Horace Cecil Diss: Story of a Rock Climb he lead in 1914
Rock Climbing Horace Cecil Diss was a keen member of the Fell & Rock Climbing Club and often climbed with his friend Gibby Milligan of Lakeland Laundries until he married.The following article was published in the Journal of The Fell & Rock Climbing Club No 58 1964 and relates the story of a climb 50 years earlier.
R.L. Heelis was a boy at the time and his father was a Doctor, perhaps in Barrow. I (G.D. Diss) stayed with R.L. Heelis in either Nottingham or Derby when I went for assessment for aircrew.
The days we remember, are not the easy sunny ones, but the days when all the elements are against us, the wind, the mist, and the rain. The rain more than anything else makes vivid that memory of a day some fifty years ago. [1914].
An arrangement had been made that Horace should join us at Thorneythwaite during the second week of our annual holiday on the farm. We all looked forward to his arrival, not only because he had rashly volunteered to conduct my father and myself up the North Climb on Pillar Rock, but also because he was always the life and soul of any expedition on the fells. He was brimful of fun and humorous anecdotes, his eyes twinkling behind his pince-nez, which were secured against the elements by a slender gold chain and hook behind the ear; he was an ideal companion.
September is not the best of the months for weather in the district and we had not had a day without since our arrival. However my father had us out every day on the fells, so that the Jopson's kitchen was draped with our wet garments each evening. The day Horace arrived was no exception and the next day saw us trying to get some rock practice in the shelter of the Dove Holes up Coombe Ghyll.
Tramping back that evening in our usual sodden state, my father suggested we collect some dry clothes and continue from Thorneythwaite over the Stye to Wasdale. If we were lucky we could stay the night there don our dry clothes in the morning and set off for Pillar Rock. I had no option being only a teenage son, and Horace, as usual, was game for anything, so the expedition was on.
We reached Wasdale as darkness was falling and secured a room in the hotel annex. I remember there were a double bed and a very rickety camp bed in the only room available. Lots were cast to decide to decide who should have the camp bed and I think Horace wangled this in deference to the elder member who resented preferential treatment. However certain strange noises in the night were later attributed to Horace being deposited on the floor when the brick supporting the broken leg of the camp bed gave way.
We all had hoped that it would be clear in the morning, but when we looked out, there was the rain drifting up towards Black Sail in misty columns for all the world like ghostly giants advancing to the attack.
There were a number of climbing notables staying at Wasdale, but each took one look at the dismal scene and retired to some more billiards fives which was popular in the old billiards room in those days.
My father was not to be balked of his chance to do the North Climb on the Pillar, but it seemed that I was too puny to assist in the lowering of the leader into Savage Gully and a third adult would have to be co-opted. Luck was with us in the shape of a hardy Northumbrian who admitted he had never done any climbing. However he sportingly volunteered to accompany us. A pair of climbing boots were borrowed, as he had none, and these being on the tight side for him, were carried slung through his rucksack straps. So we set off up the valley, three men and a boy .I cannot think that many would have chosen this sort of a day for their first introduction to the Pillar Rock. Certainly Horace had been up the North Climb before but had not led on that occasion. However, he said he could find it, which was some consolation. Still, for all that I felt a little doubtful of the outcome as I sat eating my sodden sandwiches at top of Black Sail.
Looking back on it now, I am sure that my father was supremely happy and sure that we should accomplish our task. Most of the year he dedicated himself to ministering to the sick in the dingy surroundings of an industrial practice and looked forward to getting away from it all once a year.
We were lucky to hit off the High Level track as visibility was limited to a few yards in any direction and we had feelings of relief when Robinson's cairn loomed out of the mist. Here our North Cumbrian friend prised off his wet boots and struggled into the borrowed climbing boots. Depositing the discarded footgear. Under a stone at the foot of the cairn, we started off again to find the foot of Pillar Rock. Doctor and Horace arguing hard that it was this way and not that way, we trekked backwards and forwards beneath the Rock looking for the small cairn said to indicate the start of the North Climb. However they both finally agreed on the same pile of stones, so we roped up. I was second behind Horace, then my father who was responsible for the safety of our volunteer, who thus became last on the rope.
