A charming and extremely readable account of the first successful climb of Everest, by the Times correspondent who was part of the expedition, Jan Morris, and who managed by dint of secret codes and subterfuge to get the news back to Britain in time for the Queen's coronation, without being scooped by rival newspapers.
The book was written in the 1950s, and as Morris says in the introduction to this edition, 'needs to be read with a strong dose of historical sympathy, for everything has changed since then', including the author, who was living and working as James Morris at the time of the expedition. Attitudes have certainly changed - there is more than a whiff of colonialism in the descriptions of the Nepali, Indian and Sherpa people in the book, which feels uncomfortable today - and yet despite that, Morris's humanity and exuberance shine through. She is often self-deprecating, painting a picture of herself as a bumbling amateur amongst professional climbers, her laces always undone and crampons loose, and yet she has the skill and strength to climb to Camp VI, no mean feat, to await the news of success or failure by the climbing team of Hillary and Tenzing.
Morris's descriptions of the landscape are lyrical and convey both the beauty and the awful isolation of extreme mountain landscapes. She also writes with a sort of impish humour; there's a lovely, Winnie-the-Pooh-ish exchange when she is coming down from the mountain, carrying the stupendous news of success, and unexpectedly meets a rival newspaperman:
'..we both stopped dead in our tracks.
'Well, well,' said Jackson.
'Ho, hum!' said I.
'Here you are then,' said Jackson.
'More or less,' said I.
'Weather's very pleasant, don't you think?'
'Not too bad.'
'Are you - er - leaving the mountain now?'
'Oh I've been up there so long, you know, I feel the need for a rest. It'll be nice to get down in the green again for a bit.'
'Hmm. Things going all right?'
'Not too badly.'
'Everybody all right?'
'More or less.'
'It'd be a pity if they didn't climb it this time.'
'A shame, a great shame. Still, there's always the French.'
'Well,' said Jackson.
'Ho ha!' said I.
And with a shake of the hand and a twisted smile at each other we parted...'
Morris writes beautifully of the pure elation felt when the mountain is successfully climbed; and yet, there is also sadness at the end of the book when she talks of the modern commercialisation of mountaineering. She comes across as a modest and honourable person, and it is these qualities with which she characterises that famous expedition: 'still that first ascent of 1953 remains, to my mind, one of the most honourable and innocent of the great adventures. It has not been diminished by the passing years. Mount Everest is littered now with the corpses of mountaineers of many nationalities, but not one of them lost their lives in 1953. None of the climbers vulgarly exploited their celebrity in the aftermath of success, and some of them have devoted their later years to the welfare of the Sherpa people. I thought them very decent men when I first met them, and essentially decent they remained.'
A wonderful read, highly recommended.