Marriott Edward Hamilton

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Biografie:
Edward Hamilton Marriott 1906-1985
Edward Marriott, always known as Charles to his climbing friends, died in October aged 79. He had been a member of the Club since 1931, but was also a member of a number of other clubs, the Climbers' and Himalayan, but particularly the Lands End Climbing Club of which he was the first Chairman. His last known rock climb with the Lands End club was on Carn Les Boel in 1983, but his travels had taken him all over the world, most recently part way round Annapurna in 1985. Perhaps his most noteworthy exploits were the trips he made with Bill Tilman in 1955-56, 1961, 1964 and 1968. During the 1955-56 trip in 'Mischief, he crossed the Patagonian ice cap with Tilman.
Quelle: Alpine Journal Volume 91, 1986, Seite 287

Edward Hamilton Marriott 1906-1985
Charles (as he was known to his climbing friends) died unexpectedly after a short illness on 20 October 1985. He was 79. He had returned just a few weeks earlier from the Himalaya, where he had succeeded in completing the Annapurna circuit as far as Jomosom. His suitcase and tent were packed ready for an extended visit to Australia and New Zealand. Charles joined the Royal Artillery in 1924 and spent some years in India. He retired soon after the war with the rank of Major, eventually 'settling' in Cornwall in 1958.
At 16 Charles was introduced to the Swiss Alps by his father, and was hooked on mountaineering for life. Four years later, at Easter 1926, he made his first ascent on British rock, sandwiched between Nea Morin (then Barnard) and her brother. The climb was Kern Knotts Chimney. Other companions in those early years included Eric Shipton, Gilbert Peaker and Douglas Milner.
He continued to visit the Alps regularly, climbing in the summer and skiing in the winter. He was a member of the New Zealand Alpine Club, Swiss Alpine Club and the Himalayan Club. His years in India gave him opportunities for trekking and exploring in Kashmir, and the Himalaya remained his first love.
During the war he was an instructor in mountaineering at the Commando Mountain Warfare School and later at the mountaineering wing in Lebanon. On leaving the army he travelled in Africa, where he climbed in the Drakensberg. He spent two seasons in the New Zealand Alps where he climbed with Graham Brooke. Charles stoutly resisted advances in climbing equipment. On our local club meets in the early seventies he wore a hemp waist-line and was scathing of the trend towards racks of chocks. Waterproof gear was for lesser mortals, and his home-made rucksack still had the hole gnawed by a rat in Tasmania years before. It didn't matter, as it usually contained little except a canvas anorak (also home-made) and a couple of bottles of beer. Charles loved the sea. His most noteworthy voyages were those he made with Bill Tilman in 'Mischief. He sailed with Tilman four times. The first voyage was to Patagonia in 1955. Even then his unique belongings and gear were a source of wonder and interest to the crew. Charles was blessed with exceptionally good sight, and saved the day on the return crossing of the Patagonian ice-cap when, during a blizzard, he spotted an all-important food-dump which was almost buried under fresh snow.
He proved himself a capable sea-cook on his next voyage, to Greenland in 1961, and he returned to Greenland three years later. Charles last sailed with Tilman in 1968 on the ill-fated voyage to Jan Mayen Island which ended with the loss of 'Mischief.
As he reached his mid-seventies Charles spent even less time at home, travelling extensively to many parts of the world. In between travels he worked diligently, representing the south-west on the British Mountaineering Council for many years, including a period as Chairman for the area. Charles had a certain elan which ensured that he could walk into the smoothest hotel lounge in black beret, holey sweater and muddy boots and be treated with deference. The effect was heightened when he dressed for the occasion. Tilman describes his arrival in Greenland, still nursing a bad foot: “... In yachting cap and gumboots, his beard a sable silver, monocle in eye and supported by an ice-axe, Charles stepped ashore like a slimmer edition of King Edward landing at Cowes from the Royal Yacht. The crowd were speechless with delight. At last, they thought, the captain of “Mischief” had condescended to visit them.” (Mischief in Greenland, 1964.) Those who were privileged to visit Charles at home in Cornwall will know that to enter his cottage was an experience. Often the visitor had to pick a wary path between the piles of papers, books and boxes which covered every available space. But it would be wrong to assume that this was so much clutter. It was a huge, ordered filing system-and if Tilman planned his expeditions on the back of envelopes, we suspect he learned the trick from Charles!
Charles lived in conditions which many would consider spartan. He had his own priorities and preferred travelling to home comforts. But the welcome at Bosullow was always hospitable. There was a comprehensive range of liquid refreshment; this was only offered if the sun was over the yardarm. Afternoon tea was a daily ritual whether or not there were visitors-who might stay for a few minutes, or a few weeks for that matter. Charles would put you up or lend you his car if you needed it. His generosity came from his concern for others, and he was a true friend in need. He had a respect for people as individuals, regardless of age or sex. Though not one to suffer fools gladly, he was a very kind and most considerate man. Among many memories two are particularly vivid.
The hurricane which hit Cornwall in December 1979, demolishing the chimney and caravan at Bosigran, also left a gaping hole in Charles's cottage roof. Temporary repairs were urgently required, and a group of us were trying to position a tarpaulin over the hole with the aid of old climbing ropes. Charles organized us with great efficiency and enthusiasm as we struggled in gale-force winds. In the end he climbed up through the hole in his bedroom ceiling and emerged on the roof to put the final touches to the operation by hand. To him, the inconvenience, discomfort and sheer mess of the situation were nothing compared to the fun of working out the logistics of the problem. He enjoyed himself immensely. When all was under control he appeared with a dusty bottle in his hand and a twinkle in his eye. 'I've been saving this for a suitable occasion, and I think this is it!' It was champagne, and, of course, excellent. The second is on what we believe was his last rock-climb. The date was 26 July 1983 at Carn les Boel near Land's End. Charles, in old grey flannels, tatty sweater and the inevitable black beret, was whistling his way upwards. The whistling, as always, was quite tuneless, and a sign of deep concentration. An accident to one eye had left him with difficulty in judging the distances between holds, and this limited his rock-climbing in later years-but the style was still there.
Charles was very much his own man, an individualist, true to his own beliefs and values. He rests in the place he chose himself, by the little Cornish church where he worshipped. It is a slightly overgrown place, not too tidy but very beautiful, and it looks towards Bosigran and the sea. It is just right.
John and Janet Atherton
Quelle: Alpine Journal Volume 92, 1987, Seite 282-284


Geboren am:
1906
Gestorben am:
20.10.1985