SOMETHING BETTER CHANGE - One Day as a Tiger - page 91

CHAPTER 13
SOMETHING BETTER CHANGE
Alex was never without music. His favorite ghetto blaster that came with us to the
crags was now on its way to Afghanistan. He kept hold of it most of the time, but it
didn't matter: we all shared the same taste in music. 1977 was a great year for punk
but we were also immersed in other new sounds: Fleetwood Mac, Brian Ferry and
ELO; it seemed impossible not to like them all. Alex and I were about to get our
first taste of high altitude, fuelled by the music. I can still see him at base camp,
with the ghetto blaster nestled in his lap so everyone could hear.
Howard Lancashire and I spent the last night before leaving Britain at Alex's
family home outside London. Jean fussed over us all evening and in the morning
drove us to Liverpool Street while a neighbour towed their horse trailer full of our
personal equipment and the gear and food we had organised, including the two all-
important cases of White Horse Scotch we had been gifted for the trip.
We knew Howard only by reputation. He was an exceptionally strong rock
climber and had already made a couple of first ascents in the Hindu Kush. We
joined the queue for baggage amidst many Poles returning home from work in the
UK and watched as they haggled with the train officials about their baggage. [1] The
last thing we needed was a hefty excess baggage fee. Howard, as an old hand, took
the initiative and whisked most of the bags on two trolleys around the line, avoid-
ing the excess baggage queue. His plan worked. We helped him jump on a train
that left twenty minutes before ours.
'See you in Harwich.'
Terry King joined us at the station with a lithe bare-footed blonde Dutch girl who
seemed very pleased with all the commotion. Terry had climbed with Alex in Scot-
land and the Alps. The fifth member of the team, Peter Holden, would join us in
Kabul due to his work commitments. We were still overweight with the remaining
bags, but we managed to argue away the time with the British Rail baggage con-
troller until our train was due to leave.
He finally waved us through. 'Get going; bloody students.'
Jean and Terry's girlfriend waved sadly after the train as we hung out the win-
dows and watched the platform slide away behind us. We stumbled to our seats
through a corridor half blocked with climbing kit, a feature of the rest of our train
journey to Poland. Howard had prepared the porters on the dock with a tale of our