Tilman and 'En Avant'

I worked with Dick Wynne on the republication of the 'Tilman Edition', the sixteenth volume of which is JRL Anderson's original Tilman biography ('High Mountains & Cold Seas'). After my less than complimentary Amazon review of his own biography, Madge and I buried the hatchet at a talk I gave in Henley and I asked him if he'd consider contributing a new foreword to the reprinted Anderson. When the first draft came, it was shot through with 'Bill's; by the time it was published, my editorial blue pencil had restored the appropriate level of respect.

In 1970, we were fortunate in having Colin Putt aboard, already a known quantity to the Skipper from the Patanela 'Heard Island' expedition. Colin's use of the form of address 'Skipper' quickly rubbed off on the rest of us. In 1971, I stepped into Colin's shoes as 'the old hand' (aged 19!) and the rest of the crew fell in behind me. It was completely natural and HWT clearly appreciated being addressed in that way.

The only person I ever heard call him 'Bill' was his niece Pam, who at eighty was still flying gliders, smoking like a chimney and using the colourful language of a trooper to describe two* of the three* biographers. She had respect for the ailing Anderson, who unfortunately had lost his fight with cancer before High Mountains was published.

Even Sandy and Mary Lee, who were genuinely close friends of the Skipper, addressed him as 'Major' - a term which privately made him chuckle.

*Don't get me started on Perrin.



Thanks for taking the trouble to fill in those gaps and for the excellent photographs.

One story prompted my comments, you will correct me if I am wrong, it may be apocryphal.....


Bill Tilman and Eric Shipton (I think) were sitting at the summit of some previously unclimbed Himalayan mountain. In the euphoria of the moment, the talkative Shipton began to chat and remarked (I paraphrase):

' You know, we have know each other a long time, faced may difficulties together and a few dangers, do you think in the future we might progress to first name terms? '

Tilman reflected for a moment and replied:

No.

I think both men were amused by the exchange.
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Thanks for taking the trouble to fill in those gaps and for the excellent photographs.

One story prompted my comments, you will correct me if I am wrong, it may be apocryphal.....


Bill Tilman and Eric Shipton (I think) were sitting at the summit of some previously unclimbed Himalayan mountain. In the euphoria of the moment, the talkative Shipton began to chat and remarked (I paraphrase):

' You know, we have know each other a long time, faced may difficulties together and a few dangers, do you think in the future we might progress to first name terms? '

Tilman reflected for a moment and replied:

No.

I think both men were amused by the exchange.
.

I think I heard that story from Colin Putt in the Ship in Lymington in 1974 (“Treescaper” may be able to correct this) so I think it may very well be true.
 
The story is recounted in several places, this being one I can identify with. I'm not sure the quote is from a documented source, but it strikes a chord with me. I suspect 'Kukri' would agree with me that we could both hear Tilman's voice in "Because it's such a damned silly name"!
 
The story is recounted in several places, this being one I can identify with. I'm not sure the quote is from a documented source, but it strikes a chord with me. I suspect 'Kukri' would agree with me that we could both hear Tilman's voice in "Because it's such a damned silly name"!

Having re-read that passage, I was struck by the words "Simon's really was an expedition. He paid for it all with his own money." As discussed earlier, the crew contributions were significant, I think I recall £1,000 mentioned twice in this thread, and I can confirm that £1000 was Simon's requirement of me - a significant amount of money back then. Interestingly In conversation with John Shipton a few years back, his 'offer' had been £500, something to ponder over perhaps.
 
If you're interested there's a good book about it written by Simon Richardson's mother:

A few years ago, I decided to buy a copy of the book and, it being out of print, headed for abebooks.co.uk, as you do....
When it arrived, the fly leaf took me aback:
QOSR.jpg
It is sometimes a strangely small world we inhabit.
 
I suppose there are at least three ideas of what happened:

Collision with a ship, at night.
Hove down by a pampero until she filled
Seam or plate in the hull let go.

I don’t think she carried an H/F radio or a liferaft.
An extension of your third, perhaps. By all accounts, Simon had spot welded a box steel section keel to the bottom of the hull with the intention of filling it with lead, or at least iron pigs. Only after the 'keel' was in place did he realise that there was no way he could push the weights in for the full length. I doubt there was ever any real design for this and from my own recollection of the project - probably less than a couple of hours one evening - the whole venture seemed dangerously half baked.

Having said that, she did make it as far as Rio, no mean feat considering that the helmsman was in the stern and the compass well out of sight on the foredeck!
 
Smith Island may well have defeated them, in any case, There have been very few successful landings on the island, and the general consensus is that every landing that succeeded in getting ashore found itself stuck very close to the shoreline. Obviously I have heard "unofficial" accounts of the various Joint Forces expeditions, which are at some variance from the official accounts! Although an improved map was recently released, it doesn't depend on local survey, but on satellite observations (none the worse for that, but it just shows the difficulty of landing on the place). There might be helicopter landings on some peaks.

As far as I know, there's only one possible landing place, and it doesn't give access to the higher slopes of the island.
 
I worked with Dick Wynne on the republication of the 'Tilman Edition', the sixteenth volume of which is JRL Anderson's original Tilman biography ('High Mountains & Cold Seas'). After my less than complimentary Amazon review of his own biography, Madge and I buried the hatchet at a talk I gave in Henley and I asked him if he'd consider contributing a new foreword to the reprinted Anderson. When the first draft came, it was shot through with 'Bill's; by the time it was published, my editorial blue pencil had restored the appropriate level of respect.

In 1970, we were fortunate in having Colin Putt aboard, already a known quantity to the Skipper from the Patanela 'Heard Island' expedition. Colin's use of the form of address 'Skipper' quickly rubbed off on the rest of us. In 1971, I stepped into Colin's shoes as 'the old hand' (aged 19!) and the rest of the crew fell in behind me. It was completely natural and HWT clearly appreciated being addressed in that way.

The only person I ever heard call him 'Bill' was his niece Pam, who at eighty was still flying gliders, smoking like a chimney and using the colourful language of a trooper to describe two* of the three* biographers. She had respect for the ailing Anderson, who unfortunately had lost his fight with cancer before High Mountains was published.

Even Sandy and Mary Lee, who were genuinely close friends of the Skipper, addressed him as 'Major' - a term which privately made him chuckle.

*Don't get me started on Perrin.
There is a story, possibly apocryphal, that Tilman had just reached the top of some mountain with Eric Shipton, his long time friend and climbing companion and they were sitting puffing on their pipes. Shipton said " You and I have been through quite a lot together over the past few years, do you think we might call each other Bill and Eric". Tilman sucked on his pipe, considered the matter and said "I don't think so".
 
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