A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush. Eric Newby

on Dinas Cromlech. It’s an interesting climb.’

      As soon as we could get through our breakfast we looked it up in the Climbing Guide to the Snowdon District, Part 6.

      ‘Dinas Cromlech,’ said the book,

      

      is perhaps the most impressive cliff on the north side of the Llanberis Pass, its massive rhyolite pillars giving it the appearance of some grim castle … all routes have surprising steepness … on the whole the rock is sound, although on first acquaintance it may not appear to be so.

      Spiral Stairs was described as ‘Very difficult’ and as having ‘an impressive first pitch with good exposure’. At the back was a nasty picture of the Cromlech with the routes marked on it. Besides Spiral Stairs there was Cenotaph Corner, Ivy Sepulchre and the Sexton’s Route. It sounded a jolly spot.

      ‘I wish we were doing Castle Gully. It says here, “a pleasant vegetable route”.’

      ‘They might have decided on Ivy Sepulchre,’ said Hugh. ‘Just listen to this. “Two hundred feet. Exceptionally severe. A very serious and difficult climb … loose rock overhangs … progress is made by a bridging type of lay-back movement, an occasional hold of a doubtful nature appearing now and then.” He doesn’t say what you do when it doesn’t.’

      ‘What’s a lay-back?’

      ‘You were doing a lay-back when you fell off the Eckenstein Boulder.’

      ‘This is only the beginning, it gets worse. “At this point the angle relents …”’

      ‘Relents is good,’ I said.

      ‘“… to a small niche below the conspicuous overhang; no belay. Start the overhang by bridging. The climbing at this point is exceptionally severe, strenuous and in a very exposed position.” It goes on and on! “A short groove leads to the foot of an old rickety holly tree and after a struggle with this and the crack behind it, a good hold can be reached on the left wall.”’

      ‘I wonder why everything seems to end with a rickety old holly tree.’

      We decided to have a quiet morning. Just then the other two girls appeared loaded with gear.

      ‘Hurry up,’ they said, ‘we’ve got to be back by half past twelve. We’re going to take you up The Gauge. You made a nonsense of it, the Doctor said. And you’ve both got to lead.’

      That afternoon, as Judith led the way up the scree from the road towards the base of Dinas Cromlech, we felt that if anything the guide book, in spite of its sombre warnings, had not prepared us for the reality. It was as if a giant had been smoothing off the sides of a heap of cement with a trowel and had then lost patience and left it half finished. Its most impressive feature was a vast, right-angled wall, shiny with water and apparently smooth.

      ‘Cenotaph Corner,’ said Judith, ‘Hundred and twenty feet. When you can do that you really will be climbers.’

      It seemed impossible.

      ‘Joe Brown led it in 1952, with Belshaw. Joe’s a plumber in Manchester. He spends every moment he can here. You remember how awful it was last winter when everyone’s pipes were bursting? In the middle of it he left a note on the door of his house: “Gone climbing. Joe Brown.” People nearly went mad.’

      ‘Where is he now?’

      ‘In the Himalayas.’

      We looked at what he had climbed with awe.

      There were already three people on Spiral Stairs. I could see what the book meant by ‘good exposure’. At that moment one of them was edging his way round the vertical left-hand edge of Cenotaph Corner.

      ‘That’s the part that always gives me a thrill,’ said Pamela, the other girl. ‘Pity. Let’s not wait, let’s do Ivy Sepulchre instead.’

      ‘Oh, Pamela, do you think we ought to? It may be too much for them.’

      She made us sound like a couple of invalids out on the pier for an airing. Nevertheless, this was no time for stubborn pride. I asked Hugh if that was the climb we had been reading about at breakfast. He said it was.

      ‘I think Judith’s right,’ I said. ‘It may be too much for us.’

      As we waited in the cold shadow under the lee of the Cenotaph, Judith explained what we were going to do.

      ‘The beginning’s rather nasty because of that puddle. It makes your feet slippery just when they need to be dry. We’ll climb in two parties. Pamela will lead Hugh, I’ll lead you. The first part’s seventy feet; round the edge of the Cenotaph it’s very exposed and you’ll feel the wind. Don’t come on until I shout and you feel pressure on the rope. I’ll be belayed then. Even if you come off you won’t fall far.’

      ‘What happens if someone does come off? You can’t just leave them hanging.’

      ‘Send for the fire brigade,’ said Judith.

      Both girls were shuffling their boots on the rock like featherweight boxers.

      Then Pamela was gone, soon to be followed by Hugh.

      After what seemed an eternity it was Judith’s turn. I had her belayed but at this stage it wasn’t much use: I remembered the Doctor’s warning. ‘The leader must not fall off.’ Then she vanished. I continued to pay out the rope. There was a long interval and I heard her shout very distantly to come on and the rope tautened.

      It was impossible to get on to the rock without getting at least one foot wet.

      Very slowly I worked my way out to the corner of the Sepulchre. As I edged round it into what seemed to be empty space I came on to the part with good exposure, the part that always gave Pamela a thrill. Below me was a huge drop to the rocks and as I came round the wind blew my hair into my eyes.

      Two more pitches and we were on the top. I felt a tremendous exaltation. Sitting there on a boulder was a man in a bowler hat and white collar smoking a pipe.

      ‘Early closing in Caernarvon,’ Judith said.

      ‘He looks like an undertaker to me.’

      ‘We shall have to hurry, it’s Pamela’s day to serve tea.’ We went down a wide gully, then raced down the scree to the car. The others were waiting for us. The girls were pleased, so were we. Only the man with the bowler hat weighed on my mind. I asked Hugh if he had seen him.

      ‘Which man? We didn’t see a man.’

      ‘Now you’re making me feel like one of those school-teachers at Versailles.’

      ‘We saw the other party, but we didn’t see a man in a bowler hat.’

      

      As we were leaving for London, Judith gave me a little pamphlet costing sixpence. It showed, with the aid of pictures, the right and wrong ways of climbing a mountain.

      ‘We haven’t been able to teach you anything about snow and ice,’ she said, ‘but this shows you how to do it. If you find anything on the journey out with snow on it, I should climb it if you get the chance.’

      ‘I wish we were coming with you,’ she added, ‘to keep you out of trouble.’

      ‘So do we,’ we said, and we really meant it. Everyone turned out to say goodbye. It was very heart-warming.

      ‘You know that elderly gentleman who lent you a pair of climbing boots,’ Hugh said, as we drove through the evening sunshine towards Capel Curig.

      ‘You mean Mr Bartrum?’

      ‘Did you know he’s a member of the Alpine Club? He’s written a letter about us to the Everest Foundation. He showed it to me.’

      I asked him what it said.

      ‘He