OBITUARY

1. MAJOR JOHN DIAS
2. MAJOR H. M. BANON
3. TOM G. LONGSTAFF

 

 

To those who happily imagined him to be climbing Alaskan peaks and glaciers on an Army Course, the sudden announcement of the death of Major John Dias in Delhi on 24th February this year of cancer of the blood must have come as a tragic blow.

Leader of the Second Indian Expedition to Mount Everest, in 1962, John D. had been appointed Principal of the Mountain Warfare School at Gulmarg, where, appropriately, he had had his initiation into the higher hills as a trainee and then as Instructor.

While on a Commando course in Alaska, he developed clear signs of severe cancer of the blood, or leukaemia, and was flown to India; admitted to the Military Hospital in Delhi, he died a few days later.

John D. was of the pre-Everest-1953 generation of climbing enthusiasts, having participated in a small expedition to Panch Chuli in Kumoun in the very early 'fifties. Even earlier, he spoke of his schooldays in Darjeeling and at Naini Tal with the affection which the hills had inspired in him, and where he was in boarding school because of the frequent transfers of his Roman Catholic Engineer-father.

With the formation of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, Major (Nandu) Jayal became the Principal, and John D. was in the very first batch of Nandu's trainees. After completing the Basic Course at the H.M.I., John D. very naturally accompanied Nandu on his 1955 expedition to Kamet, where John D. and Gurdial Singh, another member of the pre-Everest-1953 climbing fraternity, helped Nandu to reach the summit of Kamet by surrendering their own snow-glasses and successfully attempting the first ascent of Abi Gamin after returning to Camp on the Meade's Col.

Nandu and John D. had already been together at the Gulmarg Warfare School, in the days when 'Holdie' (R. L. Holdsworth) was also there, and their ski-ing days together welded a friendship which was broken only by death.

When Nandu and John D. both joined Keki Bunshah's Cho Oyu Expedition in 1958 it seemed a certainty that Cho Oyu would be the first Indian climb of that height. So it was, but not for Nandu or John D._? for Nandu died while John D. watched over him helplessly.

John D., then a Captain, loved his regiment and his profession, and after happy years with his other great love, or was it his first great love, the 8th Garhwal Rifles, he agreed to join the Nanda Devi Expedition which was being organized at the Doon School by Gurdial. That was when I first met him.

Unbelievably lively and understanding, his irrepressible humour and energy impressed me immensely, and the admiration matured to a deep affection in the course of that happy expedition, an account of which appears in this Journal. His hesitation at turning back from Nanda Devi when we were faced by an ice- gripped arete near Camp II, his light-hearted and almost frivolous banter, and the ease and facility with which we capered up and down fairly difficult mountains, including the impulsive moonlight attempt on Trisul, were all characteristic of his generous nature and excellent form and technique. That whole trip stands out in my memory as the happiest of many happy climbing seasons despite the usual arguments and frustrations. John D. stands out as the central character and bound us all together with his unfailing good humour and ready wit and fortitude.

But it was only on Mount Everest in 1962, which he led, that I realized that under the laughing manner and the quick repartee there moved a serious Prophet of Mountaineering as a clean sport. Disdaining all pettiness and meanness and cowardice, he made us hate these weaknesses in ourselves and welded together the diverse elements of the large group into a unified and friendly party.

He gave me the task of helping him type out his articles to the press, and I recall a characteristic remark of his that it would be more inspiring to fail on Mount Everest than to succeed. Another, that it would be better to deserve success than to reach the summit ; moving from one problem to another, whether on the mountain or in the Everest Office in New Delhi in the preparatory stage. He remained quiet and almost effortless in efficiency, doing the work of ten people.

On the mountain, he was always first on his rope and first with the dirtiest ice-fall work; an example which every member followed, though we could hardly match his unflagging zeal and courage. Though sophisticated to the point of cynicism in some things, he remained an unobtrusively staunch Catholic and I recall the Cross of Notre Dame de la Neige which he carried all the way and which we deposited below the South Summit. He would often touch his own Cross at night, before going into his bag. Not being fond of taking risks, and quite devoid of similar Faith myself, I often looked askance at the unreliable seracs and crevasses of the Ice-fall, but John D., with whom I did most of the climbing, reassured the ropes with his own confidence, to the point that we would invariably relax in the very worst portion of the Great Crevasse to listen to the weather forecast and the Bach and Beethoven that preceded each forecast by previous arrangement with All-India Radio !

Revelling in Army language and idiom, which he freely used, he had a genius for coining words for various types of people we disliked, and these were legion, even if the dislike was always tempered with good humour. Intolerant of all 'bumph' and show, he exuded a modest authority which pervaded the whole atmosphere of Everest, with the result that he never seemed to have to give an order. He was the moving spirit, and we did as he moved. And when we returned from the unsuccessful climb, even though our long absence had convinced him we had succeeded, it was as natural for him to berate me laughingly in Army language, as it was for me to say how sorry I was we had not made it. We had wanted so much, to 'make it', if only for the sake of the success which, thanks to John D., we richly deserved precisely for not caring !

