We had some discussion about current expedition plans. Scott was planning another assault on the South Pole, while Shackleton was hoping to take a scientific team to the Antarctic for research. Presumably if Scott didn’t make it to the Pole, Shackleton would be ready to leave his research and make a run for it himself.
‘That’s what I’d do,’ I said.
‘Shackleton might take you with him,’ said Locke. ‘Perhaps you could have a role in the scientific research.’
‘Imagine.’
There was silence for a few seconds and then we all laughed.
Catherine had written to say that Father was becoming increasingly agitated and confused. His strange spirits were always at his side and it was embarrassing to leave the house with him lest he begin to shout and curse at some apparition in the air. He frightened children and made the neighbours cross to the other side of the street. Mother could not bear to witness his humiliation but could not stop him going out, so she spent most days alone in her room. It fell to Catherine to care for them both. I had promised to return at Easter to help, but now I could not go. I tried to persuade myself that this was all right because Catherine had chosen to stay at home when she could have left, and that she was a better nurse to Father than I could ever be. But it was unfair and I knew it. I lay awake most of the night and in the end decided that I would go to Wales as planned and try to be a better sister when I returned.
I wriggled further into my bed in the dark and drew the blankets to my neck. The ceiling was mottled, became pliable and loose as I gazed up. I let the adventure unfold as though watching a play at the theatre. Mountains soared, white and ragged, to a painted blue sky. Four characters stood on soft brown foothills and took the first steps of their ascent. And I thought that, in a way, it would be easy. All we had to do was rehearse and know our parts, and we would reach the summit.
Now I see the four of us on the edge of a mountain, a balcony path with rocks and stones underfoot. Parr and Locke are arguing while Hooper and I trudge quietly behind. The hill falls steeply away and we go on. Rain and sleet drive into us and every few minutes I have to wipe my face and eyes with thick mittens. My vision is blurred but I know the look of the grass and rocks underfoot so well that even when I close my eyes my boots are moving on, left and right, left and right.
Chapter Nine
The manservant met us at Penmaenpool Station and took us by pony trap over the estuary bridge. The train from Paddington had been delayed and it was now evening. The mountains were dark bruises on the sky and the estuary a grey space which sometimes gave up a hint of a glimmer. A narrow lane led us up the mountain to the house. There was little light except for the servant’s lantern. The way was steep and wound through trees, between cottages. We held tight to our things and spoke in small, staccato voices. We passed two or three houses set back from the lane, part hidden by fir trees. And we heard the rushing of a waterfall into a deep river.
The pony pulled slowly until the lane became so steep that we could go no further. We jumped down at the side of the track and shivered in the cold, grassy air. Parr led us up to her aunt and uncle’s house, Ael y Bryn. We trudged along a slate-edged path, through long lawns, to the porch. Below us was an orchard and, high above the gardens, a deep forest. The wind ruffled the trees and crept over our hair and skin. We looked around, tried to make out shapes in the dark. The estuary was now a wide black gash far below, marked off by the lights of houses and the railway tracks.
Parr rang the doorbell, then left us in the porch as she went to give instructions to the manservant for our luggage. An owl hooted and Locke mimicked the sound in a whisper.
Parr pressed the bell again, peered through the window. ‘Where’s Ruth? She knew we’d be here by now.’
Locke stepped back to gaze at the house. She was wearing an opera coat in deep blue that seemed dramatic at college but incongruous here. It billowed and ballooned in the wind.
‘All the windows are quite dark. Are you sure your aunt and uncle are home?’
Parr looked uneasy. Then she explained, as though she must have mentioned it many times before, if only we had paid attention, that in fact they were away, just for the first few days.
‘But the servants are here.’ She rapped on the door. ‘We’ll have a fine time by ourselves.’
Hooper turned and stared out at the forest. ‘Parr,’ she said after a few moments, ‘you can’t expect us to stay here without your aunt and uncle. My parents will never stand for it. Teddy will be terribly upset.’
