BY E. C. RICHARDSON.
Reminiscences are boring things, even when they are very well done there is an atmosphere of condescension about them. The narrator always seems to imply that he is old and wise, that he has led a wonderful life, and that people would do well to listen carefully to what he has to say. This is always tedious, and often impertinent. I don’t want to write my reminiscences a bit, but Mr. Arnold Lunn says I must.
In the winter of 1895-6, my brother, C. W. R., and I thought we would like to go a-skating. We made enquiries about Holland, but were told that the skating possibilities of that country had been grossly overdrawn, and that as often as not, there was no ice there at all worth bothering about. So we thought we would go to Norway, for that country, we argued, being further north, must surely be colder.
In due course we arrived in Christiania, after a good bucketing about on a small steamer in the North Sea. We asked the hotel porter, or somebody, where the skating rink was, and were directed to the University. Here, after some searching, we found a small bit of flooded ground. It was covered with stones, and small boys were sliding about on it. Was this really the skating rink? Yes, it was. Was there not any other? No, there was not, unless, indeed, the fjord was frozen, when sometimes a bit of it was cleared. What should we do? Better go up to Holmenkollen, there was a pond there, and probably there would be ice on it. So up to Holmenkollen we went. There we found the pond all right, but there was a foot of snow on the ice, and nobody was making the smallest effort to clear it away.
In the meanwhile, however, we had heard about ski, and these we saw for the first time outside the old hotel. We also saw people going about on ski, and it looked as if it was good fun. So we sent to Christiania for a complete outfit.
My education in ski-ing was kindly undertaken by a young Danish lady, I forget who it was that tackled my brother. Anyway, the young Danish lady took me for a tour. She sailed off down the road, and then went off through the woods near a place where there is now a railway station. The rest of the story will be familiar to all beginners. I was duly humbled, but from that time on, skating was not thought about any more.
Another brother joined us later on – an elder brother – and you may bet we took it out of him! We all had cane bindings at first, but later on, the Huitfeld binding came out, and we got that. It was considered to be a very dangerous form of fastening, and only a very few people would look at it. We attended Holmenkoll meeting, and, of course, became bitten by jumping. About ten feet was as far as we got that year. Also we started Telemark swings. All turns were called Telemark swings in those days. But it was the Telemark, as now understood, that we practised. The Christiania we saw and wondered at, but it seemed to be a thing far too difficult for us to attempt. The Norwegians had of course no idea of analysing these turns. They just did them somehow, they could not say how.
Our practice consisted almost in entirely in straight running. The use of the stick was taboo. The thing to do was to keep on one’s feet going full bat down the various rides cut in the woods. These were mostly well-trodden even in those days, and the lumps and bumps were an excellent education. Towards the end of our visit a certain Herr Brun took us on an expedition to some place or other in Nordmarken. We slept the night in a hut, and next day ascended a long hill. At the top we met a party of three who were training for the big race. I think Captain Roll was one of them. These three set off down the hill, and we saw them disappear, like snipe, in and out amongst the trees, as only the best Norwegians know how to do it. It was a bit of an eye-opener. They took about five minutes to get down that hill and we took about an hour. In our party, Herr Brun scored heavily, partly because he knew how to manage virgin snow, partly because he relied on his stick, which we scorned.
When I returned to Cambridge with my ski, the hall-porter thought they were some new rowing device!
Next year came another visit to Norway, with some further progress, and after that there was nothing doing till 1901-2, when I went to Davos for the first time. My brother, C. W. R., joined me there. I had come in search of snow, and found lots at Davos. The first thing that happened was that we were assured that the Davos snow was, except quite late in the year, entirely unsuited to ski-ing. It was far too soft. Ski-ing could only be done on hard snow. A few people had tried it late in the year- a certain Mr. Dodgson, Mr. Collingwood, a brother of Tobias Branger (who had recently died) and possibly some others. But, it was said, ski-ing was not really at all suitable for Switzerland. This, however, we ventured to doubt, so we unearthed some ski from the shop of Mr. Branger, and began experimenting. Naturally we soon found out the truth, namely that ski-ing was every bit as good at Davos as in Norway, if not, indeed, better. It was great fun, and we felt all the satisfaction of real explorers when we discovered the “Church Slopes,” and the long open run up behind the Fluella Hotel. When wending our way thither one day, we were amazed to find some ski tracks other than our own. These proved to be those of Messrs. Leaming and Fedden, who we afterwards got to know. We made some converts to the game that season, and, so far as I remember, amongst the first of these were the brothers Wroughton-though I am not quite sure whether it was this year they first came out or the next Towards the end of the season, too, we undertook a great expedition. This was to go over the Strela Pass with Mr. Collingwood (who knew the way-so he said) to Arosa. By that time we had got over our proper Norwegian ski, but “The Wog” was wearing short Swiss ski with sealskin fixed to them. We despised him for this when we started, but he had the laugh of us ere long, for he soon began walking straight up, whilst we had to toil painfully backwards and forwards. When we got to the top of the pass, my brother and I were almost dead to the world. whilst “The Wog” was as fresh as paint, but my ! weren’t we all pleased with ourselves! The view from the top… well you know it (or should know it), and we had brought off this perilous tour-as everybody considered it in those days! On the run down, we got a little of our own back on “The Wog,” for to begin with he did not know the right way down the first bit, and this we were constrained to negotiate on foot, and afterwards with our long ski we fairly ran away from him. But from that time on to the end of the season we had fur on our ski, and we used little ski. An expedition up the Brehmenbühl was about the most venturesome and foolish thing we did that year. There was a “Föhn” blowing, and we started off after new snow. Neither of us had been on a Swiss mountain of any consequence before, and we were thoroughly imbued with the idea that one could go anywhere at any time on ski. The result was that we started a small avalanche near the top. Luckily it did not go far, but my brother was buried up to the neck, and we lost important parts of our gear. So back we went to Clavadel with a wholesome respect for steep slopes and new snow, which neither of us has ever lost. We made enquiry as to the best way up when we got back, and successfully negotiated the old Brehmenbühl a few days later.