Death has robbed him of another attempt on Everest, but that is nothing to the void it has created in our private lives ; and the void in the future story of climbing by Indians. I still find myself thinking of some chance remark or gem of wit or mountain wisdom, some future plan, which he mentioned and feel the injustice of

seeing but not knowing why,
thorns live and roses die!

Death in mountains is natural, as John D. used to say, but death for him could never be ⁶ natural', for he was so deathless in life; he will remain so in death.

Our hearts go out to his surviving wife, and his four children, to whom is given all his own tolerance and forbearance, for they will need it.

Hari Dang

 

 

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The Club lost a good friend and an able supporter in the death of Major H. M. Banon, at the age of 82, on 13th November, 1963.

All those who had the privilege and pleasure of knowing Major H. M. Banon (or ⁴ Chini Sahib \ as he was called by those who knew him well) will feel a pang at the passing of this staunch and valuable member of the Club. No-one who went to the Kulu Valley, where Major Banon was Honorary Local Secretary for many years, or to Manali in particular where he lived, will find the Valley, or Manali, the same. His phenomenal knowledge of the whole area—the fauna, flora, people and their legends, habits and customs—was acquired in the latter part of the last century and the earlier part of the present century, mainly through shooting and hiking trips ; he had a photographic memory and he was always kind, helpful and sympathetic and he sent parties on their way with their problems smoothed over, and no-one ever asked in vain for help from him.

Those who lived near him in the Valley will remember him with affection and regard and he will be missed by all. 'Chini Sahib' was an Honorary Member of the Club and this was a well-deserved honour for all that he had done for the Club over the years.

Robert Hotz

 

 

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'Dr. Tom Longstaff, who died on Friday (June 26, 1964) at the age of 89, ranked first among the company of British mountain explorers who opened up the greater mountain ranges of the world in the first quarter of the twentieth century. By the time the first (frontal) attack came to be made on Everest in 1922, he had become Briton's principal pioneer of Himalayan climbing and doyen of mountain travellers.' Such were the opening lines of a long and remarkably accurate obituary in The Times (London) on June 29, 1964. Indeed, the story of his enterprises in other ranges, apart from his outstanding achievements in the Himalaya, reads like a saga, and it is impossible in a short obituary to particularize and do adequate justice to it.

Educated at Eton, at Oxford and at St. Thomas's Hospital for his medical training, and in the Alps for his early mountaineering, by 1903 he had usefully extended his experience in the Caucasus in making five first ascents without guides, in company with that very able climber, L. W. Rolleston, euphoniously known to his friends as ‘The De'il', In 1905 Longstaff was off to the Himalaya, fully convinced after years of study that the best objective would be Garhwal. All mountaineers know of his great achievements in that glorious district during his attainment, with the Brocherels, his guides from Courmayeur, of the rim of the Nanda Devi basin, later (1936) to be called Longstaff's Col. When in 1936 with H. W. Tilman I reached the summit of Nanda Devi, on my return home Longstaff most kindly sent me a splendid composite photograph of the twin peaks, and our route as seen from the Col. This photograph now adorns my dining-room, and it has been described by his widow as perhaps his most poetic achievement.

In 1907 he reached the summit of Trisul, 23,406 feet, by rush- tactics that have been the subject of prolonged controversy, in terms of acclimatization. It was indeed a remarkable feat for his party of four, including two Italian guides and one Gurkha porter, to ascend the 6,000 feet from their last camp to the summit in ten hours, and descend 7,000 feet to a lower camp in a little over three hours. Moreover, it should be emphasized (though omitted by The Times) that this tour de force was a record of the highest mountain climbed to the top which stood indeed for 23 years.

But in 1905 Longstaff had made a notable reconnaissance into Tibet to the massif of Gurla Mandhata (Nimo-namgyal), 25,350 feet, whereon two attempts nearly brought success. Moreover, he has related that he had two remarkable experiences: (1) the elation of the enormous vista of the unknown northern wall of the Nepalese Himalaya, including Dhaolagiri (26,826 feet) 180 miles away ; and (2) being swept down about 1,000 feet together with the Brocherels on an avalanche, and not merely surviving, but, we may add, having the guts to continue their ascent to about 24,000 feet!

