by Greg Hunt
Chapter 16
With the light breeze and sun shining, the top of the Roche de Mio was a wonderful place to be. Just behind the cable car station was ‘Brown Trouser Ridge.’ So nicknamed for obvious reasons, the narrowness of this castellated spur was barely enough for a pair of skis or board to perch, let alone allow the more daring to work their way along so that they could enjoy the magical couloir descents. These descents led into huge basins of untouched snow where, alone from the hoards for just a few minutes, one could inhale the majesty and real beauty of the mountains.
In the opposite direction lay the full megalith of the Mont Blanc massif, which would always appear just out of reach. In the distance, above the darkness of the cable car station, the eye would naturally trace the path of the white pistes coming down from the domed top of the Glacier de Bellecote. The runs came down from the left and the right, with the more gentle gradients directly in front and some impressive black run drop-offs to the left of this mountain.
Emma’s brothers were not interested in the view; they had already wrenched their skis out of the external gondola fittings. During the ascent, the skis had seemed to wobble precariously with the moans and groans of the gondola, especially when it passed beneath one of the numerous supporting pylons. This would normally signify a change of direction or gradient and it was clear from the sounds that the gondolas made as they transected these parts of their journey that each of the bubbles were unwilling members of this breathing and living beast, but a beast that enabled so many people to experience the highest mountains in this area of the Alps.
They piled into the next lift car station, sited one hundred metres further on, and again, the three young adults were whooshed onwards and higher, taking them deeper into this fairytale winter wonderland.
The gondolas themselves had limited air circulation and whilst the multitudes of clothing layers were essential once outdoors, being in the gondola meant that within a couple of minutes the occupants were hot, uncomfortable, and the car soon became partially steamed up. Every little bump would pass through them, their heads and entire limbs juddering to the sound of the groaning machine whirring away above them. The cable that was above their heads moved with them, being pulled along and turned round at either of the lifts ends by giant red metallic wheels. A huge generator powered the weight of the lift and this sat in the valley far below.
The gondola swung across the deep valley between the Roche de Mio and the Glacier de Bellecote with the people way down below looking like ants moving along the couple of gentle gradient blue runs. The ants seemed to make slow progress with the speckled colours of their outfits sparkling against the sweep of beautiful white snow. The gondolas all swung into the first lift car station in the valley before then gently rising all the way into the highest lift car station. This top lift car station was positioned at the base of the glacier, perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking valleys on all sides.
The few skiers that had been prepared to take this top lift gondola were starting the process of knocking their boots to remove any excess snow, clipping their boots into their skis and then tightening their boot bindings. As the air was still cool, many were also jumping up and down on the spot or stretching and banging their gloved hands together to improve their circulation.
As soon as all of their kit was in place, they skated across to the chairlift to take them to the beginning of the glacier run down. However, as the group were not going to be skiing back down the glacier, they would take the rickety old two person chair traversing the glacier slope that lay above the main chair, which the lads and Emma were currently hopping onto. What an ordeal, the brothers were thinking, how many chairs and other lifts did they have to catch to experience some quality powder? Neither of her brothers had taken this route before, but Emma knew better. She was well aware that they were all in for a treat and coaxed them on with an excited grin.
Chapter 17
The rickety chair juddered, stalled and started protesting at having to heave its occupants across the high Alps and, even with the light breeze at lower altitude on the glacier, the air was biting and crisp and sharp and ate its way through the layers that everyone was wearing.
The young family members did not have to endure the lift’s protestations for long. Coming to a bumpy and awkward slow down, the chair continued to carry on whilst the occupants, the two brothers, sat side by side, scrambled out of the first chair. They had forgotten to lift up their metal waist bar, which ensured they were not thrown from the chair whilst in mid-air. Emma much more smoothly pushed off with her back hand away from the front edge of the chair and glided immediately towards the edge of the piste at the very top of the glacier.
Emma’s brothers followed her more cautiously over the ridge into the unknown. There was an immediate drop onto a very steep slope, equivalent to at least a forty five degree angle. Despite the near perfect conditions with the sun shining and the light powder snow, it was difficult to see what lay ahead and there were the signs of rocky outcrops, normally indicating cliffs and sheer drops below them.
Emma swung her skis to the right and made a perfect arc, creating fresh tracks in front of her brothers. This was enough for them to want to do similar and invigorated them to put a dazzling collection of closely linked slalom turns together. The party came to a halt above the rocks, which had appeared well below them when they had first jumped off the back of the glacier.
This was a special day and Emma loved every minute. Just her and her brothers, perfect snow and no concerns in her life. Her brothers also seemed pretty contented as they whooped their way down the next few hundred metres of untouched powder.
What happened next happened in a flash and was to change everything.
Sam, the younger brother, clipped an unseen rock with his left ski. He clipped the very edge of the rock at speed, it unbalanced him and he cart-wheeled forward down the steep slope and gained momentum. As is the function of the skis, both of his skis bindings ejected his feet so that his legs were not broken in the tumble.
