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| According to the late American philosopher,Joseph Campbell,we all need heroes.Just what makes a hero and generates unrequited veneration is rather harder to define.Obviously the determination of a hero is shaped by those myriad social and cultural factors which determine our characters.As self evident as this is,what is less |
| understandable is the complex way heroism subliminally filters its way into our subconcious state and is lodged,more often for a lifetime as an important element of who we are. That's not to say that Heroism cannot fall like a sledgehammer at times.How many middle aged Americans found their instant heroes when The Beatles played The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 ....? For most of us though,Heroism usually creeps up from behind before settling gently into our psyche. Personally,I have collected a motley,disparate band of heroes in my time.Musicians,politicians,writers, artists,footballers,climbers.Usually,but not exclusively,they stand in their particular field outside of the stockade as Britain's finest mountain writer,Jim Perrin puts it.Free spirits ploughing their own furrows;unafraid to scandalise and outrage the editorial writers at The Daily Mail. Quite often these individuals display a dark, self destructive streak which personally,I find infinitely more attractive than some saintly soul ! Have you ever played the celestial banquet game in your head ? You invite half a dozen of your heroes-living or dead-to a soiree and imagine the conversation which would eminate from such a disparate,rag-bag of individuals............. Don Whillans impatiently waiting for George Orwell to finish his tubercular coughing fit before continuing his account of the early days of the Rock & Ice club.Brendan Behan trying to drink Dylan Thomas under the table;Che Guevara blowing cigar smoke into the chubby face of Coleridge. How about Jimi Hendrix and Bill Peascod comparing the the rainfall in Seattle with Buttermere ? Of the above mentioned heroes of mine,I expect only Bill Peascod stands out for his mere ordinariness.A small,chuckling figure wearing that ridiculous hat and worn orange fleece on the cover of Journey after dawn.I remember his stage managed arrival at Gatesgarth on that clattery old bike,circa 1938,during the filming of Lakeland Rock. Sir Christian de Banknote over egging the awe pie as usual. Another hat this time.A tasty little lid which looked as if it had been half inched from the local abbatoir ! Our Bill liked bad hats........ Jumping from his iron steed,hemp rope coiled around his neck,breeches and jacket coloured to blend in with the impending weather front,Bill and Chris marched off towards Birkness Combe,Bill still pushing his bike.Thank God the theatricals stopped short of making him push his old bike all the way up to Eagle Front !It was bad enough they made him set off up the greasy first pitch in old Woolies' plimsoles. When he reached the first stance he refused to play the game any longer.Off came the plimsoles and hemp rope,on went the rock boots and kernmantles. Later on in the film Bill struggles up the dank,vegetated rock,condemning his most famous climb as a shitty pile of crud........Well,self deprication can be part of the heroic condition ! I suppose it was after reading Journey after dawn that I began to identify with Bill Peascod.A working class coal miner who had found his own high heaven amongst his native peaks of Cumbria.Discoverng for himself the path which leds beyond the hum-drun world of materialism and useless toil,of externally defined stats and values,beyond the narrow human conditioning which stamps each an every one of us with a predisposition to accept our lot uncomplainingly. Quite clearly,here was a man who could differenciate between a shitty pile of crud and a life less ordinary. Here was a true aesthete who could look upon somewhere like Buckstone How and not see,as another Lakeland climbing hero,Bill Birkett,had seen,a tottering,vegetated ruin,but had discerned Cleopatra,Honister Wall,and Sinister Grooves held within the grey,viridian flecked maw. |
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| Also experience lends weight to the arguement that those darker,self destructive individuals are more likely to command devotion and attention than optimistic,self confident individuals.In this Bill Peascod appears to depart from the norm in that he appeared as an exceptionally confident and sunny character. So..underneath the cheerful bonhomie was Bill Peascod confronting his own demons ? I would say undoubtably yes.No one could have done the job that he did as a coal miner without carrying the burden of doubt and uncertainty as to whether or not each working day would be his last.As someone involved in mine rescue he witnessed at first hand harrowing scenes of death and destruction,in one instance on a massive scale.Climbing and being in the empty Fells of northern Cumbria,must have been a tremendous release from the stresses and strains of daily life. The dark inner landscape of his fears could not have failed to shape him as an artist and climber.Creativity is not usually hewn from a life of comfort and conformity,rather it is the stuff of our atavistic inner selves......darkly drawn |
| A man who taught himself to paint,mining images of his native land in blistering oils and acrylics when in self imposed exile in Australia. The technical definition of a hero according to Collins concise dictionary of the English language is........... 1) A man distinguished by exceptional courage and nobility 2)A man who is idealized for possessing superior qualities in any field 3) A being of extraordinary strength and courage,often the offspring of a mortal or God......... I suppose Bill falls into the middle catagory by virtue of his skill,instinct and fearless approach to climbing compared to most of his contemporaries of the time.However,exceptional qualities in any given field can never be the whole story.A genuine hero usually needs to display a fair amount of modesty to be liked and respected.The Muhammad Ali ,I am the greatest ,usually grates rather than attracts although Ali himself is of course the exception.. |
| Bill Peascod on the final pitch of Eagle Front.. |
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| Journeyman |
| Buttermere,Cumbria,England: |
| Journey after Bill....... an extract |
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