‘I don’t really see how they’ll know.’
‘But I don’t want to be in this situation. It’s compromising. If anyone knew that we were here without your aunt and uncle—’
Parr attacked the doorbell with her whole fist. ‘You could probably catch the night train back to London. If I were you, though, I’d stay for something to eat first.’
Hooper sighed, marched away from us, then returned. Her hair was coming loose and, with all its wild curls, resembled a child’s scribble around a too-small face.
‘I can’t think why I came with you. You are all completely mad with your expeditions and mountaineering. It was all right when we were sitting around a classroom, but now we’re outside this house in the middle of the mountains with nobody—’ Her voice caught in her throat.
Locke and I looked at each other. Hooper was about to cry and Parr seemed to have brought us to a deserted house.
‘I’ve been coming here every year since I was born,’ said Parr. ‘The worst thing that ever happens is that sheep get into the garden once in a while and trample the hydrangeas.’
‘Let’s not argue.’ I hurried to Hooper and took her arm. ‘Of course you’re nervous, but Parr says it will all be fine so it will. If there are difficulties then we must embrace them together. Parr, we’re very grateful to be here.’
‘If you think I have let you down, I apologize,’ she said. ‘You can’t blame me entirely, you know. Am I wrong to think that a group of suffragists might have a little courage, some sense of independence?’
‘We have plenty of courage and independence,’ I said. ‘This couldn’t be better.’
‘We shan’t be here all the time anyway. We’ll spend at least one night in Llanberis before we climb Snowdon. My aunt may be back here when we return and my uncle may even be with her, but it’s difficult to say since they don’t like to keep regular plans.’ Parr gestured towards the house. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Locke whispered. ‘The house, the garden, the scent, the sky. It’s all magical. Thank you, Parr.’
Parr gave Locke a glance and half a smile, as though she were wrong-footed by Locke’s gratitude.
‘Snowdon?’ Hooper shuffled to a low wall and perched on it. ‘Do you think I’m climbing Mount Snowdon when there’s a perfectly good train?’
The door creaked open then and a woman of about forty greeted us and led us into the dark vestibule. Beyond the hall, a dim light flickered. A grandfather clock chimed a quarter past the hour. We followed Ruth up carpeted stairs to our bedrooms. The house smelled of old apples.
I perched on the windowsill in my room and peered through the curtains for a few minutes. I could see nothing but the outline of a tree. I whispered, Thank you. I wasn’t sure whom I was thanking. Perhaps it was my father for, though he had done his best to keep me trapped in his house, it was he, with his maps, tales and strange spirits, who had made my journey here inevitable. Parr would say, It’s only Wales, but for me it might have been the other side of the Earth.
After dinner we changed into our outdoor clothes and carried glasses of brandy into the garden. How strange to dress in men’s clothes. Some women mountaineers climbed in their skirts – short ones with breeches underneath, or long ones with hoops and strings that allowed the skirt to shorten when ascending – but Parr thought this silly and dangerous. Parr always wore bloomers when she climbed on the continent and had a pile of spare clothes for us.
‘Whatever pleases you,’ said Parr. ‘The Matterhorn would have been climbed by Félicité Carrel before Lucy Walker’s ascent, only her skirt blew up in the wind and she could not move. I’m sure women have been killed horribly by their own skirts.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Hooper. ‘I had a mad aunt who used to cycle between her farm and the local shop wearing bloomers, and the villagers threw rotten eggs at her. When you look at us, it’s easy to see why. Never tell Teddy you’ve seen me like this.’
Locke roared with laughter, danced around the lawn kicking her legs up, then lay back on the grass, panting, looking at the sky. ‘Let them throw eggs at me.’
Hooper glared. ‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself.’
‘There’s no one here but us. Where are your aunt and uncle, Parr?’