I have had no experience of modern nylon ropes but the old alpine rope with the familiar three red strands became more like a steel hawser when wet, and with very cold hands as well, was a monstrous thing to handle. The first three pitches I remember only as miniature waterfalls, and not so miniature either. I found myself craning my neck upwards looking for the next hold, only to get the full force of the waterfall in my face. Leaning back enabled me to see but resulted in the water pouring down the open neck of my shirt, finding its way out by the seat of my breeches. Never have I been so wet, not a dry stitch of clothing. I was glad to escape from the last of these pitches. Moving over to the right where the rope led, I could not see the leader, being confronted with what looked like a long groove going diagonally upwards from left to right. Here at last was the famous Stomach Traverse I had read about. I remember finding this much easier than I imagined for although my right leg dangled over an abyss with no hold for my foot, my left leg was reassuringly jammed in the groove, so I squiggled my way up and came out to find Horace by the Split Blocks. Peering through the mist ahead, our way seemed blocked by a formidable buttress over which water cascaded, shooting out into the depths below. This was the Nose, the crux of our climb. The whole party assembled on a grass ledge below the Nose and started to unrope, so that Horace could be lowered down over the edge into Savage Gully. My father was to supervise the lowering business whilst the Northumbrian belayed him. I, as an extra precaution, belayed myself.
Some people describe themselves as being 'hard of hearing' which usually means, jolly deaf. My father came into this category. The resulting conversion went something like this. Horace --------"Lower away Doc". Doc ------- "What's that?" Horace ------- "Lower away I can't get off this hold." Doc pulls the rope in slightly. Furious cries from Horace, " Heigh, you've pulled me off". Doc ----- "Can't you get down?" Horace ------" Not unless you flaming well let go of that something rope."Doc (hearing at last) ----- "right, down you go". Loud and anguished cries from Horace, "You've knocked my specs off, and I'm dangling in mid-air, pull in a bit". Well finally he landed at the bottom, rather like a sack of coals, I fear. We then unroped, and threw our end down into the mist. We knew it had reached its destination by the yell of pain, which drifted up as the sodden rope landed on our leader's head. An ominous silence ensued, whilst Horace coiled the rope. After a time we could hear the scraping of boots on rock and the occasional dislodged stone thudding down as the leader made his way up Savage Gully. I was almost startled as a familiar voice above my head said, "Heigh there, I'm throwing the rope down".
Now, we had carefully read the description of the climb, in Abraham's book, which quite cheerfully said that the leader, having arrived above the Nose, brings the rest of the party up. Unfortunately for us he omitted to mention how. None of us three, left shivering damply below this ominous beak, could see any hold beyond the initial stance. Some discussion then ensued, talk ricocheting twixt those below and the superior person above. Finally a suggestion seemed very popular, that I, being the lightest member, should go first. They said that when I had joined Horace, I could then belay him whilst he struggled with the heavyweights. As it was he appeared to be perched insecurely on the tip of the Nose. Thus it was that I found myself standing on a narrow flake of rock on the bulging wall below the Nose. For the life of me I could see no further means of advancement. Stretching up as far as I could, I could find no sort of handhold. I shouted, "Can you pull me up?" "No, I cannot," came back very definitely. So there I stood getting stiffer and more unsteady on my ledge and it seemed to me there was only one thing I could do. I shouted to Horace to hold my rope tight then I climbed hand over hand up the rope, landing sprawling beside him, with my length of rope hanging down in a great loop. If I had not already realised what a heinous offence I had committed, it was soon made clear to me by Horace, who pointed out that I had broken all the rules of safe climbing, and might have pulled him off and caused a fatality.
There was certainly no justification for what I did, but in fairness I must mention, that the great Owen Glynn Jones in his Rock climbing in the English Lake District, describes this route, which he did for the first time in 1883 under the guidance of John Robinson himself whose cairn perpetuates his memory. He tells how Robinson showed him how to bring his man up the Nonse by using a stirrup loop in a spare rope. The method is then described and can be read by anyone lucky enough to come across this climbing classic.
