At the going down of the sun...

Alexander Stewart Allan

55^th Squadron

Royal Flying Corps

Alexander Stewart Allan was my great, uncle.  He was born in 1894.  On 1^st November 1912 he joined the Army Service Corps.  His number was P/S4/236974.

In July 1916 he transferred into the Royal Flying Corps where his number was 406711.  His job was a Trade Wireless Operator in 55 squadron, based at Lilbourne, near Rugby.

On the 5^th March 1917, the squadron was moved to Fienvillers, Northern France.  They were only based here for two months before they were moved to Boisdinghem, on 31^st May.

On 11^th October 1917, the squadron moved again – this time to Ochey, before finally moving to Tantonville on 7^th November 1917, where they remained for six months.

On the 7th February 1918 Alexander was promoted to Sergeant (Observer).  His job was to sit at the back of the plane and take aerial photographs of the front line as well as different enemy targets.

One of Alexander’s friends in 55 Squadron was Captain W E Johns, who later went on to write the famous “Biggles” stories.

During the time the squadron was based in Tantonville, Alexander took part in many raids over Germany.  The following is taken from the squadron diaries telling of a raid which took place on 24^th March 1918.

12 De Havilland 4s left 9.35am and bombed the BADISCHE-ANILINE and SODA-FABRICK at LUDWIGSHAFEN (MANNHEIM).  Bombs were dropped as follows:- 24 x 1121b, 3 x 401b (phos) and 11 x 251b.  Total 3,0831bs.

Bursts were observed on and near the Badische-Aniline und Soda-Fabrick;  2 fires being caused near the factory, 1 on the railway and one in what appeared to be oil tanks on the quay.  One fire was an exceptionally large one, the flames rising to 200 feet and the smoke to 5000 feet.

On this raid our machines were attacked by a total of 32 enemy aircraft.  Fighting ensued as a result of which 1 enemy aircraft was shot down in flames, 2 others were observed to crash (1 of which fell in Mannheim), and 4 were driven down out of control.

During the fighting one of our observers was killed.  2 of our machines failed to return.

Soon after this raid, Alexander was awarded the Military Medal for bravery.

             

   

This photograph is one of the actual planes in which Alexander flew.

The photograph below is of Alexander and his pilot (Captain W A Heater).  Alexander is on the left.

On the 5^th June 1918 the squadron was moved to Azelot.

Two months later, on the 25^th August, 12 aircraft left on a raid over Morhange aerodrome.  The first formation of 6 planes dropped six 112lb bombs from 14000 feet.  However, the second formation lost contact with the first and proceeded to bomb the railways at Luxembourg.  They dropped one 230lb bomb and ten 112lb bombs, from 13000 feet.

Several bursts were observed on the south end of the station and on the west corner of the railway triangle.  18 photographic plates were exposed, but the camera was damaged by gun-fire.

During this raid, Alexander was hit by machine gun fire and received gun shot wounds to his back and left leg.

The following day he was admitted to field hospital 21/2H.  At 2.30am on 27^th August 1918, Alexander died as a result of his wounds.

He is buried in Charmes Military Cemetery, Essegney, Vosges, France.

This is the original headstone.  In later years it was replaced by the more traditional Commonwealth War Graves headstone.

My ipad gave me D&V

As I have no walks planned for the near future, I thought I'd do a stop-gap blog.  In a departure from the norm, it's more of an observational blog instead of the usual hillwalking account.  So, as a nod to my days on the railway - "Apologies for the disruption to the service.  A normal service will resume as soon as possible!"

So, here we are in 2014.  How modern!  We live in an age of internet, wireless communications, state of the art video gaming systems.  We use programs such as Skype to not only speak to each other on the opposite side of the world, but to be able to see each other at the same time.  We can use our mobile phones to program our Sky+ systems back at home!  Amazing!

These things are only possible due to our thirst for knowledge, - our ever expanding developments in science and technology and, above all, our ability as a species to develop and adapt.

Why, then should it be that the merest suggestion of a cough or cold, an episode of vomiting or diarrhoea has us heading for the nearest A&E department or, in many cases running for the phone to call an ambulance?

