One of the newswires that I subscribe to had a link today to an interesting article in the Guardian newspaper about the growing pressure of work on mountain rescue services in the UK.

It caught my attention because Kyrgyzstan is a mountainous country and I wondered about the situation here in Kyrgyzstan.  In fact I often see references to the fact that Kyrgyzstan is over 90% mountainous – the actual figure seems to vary upon the source being quoted.  This sometimes causes some confusion for some visitors who don’t stray far from the main road – who ask: “Where are the mountains?”

The general definition of a mountain seems to be: “a large landform that rises above the surrounding land”.  One dictionary actually uses the phrase, “higher than and steeper than a hill”, which raises a lot of questions in my mind, especially: “what is a hill?”  The idea behind this four letter word seems so simple and commonplace that we tend to take it for granted but when we look up the word in the dictionary we find that it refers to “a landform that rises above the surrounding land.”  The distinction between a mountain and a hill is simply that one is larger than the other.  So it all boils down to a question of size.

It is not simpy a question, however, of the length or breadth of the landform, nor the area of land that it covers, but one of altitude.  I remember, for example, being taught when I was a schoolboy back in Malvern, that the Worcestershire Beacon, (the highest hill in the Malvern Hills), was actually a Mountain because it was more than 1000 feet high.  Its height of 1395 feet – or 425m – seems pretty small to me nowadays as Bishkek is well above that, situated at about 800m – or about 2600 feet – above sea level, (it depends where you are in the city when you measure it.  My GPS system tells me the office is at 724.4m).

The plot of the 1995 film, “The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain”, starring Hugh Grant, centers around an English cartographer must tell a Welsh village that their mountain, (“the first mountain in Wales”), is only a hill, because his measurements indicate that it is actually just under the 1000 foot threshold.  The offended community sets out to change that and construct a mound on the summit to raise it above the limit in order to retain its official status as a mountain.

Nowadays, the threshold seems to have moved … a mountain is generally considered to rise something like 600m above the surrounding terrain – so the Worcestershire Beacon wouldn’t count any more.

Here, the word “mountain” is used to refer to land which is higher than 1500m above sea level and so, when the country is described as “mountainous”, this simply means that the vast majority of the country lies at altitudes of more than 1500m above sea level.

But what about the question of “steepness”?  This conjures up the image of the sides of a mountain rising up to a “peak”, rather like a pyramid.  Perhaps the archetypal mountain in this respect is Mont Blanc in France – but Khan Tengri on the borders of Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan and China – and, incidentally, claimed by all three countries as their own – is another.  The Kyrgyz Range of mountains to the south of Bishkek certainly resembles this with their line of craggy peaks, as do the Terskey and Kungey Ala Too ranges which encircle Lake Issyk Kul.  What, however, of Peak Lenin on the border of Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan?  It doesn’t have such a pronounced peak as such.

It is said that mountains cover something like 20% of the earth’s surface and occur in 75% of the world’s countries, accommodate approximately 10% of the world’s population and are the source of over 50% – some sources suggest as much as 80% – of the world’s supply of fresh water.

They offer a wide variety of ecosystems – indeed, one definition of mountains is that they must rise sufficiently high as to provide for two distinct ecosystems … hence the 600m limit, which is basically what is needed to do this.

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Back in Britain, it seems that the number of “callouts” experienced by mountain rescue teams has increased year on year, and this year’s weather conditions have put additional strain on members of the team.  According to the leader of the Langdale/Ambleside team:

the team was a “long way from breaking point” but had to plan for the future. “We have to anticipate it growing year on year. If the callouts carry on increasing, at some point the system we operate is not going to work.”

It seems as if there has been an increase in the number of casual climbers and walkers that have fallen into difficulty and needed assistance – “members of the shorts and flip-flops” brigade, as the report puts it, although, thankfully, “fewer people had been rescued suffering from hypothermia because many were wearing good-quality fleeces and waterproof coats”.  One of the reasons for the increase is thought to be the growing expectation amongst members of the public that “they will be whisked off a mountain in minutes if they get into trouble”, possibly as a result of the media reports and documentaries about the “rescue heroes”.

In fact, rescues are not always as dramatic or comfortable and, unfortunately, are not always successful.  What’s more, members of the rescue services are volunteers and put themselves at risk by going to the assistance of distressed travelers.  I’m not sure if they are ever presented with a bill for the service, but I suppose they ought to be, and I think they would be surprised at how big it would be if they were.

In most parts of the world, and certainly in the UK, the rescue services are manned by volunteers.  The American Coastguard and Britain’s Royal Air Force operate an “Air Sea Search and Rescue Service”, but the Britain’s Lifeboat service is manned and operated almost entirely by volunteers and the situation in mountain regions tends to rely upon ordinary citizens volunteering their services.

