a number of tins in Frances' rucksack and eating a tin of rice pudding for an early lunch.
We waited for Nyma to arrive, but to no avail; then we saw Hilda and Tachu descending and, hours later, they arrived at Concordia. "Hallo Brighton Belle" was her greeting to me, but Frances was "South African vermin". She was worried about her supper, so I thought I'd better go up to Nyma to see what he'd done with the stove, also to make sure he hadn't taken there the black box which Hilda swore wasn't at the last camp.
The snow was softening; I had to pick my way carefully and, being on my own, I had time to think. I was only carrying a light load, but it was the second time I had carried to that camp that day. I became a little depressed to think of myself ferrying loads, when I was capable of real mountaineering, such as is encountered on the Cathedral.
In the camp, Nyma was sitting in his tent with a kettle of tea which was nearly cold. He seemed so surprised when I told him the stove was needed at Concordia, but he soon packed it up and took it. I had a pleasant afternoon in my tent, made up several days of my diary, took in the sleeping bags when it started to snow, ate lots of chocolate for I was ravenous and then, as 6 o'clock approached, I went outside to see if there were any signs of the others. Far too many people were approaching (Mingma, Nyma, Passang, Namgyl, Tachu and Georgie); apparently, as there was no tent room at Concordia, Frances had brought them all up to share our two tents. It had stopped snowing by now, and we were quite a jolly party. It was only Mingma and Nyma who seemed to ignore me. I found out later that Nyma was ill.
We put out a tin of peas, steak and kidney pudding and corned beef for everyone to share, but it was put together and brought to us (no carbohydrate with it, so I made some porridge and put in a few spoonfuls of the mixture for us, and left the rest). The mixture was satisfactory, but too scanty. We were a little worried about the men coming in the tent, whether they wouldn't like to come, so I tried to invite them by taken an extra lilo and putting it in.
The first one I blew up was Georgie's, but it leaked, so I got hold of another which Mingma said was Namgyl's. Frances and I slept top to tail. I was on the outside, and then, long after dark, Namgyl and Georgie joined us, also fitting in sardine fashion.
With Passang around, breakfast started at 5 o'clock. As soon as I'd had mine and without even rolling up my sleeping bag, I set out, making for glacier 4. I went up to the left of the icefall – it was easy. There was only one nasty moment, when I first heard the water beneath and thought it was an avalanche coming down! I had to go some way up to see round the corner, then in the corner there was only a narrow, steep tongue of snow, which might or might not come out at the right place.
The only easier ways up simply led into glacier 3, so, as nothing was to be gained by this, I descended and met Frances and the five men. They had been awaiting my verdict before coming further. It was snowing by this time, but we were a very happy party as we continued up the glacier. There was an easy col at the end, which looked promising, failing that, there was ascendable snow to our right.
We went past the first way up, and as the men were continuing I was loath to stop them, but eventually I had to call a halt, and camp was pitched. I very much wanted to reconnoitre the col ahead, but stopped for tea (at about 11 o'clock) and then the weather deteriorated still further. I'm loath to spend my energy unnecessarily and I didn't want to get to the col and find no view, so I stayed in the tent until about 3 o'clock, when the sun came out. The whole trip only took an hour, despite the "gentlemen" in my way. I bashed them down all I could, thinking I was making a track for laden men in the morning.
The final steep slope had a few miniature schrunds, so I took to the rocks. It was a great disappointment to look over and find that I was at the head of number 2 gully leading to the B.S. It was a lovely spot; I was on a sort of plateau, simply covered with "gentlemen" and, to my left, was a little snow peak, with the evening sun showing up the lines of "gentlemen". To my right was a wall, with steeper snow. At first I resolved to ascend it, but I suppose laziness got the better of me for I thought the snow slope above camp ought to be investigated first, so I went down – just in time for tea.
That night I asked for breakfast for Mingma and myself only, at 4 o'clock, saying that we'd be investigating a col. Then if it 'went', we'd shout down to the others who'd take up loads and then the three of them would descend for the rest of the loads.
It had snowed all night; it seemed to me that I'd had no sleep before Passang awoke us with tea at 3.15. I spilt quite a lot of it while dozing off while waiting for it to cool down. Then I stayed in bed until 4.30, when I looked out, found it was a lovely morning and got up. I hadn't eaten anything with my tea, so I put a few biscuits in a bag, called in at the other tent and told Mingma to follow me and set out. The way was much easier and shorter than I'd expected. Mingma caught me up half way and soon we were on the top.
I told Mingma to be careful of cornices and we roped up; Mingma went about 6 ft and said OK. I followed him. There was no cornice and, just to the left, was a smooth snow slope going down to the glacier, which flowed at first northeast and then north. It was a lovely morning; Mingma seemed in the best of spirits, brighter than I'd known him since the Cathedral. We ran down; half way I stopped to shout, "Come on you sluggards, up with those loads". We arrived back at about 6.30, in time for breakfast, and then for a very happy packing up.
I was horrified to find that they were going to carry everything in one go, instead of relaying. I could hardly shift Mingma's sack from the ground. Poor Passang was the last ready, and couldn't believe the size of his pack. However, after going round and feeling the others, he thankfully went back to his own. Some of the things had been removed from my sack, so I got up first and then came down to the others to carry a little more, which shows how full I was of the joys of spring, but by the time we reached the top it was clouding over.
We put the 90 ft rope down the slope and then, carrying my pack and a 100 ft rope I started down. I found that the snow wasn't as good as I'd hoped and was a little loose on ice, so I turned round and went backwards, hanging onto the rope. When I found that I was opposite a landing ground on rock I made for that and had just time to land my sack by the time Mingma arrived. He was carrying his enormous load and had more than he'd bargained for. He was flat on the snow and put out his hand for a pull across. No-one else was tempted to follow his example!
We had two more ropes, so we tied them together and fastened them to a peg. I expect a rope sling would have done instead, but the peg was expedition property! Mingma seemed keen on a peg, but chose a snow one, and tried to wedge it somehow, so I was very pleased to pick out a rock peg and show him a crack in which it could be knocked. Fortunately, Frances' hammer happened to be in my sack, for my own hadn't come up from Shigri. Then we fastened the rope in and Mingma went down on the 220 ft of rope, but it wasn't enough, so he had to stay there until the loads and people from above were down.
The loads were sent down first; fortunately there were platforms for them just above me, and then Frances, Passang and Namgyl. I wanted to go up and be last man, but Namgyl wouldn't let me; he went down to the top of the rocks and then down these. I said that the rope would have to be taken down to Mingma, and got Frances to take it, but the verdict was that the 310 ft of rope wasn't long enough, so they had to sit there and receive the loads.
I don't suppose they realised that they'd have a wait of 3 hours. Up top we had work to do all the time, so kept warm, despite the softly falling snow. It was very awkward for me, having no-one to translate. They couldn't seem to get the rope up, so they put the first sack (Mingma's) on a crab, to send it down the rope. I told Namgyl that he'd have to get it past the knot, but his efforts freed it completely and it went bounding down the slope, missed Mingma and Frances, jumped the schrund and went a good way further. After that the rope was hauled up and the kit sent down bit by bit.
This had to be repeated far more than three times for the loads had been taken to pieces, kitbags taken from the top of rucksacks and sent down separately. Passang removed the tent from his and took great trouble to tie it so that the poles were securely inside.
Each time we sent something down, I paid out the rope through the crab, but the men were on the edge of the rock and in a better position and took the weight. Poor Frances, after the shock of Mingma's sack coming down, asked for them not to come too quickly, but the lads got annoyed with me using the crab (with reason too, for I usually stopped the load when I came to a knot and then it would jam and they'd have to haul it up again). Namgyl's black box came out of the frame, and Mingma had to go up to it, to fasten it in.
At long, long last, everything was down, barring my sack which had string on the outside, two pairs of crampons, one kettle and one water bucket, containing our only primus stove, hardly a suitable load for the rope, so Namgyl carried it down. This suited me fine, for it left me as last man. Passang took his time going down (no-one made it look easy); with anyone else I'd have said that we'd belay each other down, but it would have been so difficult explaining to Passang, also I didn't know whether there were belays, so I then started down with the weight of 300 ft of nylon rope attached to my waist. Near the rocks it was icy, but then it was OK. The steps were rather worn, so towards the bottom, I started to glissade, until begged not to by Frances. I could see her point of view too, as later I looked back up and it looked incredibly steep, although it could only have been 45º.
When I reached the others, the situation seemed out of my control; I was informed that the schrund was large, but it was jumpable. It was so difficult when the three men could all speak to each other and I had to wait for Mingma to translate. Namgyl looked as though he was going to jump unroped, but eventually tied onto the oldest ¾ wt., and was persuaded to take some slings. Then he stood on the edge and started to gather in sufficient slack for the jump. He gathered in all the 100 ft of rope and then someone tied on the other ¾ wt. and he started hauling in that. I wanted to laugh, but it gave me my chance to forbid him to jump and Mingma immediately took his place.
Now I had some hope that Mingma had had previous experience of such situations. Certainly he tied himself onto the full weight rope and took the slings willingly and didn't object when I sent another rope over the crevasse by the side of him. Then he started hauling in slack, tens of feet, but he was measuring it down the crevasse. At last all was prepared and he jumped. I couldn't see his landing ground, so what an agonising time I had until he got further down and into view. We threw him down my axe and he anchored the rope and then he got us to send down one end of another rope and we tied the other end to the loads. We also tied our last rope to the loads, so that they were lowered from above, pulled by Mingma, and travelled down on a crab on the fixed rope. All went well and they all reached safety.
I had visions of rappelling the 'schrund and leaving an ice peg behind, but Mingma informed me that there was a bridge further along, so we roped up and started kicking our way along. Namgyl was last, so I got him to carry the spare rope. We were rather slow; Frances found it an anxiety having Passang behind, so we started moving one at a time. Mingma met us towards the end, having made a wonderful path among the "gentlemen". And so, after 4 hours, we were down, reunited with our sacks and ready to start down. Frances wanted to camp lower, hoping it'd be warmer. I was so sorry not to be photographing this lovely cirque, also I was loath to leave the high mountains. I was pleased about this, for, when I set out, for all I knew, I might have been bored! Just around the corner of the glacier, where there was interesting scenery to right and left, we stopped. We got them to put up their tent first (the char tent) and then ours, and so to bed.
We gave no orders for breakfast, wondering how things would work out. For instance, if it continued to snow, there'd be no point in getting up early. Tea came at 4 o'clock, to Frances' horror, and she refused to have breakfast then, with the result that we couldn't get it until 6 o'clock (such is Passang's method). I had a little while sitting on my lilo in the sun, until my boots thawed out. It was a glorious morning; packing up was a delight. I packed my sack and then set off to the right to try to see our cirque and photograph our col. When I returned, I found the camp deserted, and even my sack gone. When I caught up the others, I found that they had robbed my sack of its 3 ropes and 4 pairs of crampons (this, despite their still enormous loads!).
I then had another sortie, this time remembering my telephoto lens for the col, but it was a long way away and the lighting was flat. I also used my wide-angled to photograph some magnificent specimens of "gentlemen". I returned and followed the tracks, but the snow was softening rapidly. The others waited for me on the first moraine; they must have waited some hours.
We continued down over stones; I was half blind with my dirty snow goggles, and suddenly I looked up and saw the lower part of the valley – the colours – I've never seen anything quite like it, with the maroon band of rocks coming in front of the orange. I don't what the men thought of us that day; we couldn't give our minds to getting anywhere. Frances would stay behind to hit rocks and I'd stay behind to photograph flowers. Mostly it was completely barren, but there'd be the odd tuft growing between the stones. Mingma was interested in them too and gave me their Sherpa names, to which Namgyl would add the Ladakhi names. The first plant Mingma picked, he said it was for the scent it would give on a fire.
At about 1 o'clock Passang suggested camping, but we sent the men on to stop at the next suitable site (a lovely place it was too, among the blue leguminous plants), but the sun soon went in and we had to have a long afternoon in the tents. I celebrated by washing self and clothes, but the weather wasn't very kind about the drying.
We set off down the valley in good order. I gave my mind to getting places, but the geology at times proved a little too much for Frances. At one time she found fossils and I was horrified at the size of specimens she expected to be carried.
The way became more difficult; at times steep bands of little scree led straight down to the river; we'd cut steps in it at times, at other times, go along the stones right at the edge of the water. There was an occasional snow bridge, and once we crossed over to the right hand bank and back again. At one halt I thought to ask the Sherpas how much food they had left and I was horrified at their reply – one day!
Frances didn't seem at all worried at first; I soon put two and two together and realised why we'd made such a quick get away that morning; they'd had no breakfast. I'd thought that , for once, they'd had their own before bringing us ours, but no.
At about mid-day we were astonished to find a rude shelter, simply a semi-circle of stones about 2 ft high, with large spaces between the stones, as though it hadn't been used for ages, and certainly no signs of recent human inhabitation. We had found animal tracks higher up and occasional animal droppings; I thought there must be the odd wild sheep or so, but Mingma thought the shepherds would bring their flocks. Certainly down here there was a little more greenery for grazing. We had a halt by the stones, which were at the foot of a nullah on the left, which made us wonder whether the men had come up the valley or down the nullah.
For the next part of our descent we weren't sure whether it would be better to descend to the river again or go higher up the hillside. The men thought the upper way would be better, so I volunteered to recce it. It was a nasty way up and, when I got to the top of the next ridge, I was appalled to find that the hillsides, already precipitous on the other side, now became so on the left. I looked back at the way we'd come, it looked so easy and yet had been so annoying in places that to think of continuing seemed ridiculous. Men had been here, however; if they hadn't come up the valley, they must have come down the nullah, so I must reconnoitre that. I was loath to lose the height I'd gained, also clouds were forming, and it seemed to me that speed was important if I were to see (I always win my cases by having a double excuse), so I set off up where I was, assuming that I could traverse into the nullah to the left. I had left Frances with the men or, as I said, they'd follow me, but I was horrified to find that they were following me up. It was a terrible slog up.
I went to the ridge several times, but couldn't see any easy way over, so I'd go higher, where it was steeper, and I'd sometimes have to stick my pick into the scree to get along at all. It seemed to be getting no better, so I came down to Frances on the lower part of the ridge and we awaited the men.
I didn't know how to face them, after they'd carried their loads up such a place (not that I wanted them to!). From the ridge there was a very nasty steep gully down, so Mingma and I looked at a horrid traverse to the right, but there was a similar gully at the end of that, so we returned and descended the first one. Frances and I kept near Passang, who wasn't good on such ground, but he didn't need help, his correct snow kicking technique stood him in good stead.
At the bottom of the buttress, I left my sack and the others, and started up to find the col I was sure must lead us up and down to the more normal ways of men. There were patches of snow, but on the whole just rocks, at slightly too steep an angle to take direct, so I had to zigzag. I found the snow gave easier going. Eventually I was up the top of the little hills I had seen from below, but that was no use, there was just as far to go again, at a slightly easier angle, but such depressing going, just like wandering among colliery tips.
