Allen John Reginald (NAT)

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Biografie:
John Reginald (Nat) Allen 1928-1995
Mention the name Nat Allen almost anywhere in the world and you will find someone who knew him and will regale you with some story or other about him.
He served an apprenticeship in plumbing and joined a firm along with another young lad. 'What's your names?' asked the foreman. Both said John. 'Right,' said the foreman. 'You're Fred and you are Nat!'
My first encounter with Nat was in 1947 when I was assistant warden of Capel Curig Youth Hostel. He says 'That bastard always made me clean the self-cookers' kitchen at least twice before he was satisfied.' Since then we had a friendship going which grew stronger as time went by, although we almost fell out in 1957 when I rolled up in my shiny black Standard 10. He leant on the wing to chat and pass comment on my new acquisition. Several karabiners on slings round his neck fell out of his Helly-Hansen and clattered onto my pride and joy. Words were exchanged, and he hastily buffed up the paintwork with his sleeve.
He was one of the founder members of the ACG, the group set up specifically to encourage membership of a British equivalent of the French GHM, where qualification for membership was climbing ability. Eventually the ACG merged with the AC. It was over many years that Nat somehow liaised between the two groups and brought them ever closer together, being respected and trusted implicitly by both the up-and-coming young climbers from all backgrounds of life, and the mandarins of South Audley Street. He was a true ambassador of the climbing world.
Nat's memory was quite incredible. I can never remember whether I've done a climb or not.
'Let's go and do Whistling Crack,' said Nat.
'Have I done it before?'
'You were on a Karabiner Mountaineering Club meet and did it with Bowden and myself', and he would give the month and year. 'Don't you remember?'
He could talk you up a route he had not done for ten years and explain, hold by hold, how to do it. He might also say (when I was on Medusa) 'No Dennis, I think you'll find that route too strenuous for you.' He would know exactly your capabilities.
I recall climbing on Cloggy with him when he met some of the young hard men in the afternoon who asked what we had done: Pedestal Crack, Chimney Route, Sunset Crack and Longlands; they were quite taken aback when Nat said we didn't start until after lunch. When you climbed with Nat you knew you were in for a hard time, and often a half day was more than enough.
He dabbled a bit in fell running; although he was never a great runner, he always liked to take part. He was one of the instigators of the Dovedale Dash. They used to go to Ham Youth Hostel for bonfire celebrations. After a hectic night, the climbers threw down a challenge to the cyclists to have a run on the Sunday to work off the alcohol. There were about twenty of them in all who ran. At the end, they all went off to The George at Alstonfield. Each year a few more people joined in until it reached just over a hundred entrants and was becoming very competitive. Nat never did very well in it and explained that when he wanted to run faster, all that happened was that his knees came up higher, but there was no change in speed. In more recent years the numbers swelled to over 1600 entrants. He only missed a few of these runs since its inception, and always reckoned that if you didn't run you didn't deserve a drink at The George afterwards.
In a fell race from the back of Cat Bells on a very wet day, he set off, wearing plastic bags on his feet to cross the river at the start. He lost his way over to Honister Pass and knew he had to traverse. This took him to the top of a crag, at the bottom of which he could see a track. He set off down the crag, came to a steep crack and hand-jambed down it, much to the surprise of two lads at the bottom.
'We've been trying to get up this for the last hour.'
'Oh sorry,' said Nat, 'I was in a hurry as I'm in a fell race.'
Nat climbed a lot with Joe Brown and Don Whillans and perhaps never quite got the recognition that he deserved. He was a mountaineer of great ability and talent. He would climb with anyone, whatever their standard, and would lower his standards to accommodate whoever he was with. He spent many years, giving up a lot of his time, on the guidebook committee. His efforts and contributions will be sorely missed. Completely unselfish in his own wishes and desires, he just got a lot of pleasure from being on rocks. Yet, come to new areas, he was the first to spend days cleaning crags and putting up some spectacular new routes. A typical example is Armorican Wallin Pembroke and there are dozens more. I always felt that Nat should have been climbing much harder routes, as he led me up most routes without using any protection, but he always climbed to the standard of his companion.
Whether in an Alpine hut or on a campsite or in a pub, he would start talking to people on what they had done, and often get onto tales of yesteryear, and people would gather around to listen. 'It's like listening to tales from a history book,' one said. He was respected and admired wherever he went. A great compliment was to be mistaken for him.
I shared a great privilege to have been with him on his last visit to Pembroke just three weeks before he died. He still climbed and even put up yet another new route during those last memorable days. He could still laugh and joke and share a drink.
NAT, we shall never forget the enrichment which you brought to our lives. Our visits down there can never be the same, but we shall drink with you in your favourite hostelries. You will never be forgotten and will be in our minds always.
Dennis Davis

Derek Carnell writes:
When, on the next Bank Holiday, I travel down to Pembroke, it will be in the knowledge that a major strand in my life is broken and that an era has ended. With the death of Nat Allen in June 1995, the interwoven pattern of our lives ended, and the spirals of our rope forever severed. Now, whilst I grieve his loss, the many notable memories of the 46 years I spent climbing and socialising with Nat remain at least to cheer me. I remember my first climb with him - Black Slab on Stanage - then many more on gritstone, limestone and granite peaks: in Wales, the Lakes, Scotland and Ireland too. The main Alpine holidays: rock climbing and mountaineering routes among the great and lesser ranges. In good or bad weather, scorching heat, frozen, wet, or baked - we tried them all; but always his enthusiasm, skill and indomitable spirit, coupled with an innate stubbornness to achieve his goals, made Nat a cherished partner.
From the 1960s until his death we found a common purpose on the Pembrokeshire sea cliffs, climbing regularly together, doing new routes (some 200 plus) and, with others, exploring the possibilities. Nat's enthusiasm was boundless, he always had ideas on where to go, what to do, and was a source of inspiration, if not to say competitiveness, amongst our little group. 'Secret crags' abound there, and we hugged ourselves each time we forged another route.
My final memory of Nat is of us climbing together in Pembroke on the last day of May last year; neither of us was in the best of health - me with a knee op, he with the debilitating effect of his illness. We both crept (in every sense of the word!) away from our friends doing their hard routes, to climb a couple of slabby V Diffs in a secluded bay - Summers End was to be the last climb Nat did in Pembroke. We sat, watching the setting sun pointing a rosy finger along the sea in Ramsey Sound, and I saw a serenity in his face, and felt with him his pleasure at having done the routes despite his illness. Others had joined us and we laughed and talked easily in the euphoria of just sitting there, in the grass, above the crag, above the sea, reliving earlier times and making plans to visit Ireland again before too long. Just over three weeks later Nat was dead.
With his death, the climbing world loses a most active, erudite and friendly man; one who had managed to mix easily with people of all levels, ages, and experiences while still remaining true to his own principles. On the personal side, I lost the truest, closest friend that I have ever had. Thank you, Nat, for your steadfast and reliable companionship in the hills, for enriching my life; giving, not just for me, but many others, a different perspective on Life itself, an enthusiasm for it, and an even greater satisfaction from it. I am proud and happy to have known you. You live forever in our hearts.
Quelle: Alpine Journal Vol. 101. Nr. 291, 1996, Seite 334-336


Geboren am:
1928
Gestorben am:
1995