The Mendip problem

 

I was woken at just after 6.35 one morning by a hammering on my back door.

 

I threw on some clothes and hurried downstairs, where I found Alun in a foul mood.

 

“It’s the mainland council Jed,” he said, “They want to dump the Mendip Hills on our island.”

 

“The Mendip Hills?” I said. “Are you sure?” It seemed highly unlikely.

 

“Yes Jed, I’ve just been to meet the early boat and there’s a letter from the council.”

 

“Why on Earth would the mainland council want to move a range of hills? Surely the Mendips are fine where they are.”

 

“According to the letter it’s a temporary measure Jed, whilst the Mendip area is being refurbished.”

 

“Refurbished?”

 

“It’s because of the EU Hill-Cleaning Directive, Jed.”

 

“But the Mendips will never fit on our little island. There must be somewhere more suitable to put them. The Isle of Wight, perhaps.”

 

“We’re not getting the whole range Jed, just one of them. They’re being distributed around the country, The Mendips on Tour they’re calling it.”

 

“Which one are we getting?”

 

Alun studied the letter.

 

“Black Down.”

 

“Black Down! But that’s not a hill, it’s a mountain, the highest point in the Mendips. They can’t dump a thing like that here. We’ll be like Island With A Bloody Great Mountain In The Middle Island, there won’t be room for anything else. Us, for instance.”

 

Alun and I were dead set against the move. That same morning we wrote a letter to the mainland council protesting against the move and started a petition on the www.petitionsthecouncilignores.com website. However, the council ignored our protest and later that month we were visited by the mountain-moving-boat.

 

“I’d forgotten there even was a mountain-moving-boat,” I admitted to Alun.

 

The mountain-moving-boat was built to carry mountains from the mainland to the islands in our archipelago.

 

The service has long since been disbanded, an example of the laws of supply and demand in action. Nobody wanted to supply mountains to the islands, and nobody on the islands demanded them.

 

The mountain-moving-boat was recognisable by the MMB logo on its bow, and the bloody great mountain it was carrying.

 

A team of council mountain-shifters positioned the mountain slap bang in the middle of our island. As they were leaving the man in charge passed me a clipboard with a piece of paper attached.

 

“If you can just sign for it, mate.”

“Sign for what?”

 

“The hill thing,” he nodded towards Black Down.

 

“Why do I have to sign for it?”

 

“To prove you’ve received it.”

 

“It’s going to be pretty obvious that I’ve received it, isn’t it? It’s going to be visible for a twenty mile radius.”

 

However, it was pointless to protest, this was a clipboard-carrying-council-man, so I scribbled my signature and Black Down was officially ours.

 

I went home via the coastal path, my normal route now blocked by a mountain.  It was a strange walk, for I could no longer see my house, Refrigerator Bay, the surrounding islands, or anything else at all, just Black Down.

 

It was a depressing day, spent in the great shadow caused by the mountain, such sunlight as a small, independent island such as ours can afford was blocked off by the recently-installed mountainous monstrosity. Even visiting Alun, usually the highlight of my day, took twice as long, as I had to walk around the very edge of the island to get to him.

 

“This is the rest of our lives Jed,” he said, “tiptoeing round mountains to keep the council happy.”

 

 

xxx 

 

The next morning I was woken early by Alun, who I found dressed for adventure and carrying his most rugged rucksack.  

 

“We may as well spend the day climbing the mountain Jed,” he said.

 

“I suppose we should. We can’t really complain properly to the council until we’ve climbed to the top and seen exactly how bad it is.”

 

“It’s true, Jed. Why, from the top of that hill you must be able to see every problem there is in a twenty mile radius.”

 

I quickly threw together a bag of mountain-climbing necessities, including kitkats, Mars bars and energy bars, together with water, liquid Mars bars and a map of the Mendips.

