Chapter 17 Dangerously Healthy by Malcolm Birkenshaw

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Chapter 17.

Next morning the mountains loomed larger, nearer, free of haze.
`Would you like a drive to Snowdon?' I looked at the map. `It's
early, so we should beat the crowds.'

`Good idea,' Lena agreed, having slept well. `But this time
I'll make a proper picnic. Fish and chips are all right, once in a
while, but not when I'm watching my weight,' she was attempting to
reverse the passage of time, or to regain eternal youth just to
impress Ransley, that bloody headmaster of hers.

The geese, in addition to being their usual unwelcoming selves,
this time were cropping the grass between us and the car so we took
the long cut past Bronwen's bee hives. `If you've got any fruity
sweets don't suck them until we're well past the bees,' our early
departure slipping until it was later rather than sooner and all the
traffic seemed to be aiming for Snowdon.

Exhaust fumes hung invisible on the air through our windows as
we millepeded past walls, fields, cottages and hills, and where the
remnants of forest had withdrawn into copses, their roots grappling
onto whatever mean land had been spared. Yet summer life still
sprouted, fighting to overhang whenever the road wandered too near.

There were rooks, too, at least they looked like damned rooks,
circling and mocking.... In fact they must have been rooks because
when we arrived at Snowdon the queue for its railway stretched
beyond reason, every seat for the day booked. `Damn.... Well, I
suppose we could drive a short way, find somewhere to park, then
perhaps go for a walk.' I had seen a sign post and, softly, softly,
kept my wildest hopes secret, hopes of how I would like to climb to
its top. Mind you, best not admit lest it left Lena reluctant to
park. She'd be right, of course, it was too far, but with my mustard
seeds at least we might get part of the way.

To my surprise she agreed that we park temptingly close to its
base, but before she had even locked the car doors the children were
missing. She panicked. `Don't worry,' I chased after them, having
caught sight of the direction in which their heels were disappearing
before they scuttled between an outcrop of boulders, aiming for the
mountain. I reached where they had been and stood on top of the
boulders, at first seeing nothing but Snowdon, like a tidal wave
swamping my senses.

Never mind its grandeur, where were they? my purpose swiftly
acclimatising. Ah, there, on the tourist track, I think, racing
past hikers. `I've seen them,' I turned round and called back to
Lena. `They're safe,' I shouted, sensing that here was an
opportunity to test my recovery as I struck out in pursuit, pacing
my rhythm.

Gosh, it was hot, I removed my pullover and shirt. `Morning,' I
passed the first party. They descended in silence. Was this because
now I was dressed in only trainers and shorts, or were they just
townies suspicious of strangers? `Good morning,' I tried again, next
lot, this time on a group walking so slow on the way up that they
had to be passed.

`Eee looks some kind of nut,' I heard a London voice say. Was
he referring to me? I bristled, dismissing his worth on the grounds
that he was a Southerner. In fact they were all Southerners, with
not a Welshman in sight, and I wondered about why no Yorkshiremen -
perhaps they'd stayed at home, arguing about whether foreigners
should be allowed to play cricket for the County? Anyway, this lot
of hikers can suit themselves, I shrugged my shoulders, calming
myself down, which also got rid of a fly which had just landed
somewhere in the middle of my back. Take no notice of them, I was
enjoying myself in the heat, grateful to be unlike those M.S.
sufferers who were unable to withstand high summer.

The pathway fingered its way up and across ankle-high rockcrops
and over rough-hewn gravel, winding, climbing, descending, yet
progressing for ever upwards. Claire and John, at some distance
ahead, were beginning to weaken, only spurring themselves on when
they realised I was nearing. But my pace refused to yield, like a
tortoise keeping up with two hares, and their stamina broke when
they reached "Half Way House".... It sold lemonade and ice creams
and..

`Can we have a drink?'

`And some crisps?'- two just excuses for an honourable break.