Emma and her other brother looked in horror as not only did her brother tumble down the slope, but his now separate skis, despite their small brakes which had appeared since the ski boots had been ejected, rapidly continued to gain speed and were thrown over the cliff in front of them. The skis soon plummeted over and there was nothing any of the three of them could do to catch up with them or find them as they flew through the air to the base of the cliffs.
As for her younger brother Sam, he had naturally strung his body weight out to attempt to slow down his falling body. As the rock cliff fast approached he was squealing hysterically, his brother would have said like a girl, but in his mind he was far too young to die and desperate to hang on to anything that presented itself to grab hold of.
Fortunately there were a couple of rocks projecting prior to the cliff face and both his clothing and body snarled against their solidity. There was an agonised shout as Sam became caught up against one of the medium sized jagged rocks positioned close to the edge. Part of the rock had sliced his clothing and become embedded in his lower leg.
Emma and Joseph were not far behind and caught up within half a minute. The sight at close quarters was not any better than they had expected. Sam’s face was drawn and pasty. His skis were nowhere to be seen. There was blood staining his salopettes and his leg was resting at an odd angle. All of the siblings looked at each other in absolute shock and there was a hint of desperation in the air. All was still. It would be two hours before sunset.
Chapter 18
Archie had had time to reflect on his team for the mission, and their performances within the target shooting the week before. All of his regular colleagues had succeeded in their training but he was concerned by the attitude demonstrated by one of the potential candidates.
Petty Officer Stuart Betts had reacted badly to failing on the accuracy of his shooting. Archie had detected some noticeable disdain from him since the end of t
he elimination.
Whenever Archie had tried to talk to Betts, he had avoided eye contact or walked off in the opposite direction.
Archie finished making his cup of tea. He added just a trickle of milk and let the mug rest as he liked his tea strong. He turned and gazed out of his apartment. He had invested in one of the new purpose built flats at Gunwharf Quays close to the Millennium tower on the waterfront of Portsmouth Harbour. The view was impressive, he could see across the waterfront to Gosport and take in all the comings and goings of small craft entering and exiting this narrow stretch of water.
Down below to his left were the historic remnants of what much of Portsmouth would have appeared like prior to the significant bombing in the Second World War. The cobbled narrow streets and overhanging ancient properties sitting on the sandbank making up Portsmouth Hard made it easy to imagine the press-ganging that had occurred hundreds of years before, where unwilling men were signed up to the numerous naval voyages which departed from this historic port.
To his right Archie could see the masts of the old tall ships. The historic Warrior, one of the most important and first metal clad warships and the Victory, Nelson’s Flagship. The most historic of them all, though, lay within a white roofed warehouse. She had been dredged up from the seabed within sight of Southsea Castle with Prince Charles taking a strong interest, and was known as Henry VIII’s Mary Rose.
Archie could not concentrate on the view. He rarely fell out with people but he believed that this man had not given him a chance. Stuart Betts was definitely one to watch as he was already showing signs of completely erratic behaviour. It had reminded him of his relationship with his brother when he had been growing up.
Brought up in Norfolk, close to the Broads, Archie had always loved water. As a toddler, he was forever told that he had run towards it. Never one to shy away from things, all he had wanted to do was splash around and share his enjoyment by soaking as many other people as possible. This had included his younger brother Ben who was not so keen on water. Ben had let out his howls and screams and inevitably cried when his older sibling took delight at splashing in his direction.
Archie had grown up relishing sailing on those Broads. He would help out and crew one of the dinghies used at Wroxham Broad, enjoying the surroundings with the swans, coots and myriad of ducks always seeming to be in the way of the boats, but never quite being mown down. He had often sailed past the couple of bird islands which humans entered at their own risk.
In the latter stages of primary school, he had pushed his younger brother Ben onto one of the bird islands, having rowed across the few metres from the shore. Sure enough, his four feet tall brother was soon surrounded by geese and swans all trying to peck him off their patch of land. Archie was waiting for the cries of anguish and he was not disappointed. He had set himself up so his brother needed him. The daring rescue of Ben from the bird pecking island was one of a number of family stories that none of the Malcolms would forget.
Archie took a deep swallow from his piping hot, sugarless tea. People thought of him as a fitness fanatic, but he just took care of himself. Perhaps it would do him good to be distracted for at least five minutes. He turned back to the equipment within his flat.
Archie had a couple of scopes so that he could zoom in on the day to day happenings of the Solent. He had always enjoyed the ongoing life of the sea and all of the associations with it.
As he looked through the long telescopic lens he homed in on the hovercraft which had covered most of the distance from Southsea Beach to Ryde on the Isle of Wight. The hovercrafts were an impressive sight. Each of the crafts would literally deflate their air cushion just off the Southsea promenade and the huge fans at their rear would slowly be wound down.