Next year we returned to Davos, and with the Wroughtons started the Davos English Ski Club. We got a lot of ski over from Norway to eke out the miserable local contraptions, and from that day to this, the Club has never looked back. It is the oldest Ski Club (English) in Switzerland, for I refuse to countenance the paper things which were supposed to have had a previous existence at St. Moritz, and which for many years were in a more or less moribund condition. It is also older than the local club which was not started till some weeks later. The boys of Davos at that time used to come out and watch us practising on the Church Slopes. From this they derived great entertainment, but it was a long time before it seemed to occur to them that they might try a hand at the game themselves. This, no doubt, was partly due to the lack of ski. Eventually, however, some of them (and these are now the cracks – or were just before the war) got ski or barrel staves or something, and joined the fun. We taught them the elements of running and jumping, got up com- petitions, and so on.
I am not sure whether it was this year or in 1904, that Mr. Rickmers first came to Davos and took us all in hand. I met him first at St. Moritz. I was walking along the road there and saw somebody doing wonderful things on the steep hill opposite the Cresta. This proved to be Mr. Rickmers doing downhill stemming turns on Lilienfeld ski. I had never seen anybody swish about like this before, and I was much impressed. I tried to do likewise and failed miserably. This was partly because I did not know the knack, and partly because of my long, grooved, Norwegian ski. But Mr. Rickmers taught me those downhill turns-on Lilienfeld ski-and I have been grateful to him ever since. I have, of course, subsequently found out that short flat-bottomed ski are too high a price to pay for this extreme ease in turning, and also that one can do the turns very nearly as well-for all practical purposes quite as well-on Norwegian ski, and also that one can do downhill turns in other ways, but it was Mr. Rickmers who first put me on the track of these things. They all seem easy enough now, and there are lots of people ready to show beginners how to do them, but in those days we had to worry out all these different manœuvres for ourselves.
In 1904, I went to the second big meet ever held in Switzerland. It was at Glarus. I expected to find everybody very expert there, but was rather surprised to hear that they were expecting the same sort of thing of me! Luckily, however, two Norwegians turned up (Leif Berg and Björnsen, I think they were) and they saved the situation, but I was here let in for trying a really big jump for the first time in my life. It was a very terrible experience, but I acquitted myself fairly well, and won third prize (or was it second ?) with Herr Victor Sohm first. After we had given our little show, the Norwegians came on, and I again felt very nervous. I had been talking a bit about Norway and the wonderful runners there were there, and was afraid that these two would not come up to the mark. But I need not have worried. They jumped superbly amidst the breathless excitement of everybody.
After the winter, I embarked on literature, and wrote “Ski-running” in collaboration with Messrs. Rickmers and Chrichton Somerville. This sold well, and a second edition was called for in the following year. This also was soon sold out, and then in 1909 I wrote “The Ski-runner” off my own bat.
During the winters from 1904 onwards, I visited most of the Swiss ski-ing resorts of importance, as well as some in Germany and Austria. I have heard recently that these expeditions excited suspicion in the breasts of some of the Germans, and the following translation extracted from an article in the “Graz Tagespost” for 14-7-15, may perhaps amuse others besides myself:-
“In the years 1905-1906, Richardson took up his headquarters at St. Moritz in the Engadin. He lost no opportunity of attending the wintersport meetings in the Vosges, the Black Forest, and in the Swiss and French Jura, and of making a thorough study of the suitability of these places for wintersport. So far as I know, his interest did not extend any more towards the Arlberg district, but the distant Riesengebirg became so interesting to him again that Major Richardson gladly accepted the invitation of a Ski Club in Prag, and pursued his studies there. It is also known to me that Major Richardson visited the Caucasus, but I do not know whether the Carpathians offered any special attraction to him. But it would not surprise me to hear that they had done so. In view of the prevailing taste for all things English, which existed ten years ago, and of the firm faith in English superiority in all matters relating to sport, the Major was, of course, the point round which everything gravitated. E. H. Tanner, of Basle (the editor of “Alpinismus und Winter- sport”), the “Deutsche Alpenzeitung,” in Munich, and others were very ready to weigh out gold in return for a few lines from Richardson. And this, whilst all the time, such is my firm belief, the Major was, even in those days, nothing better than an English spy.”
This strange mixture of truth and fiction (I have never been a Major, nor have I ever visited half the places mentioned, nor did any foreign editor ever reward my humble efforts with even silver, let alone gold) seems to have gained some currency in Austria during the war. At all events, some of my Bohemian friends had a very uncomfortable time of it, owing to a visit I and some other Britishers paid to the Riesengebirge the winter before the war. I should like to take this opportunity of expressing my sincere regret for being the unwitting cause of all the trouble they went through. It must have been a most serious matter or them at the time, though no doubt they are all laughing about it now. I need hardly add that there is not a word of truth in the spying part of the story!
Source: Year Book of the Ski Club of Great Britain 1920, p10-14