Gents

I am reminded of a story told to me one late evening/early morning in the Squirrel and Truncheon by Digby Hill, one of our members and the only non-Dutch member of the Dutch Army expedition to climb the Havelterberg.

Digby told me this under strict secrecy and the influence of alcohol but I DO believe him and why would he lie? Digby was at odds with the British Army. He had joined his local infantry regiment, The Northumberland and Cornwall Light Infantry who because of their recruitment policy, promised him much travel. After his basic training, he was posted to the 1^st Battalion in Otterburn with accommodation in Truro but the daily commute was becoming too much for him. He then decided to try for either the AAC or the ACC but on the induction, got them mixed up and knocked up a mean Eggs Benedict when he should be showing off his basic knowledge of the theory of flight and his intimate knowledge of a cyclic stick cut no ice with the catering adjudicators.

So despondent and still confused, he left the army and headed for France to join the French Foreign Legion. He was accepted but as most in the FFL are there to forget, Digby forgot to be at the rendezvous time at the correct time and the FFL forgot about him as well. He wandered Europe searching for some military satisfaction and found himself in Amsterdam. Actually, somebody else found him but did in fact save his life as he almost drank some of the water in a canal as he had tried to find the basement in a houseboat and almost drowned. Unfortunately or fortunately for him, he caught a severe head cold and a sinus infection and when he spoke, it sounded as though he was constantly clearing his throat. Hearing this, everybody thought he was speaking Dutch, as he was still a bit catarrhal. Without realizing it, Digby found himself in the Dutch Army and was sent to Havelte in Drenthe to start his training. Unbeknown to him, his name had been changed from Digby Hill to Cees Van Der Laagberg, which is why he never responded to his name or not to start with.

The training went well or it did for those who could speak Dutch but Digby or should I say Cees was learning fast. Evenings were generally free though they did have to pay for weekends off but Cees and his fellow soldiers would sit in the Heineken Centre, next to the Grolsch Cookhouse and thank their lucky stars that they weren’t on duty in the Oranjeboom Guardroom. They also wondered why they drank so much beer but nobody had a clue, so they just popped another Grolsch and talked of things that squaddies worldwide talk of, sex, drugs, rock and roll and mountain climbing.

The Netherlands is not famed for its mountains and the highest point is only about 300 metres and that’s way down south in Limburg but there was one mountain, in Drenthe that still fascinated mountaineers worldwide, the Havelterberg. Never climbed, its summit masked by cloud, many had tried and many had failed. It was the highpoint on a ridge that stuck up from the flat Drenthe countryside and it had to be climbed as it was there. Cees had never had any experience in mountain climbing and even got a nosebleed when climbing a rope in the gym at Otterburn but he was up for a challenge, especially after the eighth Grolsch.

They approached a senior officer but he just cleared his throat and coughed which Cees later found out was his name but they were not deterred and found an even more senior officer who gave them the go ahead for the expedition. A team was assembled but as there were bits missing, they ignored them and picked their own men from the rank and file of the Dutch Army. Incidentally, ‘file’ means ‘queue’ in Dutch and there was a queue of people trying to avoid being volunteered for the expedition. The roads were jammed for hours as people sought sanctuary in other parts of the Netherlands. Havelterberg had a reputation and was something to be feared especially if Cees was going on the expedition.

So the team met in a small room in the Palm Cinema and Cees showed a film he had found about the Havelterberg. They were interested but suggested they would see more if the film was put on a projector, so Cees obliged, as well as putting the film on a projector. They watched the film in silence because talking wasn’t allowed in the cinema but after the film had finished and they had finished off the choc-ices, they sat around discussing the equipment they would need. Cees suggested oxygen but another mentioned the fact that getting a hose that long would be difficult so they binned that idea. Another suggested tampons but it was decided to go at the RIGHT time of the month so they wouldn’t be necessary. Another had got confused as he had ordered carbines for all but they came in handy during the duck hunting much later so not entirely wasted.

So all their plans came to Fruition, actually Jos Van Der Fruition who would have the final say of whether they went or not. He checked their plans, he checked their equipment, which was very time consuming and involved much touching of toes with your pants and trousers round your ankles but finally he was ready to make the decision. He told the assembled throng and one assembled thong as it takes all sorts and not just liquorice, that the word was go, the light was green and they were to go in a couple of days, weather permitting as they needed backup before everybody shutdown for their summer holidays. The union had been informed and the rep had said as long as he could still watch the friendly between Ajax and PSV, he had no objections either.

