When Nights Were Cold (12 page)

‘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.

‘I look like a frog.' Hooper flexed her foot and frowned. ‘I'm not wearing these preposterous things. You can wear them if you will, but I'll climb in my skirt. Don't tell me not to, for I know that lots of climbers do. Lucy Walker wore a skirt on all her Alpine ascents. I know that.'

‘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.

‘Has it been all right for you?' I asked Parr. ‘Only we are perhaps not quite like your usual companions.'

‘That's all right. I don't mind what people are like as long as they try hard.' She softened and smiled. ‘Locke doesn't like me, I know, but she is getting better at hiding it.'

There seemed no point in contradicting her when we both knew it was true.

‘I'm not good at conversations and knowing how to discuss trivial things. You know, the way you and Locke are always joking about something and you both talk faster and faster and it's like a frenetic song. Well, when I try to come in, it's as though I'm out of tune or the words are wrong. It's just something you're good at and I am not.'

‘I suppose it doesn't much matter.'

‘I don't know. Anyway, I do like to have people around.'

Hooper shrieked and fell into the stream. Only her feet got wet and she pulled herself out quickly but she continued to squeal until she'd got her boots off.

‘What a baby.' Parr gazed at Hooper, baffled. ‘Why does she make such a fuss?'