England To Katmandu

by A. Tallon

On 15th March, 1957, the Expedition members met at the Southway Hotel in London with the President and four other Y.R.C. members as support party.  The great day had arrived, all we had to do now was to find our way to the Himalayas and climb a mountain.  All the work and worry was behind us, now we could relax and for the next few days at least B.O.A.C. could do all the worrying.

It was at 7 o’clock that evening that we had our first intimation that even a modest Expedition like ours had its little problems.  We had excess baggage trouble!  Some of this excess had to be paid for in hard-scrounged cash but quite an amount was distributed about our various persons and so it was with heavy tread that we plodded out towards the aircraft next morning at London Airport.

Here our Cine photographer decided to justify his equipment.  Failing to get any action from his exposure meter he proceeded to record the state of the weather as we proudly climbed aboard the aircraft.  In this task he had some competition in the form of a duffle coated gentleman who dramatically emerged from a nearby cloudbank and announced that both he and his twin lens reflex were employed by a famous National Newspaper whose task and duty it was to inform the public of our progress.  Not having seen the results of his labours I can only assume that the fog particles were as correctly exposed on his film as those on Dr. Jones’.

The flight was interesting if not exciting.  Splendid views of the Alps (nearly everyone recognised the Matterhorn somewhere or other) Rome, Vesuvius stand out in the memory before darkness and the characteristic smells of the East brought us to Baghdad.  One member of the party had by now established a claim to be the most seasoned traveller on the plane.  He insisted on smoking the tobacco of the country over which he was flying.  Another member who had been entrusted with the Expedition altimeters devoted himself to the checking of the Flight reports.

Finally Calcutta at midnight local time, 36 hours after leaving London.  Here we were welcomed by three members of the Calcutta Yorkshire Society who steered us through the Customs in just over one hour (apparently a record).  Soon we were sweating in the heat of India trying to sleep under one sheet with an electric fan above converting warm air into a hot breeze.  Next day saw the start of over a week of frustrated activity on the part of the Y.R.C. and equally frustrating perseverance on the part of the Indian officials.  Calcutta interested us but the “magic of the Mystic East” soon lost its spell as we besieged office after office in an effort to produce our equipment and/or some action.  The equipment was on a ship which was waiting out in the river for a berth, and there it remained until, thanks to the efforts of some influential friends in the Yorkshire Society and an unknown benefactor back in London the kit was finally unloaded and it looked as if we might reach Katmandu before the Monsoon after all.  Tallon and Wilson went ahead of the main party to make arrangements for transport from Raxaul, on the Nepalese frontier, to Katmandu. The main party and equipment followed two days later.

The first of many holdups occurred at Mokhama Ghat where a paddle steamer is used to transport passengers and baggage across the Ganges.  Any movement of equipment was an obstacle in itself but here to make things even more difficult we found that the railway ended about a mile from where the boat departed, and depart it did, without us, before we had finally persuaded the local porters to carry our three and a half tons of stores across the sands.  The whole operation was in time successfully completed and the next boat boarded.  After a sort of Hindu washing day incident on the North side of the river the Expedition finally arrived at Raxaul, 48 hours after leaving Calcutta.

Tallon and Wilson had arrived here early the previous day and after enjoying the hospitality of Dr. and Mrs. Strong at the Mission Hospital, had installed themselves at the Indian Embassy Bungalow and spent 36 hours trying to sort out the best method of transport to Katmandu and meeting every train at the station just in case the rest of the Expedition should ever arrive.  Thanks to the co-operation of the Indian Railway staff, Mr. Hyde of Burmah Shell, and the British Embassy representative in the area, we had our equipment loaded on to a Nepalese railway truck and were able to eat and sleep in the Embassy Bungalow thankful of the 400 or so miles we had so painstakingly put between ourselves and Calcutta.

Next morning, 30th March, 1957, at 7 o’clock we boarded the miniature Nepalese train to journey to the railhead at Amlekganj 28 miles and 4½ hours to the North.  Spenceley took photographs of the train by walking ahead at various points and stepping into the train again as it drew level—not a difficult task.  Nepal immediately gives one the impression of being a democracy— the train conveniently slows down before and after each station to allow passengers to leave or board the train without the inconvenience of having to buy a ticket.