Before I left her, Frances had started worrying about the food and promised me only soup for supper, so I felt rather mean about the little bag of raisins in my pocket. I ate the lot, but I really felt I needed them to keep me going. I had started up at 1.30, with the threat of mist and snow; it kept clouding over, and then it would clear again. Somehow it was the most incredible experience, such barren country, and then the hillside opposite, occasionally lit up by the evening sun, and with its stupendous (no other word will do) folds shown up by the snow.
Up and up I went, I could see the col, so I thought, and was nearly level with it. I only had to traverse over to it. I was optimistic because (1) men must have come down this nullah to arrange the stones, and (2) there was very little water flowing down, therefore the cirque, whose mountains I could see behind my 'col' must drain my way. I got over into the stream bed, only to find it full of "gentlemen" and giving (almost) worse going than the stones (and so on, until 5 o'clock when I could see over into the cirque and find it completely enclosed!).
What a depressing moment; the only possible col was quite an hour away. I made the excuse that there wouldn't be time to get there and back before dark, but the real reason was that I had had enough. I had long before made up my mind that that night was the point of no return. If we went on the next day, we wouldn't have enough food to get back if the way didn't work out.
I'm making double excuses again. I couldn't take laden men up there without a recce, I wouldn't feel like setting out in the small hours for that soul-destroying grind again. We couldn't waste a day, therefore we must start back the next day and perhaps the day after I'd be able to recce a side glacier and we'd be able to vary the way back. It wasn't exactly a decision I took, but that I realised the inevitability of that course of action.
Another struggle down through the "gentlemen" (I didn't seem to be making much progress and I'd given myself an hour to get down), then some small stones, and then, all I'd promised myself, a snow gully at just the right angle for running down. Soon I heard some shouts (I'd said I'd be away 2-3 hours, and now realised it would be 4½). I left the gully for the ridge and shouted back, and then continued my run down, only to hear that Namgyl had started up with a Thermos and biscuits. Fortunately he returned before Mingma could set out after him.
I found that in my absence two platforms had been levelled in the steep scree (some huge boulders had been moved too), tea was awaiting me and then soup. It was too soon after my exertions to feel hungry after that.
We were up and away early. I diverged to photograph the semicircle of stones, but soon caught up with the others; then to my horror I found that Frances was lagging, couldn't carry her rucksack (what a nightmare, what a trap we were in). We kept stopping, yet were making fairly steady progress; we told the men to go on and make tea at our previous campsite.
Before we reached it, I got Frances to agree that the only thing was for her to stay there and give her heart time to recover, while some of us returned to Shigri for more food. I broke the news to Mingma, and said a Sherpa must stay with her, and it was taken for granted that that man would be Passang. The food was divided; I think Frances thought I was very mean expecting so much, but I knew that Mingma and Namgyl had heavy work in front of them and that everything depended on their strength and also on their good-will if others weren't back to replace them. I also insisted on taking the stove saying that Pasang could find wood lower down the valley.
I left all my odds and ends behind, travelled with a practically empty sack and didn't offer to help the others, thinking that, while they were probably replaceable, I was not and would have to come back again.
The paraffin (in tins), stove and food were all put in the same black box; fortunately we stopped fairly soon and the box was opened for 'chang' powder and they had a sort out, putting food on top. What a long way it was up the stones, and then, what a nightmare it was on the snow. We each took it in turn to break the trail, and each in turn would sink in the snow and get a bootful of the water beneath – one rest we had on a rock I used to wring out my socks, but it didn't seem to warm my feet.
I was a number of paces in front, trying to force myself on to our old campsite, when Namgyl said "Temba here"; how willingly I came back, for the weather was bad. As soon as it was pitched I crawled in and put my feet in Mingma's lovely warm sleeping bag. Tea cheered us, and then we had our corned beef and pom. I had difficulty in keeping my eyes open and had been wrapped in my bag for sometime, even sitting up like that was too much of a strain, so I stretched out down the side of the tent, but looked up occasionally when I realised something was afoot. Namgyl, the rogue, produced the bag in which he'd wrapped some wild onions. It still contained ata; it was cooked, in a lump, and then a helping was put on a plate for me, and Mingma passed the jam for me to eat with it, although they had chilli sauce. I must admit it filled a hole!
Namgyl awoke Mingma before it was light; when the match was struck to light the primus I looked at my watch and Mingma confirmed that it was 12.20! Breakfast was long and drawn out, snow had to be melted three times, once for tea, once for porridge, and again for tea. I dare say Mingma sometimes went to sleep, I couldn't blame him, I didn't pretend to stir until it was all over. Mingma then unwrapped my best boots which were nice and pliable. Namgyl had to thaw his over the stove, burning his laces in the process. It was a help when it began to get light and by 3.30 we had the tent struck and could move off.
It was a perfect morning and I saw my first Himalayan sunrise, not as colourful as in the Alps, but lovely. Unfortunately, I hadn't the energy to spare for a photograph. We mostly chose our own ways up, then the snow got a little bad and we'd follow in other people's footsteps thankfully until we thought it our turn to lead. Halts became more frequent, but eventually we were beneath the steep part and roped up. I was in front, the old snow was covered with a fair amount of fresh, but the path Mingma had hewn was clearly visible and I walked boldly along it.
Then I came to the path I had made, down, slightly at first, so I tried to cut further along. The snow was very treacherous, none of us liked it, so we looked above us to the rocks. To our amazement they looked more promising, so we went back and I started up, delightful, but then I was carrying nothing. We weren't roped for rock climbing, which gave Mingma his chance to get free of it.
After the first slab, there was a moderate corner; Mingma actually consented to have the rope tied to his sack for this, and once he was up, he left his load and went down again, and brought Namgyl's up in the same way. After this, the climbing was over, the way consisted of walking along ledges, to and fro. Namgyl kept on the rope, but Mingma, despite his sack, was quite independent.
At the top it looked like a snow traverse to the col. I tried cutting a first step in the snow and realised that I'd have to cut into the ice beneath, so I retreated and started up the rocks again, which led nearly to the summit. I was called back by the men, who said the traverse was best. Mingma actually consented to take my end of the rope, but he wouldn't let me take his sack. He cut a fine row of steps and Namgyl followed, but I found each step quite a mantelshelf problem.
We left one rope on the top and then quickly descended to no. 3 glacier. I then suggested to Mingma, going over the col and down no. 2 glacier, but he was reluctant to gain more height and I was quite relieved to be doing the safe thing and going down to Concordia. At the bottom we left our paraffin and the other rope (I thought we might want it in no. 2 glacier), ate biscuits and jam and proceeded down.
The snow was fine on the glacier, but horrid at the bottom; halts became more frequent and we took to the rocks all we could. Then, to my amazement, we came across fresh tracks only made an hour or so previously. If only we could catch them up it would save my men going right down to Shigri, I thought, but it would have been some task to catch them up. I found the way very tedious, firstly the snow, and then the stones, not steep enough for my weight to carry me downhill.
All day I'd been a little conscious stricken, as I'd been going as well as the men, and I felt that I ought to be carrying something, but didn't suggest it as I knew that the men were replaceable and I wasn't for the return trip. On the stones I suddenly got the feeling that at this altitude I couldn't get out of breath and then, almost at the same moment, I began to lag. It was soon after this, that the way became intricate, but I soon reached Camp I to find Joyce and Hilda and entourage about to start lunch, and no sooner had I sat down than pom and tongue were put before me. I found them most reasonable; they gave all the help and advice they could, and Hilda reassured me considerably.
Then came the problem of who to send where. I don't think Joyce or Pansy realised how far my men had come, and there was a remarkable lack of volunteers, either to come back with me, or, to go down to Shigri to fetch more food. In an effort to sort out the situation, I asked Mingma if he'd be willing to come back up, or whether he thought it someone else's turn. He muttered a reply in his own language, and it was from Pansy's translation I realised how fed up he was with the whole thing.
After that, Pansy got things organised; I was horrified when I found that Mingma and Namgyl were to go down to Shigri. Later when I mentioned to Pansy that Mingma had got up at 12.20, he was a little surprised. I insisted that the food must start to come up that afternoon, and Pansy assured me that it would. He said Ungel, Mingma and Namgyl would start up that night, and sleep on the rocks if necessary and come on in the early hours. With this assurance I thought it unnecessary to go down myself. No sooner had everything been arranged than it was supper time, rice and corned beef, and so to bed, but not to sleep, for I was worrying about the food arriving in the early hours.
From 3 o'clock on, I was on the alert, but it was about 7 o'clock before I got my tea, Pansy explaining the non-arrival of the food, by the slight fall of snow we'd had. After biscuits and jam, I got up and the tent etc. were packed. Eventually Joyce and Hilda decided to start down for Shigri, leaving the men behind, as there was no breakfast for them before the Sherpa food was brought up. At long last there was a shout, as Mingma appeared over the crest, and the water which had been boiling was made into char and ata. The three compo rations had been brought up, but enough ata only for one day, all there was, and also only about half a dozen packets of biscuits.
Ungel had come up and professed himself willing to accompany me, and in addition the party consisted of Tachu and Nyma. Pansy was full of advice. In some way Passang had become the villain of the piece. He was to be well safeguarded, and Pansy even insisted that two rock pegs were taken. I wasn't to spend my time climbing mountains, but was to come straight back!
When Sherpa meets Sherpa they seem to have practically nothing to say to each other, yet in a moment all the news seems to have passed from one to the other and Pansy was able to tell me all about Peter Holmes, who had waited three days at Shigri for news of our party. I don't know why, but Pansy tried to boost my morale by telling me other things which Mingma had said.
Finally, there was a touching hand-shaking scene; Pansy and Mingma went round shaking everyone's hand. Namgyl thought he'd get away with a few salaams, but not thinking, I insisted on shaking his hand (I hope it wasn't against any convictions of his).
We set off up the Barashigri, Namgyl setting a pace which, with a 20 lb. compo ration in my sack, I could hardly keep up. The snow seemed a little better, or perhaps it was that we kept on icier stuff. Eventually, we were at the cross roads; it had seemed to take less time than the descent unladen the previous day. The next part was tedious. Nyma was in front; I didn't like his line, but I soon found I didn't like making my own trail, so I followed his, although it led up the ghastly crevassed way to the silly camp.
Nyma stopped at the campsite but I said we must go on. Soon after this, I realised that I had a strike on my hands. Nyma started to prepare to go when, I suppose at a word from the Ladakhis, he sat down again. Nothing happened for some time, so I started, went on to the next group of rocks and waited there, but there was still no action from the men, so I decided I ought to take a firm line and continued. I set myself to reach a shelf at the foot of the side glacier. I just made it, but only just; my tracks must have looked ridiculous, as I wove to and fro, trying to find firmer snow. How thankfully I threw down my load, and I realised what I had done to the men, particularly to Ungel who had left from Shigri that morning.
The men had nearly caught me up. They seemed cheerful enough - perhaps it was at the thought of really stopping. I heard water dripping of the rocks, so took a pan over to collect water, only to find it was deep underground, or rather snow, so returned. The men were made of sterner stuff, they dug down several feet until they found it.
We were four and two tents. It seemed wrong that three men and one primus should go in one tent, so I gave them the option of sleeping two and two, or three and one, but insisted that I had the primus. Nyma seemed to consider it his duty to accompany the primus. I thought it'd be easier if we all sat in the same tent to eat, but the Ladakhis wouldn't come in, and Nyma sat outside, so as to be able to take the food to and fro. I had pom and bacon. The men had enough ata for this night, Nyma stretched it out a little more by adding some pom, but not very much and he refused to put more than half of the remainder of the bacon in.
Nyma awoke at about 2.30, but it took him half an hour to get the stove going. I couldn't get them to release the pressure before pricking it. When I eventually did this, it went OK. The Ladakhis had fetched water overnight, and it wasn't frozen, so breakfast was fairly quick. First tea, for memsahib, and she ate a biscuit or so, then tea for the men, and then their ata, again with very little pom. In the evening the ata had been as a soup, now it was made thick.
It had been snowing as we pitched camp, and the mist and snow continued on and off all night, giving me little sleep, but, as we struck the one tent, and packed, it began to clear, and fortune seemed with us. I left one tent standing, I knew that I at any rate would try to get down to Frances that night; we might all make it, and in an emergency the mountain tents had been known to hold four.
We started up in good spirits and, in an hour or two, we reached the foot of the col. We picked up the rope left there, but decided not to take the paraffin, that we had enough over the other side. There were innumerable halts on the steep slope; Ungel blazed the trail, I followed, but, although I had a much lighter load than the previous time, I found it much harder work and was glad of the halts. Then eventually the top; one more rope to collect, a halt, and to consider the way down.
Nyma was to the fore. I said we were going down the rocks, so he looked over at the snow slope and said we were going down there! Mingma's line of steps traversing to the rocks had been covered by new snow and I couldn't find them, so I started ascending the rocks of the ridge to get a direct descent to the rock buttress. Nyma still hung back. I told him we'd spent 4 hours to go down the snow, but only 1 hour to come up the rocks, but it all meant nothing to him.
I got the Ladakhis to follow me, and from the higher vantage point, I was able to point out the line of Bergschrund, and the Ladakhis seemed to understand, but Nyma was unimpressed; however, he eventually followed.
I had told Nyma that the snow was unstable on ice, and my words were justified on the descent, as they all slid on the ice. Then came my turn, I took the higher line to the ice, then wanted to cut steps, but the rope was in the way. However, Ungel cut a very nice line up to me. Ungel then descended and peered over and said that the way didn't 'go', so I explained that it was necessary to follow the ledges to and fro. Ungel, of course, had to follow the right hand traverse too far and find the peg we'd used on the first descent (motto: remove all pegs!!) and Nyma followed him and immediately threaded a rope through it and said that he was going to lower his sack, and that it would reach the bottom on 200 ft of rope. It didn't seem to matter that 300 ft hadn't been enough before. I couldn't call Nyma away. I had to drop my own sack, go along to him and threaten to pick up his sack, before I could call him away.
After this Nyma was quiet enough, but Ladakhi trouble loomed large. As soon as they were down a pitch, they all unroped and that would give Ungel a chance to go prancing all over the place. He'd look out the next pitch down, which was good, but then, unroped, he'd probably carry his sack down, which was worrying. Then, if I didn't look out, he'd come up to me, take my sack and, if I wasn't very careful, he'd hustle me down in front of him. Once, when this happened, I found myself below Nyma and had to watch the poor boy, looking most unhappy without a rope, with his enormous sack, descending the rocks. At the moderate pitch at the bottom, Ungel insisted on taking my sack, but I stood my ground as last man, and then on the bottom pitch and snow below, when Ungel got to the end of 100 ft of rope, I tied on the next 100 ft which got him down below the line of the bergschrund, and he stayed there.
