Smythe Francis Sydney - My father, Frank: unresting spirit of Everest

At a dinner for Cumbrian authors I found myself sitting next to local grandee Willie Whitelaw who began his speech with the announcement that he was a traditionalist and that he was proud of it. I have to say that I too share his sentiments, particularly when it comes to discovering how the mountaineers of old pursued their craft. So it will be no surprise that when Tony Smythes biography of his father Frank arrived I started to read with eager anticipation and hardly stopped reading until it was read.

Frank Smythe was the outstanding British climber during the inter-war period. He was not only revered by fellow climbers for the climbs he pioneered, but through film, radio, lectures and writing he was the best known climber nationwide. He, more than anyone, was responsible for educating the British public about mountaineering; Everest and Kangchenjunga became familiar beasts even before they were climbed at last in the 1950s.

I had forgotten what a fine writer Smythe was. And I had never fully appreciated the part he played in the development of Alpine and especially Himalayan climbing until I read this book. I suspect I had filed him away in my mind as the man whod done a couple of new routes on Mont Blanc, had climbed Kamet, attempted Kangchenjunga and had gone a long way up Everest, and that was about it. Maybe Id been side-tracked by his more romantic writings about spiritual and supernatural matters. So this book is timely. It is also well researched, helped by the privileged access to information available only to a family member. And its well written with the authority of a committed climber; Tony, like his father climbed hard at home and abroad in all seasons with a variety of companions.

The reader will be watching to see just how objective Franks son will be when dealing with events such as the feud that sadly developed between Frank and Graham Brown. And it isnt easy for a son to delve into his fathers private life particularly into sensitive matters such as his divorce. I compliment Tony Smythe on dealing with these and many other private issues in his fathers life in the most even-handed way possible. Neither does he pull any punches when he comments for instance upon Franks decision to choose Jim Gavin rather than the brilliant rock climber and proven Himalayan mountaineer Colin Kirkus for the 1936 Everest Expedition.

Tony is able to put a few ghosts to rest. It seems that Frank was not the sickly child that became a mountaineer against all the odds. He was quite athletic, a very good cricket player who also played football for his house. When he was invalided out of the RAF it was through eyestrain or glare while training in Egypt (it soon cleared up afterwards) and not because of a heart problem. Not only was Frank fit, he had other natural advantages, one being an astonishing awareness of danger that more than once saved his life or those of others.

Tony reveals that it was Franks ambition and pride that was the root cause of the notorious quarrel between him and Graham Brown bad feeling that Brown could never forget or forgive. I have to say I found this one of the most interesting sections of the book for Tonys description of the climbing is riveting and his analysis of the disagreements masterful. The reader is left gripped and exhausted following the climbing and disappointed that after leading so much of the Route Major on Mont Blanc Smythe could not acknowledge Browns contribution. How sad one feels for both but especially for Brown who as Tony points out, must have suffered more. It must be more corrosive to hate than to be hated. Frank had the strength of character to apologise and let go of the quarrel whereas Graham Brown still bore him malice into his eighties.

The book does not lack humour and I found myself smiling, sometimes laughing out loud at Tonys observations in the Kamet film. The expedition gets to Base Camp by numerous shots of porters bowed under enormous loads, plodding this way and that The porters grinned cheerfully but the sahibs usually had their backs to the camera except when the great length of

Raymond Greene is seen stark naked, mercifully for an instant only, plunging into a pool Holdsworth happily smokes his pipe while being carried across a raging river by a porter half his size Frank commentates and a piano provides frantic music throughout.

There are so many interesting facts, never known or half remembered, revealed in this book. John Hunt was rejected from the 1936 Expedition after the Medical Board decided, incorrectly, he had a heart problem. Later we find that Hunt and several other well-known mountaineers of the day were roped in during the war for mountain warfare training including Frank, who was posted out to the Canadian Rockies. Completely unknown to me was the fact that Frank was the first to spot Mallorys body when he was scoping the flanks of Everest in 1936 with a high powered telescope. In a private letter to Colonel Norton, the leader of the 1924 Everest Expedition, he wrote that he was convinced that he had spotted Mallory or Irvines body but requested that Its not to be written about as the press would make an unpleasant sensation. His discovery was only confirmed 63 years later by Graham Hoyland who was on the American Expedition that found Mallory in 1999.

Like many Everesters Frank pushed himself to his limit on many other mountains, some of them quite technical, and all bar one, without guides. He was not just a big mountain man yo-yoing up fixed ropes for weeks on end. In the Garhwal he had a particularly productive season in 1937, making the first ascent of Nilgiri Parbat and Mana Peak. The first was made with two Sherpa friends after he had taught them the ropes, and he reached the summit of Mana Peak at nearly 24,000 feet solo after climbing the final 800 feet of rock on his own when his partner, Peter Oliver, became exhausted.

Tonys book has stimulated me into reading again Frank Smythes great classics. Six of the best are to be found under one cover in Bton Wicks omnibus. As their publisher, Ken Wilson put it, they contain gripping adventures, a rich sense of period and a thread of mountaineering good sense. Above all Frank Smythe was a mountaineer who lived for mountains and was at his best amongst mountains. His son, Tony surely confirms this in his thoughtful and perceptive account of his fathers life.

Doug Scott