Open Writing

A sea of faces looked up at me as I clung tightly to the cliff face. My screams filled the air. I was stuck! Petrified, I was unable to go up, or down. The sharp precipice below me led only to rocks, and certain death if I let go. I knew my precarious grip on the ledge above me would soon weaken.

How could this have happened? I was seven years old and had pestered my two big sisters to take me with them when they went climbing the cliffs, while the family picnicked on the beach. They had said no, of course, but I had followed them and watched them, carefully placing my feet where they had. Following the same path, I made it to the top! I was elated but Rose and Joan were furious with me and had stormed off, refusing to be bothered with their pest of a little sister. Undeterred, I had played for a while before making my way back down the cliff face.

I took the wrong path!

Now here I was high above the beach looking down at a group of horrified onlookers, including my mother, and screaming as loud as I could.

Everything seemed surreal, like I was watching a movie screen, as two men raced toward the cliffs and began to climb up to me. The ocean waves seemed to be growing higher, as if their watery fingers were trying to reach me. The grassy slopes where people were sunbathing seemed greener, and a crowd was gathering, their faces adding to the surging throng below me.

I could see the white knuckles of my hands as I held on tightly, but I knew I was weakening. Suddenly, there was Uncle Gilbert's face, just a few feet above me.

'Hang on girl,' he shouted, as he stretched out his hand for me to hold on to.

But he was too far away!

The shouting and screaming crowd below me had suddenly become silent; everything, even the sea, seemed still--a moment etched in time.

Uncle Gilbert edged closer, as the man with him held onto one hand to anchor him. He stretched out his other hand toward me, his face covered in sweat, and tears in his eyes.

'Grab my hand, Violet,' Uncle Gilbert said, the urgency in his voice getting through my stupor of fear. 'Let go, Violet!' He was shouting at me now. I responded, as I let go with one hand and stretched out to reach his hand. Our fingers touched, and precariously he leant forward that further inch or so to grasp my hand firmly. It was now or never for both of us, as he pulled me up and held me tightly to him.

'Good girl. Good girl,' he said over and over, as the other man took our weight and heaved with all his might.

We were at the top ... and safe!

A great cheer went up from the crowd, now even bigger than before. And only then did I see the fire engine pulling in at the base of the cliffs. Uncle Gilbert just hugged me, as he we sat together with the other man, whom I was introduced to as Uncle's workmate, Bob. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Uncle Gilbert said, 'Thank God you're safe. I thought I had lost my daughter today!'

I sobbed with relief in my uncle's arms, and only when I had calmed down did his words sink in, but I never said a word. We began the slow descent back to the bottom of the cliffs, to where my very anxious mother was waiting. She took me in her arms, even though she scolded me for being so silly. She hugged Uncle Gilbert and he kissed her!

What I didn't realize until the next day was that a photographer and reporter from the local newspaper had been on the scene. The headlines read: 'Dramatic Cliff Top Rescue!'

Uncle Gilbert was a hero! There was a picture of my mother hugging us both, and a story about little Violet's escapade. Mount Everest it wasn't, but to a seven-year-old girl that day it certainly felt like it.

© Violet Apted

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Violet writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au