IT was just before midnight that I blundered into College, cheerily singing an ode to that immortal of hunters, Dinah? and surreptitiously swinging my Don Whillans near my feet, in the fond belief that it would not arouse the curiosity of the porter. Evidently the words of my ditty jarred his sobriety somewhat, because as I lurched towards Postumus’ abode I was pursued by a rattle of keys. I overstepped the staircase. turned round the corner and sank into the shadows – these were very prickly. The keys stopped, vaguely searched the court and finding nothing, retired to their hook with a snort. I slipped back to Postumus’ rooms, put a record on, sat down and allowed the haze of an evening’s port to drift over my consciousness...
P – duly arrived and set to work straightening some pegs on my head. I woke up. We sat it out until 2 a.m., knocking back the remains of the port and enjoying Bach.
As the clocks chimed we conspiratorially pulled on our P.A.’s and whilst I searched for rope and runners, P – donned the rest of his outfit. I turned to see what I first considered to be St. Michael, come down to chat to me about sins and such things. In fact, on closer examination, it turned out to be P – adorned in fluorescent red anorak and white crash-hat. As he refused to change, we soon found ourselves stealing furtively out of College, St. Michael and his shadow, over a wall and gliding across lawns to the main road.
It was at 2.05 a.m. that Postumus first began to have doubts about his attire. "Oh Cassius," quoth he, "can one not reasonably expect that at this generous hour sober citizens will be in bed asleep, and the main road devoid of life and light?" Alas, whatever the logical mind were to suppose, the area surrounding our objective – the East face of the University Press Tower – bore a closer relationship to Oxford Circus than to the graveyard we had yearned for. Further, it was brilliantly illuminated.
We flitted past our "intended" to take refuge in the shadows on the North side of the building. Both my glowing friend and I were becoming apprehensive. A don appeared out of the gloom and we did the opposite. Trusting to luck we walked back to the main door, each of us to our allocated side and climbed quickly into the saintless niche where we paused to contemplate the delights of the subsequent ten feet or so. During these few seconds a car passed – nothing extraordinary about this as they were doing so with disturbing frequency. This car, however, distinguished itself from its fellows by not continuing its intended course. It stopped and undertook a series of operations which I will charitably describe as reversing. Two heads appeared at the window, whilst we posed as saints in our respective alcoves, prepared for an unsaintly bunk.
"Good luck," came a hearty shout, and no sooner said than the car roared off with its handbrake on. This was rectified and it roared off more effectively.
We continued our respective routes up to the bottom of the Bay Window and P – then traversed left to reach my side. Installed in comfort at this point. we undid the rope and found a belay. Although P – had already attempted this face before it remained virgin, so I generously offered him the possibility of revenge. My real reason for granting him this pleasure may be apparent to those who survey the S.E. facet of the Bay Window. The ledges slope somewhat and the denticles, strung like so many stone beads between the mullions, are soft enough to eat. P – went up and paused half way to arrange protection on these little teeth; an action which reminded me forcibly of an occasion when I grabbed a tuft of grass, tied a knot in it and threaded a runner through the same.
Ten minutes later I pulled over the overhang at the top of the window to join Postumus on his stance. Here we discussed the joys of the pitch to come, which he hastened to remind me was the occasion for a lob on his first attempt. This occurred whilst surmounting the small pinnacle which stands on the right buttress, and thus provides an excellent mantelshelf without which the charms of the climb would be incomplete. Before doing this the crux must be overcome. From the right hand side of the ledge on top of the Bay Window one steps down and across six feet of blank wall to a small hold on the right buttress of the tower. There is nothing to support the climber on this move until his foot is on the requisite little charmer, which is a good way above the ground and not so loftily above suspicion.
P – leapt up the climb with enthusiasm whilst I sat belaying him, invoking the gods and contemplating sanity. The sky was already brighter and the heavens were painted that washed-out grey of dawn. The exit at the top was proving tiresome and P – had not put a runner on in the last forty feet. The difficulty lay in persuading a packet of biscuits, which is camouflaged as a pinnacle at the top, that it should not unreasonably and malevolently break off when force was applied. Eventually he pulled out on the left so avoiding the delicate excrescence and leaving it for the admiration of tourists – a thoroughly commendable action. A whoop of joy descended and the rope was drawn in.
I tottered over to the right hand side of the window and contemplated the step across, cursing the fact that I had been sitting jammed between two ornaments as my right leg was now numb. Having decided that the move across was impossible and that there is no dishonour in failing in that sphere, I had a go at it. I performed the splits beautifully and just got my foot on the elusive thing on the right. At this point the gods chose to reply to my earlier blasphemous invocations by giving me cramp in the aforementioned foot, so I scuttled back to the top of the Bay.
Five minutes later, a rapidly approaching sunrise inspired a second attempt. It went – with a tight rope from above in case of failure. The rest of the buttress provided delightfully exposed climbing of technical interest, and the top was done direct with a delicacy that my comparative lack of weight afforded – the pinnacle behaved as it was told to.
Soon enough the sky filled with light and we made ourselves scarce, regretting only that the pubs were not open. It had been an interesting night.