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Who would steal a memorial to climbers killed in war? Who would steal a memorial to climbers killed in war?
(about 2 months later)
"Is nothing sacred?" a fell walker was heard to say on reaching Great Gable's summit last week to find the tablet affixed to the rocks gone. "Metal thieves?" he wondered, regarding the space where a relief map of the area gifted to the National Trust and the names of Fell and Rock Climbing Club members who fell in the Great War normally had pride of place. Then another walker stepped aside to reveal a notice proclaiming that the bronze plaque had been removed for restoration."Is nothing sacred?" a fell walker was heard to say on reaching Great Gable's summit last week to find the tablet affixed to the rocks gone. "Metal thieves?" he wondered, regarding the space where a relief map of the area gifted to the National Trust and the names of Fell and Rock Climbing Club members who fell in the Great War normally had pride of place. Then another walker stepped aside to reveal a notice proclaiming that the bronze plaque had been removed for restoration.
But those words – "Is nothing sacred?" – took me back to 1965, hearing them uttered by an onlooker watching nocturnal figures silhouetted on the tower of St John's Chapel in Cambridge (as in The Night Climbers of Cambridge by "Whipplesnaith").But those words – "Is nothing sacred?" – took me back to 1965, hearing them uttered by an onlooker watching nocturnal figures silhouetted on the tower of St John's Chapel in Cambridge (as in The Night Climbers of Cambridge by "Whipplesnaith").
By coincidence, I had, the evening before, been "taken up" the chapel by the late Richard Isherwood, then a leading light in the university mountaineering club, following a slide show I had given about climbing in Colorado with the great Royal Robbins.By coincidence, I had, the evening before, been "taken up" the chapel by the late Richard Isherwood, then a leading light in the university mountaineering club, following a slide show I had given about climbing in Colorado with the great Royal Robbins.
"Shush!" warned Dick as we began. "If the college proctors hear us – finito." First up a drainpipe, then – finally roped-up and with Dick in the lead, karabiners clinking the while – we scaled roof tiles at the nerve-racking angle of Botterill's Slab on Scafell Crag. Dick then continued up the chapel tower, reminiscent of the Central Pillar on Esk Buttress but inset with stained glass windows, protected by wooden slats."Shush!" warned Dick as we began. "If the college proctors hear us – finito." First up a drainpipe, then – finally roped-up and with Dick in the lead, karabiners clinking the while – we scaled roof tiles at the nerve-racking angle of Botterill's Slab on Scafell Crag. Dick then continued up the chapel tower, reminiscent of the Central Pillar on Esk Buttress but inset with stained glass windows, protected by wooden slats.
Next came three tugs of the rope: the "Go" signal. After mantelshelfing into the recesses I began back-and-footing upwards until at last able to pull up over a cornice above an appalling drop and – thanking my lucky stars – top-out. Finally we descended a spiral staircase, buzzing from the adrenaline. Only then I had to write up our ascent for my first national newspaper article as a budding journalist. But that's another story.Next came three tugs of the rope: the "Go" signal. After mantelshelfing into the recesses I began back-and-footing upwards until at last able to pull up over a cornice above an appalling drop and – thanking my lucky stars – top-out. Finally we descended a spiral staircase, buzzing from the adrenaline. Only then I had to write up our ascent for my first national newspaper article as a budding journalist. But that's another story.
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