Here in Kyrgyzstan there is no central rescue service, although plans to establish one were set in motion as long ago as 2004.  There used to be what everyone seems to agree was an efficient service run in Soviet times, but which has ceased to function since the dissolution of the Union.   That service was financed by trade unions, and all climbers were required to register when they arrived at mountain camps. They were only allowed to begin the climb after their equipment had been checked and they had been given training.  If the group did not return to base camp by a certain time, a team was automatically sent out to find them.  The system collapsed, however, in 1991 along with the Soviet Union, and the responsibility for saving climbers was divided between the travel agencies who organized the climbs and the government’s Ministry for Ecology and Emergency situations, (MEES), which did not have a dedicated mountain rescue team.

Nowadays, the Ministry of Emergency Situations, (M.Ch.S, the Em-chay-es), operates rescue helicopters, and there are at least two private services.  One offers satellite transmitters with a “panic button” which can be pressed to alert the staff at their headquarters who would then alert the appropriate authorities and dispatch assistance.

The American National Guard has recently run training courses for Kyrgyz rescue teams in Montana and Alaska and a Slovakian project has also prepared materials and training for mountain rescuers.

To be honest, I don’t know if the Rescue Services in Kyrgyzstan have experienced a similar increase in the number of callouts in recent years.  There are often stories in the press about climbers running into difficulty, needing rescue or simply “going missing”.  Occasionally there are reports of climbers who have perished in some accident on the mountains.  On average, three to four climbers have disappeared every year since the collapse of the Soviet era mountain rescue system.  A few years ago a body was found in one of the valleys not far from Bishkek of a climber who had obviously gone missing a few years before – but no-one seemed to know anything about who he was and the body could not be identified.

It’s not just climbers either.  A couple of years ago a group of hunters were caught up in a helicopter crash in the mountains in the Naryn oblast, near to the Chinese border.  One of the hunters used his satellite phone to contact relatives in Canada who, in turn, alerted the Kyrgyz authorities.  A relief helicopter was dispatched but, somewhat overloaded, it too crashed to the ground.  Eventually a group of Border Guards from the post at Torugart, led by a visiting American “advisor”, found the group and repatriated them to Naryn.

If the climbers and walkers in Britain would be surprised at the cost of rescue services in the UK, then they would be astounded at the cost here in Kyrgyzstan.  They certainly would have to pay for the services, here.  It’s for that reason that foreign governments advise their nationals to ensure that they take out sufficient travel insurance … as the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office put it: “If you can’t afford the insurance, you can’t afford to go.”

Technically speaking, insurance is a requirement here in Kyrgyzstan, but in reality it is rarely ever checked.  For example, it is never checked when a visa is issued – although many countries actually refuse to issue a visa without a copy of the insurance policy, or certificate, being provided.

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Now, although most of our tours would not require the assistance of the various mountain rescue services, (most of our tours are “motor tours”, “cultural tours” or tours along the Great Silk Road and we don’t undertake mountaineering expeditions and the like, and our treks are accompanied by experienced staff), we are very conscious of safety issues in the mountains.

The mountains are, indeed, a dangerous place.  The risks in such environments are manifold and numerous: steep slopes with slippery and/or uneven surfaces; risks of avalanche or landslip, or falling rocks; encounters with wildlife … just to mention a few.  What’s more, by their very geography, mountainous regions tend to be remote and difficult terrain to traverse.  It can take a long time to summon assistance – and for it to eventually arrive.   In one case, in 2004, it took five days for the Ministry of Emergency Situations to learn of an incident which cost the life of one Russian climber.  It would help, of course, if there climbers, skiers, snowboarders and the like were at least required to register before entering on an expedition, but at the moment that is not the case.

They should not be thought of as “nothing special” or, worse, treated with contempt or disdain.

1. be a citizen of the Kyrgyz Republic,
2. have a degree in Tourism, and
3. have at least three years experience in tourism.

Under this provision I couldn’t be the director of the Celestial Mountains Tour Company.  Although I satisfy the third of these conditions … the company was established in 1997, and so I have over ten years experience … but I fall foul of the other two.  I do have official Residence status here in Kyrgyzstan – but my passport is of “a different colour” … I am not a Kyrgyz citizen.  Also my degree is not in tourism, it’s in Theology and the Psychology of Education.  I also have a postgraduate diploma, but that’s in Mathematical Education … and so wouldn’t help.  Neither would the fact that I taught the IT units on a Tourism and Leisure vocational course back in the UK …

For the record … in 2009 there was another draft law proposed – and it included the same provision.  The law was passed by the Parliament – but vetoed by the President in the face of opposition from the industry, and sent back with the instruction to revise it.