`All right,' I dug deep into my pockets, searching their
corners until enough money had been pulled out by the tips of my
fingers, then laid back to relax on the turf, siting myself so as to
prevent another break for the top. `And a cup of tea for me,
please,' I signalled towards where they were queuing.

Time to reassess the mountain, I thought, resting on its
throne, now subject to its majesty, the crown so close, inviting to
be touched, despite being over two miles away. Ants, everywhere ant
trails of people, like worker ants in the sunshine, trailing up,
trailing down, only a few straying from its tracks. Yet for most of
its life the mountain remained slumbering, deserted, resisting the
elements, only to be trampled all over as it tried to recover during
each summer. I even thought of Simon's Seat, not half as high, and
of how it also sat upon a throne.... `Wake up,' it was John, waving
a lemonade beneath my nose.

`I asked for tea.'

`Claire's carrying it, I've got the crisps,' they spread
themselves out upon the springy grass, minds open to all things new,
young islands still to be battered by the tidal waves of life.

`Look who's coming,' Claire propped herself upon her elbows.
Mother was plodding up the track. `What's she doing here? She's
never climbed a hill with us before.'

`Where?' I searched, wicked elves upon my left shoulder
purring when they heard Lena being rewarded by her for spending too
many hours with Ransley, that bloody headmaster. Deep in the
dungeons of my heart I knew I should have censored them, but the
voice on my right shoulder was locked stubbornly away. `Where,' I
repeated, but they had gulped their drinks and gone, clutching their
crisps, determined not to be organised.

Lena sagged onto the grass, a picture like joy lost in transit.
I smiled, hoping her rest would help. `They never had the courtesy
to say Hello,' she said, `Or offer to buy me a drink.'

My heart sagged, tongue silenced, these were not the complaints
I had anticipated. All logic freeze-dried in my mouth, as though
overshadowed by those rooks which had scattered back in the valley,
their splayed feathers torn by thermals like ragged lepers' cloaks.
Yes, I should have said something, for Ransley was a non-event, a
weed, and perhaps she was only trying to earn a graded post at the
school, though her excessive hours had warped my scales of justice
and one set of weights were now cast in iron, the other in brass.

`No,' she pursed her lips when I offered to buy her a coffee.
`I'll pay for my own,' she walked ten martyred paces to the cafe,
leaving me to watch over the children's progress from where I was
sitting, confident they were safe, still a long way from the steep
bits.

But it was a serpentine queue, Claire and John scampering much
further than expected before she had returned. `No need to worry,
they'll soon tire,' she said, sitting down whilst stirring her
coffee, like the sun which had gone in.

I answered in equal measure, minutes passing in silence before
I saw John climbing a scree on his own. `Sorry, I'll have to chase
after them,' I broke the impasse before Lena's coffee had cooled.
`We'll wait for you at the top...if we get that far,' I called over
my shoulder, hoping she would follow so that we should return to
being a family again, like in the old days, brought together by
climbing a mountain for the first time together.

Oh dear, I pounded after them, abandoning my regime, both legs
aching as I strained to catch up. At last, at last, the children
were resting, where the scree was too steep. Yet, before I reached
its base, he was climbing again, almost vertical, almost out of
sight. `John,' I bellowed, cupping my hands. Too late, he was
gone, my voice drowned by a jet fighter flying below us, low level
training against the side of our mountain, its arrival as sudden as
the roar of its engine, the thunder of its departure reverberating
long after it disappeared over Cardigan Bay or wherever else it had
gone to.

`Claire,' I waved frantically. She heard me. `Get after him,
sit with him, put on parkas, and don't move an inch, not until I get
there.'

She waved back, still tired, perched on a rock, knees tucked
under her chin, quickly rebalancing herself with hands clasped round
her ankles.

