George paced up and down the room while he gave Ruth a blow-by-blow account of what had taken place at the committee meeting. He finally came to a halt in front of her. “I did do the right thing, didn’t I, darling?”
Ruth had anticipated the question, and knew that all she had to say was Yes, of course you were right to resign, my darling. Hinks behaved disgracefully, and unless Finch is reinstated, you’ll be taking far too great a risk. And don’t let’s forget it’s your life, not his, that will be at risk.
George stood there, waiting for her reply.
“Let’s hope that you won’t live to regret your decision,” was all she said. She jumped up from her chair before George could press her further. “I’ll leave you now, my darling. I only popped by to wish you luck. I realize you’ll need these last few minutes to prepare yourself for such an important occasion.” She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and left without another word.
George sat at the little desk and tried to go over his notes, but his thoughts kept returning to the committee meeting, and Ruth’s ambiguous response to his question.
There was a gentle tap on the door. George wondered who it could possibly be. It was one of the Society’s golden rules that a speaker must not be interrupted during his final moments of preparation. When he saw Hinks come marching through the door, he could have happily punched the damn man on the nose, until he noticed who was following close behind him. George leaped to his feet and bowed.
“Your Royal Highness,” said Hinks, “may I have the honor of presenting Mr. George Mallory, who, as you know, sir, will be delivering tonight’s lecture.”
“Yes, indeed,” said the Prince of Wales. “I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mallory, but I have a message from His Majesty the King that I’ve been entrusted to deliver to you in person.”
“It’s extremely kind of you to take the trouble, sir.”
“Not at all, old fellow. His Majesty wanted you to know how delighted he is that you have agreed to lead the next expedition to Everest, and he looks forward to meeting you on your return.” Hinks gave a thin smile. “And may I say, Mallory, that those are also my sentiments, and add how much I am looking forward to your lecture.”
“Thank you, sir,” said George.
“Now I’d better leave you in peace,” the Prince said, “otherwise this show may never get off the ground.”
George bowed again as the Prince of Wales and Hinks left the room.
“You bastard Hinks,” he muttered as the door closed behind them. “But don’t imagine even for one moment that your little subterfuge will change my mind.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
“YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my privilege as chairman of the Royal Geographical Society and the Everest Committee to introduce tonight’s guest speaker, Mr. George Mallory,” announced Sir Francis Younghusband. “Mr. Mallory was the climbing leader on the last expedition, when he reached a height of 27,550 feet—a mere 1,455 feet from the summit. Tonight, Mr. Mallory will be telling us about his experiences on that historic adventure in a lecture entitled ‘Walking Off the Map.’ Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. George Mallory.”
George was unable to speak for several minutes because the audience rose to their feet as one and applauded until he finally had to wave them down. He looked down at the front row and smiled at the man who should have been giving the memorial lecture that evening, had it not been for the injury he sustained in the war. Young returned his smile, clearly proud that his pupil was representing him. Norton, Somervell, and Odell sat beside him.
George waited for the audience to settle before he delivered his first line. “When I was recently in New York,” he began, “I was introduced as the man who had conquered Everest single-handed.” He waited for the laughter to die down before he went on, “Wrong on both counts. Although one man may end up standing alone on top of that great mountain, he could not hope to achieve such a feat without the backing of a first-class team. And by that I mean, you’d better have everything from seventy Indian mules to a General Bruce if you hope even to reach base camp.” This was the cue for the lights to go down and the first slide to appear on the screen behind him.
Forty minutes later, George was back at base camp and once again receiving rapturous applause. He felt that the lecture had gone well, but he still needed to answer questions, and feared that the wrong response could well put him back at base camp.
When he called for questions he was surprised that Hinks didn’t rise from his place, as tradition allows the secretary of the RGS to ask the first question. Instead, he remained resolutely in his place in the front row, arms folded. George selected an elderly gentleman in the second row.
“When you were stranded at 27,550 feet, sir, and saw Finch moving away from you, did you not wish at the time that you had taken a couple of oxygen cylinders along with you?”
“Not when we first set out I didn’t,” replied Mallory. “But later, when I couldn’t progress more than a few feet without having to stop for a rest, I came to the conclusion that it would be nigh on impossible to reach the summit under one’s own steam.”
He pointed to another hand.
“But wouldn’t you consider the use of oxygen to be cheating, sir?”
“I used to be of that opinion,” said George. “But that was before a colleague who shared a tent with me at 27,000 feet pointed out that you might argue that it was cheating to wear leather climbing boots or woolen mittens, or even to put a lump of sugar in your lukewarm tea, all of which undoubtedly give you a better chance of success. And let’s be honest, why travel five thousand miles if you have no hope of covering the last thousand feet.”
He selected another raised hand.
“If you hadn’t stopped to assist Mr. Odell, do you think you might have reached the top?”
“I could certainly see the top,” George replied, “because Mr. Finch was 300 feet ahead of me.” This was greeted with warm laughter. “I confess that the summit seemed to be tantalizingly close at the time, but even that can be deceptive. Never forget that on a mountain, 500 feet is not a couple of hundred yards. Far from it—it’s more likely to be over a mile. However, that experience convinced me that given enough time and the right conditions, it is possible to reach the summit.”
