Paths of Glory

“Not as quickly as possible,” said George, smiling when he realized just how inexperienced young Sandy Irvine was. “Even you will take a little time to become acclimatized to new heights. The golden rule,” he added, “is climb high, sleep low. When we’ve become fully acclimatized,” he continued, “it’s my intention to move on to 23,000 feet, and set up Camp IV on the North Col. Once we’ve bedded in, we will move on and establish Camp V at 25,000 feet, and Camp VI around 27,000 feet, from where the final assault will be launched.” George paused for some time before he delivered his next sentence. “I want all of you to know that whoever I invite to join me will be part of the team making the second attempt on the summit, as I intend to allow two of my colleagues the first opportunity to make history. Should the first team fail, my partner and I will make our attempt the following day. I feel sure that every one of us has the same desire, to be the first to place his foot on the brow of Chomolungma. However, it’s only fair to let you know, gentlemen, that it’s going to be me.”

This was greeted by the whole team with laughter and banging of mugs on the table. When the noise had died down, George invited questions.

“Is it your intention to use oxygen for the second attempt on the summit?” asked Norton.

“Yes it is,” replied George. “I’ve reluctantly come to the conclusion that Finch was right, and that we cannot hope to scale the last 2,000 feet without the aid of oxygen.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure I’m in the first party,” said Norton, “and prove you wrong. It’s a shame, really, Mallory, because that means I’ll be the first man to stand on top of Everest.”

This was greeted with even louder cheers, and more banging of mugs on the table.

“If you manage that, Norton,” retorted George, “I’ll abandon the use of oxygen the following day, and climb to the top in my bare feet.”

“That will be of little significance,” said Norton, raising his mug to George, “because no one will remember the name of the second man to climb Everest.”

“Howzat!”

“Not out.”

Mallory wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, or if he really had just heard the sound of leather on willow. He stuck his head out of the tent to see that a square of snow in the Himalaya had been transformed into an English village cricket pitch.

Two ice axes had been planted in the snow twenty-two yards apart, serving as stumps. Odell, ball in hand, was bowling to Irvine. Mallory only needed to watch a few deliveries to realize that bat was on top of ball. It amused him to see the Sherpas standing around in little huddles, chatting among themselves, clearly

puzzled by the English at play, while Noel filmed the event as if it were a Test Match.

Mallory crawled out of his tent and strolled across to join Norton behind the stumps, taking up his place at first slip.

“Irvine’s not at all bad,” said Norton. “The lad’s only a few runs off his half century.”

“How long has he been at the crease?” asked Mallory.

“Best part of thirty minutes.”

“And he’s still able to run between the wickets?”

“Doesn’t seem to be a problem. He must have lungs like bellows. But then, you have to remember, Mallory, he does have at least fifteen years on the rest of us.”

“Wake up, skipper,” shouted Odell as the ball shot past Mallory’s right hand.

“Sorry, Odell, my mistake,” said Mallory. “I wasn’t concentrating.”

Irvine hit the next ball for four, bringing up his fifty, which was greeted with warm applause.

“I’ve seen enough of this bloody Oxford man,” said Guy Bullock as he took over the bowling from Odell.

Guy’s first effort was a little short, and Irvine dispatched it to the boundary for another four runs. But his second sizzled off an icy patch, caught the edge of Irvine’s bat and George, falling to his right, took the ball one-handed.

“Well caught, skipper,” said Guy. “Pity you didn’t turn up a little earlier.”

“All right, chaps, let’s get moving,” said Mallory. “I want to be out of here in half an hour.”

Suddenly the pitch was deserted, as the village cricketers reverted to seasoned mountaineers.

Thirty minutes later nine climbers and twenty-three Sherpas were all ready to move. Mallory waved his right arm like a traffic policeman, and set off at a pace that would soon sort out those who would be unlikely to survive at greater heights.

One or two Sherpas fell by the wayside, dropping their loads in the snow and retreating down the mountain. However, none of the climbing party seemed to be in trouble, with Irvine continually dogging his leader’s footsteps despite having two large oxygen cylinders strapped to his back.

Mallory was puzzled because he didn’t seem to have a mouthpiece attached. He beckoned the young man to join him. “You won’t be needing oxygen, Irvine,” he said, “until we reach at least 25,000 feet.”