‘My Aunt Jane is with her friend in London, just until my uncle returns. He’s in the mountains in Bolivia. I’m sure I told you all this.’
‘Bolivia? You certainly didn’t.’
‘We’re all here now, so it doesn’t matter.’
‘I agree.’ I perched on a low stone wall, pressed my feet into the mossy grass, felt it spring back.
The garden had three or four lawns, on different levels, with stone steps leading from one to the next and flowerbeds between. We sat under an oak tree on the highest lawn with our glasses. I inhaled the fumes from my brandy for a few moments before tasting it.
‘Parr, did your aunt and uncle really climb Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn?’ I wanted to know Parr better but she gave little away.
‘They did. It was quite a long time ago.’
‘And your uncle allowed her to go with him?’ asked Hooper. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
‘Some men in the Alpine Club won’t even speak to her. But she doesn’t care. It’s reaching the peak that matters. It has nothing to do with being man or woman, only with being human. My uncle understands that.’
‘I think she should care,’ said Locke, even so.’
‘People will change,’ I said. ‘It is 1910, after all. We are not in the dark ages.’
‘No.’ Parr took a sip of brandy, let it rest on her tongue before swallowing. ‘We are not.’
‘But you don’t want any of us to have the vote. I’m persuaded by the suffragists,’ said Hooper. ‘And so is Teddy and he’s a man. So why aren’t you?’
‘In the wilderness we are all the same,’ said Parr. ‘But when we come back to normal society, we take on our roles again and that is that and nobody can help it. So we need the wilderness.’
I did not understand her, but was tired of arguments so I said nothing. I breathed in the sweet, damp mossy scent. I was glad that Mr and Mrs Taylor were away. I could pretend it all belonged to us: the big house and gardens, the mountains and the jewelled sky.
It rained in the night and I woke in a shaft of tepid sunlight. Beneath my window, small apple trees quivered in the breeze. I dressed in an old skirt with my outdoor bloomers on underneath. The house was quiet and I sat on the windowsill for a while to watch the estuary far below. Boats bobbed on the cool surface, fishing boats and a pleasure boat on its way to Barmouth. I saw the bridge we had crossed in the dark and the mountains rising behind.
After breakfast we gathered our knapsacks, bags of bread, Thermos flasks of tea, two long ropes. The rainy, fertile scent had intensified. The landscape around Ael y Bryn was vivid greens and browns with patches of pink and white apple blossom. Higher mountains rose beyond the estuary and stretched towards the sea, rugged and lonely. I hoped that the weather would sometimes be as wild as Parr had promised but now the sky was pale and soft.
At the other side of Dolgelley, near the base of Cader Idris, we packed our skirts into our knapsacks – Hooper did not – and began our ascent.
It was much easier than I had imagined. On the first steep stretch I lost my breath and thought I could not go on but, after a short rest, I stopped wheezing and began to feel rather good. We met other trampers, mostly men but sometimes women accompanied them. On one occasion, Locke turned to see a pair of men who had just said hello walking backwards staring at us, muttering about our appearance. Locke began to walk backwards then waved at them till, shamed, they resumed their walk. Parr told her to stop provoking trouble.
‘You just need attention all the time, don’t you? You’re scandalous.’
‘We’re getting it anyway.’
‘As I told you,’ said Hooper.
‘But I don’t care,’ said Locke. ‘And you shouldn’t either.’
Hooper sometimes put up a hand to call us to a halt. She would take her notebook and make a rough sketch. Each time, Parr walked a few paces ahead, gazing into the distance until Hooper had finished. I knew that Hooper liked to sketch but I also saw that she struggled to move as quickly as the rest of us and it was her way of stopping to catch breath without losing dignity.
I remember a particular sketch from that day. Hooper showed me before slipping the paper into her knapsack. She had made a neat copy of a small patch of map lichen, about an inch across.
‘This is how long we’ve been alive.’ She put the tip of her little finger across two-thirds of it. ‘The whole piece has been growing for about thirty years. It works so slowly you see.’