Most people are surprised to learn that I have a degree in Theology, (and the Psychology of Education!).  Indeed, I think it was a surprise to everyone at the time – my friends and family included.  We weren’t a particularly religious family.  My parents, like most English people of their generation, were nominally Christians and would probably have answered “C of E”, (Church of England, Anglican or what is known in the US as Episcopalian), on any form that asked for their religion.

These days I don’t normally talk much about Religion (and despite the name of this page, I am not going to now), but that wasn’t always the case.  It might seem odd for someone with a degree in Theology, but I tend to agree with the old adage that there are three things that you don’t discuss in “polite conversation”: Sex, Politics and Religion … they are private matters, between a man and his lover, the ballot box, and his god.

When I was growing up, on the other hand, I took a lively interest in religion.  It was a major part of my life.  So much so that I wanted to become, (indeed, I planned to become), a Minister in the church.  Looking back at it now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seems to me that a lot of it was social … rather than a question of conviction.  There was no dramatic conversion, no “Damascus Road” experience, no “blinding lights” … but then again, not every believer has such an experience.  Like many others, I sort of “drifted” into the church – and then out again … “a backslider”.

It started when I started attending the Sunday School at the local Salvation Army and then, later, at the Methodist Church, then the local Crusaders Group and finally Bible Classes at the local Gospel Hall … I don’t think I ever attended all four on one day, but my Sundays were pretty busy.

Basically I was taken along at first by one of my friends, but when they “dropped out”, I didn’t.  The “classes” got smaller as more and more people stopped coming and soon I was one of the few left.  The others all seemed to belong to families which were firm members of the church and so were like “conscripts”, whereas I stood out as a “volunteer”.  I got more and more involved in Church affairs on an informal basis and eventually asked the Minister if I could join the church as a member.  He was delighted and probably jumped the gun a little – instead of explaining everything to me and making sure that I understood and was ready he sort of rushed the decision and pushed the process through.  The next thing I know, I am a member.

“Membership has its privileges” as the advertising slogan put it … but it also carries responsibilities and obligations.  Was I ready to accept those?  Looking back on it now I think that I can probably, honestly, say “No”, but at the time I felt ready.  I didn’t, however, accept everything I was told blindly.  Like the early Methodists I was very much a “freethinker”.    I created quite a stir, for example, amongst members of the church, (who are traditionally teetotallers), when I took a summer job as a barman in a local pub.  What was wrong with that? – didn’t Jesus turn water into wine at a wedding? – is the wine an important part of the communion ritual?  The problem wasn’t alcohol in itself, it lay in the abuse of alcohol.  Surely it was better to drink alcohol in the controlled situation of a public house, served by a barman than at home where there were no social controls.

Perhaps, however, I was a little too ready to accept what I was learning … to take things on trust, as a matter of faith.  In life you have to take some things on trust … or faith … and perhaps, looking back with hindsight, I did take too much on trust without asking enough questions and analyzing the stories, accounts and precepts.

After a while I felt ready to take the next step – I really felt that I wanted to work in the church.  So I asked the question about how I should set about it, and once again I found doors being opened for me … I didn’t feel that I was being rushed into something, but I was being “carried along with the tide”.

Finally, someone gave me some advice which seemed sensible.  Our Minister had retired and his replacement was a young man, with a young wife who didn’t really see herself as a wife of the Manse.  Most of the people in the church were a lot older than them and, to be fair, she, in particular, didn’t fit in.  I don’t think it was anyone’s fault – indeed, it might just have been a mismatch … if he had been assigned to an inner city church, then I think they would both felt much happier.  They would have felt that they were making a real difference rather than being tucked away in some backwater.  Eventually, he decided that perhaps he had made a mistake and decided to resign … not just from his post as our Minister, but from the Church as a whole.  It was a blow.  I was shocked, but it was pointed out to me that I was also young and who knows what the future might bring.   Instead of deciding to go to Theological College, perhaps I should think like an actor who always has a second string to his bow for when he is “resting” … that is – when he doesn’t have an acting job … a role to perform on stage.

I knew that this was good advice – as I have said elsewhere, I don’t believe in closing doors until you have to … so I looked around and chose teaching as a suitable “second” career.  As things turned out, it was to end up being my main vocation for most of my life – sometimes, I think, even today when I am running a tour business.

The “backsliding” started after I left home to go to college.  I had chosen my college for several reasons, including:

• it was not far from home,
• it was a Methodist college, and
• it offered me the opportunity to continue my studies in my two “favoured” subjects … Religion and Mathematics.