Considerably mortified, I slunk away up the crags behind him, and finding an enormous belay, secured the rope between myself and Horace.How the other two go up I could not see but I know Horace had prodigious strength and did a lot of heaving.fter this the ascent to the Low Man and on up to the High Man was easy work but by no means an anticlimax for me. I will never forget the excitement inspired by being actually on the top of the Pillar Rock and being shown the tin box in which were the visiting cards, left by some of the early pioneers. I looked down into the Pisgah gap, and was glad that this time the rope above me would be firmly held. Soon we were all off the Rock and picking our way down to Robinson's cairn. By this time it was getting late, and after picking up our friend's boots, we made all speed back to Wasdale. We had told them at Thorneythwaite that we would be back that night, and so we ate a late high tea in our wet clothes and said goodbye to Our staunch Northumbrian ally. He said he had enjoyed himself and was now looking forward to a hot bath in the hotel. How we envied him. The hotelkeeper said we were mad to attempt to cross the Stye in the dark and mist, but as we knew they would be anxious at Thorneythwaite, we accepted his offer of a collapsible candle lamp, and set off. We very soon lost the track and decided our only certain way of getting to the top of the pass was to follow the stream all the way. The going was rough but we steadily made headway. My father led the way and in single file I followed with Horace bringing up the rear. We were assured of the latter's presence by the sound of his songs, which ranged from, "Number one, number one, I've done a climb so I'll sing you a song" to the more lugubrious, "Don't send my boy to prison, it's the first crime wat'e done, and the judge 'e says in earnest, take back thy erring son"
We didn't find the collapsible lamp much use, except at collapsing, which it did at the slightest provocation. At last we reached the top and to our joy saw that the mist had cleared enabling us to discern the waters of Stye Head Tarn gleaming dully in the moonlight. We all heaved a sigh of relief. My father took the opportunity to stop and light his pipe. Horace strode on ahead, thinking it was now but a simple walk home, but solid rock looking like a clump of heather, soon brought him down. No damage was done fortunately, this proving our only mishap in our fourteen hours on the fells.
When we got over the brow, by Taylor Gyll and were able to look down into Borrowdale, we were intrigued by a sort of glow-worm, which appeared to be moving up the track below Stockley Bridge. We hurried on as fast as we dared, haunted by the suspicion that the glow-worm could be a string of lights carried by a search party. We met the stretcher party, headed by Fisher Jopson at Stockley Bridge. Their joy at finding us safe and well cut short our apologies for causing them so much trouble. We were soon laughing at the now incongruous stretcher they bore, as we set off again for Thorneythwaite. Soon we were being welcomed by my mother and sister and the hospitable Jopson family. So ended a day forever etched in my memory.
Family Individual Stories
H.C.DISS Lecture to Old Barrovians' Association dated 24 th February 1928
Lecture to Old Barrovians' Association dated 24 th February 1928
Cecil gave many lectures on Timekeeping and on Gemstones. This one is unusual in that it was reported very fully in the "North Western Daily Mail" both the leaflet advertising the talk and the newspaper cutting are in the album.
The Leaflet .
Old Barrovians' Association (With the cooperation of the Old Girls Club).
Lecture on 'Time through the Ages' (illustrated by Slides and Film,
By H.C. Diss Esq., (Fellow of the British Horological Institute).
In the King's Hall on Friday 24th February 1928 at 8p.m.
Mr H.C. Diss needs no introduction to Barrow. He had the honour of giving the very first lecture delivered under the auspices of the Association. It will be a pleasure to hear him handle in his inimitable style, this new lecture on a subject of which he is an acknowledged master.
Mr Diss has a powerful voice, an excellent delivery, a rare fund of humour, and an intimate knowledge of his subject.
The British Horological Institute of which Sir Frank Dyson LL.D.,F.R.S.,F.B.H.I., is President his year, was founded in 1858 to further the science of Horology.
The Lecture, which will not be technical, will deal in a comprehensive manner with a fascinating subject.
What is time? The different kinds of Time -- The difficulties experienced by our ancestors in making the Calendar keep pace with the Seasons -- The timekeeper of prehistoric man -- The romantic solution of the difficulties of the early sea-captains in solving the problems of navigation, leading through the various developments of the subject up to our present electric age.