George answered several more questions during the next twenty minutes, without giving any hint that he had just resigned as climbing leader.
“Last question,” he said finally, with a relieved smile. He pointed to a young man near the middle of the hall, who was standing up and waving a hand, hoping to be noticed. In a voice that had not yet broken, the boy asked, “When you have conquered Everest, sir, what will be left for the likes of me?”
The whole audience burst out laughing, and Mallory recalled how nervous he had been when he had asked Captain Scott almost the same question. He looked up at the gallery, delighted to see Scott’s widow in her usual place in the front row. Thank God his decision earlier that evening meant that Ruth would no longer have to worry about suffering the same fate. Mallory looked back down at the young man and smiled. “You should read H. G. Wells, my boy. He believes that, in time, mankind will be able, like Puck, to put a circle round the earth in forty minutes, that someone will one day break the sound barrier, with consequences we have yet to comprehend, and that in your lifetime, though perhaps not in mine, a man will walk on the moon.” George smiled at the young man. “Perhaps you’ll be the first Englishman to be launched into space.”
The audience roared with laughter, and applauded again as George took his final bow. He felt confident that he’d escaped without anyone suspecting what had taken place at the committee meeting earlier that evening. He smiled down at Ruth, who was sitting in the front row, his sisters Avie and Mary on either side of her; another small triumph.
When George raised his head, he saw his oldest friend standing and applauding wildly. Within moments the rest of the audience had joined Guy Bullock and seemed quite unwil
ling to resume their seats, however much he gestured that they should do so.
He was about to leave the stage, but when he turned, he saw Hinks climbing the steps toward him, carrying a file. He gave Mallory a warm smile as he approached the microphone, lowered it by several inches, and waited for the applause to die down and for everyone to resume their seats before he spoke.
“Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen. Those of you who are familiar with the traditions of this historic society will be aware that it is the secretary’s privilege on these occasions to ask the lecturer the first question. I did not do so this evening, thus breaking with tradition; but only because my chairman, Sir Francis Younghusband, rewarded me with an even greater prize, that of giving the vote of thanks to our guest speaker and my dear friend, George Mallory.”
George had never heard Hinks call him by his Christian name before.
“But first, allow me to tell you about a resolution that we passed at the Everest Committee this evening in Mr. Mallory’s absence, and which we feel is something we should share with every member of this society.” Hinks opened the file, extracted a piece of paper, adjusted his spectacles and began to read. “It was unanimously agreed that we should invite Mr. George Leigh Mallory to be climbing leader for the 1924 expedition of Everest.” The audience burst into loud applause, but Hinks raised a hand to silence them, as he clearly had more to say.
George stood a pace behind him, seething.
“However, the committee is only too aware that there might be reasons why Mr. Mallory would feel unable to take on this onerous task a second time.”
Cries of “No!” came from the audience, causing Hinks to raise a hand once again. “Reasons you may not be aware of, but when I tell you what they are, you will appreciate his dilemma. Mr. Mallory has a wife and three young children whom he may not wish to abandon for another six months. Not only that, but I learned today that he is about to be appointed to a most important position at the Workers’ Educational Association that will allow him to put into practice the beliefs he has held passionately for many years.
“If that were not enough,” continued Hinks, “there is a third reason. I must be very careful how I word this, as I am only too aware that several gentlemen of the press are among us tonight. Your society learned today that Mr. Finch, Mr. Mallory’s colleague on the last Everest expedition, has had to withdraw his name from the climbing team for personal reasons, which I fear the newspapers will be reporting in greater detail tomorrow.” The room was now silent. “With this in mind, your committee has decided that if Mr. Mallory felt, quite understandably, unable to take his place as leader of the 1924 expedition, we would be left with no choice but to postpone—not abandon, but postpone—that expedition until such time as a suitable replacement as climbing leader could be found.”
George suddenly realized that the King and the Prince of Wales were only a side show. Hinks was about to deliver the knock-out punch.
“Let me end by saying,” Hinks said, turning to face George, “that whatever decision you come to, sir, this society will be eternally grateful for your unswerving commitment to its cause, and, more important, your service to this country. We naturally hope that you will accept our offer of the position of climbing leader, and that this time you will lead your team to even greater glory. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you all to join me in thanking our guest speaker this evening, Mallory of Everest.”
The audience rose as one. Men who would normally offer courteous and respectful applause to the guest speaker leaped from their seats, some cheering, some pleading, all hoping that Mallory would accept the challenge. George looked down at Ruth, who was also on her feet, joining in the applause. When Hinks took a pace back to join him, George said for the second time that evening, “You bastard.”
“Quite possibly,” Hinks replied. “However, when I bring the minute book up-to-date later this evening, I presume I’ll be able to record your acceptance of the position of climbing leader.”
“Mallory of Everest! Mallory of Everest!” the audience chanted in unison.