The Theology lectures I attended, however, started to raise more and more questions in my mind, as did the new subjects that I encountered, such as Psychology and Sociology … and what I was learning in Mathematics gave me the analytical tools to tackle, (although not necessarily to answer), those questions.   I didn’t like the answers that I felt I was being drawn towards … and I started to wonder if I had, indeed, made a mistake.  I then made a fateful decision, on purely emotional grounds, that I needed to take a breather … I needed to think things through for myself before I took an irrevocable step.

I wrote to my Superintendent Minister at home and explained the situation.  I can imagine the shockwave that letter created – I felt some of the ripples sixty five miles away – a much bigger shockwave than my being a Methodist barman.

I wasn’t ready to leave the church at that time … I still felt that I believed … but I felt that I didn’t have (and I don’t have today) the conviction and certainty that I used to have – and that I felt I needed to have in order to become a Minister.   So, I stopped attending church several times every Sunday … but not altogether …  Slowly, however, I drifted away from the church.  My membership lapsed and if anyone asks me now, I tend to say I am agnostic about religion … perhaps, veering towards atheism.

I was once asked whether I felt, as things eventually turned out, if I felt that I had wasted my time in University studying Theology.  The answer is no, emphatically, NO.  I learned a lot in that time – about the culture in which I grew up (- just think about how much of the music, art, history and literature is tied up in religion), about ethics, about people and how to deal with them and, of course, about myself.

It’s part of me.  It helped to make me who I am, and what I am.

Church Street, Great Malvern

Malvern, where I grew up, was a small town with a population of about 30,000, (which would be a sizeable city in Kyrgyzstan), but it was originally a number of villages, (Great Malvern, Malvern Link, North Malvern, West Malvern, Little Malvern, Malvern Wells and a number with names that don’t contain the name “Malvern” like Colwall, and Barnards Green), which grew up around the Malvern Hills.

To us, growing up in Malvern, it was a small town.  I am a “Small Town Boy”!  Small enough to go out on a Saturday  morning an guarantee running into friends even if you hadn’t made any specific arrangements to do so.  Everyone seemed to know everyone else.  My father in particular, being a postman, seemed to know everyone – and everyone seemed to know him.  At least, if he didn’t know someone then he could find out about them by asking one of his colleagues.  All my friends, especially girlfriends, went to under a close scrutiny – not all them passing muster and receiving approval.

The Malvern Hills

The most obvious landmark in the town are the Malvern Hills.  They stretch for about 10 miles North to South and rise majestically from the plain of the Severn River to the West, and to the East there are undulating hills as Herefordshire extends towards the Welsh Mountains.  The hills meant that to go anywhere in Malvern meant having to climb, (what seemed to me at the time), steep inclines and it was a real disincentive to ride a bike anywhere – although it is true that “what goes up must come down” and so so strenuous pedaling would be alternated with coasting downhill (at dangerously increasing speeds … I crashed and wrote off two cycles this way!)  To this day I still don’t really understand the motivation of Mountain Bikers who thrill at climbing to the passes of the Tien Shan, Pamir and Karakorum ranges.

When I first met Tony, from New Zealand, he upset me (well, slightly offended me), by saying that England was basically flat.  How could he say that to someone from Malvern, graced as we were with the glorious hills?  Standing on the top of the Worcestershire Beacon in the center of the range, there is no higher spot to the East until you get to the Urals separating Europe from Asia!  Now, having been to New Zealand – and, of course, Kyrgyzstan – I understand.  In England we don’t really have mountains … OK – technically they may be mountains … because they are over a certain height, but I now realize that we are probably “making mountains out of molehills”.

Hey, it is possible to drive a car to the top of Ben Nevis, Britain’s highest peak – there are photographs in the pubs of Fort William, at the foot of the “mountain”, to prove it.  Try that on Peak Pobeda!

(Apparently the actual figure for defining a mountain changes according to the context -I was told  in Geography lessons that it was 1000 feet, or about 300m … in Kyrgyzstan they don’t consider anything to be mountainous unless it is over 1500m, which is about 93% of the country!).

Like most places in Britain, Malvern has a long history.   In fact, the name, itself, probably dates back to ancient times and is derived from a word which meant “Bare-Hill”, (apparently, in Welsh, “Moelfryn” has a similar meaning: “bald hill”).

Malvern Priory

Malvern was the site of a Benedictine monastery, which, after the hills is probably the second best known landmark in the town.  The Priory was established in 1085.  It is said that Saint Wulfstan, who was the Bishop of Worcester at the time, encouraged a hermit named Aldwyn to found a monastery in what was then the wilderness of Malvern Chase.  The Priory was built for thirty monks on land belonging to Westminster Abbey.  The current church, however, is the result of more recent renovations which date from about 1470.  The great square central tower is very similar to that of the nearby Gloucester Cathedral; it was built by the same masons.  The church has a fine collection of stained glass windows which ranges from medieval to modern.  One was a gift from Henry VIII in 1501, and another from the Duke of Gloucester, who later became Richard III.  It was saved from destruction in the “dissolution of the monasteries” under Henry VIII because the locals bought it to serve as their parish church because their existing church was in a bad state of decay.  The bought it for the grand sum of twenty pounds.