Admission Nine pence
Tickets may be obtained at the door, at the school, or from Messrs. Spencer,
Stationers and Booksellers, Dalton road
Time Through the Ages
Interesting Lecture at Barrow
(North Western Daily Mail)
Ancient and Modern Methods
An interesting, instructive and entertaining lecture on "Time through the Ages", illustrated by slides and film, was delivered by H.C. Diss Esq., Fellow of the British Horological Institute in the King's Hall on Friday evening, under the auspices of The Old Barrovians' Association, to a large and appreciative audience.
The lecturers stated that astronomers thousands of years ago had a considerable knowledge of the heavens, and it was estimated to be nearly 6,000 years since the day was first divided into 24 parts or hours.
The sub-division of the hour into 60 minutes was at least 1,700 years old. No doubt this division of the hours into 60 parts and later the minute in 60 secs was chosen because no smaller number was divisible by so many other numbers.
There are, he said, three recognised kinds of time, viz., Sidereal time, Solar time and Mean time. Sidereal time, on account of its perfect uniformity, has been adopted by astronomers as their standard for measuring time. (Astronomers reckon from noon and count the hours continually from1 to 20)
This uniformity really staggers the imagination for it is known from calculations of the eclipses that one revolution of the earth in relation to a fixed star is made in exactly the same time now as 2,100 years ago, at least within a fraction of a second, the Astronomer Royal stating recently that the earth is slowing a thousandth of a second every 100 years, thought to be owing to the friction of the tides.
One would naturally think that such a standard would be good enough for everybody and all time. But a Siderial Day is shorter by nearly four minutes than a day calculated from the sun and we are dependant on the sun for our seasons, it is necessary in order that the year may accord with the seasons to disregard Siderial time in favour of Solar time.
Greenwich Mean Time
Even a solar day is not constant, so 365 solar days are, we might say, pooled and divided into 365 equal days, thus giving us mean time, and as we take the meridian which passes through Greenwich as our standard we get that well-known expression Greenwich Mean Time. From the standard mean time clock at Greenwich are transmitted the six dots so familiar to wireless listeners.
The earth takes a little more than a year to complete its orbit round the sun, and by not making proper allowance for this the ancients got into an awful muddle with the calendar. Even in England as late as 1752 there was an error of 11 days, which were omitted, and the beginning of the civil year altered from March 25th to January 1st. By Act of Parliament the day after September 2nd was called September 14th. Just as the introduction of summer time was opposed, so did many oppose this act, saying that they were being robbed of 11 days. Those members who supported the Bill were pelted with mud and stones when they appeared in the London streets.
Prehistoric Timekeepers
Prehistoric Timekeepers are largely a matter of conjecture, but very probably it was noticed that the shadow cast by a stick or stone travelled along the same path each day, and thus the sundial was born. The first recorded sun dial is mentioned in the Bible, the date being placed at the 8th Century B.C. From remotest times even to the present day sundials have been used the world over.
Then followed the water clock or Clepsydrae, which means to steal water. The very earliest forms were probably very crude, probably a shell with a hole pierced in the bottom which allowed the water to slowly drip out. Or an empty shell was floated in a pond and allowed to slowly fill. One imaginative writer pictures such a timekeeper as a large bowl tended by a slave whose duty it was to sound a huge gong each time the bowl filled, thus informing those within hearing of the passage of time. Even to this day a pierced cocoanut shell floating in a bowl of water is used for timekeeping on Malay boats. The Roman Emperor Pompey introduced into the Roman Law Courts water clocks for the very mercival task of limiting speeches. Doing this noble work one might well ask why are they not so employed to this day? Water clocks were in general use in private dwelling houses during Caesar's time, and later many very intricate timekeepers were so made. Another early form of timekeeper is the sandglass with which we are all familiar. There invention is ascribed to a monk at the end of the 8th century when the art of glass blowing was revived. The nautical term knots as a measure of distance is associated with the sand glass. This arose from the fact that a ship's speed was formerly judged by the number of knots on the log line, which slipped through the sailor's hands during 28 second, timed with a sand glass. In the House of Commons at the present time a sand glass is used to mark certain intervals, and in many old churches the stand for the sand glass invariably used by the earlier preachers can still be seen.