On the flatter ground we left a compo ration (mine) and a rope and continued down. For some reason we passed both camp sites this time. The snow had been good, but, in the heat of mid-day at the lower altitude, it started to deteriorate, so I suggested that the men stayed there. As on the descent of the col, it was very difficult, the men all understanding each other, and Nyma, speaking so little English, the only translator. I packed some tins into my sack to take down. Then I thought that Nyma was coming with me, so I said he must leave the stove with the men. It was a long time before I could get him to unpack it, and when he did he started putting it together to make some tea. It began to dawn on me that they'd changed their minds and were all coming down.
In order to avoid the snow over water, I had moved to the left of the glacier, to the band of stones, but the going was still very bad. I went on in advance; soon I was prodding the snow in front of me, when that under me gave way. Fortunately the crevasse was of bridgeable size and I was even able to pull myself across, but I hated to think of the thoughts of the others, as they followed my tracks. Then across icier stuff until I got to the central band of stones, and on down, where the others overtook me, going at a terrific pace (and I thought they wouldn't make it!). I showed Nyma the back of Gunther's Peak when I caught them up at a halt for lemonade. They asked me how much further and, when I said about half an hour, they were surprised; they thought it much further.
When we arrived, the men and I had taken different lines, and had got there separately. Frances was cheerful, but a little thinner in face, I thought. She was handing biscuits round; apparently she had only eaten about half the food she had been left, so afraid was she that we wouldn't get back in time.
When I asked how she was, she wasn't at all encouraging; she felt dizzy in the head, suffered from palpitations, was very weak etc. I was amazed that she'd made no attempt to geologise!
I hoped that a good meal would do her good, but she'd eaten very little, and complained that even that had given her palpitations and had kept her awake. Poor Passang was scarcely more than a skeleton. I suppose he had no reserves in his body that he could draw on and he had no sympathy from his fellow Sherpas! He had managed very well, had found plenty of roots to burn and some dung.
We got up nicely in the sun, then set out. Frances started in advance and we caught her up at her first halt. She was still very sorry for herself, but I thought it only to be expected that she should feel weak, as she’d had very little breakfast. She said that her supper had given her palpitations and kept her awake for hours.
I carried our two sacks and in addition her little camera holder, into which I put odds and ends of food, biscuits and chocolate, and at each halt she had something to eat. It seemed to me she was getting stronger as she continued, but she had a halt and snack each half hour, and continued to be depressed. I was able to cheer her by walking with her; it wasn’t that I had anything bright to say to her, but she’d talk to me and that would take her mind off more depressing things. This was difficult for me with my heavy load, but eventually I got in the habit of having little halts. I’d walk on, although not out of chatting distance, and then rested the sack on my axe until Frances was past me, and then continue again.
It took us longer than I’d expected to get up to the band of moraine and at the top I tried the snow, found it soft and suggested we camped. Nyma was trying to keep his position as head of the men, and was pleased to go off and find a site. He went over to the left, across a stream and onto some small stones, and called us over. It was a long afternoon, but I spent it pleasantly enough in the sunshine, photographing and diary writing. I'd left my diary behind for the trip back over the col, and it'd been behind before that.
We made an earlier start, as we wanted to get up the snow before it softened. It was fine and hard first thing, which justified our decision to camp at the top of the moraine.
Once more, Frances set out first, and I was next, saying I'd go over to the other moraine to pick up the rope. I made over to the right far too soon, but followed yesterday's tracks occasionally, so I knew I'd come to it eventually, although I seemed to have to follow the moraine for miles. Eventually I could see the shape I'd tried to memorise of the large block and there was the rope. I then made over to the left and the men caught me up; they'd come straight up from the camp. I'd been a little more cunning this day; I'd had enough of Frances' sack the previous day, especially as I'd had to use a sling in place of the broken strap, so I'd left that behind, and just taken her commons, food, spare clothing, etc. Once more we started resting each half-hour, but then seemed to forget them. Frances was going remarkably well, although her own fears didn't seem to have diminished.
The men went on ahead and we were all to meet below the col. I started waiting for Frances, but even with the lighter sack I was beginning to feel the strain, and went on ahead. Frances said she'd want to photograph the col and would I leave her ciné camera and telephoto lens where the men were. I suppose I wasn't concentrating; it didn't register with me properly and I thought of it as where the men were going, at the dump below the col. In any case it had clouded over so there seemed no point to me, in photographing snow without sun, so the request didn't seem of importance to me.
I continued up over the brow, and then there was a shout. I hadn't left the camera where I'd been asked to, so I got it out and left it where I was, and continued. Nyma then came back with a thermos of tea; it was sweetened, but it was so strong that I was glad of that, and I enjoyed the drink, and he continued back to Frances.
By this time Frances had reached her camera and found I'd forgotten to leave her telephoto lens and was furious, said she'd come and get it; in any case she'd have to go back across the glacier to take the shot she wanted. At this I thought it time I put my foot down and said she wasn't to go back, but save her strength for the col. I didn't get out her lens but went on to the dump, where I'd decided we'd have a snack and biscuits and salmon. I found that the primus was on, making more tea, but also that a kitbag had been burnt, the burn going through to the sleeping bag inside (Nyma's) and he asked me if I had any plaster he could stick on it.
Then Frances arrived, tried to take my sack by force and I resisted. It was her own fault I was taking such care of her, although I was convinced she wasn't as ill as she thought, I had become partially infected by her fears. She'd told me that if we didn't make the col that day we must camp, not at the dump at the first platform below it, but at the level space below that, where the altitude would be less trying to her and then she'd said she'd better be the last up to the top of the col, so that, once she'd reached the summit, she could immediately go down the other side, and not have to stand that altitude for more minutes than were necessary. This is my excuse, also the fact that Frances' heart trouble came on when she least expected it, and if she was feeling all right she seemed incapable of saving herself.
I kept hold of my sack and tried to take my mind off Frances and keep it on the burnt sleeping bag. I wasn't looking at her, so I got the shock of my life when I felt a violent sock on the jaw. Frances' many years use of her geologist's hammer have obviously given her an unusual amount of strength in her right hand, and the whole of that strength was put into the blow; it jarred my whole brain, and had I been a headachy sort, it'd certainly have given me one. I wasn't sure for a moment what I'd do; fortunately, I seemed to be a calmer person at altitude than I am at sea level and the feeling of retaliation soon passed.
Ungel and Ticka had immediately got hold of her, so I knew I had nothing more to fear. That was the shame of it, to do a thing like that in front of the men. Frances then started to march back to where she'd left her camera and I shouted after her that I'd given up a week of my holiday to getting her back over the col and she was not to exhaust herself. Nyma tried to console me by telling me "She no good, Mingma say she no good". Frances must have known that I'd given up much more than a week of my holiday. There was the crossing of the Barrainga Pass and return to Manali via the Parballi Valley, but she never mentioned it. I once more tried to give my mind to the burnt sleeping bag and suddenly remembered my piece of moleskin, which covered it nicely and then I had the food to divide out.
Frances came back and apologised; I didn't say anything, but gave her her share, one third of a tin of salmon and two biscuits and all was well again.
While the others were getting their loads together, I started up towards the rocks, for the steps in the snow just below wanted remaking again. I trailed one rope behind me, without giving orders as to how the others were to come (what was the use with Ungel in the party?), also I wasn't sure what use Frances would be. Actually she was of great use, she disciplined the two Ladakhis and led them up. Yes, I'd been wrong to think she'd wear herself out if she went traipsing over the glacier over photographs, but she admitted that she didn't envy me coming down with the whole lot on my own. Ticka was the only reasonable one; he knew he didn't know anything about the game and was willing to learn and do as he was told.
He'd simply mimic Frances. "Sit down Ungel", she'd say and he'd repeat "Sit down Ungel", but Frances seemed to have the pair of them in perfect control. Things were a little chaotic up the moderate chimney; I climbed it with my sack, just managed it for I'd added a kitbag to my sack, and then, despite the tight rope I gave Nyma, he couldn't get up it carrying his sack, so he went down and came up it without. Next we tried to pull up his sack, but I was in front of Nyma and I found it was about my limit, so I went further back and busied myself moving the sacks further along the ledge, as they came up, and Passang helped with the hauling. Eventually sacks and men were reunited on the ledge and we continued up, Nyma following him and Passang coming behind. I was glad to think both of these two had a stout rope in front of them; perhaps Passang was still a little weak from his four days of low diet , certainly he didn't seem to have an ounce of spare flesh on him.
At the top I came to the traverse, where Mingma had cut. There wasn't much sign of his steps, so I put down my load and started to cut again. Last time I had tried to avoid this, but now I was enjoying the thought of cutting 100 ft in ice and I had a little blood blister at the end of it. My steps had been quite good enough for me to balance in on one foot, while I cut the next one, but I knew they were far apart and I wasn't altogether happy about Passang crossing with his load, so I told Frances to get Ungel to put down his load and re-cut them, which he did, making a very good job of it. Then Ungel brought his load over and I was going back for mine, thinking that I'd cross as last man, when I was told that Ungel had taken it; what I had thought was an enormous load (a sack and kitbag), he'd calmly added to his, and I hadn't noticed that he had more than usual. Nyma dropped the thermos as he was crossing, and Frances went down for it, but of course, it was broken.
Then we all roped up on one rope for the descent. I measured out the rope and made the loops and other people picked them up and I found I had been left a position next to the end, Ungel being on the end, while Frances was on the other end. I got Frances to start down, because I preferred to be near the top, but she hadn't the advantage the four of us had of recent knowledge of the way. The top part seemed firmer than when we'd come up, but where it steepened the holes were becoming more obvious and the party's temper wasn't improving.
Frances refused to make for the rocks, the way we'd come up; next to her was Ticka, then Passang, who had one or two slips, and behind him Nyma, who was making things as awkward for Passang as he could. Behind, Ungel and I were more or less spectators. Eventually, Frances admitted she didn't know where to go, so I got the party to turn round and Ungel led us down to the rocks, Frances' "frail snow bridges" proving to be solid ice, as we knew. This was rather a poor order, for it put Nyma in front of Passang and the former delighted in pulling Passang off his feet. Eventually, Passang was made to lose his temper and he unroped and made his own way down.
It was lucky it was an innocuous slope, for at one point Passang slipped, and was unable to stop himself for a few hundred feet. As always on his slips, he'd left his axe behind and had to down his sack and go back for it, for the rest of us were down to the kerosene dump by this. Then we made our single ways down to the tent. I was quite glad to reach it, my sack isn't the best of vehicles for a kitbag, and the snow had softened badly by this time.
It was another lovely evening and I went for a solitary walk to try to get used to the idea of leaving it all.
It was cloudy early on, so I couldn't take the photos I'd planned; we packed in good time and set off down. How much easier the snow was than the last twice I'd been this way and we were soon over it and on the stones, and these gave no trouble to Camp I. There was a drizzle above the camp and I expected it to get worse, but our luck was in and it cleared. I'd remembered Pansy's warning of the monsoon in two days and thought it had come to stay.
We continued down; I tried to keep straight behind Ungel and Ticka, who knew the way. Nyma at times tried to improve on their route, but he had a hard struggle to gain anything. Passang was my worry; once we'd had a long halt, and then the others made to go on before he'd appeared. I said that we must wait until he came into sight, in case he'd had an accident, but I'm afraid that as soon as he crossed the horizon we started down, and didn't wait for him again.
How this part of the glacier had changed; how lucky we'd been to ascend it when it was snow covered, and what a terrible time poor Georgie must have had going up and down it on his own. Frances had gone on, while we were waiting for Passang, and had continued straight down, whereas we'd crossed to the left.
At one resting point, the men were getting excited about a couple of ibex, mother and youngster. It was an age before I could pick them out, and then they were quite close; then the youngster ran off to the left, while the mother disappeared from sight and I was told it was coming up the steep bank towards us. Then the head appeared up in front of us, not a dozen yards away; unfortunately I wasn't quick enough with my camera. A stone thrown by Ticka missed by a yard (his aim at the tins of Camp I had been much better) and the poor animal was off in a moment.
Then on down until Nyma pointed to one solitary man-placed stone on the left, and I waited while he went to it. It was the box of things he and Pansy had left behind when they'd first moved up to Camp I. Pansy said he'd placed them well out of the way of the passing Spiti men. He certainly had. I hadn't the key to the padlock, so told Nyma he'd have to break it. It seemed a pity to leave the wood behind, but I didn't want to carry it myself.
It contained our macs and odds and ends, and a couple of water buckets, so I filled these and attached them to my sack, but they swung so badly that I was glad when we reached Ungel and he took them.
We went on and the way was beginning to seem rather long when I reached the others. There seemed something a little familiar about the spot, but I could scarcely believe it was our original base camp; it, and the markings round, looked so different without the snow. For the last part of the way, we'd been following the usual Spiti track and many sheep had obviously been this way; it was all most exciting.
There had been lemonade crystals in the box, so we sat and drank lemonade at first, and then, when I was in favour of camping there, they got the tents up and the primus going. The men seemed almost disappointed not to be going on, but I was worried about the food that was to be left us. I knew that Namgyl or Georgie would be coming back, but neither had yet appeared, so I assumed that the boxes of food would be the other side of the river, where, I was told, the dump had been. I asked where it had been so that I should go back and look, but Nyma told me that the men would cross the river using a rope.
We were all terribly hungry; we'd divided a tin of cheese on the way down, but found that Passang had the biscuits and he was right behind. When he arrived I decided that, until we found the other food, we'd better conserve the biscuits. Eventually Frances came back from the other side, but she hadn't been down to the dump and then the two Ladakhis set out. They were gone three hours.
I'll never know what they were doing all that time and I couldn't see them on the other side, although I'd repeatedly scan the whole way with my monocular. It was agonising doing nothing. I got so hungry, eventually I could stand it no longer and I gave the order (I was O.C. food these days) that we'd better have the little tin of Frankfurters with the beetroot we'd soaked. The four of us divided this, but it only seemed to act as an appetiser, and I felt such a traitor while the Ladakhis were away. Frances didn't agree with this and said that I considered the men far too much.
I could stand the inactivity no longer, so started back to meet the men and ran into them after about a quarter of an hour and they told me that they'd found no food. I was horrified and asked if they thought it had been stolen and they said no, so I didn't know what to think. We'd finished our second compo ration, but we still had the third one and we immediately opened that and I got out the three tins of steak and kidney pudding, the little, terribly inadequate tin of pom, and the tin of peas. I also got out the fruit pudding, which we opened and ate there and then, while the rest was being warmed.
Poor Ticka was in such a state, absolutely ravenous. He then found the remnants of the tin of cheese Frances had had at her camp; it was rather dry, but he asked permission to eat it. Then came the main dish, enough for British soldiers, but no substitute for ata for these men, nor sufficient for one memsahib! and how I resented feeding the men on the expensive stuff.
