Bowden Black, 27 August 1924 - 6 May 1997
By Derek Seddon
Most members will by now have learned of the death of Bowden while on holiday on Canada and will have been deeply saddened by the news. I was struck by the number of people who said or wrote to me "Bowden took me up my first climb". I was one among scores for whom he performed that inspirational service, one he loved to do throughout his life.
He was the life and soul and spirit of the KMC and it is impossible to imagine how the club would have been without him. He was part of the club before it was ever formed, meeting Eric Flitcroft, Bob Elliot and Sammy Simpson in 1942. By the time the Founder Members had got around to forming the Club in 1944 Bowden was in Canada on flying training for the Fleet Air Arm. He had already seen Navel Service on a destroyer, an old four funnelled World War 1 American tub which spent more time in dock than it did at sea, so he volunteered for flying and more excitement. Unfortunately, he caught pneumonia after a snow-bound cross country run, delaying his passing-out parade until the day Japan surrendered - VJ Day.
Back home he plunged straight back into mountaineering, re-joined his mates in the KMC and became a pillar of the Club for the rest of his life. Portfolio was one of his routes and he seconded Pete Harding on the first ascent of Valkyrie. Gradually he built up an encyclopaedic knowledge of routes, holds and techniques on Gritstone which he enthusiastically passed on to anyone who would listen. "Go on, you can do it" he would say "There's a good hold up there on your left" and he was right - usually. For he was an eternal optimist, never without some new project bubbling away. There was the time he talked half the Club into carrying 100 feet of redundant iron pipe down from the copper mines to fit a water supply for the Coniston hut. The owners then let us know that it wasn't redundant and had it all carried back.
Bowden Black was Hon Secretary for nine crucial years of the Club's development, always ready with a welcome for the new members either on the hills or in the high-stakes card school he and Millie used to run at 48 Marlborough road. Bowden had bought a bag of farthings from the bank (960 to the £1, for those too young to remember) and playing for these lasted all evening.
A born entertainer, he was never happier than at the piano, leading the singing of uproarious songs or holding impromptu stage with a dramatic recitation of Murphy Shall Not Sing Tonight or Three 'apence a Foot. With his ready wit and gift for comic song writing, he was the driving force behind the pantomimes that enlivened Club Dinners in the days before we became saturated by television. His after-dinner speeches, so amusing and apparently off-the-cuff were actually the result of meticulous research, carefully timed and polished and delivered in a fever of nail-biting nerves. He used to say that he never enjoyed a meal when he had to speak after it - yet he loved doing it and performed to his usual standards before the Rucksack Club late last year.
In Millie, his wife or 40 years, he had a soul mate and sparring partner who could take him on and give as good as she got, climbing, walking, ski-ing round the year. Bowden had made his first skis in the kitchen with tyre inner tubes for safety bindings, but he and Millie really got the bug when ex-army skis became available. They were pioneers in the post-war boom in popular ski-ing in the Lakes and Scotland in the days when, before you skied, you first dragged half a mile of ski-tow up the mountain. The trip to Aviemore required a 350 mile motor bike ride with two pairs of skis lengthwise and Millie on the pillion. En route they would both sing Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah at the top of their voices, a favourite which was sung again at Bowden's funeral. Enthusiastic as ever, Bowden helped found the Rossendale Ski Club and began building another facet of his phenomenal memory, this time of ski runs, resorts, mountains and restaurants.
When he and Millie opened their shop, Black's Alpine Sports, it necessarily restricted his weekend activities but he never lost his enthusiasms and ambitions. He originated the Fell Race and its devious handicapping system, still run after 32 years. He set his heart on climbing Central Buttress on Scafell and made several unsuccessful attempts but never gave up, finally achieving his goal at the age of 58. It was around this time that he ticked off another long-held target, Dream of White Horses on Gogarth. He was the organiser and navigator on all or Millie's great walks - the Tan Hill to Cat & Fiddle, the Snowdon-Brecon, the Scottish 4000ers and many more. Once a year, for about seven years he would leave Millie behind for a week and race down to the South of France to climb on the cliffs of Ste Victoire, visit the local vineyards and replenish his wine cellar. Bill Woolencroft, his companion, didn't drive, so Bowden drove the whole way from Edenfield to Provence overnight and ditto on the return with his boot full.
In 1976 it was fitting that he should become the first Club member to be elected President. previously they had all been mountaineering notabilities from outside, but now we had a personality of our own. It was doubly fitting that in his term of office he should preside over the opening of Ty Powdwr for Bowden was in large measure responsible for the raising of cash to help us match the Sports Council's grant. Week after week for months on end he badgered members to collect waste paper to sell for the cause. It was stacked in his office until it was declared a fire hazard by the fire brigade. Undeterred, he found a garage to act as storeroom. Remember the giant raffle he organised? Members were required to sell tickets to their parents, neighbours, grannies, etc. for a grand prize of a day's climbing with Joe Brown. Altogether he was directly responsible for raising hundreds of pounds in time for us to secure the Hut, although, due to his business commitments, he was rarely able to use it - but he knew it was right for the Club.
Millie died in 1994 after a long struggle against cancer, tended devotedly by Bowden and when she was gone he was never quite the same again. Afterwards he was dogged by repeated illnesses, but fought it all the way in all its various forms. His balance was affected and, quite recently, he realised that his climbing days were over. Walking became difficult but he still turned out and made the effort to be with friends even though he was able to do only two or three miles. Yet, only a week or two before his last holiday he was down at the pub, talking to new members , advising, encouraging, telling tall tales.
Bowden the optimist couldn't be suppressed. Only six months ago he was trying to talk me into a walk across Scotland he'd sorted out. He had all the maps, he said. Charley Park in Vancouver, writing to tell me of the day of his death, said that Bow had talked his American nephew into coming over to do the next London Marathon - and had promised to join him. Bowden had flown to California with his sister Nancy, leaving her there so he could fly up to Vancouver to rejoin the large contingent of KMC members living around that beautiful city. He had a clear, sunny flight and enjoyed views of Mount Baker and the Cascade Peaks. Dave Peason met him and took him to the airfield where he keeps his private plane. Bowden renewed acquaintance with a Harvard trainer of the type in which he had done his training 53 years before. They went up the Skyride to the restaurant on the summit of Grouse Mountain and dined with Tim and Dilys Mepham. Next day they had a riverside walk and watched ospreys and a blue heron, followed by dinner with Bob Milward. The Vancouver exiles had collected slides of the their KMC days which were projected to the usual irreverent barracking. Next day (Sunday) Bob to Bow to the spectacular Lynn Canyon and another bird sanctuary, then to a local crag where Bow "got his hands on some Squamish granite". On Monday Jennifer Park took him round the sights of Vancouver, followed by a meal and sing-song with Bow at the piano, he was between songs and talking to Charley when his speech became slurred and he collapsed with a massive brain haemorrhage from which he never regained consciousness. The Vancouver lads took turns to be with him in hospital until the end.
So here was a man. A man it was a privilege to know, who brightened the lives of those around him and who loved the crags, their sports and their people. We celebrate a life lived to the full, ending exactly as he would have wished, entertaining friends within sight of the hills.
Derek Seddon.