Some attribute the invention of the first clock driven by a weight and with an escapement to regulate the wheels running down, to a monk who lived in the 10th century. However it was not until many years later that large public clocks became comparatively common. Before dials were invented mechanical figures or Jacks as they were called, were used to strike the hours. There is a collection of these Jacks at the Church of St. Mary Steps, Exeter.
About 1370 King Charles V of France had a large turret clock erected in Paris, which took eight years to complete. The hours were struck on a bell. It was on this bell 202 years later that the signal for the massacre of St Bartholomew was given. The four o'clock hour on this turret clock was originally shown in roman numerals, but the King, wishing to find some fault, said they should be four strokes. The clockmaker protested but the King replied, "I am never wrong, have it altered". This became a custom, which is followed to this day. In 1368 Edward 111 granted a safe conduct pass to three Dutchmen to start clock manufacture in England. Up to then practically all clocks had been confined to monasteries.
The Clock making Industry
From 1650 to 1750 London was the centre of clock making industry, in the same way that Sheffield is the centre of the cutlery industry. At this time clockmakers were lucky to be associated with clever and skilful cabinetmakers, and clocks of this period were excellent, due to the pride of the workman, and the time he would devote to the task and the high prices that were willingly paid for fine craftsmanship. The quality of the work was also greatly influenced by the power of the Clockmakers' Company, who had power granted to them by charter to seize and destroy poor work. They exercised this power and soon ruined an inferior workman. With the withdrawal of these powers from the guild, inferior work got on the market. This, perhaps, was only natural ?as up to then only the wealthy could afford clocks.
Between 1690 and 1790 hardly any long case clocks were made without calendar circles. The calendar was thought more important than the minute hand, owing, no doubt, to the public having no printed calendars or newspapers to which to refer.
Portable Clocks To Peter Hele, born in Nuremberg in 1489 we owe the introduction of portable clocks. This meant a great advance in horology for he invented the tightly-coiled ribbon of steel called the mainspring. Early clocks were not portable on account of the size and clumsy construction and because they were driven by weights which needed room in which to fall. Although portable timekeepers were not in general use until many years later, table clocks became more or less common with the wealthy. Shortly after Hele's death in 1542 a portable timekeeper was produced based on his earlier work which on account of its oval shape and place oe of origin, became known as the Nuremberg egg. This was really the first watch and was five or six inches high and made entirely of iron. From this egg was hatched the ship's chronometer some two centuries later.
The Nuremberg egg had no glass and one hand only, the hour hand. Its lack of accuracy is hardly surprising, as there were no gear cutting machines in those days, all work being done by hand. The need of a spring to assist the balance in controlling the escapement was felt, and pig's stiff bristles were first used for this purpose. The modern hairspring is, of course, a very fine-coiled strip of steel, very similar to a mainspring but very much finer. To Dr. Hooke, an Englishman, is due the credit of inventing the hairspring in 1665, and he made the first gear-cutting machine in 1670.
The Ship's Chronometer
The lecturer then dealt with the invention of the ship's chronometer, and outlined the difficulties, which beset the great sea captains and navigators before its advent. In 1714 the British Government offered £20,000 to the discoverer of a method of determining longititude within half a degree, the instrument to be tested on a voyage to the West Indies. During the 50 years before the reward was won, it became popularly thought impossible to find a means of ascertaining longitude. However, in 1764 a Yorkshire man, John Harrison, made, entirely unaided, a chronometer which permanently solved the problem which had baffled Sir Isaac Newton and, in fact, the best brains of the world. Harrison's accurate timekeeper must be judged by the enormous benefits it conferred not only on seamen but indirectly on the whole world. It is not too much to say that the British Empire and our naval greatness are due in no small measure to the fact that an Englishman, John Harrison, solved the gravest problem that ever confronted navigators.
English Watches
It is not thought that watches were worn in Shakespeare's time. Though in "As you like it " occurs the sentence, "He drew a dial from his poke", it probably referred to a pocket sundial. It was about 100 years after the mainspring was invented that watches became at all common. It is thought that Oliver Cromwell was one of the first to wear a pocket watch. The bloods of the day preferred to display theirs hanging from their clothes. The puritans, hating display, hid theirs in their pockets. Watch glasses were not used until about 1610 until about 1685. A watch with a seconds hand is referred to in 1707 and described as a physician's pulse watch. During the 18th century large rewards were offered for watches lost. Nearly every advertisement stated the reward would be paid and no questions asked, so pick pocketing was profitable in those days.