So came the day. The team of four stood outside the Brand Reception Centre kitted out to the eyeballs with all their kit in front of them. They had hoped for a team of Sherpas to assist them but as British Leyland no longer existed and hadn’t made Sherpas for years, a couple of Merc vans were fine. Their kit was loaded and after umpteen farewell drinks, so were they but they set off regardless to the Base Camp at the foot of the Havelterberg. They looked up at the dreaded Havelterberg and one of the team had to receive medical attention as he got a bit of grit in his eye. That’ll teach him to pee behind the Merc van. The summit of the dreaded mountain wasn’t visible but then facing the right way they saw it through the clouds.

Cees took a deep breath and crossed himself. He wasn’t a Catholic but the bloody rope was rubbing his nipple red raw. He took a deep breath and roped to the others, he put his left foot on the mountain. Picking himself up as he had been standing on one leg and had fallen over, they started the ascent proper. He found himself gasping for breath but smoking forty a day doesn’t help and the altitude was taking its toll. Foot by foot or as they were in the Netherlands, metre by metre, they headed slowly onwards and upwards. One lost his footing but the rope saved him and one lost his Zippo lighter but he did pick it up on the way back down which sort of ruins the surprise a bit. It was getting colder the higher they got and they hoped the weather would hold. The rain whistled in and for a minute they thought of making camp but the rain died down and they continued.

Cees knew they would have to reach the summit and get back down again before nightfall, as it was twice as expensive for the ticket after daylight hours. They only had a small budget left after the beer had been bought for the success or failure party depending on whether they actually made it or not. The mountain was littered with the equipment left behind after previous failed attempts, plastic garden chairs. picnic tables, disposable barbeques and several shopping trolleys mostly from the supermarket chain C1000. Cees didn’t know how far they’d come and he wasn’t sure how far they had to go. He checked the altimeter on his new Rollex watch and found out that it was high tide in IJmuiden but not a hint how high they were. And then suddenly there was no further to go, it couldn’t be the summit, so many had tried and so many failed but then the cloud lifted as if by magic and Cees saw the flat Drenthe countryside way below him stretching out for miles or kilometres.

The sun shone down on them and the wind dropped mainly as two of the four had followed through and weren’t even attempting another one. Cees planted the Dutch flag in a suitable spot and they stood and saluted it. He pulled out his camera and everybody happy snapped each other. They hugged each other but not too tightly except one so he just got a hand shake after that. They had been a bit suspicious but he could claim to have been the first to mince up the Havelterberg. He stood, hand on hip and posed for another photo but they were all too happy to care and they had left their prejudices at the bottom along with the food so they thought of the descent. Luckily nearby was an old bonnet off a Daf 66, so they all jumped on it and slid down to the foot of the mountain.

A crowd welcomed them but not so much when the Daf bonnet wiped half of them out but the free beer soon changed their minds. So rubbing legs and shins, the crowd joined in their celebrations. It was a hero’s welcome and they had deserved it. They had climbed the unclimbable and nobody had even been tempted to sing ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’. Fortunately not, as the Sound of Music is NOT a favourite in the Dutch Army. They all partied long into the night and there were some sore heads the following morning.

Even to this day, people in Havelte talk of the Englishman who went up a Hill and came down a Van Der Laagberg on a Daf bonnet. A monument was erected at the bottom of the mountain to celebrate the achievement of the four but unfortunately, it was vandalized after a Status Quo concert in Ruinerwold and was never replaced. The mountain is still there and has never been climbed since, many have tried but all have failed but the sheer magnitude of the Havelterberg has become the stuff of legend. You can still see it on a map to this day, Havelterberg, height 18,8m. It still frightens off experienced climbers to this day.

So another wondrous story from the anals of history and a highly respected member of 49 Para. Digby (Cees) went on to serve in the Dutch Army for many years until that trouble in a coffee shop but that’s another story.

Thank you

St John Walter (Corporal Retired)

Walter House

Walt-on-Thames

England