After a failure with Charles Bruce and others to obtain permission for an attempt on Everest and, moreover, a reluctant refusal of Captain Scott's invitation to join his last Antarctic expedition, in 1909 Longstaff set out for the Karakoram. His consuming ambition was to reach the Saltoro Pass and solve the mystery of its relationship to Younghusband's historic saddle by which the latter had earlier crossed into India from Central Asia. Not only did Longstaff do this, but he also made the notable discovery of the immense Siachen Glacier, and the great peak of Teram Kangri, 24,489 feet. These were major geographical achievements, which led to the award of the Gill Memorial of the Royal Geographical Society and in later years the Founders' Medal of that Society.

The first Great War brought him again to India, to be attached to the Gilgit Corps of Scouts, with further grand opportunities to explore the Hindu Kush. His wide experience of the neighbouring ranges, and of the various tribes inhabiting the network of valleys, soon qualified him for the post of assistant political officer at Fort Gupis, as well as assistant commandant of the Scouts. Here he was in the northernmost military post in India, and in his element as being persona grata with these attractive frontier tribesmen, and able amply to indulge his taste for shikar.

In 1910 and 1911 Longstaff turned his attention to the Canadian Rockies, the Purcells, the Selkirks, and eventually the Klondike, terminating in a trip down the Yukon River through Alaska. Notable was his ascent of Mount Assiniboine, 11,870 feet, with the Swiss guide, Rudolf Aemmer, by the N.N.W. face and down by the N.E. arete. It involved a 21-hour day, with hardly a halt, and it was regarded by him as the hardest climb he had ever done. His conclusion in general of these Canadian mountains, as expressed in his book This My Voyage, is characteristic: ⁶ The mountains of Europe and Asia recall gods and dryads and the long procession of man. These empty wilds are peopled only by our bare imagination, apt to primitive terror: there is no past except starvation.'

This My Voyage did not appear till 1950, and it is a veritable saga of Longstaff's extensive travels and exploratory mountaineering. Many of his friends had hoped for a less compressed record of his experiences and innumerable ascents presented in more than one volume. However, with the help of his wife, he produced a most fascinating book that has enthralled even non-climbers. Reference should be made to this book for other aspects of his career and adventures. But one must not omit mention of another facet of Longstaff's outstanding record, namely the Arctic. He accompanied the first and second Oxford expeditions to Spitsbergen in 1921 and 1923, and was with me on a sledge-journey over the glaciers and through the mountains of that interesting Polar land. One must add that he was duly impressed, if not at times oppressed, by the prevailing climate and conditions encountered, especially in 1921. I always remember how, after one prolonged summer blizzard, he urged that 13 winter had come and that we must give up our objective of reaching the east coast and return to base. Actually, his smallness of stature and lightness of weight did not lend themselves readily to heavy sledge-pulling over often the most execrable surfaces of snow-field or broken glaciers! But he was game, and his flow of reminiscences of other mountains and journeys in more temperate regions provided much entertainment for the party. In his book he is good enough, on the one hand, to give me credit for forging ahead to reconnoitre our route under bad conditions and negative visibility, and on the other hand he declares me to be a notoriously slow starter! I could reply that, in a sledging harness, he could be an exasperatingly slow goer, even after he had had a reasonably good start, and was then only 46 years of age!

Longstaff's other Arctic adventures lay in West Greenland, in 1928 with the Oxford Exploration Club and a party of naturalists in the south-west, and in 1934 with J. M. Wordie (later Sir James) farther north-west. In Melville Bay with P. D. Baird he made the notable ascent of the Devil's Thumb, whose precipitous 1,200 feet had been deemed impossible by previous visitors as well, of course, as by the local Eskimoes. From the evidence of a low heap of loose blocks on the summit, they then thought that theirs was only the second ascent. But later investigation of the records of the early whalers and other possible visitors has indicated that it was indeed a pioneer ascent of this difficult and spectacular obelisk of gneissic rock.

The climbing experiences of Longstaff were multifarious, but they included much in Great Britain in the earlier days. In the last chapter of his book he relates these adventures and also supplies much good advice for modern cragsmen, who in these crowded and specialized days have missed so much of the delights of pioneering, and who meticulously follow guide-books and indulge in artificial mechanical aids.

Longstaff was twice married, having seven daughters by his first wife; and with his second wife he moved to the N.W. Highlands of Scotland, where at Badentarbet, Achiltibuie, in Wester Ross, he was able to indulge his great love of birds and their ways and haunts. Many of his old climbing friends, including myself, had the pleasure of visits to this delightful locality to enjoy his and his charming wife's hospitality, as well as climbing on the local romantic hills.

He was a founder member of the Himalayan Club ; an ex- President of the Alpine Club; an ex-Vice-President of the Royal Geographical Society, and a member or an honorary member of many mountaineering clubs. In 1928 he had been awarded, as cited on page 193, the Royal Medal of the R.G.S. for his Himalayan explorations, but he often declared that he deemed his presidency of the Alpine Club to be the highest award, greater even than knighthood, that he could ever have achieved.

N. E. Odell

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