Harsh news; as it always when somebody dies too soon, whoever they are.
I'll be honest, I'd never even heard of the guy before now, not being a mountaineer or particularly following mountaineering (though I have much respect for mountaineers)....but a dreadful shame to see a fellow Hereford boy turned Sheffielder like myself going out like this - and condolences to all his people and to those of Julie Colverd who died alongside him.
R.I.P.
Somebody posted this version of a W.H. Auden's "Funeral Blues" on rocktalk, and I thought it was a touching tribute:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the Stanage boulderers wear black cotton gloves.
He was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song,
We thought that he would last for ever: it seems we were wrong.
The mountains are not wanted now: pull down every one;
Pack up the axes and throw away the rack,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
