The Girlies Trip.
Translators
note. Due to the addition of
another Fran joining the Red Rose we have had a confusing time deciding who is talking to whom. When Fran first came to
the farm we were quick to find out that not only did she not eat meat, but she also ate no milk products.
When Neil (as in Pac—Man) asked her if she was a VOGAN it stuck. Therefore Fran Powell is Fran—Vogan and Fran Dike
is Fran—Veggie.
Pauline. We set off with great enthusiasm
in the knowledge that we had to succeed since we were the first
R.R.C.P.C girlies trip that we knew of.
Anne. Equipped with my natural sponge and Max-Factor
briefcase I felt up to the challenge.
Fran—Vogan. Mega! I was as warm as
toast and armed with my Tupper—ware collection. For the first time I felt that the
commission that I would make from selling this stuff, I would be able to pay
for a few beverages in the local tavern that
night.
Fran—Veggie. Having just four ascenders and berifit of
descenders I intended, so as not to disappoint my fellow sisters, that
I would lower myself down the abyss hand over hand. I was confident. (Thanks
Norbert.)
Next ………..
Pauline. We arrived at the pitch head having trudged for what seemed hours over
the fell. We free climbed the entrance shaft with great anticipation, regarding
the secrets that lay ahead of us……….
Disappointment loomed!
Fran—Vogan. Following close behind (as always...) groans of;
‘Flipping ‘eck’ and the sound of
Fran and Anne weeping inconsolably
as they flung their tools to the ground.
Fran—Veggie.
‘Some “BOYS” had sabotaged our expo’. There was a mole amongst our group
(de,de,de,deer ‘) I called an A. G.M. and of course I was the chair. We sat for
some considerable time, until Pauline said that she was cold (again!)
Anne. Fran—Veggie spent some desperate moments
clinging to the rock, reaching ( and crying) to no avail for two bolts on the
far wall, above the gaping chasm. Until Fran—Vogan cried out; “But there’s a
pitch down here.,” After a bit of group therapy we double rigged and descended
under the cascading waterfall. (Well it would have been if it had rained in the
last three months.)
Pauline. Not completely at ease, having never quite
seen anything of this nature before, I thought I was going to die. (again.) I
eventually got grip and launched my unwilling body over the edge of this huge
imposing black void, in complete and utter silence apart from the distant
dulcet tones of Anne and Fran’s melodic rendition of ‘The hills are alive......
Fran—Veggie. For once I felt confident without Charlie
and the boys useful comments such as; ‘Grip....Bloody women....oh no she’s
pre—menstrual again’. So I asked the novice rigger, Anne, to get a grip and rig
the flipping cave before Pauline gets cold again, and is in danger of dying..
(Again.)
Anne. I valiantly took the spanner in my hand — having
no knowledge of what lay ahead — the bloody carbide failed again (intermediate
technology). But — being ‘ard’, as the boys would say, I knew that I could ‘ack
it and proceeded to rig the second pitch, in the dark again. I traversed out on
minute ledges wedging my slim and agile body across the narrow ridge. Oblivious
of the thousands of metres drop below.
Fran—Vogan. Remembering the...last epic down this
particular route and the huge wobbler that I experienced on this traverse, I
got great confidence in Anne’s knitting, and thinking of the teashop they had
promised at the bottom; I think I did quite well.
Fran—Veggie. I decided to consult the expo doctor après
climbing hand over hand down the first pitch. The advice I got was; “I told you
I‘d go and buy a NEW descender on
plastic”. But I was sure that the plastic would have melted due to the friction
caused on my descent.
Anne. Having descended the second pitch (which I
rigged brilliantly) (how modest). We heard deep voices and thought: “get out
the Max—Factor brief—case and Tupperware — prospective customers!!’” I said to
Fran—Veggie; “Where’s the next bolt?” She told me that she didn’t have a flipping clue.. Huh, some leader. I
boldly traversed where many people had traversed before. I rigged the pitch
head, and was about to descend when Fran—Vogon said; “I can’t remember if I put
one or two knots in the end of the rope!” Fran—Veggie got the rope out to check
and we realised that it was not going to reach the bottom of the 13m pitch.
dejection — disappointment — unhappiness......
Pauline. I tried to look miserable at the trip
being called off but my enormous relief was too great to be hidden. Though I
still had to get out — or I would never see my be—loved again. The certainty of
death lay before me on my ascent. I thought to myself, “I’m the expo doctor,
they need
Next…...
Anne. Once the boys had disappeared, Pauline and I revved up and made
our way out of the cave, leaving the Frans to derig ‘everything’ (all two
pitches). They were ‘ard and knew they could ‘ack it.
Fran &
Fran. Whilst free climbing
an undiscovered l000m shaft in an unknown shakehole, once we had exited the
previous cave, I fell and twisted my ankle and had to climb up 8OOm with only
two arms, one leg, and my teeth. Luckily, when crossing the fell back to the
car, to seek medical aid from the expo doctor, we were able to pass through a
hole in the wall freshly made by someone climbing on it. (We know not who’ what
wanton destruction of our natural environment). On reaching the car cans of
larger were opened in celebration of our magnificent feat. The first girlies
trip, to our knowledge, had gone in history. Hurrah for the girls. Ban the
bomb. eat the rich. And — Viva le naturel sponge.
Special
thanks to our sponsors:
Max—Factor.
Tupperware prods
NB. Any
advertising is entirely unintentional.
Epilogue.
Whilst recording our memoirs we would like to announce the forthcoming
publication of: “The Discovery and Exploration of good Tea Shops in the dales”.
Their warmth and good service have contributed greatly to the furtherance of
our caving careers.
Cheers,
Fran, Fran,
Anne, Pauline.
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