`He could be killed,' my voice persuasively desperate. She
stared up at the scree, then back at me, realised the situation was
serious, and uncoiled like a spring off the rock. At last, good
girl, she was fighting her way up the route he had taken. I
slithered, grabbed hold of a stone, rattling dislodged shale down
the slope. Marvellous, not only marooned on this slope but my
pension in danger of being cancelled, "Disabled climber brought down
by Mountain Rescue Team", just the sort of headline the Social
Security inspectors spent their days scanning for.

`How are we going to manage on my salary alone?' I could
already imagine what Lena would say. Best cast a fistful of mustard
seeds onto the slope, I took a deep breath, then started climbing
and slithering, two up one back, until I could see Claire calling to
John.

He was already sitting, knees clasped tight together, as though
having lost confidence before attempting the narrow incline of a
long ridge. `I'm freezing,' he complained, `Waiting for you.'

`Better get a move on, then. If low clouds are on their way it
really WILL become cold,' I shepherded them over the last dangerous
stretch, upwards and upwards, forever upwards, upon a knife edge
with only a grey horizon to aim for, their spirits fading until
BANG! - like a deafening silence overwhelming our senses the summit
leapt into sight.

We tottered a moment, taking all in. Near to its peak was a
building, of stone, substantial, somewhere for sanctuary, but first
we must touch Snowdon's tip. `How do we get down to the cafe?' John
shivered. I shrugged my shoulders, looking as puzzled as he.

`Perhaps it's only for people who've bought tickets,' Claire
pointed to a train on its knees puffing into the station.

`Mingle. Come on, mingle. Don't bother to ask, just mingle.
Pretend to be passengers, follow me,' we snaked amongst the crowd on
the platform into the cafe.

`Don't know why you had to pretend. I can't see any notices
telling us to keep out,' John mumbled.

`Here, get something to drink, ready for when your mother
arrives,' I bagged four seats with panoramic views whilst they
juggled the money.

`I suppose we should have expected top prices, being high up a
mountain,' I mused, as I looked for some change. Never mind, at
least we each had a drink and were pointing out landmarks where
Wales lost its way to the sea. Not very interesting, unless they
could open their packets of nuts. I nodded and smiled, we had done
it, all on our own, without using the railway; and once again I
remembered the specialist, but this time was determined that my
recovery would last.... Though that's what I said after we climbed
Simon's Seat, but now I know what the consequences of failure would
be.

`Where's mum?' John crumpled his empty packet.

`Should have been here by now,' I looked at my watch. `Perhaps
we better set off, in case she's got stuck.'

`I'll wait, she still might come,' Claire said, feeling
concerned.

`And be left on your own in the clouds?' wisps were already
brushing the cafe as the change in the weather continued to glide
past from the west. I ushered them outside, into the cold cauldron,
its contents condensing and fuming about us. `Better keep to the
railway line.'

`You always tell us not to play on railway lines.'

`Good lad, you're right, I'm wrong. What I meant was keep close
to the track, before we get lost - but not too close, although close
enough so we can see to avoid stumbling onto it by mistake.'

`Doesn't he go on?'

`That's because it can be the difference between life and
death. But thanks for remembering, and certainly never do it on
other railways where trains go very mu....'

`The train won't see us,' he had stepped to one side, sticking
his head further into the clouds.

`We'll hear it coming, though,' Claire said, her ears already
alert since these were ideal conditions for ghostly things like the
Hound of the Baskervilles'.

He held his breath, listened, the mountain was smothered in
silence. `Wouldn't it be safer to ride on the train?'

`Yes, but we don't have the money..... though never do this
again. However, what with me being with you, and under these
circumstances, and only on this railway, we'd best stay between the
lines,' I donned sackcloth and ashes, `For I can't see and don't
know how steep is the drop on either side of the track.'

Then suddenly we walked free, back into warm air.

`Oh, I'm soaked.'

`So'm I.'