As soon as I'd eaten, I had another idea. Perhaps they'd brought the food round to this side and it was hidden somewhere near, so I started looking under all the rocks, and the men joined in the hunt, but all to no purpose. Then I was told there was another scheme afoot. I wasn't quite sure of the details, but I knew it wasn't really important, that if I knew, I still couldn't influence it. Nyma was the only one to speak any English and he was such a yes man.
At first I thought that the Ladakhis were going to set out in the small hours to fetch food, then they took down their tent, and it was obvious that they were going there and then. At first, it was to be Ungel, and then Ticka explained that Ungel might have to cross rivers, with the water up to his neck, so Ticka had better go with them. I warned them that someone was bound to come and meet us and they'd probably miss him in the dark, but they didn't seem to worry about this, and at 8 o'clock they set out, taking any spare gear to make up loads, and tea and sugar, and a little food I put out for them.
I'd put out the food for breakfast before I'd realised the two Ladakhis were leaving and, of the two remaining packets of biscuits, I put one for the men and one for Frances and me. The Sherpas finished their packet, but Frances and I only ate two or three each. We also opened a tin of bacon (since living off compo rations we'd taken to having a cooked breakfast), but somehow it didn't make up for the lack of carbohydrates, the rations needed supplementing with biscuits, and we just hadn't the biscuits to do this.
Then we packed camp and set out. I was afraid that the two Sherpas would be overloaded, so I took a kitbag, but it made my rucksack very top-heavy, and then the strap broke and I had to stop and rearrange things, which left me behind. Then, after about a mile, we could see two figures (our men?), eventually we were close enough to recognise Georgie, so Ungel and Ticka had passed him in the dark.
The other face was not familiar, but we were eventually introduced to him as the muleteer; there was talk of four ponies, two for carrying and two for riding. We couldn't understand all that was said and were very surprised when the man went off and produced the animals. He gave us a covering to sit on, on the ground, and I carefully sprinkled mine with DDT before getting on it, but I didn't have the tick trouble I'd had in May. We were also given at once a cup of rice and real fresh mutton, but after the walk and carry, it was a little while before my appetite came. The first piece of meat was unfortunate, rather gristly, but I enjoyed the rest, my appetite gradually increasing.
Then Georgie set to work and made chapattis; it was such a happy morning, the sun was brilliant and so was the muleteer's smile. Then there were photos to take of the making of the chapattis, and the eating of them made the excuse for the taking of portraits. More film was used on the loading of the animals and then on Frances mounting hers. She had the one brown one; he was bigger, so I said Frances had better have him as she was bigger than me (actually I found out much later that he was a far easier animal to ride), at the time I thought I'd be nearer the ground on a smaller one.
Then came the moment when I had to get up; somehow Frances didn't make nearly the fuss I did, but I gradually got the hang of it. They'd put blankets over the animal, and then the wooden frame onto which they normally hung the loads, and then padded the top with tents and sleeping bags. Rope loops formed stirrups, but it was impossible to get your foot in without help, and if your 'groom' forgot to do this, you just had to let your feet hang. Actually this was quite restful after too long with them in the bent position, with the stirrups too far forward (as they always were).
At first I was told to sit behind the wooden frame and this was all right until we started going steeply uphill, when I'd find myself slipping off backwards. Later I got into the habit of moving up onto the frame for the uphill parts, and then back to the old position for downhill. By far the most terrifying moments came on the downhill parts, when the animal would plunge both its front legs down together. I gradually got used to it, telling myself that it had four legs instead of two, so even if one hoof were to slip, it still had three more to support it and eventually I was able to stop shrieking at awkward moments, but that took time.
Occasionally, if it were very rocky, we'd have to dismount (blessed moments), but not very often. I was amazed at how well the animals managed, on the outward journey I'd thought we were daring to take laden men on some of these places. Little did I know that I'd come back a load on an animal.
The mules didn't hurry themselves in the least, but it was surprising how we were getting over the ground (of course, we didn't need to have rests, for one thing). Most surprising of all was the change in the valley, completely barren in May, just after the snow had gone, and now grass was springing up in the most unlikely places. There really were meadows at Puti Rumi. We stopped at one little settlement and the men had a chat, and Frances and I used our cameras.
Then on to cross the Chota Shigri (dismounting for the descent and bridge) and so on to more meadows and a larger settlement. Then, among the larger tents was a familiar, little orange one and two figures in blue windproof pants – Ungel and Ticka. Apparently they'd reached it at dawn – they must have been on the go for 24 hours. It was another happy reunion and I was intrigued by all the other people crowding around. Frances wanted to camp away from the mobs and so our tents were pitched away from the Ladakhis. Then food was brought, and I ate biscuits and cheese ravenously. I don't know how Frances was able to wait until the spectators had gone before she'd begin.
I spent a happy afternoon, wandering around with my camera, then I found a stream and remembered that it was weeks since I'd washed and had a session with both myself and my clothes, even my hair was done. The water was so lovely and soft that it didn't matter that it was cold. The cook-box soap tablet was rather smaller by the time I'd finished and there was still enough sun left for everything to dry.
There was quite a lot of cloud about, which rather hampered photography. We walked at first, but then mounted again and continued. I seemed to ride all the white ponies in turn and this was a friskier one. On the whole my pony would be led, sometimes by the muleteer, quite often by Nyma; he seemed very at home with the animals and I could imagine him working with them for most of the year. Very rarely, Passang would interfere, but I was happier when he left them alone. Best of all was Ungel. He was incredibly intelligent and seemed to understand every word spoken to him, although he didn't speak English. Although I didn't complain, he could see if the padding on the animal needed re-arranging and would remake it, vastly improving it. He was always laughing. I'd have liked to have had him in my party more often, but there was the trouble with him on the rocks! Sometimes I was allowed to take the rope myself, which I thought showed that I was getting on.
Sometimes we had to cross patches of snow, but on the whole it was firm; occasionally a hoof broke through, but it was always of a pack horse animal. Ungel caused trouble at one point; there were some strong horses, lovely animals with long manes and Ungel started to drive them along with ours, but they rather excited the mules and mine broke into a trot, so the leading rope was taken over again for a while.
In one or two places the crossing of side streams was accomplished with dry feet, thanks to the ponies, but then we came to the foot of the Hamfa Pass and the stream there was a raging torrent, even on a mule one wouldn't have dry feet there. There was mention of a rope, but I couldn't quite see how it would be used. Then Nyma and Ungel started going up to cross by a snow ridge. Frances and I followed them, thinking we'd cross by the bridge before there was any suggestion of going on a mule (actually everyone crossed by the bridge).
The muleteer threw the rope, and eventually got it across and Ungel belayed it. Then it was put round the neck of each animal, which was prodded into the water and encouraged to cross by tension on the rope (all four animals took it very calmly). The muleteer worked hard and, even when he lost a shoe into the water, the smile never left his face, and he had to walk back to Manali with only one shoe.
I didn't remount and, at Chaterie, I went over to examine the bridge across the Chandra, the first one we'd seen. Then I found that the others weren't coming along the jeep road, which had crossed by the bridge and I went back, past a settlement to where the party had stopped. Frances gave me the news, that they wanted to stop here, but she'd persuaded them to go on; meanwhile the muleteer was changing over my animal with one of the pack ones.
This done, we were mounted and the caravan started off along the jeep track, but was only accompanied by the muleteer and Passang. I was reluctant to go and tried to stop my animal, but it had no bit. There were a few tents and, as we passed one of them, Georgie appeared out of it, eating a chapatti. "Georgie, I'm so hungry" I shouted to him as I tried to stop my animal, but Georgie did nothing and I was borne relentlessly on, after the others.
The next were the hungriest couple of hours I have ever known; I'd have sold my soul for a couple of chapattis. To think that we had chocolate with us, but hadn't thought to get any out that morning, and now Nyma, who was carrying my sack with a few odds and ends, was behind (and eating I bet!).
The path started zigzagging up, through lovely grass, but to add to my discomfort it got colder and colder and started to rain (I had on a cotton shirt and no woolly and no anorak). I kept looking behind, but there was no sign of Nyma, then eventually I saw them right behind. I suppose they were able to catch up a bit on the zigzag and then, when I was just about soaked, Nyma arrived, at a fair pace as though he realised that he was wanted. I expected to dress as we continued, but something seemed to frighten the animal and he turned to face down the precipitous hillside and seemed poised, contemplating it for a moment, but then it calmed and all was well.
Soon after this we arrived at the first camping place since Chaterie (Dormi Thatch, I imagine). How thankfully I got down; there was no question of not camping there. The people soon came out to inspect us, they were fuller faced and quite intelligent, but I never learned who they were. We could only speak at all to Nyma and we never seemed able to get information from him. As soon as we could get to our boxes we got out our chocolate and a quarter of a pound helped me to wait until the tents were pitched, then there was another tedious wait until tea was ready. When Nyma brought this, he also brought his towel, in which was Tsamba, which, he said, Ungel had bought with his own money for us.
Then came lunch; what a pile of pom I ate, firstly with meat, and then with cheese. It was drizzling all the afternoon so we kept to the tent and I amused myself by watching the cooking in the Ladakhis shelter. The previous day Ticka had bought a sheep; Nyma told us about it and was horrified because he said Ticka was going to kill it with a knife. I should have loved to have seen how they did it, and how they cut it up etc., but I didn't like to go across to them deliberately; I thought it might look as though I wanted some (FRESH MEAT!). If only our tents had been closer.
Now more of that meat went into the stew and was cooked all the after noon. Then the ata was prepared and the dough divided up into what I was later to call "chota charach" and added to the meat. About a couple of hours after I'd had my enormous meal of pom, our evening meal was ready (rice, flavoured with tomato, and salmon). I allowed Nyma to put onto my plate about twice as much rice as I really thought I could eat and, when I told him to stop he still continued to pile it on. I got through it too, but only just. I was sorry later, for when the stew was ready, Ticka put out a helping for me on a plate and brought it across (fresh meat!), but I had no alternative but to refuse it; however, I did take out a little piece of ata (I was curious to know how it tasted in this form, also it enabled me to get the flavour of the stew – chillies). The ata didn't seem properly cooked to me.
Later the ladies came around our tent, and examined everything, and were very pleasant – how I'd have loved to have been able to speak to them. It was during this inspection that Nyma brought a kettle of tea, now I was too full after the rice to drink tea, also I didn't like to do so in front of the ladies, so I offered them the mug which they accepted. The children had already claimed one or two empty tins. The mug was passed around and, after a long time was brought back, piled up with Tsampa – twice in one afternoon! I accepted with pleasure. They were afraid I wouldn't know what to do with it, so made me have some there and then.
We expected it to take four days to get back from Shigri to Manali. I wasn't worried, I had time to spare and the men seemed to get their own way, whatever we said, but I had too high an opinion of the whole lot to want to bully them. Frances decided she could get back to Koti on foot in a day, so was up early and asked Ungel if he'd accompany her and he agreed, Ungel carrying Frances' sack and the two sleeping bags they'd need for the night at the rest house.
The rest of us had a more leisurely breakfast and packing up, and then continued down the road. The two pedestrians had taken a short cut up the hillside and were soon in the mist and lost to view. I rode the big brown animal and found it far more comfortable than the white ones had been. It was overcast, but wasn't actually raining when we set out; however, that wasn't to last and we were soon in a scotch mist. It was as cold as England, the coldest I'd known it since I left home. We seemed to be making remarkably good progress; we went down the road and Koksar was pointed out to me. In normal circumstances I'd have suggested a visit there, but there seemed no point with this awful weather – and its flat roofed buildings were so different from anything I'd ever seen before.
Then we started on the zigzags up the pass, a beautifully paved track, but then it was suggested I could walk. I got off, but it was a wonder I didn't sink to the ground, my knees were quite useless. I started walking stiffly up and gradually I felt normal again. This was certainly warming me up, but I seemed out of training for this uphill stunt and I wasn't sorry when the suggestion came that I should mount again. The pass was quite unrecognisable from its snowy condition; in fact it seemed to have several summits.
At the first, the little muleteer set up three stones and put flowers on them. There was a long, flat part and then down, but when we reached the paved way, once more I had to dismount. The pass was still rather crowded, but no-one else had a pony to ride. I felt a person of great importance! We kept getting news that memsahib was just in front and realised that she'd easily get to Manali that day. I was in two minds; I knew I ought to hurry the caravan down and save paying them an extra day, but I had been looking forward to a last night in camp and couldn't bear the thought that my holiday should end this very day.
As we descended, a man, squatting on his heels and sheltering under an umbrella, hailed me. He confirmed my worst suspicions; he was my wonderful Spiti man whom I'd met on the Harita, but this time he was in western clothes. If only he knew what the long purple robe did for him, compared with this spivvy jacket. It was a disillusionment meeting him again, although he was still very pleasant.
Then on down the "Chota Rasta" and at the bottom Nyma made towards the first 'hotel', only to be called back and we went in the hut beneath the cliff, where they seemed to be friends of Georgie. Georgie had obviously left a parcel here; it contained blankets, an ibex skin, two ladles, and food, which he sold to the hut keepers. We were all treated to tea, and I was given biscuits as well. Then on again to Koti, and I was asked if I wanted to spend the night there. I felt compelled to say "no", although I was sorry. I had to walk for a stretch, as the ground was slippery with mud, but soon after the bridge I was on again, the muleteer always waiting if there was an awkward stretch, with a drop by the side of the track.
Down and down, one more stop for, I think, Machli. I enjoyed them; I was hungry again (and I'm not sure who paid for them!) and so into Manali village and on to Cheni Sahib's. I'd been stretching my knees on the last part, so that I should be able to stand up when I met everyone! It was about 4 o'clock and they were most surprised to see me. Frances, who'd been down about two hours, saying that I wouldn't be back until the next day. Letters and tea were soon produced and I found my things were in the old bedroom, as though I'd never been away.
The men arrived later, and were soon gossiping to Cheni Sahib. I soon knew that they were talking about me; I didn't think it nice for them to do it in front of me, so I said rather indignantly "What are they saying?" I was laughing, but the Major didn't laugh; he turned serious and said "They're saying you're a very good memsahib" – now that shut me up most effectively.
Hilda and Joyce realised that they had no photos of Frances and me, so rectified it there and then, but what a contrast we made, I was in my touring clothes and Frances was bathed and in a skirt.
Frances caught the early bus; I met her as I was returning from the post office and we said goodbye.
After breakfast we sorted through the gear. I got down the lists and got the Sherpas to pack it as the customs required. Frances hadn't bothered to take her nylon furs, so later, when no-one else was about I gave them to Mingma, which was unfortunate as Frances had really left them to Cheni Sahib, but I had to give Mingma something.
The three Ladakhis called for their pay, all but Namgyl, who apparently had gone off after he'd reached Manali with the first contingent. I didn't appear for the pay roll; I don't like saying goodbye. In any case I'd no news of a berth home, so I might not be going so soon.
The weather was bad, and the road was giving trouble apparently. Oh why had the monsoon had to come a fortnight early and cut short my climbing at this stage, when I'd reached a state of fitness undreamt of before and I felt I was perfectly acclimatised to 20,000 ft. If only a miracle could happen and I could have a week of fine weather.
