In reply to John Gresty:
John, I share your pain, I really do. As many will attest, to be on the receiving end of a bombardment by Ken was… quite something. But however uncomfortable the experience might be, it would be a pity if it blinds us to the true calibre of the man.
My own experience was typical:
‘I first met Ken Wilson at the foot of Pontesbury Needle, at the very spot to which Drummond, like Icarus, fell. It seemed somehow prophetic. After ticking the crag, we adjourned to the pub for a few beers. Subsequently we argued vehemently for nearly three hours in an empty car park while a silvery moon threw eerie shadows across Nesscliffe. Ironically we were on the same side.’
Note - we were on the same bloody side! I remember thinking: if he argues like this with those of similar persuasion, what on earth is he like arguing with infidels?
I was to find out. I guess if you visit Harpur Hill today it’s like going to an old battlefield – kind of hard to imagine things. But Harpur Hill really was the Maginot Line of unrestrained bolting. That’s not Sid and Bill’s fault; they were just unlucky. Passions on both sides were running high. It was timely that everyone drew back and examined themselves. Bolt agreement groups were formed; co-existence began to happen. Our present relatively harmonious situation can be traced back to this era.
Why was Ken so vociferous? What was the key to such an intense personality? Gordon Stainforth wrote that he simply couldn’t stop caring about the world and everything he encountered in it. He couldn’t stop caring. He cared with an intensity which we can’t begin to imagine.
Understandably the film doesn’t show Ken in his argumentative prime. It’s a more thoughtful, considered Ken. It’s Ken nearing the end. He knows full well that he’s under a death sentence. But there’s not a shred of self-pity. He’s grateful to Whillans. When he uses words such as privilege and humility, he means them. My God, he means them.
From a profile of Ken which I once wrote: ‘…Ken, however much he may rant, is truly the Jonathan Swift of our time. That such an extraordinary creature should have emerged from the climbing world should be cause for celebration, not confusion.’
W.B. Yeats wrote a brilliant epitaph for Swift. It is as applicable to Ken.
Swift’s Epitaph
Swift has sailed into his rest;
Savage indignation there
Cannot lacerate his breast.
Imitate him if you dare,
World-besotted traveler; he
Served human liberty.
Mick