 

Having spent all of my life on the same flat, geologically uninteresting island, I was unaccustomed to climbing. I assumed the process would be like climbing the stairs for a really long time, but I wasn’t used to the physical and mental effort required in seeking a firm, clear path and the loss of oxygen as I struggled to cram another Mars bar down my gullet.

 

Half way up we paused for a Mars bar break, washed down with liquid Mars, followed by some Mars chewing gum.

 

“Look,” I said, “I can see Island That can’t be seen from Happy Island.”

 

“They’re gonna have to change its name aren’t they,” said Alun.

 

We restarted the climb. It was a fine day, and an enjoyable, though stretching, walk. We wore only jeans and T-shirts and were glad to be thus underdressed. Until, that is, we reached the upper echelons of the mountain, which was covered in snow. Suddenly it became winter. We trod slowly, carefully, slipping through every step. The chill of the wind was unbearable, and though the snow only covered a hundred feet or so, it was still a long, slow climb through.

 

“It looked so beautiful from the bottom,” I said. “That snow-white peak, like a picture postcard view.”

 

Alun said nothing, and we both ploughed on, wordless with gritty determination. Eventually we reached the peak. We stopped just long enough to take photos, complain about the view, and get very cold.

 

We hastened back down, taking the eastern path this time, towards Alun’s house.

 

Going down was harder than I’d anticipated, as the force of gravity combined awkwardly with the slipperiness of the ice and snow. Twice I fell over, and Alun never even laughed at my fate.

 

“Careful Jed,” he said, “if you slip and break your ankle we’ll be in trouble, we’re miles from civilisation up here.”

 

“But you’re a doctor,” I protested.

 

“I know Jed, but I don’t have my medical kit. Just a bag of Mars bars.”

 

The descent became tense. For the first time in our lives we were both suddenly aware of how isolated we were, how susceptible to the slightest whim of the gods, the elements, or the mainland council. We were fragile, hapless mortals, miles from anywhere, just a happenstance away from gruesome death.

 

And suddenly the ice ended. We were back on firm ground, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and it was a lovely day.

 

We stopped for a Mars break and followed it with a kitkat and a chocolate orange.

 

“This is the life Jed,” Alun said, “the healthy outdoor life, a bracing climb, working up an appetite.”

 

“Yes, and we get to look down on the mainland.” Alun laughed, but it was true, for the first time in our lives the mainland was the little thing and Happy Island was the bloody great big thing, with our own Happy Mountain.

 

“We must do this again,” I said, after we’d arrived back at Alun’s for a well-earned glass of Happy Ale.

 

“I’ve got nothing on tomorrow,” Alun said.

 

I checked my diary. “Neither have I,” I said.

 

“Let’s do it again, same time. I’ll bring my medical kit next time, just in case.”

 

“And I’ll pack some jumpers, it gets quite bracing on the top.”

 

“I’ll ask the boatman to bring more Mars bars.”

 

“Oh, and some Snickers,” I said. “They’ve got nuts in them. Nuts are healthy. We can’t just eat chocolate all day.”

 

xxx

 

When Alun hammered on my door  early the next morning I was already dressed, and nearly ready to head off for our climb, so I was surprised that Alun wasn’t wearing his walking gear, nor was he carrying his rucksack.

 

“I thought we were going for a climb today,” I said.

 

“It’s the mainland council, Jed,” he said.

 

“The council. What have they done now?”

 

“They’re moving the mountain Jed,” he said. “They’re picking it up later today.”

“Are you sure?” I said. It seemed unlikely. “They haven’t finished the refurbishment yet. They said it would take seventeen years.”

 

“No Jed, but there’s a letter from the council, apparently the Isle of Wight’s desperate for a tourist attraction – everyone’s bored with sand apparently, so they’re shipping over Black Down.”

 

“Oh,” I said.

 

“They’re collecting it at lunchtime,” Alun said, “we won’t have time for a climb.”

 

I said nothing. There was nothing to say.