(One of the few things I brought with me to Kyrgyzstan as a memento of home was a Victorian Print of the Abbey Gateway)

Malvern is a famous spa, known for its bottled water since 1622 – it is now bottled by Schweppes out of their factory on the Western side of the hills.  There are a number of natural springs and a Victorian rhyme claimed that Malvern water was so pure that it owed its fame to the fact that it contained “nothing at all”.  Believe it or not, even here in Kyrgyzstan – where we lots of Mineral waters of our own – I sometimes find a bottle on a shop shelf or in a bar.

One of the Annual events which take place in the lee of the hills – and something we always used to look forward to – is The Three Counties Show – an agricultural fair.

Malvern is home to several famous public schools, the most notable being Malvern College and Malvern Girls College (now renamed Malvern St. James after its merger with another local school).  Amongst the famous alluminii are: Jeremy Paxman, Denholm Elliott, Barbara Cartland and Aleister Crowley.

Not exactly an industrial town, Malvern is however the home of one of the world’s longest existing private car factories, The Morgan Motor Car which makes traditional sports cars which over the years have become a ‘cult’ vehicle, and are exported all over the world.

During the Second World War, Malvern was the location to which the UK government was to be evacuated, (at least part of it), in case of invasion or emergency. During this time, it also became the home of Telecommunications Research Establishment, (TRE), renowned for its role in the history of radar.  It has been said that World War II was won on the playing fields of Malvern, home of the cavity magnetron – whatever that is. The site of TRE still exists in Malvern, but due to shifts in scientific focus, its name has undergone several changes including RRE (Royal Radar Establishment), RSRE (Royal Signals and Radar Establishment), DRA (Defence Research Agency) and DERA (Defence Evaluation and Research Agency) … but I knew it as, and will always remember it as RRE.  Apparently, although part of it has been privatized, it and is still the major source of employment in the town, and has spawned a number of smaller light engineering companies in the neighbourhood.

Amongst the other various claims to fame that the town owns:

• According to legend, the British chieftain Caractacus took his last stand against the Romans on what is now called the Herefordshire Beacon in the Malvern Hills but, although there are fortifications on the hill from the period, this has been disputed in more recent times.
• The beginning of the medieval poem “Piers Plowman”, by Langland, (one of the earliest pieces of English literature), is set on the Malvern hillside.
• Cardinal Wolsey, (Henry VIII’s Chancellor) had his first posting in the lee of the hills.
• Charles Darwin’s daughter Anne is buried in the graveyard of Malvern Priory.
• Peter Mark Roget (creator of Roget’s Thesaurus) is buried in the graveyard of St James, West Malvern.
• British composer Edward Elgar taught in Great Malvern and much of his work was influenced by the Malvern Hills. Elgar is buried at St. Wulstan’s, Little Malvern.
• C. S. Lewis, was a pupil at Malvern College. It is said that he and J. R. R. Tolkien used to walk on the Malvern Hills.  There is a story that once, when walking home one winter evening after having had a drink in one of the local pubs, it started to snow. They saw a lamp post shining out through the snow and Lewis turned to his friends and said “that would make a very nice opening line to a book”. It may not have been the opening line, but he did use the image in his book “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”, as the characters enter the realm of Narnia.
• It is sometimes claimed that Haile Selassie, the Emperor of Ethiopia, spent some of his exile here, in the Abbey Hotel – but if he did, I didn’t know anything about it.

So this is the environment I grew up in during the 1950′s and 60′s: a small urban English town, steeped, (albeit lightly) in culture, history and tradition … not exactly rural and not really a city … but having a sense of its own importance, status and it’s place in the world.

Photos from Wikipedia:

Let’s start with the simple and the obvious … my name is Ian Claytor. I am British and was born on 8th March, 1953, in Malvern, Worcestershire.

Ian is a Scottish name, (it’s the Scottish equivalent of John, or “God’s Gift”), although there is nothing Scottish about the family. There aren’t that many Claytors around … and it seems that the Malvern branch of the family originally came from Nottinghamshire. There’s a family legend that tells that we are descended originally from a family called Clayton, who were local squires and landowners, but there was a scandal involving a gypsy girl and a curse placed on the “seventh son of the seventh son” … they seem to have gone in for big families in those days … and in an attempt to overcome the curse one of my ancestors changed his name by replacing the final letter, an “n”, with an an “r”. (An attempt to create an “alpha effect” with an “omega change”, as Arthur C. Clarke put it in one of his short stories.) I am not sure I believe the account, but it makes for a good story.

