The Test - Phil Ramsbottom
By Phil Ramsbottom
Any resemblance to people and events described here is purely coincidental (and Ken's an Olympic athlete).
The test paper had finally arrived, I stared in panic at the envelope, why oh why had I agreed to the examination? I read on..... three weeks to prepare and I was allowed to use the map, so far so good, I even recognised the route.
If it hadn't been Old Beethers setting the paper I would have been confident, but his merciless treatment of those not reaching the required standard is legendary. I consoled myself with the knowledge that Jim Grumblesome would be there, Jim is a previous graduate of the course well known for his constructive comments in times of stress. I could always rely on Jim to help out.
I had obviously underestimated Beethers cunning. When the test day arrived the first few words I heard were Grumblesomes apologies - Beethers had sent him off on another course, I was on my own. The ensuing panic was offset by the perfect weather - even Beethers cannot control that - though I sometimes wonder.
The first section passed without problem, I managed to arrive at the start before Old Beethers, so far so good. When he arrived he seemed in good form - I could tell this because he didn't mention dying once, in an attempt to curry a bit of extra favour I made sure that he saw me aim a kick at some passing mutt - every little helps. After a last minute briefing he set off supposedly to do his own thing but it was obvious that this was a ploy to seek out some reason for future chastisement.
I gathered the group together, it is always best to seem confident. The route read 'behind the Bull, then follow a line of tele? poles across a field'. We set off - behind the Bull - ok no problem so far. Up the road, then the doubts started, where was the path following the tele? poles. I followed the road, at last a footpath sign appeared, we followed this into a field where I was sure all would be clear. Once into the field the panic really set in, I looked straight into the low sun desperately searching for the line of tele? poles to see absolutely nothing.
By now the rest of the party were gathered round waiting for directions, we had been walking for five minutes the temperature was minus five at the most and I had sweat running down my face. Silence fell as I took the map out of my rucksack, I could hear the tuts as I turned it the right way round for the second time. At last I was back in control 'we go that way' I said pointing straight at the sun and striding out completely blinded by now. The field went on forever, eventually I could see the far corner where the map showed the path should be, but all I could see was a continuous wall. A shout behind me told me that the stile was to the right. And so we continued, at a road I was confident that I knew where we were, 'we turn left and the next path is a few yards on the right'. A few yards later there was no path on the right, my legs went weak, out came the map again, a quick about turn and I found a path on the left.
We continued, stumbling from one crisis to the next, I had long since abandoned all hope of finding the tele? poles, deciding to try a pick up the route at Crowhill farm - Beethers would never find out.
A diagonal descent from a pass took us down to the farm.
I felt that I was back in control, ok we hadn't followed the route set but I thought that I had got away with it.
I still have nightmares about the feeling of terror I felt when I glanced at the hillside overlooking the farm, a solitary figure was striding down towards us, I could see his red face from two hundred yards away. Old Beethers had not only found us, he had seen us approach from the wrong direction. I searched in vain for the biggest person in the group so that I could get behind them for a degree of protection.
Slowly Beethers approached....
I must admit that his calm reaction did put me off my stride, he satisfied himself with 'Foolish boy, you got bloody lost didn't you?', the cane in his hand merely twitched once or twice without inflicting the customary damage. The fantastic weather had obviously affected his brain.
Beethers now joined the group, he did try a sneeky variation on the written route but I managed that without incident and shortly after he seemed to decide that he could have more fun separating dogs from their owners and left me to continue the walk unhindered.
After the early events the rest went smoothly, a count around half way revealed that only half a dozen were not accounted for which isn't too bad.
As we left the pub I almost lost everybody, I made the mistake of showing an undue amount of concern for someone with a blistered heel, as a result of which the party took it on themselves to navigate by the non-existent stars (Beethers would not have been happy).
Despite all this I somehow managed to steer the main part of the party back to the start - much to Beethers disappointment.
Did I pass?
What do you think.