When I was growing up in Dundee, being ill mostly involved staying in bed for a day or so.  If you were still not well after a few days then either a trip to the Doctor's surgery or, a home visit would have you on the road to recovery.  Hospitals were seen as a place for the seriously ill.  Today they seem to have become an alternative family day out when the local theme park is closed, or "Jeremy Kyle" is off air!

Watch any commercial break on television and you're bound to subjected to an insurance company advert.  Modern times have taught us that nothing happens by accident - that someone MUST be held accountable!

So who can we blame for our inability to deal with our runny nose, our diarrhoea and vomiting, or that pain that won't go away - even after three weeks of not taking any pain relief?

The answer is a very simple one!  Take a look around you at your i-phone, macbook, ipad, tablet, laptop, bluetooth television, wireless stereo system - and then have a very quick glance in the nearest mirror!  It need only be the quickest of glances - nobody likes to look embarrassed when confronted with the truth!

Our need to live in a technology filled, state of the art, everything-ready-the-day-before-yesterday society has slowly eradicated our ability to think for ourselves, to apply common sense to situations that 10 or 15 years ago we would deal with without a second thought.

Technology may have advanced our knowledge, but it has also deprived us of our respect for ourselves and each other.

A bit harsh?  Not really!  Consider the cost implications of a visit to hospital - the ambulance, the equipment within the vehicle, the linen on your hospital trolley, the receivers for you to vomit in, the commode liners for your diarrhoea, the aprons and gloves worn by the nurses caring for you (which, by the way, will only lessen our chances of contracting your bug, it won't prevent us catching it), the equipment used to record your temperature and blood pressure, the stationery used to record all aspects of your "visit", the curtains which have to be replaced after your discharge.

Now consider the health implications.  Each person you come into contact with is at risk of contracting your bug.  The ambulance crew, the nursing staff, anyone walking near you whilst you wait to be triaged, if you've attended using your own transport then you'll have walked into reception and will stand at the desk to book in - so you've increased the risk of everyone in the waiting area becoming infected!

So yes, I think it's fair to say we have lost respect for each other!

When the NHS was launched in 1948 it gave us the right to access a free healthcare system - it did not give us the right to abuse that system!

"Water will always find a way!"

The weather wasn't giving much away on the journey and I finally arrived in Llanberis at 1025hrs.  As I'd planned for an overnight stop, I wasn't overly concerned about getting an early start on the first day.

Now you're possibly wondering why I should park in Llanberis, when there is a decent car park at Pen-y-pass (the tourist car park, and more common start/finish point for Snowdon).  The answer is nothing to do with wanting to do the "full walk", but a more economical reason.  To park at the Pen-y-pas car park costs an extortionate £10 per day.  To park at the roadside in Llanberis is free!  The only cost incurred would be the bus fare to Pen-y-pas - a whole £1.

So, having parked the car and grabbed a 10 minute snooze (or power nap!) - it's tiring being my age - I grabbed my rucksack from the car and made my way to the bus stop across from Joe Brown's Climbing Shop.  Interestingly enough, the whole time I was there I never saw the shop attempt to climb anywhere - perhaps it's as old as me (or older) and was having its power nap!

I arrived at the bus stop in good time for the 11.00 service and waited, casually leaning against the wall and looking "way cool" in my walking gear and beard!  Could I be any more outdoor looking?

By 1115, I was beginning to wonder if the bus was ever going to turn up.  After another 5 minutes a guy in a little white van parks in the bus stop.  Getting out, he asked me if I was waiting for a bus.  There are times in my life where the answers to questions posed are kept within the confines of my mind - today was one such time!  In my mind I explained that I was fearful that the wall may well collapse at any time and I had taken it upon myself to lean against it until I was convinced it was safe to step away!  However, out loud I simply said "Yes!"  "Next one's at 12.00", the Welsh van man replied.  He went on to explain that the winter timings had come into effect this very day.  He was actually changing the displayed timetable as he spoke.  Who on earth changes a timetable on a Tuesday!!?