This was the day Joyce and Hilda had hoped to leave, but the news soon filtered through that the road was cut, so we all sat in the lounge and were miserable. Then at about 12 o'clock we heard that the road was mended, so, after a quick lunch, the other two left. I suddenly felt very much alone, and then, after watching the car out of sight, Pansy told me that they were leaving on the 3 o'clock bus.
I couldn't bear it; we walked up together, then Pansy said we'd better say goodbye, and we shook hands, although I intended seeing them off on the bus. As Mingma and I shook hands, he had a little to say to the 'good memsahib', but I didn't reply, I hadn't listened. No, I don't like goodbyes and now, with Mingma gone, I could no longer dream of Indrasson in the week of fine weather which would only come in my dreams. I couldn't keep him on just in case a miracle should happen with the weather, but all the time he was there I could dream.
I thought of going with them to Darjeeling, but that seemed silly, with the weather just the same there, so I let them go. There were some very heavy showers, but then it cleared a little for me to get to the village just before 3 o'clock, but no sign of a bus (my watch was 20 minutes slow).
I made my way to the hospital; I wanted to weigh myself before I'd eaten too much (8½ stone) – no wonder I could climb!
The Mazzonis were very pleased to see me and wanted to know about the trip; they also invited me to tea, to which they'd also invited the doctor and his daughter, also the Timothys (another missionary couple who were holidaying in the village.
Another wet day, The only break was tea at the Timothys (chapattis) - Fun! I seemed really caught up in this missionary entertaining and for Sunday I was invited to tea with the Mazzanis and dinner with the Timothys, not to mention church in the morning.
A blue sky, and the view enhanced by the new snow on the peaks. I'd been told that there were occasional fine days during the monsoon, so I felt that I ought to make the most of this one. I dressed in boots and slacks, went down for early breakfast and caught the 8.30 bus to Katrain. It was about an hour late in starting, and naturally went incredibly slowly down the valley, so the day was very hot before I started walking. How foolish too, to put on slacks instead of a skirt.
"As fit as I'd ever been" – a poor show I made of walking, I'd had quite enough by the time I reached Naggar. I went into the Castle (the rest house) and a man who spoke English said I could be shown over, but the man he called to do the showing didn't speak English and I believe he thought I was interested in it from the rest house point of view. When I asked if it was very old, he said yes, very, two or three hundred years.
Then I continued up and through the village, stopping very soon to eat all the food I'd brought with me, sardines and biscuits, and a rice pudding. Then I continued on up, but had trouble finding the main track; it was obvious I wasn't going to get very far. I got up to a hamlet which I hoped would be photogenic, but there were no view points for it, and after that I decided it was time to return. At least I found the main track down, but could see that I'd missed a large temple on the way up.
Back in the village of Naggar, I asked for tea, but they sent me up to the Castle. The "man who spoke English" invited me into his room, and a bed was cleared for me to sit on. The room was searched for cups, teapots etc. and at last the tea was ready; fortified by that, I could face the walk down to Katrain, where there was just time for another cup of tea before catching the bus back at about 6 o'clock.
Another fine day; now that wasn't fair. If only I'd got into position in the wet weather, I could have used this 'fine spell' for a climb. I spent until about 10 o'clock hoping it'd rain and then asked the Major if this weather was likely to continue. "You can't tell these days", he said. Apparently once you could foretell the weather, but not nowadays; however, there was a chance that we'd had the "chota monsoon" and would have a relatively fine spell until the monsoon set in, in earnest, in the middle of the month. There'd be odd showers during the day, but on the whole the weather would be fine.
He agreed that my best plan would be to set out at once, and said that he could get me coolies. I said I'd been very satisfied with Ladakhis, so he said he'd send for Namgyl. This sounded as though it'd take time, so I put an Ilford colour in my camera and thought I'd go up to the village to try it out on contrasting subjects. On the way I came across the manager, returning with Namgyl, so I had to return.
I suggested that I'd like to go Malona way. They asked me for how long and I said for a week, if the weather held, but we'd be back in a couple of days if it broke. I asked if we could get food as we went and Cheni Sahib said no, we'd have to take everything with us. I said Namgyl wouldn't be able to carry everything alone, and they agreed, so Namgyl shouted "Zor-Zor" and Georgie appeared out of the Major's kitchen and was quite ready to come. I don't know whether they were both gentlemen of leisure after the big pay-out.
I had a little food left and the manager supplemented it. I took far too little for his liking. "It's too heavy" I said to all his offers of tins of fruit, potatoes etc.
The men were back in about an hour and we got the things together. I expected them to prefer a kitbag to a box, but they preferred a box for the food. Then we sorted out sleeping bags, lilos, stove etc., and they took it to the bazaar, and we agreed to catch the 3 o'clock bus.
I then had to start and darn my socks, pack my things in my bedroom etc., then had lunch and went down to the bazaar, fortunately in plenty of time, for Zor-Zor had found that the lilos were deficient in bungs. I could only find five when I went back, and I couldn't find a pricker for the stove at all. Then a quick run round with Namgyl to get a can of paraffin and we were ready.
A seat in the back wasn't good enough for me. A man in a seat facing forward was bullied into giving it to me! At last we were off, but didn't go far, for there was an enormous tree, quite three feet in diameter, across the road. Two little men with hatchets were trying to cut out the part across the road, but the blows hardly made any impression on the great trunk. Then a two handled saw was produced, but they soon gave that up. "Can't they turn round a bus the other side?" I asked, but was assured that the tree would soon be cleared away.
After about half an hour, the news got around that a bus would be turned round and we went back for our sacks, but when we got to the other side we found the bus had gone. Namgyl ran down to the foot of the hill and could see no sign of it, so sat down to wait, until a pedestrian coming up the hill told us that the bus was waiting still further back. When we reached it, it was in such a typical position, with the bonnet up and a circle of men peering at the engine. We piled in, and eventually we started off and reached Katrain at about 5 o'clock, or rather we got off before the village, crossed the bridge and walked up to Naggar. The going was much easier than it had been the previous day; I don't know why, for I had a heavier pack. I was wearing a skirt, which meant that I had to carry my thick pants.
I was rather amused to think that I was out with a couple of men, and we hardly spoke a word of each others language, but I know they'd understand important things and I wasn't interested in details, in fact I was wondering where I'd find myself sleeping that night. I was a little worried when Namgyl started enquiring his way to the rest house. I could have guided him there, but he didn't know that I wanted to camp, but I thought I wouldn't say anything in case it "wasn't done" for a "memsahib" to camp with a rest house so near.
I needn't have worried, after an enquiry at the Castle, we were shown a campsite or two just above it. I was asked which I'd use and chose the one with fewer branches to drip onto it, for there was an occasional slight shower. Then Georgie started excavating a place for a fire and wood was soon collected, and the kettle put on. This was the life. I was sure it wouldn't last, that we were having only a temporary lull in the monsoon and would have to retreat after a day or so, but I was so happy just to be sitting by a camp fire again, and with no discordant personalities with the party.
I was surprised at the number of well dressed Indians in Naggar, the men with their shirts tucked into their trousers, and I wasn't surprised when they spoke perfect English, when they came up to speak to me, "and if I couldn't get into the civil rest house, they could put me up in the forest rest house; there's really no need for this", as they looked with horror at the camp. If they only knew that I'd have changed places with no princess in any palace, that I could never wish for anything better.
I had kept telling Namgyl that I was going to bring some ata, but I had an idea it hadn't sunk in, and eventually I had to carry out my threat. Through lack of knowledge of the language and weights, I was palmed off with 3 lbs., far more than I wanted. I also bought five packets of cigarettes. I thought we weren't likely to be out longer than five days.
When I got back, Namgyl was most upset at the sight of the ata. I explained that it was for me, but he said they'd bought enough for me, and let me feel the weight of their sack of it, so they had that extra weight to carry. I'd hoped we'd all eat together, but that wasn't to be. I thought I'd better get rid of some of the eggs, but they refused to eat my food. I had my ata in the form of chapattis that night.
The world still seemed a young and exciting place as we set out that morning. It was quite early and there were little pieces of early morning mist about. We found the correct path through the village (the way I'd come down), but then instead of continuing up the rib, we traversed left into the nullah (they'd ask the way of anyone we saw). I was following Namgyl and we lost Georgie; Namgyl downed his pack and went recce-ing, firstly to the river and he came back and said that the way "went" and then went back, I supposed to find Georgie, but came back to say that we had to go back that way.
We picked up our loads and started off, but Namgyl seemed in a hurry to make up for lost time and, despite the different in our loads, I couldn't keep up with him, and thought I'd lost him at one point, but I guessed the right track. Eventually we reached a hamlet, "Pulling" on the map I should think, and found Georgie surrounded by a crowd of people. I gathered that one of them was to come with us as a guide. He also carried a load; the other loads were slightly lightened, but mine was taken from me altogether, so I had nothing to complain of. How thankful I was of this too, before the day's march was over. It was as much as ever I made it carrying nothing.
The man had said that the route was too difficult to describe, that was why he'd have to come with us, but that wasn't exactly true – I could describe it exactly. We ignored any tracks going to right or left and, contouring sensibly up the hillside. We always cut up the steepest way. At times, if I were in front, I would choose the correct sheep track – it was by always choosing the steepest at a division of the ways.
We had many halts, I thinks it was for the gossip and cigarettes that our guide had come, as much as for the R2/- he got at the end of it. It rained at times, the rest of the time it was mostly misty, and was close all the time. The best things were the wild strawberries. At first I stopped to pick them because I like strawberries, but later I continued because I hoped they'd be useful and give me energy enough to carry on. They were up to an inch long.
Another curiosity, which I didn't get to the bottom of, were the "tea trees" (Namgyl pointed them out), and at first I thought they were conifers he was pointing to, but then realised I could tell them apart by the bark. Then Namgyl went up to one of them and cut off a strip of bark (it had a purplish tinge) and he said that the bark was "Sherpa Cha". I put it to my nose, but it had no smell. I concluded that these were wild trees as are used in the plantations, but later when plantations were pointed out to me, the leaves weren't at all like these trees.
The woods were completely wild, trees would fall and be left there, propped up by other trees, then there'd be long draperies of a green moss (I suppose), hanging from them, particularly from the "tea trees". I longed to photograph them, but it was very misty, which, of course, added to the eeriness of the scene.
Then we came out onto an alp and I was told we'd soon join the main Naggar Track. Then we could see cows and a hut to the right and I was told that there was water there, and this was a possible camping site. Did I want to camp here, or would I go on further. I realise now that I must have disappointed the men by choosing that spot; I was glad enough to stop myself, but in addition I thought they must have had enough. They'd never done marches like this on the Barashigri trip, and it certainly wasn't my idea to flog them too far. I'd thought that they'd too much to carry, so that morning, I'd put my sleeping bag (2 lbs. 10 oz.) and lilo into my own sack, but it was taken out as soon as my back was turned (shades of Mingma).
I'm afraid I vastly underestimated these Ladakhis. The tent was pitched, wood fetched and the kettle put on, and our little guide sat on gossiping with my men, and with the cowhands. I'm sure he told me that it was a couple of miles to Malana. We could see the top of the ridge, when the mist lifted and I concluded it was a mile to the col and a mile down the other side to the village. I was told that our boots wouldn't be allowed in the village, but it wasn't the village I was really interested in.
Later I tried to tell Namgyl my various plans. I was helped by the map, in which he seemed vaguely interested (the Sherpas would never take any interest in maps). I said that if the weather deteriorated, we'd go down to the village and then follow the nullah down to the Parhatti Valley, and so down to Kulu, but if the weather cleared, I wanted to go up Malana Nullah and onto the glacier and up towards Deo Tibba; we might even try to climb it (fortunately, even to Namgyl I never mentioned the height of my ambition - Indrassan), then we could descend by Jagatsukh Nullah.
Then it was supper time, I was to eat some of the men's rice. It was cooked in water until it was done, and dry, and then it was removed. Then a pan of milk, fetched from the chalet, was put on the fire and spoonfuls of the rice added to it, and it was boiled and boiled, concentrating the milk until it was really thick and creamy, and then I was asked if I'd like sugar or salt with it; I chose to have it sweet. They gave me far too much, but I managed to eat it, and they waited to see if I could have a second helping pressed upon me. Then they started; they finished mine, then made more for themselves, but this time diluting the milk with water and a considerable amount of milk was left for the morning.
More richly milky rice pudding was made; we'd broken an egg, so that was added to it, and once more they insisted on giving me much more than I thought I could eat. Then they proceeded to make ata for themselves – the thick variety, and when it was ready the remains of my rice pudding was eaten as a sort of jam, with it. A piece of ata was broken off, kneaded into a little "chammach", as Georgie explained, and used to scoop up a little rice.
Then we set out up to the ridge and the col, the mist clearing, and we were in the sunshine on a superbly beautiful morning. Wonderfully soon, we came to the col and crossed it and followed the track to the right. I really wanted to turn left here, but there was no sign of a path, so I thought we'd better follow the lower track, but to my horror the track we were on didn't go down, but continued traversing to the right and slightly upwards too.
At last I could stand it no longer and got out the map and decided that we must have missed the track down, and were following the one in the opposite direction to where I wanted to go. It all fitted in, for I could see a second col marked on the map, just where there was a cairn on the ridge, so I spoke to the men, pointed down and assured them that Malana was in the woods, but they wouldn't believe me. Namgyl didn't say much, but Georgie assured me that we had to go over the col at the head of the valley to get to Malana. I didn't believe him for one moment; hadn't our little guide said it was two miles away? (That's the worst of thinking you can understand people who speak no languages you know, but Georgie and I were able to argue all right). Fortunately, I didn't become unpleasantly dogmatic; I was the calm person I seem to develop into at altitude, quite enjoying the situation.
Georgie said he didn't want to go down, for it was all jungley. Now I knew jungle was simply Urdu for forest, but jungle is a much more romantic word and I visualised the early morning steam coming from it as the vapours from a tropical forest etc. On the whole, the mountains were in mist, but there were a few wonderful moments when it cleared and I could see all the snow peaks – but we were going away from them!
We continued and then we heard a man and they shouted and they told me that the reply was that we were on the way to Malana. Eventually I was able to visualise the lie of the land; the col we'd crossed was on a subsidiary ridge and we still had to cross the main ridge to the Malana Nullah. We still had several miles to go, as Georgie had said. That's the worst of a ½" map, but if I'd taken a more careful compass bearing, I'd have avoided the argument. The flowers started about here, but we rarely had the sunshine for photographs.
My first sight of the Chandra Valley had been a shock, for in May there'd been hardly a blade of grass. Well, now Malana Nullah was going to surprise me with the scarcity of its blades of grass, but the nullah wasn't barren, anything but. The grass was sparse, as there wasn't room for it, with all the flowers.