Actually, Ian is what it says on my Birth Certificate and in my passport – so it is my official name – but according to Canon Law, (Church Law, that is), it’s not my name at all. When I was born my mother had Tuberculosis – it cost her a lung and my father once told me that they “pulled the curtains”, (meaning that they thought that she was about to die), not just once but twice during this period. Anyway, when I finally made my appearance, they were so concerned that I might not survive that the doctor christened me then and there. Apparently he named me Royston and, as I said, according to Canon Law, once you are christened, then you have been given a name and that is your name. Full Stop! So, how come I am now Ian Claytor and not Royston Claytor. My mother explained it me like this: my older brother, Tony, had trouble saying my name – even in the short version, Roy. Apparently, he kept calling me “Boy”. “No son of mine is going to go through life being called “Boy”", she decided, and so when it came time to officially register the birth with the authorities, she changed it to Ian.

She thought she had solved the problem because no-one could shorten the name … but she was thwarted by Richard, my best friend at primary school, who would insist on calling me “Ee”. I think that, at times, she felt that she could have throttled him.

In answer to one of the questions that I am most often asked here, I have to report that I am single and have never been married and so, no, I am not divorced and no, I have no children – although I do have a number of cats. You can read more about them here.

As I said, I have an older brother, Tony, who is married to Christine and they have two teenage sons, Dominic and Lawrie and live in Hertfordshire.

For the first two and half years of my life when my mother was ill with TB, I had been passed from relative to relative eventually ending up in a children’s home in Stourbridge in North Worcestershire. One of earliest memories is of playing on the swings at the home. Another is of sitting in the backseat of the car my parents had borrowed when they came to fetch me and, looking out of the back window seeing a big bright “Midland Red” bus turn the corner behind us.

Malvern, where I grew and went to school, was a small town of about 30,000 but it was originally a number of villages, (Great Malvern, Malvern Link, North Malvern, West Malvern, Little Malvern, Malvern Wells and a number with names that don’t contain the name Malvern), which grew up around the Malvern Hills.

My father was a postman for all his life, except for the war years when he served as a tank driver, driving a Churchill tank in North Africa and up through Italy. He was also a Trade Union official, serving for many years as the local branch secretary of the Union of Post Office Workers), an example I was to follow later on in life. My mother was a housewife for most of her life, but did spend some time working a shorthand typist and secretary. She was very fond of handicrafts and I think she would have found the traditional crafts of the Kyrgyz very interesting and would have enjoyed making Shyrdaks, Ala Kiyiz, Kurak and Saima embroidery.

I wasn’t a particularly good student at school. In fact I still have my school report where one of my teachers commented: “Ian works well when he can’t avoid it” … and I still wonder why he couldn’t have stuck with the traditionally tried and tested: “Could do better”, but it was at least original and showed that I wasn’t just “one of the crowd”. My schooldays, of course, did much to shape my future career, but there’s more about that here. Anyway, I must have done reasonably well because I ended up with three A-Levels and a place at Teacher Training college and the backdoor into Oxford University and an Oxford degree, and there’s more about that here.

Oxford was an adventure. Up until then I hadn’t traveled much and my horizons were very much limited to Malvern where I had grown up. I had been to the seaside at Weston-Super-Mare, (or Weston-Super-Mud as we called it because when the tide went out, the sea retreated so far that there seemed to be nothing but miles and miles of wet sand), and to Cornwall with the family of my best friend … they later moved there and he still lives there and now runs a number of hotels in the area – so we’re colleagues. Oxford, however, was different … it wasn’t a holiday, just a week or two … I was on my own, and I made the most of it.

I made some good friends in college, and we kept in touch for a while after we finished our course. When it came time for everyone to leave and go make their own way in the world, one of my friends, took my address but said: “I don’t promise to keep in touch … maybe I will, but think how many friends you had at school that you’ve lost touch with – and that was only three or four years ago … people move on, and I don’t like making promises I don’t know if I can keep.” It’s sad, but she was right – and I have always remembered that … especially the bit promises – after all, an Englishman’s word is supposed to be his bond!

After college it was a question of finding a job … and I got thrown in at the deep end. I became the Teacher in Charge of Religious Education in a large school in Thame in rural Oxfordshire. OK … “teacher in charge” … the only teacher of Religious Education, as it happened. Being the only one, however, I couldn’t take every class and there were a couple of people to help me … but basically I was left on my own devices.