So, with another 40 minutes to wait, I made my way along the road in search of warmth and a mug of tea!  "Pete's Eats" is an excellent cafe/hostel/pass the time whilst waiting for a bus type hostelry!  Fortunately with money being no object to a person of my means, I was able to spend £1 on a mug of tea safe in the knowledge that I could still afford the bus!  The only challenge was to make it last until the bus was due!

A 10 minute bus ride later, and I was setting out along the miners' track heading for the base of my first - and in fact, only summit of the walk.

(Looking along the Miners' Track towards Y Lliwedd and Lliwedd Bach)

(Looking along the Miners' Track towards Y Lliwedd and Lliwedd Bach)

The Miner's Track is more commonly used as the return path from Snowdon's summit, with the Pyg Track being favoured as the outward route.  Whether for this reason, the lateness of the day, or just because it was a weekday I don't know, but I didn't meet a soul the whole time I was on the path.  For me, this was perfect!  It's not that I don't enjoy other people's company but, when you spend pretty much all your working hours talking and listening to other people, it's nice now and again just to have a spot of solitude - and if you can find this peace in surroundings such as Snowdonia has to offer, then so much the better! 

Branching away from the Miners' Track at Llyn Llydaw, my route headed up the side of Y Lliwedd, following a very clearly laid out path.  

(looking towards Llyn Llydaw, with Miners' Track continuing up towards Snowdon)

Towards the top, the path took it upon itself to merge with one of the local streams.  It would appear that my walking routes have taken a decidedly aquatic theme to them, and needless to say that by the time I reached the top of the path - having taken in a minor amount of scrambling, my feet were wet once more!  (It's just possible that my waterproofing liquid stuff is not as good as the man in the shop made it - I miss my old boots!).

The sky was reasonably clear and views pretty good, but underfoot conditions weren't the best.

(looking towards Capel Curig)

The next section of my route required me to make my way down the other side of Y Lliwedd to pick up another path which would take me along to meet the Watkin Path.  However, there was no path for this descent so, after a quick compass bearing off I went.

(looking down to Nant Gwynant.  The river to the left of the pic was my route downhill)

There are different methods of getting yourself downhill - falling being the least tempting.  I remember an occasion on a snow-covered Ben Nevis when we opted to use our survival bags as sledges!  Excellent fun, but not the most brake friendly of accessories!  Today, however, I decided the tentative descent was the wiser choice, and even then I slipped on my backside a few times - dignity goes out the window on days like these!  

Viewers who have read of my adventures in Glen Nevis earlier this year, will be familiar with my rucksack which doesn't do what it's told - even when I use my shoutey voice!  Well, on this particular trek I had already made up my mind not to even talk to it.  However, halfway down the hillside I realised my rucksack was out to get me!!

I had to negotiate a small, but significantly high, rocky ledge - well, about 8 maybe 10 feet.  The rock was fairly slippery, and foot/hand holds weren't brilliant.  However, with considerable skill (for which you should read "mostly luck"), I managed to get halfway down and then ran out of footholds.  There was only about 4 or 5 feet remaining, but from my position it looked a lot further - a bit far to jump, I was thinking!  As I tried to twist around, looking for a point lower down for my feet, my rucksack started a conspiracy with my sleeping mat, which was rolled up and secured underneath the rucksack.  At the rucksack's command, the mat somehow managed to wedge itself into a rock and wouldn't budge. Nice!  

Let us take a breather from literature and refresh ourselves with mathematical equations!

Wedged sleeping mat + pulling force = falling Derk

Fortunately, having seen countless war films, I knew how to land, and in actual fact it wasn't that far so I didn't have to rely on any parachute landing skills, and really, it was less dramatic than perhaps it sounds - but way cool!

 Having reached the point where I could pick up the next path, it all became fairly level and was simply a case of following alongside the stone wall to pick up the Watkin Path.

 By the time I reached the Watkin Path it was getting on for late afternoon and, with the light beginning to fade, I realised I wasn't going to get as far as I had planned.  I therefore decided to pitch the tent in the area around Cwn Llan and continue from there in the morning.

