Nigel 
August 24th,2009
The sun was setting and I heard a plane
The sun was setting as I walked along the verge of the A38 a few miles south of Bristol feeling anything but ship-shape. My mind felt dead,cold. My body was tense. I was hating being me there then.
I heard a plane fly overhead and stopped to stare at it with blank expression. That pilot was so lucky. Jealousy almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to cry. He was probably headed for Bristol Airport. He’d have a nice drink and then go home to a warm comfortable bed.
Gosh how I wished I could crawl into my own bed with a good book,and maybe just pull the sheet and blankets (no duvets in those days) over my head and sort of cease to exist.
It was probably the Easter holidays 1967. I was 17. The Queen’s Scout Award deadline was fast approaching,and I was near the end of completing several obligatory hiking expeditions. They were all with the same friend. In those days just two of you was considered fine,and there was no supervision. Each evening we would look for a convenient farm and ask if there was somewhere we could pitch our two man hike tent overnight. We were never turned away.
The tent had no fly sheet and no sewn in ground sheet. If it rained we were careful not to touch the canvas because then it might well drip. We cooked on a single small paraffin stove called a Primus. Our rucksacks were pear shaped with a poorly padded metal frame against our backs –state of the art in 1967.
We’d done a two day expedition up one side of the Wye Valley (near Bristol) to Tintern and back down the other side. Our challenge was to stay as close as possible to the river. Not easy. It was the last thing I wanted to be doing,though it hadn’t dawned on me I had started to suffer from chronic depression like my Dad. I took my ‘tranny’–a radio the size of a couple of bricks –and had it strapped to the top of my rucksack playing non-stop for two days. I just mooched along,mind as near neutral as possible,ignoring the scenery and trying to hide in the music. Must have driven my mate crazy but he never complained.
This time we were on a four day trip. The first night we got almost no sleep because the temperature dropped below freezing. That was how we learned that no matter how good your sleeping bag you need insulation underneath you. We called in at the local shop the next morning bleary eyed and keen to buy a bunch of newspapers.
The second night was on rough ground somewhere in the Mendip Hills. The grass was long and soft. We didn’t need the newspapers. I had a tattered paperback of Ian Fleming short stories I’d bought in a secondhand bookshop on Christmas Steps. While my friend cooked the meal I read. With bad grace I stopped reading to eat and then wash up in the stream. Then I hid in my sleeping bag and used a torch to read until I was so tired I was sure I’d sleep. Actually I enjoyed the book. Weird.
This,by the A38 underneath an aircraft headed for home, was our third night.
We were a matter of yards from the bus stop. We’d done all the walking. Trouble was it had to be three nights. I wanted to be home.
But actually it was a fantastic experience and has left permanent memories of rural Somerset,of being self-sufficient for three nights,of coping and finding our way with just a map and compass. I gained an immense amount from it. Finishing the Queen’s Scout Award before I was too old was tough but I did it and I’m really glad. It gave me experiences I would otherwise have been able to avoid,and I would have been worse for missing them –yes,even a sleepless night on frozen ground.
Did it matter that I was badly depressed much of the time? Not really. It helped me start the long,long process of learning to just keep going as much as I can with a normal life. Yes of course it ripped some of the joy out of experiences,but not all of it. By just getting on with things like that I also found myself unexpectedly not depressed during some of the activities,and that was incredible –except,and you may find this hard to believe,it’s the times I had to fight depression that I remember with greatest warmth. Guess I’m mad. Well,there you go.
And did you spot the picture was no way taken in 1967?
