the brave die more than once

 

Christa McAuliffe, from Concord, New Hampshire, was one of seven crew members who died when the space craft carrying them and the shuttle Challenger exploded soon after taking off on January 28, 1986. Christa was 37 years of age. In 2004 she was posthumously awarded the Congressional Space Medal of Honour.

Christa was a brave human being who unselfishly gave her life for something she believed in and for a cause designed to help our understanding of our planet.

So why now, why should I put this piece together today? Well, many reasons really. 

It is important to remember brave, unselfish people. Particularly at this time when the world is awash with greed, more than greed; avarice and people who are at the opposite end of the brave spectrum from Christa.

When our world brimming over with blame and people sitting in judgement who have no idea about bravery and risk taking. People who, if things do not change, will shut us down. While these people rule, the chances of putting another foot on the moon is not even a dream.

I had a concern that by allowing the very thought of such people on the same page as Christa would somehow tarnishes her memory. But you know, it won't, she was in a different universe really and those with an ounce of humanity and decency will understand. It can only enhance her memory.

What follows is beautiful, sensitive prose and I think so fitting for what happened that terrible day in 1986 and penned by a person more articulate than most could ever aspire to, well certainly me; Nancy Banks-Smith:

'The President was not watching television. There is, it seems no set in the Oval Office, so he went to his study where there is one.

The parents of Christa McAuliffe weren’t watching television either. Their faces turned blankly to the sky. Her mother’s mouth was working away all the time. Her father’s fell open and, full of teeth, seemed to smile. Then he looked down at the people in front of them in a puzzled, questioning way.

Life and death are less confusing on television. People explain in detail. In slow motion.

I thought the brave died only once, but it isn’t so. Newsnight, among others, worried away at it.

I think they forgot how it hurts.

The picture of that parachute, small as a dandelion seed, keeps drifting through the mind. It meant nothing.

They kept explaining it meant nothing, but it looked like hope.'

Nancy Banks-Smith was and may still be a television critic in the UK, she began writing for the Guardian in 1969. She declined an OBE in 1970.

roger payne

I was shocked and saddened to hear of the death of Roger Payne earlier this week. He was caught in an avalanche on the slopes of Mont Maudit in the Mont Blanc massif.

I first met Roger Payne in 1987 in La Dahu hotel in the village of Argentiere, a small alpine village between Chamonix and the Swiss border. I was with a group of climbers and it was the eve of our departure of what was to be a memorable high altitude crossing of the Alps. Roger dined and took refreshment with us. He was there to assist our guide for the trip, Iain Peters. They were both Alpine guides and obviously very good friends. My memory of Roger that night, apart from a strikingly handsome young man, was of his humour and obvious love of life. Roger and Iain turned our meal into a competition.  We were eating 'Raclette', a local dish of boiled potatoes, cold meat, gherkins all of which were served in separate dishes. The plate was served up with Raclette cheese melted on it. When the cheese was eaten the waitress removed the plate and returned it with another helping of the melted cheese. She would repeat that every time. The rules were easy; see how many times they could get the waitress to take away their plates and return with melted cheese on it. I gave up counting when they had reached fourteen fillings. Next day we set out on our adventure with Iain whilst Roger drove our spare clothing to Zermatt where we would meet him some ten days or so later. We duly met up and enjoyed a good night in the 'highspots' of Zermatt. A night that included getting thrown out of one establishment after getting into a 'heated' debate with a group of German climbers. Roger and I, in the company of another, who I will not identify, became separated from our party then, despite valiant efforts, failed to hijack an electric car to transport ourselves to a disco. We got there despite our lack of mechanical aptitude. We were only borrowing it.
No doubt and rightly, many will recall great mountain achievements and so they should. In recalling these silly wee moments mentioned above it is my intention to evidence that Roger was not only a truly great mountaineer and guide but also a seriously good person who was so much fun to be around.