I saw my first Himalayan blue poppies too, but on the col we were once more in the mist. We passed a forest of stones stuck into the ground, some with the remains of flowers on top, then a flock of sheep and we had a rest and the men gossiped with the shepherds. We continued along until the path we were following started to go down to the left, back we thought, down the nullah we'd left. We downed packs and started scouting around, but could find no other path, and could see nothing in the mist; then in the nick of time, a man came up and was able to give a lot of information. I gathered that there were tents not so very far down, and that we were to camp there and have a guide the next day. (It didn't work out like this, I don't know whether there was a change of plans, or whether I'd been wrong in the first place.)
I was also told that a sahib had gone up the nullah with a couple of mules, two days previously. We talked of him at intervals, but never saw any traces of him. Then we went our different ways, and we continued down in the mist; at one time we halted at a campsite beneath a cliff and there was talk of tea, but lack of water deterred us, and so on down to the promised tents. The men had a discussion and then Namgyl suggested to me that we brewed tea there, and then went on to find a camp site. That suited me admirably, but I thought at the time that Georgie wasn't happy.
I found the people most intriguing; they were very good looking I thought. Then, in addition, a man was spinning a very coarse wool and a lady was spinning a delightfully fine wool. Then the children were most curious. When we first approached, there was a line of little boys, each with a long green beard (the moss plucked from the trees), but they soon removed the disguise. It was in mist, but I couldn't resist trying to get some portraits. Unfortunately I had Ilford Colour in my camera, which would cope with the flat lighting far worse than Kodachrome.
Georgie went into a tent and, I gather, heated our kettle on their fire and eventually tea was ready, which I drank with Tsamba, as was my custom at mid-day on this trip. I was amazed how much salt I needed with it, but I found myself using far more than my usual amount. I also found that my companions called it Satu.
Then on again, the track losing a horrible lot of height as we zigzagged down through the woods. We were new to the ways of the Malana Nullah. My final impression was that there wasn't a level yard on the whole of the path; it would go up for hundreds of feet above the river, only to come down again, and so it went on.
We passed one or two grazing grounds, but the men didn't seem to want to be sociable. We were out of the mist by now, and seemed half way along a never-ending nullah; by about 3 o'clock I'd had enough, and we were on a thatch and passed an old camp place. That would have done for us if only there'd been water near, I thought. Then I passed a concealed trickle of water, but I didn't say anything for, as always, I thought that, if the laden men wanted to go on, it was foolish of me to stop them. However, the men had obviously had the same thoughts as I'd had, for when they heard the trickle of water, they called me back, and we pitched camp there. There was enough wood lying about the thatch without going into the trees.
I'd studied the map carefully and it appeared to me that, after our poor time getting into the nullah, we'd made good progress up it, but of course I was quite prepared to be wrong! In fact, I was getting quite a complex. If I found myself in front I was unhappy, and often stepped aside to let one of the others lead. "My way goes back to Naggar", I explained. Poor Georgie wasn't at all happy; he told me that he'd never come here again, that he'd rather break stones at Manali. The track went from bad to worse; it started going up and up, then it lost itself, but we picked it up again as it started gently down.
Then it petered out completely and we had to fight our way down through the scrub, across streams, walk along their crumbling banks to avoid more undergrowth, and then into slightly more open country. It looked as though the worst was over, so we decided on our mid-day cup of tea (this got earlier every day) and, to console the men (as I thought), I said that we'd camp at the end of the bush line (how little I understood those men! – they didn't want to camp early, they wanted to get as high as possible!). A little more rough going and then we reached the band of grass covered moraine we'd been seeing for so long, no more bushes, and the going was easy, gentle boulder hopping, or moving up on the grass or stones.
The flowers were changing and were lovely, and I was able to get a photo or so before the mist came down. Then, oh joy, a patch of snow; I was back again. However, the easy way stopped; there were boiler plates ahead and below was scree, but the mist was thick. I said we'd better camp here, then we might be able to see in the morning; also we could have a fire here. Georgie was quite indignant; no, we must go on until 4 or 5 o'clock and he refused to camp there. At first I thought he was being sarcastic, I didn't realise quite what an enthusiast he was.
I tried to recce a way between the slabs, but concluded it'd be better to go down the scree, and this we did, having to lose less height than I feared and then there was quite an easy way up the stones, leading onto the glacier. We were above the snout of the glacier, the ice was black, being covered with a thick layer of dust and, from what I could see through the mist, it seemed quite sensational scenery. As I'd looked at this part from below, I hadn't been able to work out an easy way, yet, despite the mist, we hadn't had any real trouble. At the first suitable spot, the men suggested camping and the mist started to clear. We were able to collect enough wood for all our cooking.
There was now nothing more than grass growing and I'd have guessed that it was only starting to cover the stones left by the retreat of the glacier. I don't know whether there were bushes there after a previous retreat of the glacier, and it was their remains we'd found.
After a cup of tea I walked up the glacier, to see round the corner, in case the next day should be misty. I was pleased that it fitted in exactly with the map, my glacier had two branches, forming a long straight way, stretching south and north; to the south there'd be a col into the Penbatti Valley, and north it made for the ice complication of Deo Tibba. I came back with hope for my plans, if only the men were willing.
For the first morning, I didn't put my sleeping bag etc. in my sack (what was the use when they were taken out each morning?) and I was there when they went through my sack. They decided my cameras were the heaviest things they could rifle, and, when I wanted to take a photo, they had to unpack them from the bottom of the kitbag.
On this trip I had brought my larger sack, because I thought I'd have to carry more, but I needn't have bothered. One useless thing I carried was this book. Remembering the boring time I'd had on the plateau with one book, I decided I'd fill in the long boring afternoons writing up my diary. Actually, by the time I was allowed to stop, I was more than content just to sit, and watch the men cook.
When we reached the junction in the glacier, I gave the men the choice of an easier jaunt over to the Panbatti, or a more difficult one to Jagatsukh, although, on the latter, I could promise them that, after the first steep descent, it would be a fairly easy track down, not at all like Malana Nullah, against which Georgie was still very bitter. They didn't hesitate in choosing the northern route, and we continued up the glacier. The going was very difficult this time of the morning, as the surface water had frozen, forming a surface on which Namgyl and my vibrams wouldn't grip and I couldn't believe that Georgie, with his studs and heel plates, could have any advantage at all, so I started to cut little nicks in the nearly flat ice, but as I found Namgyl was enlarging them, I tended not to skimp my work so much.
On the whole, Georgie was behind, but as always, he tended to have ideas of his own. The flat part didn't last for long. Soon we had places so steep it was necessary to cut steps for that reason, and then we had fun finding our way through the maze of crevasses, but very soon the surface verglass had worn off. There was one place where it was necessary to descend a thin crest. I cut down and then came up again, enlarging the steps, and Namgyl and I agreed we should rope for this, but while we were getting it out, Georgie negotiated it without and I knew I couldn't expect Namgyl to rope to me on his own, so we continued unroped.
Soon after this, I realised I was developing a crop of blisters, for it was ice I'd been cutting. All this was dry glacier. I'd been enjoying myself, but I couldn't help but be amused that I should blister my hands, cutting steps for men who probably spend most of their working days wielding a pick or hammer. The situations weren't dangerous and it had seemed to me that the sensible thing would be for me to take one of their loads while they cut, but I daren't suggest it for I knew they'd say that they could both cut and carry, but that seemed hardly fair to me.
Then we were up the icefall, onto a fairly level glacier again (still dry) and could see what was before us. The glaciers on the left seemed to end in nightmarish icefalls, quite out of the question. If we went on until we could see round to the left, we might discover a way, but we couldn't tell until we looked, whereas immediately to our left was a way up the grass, stones, scree and rocks; it'd be tedious certainly, but it looked as though it would lead out onto the upper glacier, the very glacier I'd reached at the head of Jagatsukh. I felt a brute pointing it out to laden men, but they seemed to mind it far less than I did.
I was amazed after my error in finding Malana, how they'd still ask me the way, even little details of the way, where obviously their guess was as good as mine. At first we were cheered by the flowers, some minute cushions on the ground, but best of all the graceful blue primula, growing almost like a cowslip, but with much more tapering and smoother leaves. I tried to photograph one or two (what a bitter disappointment it was to find that my film wasn't caught in the cassette, and all those taken over the next four days were useless). Soon the way became nothing but a grind, the only amusement was when two lovely blue birds flew away, and presently, from the noise they were making higher up, we knew we were near their nest, but we couldn't find it.
Halts became more and more frequent, and we started having to prospect the way. First Namgyl, then Georgie, then I felt it was my turn, but I thought we must be high enough so I traversed to the right and behold, there was nothing but easy glacier before me, wet glacier this time, but the snow wasn't too bad. Then we stopped for a rest near a rocky outcrop. I tried to suggest it was tea time (as our mid-day break seemed to get earlier each day), but Namgyl didn't seem to understand and I hated to admit how eager I was for tea.
However, when Georgie arrived he suggested it and the idea was put to me rather tentatively, and the primus was put in the shelter of the rocks, and eventually tea was ready. It was at this halt that Georgie got out one of our red surveying flags and tried tying it round his head in various ways. At first I laughed at him, accused him of being a communist, for I knew he'd had his snow goggles when we set out, but then the awful truth dawned on me and I realised that he'd lost his goggles. The flag wasn't very successful, or else Georgie didn't think it really necessary, so I lent him my goggles for short periods, but he didn't like taking them. I had an advantage over the men, I could pull my hair over my eyes, they didn't seem to understand the word 'Yeti', so I told them I was playing at bears.
We went on up, Namgyl got ahead and went too far left; he was obviously making for a little viewpoint. Georgie didn't seem interested in collecting little summits, so I followed Namgyl and got a view down into the Malana Nullah, also fine views of the 17,000 footer Chondra that I had climbed, and the summit we didn't. On the way up, we'd been in mist, but it cleared at the right time and I could see all I needed to.
Then we joined my old route; it was fairly early in the afternoon and I began to wonder how far up Deo Tibba we'd be able to pitch the camp, when we saw a large cairn on the rock ridge to our left and the men suddenly suggested camping there. I couldn't think why they'd made this sudden suggestion; how I envied them their quick eyes. It was quite ten minutes later that I saw the two beautifully levelled campsites beneath the cairns. Fortunately I'd already agreed to the camp.
I was worried about this camp, for we had no prickers and the stove was going so poorly. I'd left a spanner and half a dozen prickers in the box, but obviously these had been lost when the stove was 'borrowed'. I was amazed at Namgyl's resource earlier, when his lilo had developed a leak he'd mended it by tying a stone under it. Then he thought the primus could do with a new washer in the pump and when rucksack strap leather proved too thick, he cut another from boot tongue! Then, as to a pricker, he produced a safety pin and started to shave it with his pen knife, later borrowing my nail file, but I never felt that the pricker did much good.
I asked the men what we should do the next day, go down to Manali, or try to climb Deo Tibba, which, I warned them wouldn't be easy. They didn't hesitate to choose the hard way.
As always, Namgyl got up with the first light; I knew we ought to start very early for Deo Tibba, but it was difficult to time things without a watch. Georgie used to cook at night, but Namgyl would start breakfast. He'd usually have a cigarette before getting out of bed and then make the tea, and Georgie would stay in bed for tea before getting up and possibly taking over the cooking. As for me, I didn't attempt to get up until after breakfast, then I might try to show that I wasn't completely useless by rolling up a few sleeping bags and lilos. With my final cup of tea, I'd be offered biscuits and jam, but I'd only have one biscuit, hoping for something better to come (once it was an omelette, sometimes chapattis, or milky rice, or porridge, which I'd taken to eating with pemmican).
This morning we got away fairly quickly and started up the glacier to the right of the watershed ridge. Namgyl soon got in front and was to keep that position most of the day. We zigzagged up the steep snow, and then came to the crevasses, where it seemed advisable to rope. I put myself in the middle, thinking that at least I'd had considerable experience in handling ropes. The snow was already softening and Namgyl had the energy to make the steps. I'd hoped to take over the lead on the rocks, but I wasn't allowed to.
Then we made to the left and up a steep slope to a snow crest. This slope consisted of a thin layer of snow on ice, and the snow was only just adhering sufficiently at this time of the morning to enable us to get up without cutting into the ice beneath and I dreaded the descent. The snow crest was easy enough, and then we were on the rocks, mostly a case of walking up the stones, but there was the odd easy move or so on the rocks.
The next part I found rather frustrating; there were the steep snow ribs going straight up, or the rock ridges going in and out to the left. I felt I could have led it much more quickly; I favoured the rock, but if Namgyl followed the edge he'd take a higher line, mostly on snow, until I realised that with him in the lead we'd be quicker up the snow rib.
Then we started up the snow. It was fine at first, I could get my axe well in and pay out Namgyl's rope as I was taking in Georgie's, but then it started to change. I couldn't get the haft in at all, but had to use a pick belay. I wasn't worried about the ascent, I knew we were safe enough, but I knew that the steps would be no good by the time we came to go down, and someone would have to cut into the ice, and I began to wonder whether we oughtn't to retreat at the top of the ridge, without going on to Deo Tibba itself.
This part took far longer than I expected, but eventually the angle eased off, the snow improved and we were sitting looking at the easier part to come. I suggested retreat, but they wouldn't hear of it and then we started up. It was quite a longish traverse to get to the ice cap, firstly up some ice where steps had to be cut, and then along a broadish ridge. Four times on this we heard a crack. Namgyl knew only too well what that sound could mean, and the first once or twice it made him nervous, but he seemed to get used to it. Once more I suggested retreat, but he did "a Mingma" – said yes and continued on his way (I felt the sensible thing would be to go back and had anyone else wanted to do it, I would have had nothing to say against it, yet it seemed to me to be well worthwhile not to be sensible, to get to the top of that often named mountain, Deo Tibba.
Always when we'd looked this way from Barashigri peaks, we'd say "which is Deo Tibba?". We continued our traverse until we reached the left hand ridge. The snow was quite deep and soft here. I took a couple of short turns at breaking the trail, and then Georgie took quite a long one. I was amazed to find Namgyl as out of breath as he was here; he did incredibly well of course, but then I expected him to. I should have thought that the soft snow would have been less of an impediment than the pack he normally carried, for obviously he was acclimatised to 19,600 ft. I was thrilled to find that I had lost nothing in my idle days at Manali, for in a way this was the greatest effort of the trip, making this altitude from a camp at 16,000 odd feet, and although I couldn't break the trail for long without a halt, I felt I was doing well and, on my lower plane, was doing as well as the men, i.e. the previous day I was glad of all their rests, now I could have done with fewer (granted that both days they were doing all the work!).
The way steepened and then we came to some snow which needed very careful prodding. I should imagine that it was only the last fall or so of snow which had covered the crevasses, and we had to zigzag to and fro to find the bridges, not always obvious from below. It was here that Namgyl took back the lead and retained it, and deservedly reached the top first. The last part took much longer than we'd expected; I'd kept thinking that the next halt would be on the summit but, although the angle of the slope kept easing off, we weren't there.
