There are times when a certain smell in the air, nearly always an autumnal smell, or just looking at this view reminds me of the time I spent a month in the Lake District. It's not that the view is anything like those in the Lakes, but there is a sensation - an emotion almost - that links the two.
The bank for which I was working some 50 years ago was a big supporter of the Outward Bound Trust and regularly sent employees on the courses organised by the Trust at one of its three "schools". I don't know how employees were selected but I was one of the chosen. Accordingly, in mid-October I detrained at Penrith where there was transport to take me to the Outward Bound School on the banks of Ullswater. This was to be my home for four weeks and here I would be taught the principals of first aid, map reading, knotting and the skills needed to participate in the canoeing, rock climbing and hiking activities that were (and probably still are) the basis of the Trust's aim "to help young people realise their potential through learning in the wild. We create a supportive and challenging environment in which young people can learn about themselves and see clearly, perhaps for the first time, what they might truly be capable of achieving in life."
The regime was spartan: up at 6.00 for a dip in the lake, only the water was deemed either too cold or not cold enough so we had cold showers, then classroom lessons were interposed with circuit training on the course laid out in the extensive grounds. Cigarettes and whiskey and any sort of women were strictly verboten - we could even taste the bromide in the tea. My map-reading was considered good enough for me to act as a second tutor to my group but a later experience showed that I had not succeeded in training them very well. As we hauled ourselves round the circuit doing press up and pull ups and sundry other torturing exercises we looked across the lake at the purple hills, wishing we could be up and away, away from this punishing and seemingly perpetual training. And the day did come.
First, each patrol (we were split into patrols of six, rather like the Scouts) was taken for a day's hike accompanied by one of the trainers. Then, when we were considered good enough, each team was allowed onto the fells to put into practice what we had been taught in the classrooms. My patrol caught a bus outside the school to the village of Glenridding. From here we would hike to the top of Helvellyn before descending to Patterdale, another village about a mile further along the road from our start point, to catch a bus back to the school. Another patrol did the hike in the opposite direction.
It wasn't too stiff a climb but by the time we reached the summit we were in cloud and it had started to snow. On the broad, flat summit we met the other patrol and all settled down out of the wind as best we could to eat our picnic lunches (Kendal mint cake and a slab of dates). As we parted company, the other patrol assured us that it would be easy for us; all we had to do was to keep on the path. We set off in high spirits but after we had descended quite a distance I called a halt. We had come out of the cloud and could see the lake below, shining where the sun managed to break through the cloud. But it wasn't Ullswater! I pointed this out to the others but they didn't believe me. Had we not done as the other patrol said and kept to the path? My argument that the path must have forked without us noticing cut no ice.
"Ah," said the others, "look at the map. There are woods around the head of the lake according to the map - and there they are."
In vain did I point out that the head of the lake should have been on our right whereas it was on our left. I could not persuade the rest of the patrol so had no choice but to go along with them and to resist saying, "I told you so" when we reached the road and the bus stop which clearly said "Thirlmere", the name of the lake. It was by hen too late to consider retracing our steps as we would have been caught on the mountain in the dark. We decided our best choice was to make our way to the town of Ambleside, about 10 miles away, from where we thought we should be able to catch a bus back over the Kirkstone Pass to Patterdale, Glenridding and the school. Whether we had missed the last bus from Thirlmere to Ambleside or whether there wasn't another for an hour or more I don't remember. What I do remember is that we managed to hitch a ride in a lorry. But when we reached Ambleside it was only to find that there were no buses that ran from there - or anywhere else for that matter - over the Kirkstone Pass. Now some 20 miles or so away from the school, there was nothing for it but to start hiking again. We eventually met a mountain rescue team which had set off from the school to search for us and were given a ride back to the school.
I don't recall that we were ever taken to task over the episode, but the patrol never again doubted my map-reading!
And I couldn't say why we didn't think to use a public phone box in Ambleside to let the school know what was going on. Maybe the only one we found was out of order.
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I always link Grieg's piano concerto with the Lake District, so here is Martha Argerich with the Norrkopping Symphony Orchestra in a performance from 45 years ago.
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