A train whistle hooted. `Quick, get off the lines,' we
scrambled up a sheep path, whilst looking over our shoulders, but
the locomotive stayed hidden as the arthritic squeaking of its
metals came nearer.

`Look, there's mum,' John pointed. She was on the trail to the
summit, about to walk into the clouds.

`Hi,' I waved, leaving the children safe, outstretched, drying
off.

`Oh, it's you,' her trudge dragged to a stop.

`You're nearly there, and the clouds are now clearing,' I
sparkled. `We'll climb with you,' certain that Claire and John would
welcome the kudos of telling their friends they had scaled Snowdon
twice in one day.

`No, I'm not bothered,' she turned back.

`Where's mum going?' they caught up with me, wanting to know
what was happening.

`She's going back,' I replied.

They ran to persuade her, fun lighting up their faces, only to
return puzzled with their hearts as uncertain as upon quicksand.
`She's going back to the car.'

`I suppose we'd better follow,' my voice fell, our day of
triumph sallower as she retreated, abandoning her climb with the
goal almost in sight. Had she been there before, with that bloody
headmaster France's school parties? I stood to one side, giving way
to other climbers on their way to the top, unable to get that damned
man out of my mind, what with his beard to cover his infantile face.

Were they waiting for me, is that why they've stopped? ... No,
they were resting, one of their party was exhausted, inching her way
to safety. `Is there far to go?' she asked one of the men as she
slumped onto a patch of short grass, springy and mown by the sheep.

`Far to go?' I butted in, exploiting the fact that the summit
was still out of sight. `You see that, down there, "Half Way Cafe"
the Welsh call it. Well, it's just another Celtic con trick. Where
you're sitting is really half way.'

`No,' she capitulated, pleading up at her husband. `You can go
on by yourself, I'm staying right here.'

`I was only joking,' I apologised quickly, `You're almost
there,' my tentative smile ready to broaden or vanish as the
occasion demanded. He was a big man, very tall, very long, but how
short was his temper?

They were laughing, that's a relief... Quite nice, these
Southerners, when you actually get to know them.

But it was time to catch up with Claire and John. They were
well on their way, having overtaken Lena, darting first one way then
another, taking adventurous detours, long grass, lumpy grass,
between rocks and.... they stumbled into a small flock, the sheep
scattering, panic and uncertainty leaving it uncertain as to who was
the more scared of the other.

The sun reappeared and we all reached the bottom, more or less
at the same time. I was limping a bit, had any of yesterday's batter
seeped into the fish?.. or was it because we had covered ten miles?
No, forget it, get on with living, worrying about nothing will only
cause stress.

Next morning, last of the holiday, Lena unpacked her two-piece
swimming costume, determined to soak up some sun before we returned
to Adderton. Out of sight she found a corner, a nudge of space
missed by hillside, cottage and hedge fit only for grass. `Does
anyone pass this way?'

`They can't do, it doesn't go anywhere.'

`Why's the grass so short, then?'

`Geese, sheep, rabbits? I don't know.'

And she did not know, either, so whilst the sun was climbing
she settled down upon a tartan blanket.

`Naked, nearly naked,' I could hear Morgan telling his wife.
Perhaps he had a hidy-hole.

`Get on with you. You didn't have to look, did you?' Bronwen
told him to get back to his woodwork.

Claire and John had evaporated between the trees, dodging,
hiding, playing, until they were balancing on a rocking stone,
bridging the mill stream. The neglected wheel slept, its waters
seeping, slowly, below this worn slab of slate, twinkling, wanting
to play before being devoured into the river's appetite.

Leaves and sun cast patterns, whilst jerky movements invited
the children to fish, each scooping with a jam jar, holding the
captive water to the light, pouring, laughing, getting wet. Hidden
from view I filmed. Some melancholic breeze touched me, or was it
the distant waft of a giant wing..... might this be the last time
they would play together as children?

Read the following chapters that tell of how Martin "cured" his M.S. and climbed mountains by the following year.

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