And there, I'm afraid, the blog for this expedition will end.  The following day was an uneventful day full of mist and rain.  Views were non-existent, as were any worthwhile mishaps!

Like Glen Nevis, this is another route I intend to do again in the summer.

If you ever get the chance to read Jim Perrin's book "Snowdon - The Story of a Welsh Mountain", don't - it's boring.  However, the first chapter was where I got the basis for this route!

Dante's Prayer

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

"Dante's Prayer", Loreena Mckennitt

Youtube - Dante's Prayer

Is this the quiet coach?

Whenever I do anything that involves sitting in close proximity to the general public, I always seem to attract the dregs of society to nearby seats!  Cinemas are usually the worst places, such as when I went to see Skyfall - the woman in the row behind seemed to have bought a bag of sweets with the noisiest wrappers on them! Or, when I saw the most recent Batman film. Arrived at the last minute. With the seating almost full to capacity, we were lucky to find the last few - 3 in a row. With there only being two of us, we got sat down ready for the film to begin. Strangely, everyone around us seemed to be acceptable - no hints of noisy sweet wrappers, - and then in he came to claim the last seat, and clutching his "seat near Derek" voucher - not noisy, but reeking of garlic!!

So today, I'm off to London for a weekend with my sister and her husband. Choosing the cheaper rail option, I'm travelling from Hartford to Birmingham, from where I shall catch a connecting service to Euston. Get on at Hartford to a practically empty carriage. Excellent! A chance to do some reading with no distractions! But then the train has to call at Winsford, and there they are on the platform with their "student ticket to sit near Derek" clutched in their free overdraft facility hands. So, inevitably they get into the same carriage as me - which, remember, is practically empty.  Which seats do they go for? Yes, the four next to me! So not only do I have to tolerate their inane talk about the laws of physics, but one of them is continually sniffing and blowing his nose, and it's not just your normal sniffing, either - it's the sniff that ends with the grunt, as though a pig is trying to claw its way up the back of his throat!

Fortunately the representatives of our hope for a brighter future leave the train at Crewe. Another chance to read? Not at all, for they are replaced by a couple of guys who are obviously CAMRA members on a mission to find more real ale. One of the guys, it has to be said, is no stranger to a meat pie - or two! (Mind you, I don't that's politically correct, so we'll just say that he's annorexically challenged!)

Where do my new friends sit? Yep, the exact seats the yoofs have just vacated! But wait, - a reprieve! "Let's sit over here!" the slimmer of the two remarks, adding "you'll be able to spread out more!" Sorry pal, but I think your mate was years ahead of you on that one!!

So, I'm now left with no choice - as I can't concentrate on reading I shall have to resort to the headphones playing just loud enough to drown out the chatter, and perhaps a little nap!

Ok, so time moves on, and I'm now sat downstairs in one of the many Costa bars dotted around London. Not many people around. Found myself a quiet corner to sort my plans for the afternoon. Young couple chatting quietly at the table next to me. The seats to my right are vacant - and here they are - Mr & Mrs Loudeater! Two hot drinks and a panini each. Mr Loudeater commences a very audible consumption of his continental sandwich - each mouthful interspersed with loud "mmmms" and smacking of lips as he chews his food open-mouthed, in the way a horse does! This, coupled with the loud slurps as he drinks his coffee, make my Costa experience complete! 

Time to move on!

Meananach bothy to Kinlochleven

Having slept so soundly I had no idea it had been raining (and still was), until I looked out the window in the morning.  I could hear the wind roaring – but I’d heard the weather forecast before I set out the day before, and was expecting high winds today.  However, taking a couple of steps outside soon revealed that it must have been raining pretty hard and for quite a few hours, as the ground was absolutely sodden.  On top of that, the roaring I could hear wasn’t the wind, but the river which had risen dramatically overnight and was now a real fast flowing torrent.  There was no way I’d be attempting a crossing.

However, I had planned for this possibility with an alternative route which follows a path down into Glen Nevis.  This would actually work out better for me, as it would mean I’d finish the day at the campsite in the Glen ready for my high level route the following day.