It was in Thame that I started to follow my father’s footsteps and joined a union. It wasn’t exactly what you would think of as a Trade Union … or at least what I thought of at that time as a Trade Union. Teaching isn’t exactly a “blue collar”, working class, profession, and the union that I chose was not militant by any means. Some people referred to us conservative, or even “right wing”, but that wasn’t really true. We preferred to call ourselves the “moderate” teachers’ union. Normally, I “don’t do things by halves” and guided by the principles that although “membership has its privileges” it also has its responsibilities, so I found myself taking an active role in Association affairs. After the move to London, this grew year by year and before I know it I was branch secretary, and in the course of the next seventeen years I also took on the roles (at different times) of Branch Treasurer and Chairman as well as a conference delegate and Branch representative, negotiating with employers, local authorities and, on one occasion, a Minister of the Crown. As it happens, this experience taught me an awful lot and helped me a great deal when I came to Kyrgyzstan and I found myself attending meetings (and sometimes arguing) with government officials, Ministers and even Prime Ministers and Presidents and two British princes of the realm. (Yes, two … strange isn’t it, I traveled half way around the world to meet two members of my own Royal Family!)

The Headteacher in Thame had a basic rule of thumb … the first year a teacher worked in the school, especially if they were a probationary teacher like me, (that is they were newly qualified and new to teaching), then they were basically “taking” from the school – gaining experience and additional “on the job training”. Everything is a new experience. During the Second year its a case of “fifty-fifty” … they are still learning, but they are also putting into practice that they learned in the first year. By the time they get to the third year, they are “giving back” to the school. Now, it seemed to me, (and still does), that that’s a bit crude, but there is a lot of truth in it and it makes a lot sense in a school situation where there is a clear annual cycle. Anyway, I did my three years and and then started looking around for the next step in my career.

I applied for a job in London … returning to my “first love”, Mathematics. In fact, I didn’t get it … at the interview we were told that someone else had been appointed, but “it was a close decision and thanks for applying”. So, I got quite a surprise a few days later when I got a phone call saying that the successful applicant had to withdraw and asking if I was still interested in the job. Yes, I was, and so I made another of the big decisions in my life and moved to London.

Having been, nominally at least, my own boss as “Teacher in charge of Religious Education”, I now joined the rank and file as ordinary classroom teacher. I had fewer groups to get to know and was teaching a subject which, even if it wasn’t popular with everyone, was thought to be useful and not just a “necessary chore”, a statutory obligation. I got on well with the classes – although, yes, there were “ups and downs”. I was there for seventeen years. That’s a long time, but although it was seventeen years in one school, I actually had several different jobs during that time. After a few years as a classroom Maths teacher, I took on classes in Statistics and then Computing, IT and vocational courses as well as taking on various administrative roles within the school. There’s more about that here.

I also took on a role as an examiner, (in both Maths and Computing). My first experience of working in the examination system was as a student when I got a holiday job as a “checker” for one of the exam boards. It surprised me how many so-called “intelligent” people couldn’t add up the marks they had awarded a candidate – and as a result this was something I paid great attention to when I eventually became an examiner. Later as a with the Certificate of Secondary Education (CSE), which was the equivalent of a school leaving certificate, and the system involved using class teachers as markers and examiners. When my career moved into computing I applied for several jobs as a assistant examiner in Computing, (without any expectation of success – hey, my degree was in Theology, not computing or any other related subject), and to my surprise and amazement I was accepted – for all of them! Every year, from May until August, I spent many long hours marking scripts and coursework projects, and attending meetings. It was a hard job, carrying great responsibility but it was a great experience which helped me immensely in many different ways. I would strongly recommend it to any teacher as being both rewarding and worthwhile. (There’s more about my experiences here.)

As I said before, I didn’t travel very much when I was young. Now, during those seventeen years I really got the travel bug. I traveled to various places around Britain, visited France two or three times every year and also lots of other places in Europe, (Albania, Austria, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Germany, Greece, Holland, Ireland, Italy, Monaco, Norway, Portugal, Spain, Sweden, Turkey, Yugoslavia, …). I went to the States four times, New Zealand, French Polynesia, Pakistan, Thailand, China (Hong Kong) and several of the Caribbean islands. I even visited Russia, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan … but little did I know at the time that I would end up living here! I regret that I never made it to Africa or South America (… ever since I studied South America as part A-Level Geography, I have wanted to go to Brazil – especially the Amazon). I always enjoyed visiting new places, seeing the sights and being able to point to something and say to myself, “I remember learning about that in Geography, or History, or … whatever, and now I am seeing it in real life”; meeting new people; trying new food; learning about different cultures. One thing I didn’t really like was sitting on a beach, sunbathing. I was prepared to do it occasionally if my friends on holiday wanted to do so, provided we split the holiday and did some “”exploring” as well. I felt that it was wasting too much valuable time. As the Beatles put it: “Life is very short and there’s no time for …”, well they said (sang) “fussing and fighting, my friend”, but as far as I was concerned it should have been “sitting around idle”. I suppose it was the “Protestant work ethic” which had been instilled in me by this time.

