I had been a Novice on the team for about one year; in fact I
had been a Novice for almost twelve months which as you know is a little bit
longer. I suppose one of the good points,
if you could ever say such a thing, about being a Novice, is that you had to
concentrate on completing your list of achievements. This was the list where every item not only
had to be completed, but seen to be completed, and signed off by an established
team member, if not the deputy or team leader himself. This would mean that you would very rarely
get bored or have to repeat a certain exercise.
Sometimes you would have a glut of things to achieve and
think you would never complete the list.
Sometimes you would get five or six items together in one exercise and
your progress would catch up with the drag curve. I was quite near getting my list
finished. I had an endurance test to
complete and a navigation exercise, two major items, time wise at least. There were
one or two other items which due to geographical or seasonal constraints I
would not be able to attempt within my time as a Novice. The award could still be made having taken
into consideration the attitude of the individual.
To make sure that the raw skills were tested you would be
taken out of area for your navigation exercise, and you would be given a small
party of three to accompany you with one supervisor. I was called in to the office and told that I
would be facing my navigation and endurance test within the following fortnight. I was allowed to choose my three team mates
none of which could be established team members and my supervisor would be Pib.
I knew that I would have to lead a team over twenty five
miles, in rough ground that I was unfamiliar with, and it was a challenge that
didn’t faze me. I didn’t know where it
was going to be and I didn’t know what the weather was going to be like. The only factor that would have caused me concern
would have been if I had to do it at night.
Thankfully I don’t think that had ever occurred to anyone, and forgive
me for saying it now, for someone out there has just thought ‘Oh that’s a good
idea.’
My only concern was that my supervisor was Pib. Pib was legend. He was the James Dean of the rescue
services. We all knew that the air force
would never promote him, for he was too much of a real person for them, he wouldn’t
play their games, he was his own man.
On the day that I was born, yes, that day, ripped away from my loving
mother and given to a battle hardened snatch squad of Carmelite nuns, Pib was
the team leader of the Desert and Mountain Rescue Team at RAF Khormaksar, in
Aden. In 1972 before I joined the air
force Pib had been awarded the BEM. Pib
was the heart of the rescue teams and a more decent and humble man you would
never meet.
Very sadly Pib is no longer with us, he died in June
2001. But just think of this, on Remembrance
Day, in the Commonwealth, where everyone observes a one or two minute silence,
in Aden, at the Commemorative Service in Silent Valley the British ambassador
will read out Pib’s name and lay a wreath.
In an obituary;- Pib: A memoir of Colin Pibworth, by Frank Card, Frank summed him up by saying “The sixteenth
century Italian poet, Ludovico Ariosto, could almost have been thinking of Pib
when he wrote: ‘Natura ilfece, epoiroppe
la stampa. Nature made him, and then
broke the mould.’” This is the fellow
who would be testing me and I certainly did not feel up to the challenge.
I had never been to the Lake District before and was really
looking forward to seeing the daffodils.
As with Scotland and the Kyle Of Lochalsh, the Lake District was
imprinted on my mind, not Just William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge
but Beatrix Potter, Swallows and Amazons and the historically famous sectarian
riots at Cleator Moor where, in and around the 1880’s , Catholic’s and Orange
men gladly murdered each other to death in the streets.
I had great respect for the area and secretly wished that I
could have been an ordinary civilian and just wandered around the towns and
graveyards and soaked up all that atmosphere in the hope that some of that
greatness might rub off on myself.
With base camp established we went into Keswick and the Royal
British Legion.
It wasn’t my fault. People were jiving, I think it was
something to do with the remoteness of the location, yee ha! I
quite happily joined in and for a brief moment was able to forget what lay ahead
for me the next day. I say a brief moment
for before the second dance could start, the club secretary came running over
asking me to leave the dance floor. I understand
some of you, the Illuminati, will probably think the combination of my lovely legs
and my spiffing dance moves would have embarrassed the locals but no. It was the combination of my size thirteen Dolomite
climbing boots and the freshly varnished dance floor that caused the commotion.
The next morning, I was given my map, my start and finish
coordinates, my route and wished good luck. The
remainder of the team would provide check points along my proposed route and as
they say in all good novels, off we jolly well went.
I learned a lot that day and the one specific thing I learned
was that eccentricity develops. It
cannot be forced. Each individual member
of the team had their very own idiosyncrasy.
Paddy Cross wore a dear stalker hat that was so ridiculous you could spot
him ten miles away, in a high wind, in poor light. Tom Pritchard, with his shotgun poking out of
his rucksack, could be identified on any ridge, in a group of men, providing
you had a high powered enough sniper rifle.
I had decided to use my old school tie as a belt. That’s right.
Why I would still have an old school tie from Violent Hell, I don’t know, but this
was now my belt and I probably looked like Stanley Holloway in My Fair lady,
singing ♫
With a Little bit of
luck ♫, for that’s all I needed.
I thought I was doing pretty well, hands in pockets, head
down, checking my map and bearings every minute or two, leading from the front
and powering along. We were all quiet, wanting to conserve energy, so there was
no idle chit chat. We came to a style
and a party of civilians were about to cross, we stood back and allowed them to
cross. There were four or five of them
and after they had crossed and we had all exchanged pleasantries, as is the
custom on the hill, one of their party turned around and pointed at my belt, or
tie if you will. "Oh!" he exclaims, “Violet
Hill! How do you do?” At which he lifted his hat.
Now this could have been viewed as either a good thing or a
bad thing, for the remainder of the exercise my squad tried to keep up with
me. I wasn’t trying to establish any
record for the endurance test, but get away from my squad who now chased me. Even Pib joined in with a continuous chorus of ‘Oh
Violet HiIl! How do you do!!!’
I wandered lonely as a cloud.
I don’t think so. The day finished,
I was pretty worn out, but suddenly I was lifted as Willie might have said, ‘Floating
on high o’er vales and hills’ as Pib shook my hand and awarded me my mountain rescue
badge. I had made it.
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