Everest to never rest
At 92, travel writer Jan Morris files what may be the last report from her remarkable life.
Somewhere in rural north Wales, a white-haired elderly woman briskly strides 1000 paces along a lane each day, whistling and singing national anthems to keep her march “proud and steady”. Land of Our Fathers, God Save the Queen, Waltzing Matilda, Land of Hope and Glory help propel Jan Morris, travel writer and journalist, onwards as she grapples with the travails of old age – she is 92.
Morris, who became famous when she accompanied and reported on Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay’s 1953 Everest triumph, is filing what may be her last report, In My Mind’s Eye, a collection of short “thought diaries” as she approaches the end of the line. She is still a sprightly writer, with a remarkable backstory.
Born James Morris, and serving with the 9th Queen’s Royal Lancers during World War II, he became she after a sex reassignment operation in Morocco in 1972. English law required he divorce his wife, Elizabeth, but they were later formally united in a civil partnership.
Now, as Morris writes, after 70 years together, a subtle demon is coming between them: Elizabeth’s dementia, which brings out the worst in both of them. “It incites me to harshness and impatience, and to say unpleasant things I really do not mean.” But, Morris, adds, each day ends with a kiss of reconciliation.
Like many older people, Morris is preoccupied by health worries. But she mocks herself, too: hospitalised with kidney problems, she was amazed to see two horse-drawn coaches trotting through the building. Hallucinations are common symptoms of kidney disease.
She also pleads guilty to a degree of hubris, related to being the subject of a BBC documentary a couple of years ago “presided over by one of the best-loved professionals in the business” (Michael Palin), “and the effect on me has been disastrous”.
She puffed up, briefly. “I found I was actually offended if somebody didn’t mention that TV programme.” When she eventually watched it, all she saw was “a very old woman in yellow, shuffling”.
Back down to earth she came.
While the “diaries” can be suffused with a gentle melancholy, they also reveal Morris as a sharp, opinionated personality.
The things that preoccupy her include her garden, the books she has collected over the decades, her love of cats, her hatred for zoos, the decline of Britain’s influence, her devotion to marmalade, her battered car (a 2006 Honda Civic, whereas the cover shows her standing in front of a Morris Minor). One short chapter marks a day where she “had no thoughts at all”. But she has a deep gratitude for her life.
Overall, In My Mind’s Eye is quite charming, like talking to an eccentric great-aunt, once a tireless adventurer, who calls each night to tell you what’s on her mind. It’s nostalgic, a little batty, but also surprisingly comforting.