So, having had some breakfast and a brew (tea without milk is disgusting – but there was no pint left on the doorstep when I looked, so I had to bear it!), I put all my waterproof gear on and set off.  Walking a few paces soon reminded me that I really ought to buy a pair of leather walking boots – that dab-on waterproofing stuff just doesn’t work!

In order to get to my “new path” I had to cross the softly gurgling Allt nam Fang stream again – only the stream had spent the night taking steroids and was now a small river hurtling its way down the mountainside at breakneck speed!  “Oh dear!” was my pre-watershed reaction!  I was now in a bit of a dilemma.  Whichever way I chose to get out of the valley, I would have to cross this “stream”.  I walked further up the hill to see if it got any narrower – it didn’t.  Down at the valley floor it was deeper and wider, having burst its banks.  So, there was nothing for it – I’d have to attempt to jump across!  With a healthy knot of fear welling up in my stomach, I searched for what looked like the narrowest point.  As my rucksack was so heavy, I decided it would be best to throw it across first, then be that bit lighter to jump over.  (Obviously I’d throw it first – it would hardly be likely to follow me, would it?).  Grabbing it in both hands, I swung it a few times – because that’s what they do on TV when they’re throwing things, - then launched it over to the other side.  It landed nicely on a clump of heather – nice!  Except heather can be a bit springy, and my rucksack, obviously enjoying its newfound status as a bird, decided to have a go at being a boulder and proceeded to roll slowly down the hillside towards the stream.  Stupid, bloody thing – if I’d wanted it in the stream I’d have just dropped it in there – it should stick to being a rucksack.  Anyway, thinking shouting might help the situation I shouted “Nooooo!”  It was very dramatic and BBC drama-like, but amazingly it did the trick.  It stopped rolling with literally inches to spare!  So now it was my turn.  I tested the ground to see how close I could get to the edge, took a long run and launched myself across.  I landed with my full weight on top of my left elbow – absolutely excruciating.  But I think I was more relieved than anything.  I grabbed the rucksack and moved up the hill and away from the evil water!!

Now, at this point I should have realised that if the river below, and the little stream from yesterday, were in full spate, then the same would be true of any other water coming off the hills.  Taking that into account, I should have set off back the path I’d walked yesterday, and made my way back to Spean Bridge.  However, for some reason, this didn’t occur to me.  Maybe I was just relieved at having made the jump.  My only thought now was to get to the path and make my way to Glen Nevis.  (These writings give no concept of time – although I was only about 100m from the bothy, I’d been out for the best part of an hour.  Conditions underfoot were atrocious – even after this short space of time, my boots were swilling with water.

So, having crossed the first obstacle, I found the path I needed and proceeded to follow it.  However, it wasn’t long before I encountered the next crossing.  This one was too wide to jump across, so finding the narrowest and shallowest point, and accepting that my feet couldn’t get any wetter, I jumped as far as I could – and then scrambled out as fast as I could.  It wasn’t so much that it was cold, but I could feel the current trying to grab at my legs.  You honestly don’t realise the power of a river until you stand in it.  My rucksack was left securely on my back for this and subsequent crossings – I think it had got carried away with that little bit of independence!

This routine went on for the next hour or so.  Trying to follow a path that would disappear underwater frequently, jump across swollen streams, and generally pick my way down the valley.  But it was slow going.  The rain was incessant.  I was having to watch every footstep – sometimes, I’d stand on a clump of grass and my leg would disappear into a deep peat bog.  My elbow was horrendously painful, my feet were aching – all the water encouraging blisters to come out and play, and my legs were aching from all the jumping and climbing out of bogs.  However, I was managing to keep my spirits up knowing that I was heading in the right direction and that if it came to it, I had a rucksack with a dry tent, sleeping bag, stove and food.