Eventually we found ourselves in the middle of a large plateau, which dropped away on all sides, so we called it a day and once more sat down to admire the view. There were the Barashigri peaks, to be seen across the Tos Nullah, but they were unable to point out to me "Mingma's Peak". It would have been approachable from the top of our watershed ridge, but of course there wasn't time to go over there, besides the fact that it would be quite an idea to have rock climbers on the rope, should that be attempted! I couldn't pick out a route; it would be necessary to examine the rock a little more closely.
Over the Kulu Valley, there was cloud; it was moving up and I was afraid it might hamper our descent. In fact, we were in it for a short time on the top of the watershed ridge, but then it retreated – this was our lucky day. As the sun got lower there were the most wonderful views with the glistening snow leading up from the sea of cloud. I recklessly shot away with my camera, but all for nothing as it happened. What a fool I was not to have brought up my second camera.
Nowadays it seems to me that I was incredibly reckless, travelling so light. I put a little food in my camera satchel and Georgie carried it, while I had my camera and meter slung round me. When I got hot, I tied my one woolly round me; it wasn't until much later that I realised that the men had shed their windproofs soon after leaving camp, and that we had no spare clothes in case of emergency. When we'd packed for the trip (to go to Madana), as I'd said, it'd seemed silly putting in even one rope, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask the men to carry such probably useless junk as spare ropes, pegs and crampons. In another way, I'm glad we climbed light, for, even carrying nothing, they'd had quite enough by the time we were down.
I re-arranged the rope for the descent; while I was sure I could play middleman better than Georgie (ahem!), I was loath to have a Ladakhi above me, and I made the order Namgyl, Georgie and myself, and, to my great relief, there was no protest at my being last. Actually this worked very well, the men could do the cutting and save my blistered hands and, by belaying them, I could feel I had my use.
We used the rope properly as we descended from the snow camp, then came the traverse (no more cracks) and then the top of the watershed ridge, the horrid feeling as we stood at the top before we had got to the edge and could see down, and then Namgyl hit the bad snow, but he didn't hesitate to cut. I counted the rope lengths and this must have been about 300 ft and it must have taken us many hours, but I didn't mind, how pleased I was that the men were proving cautious. I was afraid I'd be having rows with them, if they proved over-confident on this part.
Namgyl took his time cutting very adequate steps and then Georgie would move down. Then, as each step came level with his eyes, he'd survey it, clear out the chips and, if necessary enlarge it. It was while I was finding that I was being so well looked after that the clouds moved down again, and everything seemed fine, but as the snow began to improve, Georgie's patience began to give out and he was most impatient with Namgyl. Actually Namgyl was slow, and Georgie was better at descending, but, in his impatience, Georgie lost all caution and was a perfect menace.
At long last we reached the first rocks and made our way slowly down the way we had come up (Namgyl wasn't sure enough of himself to improve on the way we'd come up). As I looked back up the steep snow ridge, it seemed twice at steep as looking down it and I wondered that we'd ever had the nerve to ascend it (it must have been about 50º).
Then rocks and one or two more little snow crests. On the last one, I glissaded down to the others, which horrified Georgie, but as I explained they were standing on rocks and we'd have been quite safe even if something untoward had happened. Then came the long stretch of rocks; at first Georgie would want to hold my feet into every hold, and when he found that that wasn't necessary, he went to the other extreme and completely forgot that I was tied to him at all.
On the whole I moved more quickly on this sort of stuff, and could cope, but inevitably there was the odd little pitch where I had to wait for him to go down, and then was slightly shown up myself. Georgie never waited; I suppose really I had him on too short a rope, but I just managed to cope with his normal running on, it was his jumps which were nearly my undoing. I exclaimed as he'd jump, but didn't say any more, partly I suppose because I thought that he must realise, and partly perhaps because I spoke no language he understood.
It was near the bottom that I thought he was standing safely on a ledge and I leant forward to make a slightly delicate step down, when, after no warning at all, he jumped down and to the side, quite 6 ft (a place I'd never consider jumping!). The coils were whipped from my hands and there was a violent tug on my waist, and that was all; a few inches further and I'd have been pulled down head first, and it was one of the few places on those rocks where I could have pulled the others off too. From the tone of my voice Namgyl realised what had happened and his protest joined mine. As Georgie told me afterwards, he got a slap on one side of the face from memsahib, and on the other from Namgyl.
Things went more smoothly for a little while; after one argument Namgyl wanted to unrope, but I was able to stop him, saying that we'd soon be crossing snow bridges again. All was straightforward along the last snow crest, and then we came to the snow slope I'd been dreading all day, but it had been in shade for some time, and was in better condition than when we'd gone up it in the morning.
There was only one more incident, Georgie was standing on the edge of the crevasse, holding Namgyl's rope in his hands, so I stopped where I was and put in my axe to give Georgie a belay (what was the use of telling him in a language he didn't understand?). When Namgyl was across, I got my axe out to go down to belay Georgie, but before I could do so, Georgie jumped across, once more pulling me.
It was these incidents which brought home to me my foolhardiness in doing such a climb alone with them, and I was thankful to get down safely. I managed to persuade Namgyl to follow our upward tracks and so we didn't walk over any icefall, and reached the plateau and the mist, and got back to the camp not long before dark. I reckoned it must have been about a 14 hour day.
Actually there was a reason for poor Georgie's strangeness, a reason of which I'm bitterly ashamed. I ought to have insisted that he stayed behind, as he had no snow glasses, but he wanted to come, so I let him, and I thought we could share and he'd be all right. Perhaps it was because he'd felt no ill effects the previous day he got careless and was reluctant to take mine at all, and then he'd give them back much too soon. His scarf hardly shaded his eyes at all, the way he wore it, and as soon as we were down he started to complain of his eyes. I suppose he'd felt it coming on for some time.
On the previous day and on the summit, I made up my mind that this was the happiest week I'd ever spent, but now things were so different. Firstly Georgie's eyes, then the primus was working so poorly, but we made tea, then my supper was cooked and I ate it, and then the other two decided they'd wait until morning before eating, and they wouldn't even have a biscuit, so I didn't get much sleep that night.
"Can he see?" I asked Namgyl. I'd been waiting for a long time for signs of life from Georgie, and eventually he and Namgyl had spoken. "Of course", Namgyl seemed to say, with a grin, which took a great load of my mind. I'd had visions of being marooned here for days, with Georgie in agony, while I had nothing I could give him. Breakfast was a slow meal, and then we packed and started down. It was a nasty way, firstly down the stones and then onto the snow, then there was the bergschrund at the bottom.
Namgyl prospected and found the best place for crossing, and then Georgie (leading) started going in the opposite direction. Namgyl and I looked at each other and held our breath, but Georgie soon came back, and we were across and putting away the rope. What a difference from the snow slopes Chandra and I had ascended; the stones were much slower. Then along the valley bottom until we came to the next drop; it was in mist and I felt sure that the men must doubt that there was a way down, so I was very pleased when a man and a lad looked up. They were digging for roots apparently and they were able to give information about the way down this time of the year. I wondered how we'd cross the stream again lower down; I was told we'd wade it, that there was no snow bridge.
Then we were actually on a little path, the first one since the Malan Nullah, but it was so much slower than the snow glissades last time. Then we were down and following the river along until Namgyl suddenly put his axe in and said we'd cross it there and, no sooner said than done, he'd told me to stay where I was and had taken his pack over and was coming back for me. I don't know that he quite knew what he was in for, such a weight and the strength of the current in the thigh deep water. It was a good job I didn't weigh the 10 stone I had when I landed in India. Georgie followed, carrying my sack as well as his own; he was complaining less and less about his eyes and by the time we stopped for the night he said they were all right. It was good to have him back in his old good humour and once more he was using his few words of English rather indiscriminately, "Good morning", he'd say at any time of the day, and then he'd go about saying "T'hank you, t'hank you", rather like a bus conductor.
We passed Sevi; I wanted to tell Namgyl of all our previous adventures, but he didn't seem interested. I suppose he didn't understand me. Then down to Dudo; there were tents here and the men had a chat, but continued on down. It was raining fairly heavily by now, and we came to an enormous stone. Namgyl and I were in front and we started to look for shelter; there was one place, but it was already full of children, so we made over to the big rock. There were men and fires under one side of it, but we found another hole from the side nearest the river and crawled under, to be followed by a few of the men, who provided us with wood and gossip, and after tea the tent was pitched just outside (it was draughty under the rock!).
We all had a splendid night's sleep!
We rewarded the 'lakri wallah' with ata and kerosene (we'd had plenty of ata for the 8 days without touching mine), breakfasted, packed and set off down. Georgie put my pack on top of his own; he was certainly making up for his time of low spirits.
Down past Chika, but once more I didn't feel that Namgyl would be interested in my tale of the Frenchman's cognac! And so down to the dividing of the ways, but this time I noticed the Manali track when the main one started plunging down to Jagatsukh, and I started to follow it, although the men pointed out that the cows had come up the other one. "Obviously, as they've come from Jagatsukh", I'd said, and started on the other one, but I soon came back as the way was so overgrow, and we went down to Jagatsukh. The way was much shorter this time, and then in the village we stopped for tea; I was taken into the community centre and a man soon appeared who spoke English, and finally the tea.
Then we set out on the track back to Manali. I'm sure the men walked faster than I did, but I didn't stop at all, and reached Sunshine Orchard at about 3 o'clock. Once more it was a much shorter way than it had been with the Frenchman, but then we'd arrived in time for lunch. I found I was now in the downstairs bedroom (I knew the French lady had designs on my upstairs room) and I had soon bathed and changed and drunk my tea. I showed my flowers to the American lady (those from the Malana Nullah were pressed in this book, and those from Jagatsukh were shut up in a tin). She was interested in them and took one or two, but admitted she was familiar with them all from Kashmir, while in the main Kulu Valley, although she complained that there were so few, she said there were one or two she didn't know. I told her that the Malana Nullah was a flower lover's paradise.
When the men arrived we unpacked and then came the question of payment. This is the sort of thing which is difficult when you can't talk to each other. We'd had no sort of agreement beforehand, but it was obvious that they'd need paying for eight days, and I knew that their usual rate was 4 rupees, but they'd paid for all the extras, the bus, milk, one of the rupees given to the little guide from Pulling, and I wanted to give them something more, so I gave them $40/- each, thinking I was being very generous, and then I walked into my room, but Georgie was soon after me, reminding me that Namgyl had paid for the bus and the receipts were produced, so I gave him R5/- which I felt covered everything.
First of all, I repacked all the gear, and got lids nailed to the boxes, then I suggested that I'd need sacks to put the kitbags in (I couldn't find the bales in which we'd brought them), but Cheni Sahib said I wouldn't need them, that they could be fastened together in threes or fours, with his wiring machine and the bearer did this. Then I packed my own things, went to the bazaar to book my seat on the bus and ask for it to come up to Sunshine Orchard etc.
When I had returned the previous day, there was a letter awaiting me saying that I had a berth on the "Himalaya", sailing on July 25th, and I realised that it didn't leave me very long to catch it. I then found that Mr. and Mrs. Chalke, who had arrived about ten days previously, were leaving on the Monday, so that determined me to do the same. With all my kit it would be a comfort to have friends who spoke the language on the boat.
Mrs. Humphries asked me if I'd take a basket of fruit to her friend in Bombay and I said yes; I had so much luggage that another piece wouldn't make any difference. Actually I knew she had suggested it for my benefit, so that I should have a contact in Bombay. Then Mrs. Mehra said I must stay in her house in Delhi; I knew that Joyce and Hilda had done so, but I didn't think I'd have the cheek. However, she was most insistent and, not having any notepaper with her, Gwen wrote a note to Major Sallick in my diary.
I was up in good time, breakfasted and then the bus arrived (in the rain); at the same moment two figures walked up under their big, black umbrellas and the case I was carrying was soon taken out of my hands. Namgyl and Georgie acted as unpaid porters and put all my stuff onto the bus, even putting wire round the boxes. Then in the bazaar I went to pay for my baggage and they wanted to know its weight. I refused to pay for 10 mds, so they said I'd better pay at Mandi, although that was difficult as I was going up to the rest-home. Then the faithful two appeared again, and they said it'd be 10 mds, so I began to wonder. The Mazonnis appeared; they were also seeing off the Chalkes (church goers I believe), but they said the Ladakhis gave a very good account of me, so I hoped that it was to see me off, and not in hopes of a porters tips that they had come. Very sorrowfully I said goodbye and we were off.
All went well on the first part of the journey; the tree had been removed, we passed through Katrain and on to Kulu, where we stopped and the bus emptied. The Chalkes were able to get all the gen, and we walked back to a restaurant for a meal and then I got a few Kulu shawls, changed a £10 travellers cheque in the bank, and then bought a Kulu hat. I'd coveted these hats right from the time of arrival, but I had to admit that they didn't really suit my present hair style – long and straight!
Then on again and we reached Qiat without incident; we stretched our legs again here, and then crossed our fingers for the next part of the journey.
All too soon we caught up other stationary vehicles and got down to see what it was all about. Half the width of the road had collapsed down into the ravine, but it had been built up, all but the last few feet. At first they said that the bus would proceed as soon as the road was passable (why are they always such optimists?), but then the dreaded news filtered through, that they'd turn round the buses, and we were to walk on half a mile. That was all right, I could walk, but what about my luggage. Most of the other people disappeared; one of the other buses turned round, filled up and drove off, but Mrs. Chalke and I could but wait and see if her husband could find any porters. At last he was back with some men (how wise I'd been to travel with them). We found afterwards that they were some of our fellow bus passengers, earning a few rupees.
An hour or so later all was fastened on top of the bus and we continued our way in the rain, eventually reaching Mandi, where we were taken to the dak bungalow, and were soon drinking tea and ordering our evening meal.
This ride was without incident; the engine had to be cooled off occasionally, it goes without saying, and once more the Chalkes proved very kind. We had a cooked meal during the 15 minute halt at one village, and while on my own I'd never dare eat any of the exciting looking things offered for sale, I didn't need much persuasion to try the things the Chalkes bought. Best of all were the little things strong with the flavour of cream, and then, towards the end, I quenched my thirst with the wild 'sucking' mangoes. And so, at about 5.30, to Pathankot, with just an hour to spare for the train.
The man in the bus office remembered me and was very pleasant, but on the station they said there wasn't time to catch the train – once more thank heavens for the Chalkes. We spoke to the sleeping berth attendant and he was able to find me a place in the first class, firstly he said with an M.P. and then, when he saw the amount of my luggage, he gave me a compartment to myself.
Then we tried to get my things weighed and I had a serious blow; they wouldn't accept the kitbags for the brake, because they weren't locked and I knew that I wouldn't be able to leave them in the cloakroom at Delhi. They took three packages, the two large boxes and the sack, into which they'd put the rucksacks, as all the rest had to travel with me.