All of this activity could not distract Archie from the issue in his mind. Naval HQ had become aware of coded radio traffic. They did not know what it meant but it involved illegal goods and their overall mission to counter the current ferrying of illegal narcotics into UK borders. His team had been ordered to make an attack against an identified control centre located within the Alps. Archie’s superiors had stated that it needed to be quietly put out of action. Quietly seemed to be the important word.
There were too many unanswered questions and Archie’s mind raced through them. Who was the perpetrator? What exactly was this control centre? How many people were based there? What were their defences and what would Archie and his team be up against? How would the answers affect Archie’s method of attack?
Archie’s head began to spin, and he moved the telescope onto a group of three sailing boats which were cruising past the main entrance to Haslar marina.
Chapter 19
This year’s striking competition was being held at Portsmouth Cathedral. Bands could enter the method ringing section or the call change element or both items. The competition was for the whole of the Winchester & Portsmouth Diocesan Guild, so the standard would be of the highest calibre.
Each band would have two minutes practice. The treble, the highest bell and the first to strike would then ring fully twice at hand-stroke and back-stroke which signified that the five minute test piece was about to be performed.
The judges, who were normally secreted away in a mobile caravan or some sort of temporary shelter, would then mark the faults. If two bells just clipped each other most judges would give this a half fault, but if there was a full on clash or an audible gap which created a pile up among the other bells then the judges would award a full fault. The judges were normally very experienced campanologists who were good at listening.
The bands, who had entered teams to compete, had been practising for the last few months. Striking competitions always brought together many ringers who would otherwise not often see each other and there was a fascinating mood in the air as the village tower groups would eye-up the more advanced Cathedral and large town bands. As usual, there were many who took this type of event incredibly seriously but pretended not to show it.
In this striking competition, no further points were awarded if a more difficult method was chosen and the band made the same amount of mistakes than if they were ringing a more basic method. Therefore, most of the bands would go for a method or call changes that they felt comfortable with.
As bell-ringing is a team activity and totally reliant on the whole band being in the right place, the pressure within the striking competition would be high. The likelihood of anything going wrong, at any moment in time, gave Archie the particular buzz that he was feeling today.
He was very pleased to be able to represent the home Portsmouth Cathedral band, having only been ringing with them for a few years. Furthermore, they were expected to do well. So, yet again, Archie was concentrating hard to push all thoughts of his current mission to the back of his mind and focus on what he enjoyed.
Their practising had gone well with some wonderful striking. This had been a real pleasure to listen to. However, as the occasion had drawn closer, there had been the natural nerves and this had affected a number of the ringers.
As Archie was a younger ringer it was tempting for some of the older lot to blame him, at least partly, for a mistake that a more experienced hand may have made. Whilst Archie understood this mentality, it was something that he was not prepared to accept, if he knew that he was right. In his team player way, Archie was always able to keep everyone on side whilst standing up for himself, and many of the ringers respected him for his attitude.
So it was with excitement and some trepidation that Archie approached the striking contest day and the Portsmouth Cathedral band was on next.
Chapter 20
St. Mary’s Portsmouth was ringing; a well established and experienced eight bell team. The ringing soon settled into a comfortable rhythm and those that were listening to the ringing picked out the method that was being rung: ‘Stedman Triples’.
The heaviest bell and lowest sounding, the tenor, was not involved in moving about within the m
ethod and provided a steady dong at the end of each row of ringing. The order of the other bells moved about every stroke and provided the tune to the method.
The strength and quality of the ringing produced by the St. Mary’s team did not help the confidence of the Portsmouth Cathedral band who were awaiting their turn. As the ringers, including Archie, gathered at the base of the tower steps, the faces of the individual team members were a picture of nervousness, excitement, concentration and calmness.
At last the sound of the bells above the ringing chamber came to an end. The St. Mary’s band filed down the steps and past the ringers waiting to go up. The last member of their team to file past, which was a surprise to Archie and caught him off guard, was David.
Archie had not realised that David would be ringing in this competition, and for the St. Mary’s band. Whilst they had rung frequently in the past as teenagers, Archie had completely forgotten that David might be ringing in Portsmouth as well as playing his mixed hockey. When Archie had lived with David in their earlier years as students neither of them had been ringing and it was, after all, with David that he had first been introduced to Emma.
David appeared a little smug as he passed Archie and could not help saying, “Not bad ringing, eh?” Archie could only agree with David. He had been impressed. As he trudged up the tower steps to the ringing chamber he and his fellow ringers had much to live up to.
So they began. The Tower Captain took control and told Mavis on the treble to call the band to order to start the two minutes practice piece. The Portsmouth Cathedral band promptly rang as one; they were sounding good.
The Tower Captain looked at all of his team proudly and just nodded and confirmed, “Good ringing everyone. We just need similar again please and then we’ll do as well as anyone.”