Roger on right at vallot refuge (I am seated)

I next met Roger in the late August of 1988, again in Argentiere and again in the Dahu. We dined again but did not eat all the cheese. On that trip Roger was to guide three of us up Mont Blanc. We spent a week together when Roger tested us out on steep ground and at height. Two of his 'test' areas being the Petit Aguille Verte and the Merdis Glas, the latter to allow him to watch our ice axe and crampon work on seriously steep bits of ice. Roger was very professional and thorough, although his 'gamp' slung across his rucksack made him look like a city gent heading for the underground. Roger seemed happy with our progress and so next stop was Mont Blanc. Roger took us up by the central route, roughly following the first ascent route of Balmat and Paccard . I hope I can be forgiven at this difficult time from recalling a prophetic phrase Roger used once we were on the summit. He said, 'hurry up and get your photographs then lets get down before the bastard kills us.' I had heard the same phrase uttered by Iain Peter on another Alpine peak some months before. Then we got down and over the next couple of days indulged in some rock climbing and bouldering in the Chamonix area.
My only other involvement with Roger was a few years later when seeking his advice on climbing wall construction. Roger was in the British Mountaineering Council then, if I remember correctly in the position of Technical Officer.
There has been a lot said and written about Roger since his tragic death, by 'real' climbers and friends of Roger. I would love to have been his friend, however I was only a client, never a 'real' climber. I feel it important however to put a clients thoughts on paper. I might only have been a client but it seemed not to matter to Roger one little bit, he had such an enthusiasm for life and an understanding of people that his whole being simply radiated friendship and whilst hardly knowing him, he made me feel special, he made me feel I could be a mountaineer, he made me feel that we were friends and despite our seriously short history together I have always regarded him as a friend.
I cried when I heard of his death. Roger Payne was indestructible, his love of life brimmed over, he was the real deal. He gave so much in a world where most cannot give for taking.
I will never forget you Roger, you will never understand what you did for me.
My thoughts go out to your wife and loved ones, I am saddened by their loss.

andy murray

Andy Murray is a good tennis player. That's wrong. Andy Murray is not a good tennis player, he is a world class tennis player, one of the very best and without question the best British male tennis player there has ever been. He is Scottish and he possesses traits that spring directly from his Scottish upbringing, traits that have been developed to a large extent by his Scottish peers and through spending his formative years in a Scottish environment. By the way, that does not make him better than anyone else.

One obvious element in his personality is a level of thrawness coupled to a dry and keen sense of humour. A state that some in his own country and many outwith his own country, particularly in England, find difficult to understand. One may also suggest that he displays all the hallmarks of having a Presbyterian work ethic. He is, for want of a better expression, a nice young man and a credit to himself and his parents.

He obviously has difficulty with puerile and particularly banal questions put to him by journalists. Journalists who seem to get off by asking inane questions, designed in the most part to illicit some controversial response or even to make themselves look 'clever', all for their own self aggrandisement. Some of the questioners could barely hold a racket, never mind return a serve with one.

Then, to make matters worse, they, the same media persons and journalists, talk about the added pressure that playing at Wimbledon must bring to British players. Then charge ahead and stir up that very pressure. You know, they are selfish to the core. All they care about is how they can look good on the back of someone else.

Andy Murray had a great Wimbledon this year, losing to probably the best tennis player there has ever been. He got tearful during the presentation phase after the match. Then the media decided because he wept he showed humility; ergo, he must be a good guy. Why? Are you all so great that he needs to break down in front of you to be 'accepted'. The height of arrogance. The tainted media is in no position to judge. He owes you nothing.

Andy Murray was a good guy before you even knew about him. He is still a good guy. He is also a person, an individual, who has no need to justify himself to any of you. Despite all the new 'well wishers', who only a few weeks ago had no time for him, referring to him as a choker and in some cases saying he was arrogant. You shortsighted shallow people. You deserve your hollow little lives.

I for one will continue to follow his career and will always wish him good luck. Not for the purpose of trying to reflect in his glow or somehow live my life through his success, no, I have to much respect for the young man. He may well win a Grand Slam, he might not, neither will be a factor in whether or not I respect him.