I awoke to find that we were at a large station and, to my horror, learned that it was Delhi, so I hastily dressed and then followed the porters who had taken over my luggage. There seemed only one thing to do; I couldn't take all this stuff to the Cecil, so I gave the taxi driver the address of '98 Lodi Road' and think I rather surprised the servants. There was Lingen, and an Indian lady who turned out to be Jennifer's Ayah, also an odd woman or so. They told me that Joyce and Hilda had only left the previous evening, and then they produced breakfast for me. My chief concern was a bath; I was to take one frequently in the next two days.
In the middle of the morning "Cookie" arrived back unexpectedly and all I seemed to say to him was to give him a list of my needs. First and foremost was sacking, for I had to get the kitbags done up before the rest of my journey – they'd all slipped out of the wiring, so that I had ten separate ones! Then there were the things which had travelled in the break; I gave him the paper, and he promised to see if they'd arrived safely. Lastly, I handed him my letters to post and, most precious of all, a film to be sent 2nd class air mail, registered.
Lunch consisted of cold meat and salad, and then I rather waited to be organised, while I realised too late that Cookie wasn't the organising sort, except to take me to the club each evening for about half a dozen whiskies.
This was a holiday, so I couldn't get my business at the bank settled. Whenever I mentioned sacking, Cookie dismissed it, so I thought he had the matter in hand. I ought to have made an early start and visited Agra, but didn't realise in time, and the day was rather wasted.
Cookie had said that he might be back at 10 o'clock to take me into town, but he wasn't, so I took a taxi to the Central Bank in Old Delhi, and made my way up to the foreign room. I started to explain my mission, but he cut me short, "Yes, yes", he said, "but what do you want doing with the money" and he was able to find my details with my telling him my name. I said that I wanted cash and then had to wait quite a long while. During this wait, the man apologised for the delay and said that Mrs. Dunsheath had got most impatient while she was waiting. Now why did he associate me with Joyce?
Then I made my way to the railway station, they gave me two train times, the Frontier Mail in the morning and Punjab Express in the evening. The latter took 36 hours, so I tried to get a reservation on the former, only to be told that there was a waiting list for Sunday, so the only thing possible for me seemed to be to get one for the next day, although that would give me no time to see Agra. Then I treated myself to a lunch in an air conditioned restaurant in Connaught Circus. I was amazed at myself, when I arrived I was willing to try anything Indian, now I had a longing for elegant western food.
When I told Cookie about my reservation he thought I'd been far too hasty, and took me back to the station, but not even the R.T.O. could get a reservation on the Frontier Mail, but they had one on the Punjab Mail, which ran in the morning, and the times of which they hadn't told me (it reached Bombay at about mid-day). I lost Rs5/- in surrendering my old ticket, and the Punjab route was Rs8/-, more expensive, but it did enable me to see Agra.
I caught the 7.30 to Agra and had a second breakfast on the train, and eventually managed to get out at the right station, and was immediately surrounded by would-be guides, rickshaw men, taxi drivers etc. I wanted to walk quietly to the Taj, but wasn't allowed, was told that it was 5 miles away, and one man talked and talked until he'd convinced me that I'd save money, Rs 12/- for his services, plus a bicycle rickshaw, but he ruined any pleasure I might have felt at the sight of the building, his presence irritated me so much, and I realised that the Taj wasn't very far from the station.
It was unbearably hot (as it was all the time in Delhi) and there were so many people standing waiting to rook the tourists if they could, so many souvenirs for sale; no, the atmosphere was all wrong. The moon was nearly full that night, but I don't think one could have sneaked up quietly at night and have appreciated it either.
My guide had promised to show me two buildings and he now asked me if I'd like to see another for two more rupees. He said that it was 5 miles there and 5 miles back and I agreed. We were then taken past the Agra Fort – much larger than the Red Fort in Delhi, I was told, but there wasn't much to see on the outside, and so on to Itimad-ud-Daula's Tomb, "one of the first examples in India of inlaid work in a style derived from Persian mosaics". It was white marble, inlaid with jade and similar stones, a little reminiscent of the Taj, but on a smaller scale and without the dome with the 15 sec. echo of the Taj.
Then we went back to Agra and I was asked if I'd prefer the Imperial or Lauries Hotel and I said Lauries, so naturally I was taken to the Imperial and he refused to take me on to Lauries. My lunch at the Imperial was very commonplace, and then I met my guide again, expecting to be taken on to my third building, but instead was taken to the station, with over an hour to spare for the train. I begrudgingly paid him the Rs12/- but refused to pay the other Rs2/-. Apparently the outside of the fort was the third building, but I said I hadn't been taken the extra 10 miles I'd been promised. I hope the rickshaw man didn't have to stand the loss, for he'd had to work hard in the terrible heat. Despite this argument, the guide turned up all smiles to make sure I caught my train.
Lingen brought the tea at about 5.30, but I didn't hurry particularly over getting up or having breakfast, although I knew Cookie hadn't done anything about the sacking and I had become completely fatalistic over the catching of the train, and even the boat.
Then when Cookie started having the stuff put in his car, he had a shock; I didn't realise that he hadn't even seen it before! At about 6.30 we set out to drive to Delhi Junction, which was very crowded, while we claimed the other three packages, and it all took time. Then we went to the scales and had to go out of our turn to have it all weighed, but they took my word that the others were 3 mds. Then we had to find the train; we went to the wrong platform first of all, then saw that the right one, no. 5, was empty, but noticed the train was higher up. Then we actually reached the train, rejoined the trolley of baggage and after one or two false casts, found the attendant. Seeing the baggage he asked me if I'd like to travel in a ladies compartment instead of the general one, and that suited me very well, and there was plenty of room for everything and, to Cookie's and my amazement, about 5 seconds to spare before we left. I could tell by the way Cookie kept assuring me that I'd catch the train, that he didn't believe for a moment that I would! Oh! how different from Mr. Singh's careful organisation. The first class carriage was bearable this time of the year, although I was only too thankful for air conditioning in April. I spent my time looking out of the window to see the peacocks.
I seemed to require a pot of tea every couple of hours, but the time didn't pass too slowly, and we drew into V.T. at about noon, and the sight of the little A.E. man almost made me feel I'd come home. He told me that it was a holiday in Bombay, and their warehouse was closed, so I'd better take the luggage to my hotel. I told him that we hadn't much time and he'd better get some sacking for the kitbags there and then, and leave them at the cloakroom. I also gave him the receipt and told him to get the three packages from the brake and then I got a taxi to the Ambassador. They didn't show any signs of recognition, but had received my wires (as also had the A.E.) and had a room for me, where I had a bath, lunch, and then another bath, before having an afternoon doze (as though I hadn't spent the last 30 hours dozing).
I made my way to the A.E. and then we went to the customs where all my old friends recognised me and, as the A.E. courier had said, they told me I'd lost weight, but I'd looked in such good health when I went away. Puishkarma was very pleasant and suggested that we should bring the kit for inspection at 2 o'clock, so that was all we seemed able to do for the morning.
I then made my way to Mackinnons and Mackenzies (M.&M.), who had my reservation for the boat, but they said that they could do nothing until I had an income tax exemption certificate and the acquiring of this took me until about 1.30. There were a couple of phone messages awaiting me at the hotel; one was to ring Henley's and the other one was from the A.E. to say that my three pieces of luggage hadn't arrived, so I wasn't to go to the customs, but soon after 2 o'clock I got a ring from my pet aversion to say that they'd just arrived from Delhi, so we were only half an hour late at the customs. Three packages were opened and then Puishkarma believed my lists, and said he'd find out what I owed, and we were to return at 2 o'clock on Wednesday.
I returned to M. & M. and completed the formalities of my passage; they'd allotted me a £94 cabin, but they also had one vacant at £79, but it was an inside one, and I finally accepted one at £82, on E deck. I was to find that I envied the first class passengers, as I hadn't done on the outward voyage. Henley's rang up, but it was only to offer their services. I'd hoped to call in, but there wasn't time.
I rang up Madame de Mangin to ask her to call for Mrs. Humphries’ basket of fruit. She didn't sound altogether grateful, so I opened it and ate a couple of delicious pears (Mrs. Humphries had told me to eat some of it on my journey).
While I was in the foyer, waiting for the rain to stop, I noticed a most elegant young lady arrive; it turned out to be Madame de Mangin; we spoke and then she left, but soon came back with the other ladies from her car. One was Indian, but the other was English and turned out to be from Bognor Regis. It was amazing how my standard of neighbour was changing. In Kulu, any white person was a neighbour. Now in Bombay I found myself wondering whether people were English or not. Well soon I felt I'd be able to wonder whether they were Sussex.
Then I went shopping, but found it so difficult, with no guidance. I looked round various places, and then went in a government village emporium and bought some scarves. As though emboldened by this, I then bough a sari, and finally a cotton skirt length. I admired their silverware, but that was all, and so back for a final lunch at the Ambassador and then to the customs.
Puishkarma had to fit us in with other things; eventually he had a list of things missing, but said it'd take time to work out the exact sum due, so he'd liberate the stuff and the A.E. would pay. This didn't suit the little courier at all; he said the A.E. wouldn't pay, so they agreed I'd better leave some money, and they'd refund the extra. Now that didn't suit me, although I had the money with me; I was tired of the unhelpfulness of the A.E. and said that they could quite easily put it on their bill, as the total value of the things was less than Rs 70/-. At this the courier said that I'd have to settle their bill before I left; I denied this and we went to their office and eventually I was taken to their manager and, to my amazement, he agreed (he hadn't let my rail ticket be charged to them when I arrived).
I collected my baggage, then the courier, and we drove to the customs where the luggage was deposited and I had tea and then queued for the health examination to get the other three stamps on my card. Then I filled up a form and walked into the customs, to be followed by an interesting officer who'd spoken to me early in the afternoon, and had told me all about his trek from Manali to Leh-Leh. That's in Ladakh, the home of our porters, I'd said, and he said that Ladakhis were known as the tigers of the mountains. He signed my form without asking any questions, and so I boarded the "Himalaya" and found my way to cabin 1163.
Thursday and Friday were spent mostly sleeping, but by Saturday I had recovered sufficiently to start to write this diary.
We arrived at Aden at 7 o'clock; the first sight of land was rather lovely in the morning sunshine. I went ashore after breakfast at 8.30 and photographed the ship and a camel, then I wanted to go up and photograph the town and harbour, and followed a road going gently uphill; unfortunately it led to the dust destructor, not a pleasant spot at all. I didn't care for the people either, but a man followed me in and out of the rubbish dump and protected me from the others, and didn't even ask for baksheesh.
Then back to the town, where, of all things, I found myself buying a Chinese coat, and so back, rather thankfully, to the "Himalaya", where, at the last moment, I bought a silk scarf from a boat alongside.
Days of unbearable heat through the Red Sea, but used for the bringing of my diary up to date.
We arrived at Suez late at night, but I didn't take much interest in things, nor in the trip through the Canal. I was very disappointed in not being able to go to Cairo, for I had booked for the trip. I consoled myself by thinking that it would have been too long to keep awake in my present state (20 hours), also that I'd only have had time to get a glimpse of everything in so short a time.
We reached Port Said at about 10 p.m.; it was pleasant watching the lights as we approached, but then I went to bed early instead of having a shopping sortie ashore.
I had hoped for something cooler in the Mediterranean, but I still found it very sticky. The route was interesting, but we went through the Messina Strait in the evening. It was the gala night, so we were all on deck to see, but I should have preferred daylight, intriguing as were the lights.
We missed the Bonefacio Straits; there was a storm on the other side, so we went round the north of Corsica, keeping to the calmer water. We passed the Cape at about tea-time, but it was a dull day.
It was a pleasant day; I'd booked for the trip to Cassis and the ride was far shorter than I'd expected, but very pleasant, for the weather had at last become of bearable temperature. We had a very good guide on our coach, who pointed out the sights of the city, the Vieux Porte, Notre Dame de la Garde etc., then the block of new flats. Then we mounted up the zigzag road. Lovely photographic viewpoints, but no time to stop, and so down to Cassis. I started walking along the rocks by the coast, then walked up to an old castle (also the camping site) and then suddenly remembered that it must be about time to start back. I asked a Frenchman the time and the quickest way back to the town. It was so wonderful to have foreigners who understood my attempts at their language! On the way back we were taken up to Notre Dame de la Garde (incredible the way the large buses were able to get up the steep, narrow streets). I didn't bother to fight my way round it; I didn't care for it as much as that.
Back to the ship for lunch and then back to the View Porte for the afternoon. I was able to get a few photos, but didn't go far, there wasn't time, and the serious shops were shut (of course) on Sunday.
At Marseilles the weather had been of reasonable temperature, but the next day it was hot again; the crew were back in their whites. We went along to Gibraltar which we reached in the early hours.
After breakfast I went ashore, but the rain was teeming down, so I sheltered until it had left off. Then I walked through the town, looking at the shops. I wanted some spirit, and determined that, if I bought anything else, it would be something useful, and I found myself buying perlon stockings. I also bought a scarf, but when it came to buying spirits, I could only get a whole bottle, so I decided on sherry instead.
We had a little fine weather as we went along the coast of Spain, past Cape St. Vincent, but mostly the weather was poor. Biscay wasn't quite the millpond of the outward journey and the dining room emptied, but wasn't too bad in the "Himalaya"; however, smaller ships were almost awash and a little yacht had everyone's sympathy.
I went on deck as were passing the Seven Sisters. I'd missed Brighton so there'd been no temptation to pull the communication cord!
We docked in the early hours, but we had to wait until the luggage was ashore and sorted, so breakfasts were at the usual time. It was very tedious waiting, then we went along for coffee and sandwiches, and at long last the second embarkation party were allowed ashore. I had had a letter from Betty saying that Frank would meet me at the Riverside booking hall, but I had no time to look for that. I found my luggage, got it through the customs and had a chit signed to get it out by car, although there was no sign of Frank.
As the porter was wheeling it out, Frank appeared; I didn't say "Hallo", or anything, simply asked him if he had room for another person, and then went back to find Rosemary Graveley, got a chit signed for her, and we got all the kit and Rosemary aboard, and then went back to find Dad. He'd been left at the Riverside booking hall in case I'd turned up there, as per instructions. We didn't arrive there as the ship had gone right into the docks to have a new boiler fitted.
We arrived at the booking hall, but there was no sign of the old man; we had the railway officials, police and railway police looking for him, but eventually he strolled back quite unconcerned. He'd walked to the "Himalaya", but, finding the ship deserted, had returned. It was soon raining, but Rosemary enjoyed seeing the green English countryside again. We stopped by some open ground to brew up and have a little to eat – a belated lunch. There was a little excitement as we were going along a narrow, winding lane. There was a lorry parked on the other side, with men trimming the hedge, a van coming towards us much too fast, despite the red flat at the top of the hill, couldn't stop in time, skidded, up the back of the vehicle, swung out and caught the wing of the lovely new Hillman.