Maurice Wilson
A friend of mine found me a copy of John Hunt's account of the first ascent of Everest in 1953. It's a good read, though one can tell that the author is an army officer and not a writer by trade. It set me thinking of a tale told to me by my half-brother's father of a more knotty mountaineering fable involving one Maurice Wilson. I didn't entirely believe it at the time but the interwebs affirms that Maurice's story may in fact be true even down to the more fabulous details.
Maurice served in the First World War, where he distinguished himself by winning the Military Cross for bravery, although like many of his generation, he was scarred by the experience in more ways than one. He wandered the world, setting up a successful womens' clothing shop in New Zealand, but never recovered from his injuries. Until, that is, when back in London wandering in Mayfair. He claimed to have met some mysterious person who inspired him to undertake a cure of the debilitating effects of his war wounds and experiences by means of one hundred days of prayer and fasting. Miraculously, the cure seemed to work. He felt rejunevated. Yet this was to be only the beginning of his tale. Maurice felt bidden to take on a more profound spiritual quest: to fly to Nepal and climb Mount Everest alone. The problem of Everest lay only in having to learn to fly an aircraft and climb mountains, neither of which he had any prior experience of. He would fast, and pray, and by means of these things alone would he acheive his goal.
In the year nineteen thirty-two, Maurice left his successful womenswear business, purchased a Gipsy Moth aircraft he christened Ever Wrest and duly learned to fly. It took him twice the average timespan to earn his pilot's licence, but earn it he did. He also took a little time to wander the Welsh hills until he felt ready to follow the siren voices beckoning him to master the highest place on Earth. His original plan was to crash land at 26,000ft and walk up from there, but this proved troublesome: the British Government were against him, fearing the likely outrage should Ever Wrest violate Nepalese airspace.
Maurice, a Yorkshire man, would have to fly only as far as India, before abandoning his Gypsy Moth and continuing, cunningly disguised as a Buddhist monk. Flying to India went smoothly after the minor hiccup of crashing his plane near Bradford. Reaching the Rongbuk glacier, within sight of his goal, he enlisted two local men to help carry his load high up onto the windswept North ridge of Everest. The porters urged him to turn back but his mind was set: he would reach his goal or perish in the attempt.
At 22,000ft Maurice was confronted by an icy wall some 40ft high. And so, apparently, his tale ends. His body was found at this altitude three years later by mountaineering legend Eric Shipton. Maurice was clad only in the weather-beaten remains of his ladies' undergarments.
It is no wonder that the British authorities disapproved of Maurice's ambition to scale Everest alone. And they didn't even know about the transvestism. Should the pinnacle of contemporary mountaineering ambition have fallen to one man's strategy of praying, not eating and wearing exciting underwear, one can only imagine what a tremendous blow this would have dealt to the reputation of the British Empire. But it is little wonder that he did not succeed in this highest of ambitions.
Or did he? A Chinese expedition of 1960 claimed to have discovered a ladies' shoe at a height of some 28,000ft. Naturally their thoughts turned to the perfidious English, as most civilised nations do not share in Le Vice Anglais, preferring Catholicism for that sort of thing instead. And who but this most singular of Englishmen could provide the provenance of this unlikely article? Should the Chinese have been correct in their claiming to find the shoe at this altitude, it would prove that Maurice had surmounted not only the ice cliff at 22,000ft, but also the tricky Second Step, probably in heels. The so-called Second Step is the last major obstacle before the summit.
Here's to Maurice Wilson. He may have been quite mad, and palpably absurd, but you know. What a man.
Maurice served in the First World War, where he distinguished himself by winning the Military Cross for bravery, although like many of his generation, he was scarred by the experience in more ways than one. He wandered the world, setting up a successful womens' clothing shop in New Zealand, but never recovered from his injuries. Until, that is, when back in London wandering in Mayfair. He claimed to have met some mysterious person who inspired him to undertake a cure of the debilitating effects of his war wounds and experiences by means of one hundred days of prayer and fasting. Miraculously, the cure seemed to work. He felt rejunevated. Yet this was to be only the beginning of his tale. Maurice felt bidden to take on a more profound spiritual quest: to fly to Nepal and climb Mount Everest alone. The problem of Everest lay only in having to learn to fly an aircraft and climb mountains, neither of which he had any prior experience of. He would fast, and pray, and by means of these things alone would he acheive his goal.
In the year nineteen thirty-two, Maurice left his successful womenswear business, purchased a Gipsy Moth aircraft he christened Ever Wrest and duly learned to fly. It took him twice the average timespan to earn his pilot's licence, but earn it he did. He also took a little time to wander the Welsh hills until he felt ready to follow the siren voices beckoning him to master the highest place on Earth. His original plan was to crash land at 26,000ft and walk up from there, but this proved troublesome: the British Government were against him, fearing the likely outrage should Ever Wrest violate Nepalese airspace.
Maurice, a Yorkshire man, would have to fly only as far as India, before abandoning his Gypsy Moth and continuing, cunningly disguised as a Buddhist monk. Flying to India went smoothly after the minor hiccup of crashing his plane near Bradford. Reaching the Rongbuk glacier, within sight of his goal, he enlisted two local men to help carry his load high up onto the windswept North ridge of Everest. The porters urged him to turn back but his mind was set: he would reach his goal or perish in the attempt.
At 22,000ft Maurice was confronted by an icy wall some 40ft high. And so, apparently, his tale ends. His body was found at this altitude three years later by mountaineering legend Eric Shipton. Maurice was clad only in the weather-beaten remains of his ladies' undergarments.
It is no wonder that the British authorities disapproved of Maurice's ambition to scale Everest alone. And they didn't even know about the transvestism. Should the pinnacle of contemporary mountaineering ambition have fallen to one man's strategy of praying, not eating and wearing exciting underwear, one can only imagine what a tremendous blow this would have dealt to the reputation of the British Empire. But it is little wonder that he did not succeed in this highest of ambitions.
Or did he? A Chinese expedition of 1960 claimed to have discovered a ladies' shoe at a height of some 28,000ft. Naturally their thoughts turned to the perfidious English, as most civilised nations do not share in Le Vice Anglais, preferring Catholicism for that sort of thing instead. And who but this most singular of Englishmen could provide the provenance of this unlikely article? Should the Chinese have been correct in their claiming to find the shoe at this altitude, it would prove that Maurice had surmounted not only the ice cliff at 22,000ft, but also the tricky Second Step, probably in heels. The so-called Second Step is the last major obstacle before the summit.
Here's to Maurice Wilson. He may have been quite mad, and palpably absurd, but you know. What a man.