In fact, I like being busy and I kept (keep) myself busy in many ways. I also have an obsessive personality and tend “not to do things by halves”

As well as teaching, examining and my work with the union, another way was my involvement in Rugby. Although I have tried my hand at many sports I have never been a great sportsman. In my schooldays, however, I played Rugby for the school team and the local club. I was never very good at it … I joke that my position was seventeenth man (for those that don’t know – a rugby team consists of fifteen players!). Even when I stopped playing as the result of an injury, I continued to coach one of the school teams and to referee some matches … although I can’t say that I really enjoyed either.

Another thing I undertook was “in-service” training. I am a great believer that education is a lifelong activity. We are always meeting new experiences, and the world is constantly changing with new facts being discovered and new technologies being developed and so we need to prepare ourselves for the challenges of tomorrow … and not rely on what we learned in the dim and distant past. When I went on my first “First Aid” course, for example, we were taught that the way to deal with a nose bleed was to pinch the bridge of the nose and put the patients head back with the nose in the air, but a couple of years later at the refresher course we were told to pinch the bridge of the nose and bend the patient forward with the nose down. As it was explained to us, if the head is back then there is a chance for the blood to flow through the nasal cavity into the mouth and then into the throat … causing all sorts of complications. It wasn’t, however, just a case of keeping up-to-date. I’m a bit like a sponge in learning new things. I loved playing Trivial Pursuits! I once included an obscure fact in a history essay at school and the teacher circled it in red and added a comment “Where did this come from?” I took great pleasure in telling him it was a book that he had told us we all ought to buy. I had done so, and showed him the reference. There was nothing he could say in reply apart from: “You remember the strangest things!” As a result I also took a number of courses which had nothing to do with work and my favourite was “Looking at Paintings” from the Open University. I don’t know if they still offer it … but it was very enlightening in many different respects. Attending courses is something I miss here … but the internet is a great tool and I feel very fortunate in being able to research almost any topic.

The next big decision in my life involved the move to Kyrgyzstan. In fact it wasn’t one decision, it was a series of at least three during the course of just over a year: to come here; to stay and what to do once I had decided to stay.

Tony, a friend whom I had known since my days in Oxford, worked as a lawyer for a large international firm based in London. His first visit to Kyrgyzstan was in the early 1990′s as part of his work – and he fell in love with the country and the people. On his suggestion I came here on holiday in 1994 and although I liked the place I never really thought that much more about it until he told me that he had landed a job here, wanted to open his law firm and needed help to set up the office. Would I come and help him? Yes, OK. I originally came for one year, but things never quite go according to plan and as the year was coming to an end there was still lots to do, so I stayed on to finish the job. I could have gone back home. I had a job waiting for me and staying here meant saying goodbye to that and a career that I had been developing for twenty years. To be honest, however, I was ready for a change and I looked forward to meeting the challenges of starting something new.

Once I decided to stay, and the office was up and running it was a case of “what do I do now?”. We looked at several options and eventually decided that the most perspicacious was Tourism … and so, together with another friend from the UK, we started the Celestial Mountains Tour Company, and two hotels. We would have liked to open more, but, (as I keep saying), things don’t always go according to plan.

As before, I keep myself busy. There’s never a dull moment. If ever I seem to stop and be idle, it’s not because I have nothing to do … it’s because I have so much to do that I don’t know where to start. I am involved in a number of projects here in Kyrgyzstan. I am an active member of the International Business Council (IBC) and the Kyrgyz Association of Tour Operators (KATO) – in fact I am the president of the Association, which always raises an eyebrow – an Englishman as the President of a Kyrgyz Association … but then some people say (jokingly) that, after fourteen years here, I am almost half Kyrgyz anyway. (I have actually taken out official “Residence” status but, no, I am not looking to take out Kyrgyz citizenship – to do that I would have to give up my British passport, and I am not keen to do that.) Some people even say I am more enthusiastic about all things Kyrgyz than most of the locals. I have even been thanked by locals for telling them things about Kyrgyzstan that they didn’t know … or for showing them a part of Kyrgyzstan that they haven’t seen before.

So, that’s my story … or, at least, part of my story. There’s obviously a lot of details missing but it should help to give you a feel of who I am, where I am coming from and why I say some of the things I do in these postcards.

Thanks for reading this far …