Watch making in Coventry dates from 1727. During the war firms were on war work, making aircraft instruments, speedometers, time fuses etc. English ships' chronometers are still the finest in the world; also English watches and clocks are second to none where price is not the main consideration.
The earliest watches had verge escapements, and then followed the cylinder escapement, which is still used in some cheap watches. But it is Mudge's lever escapement, which has made the wonderful timekeeping of modern watches possible.
In giving a brief outline of the modern watch and modern production, he described the Buren factory, situated about six miles from Berne in Switzerland. This factory is entirely British owned by Williamsons of Farringdon road, London.
The balance of a watch he explained performs about 200 million revolutions a year, day and night, without rest, a marvellous performance for any piece of machinery, as watches get very little lubrication.
Big Ben
I would like to make allusion to Big Ben, the world's most famous clock, which booms out the hours to wireless listeners. In1834 the Houses of Parliament were destroyed by fire, and it was decided to rebuild in 1835, provision being made for a clock tower in the design chosen. The firms tendering for the clock had to guarantee timekeeping, the condition being that the first stroke of every hour on the bell should be accurate to one second. Big Ben easily fulfils this condition, its present rate being about a tenth of a second a day. The mechanism weighs about 15 tons. It has a zinc and steel compensation pendulum. The clock used to be wound by hand taking two men six hours. Now the striking weights are raised by electricity in 45 minutes. The dials are 23 feet in diameter, and the hands weigh about two tons. It is really marvellous to think they are driven round the dial to an error of only a tenth of a second a day. The hour bell weighs 13 1/2 tons and is slightly cracked. Automatic signals are received twice a day from Greenwich for checking purposes.
Electric Horology
After showing numerous slides and an excellent film, Mr Diss concluded with a brief reference to horology, stating that the mysterious force of magnetism is the fundamental principal of all electric clocks. The first electric clock was made in 1840, and today electric clocks are nearing perfection. In fact, some predict that in years to come the present intricate mechanism of timekeepers will be dispensed with, watch hands being propelled by a small battery carried in the pocket or even by wireless impulses from some wireless time station. Electric timekeepers have a great future before them, and I read that a president of the Clockmakers' Company predicts that in the future time will be laid on to new houses like gas, water, and rates. (Laughter and Applause)
The lecturer enhanced his lecture by relating some amusing incidents and stories.
A Brief Summary by Geoffrey Diss
I found that Diss, a Saxon word which means Dyke or Ditch, was one of the few surnames to have been in uninterrupted use since the 13th century.
There are references in the Norwich Court Leet and throughout East Anglia to the surname in the 14th and 15th centuries i.e. John de Disse. Various Diss cleric's have left interesting wills in this period The earliest reference I have found is one William de Disse of County Essex in 1273. Walter Disse, a Carmelite Friar and Abbot of Norwich, Keeper of the King's Boats and Confessor to John of Gaunt and his Queen, was perhaps the most notorious.
I do not believe that we have any connection with the French families named Diss. Nor do I believe that we are of Huguenot descent.
I do believe that we are East Anglian with our roots back to Diss in Norfolk in the 14th and 15th centuries. My guess is that the general path our ancestors followed was Diss - Norwich - Bury St Edmunds - Ely - Balsham - and that a Diss from the Cambridgeshire /Essex/ Suffolk border moved down the A604 to Halstead in the early 1600s.
I do believe that we Disses with an English background are all descended from two 18th century marriages. (nothing found to contradict this sofar 2019)
from the marriage
between William Diss and Judith Rayner on 29th October 1755
at St Andrew's Church Halstead.
William Diss circa 1733-1821 Origins - Geoff's thoughts in 1989?
The text of a contribution to the Halstead and District Local History Society
*************
from the marriage
between Robert Diss and Ann Winnings
at West Wickham on 25 May 1774
It is possible that we have a common forebear.
Unless, of Course, somebody knows better??