Then I got to Allt Coire Rath.  Even looking at the map, this looks to be a fairly substantial waterfall/river.  So you can imagine what it would like in full spate.  When I saw it my heart sank.  This  was going to be a real tough obstacle.  There was no way I was going to go back, - the thought of having to go through all that again was too much to consider.  So, once again, I searched for what looked like a reasonable crossing point – only there wasn’t one.  However, walking upstream, there was a small island of rocks and grass, with the river narrower on one side – my side.  I managed to get on to this island, jumping from the bank.  But to get off and to the other side, I was going to have to wade over.  I’ll be honest, - it was terrifying.  The first few steps weren’t too bad – it didn’t feel as cold as I was expecting (or maybe I was that used to being cold, that I didn’t notice the difference), but the current – it was so strong.  Every time I took another step I could feel it trying to grab my leg.  The river was only knee-deep, which I’m sure is what saved me next.  As I got closer to the other side, well, I’m not sure what happened – did I lose concentration, or did I become a bit too confident with my progress, I don’t know.  However, the next thing I knew was that the current completely swept me off my feet and before I knew it I’m being taken down the river.    I could feel the rucksack getting heavier on my back, having taken a fair amount of water onboard.  As I’d said, the river was only knee-deep, and I somehow managed to grab a rock on the riverbed and hang on.  Slowly, and against the force of the current, I was able to bring my legs up and get my feet on the riverbed again, before managing to scramble to the other side and pull myself up on to the bank.  Whether in shock, I don’t know, but I actually found myself laughing about it all as I lay there, completely soaked through – no longer able to rely on having a dry tent, sleeping back, etc!  I would say I was in the river for less than a minute, but I had been swept so far down – when I got out, I was only metres from where it joined the main river, and I think had I been swept into there, then this walk would have had a completely different outcome!

By now I was exhausted and completely demoralised, but I had no option but to keep going.  If I’d wanted to get a rescue team out (and I had considered it), I couldn’t due to having no phone signal.  I check where I was on the map – which didn’t do anything to lift my spirits.  I had only walked about 2 miles, with another 6 to go.  So the routing began again, jumping streams, avoiding bogs and talking to myself about really random things, just to keep my mind of the state I was in.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I was at Steall ruins at the top of the tourist part of Glen Nevis.  The ruins sit beside one of the most thunderous waterfalls you’ll ever see.  Fortunately, as it’s at the end of a tourist footpath, there’s a footbridge across it.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a footbridge in my life.

The rest of the walk is pretty lame in comparison.  I made my way down to the Glen Nevis road and managed to hitch a lift into Fort William, where the driver very kindly dropped me at the door of McDonalds.

A quarter pounder cheese meal (medium) and a bus ride later, found me back at the cottage near Brora.  Heating on, hot shower and a few aches, bruises and blisters.  A truly horrendous day!

Spean Bridge to Leacach Bothy

This was an excellent path.  Being an old drovers road, it was so clear as to be impossible to get lost on!  The weather was sunny, with clear, blue skies, but not so hot as to make walking uncomfortable.  In fact the path and walking conditions were so good, that I found I was making excellent progress, and by half 3, I was at the bothy,  having been dropped off by the bus at Spean Bridge just after 1230.  The original idea was to stay the night here and then walk the rest of the way to Kinlochleven, the following day.  However, I decided to crack on, intending now to either complete the walk or pitch the tent somewhere along the route.

Just beyond the bothy, the path divides into 3.  One route going to Corrour, another up Stob Ban and the third to Kinlochleven.  A quick map check and compass bearing soon put me on the right route.  The path had now changed from being a clear track, to a “normal” footpath – still easy enough to follow.

After another hour of walking, I found myself at the summit of Druim nan Sac, with excellent views to the hills of Glencoe and beyond.  Looking into the valley ahead of me I could see the Abhainn Rath river gently flowing along its way to Loch Treig.  Even better, I could see the Meananach bothy, which I decided would be my stopping point for the night.  I walked down into the valley, with the path running alongside the gentle, softly gurgling Allt nam Fang stream.

As with any hill descent, progress was slow, but finally I was at the bottom and, with a quick hop over the stream, I wandered up to the bothy.   There’s really not much more to say about this day.  I had a wander down to the river’s edge – the path to Kinlochleven requires you to ford the river at this point.  It looked easy enough – not too deep.  The bothy was a little spooky, but it was a good, dry shelter and, save for a solitary mouse, I had the place to myself.