mountains, allowing George to study even more closely some of the great challenges that lay ahead of him.
It was dark by the time the three of them had booked into the Hotel Lion d’Or in Bourg St. Pierre, at the foot of the Alps. Over dinner Mr. Irving spread a map across the table and went over his plans for the next fortnight, indicating the mountains they would attempt to climb: the Great St. Bernard (8,101 feet), Mont Velan (12,353 feet), and the Grand Combin (14,153 feet). If they succeeded in conquering all three, they would move on to Monte Rosa (15,217 feet).
George studied the map intently, already impatient for the sun to rise the next morning. Guy remained silent. Although it was well known that Mr. Irving selected only the most promising climbers among his pupils to accompany him on his annual visit to the Alps, Guy was already having second thoughts about whether he should have signed up.
George, on the other hand, had no such misgivings. But even Mr. Irving was taken by surprise the following day when they reached the top of the Great St. Bernard Pass in record time. Over dinner that evening George asked him if he could take over as climbing leader when they tackled Mont Velan.
For some time Mr. Irving had realized that George was the most accomplished schoolboy mountaineer he had ever come across, and was more naturally gifted than his seasoned teacher. However, it was the first time a pupil had asked to lead him-and on only the second day of their expedition.
“I will allow you to lead us to the lower slopes of Mont Velan,” conceded Mr. Irving. “But once we’ve reached 5,000 feet, I’ll take over.”
Mr. Irving never took over, because the next day George led the little party with all the assurance and skill of a seasoned alpinist, even introducing Mr. Irving to new routes he’d never considered in the past. And when, two days later, they climbed the Grand Combin in a shorter time than Mr. Irving had achieved before, the master became the pupil.
All George now seemed to be interested in was when he would be allowed to tackle Mont Blanc.
“Not for some time yet,” said Mr. Irving. “Even I wouldn’t attempt it without a professional guide. But when you go up to Cambridge in the autumn, I’ll give you a letter of introduction to Geoffrey Young, the most experienced climber in the land, and he can decide when you’re ready to approach that particular lady.”
Mr. Irving was confident, however, that they were ready to take on Monte Rosa, and George led them to the summit of the mountain without the slightest mishap, even if Guy had at times found it difficult to keep up. It was on the way down that the accident occurred. Perhaps Mr. Irving had become a little too complacent-a climber’s worst enemy-believing that nothing would go wrong after the triumphant ascent.
George had begun the descent with his usual confidence, but when they reached a particularly sheer couloir he decided to slow down, remembering that Guy had not found that part of the route easy to negotiate during the ascent. George had almost traversed the couloir when he heard the scream. His immediate reaction undoubtedly saved the lives of all three of them. He thrust his axe into the deep snow and quickly looped the rope around the shaft, securing it firmly against his boot while holding on to the rope with his other hand. He could only watch as Guy careered past him. He assumed that Mr. Irving would have carried out the same safety procedure as he had, and that between them they would halt the momentum of Guy’s fall, but his housemaster had failed to react quite as quickly, and although he had dug his axe firmly into the snow, he hadn’t had time to loop the rope around its shaft. A moment later he too came flying past George. George didn’t look down, but kept his boot wedged firmly against the axe head and tried desperately to maintain his balance. There was nothing between him and the valley some six hundred feet below.
He held firm as both of them came to a halt and began swinging in midair. George wasn’t confident that the rope wouldn’t snap under the strain, leaving his companions to fall to their deaths. He didn’t have time to pray, and as a second later he was still clinging to the rope his question seemed to have been answered, if only temporarily. The danger hadn’t passed because he still had to somehow get both men safely back onto the mountain.
George looked down to see them clinging on to the rope in desperation, their faces as white as the snow. Using a skill he’d developed while endlessly practicing on a rope in the school gymnasium, he began to swing his two companions slowly to and fro, until Mr. Irving was able to establish a foothold on the side of the mountain. Then, while George held his position, Irving carried out the same process, swinging Guy back and forth until he too was finally secure.
It was some time before any of them felt able to continue the descent, and George did not release his axe until he was convinced that Mr. Irving and Guy had fully recovered. Inch by inch, foot by foot, he led the two badly shaken climbers to the safety of a wide ledge, thirty feet below. The three of them rested for nearly an hour before Mr. Irving took over and guided them toward safer slopes.
Hardly a word passed between them over dinner that evening, but all three of them knew that if they didn’t return to the mountain the following morning, Guy would never climb again. The next day, Mr. Irving led his two charges back up Monte Rosa, taking a longer and far less demanding route. By the time George and Guy had returned to the hotel that evening, they were no longer children.
On the previous day, it had only taken a few minutes before all three climbers were safe, but each of those minutes could have been measured in sixty parts, and then not forgotten for a lifetime.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS CLEAR from the moment they entered Paris that Mr. Irving was no stranger to the city, and George and Guy were only too happy to allow their housemaster to take the lead, having already agreed to his suggestion that they should spend the final day of their trip in the French capital celebrating their good fortune.
Mr. Irving booked them into a small family hotel, located in a picturesque courtyard in the 7th arrondissement. After a light lunch he introduced them to the day life of Paris: the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe. But it was the Eiffel Tower, built for the Universal Exhibition of 1889 in celebration of the centenary of the French Revolution, that captured George’s imagination.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Mr. Irving when he caught his charge looking up at the highest point of the steel edifice, some 1,062 feet above them.
Having purchased three tickets for six francs, Mr. Irving herded Guy and George into an elevator, which transported them on a slow journey to the top of the tower.
“We wouldn’t even have reached the foothills of Mont Blanc,” George commented as he looked out over Paris.
Mr. Irving smiled, wondering if even conquering Mont Blanc would prove enough for George Mallory.
After they had changed for dinner, Mr. Irving took the boys to a little restaurant on the Left Bank where they enjoyed foie gras accompanied by small glasses of chilled Sauternes. This was followed by boeuf bourguignon, better than any beef stew either of them had ever experienced, which then gave way to a ripe brie; quite a change from school food. Both courses were washed down with a rather fine burgundy, and George felt it had already been one of the most exciting days of his life. But it was far from over. After introducing his two charges to the joys of cognac, Mr. Irving accompanied them back to the hotel. Just after midnight he bade them good-night before retiring to his own room.
Guy sat on the end of his bed while George started to undress. “We’ll just hang around for a few more minutes before we slip back out.”
“Slip back out?” mumbled George.
“Yes,” said Guy, happily taking the lead for a change. “What’s the point of coming to Paris if we don’t visit the Moulin Rouge?”
George continued to unbutton his shirt. “I promised my mother…”
“I’m sure you did,” mocked Guy. “And you’re now asking me to believe that the man who plans to conquer the heights of Mont Blanc isn’t willing to plumb the depths of Parisian nightlife?”
George reluctantly rebuttoned his shirt as Guy switched off the light, opened the bedroom door, and peeked out. Satisfied that Mr. Irving was safely tucked up in bed with his copy of
