TEAM: 2/Lt W. Crowe, O/Cdt R. Oliphant, CSM J. Archdale, Sgt D. Hillman, Cpl M. Ormiston, Ptes B. Bolland, M. Felstead, C. Granger, Drivers, Ptes I. King and H. Towner.

The competition was a race from the bases of Snowdon, Scafell and Worcestershire Beacon to their summits and down again

We arrived at the camp site at about 02.00 in the morning. All except Barry Bolland and myself slept in the Rover. But during the night I moved back into it, which caused confusion for Barry in the morning - he thought we had gone without him. Breakfast was had by all and was followed by a Mark 5 field wash. Mr. Oliphant will demonstrate.

After we had cleaned up, we moved to the start-point. Harry Towner parked the Rover and then, to his amazement, had to pay 30 pence parking fee. So with this formality over we lined up ready to start ... The Climb!

Go! and we were off, running away from the start line like 100 metre men darting from their blocks. However, after 50 metres the pace dropped to the usual London Scottish, "Jog, moan, groan, mumble, complain", trot. The mountain went up and up and the geriatrics went on with the sun burning our backs and the sight of harder gradients to come. The view was fantastic but poor Barry didn't have time to look. He was using all the energy he had trying to put one foot in front of the other. At last, after much swearing, we reached the top. There we found the SAS in charge. Pausing for a picture, we started back down with much more enthusiasm. At last we reached the end, thank God for that.

"Shall we go up again?" I asked.

"How would you like to dent your chin on my fist?" replied Barry.

"Oh", I said, and retired hurt to an awaiting can of McEwans. No sign of any Courage beer.

After we had recovered we made our way, via two pubs, and one bounce of the kerb, to the Sgt-Major's house. This was the base for the next assault, on the following day.

On arrival, we washed and cleaned our boots, after which I was let loose on the kitchen. Here I prepared the meal using every pot and pan Mrs Archdale had. I don't think she had seen anything like it before. We ate and then retired to the sitting-room leaving Mr Oliphant and Harry to do the washing up.

Just as we finished, sorry, just as they finished, the second team arrived. The poor chaps looked quite worn out. The sat (fell) down, and I got on preparing the same meal again.

"Bung it all in", said Cpl Ormiston, referring to their box of food.

"Leave off - Mark", I replied. "What you going to do then?"

"Casserole mince with mash and carrots, followed by rice, then tea, right, ok, right".

"Sounds fair enough", he said, and left me to it.

From yonder came the wailing voice of Sgt Hillman, "Don't curry it!"

"Shame", said Martin Felstead.

Scafell memories
We reached the Kendal turnoff about midnight, and then drove along the narrow winding roads of the Lake District towards our objective. Some had managed to doze en-route, but the journey was beginning to have its effect. After a hair-raising drive over the steep hairpin bends of Hard Knot Pass we arrived at Wasdale Water at 03.00 hours where we had planned to rest before the "assault of Everest". It was bitterly cold, with the wind whipping up the spray from the loch (for Anglo's read "lake") and carrying it well over the shore road. The main preoccupation was to get some sleep, and Cpl Ormiston disappeared into the night and it was not until morning that he was spotted some 50 yards away - a motionless log wrapped in the latest survival bags and other modern accoutrements. 2/Lt Crowe baled out of the vehicle and slept in the trailer with the tarp well tied down by a willing aid. The remaining three, Sgt Hillman, Pte Felstead and the driver, Pte King, somehow arranged themselves in their cramped conditions inside the Rover.

We woke at 07.00, to the bleakness of the surrounding countryside and the icy wind, had breakfast, and moved to the start. The weather conditions on the hill were difficult and it was uncertain whether it would get better or worse, so we had to move off quickly.

At first the going was comfortable, but soon we reached a steep spur which drained much of our energy. Further on, we encountered the snow line, about 1,000 feet from the summit. The gusts of wind whipped loose snow and swept stinging crystals across the hillside. At patches the snow was so soft that we sank up to our tired knees in it. We couldn't rest for long - this was a race!

The signs of fatigue were evident and willpower had to combat the strength of the wind which faced us. Cpl Ormiston had his glasses blown from his face, whither by accident or design we didn't know - was he caving in and looking for an excuse? - but a quick recall that he wears specs for cosmetic reasons decided the issue, and we left the lost lens. Sgt Hillman had to be denied his own remedy for fatigue - a drag, and received a lecture on the adverse effects of smoking on fitness. Pte Felstead, the best dressed member of the team in his fluorescent gaiters, plodded on despite his conviction that he was about to have a heart attack. 2/Lt Crowe, having boasted of his days as a shepherd and climbing mountains before breakfast, was no longer as fleet of foot either. But at last - the Summit, where the SAS were manning the checkpoint.

Being recognised by the SAS as The Scottish, there was an immediate enquiry about any refreshments which, by chance, we would be carrying. But seriously, we didn't have a dram between us!, and I don't think the SAS believed us either. So we, unwittingly, probably confirmed their opinions of the Scottish character.

Piper King greeted us with a can of beer, a tune on his chanter, soup and a hearty, well-earned meal.

After an early night in the comfort of the Archdale family seat (the settee), we arose to breakfast and to observe the CSM taking a cup of tea up to his wife - all other orders from the guests for tea were ignored.

We bid farewell and thanks to Mrs Archdale for putting up with all of us; and not to forget, the hen, the guinea fowl, the cats and other fauna which had been subjected to the occupation by The Scottish.

At the start of the next climb, again it was noticeable that the smokers were lagging, whereupon the CSM fell back and lectured to the foolish individuals, not only that smoking was "a filthy, disgusting habit", but that it was also "bad for one's health".  O/Cdt Oliphant, who was energetically bounding ahead like a deer, was held up as the epitome of a pure, untainted, athletic example!? The summit of the Beacon secured, and our cockerel collected, we hared down to the finish in a good time, despite the wet and slippery ground.

We arrived back at Duke of York's, London, to be greeted by the rest of the Coy and to be played in by our piper. The results showed that we were 13th out of 24 teams, but with a good effort. Our popularity with the Coy was restored when we went into the Mess to partake of Courage's hospitality - they all joined us.

Well, we didn't win, but we came away with an enjoyable experience, and a feat which few people would even contemplate. It was mad, but worth it!