Southend U3A

April 2023

The Walk - Malcolm Fyfe

A watery sun, partially obscured by partial cloud, was lighting up the corners of the valley. Inside the kitchen of the farmhouse the children excitedly laughed as they got ready for the promised day out. I wondered what our family friend, Hans Rhudi, had up his sleeve with much poring over local maps the evening before.

My enquiries over home brewed schnapps and coffee as to what he had in mind were met with a smile and wave of his pipe in our direction. ‘I have it worked out.’

Now that slightly concerned me, as Hans Rhudi was known for his rather mischievous way of testing people to see what they’re made of, probably a habit from his army days.

I noticed a passing smirk between Marcus and Elizabeth quickly stifled at a glance from their father, ever the observant, to quieten any idea of concern in my mind.

Sitting on the Kitchen step, I tied my boot laces in anticipation of the planned walk in the valleys and slopes of the green pastures of Northern Switzerland.

A rustle and a thump and Hans Rhudi sat down beside me, raised his head and sniffed like a bearded hound, ‘the fohen is coming, better weather (The Swiss name for a wind from the north that can better bring milder weather).

A sound of a squabble, breaking out behind us between his youngsters Markus and Elizabet, brought a bark of fatherly command from Hans Rhudi, silence, the inimitable discipline of an of an old-fashioned Swiss family still in evidence.

My youngsters, Jon and Jennifer, appeared. I had a smile as these apparitions appeared kitted out on walking boots thick long socks, knee length buckled moleskin trousers, padded jackets and multi coloured hand knitted hats. Each carrying a walking stick and a small rucksack.

‘We go now,’ was the instruction and we set off.

We had met at the Eisteddfod, the international music festival held in Wales and was, over time, to join them on their various holidays in England.

They had extended an invitation to stay with them for a holiday in their home in the Bernese Oberland long walks and the occasional horse rides through the woods – spectacular.

So to our walk.

My problem is heights, it was said my old man got dizzy on top of a London bus, what a legacy. I don’t do ladders and the thought of mountains is a ‘no thank you’.

Hans Rhudi had been amused by my protestations of not been born with a plank of wood on each foot with the intention of throwing myself down a slippery slope. He was being part of an alpine rescue team and served in the reserve Alpine Corp.

Higher and higher we went, below us cows grazed on the sweet green grass. their neck bells sounding as they moved gently around the pastures.

Pausing for a snack, we chatted, me with one eye on the drop we didn’t need to carry a drink as the melt spring water running down the side rocks was pure and refreshingly cold.

The going became a little harder, my calves beginning to ache, was intrigued as Hans Rhudi called my youngster in from their capering. ‘Come a minute please. Now on these walks we go steady not like skippy goats.’ Jon laughed, ‘See here,’ Hans Rhudi put his arms around their shoulders and the three set off in a steady pace. ‘See, count one two, one two, use your waking sticks to count. That’s better, do that and you’ll soon be there.’

We skirted a massive outcrop of granite and started up a gravel strewn rocky slope, one side leading away to the Grindelwald.

The path stretched. Gradually rising, I was aware of the increasing drop on one side and hugged the wall to my left.

A ringing of bells sounded some way ahead and Hans Rhudi motioned for us to stand by the wall. Shortly a flock of goats appeared, their driver a lad of around fifteen or so, unconcernedly walking along the edge of the path giving the slower one a little push to get them along the downward slope.

As he passed, he grinned calling out the usual friendly greeting of ‘gruezi, ‘gruezi, waving his stick in greeting – the usual greeting to strangers, a small act of courtesy quite common in Switzerland.

Hans Rhudi caught my expression of concern for the lad walking along the edge of what was now a serious drop now several hundred feet at a guess. ‘He’s used to it, we are mountain people, the Alps are places we visit regularly.’

The path was narrowing, sloping away and covered in loose scree. I noticed Hans Rhudi had closed on me encouragingly saying, ‘Just look up, breathe slowly, use your stick for support.’ Perhaps naturally the youngsters were hugging the wall, not much chatter as they concentrated on placing their feet carefully.

Suddenly the sound of an aircraft engine with a small yellow plane attached to it flew along the valley so close that even the pilot was visible, sitting close enough to see his sunglasses on his forehead.

‘Bit low, isn’t it?’ I called out.

‘No, he’s coming into a landing strip further up the valley, the farmers use it to check their animals up in the higher passes.’

That’s progress I suppose, suddenly needing to examine some tiny plants clinging to minute cracks in the rocky wall.

A touch on my back. ‘Well done. A little further and we will be there.’ I looked at my watch and was surprised, three hours had gone by.

The path opened up to a flattened area with some wooden buildings near a clump of trees. Gratefully we sat or in my case flopped down for a breather.

Hans Rhudi smiled. ‘It’s good to face these things, makes us stronger,’ giving me a clap on the shoulder that nearly flattened me.

‘You all did well.’ My youngsters seeming to glow in the compliment.

Suddenly a question in my mind surfaced at that point. ‘We don’t have to walk that path again?’

‘No, we don’t. Another little surprise for you.’

Wearily, ‘Ok, what now?’

Hans Rhudi opened his mouth to reply when an excited shout form my youngsters calling out in unison, ‘Dad look, it’s a cable car. Is that the way down?’

‘Yes,’ was the reply.

So, with reluctance and too weary to resist, I was led to my doom but I must admit it was spectacular, even if I had my eyes shut for some of the time.

A walk I shan’t forget.