“You bastard,” George repeated.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
GEORGE LEANED OVER the railing of the SS California, searching for his wife. He smiled when he spotted her among the cheering crowd. The moment she realized he had found her, she began to wave. She was only glad that he could not see the tears streaming down her face.
By the time the crew had raised the gangway, the ropes had been untied and the ship had begun to ease away from the dockside, he was already missing her. Why did he always have to go away to realize how much he loved her? For the next six months all he would have to remind him of her beauty was a frayed sepia photograph taken during the first week of their honeymoon. If she had not been adamant that he should go, he would have stayed at home, content to follow the progress of the expedition in The Times. He knew that Hinks had no intention of postponing the expedition, but as every word of his speech had been reported in the “Thunderer” the following morning, he also realized that his bluff had been called. Hinks had proved to be a far better poker player.
So now he was on his way back to India without Finch to challenge his every move. And Sherpa Nyima would not be standing on the dockside waiting to greet him when he stepped off the ship on the far side of the world.
And then George saw him standing at the back of the crowd, slightly to one side, as befits a loner. He didn’t recognize him to begin with, until the man raised his hat to reveal that thick, wavy fair hair that so many women had swooned over. George returned the compliment, only surprised that Finch hadn’t smuggled himself on board. But Hinks had made certain that he couldn’t show his face in public until the scandal had died down, let alone make a solo appearance on the highest stage on earth.
George searched for Ruth once again and, having found her, he never let her out of his sight until she could no longer be seen among the vast crowd of well-wishers waving from the dockside.
When finally a column of black, belching smoke was all that could be seen on the horizon, Ruth reluctantly walked slowly to her car. She drove out of the dock and began the long journey back to The Holt. This time there were no adoring crowds to prevent her from escaping.
Ruth had never craved adoring crowds. She simply wanted her husband to return alive. But she had played the game so well that everyone was convinced she wanted George to be given one last chance to fulfill his dream. In truth, she didn’t care if he succeeded or failed, as long as they could grow old together, and today would become nothing more than a fading memory.
When George could no longer see his homeland, he retired to his little cabin. He sat at the desk below the porthole and began to write a letter to the only woman he had ever loved.
My dearest Ruth…
BOOK EIGHT
Ascension Day
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
March 12th, 1924
My dearest Ruth,
The long sea voyage has only served to remind me what a fine bunch of chaps I have the privilege of leading. I think too often of the sacrifices I have made, and not enough about these fine men who have been willing to join me in this capricious adventure, and what tribulations they must also have been through with their families and friends during the past two years.
Despite my initial misgivings, Sandy Irvine turns out to be a very singular fellow. Although he’s only 22, he has a shrewd northern head screwed firmly onto his broad shoulders, and the coincidence of us both hailing from Birkenhead would not be acceptable on the pages of a novel.
Of course, I’m still anxious about the fact that he’s never climbed much above 5,500 feet, but I have to admit that he is far fitter than any of us, as passengers have been able to witness at our morning PT sessions conducted by the redoubtable General Bruce. Bruce is happy enough to remain our conductor, while still having no desire to be part of the orchestra.
I must also confess that Hinks did not exaggerate Irvine’s chemistr
y skills. He’s quite the equal of Finch in that department, even though Norton and Odell still refuse to countenance the idea of using oxygen, let alone agreeing to strap those bulky cylinders onto their backs. Will they in the end accept that we cannot hope to reach the summit without the aid of this infernal heresy, or will they remain, in Finch’s words, blessed amateurs who must therefore fail? Only time will tell.
Our ship docked at Bombay on March 20th, and we immediately boarded the train for Darjeeling, where we selected our ponies and porters. Once again General Bruce performed miracles, and the following morning we set off on the long trek for Tibet, along with 60 ponies and more than a hundred porters. Before leaving Darjeeling on the Toy Train, we dined with Lord Lytton, the new Governor-General, and his wife, but as Finch wasn’t present there is nothing of interest to report, other than the fact that young Irvine took more than a passing interest in the Governor-General’s daughter, Lynda. Lady Lytton seemed happy to encourage him.
There was a letter awaiting me at the embassy from my sister Mary. Bit of luck her husband being posted to Ceylon, because she’ll be able to warn us in advance when the monsoon season will be upon us, as it travels across that island about ten days before it’s due to reach us.
The following morning we set off on the eighty-mile journey to the border, which passed without incident. Sadly, General Bruce caught malaria and had to return to Darjeeling. I fear we won’t see him again. He took with him his bath, a dozen boxes of cigars, and half his cases of wine and champagne—but he kindly left us with the other half, not to mention all the gifts he had so carefully selected for the Dzongpen, when we present our credentials at the border.
The General’s deputy, Lt. Col. Norton, has taken over his responsibilities. You may recall Norton as the man who held the world altitude record for twenty-four hours before Finch so rudely snatched it away from him. Although he never mentions the subject, I know Norton is keen to put the record straight, and I must admit that if only he would agree to using oxygen once we have reached 27,000 feet, he would be the obvious choice to accompany me to the summit. However, Somervell is wavering when it comes to oxygen, so he may well turn out to be the alternative, as I wouldn’t consider attempting the last 2,000 feet with Odell again.
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