‘Do you mind climbing with us, Hooper? Have we rather bullied you into it, when you’d be happier counting years in lichen?’
She laughed. ‘Yes, you have rather bullied me. But I’m happy to be the fourth member and my legs are learning to do as they’re told.’ She put her pencil and paper into her pack, took a few small steps to get going again. ‘Besides, I couldn’t leave you alone with the cat and dog.’
I smiled. I thought Parr was the dog and Locke the cat but Hooper would not say which was which.
Parr had said that there would be no view from Cader, just a deep soup of mist. The good weather lasted though and, on the summit, we had clear views over Dolgelley, the peaks and the sea. A sharp wind whipped up and we huddled for warmth as Parr scrutinized the landscape. Soon we were heading towards a jagged ridge where Parr was going to teach us how to climb with ropes. We learned how to use the ropes, how to belay each other and to find holds in the rock. It took time to learn the basic things, so we climbed the same routes, feeling them become easier each time. By the end of the afternoon our arms and legs were heavy and our fingertips red and burnt as though caught on the stove. We had scratches and grazes on our hands, but we continued to climb and knew that we were learning well.
So we went higher. We took the train north to Llanberis, spent two nights in a hotel and climbed the peaks of the Ogwen Valley. We scrambled up the spine of Tryfan, getting our fingertips onto its knobbly bones, learning how to place our hands and feet, to twist around an exposed rock or haul ourselves up a sharp gully. We hardly spoke except to offer a hand or to discuss our route. The wind brought a spitting rain and the rocks became dark and slippery. Hooper panicked once or twice on exposed sections and we had to wait and speak calmly to her until she could go on. She blinked back tears, wiped her spectacles several times and laughed at herself, but she always forced herself to climb the next rock and the next one until we reached the summit. None of us mentioned that her skirt was an encumbrance to her, but it was, especially on the larger rocks. Locke, who did no sport at college but could dance like a professional, found the rocks easy. She gambolled up to the summit, looked around and laughed.
Parr and I checked our compasses to navigate our descent. I could see that Parr wanted to do this herself, without my assistance, but this was my first opportunity to help lead the team.
‘Follow me,’ said Parr. ‘I know what we’re doing. It’s all right, Farringdon.’
‘I just want to be sure I know it for myself,’ I said. ‘So that I learn and so that we’re all safe.’
‘I wouldn’t have led you up here if I didn’t believe that I could get you all down,’ said Parr. ‘Do you trust me or don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. I’m just trying—’
‘Then off we go.’
She stepped into the mist and disappeared.
‘I wish there were a man with us,’ said Hooper. ‘I would feel safer.’ She stomped forward, lost her footing and skidded a few feet down a slope of scree. Locke and I waited for her, calling for Parr.
‘Where are you all?’ Her voice cut through the cloud. ‘I told you to follow me. This is dangerous.’
But we made it safely down from the rocks and stones then descended on grass. The clouds dispersed to reveal the whole of the valley with its gullies, cwms and ridges. We took a rest near Lake Idwal and Parr pointed out the many peaks. She named them one by one, like friends.
The following day we traversed Crib Goch and continued to the summit of Snowdon. We sang songs and made up a strange ditty, which contained bits of ‘Rule Britannia’, some yodelling and music hall songs to which Locke knew all the words. Locke and I were the ones who talked and sang the most. Hooper stumbled quietly along behind us, listening and laughing at jokes, but seeming content in her own thoughts. Sometimes we had to help her over rocks or round an exposed path. Parr marched on, not rude or complaining but always with an edge of impatience.
On our final day of hiking, I caught up with Parr to talk. We were following a stream down into the valley. Hooper and Locke were behind us, playing some game where they had to jump from stone to rock and never touch grass. They laughed and fell, stood wobbling on stones. Echoes of their voices bounced around the valley.
When Nights Were Cold Page 9