At Amlekganj the leader of the Expedition, assisted by a friend from the World Health Organisation, quickly negotiated for a lorry to take us over the hills to Katmandu.  This, the last stage of our journey, was to be the most interesting and exciting of all.  The lorry was quickly loaded and the six expedition members climbed on top.  At Raxaul we had met an American and his wife who had hitch-hiked from London and they accepted our offer of a lift to Katmandu.  The bearded driver and his mate were confident that we could reach Katmandu that day but it soon became obvious that we would have to spend the night some­where.  Even at this stage of our wanderings we had not become fully aware that in the East it is more commendable to set the customers mind at rest than to tell the exact truth.

To say that the road from Raxaul to Katmandu is a marvellous feat of engineering would be an understatement.  First we motored through pleasant valleys and foothills and soon we were in a steep sided valley without any obvious way out.  The driver aimed his vehicle at the most vertical face he could find and drove straight up.  The mere height of the passengers above the road was frightening enough without the empty space at the roadside.  We were quick to notice that the driver negotiated the steep corners with his door open.

At one village the lorry stopped and the driver announced that we would have to stay there the night.  We had other ideas and an argument followed between the driver and the local headman on one side and ourselves on the other.  The local officials said that they could not allow us to continue as the next section of road was too dangerous in the failing light.  Afterwards we had to agree with him but just then we were anxious to press on.  In the middle of the discussion it was noticed that the driver, his mate and one member of the expedition had disappeared.  Some time later they returned—the missing mountaineer raised an imaginary deerstalker and explained that he had just been keeping an eye on things.  Finally by signing a document absolving the local population from any responsibility for the accident which would inevitably occur, we were allowed to continue.

At one stage of the journey we had to pass through a low tunnel — we decided to walk through behind the lorry.  This proved to be a wise precaution because several rucsacs which had been on top of the load were badly damaged — luckily we were able to get them repaired in Katmandu.  That night we were guests of Major Wright, the Indian Army Officer in charge of the road.  We left again early next morning after presenting a crate of our tinned beer to the officers mess.  The highest point of the pass was soon reached — over 8,000 feet — and the journey became even more breathtaking.  If we fell off the lorry now we would be run over.  It was on this descent that we met a Land Rover flying the Union Jack.  The car stopped and out stepped a beaming gentleman in leather shorts who introduced himself as the British Ambassador.  He stayed and chatted for a few minutes and informed us that his wife was keeping a meal ready for us.

We were now nearly at Katmandu.  The journey through the town itself was not without interest.  Several times we were stopped by the police — for having a dangerous load — and dodging the electric wires and tree branches called for a steady eye and reflexes in perfect working order.

As we turned unto the British Embassy Compound, the Union Jack fluttering from the flagstaff, and the sentry springing several feet in the air to come to attention, some half a dozen jungle types sprang from the side of the road waving their arms and shouting.  Surely this band of brigands would not dare to attack us on the very steps of the Embassy.  Our fears were soon forgotten — they were our sherpas.

At last this was Katmandu — we had travelled over 6,000 miles from home, it was now the 31st March and we were over a week behind schedule.  The combined efforts of Sherpas and Sahibs soon had the kit unloaded and sheeted up behind the Embassy offices.  We distributed tinned beer to the sherpas and though they enjoyed the beer the sight of the foam spurting from the tins to descend on the expedition secretary’s already fast dis­appearing hair was greeted with much more enthusiasm.  They dashed off to their lodgings in great delight taking their empty beer tins with them.

Four of the expedition were soon installed in the Ambassador s residence while Dan Jones and I were driven off to the Royal Hotel and let loose in a bedroom about the size of an allotment — we only used the bit nearest the door.

After four days of packing and sorting of stores on the part of the sherpas and sahib in charge of packing and apparently un­interrupted sightseeing on the part of the other five expedition members, we were ready to move off into the hills with our 110 porters, 6 sherpas, and 1 liaison officer.