A long-awaited trip to Nepal moves Alexander McCall Smith

A long awaited trip to Nepal to meet ex-Gurkha servicemen proves to be an awe-inspiring and moving experience for Alexander McCall Smith

The desire to visit Nepal can occur at any stage in life. For some, reading at the age of eight about the conquest of Everest is enough to trigger the ambition. There’s the mountain, clean and white against the sky; there’s the line of Sherpas – what an evocative word! – toiling across the fields of snow; and there are Hillary and Tenzing on the summit, begoggled, triumphant. And at that age one does not give much thought to poor brave Mallory, frozen down below, where he fell, his body not to be recovered for three-quarters of a century.

Of course, there are other reasons for hankerings to visit Nepal. There are the temples, pictures of which used to be in the Children’s Encyclopedia that some of us devoured when young; there is the name of the capital – Kathmandu – one of the great romantic place-names of the world, along with Rio de Janeiro, Dar-es-Salaam, and Constantinople; and then there are the Gurkhas, those stocky Himalayan volunteers who pop up in military histories, striking fear and trembling in their adversaries.

I have just returned from my longed-for trip to Nepal. My immediate reason for going was a connection I had established with The Gurkha Welfare Trust, a well-regarded charity that looks after Gurkhas and their families, including many veterans of the various conflicts that Britain has been involved in since 1939. The Trust had offered to show me what they did if I were ever to find myself in Nepal, and that was encouragement enough. Four hectic days at the Jaipur Literary Festival in Rajasthan might justify a few days in the mountains. More than justify, I thought, and bought tickets to Kathmandu from Delhi.

And then I was there. One further hop – on the wonderfullynamed Yeti Airlines – took us to Pokhara, a major centre of The Gurkha Welfare Trust activity. Once in Pokhara we booked into Tiger Mountain Lodge, owned and run by a gregarious and charming Englishman, Marcus Cotton. Marcus was bitten by the Nepal bug in his twenties. He returns to North Devon for a couple of months every year, but the other ten are spent helping others to enjoy the view of the Annapurna Range.

The Gurkha Welfare Trust proved to be splendid hosts. A gleaming white Land Cruiser with a Union Jack on the front arrived to take me, and my small party of four, down to their HQ in the middle of Pokhara town. And there were the Gurkhas – a splendid body of men in immaculate blazers and highly polished shoes, with the unmistakeable bearing of former soldiers.

We saw their clinic, where ex-Gurkhas and their wives – and widows – are looked after for life. We saw the nearby retirement home, built around a spotless courtyard; lunch was being served in the dining hall and generous helpings were being ladled onto the plates of the octogenarians and nonagenarians. On one of the doors, the room of a 92-year-old ex-Gurkha, I saw his photograph proudly displayed, in uniform, with his military number. His face, like the faces of all the inmates, was etched with the character that comes from the leading of a hard life at high altitude.

Later, in a side street in the town, I was taken to the home of a Gurkha veteran aged 105. In Nepal it is difficult for people to be sure about how old anybody is, as records are not always reliable. This estimate, however, was made on the basis of age at enlistment, and so it was probably correct within a year or so.

We met in the courtyard of his son’s house. Supported by a walking frame bought for him by The Gurkha Welfare Trust, he walked quite well for a man of such advanced years. He sat down, and I sat down opposite him, our interpreter at his side.

He told me his story. After signing up, he had been sent to India, and from there to Iraq. Then he went on to Egypt, where he fought in the Western Desert. I asked him whether he had been under the command of Montgomery, and he said no, it was Mr Churchill who was in charge. Then he was taken to Italy, with the invasion, and he fought at the Battle of Monte Cassino. ‘I lost many friends,’ he said. ‘Many of us did not come back.’

Our next visit was in the hills, where we went to see a veteran of a mere 92. His house had been destroyed by the earthquake that devastated Nepal a few years ago, but had been rebuilt for him from scratch by the Trust. It was strong, I was told, and would withstand the next quake.

At the end of our conversation, this elderly Gurkha stood up and saluted. He stood firm and dignified, a symbol of what these men stand for. Once they give their word, then they mean it, and they have meant it for generations. That, I thought, is what makes our obligation to them so significant.

We went away in silence, each moved, in our different ways, by what we had seen. We looked up at the Himalayas, just a few miles away, at Annapurna IV, and the cloud that made a white line below it.

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He stood firm and dignified, a symbol of what these men stand for