Sally Hyder - Finding Harmony

I have a photograph of Andrew on bended knee and me in sunglasses, my hair in a ponytail, looking like the happiest couple on earth.

Next morning, the rest of the tourist group left Base Camp to begin their descent but we stayed put. The British expedition team lent us a tent. We wanted to celebrate our engagement and they, perhaps to alleviate their gloom, were happy to have us there. They were all a bit depressed: the anti-climax of failing to reach the summit after years of preparation and expectation must have been hard to bear. When it was time to leave, we thumbed a ride with the team to the main road. The truck driver was a maniac and the Sherpas jumped out of the back of the truck. I remember thinking, if they’ve jumped out we’re entitled to be scared but there was no way we could escape.

We had planned to continue through to Nepal but the road was blocked due to the earthquake and so we ended up with a two-day drive, again hitched. Back in Lhasa we bought some Lux soap from the Friendship Store and took long, hot showers. I’ve never felt so clean in my life! To this day the smell of Lux, that pungent chemical perfume, takes me back to then: clean, safe and the proud owner of a sparkling ring.

Two months later, non-violent forms of protest broke out in Lhasa with demonstrations led by monks and nuns. At long last the Tibetans’ struggle for independence became associated with demands for democracy and human rights. By 1989, Tibet was closed to foreigners, martial law had been declared and Chinese soldiers were positioned on rooftops. We’d got there just in time.

To be able to enjoy the adventures of each day in the knowledge that we had made this new commitment to each other was bliss. We sent postcards of Everest as engagement announcements, which much to everyone’s amusement arrived home after us. Our wedding invitations were sealed with cut outs of Everest surrounded by a gold wedding ring, embossed in gold. On the day itself we served Everest-shaped chocolates with coffee (‘ Qomolungma chocolates’, as written on the menu).

Memories of our four-day trip to Everest remain part of our marriage: they’re part of our commitment to each other and the world.

Chapter 3 The Axe Falls Chapter 3 - The Axe Falls Chapter 4 - Bumpy Road Chapter 5 - Gypsy Life Chapter 6 - Going Home Chapter 7 - Black Days Chapter 8 - Fighting for Melissa Chapter 9 - Night Falls Chapter 10 - Hope Dawns Chapter 11 - Starting a New Adventure Chapter 12 - Love at Second Sight Chapter 13 - The Pound that Changes Lives Chapter 14 - Mayhem and Miracles Chapter 15 - An Expanding World Chapter 16 - Double Trouble Chapter 17 - Venturing Forth Chapter 18 - By Royal Invitation Chapter 19 - Tasting Freedom Chapter 20 - Finishing on a High Acknowledgements About the Publisher

On 16 September 1989 Andrew and I were married in the village of Aldbury, Hertfordshire. By this time, my parents had moved to the Isle of Harris, which I felt was too remote for the wedding and so I rang an old family friend, Margaret Kitson. In many ways, she was my surrogate granny. The retired schoolmistress of the old village school, she was in her eighties and had decided to learn Greek in order to read the Bible in Greek. She was a Christian with a youthful spirit, a zest for life and a fairy-tale cottage with low ceilings and creeping roses.

Margaret understood things in a way I’ve rarely encountered since. The most astute comment ever made about my relationship with Andrew came from her: she said that I prevent his feet from getting stuck to the ground and he stops me flying off altogether.

I’d always loved Aldbury. It’s a picture-postcard English village with a village green, stocks and a duck pond. We were married in the Saint John the Baptist church. A local lady called Sue did the flowers and followed my then-unfashionable request for a trailing bouquet and crowns of flowers, the inspiration being A Midsummer Night’s Dream . Mum and Dad had purchased my dress from Jenners, the then-independent equivalent of Harrods in Edinburgh. I made the veil, embroidered with seed pearls, which was attached to the crown of ivy and roses in my hair. My bridesmaids wore green – I’d made their dresses, too. Two of the girls hadn’t been available for fittings and the dresses unfortunately gaped at the neckline so tissues were employed as stuffing. These came in handy when my grandmother had a nosebleed during the ceremony and hankies were produced from some rather unlikely places.

Our big day was everything we had hoped for: the sun came out and the setting was perfect, surrounded by family and friends. During the romantic carriage drive to the reception, Andrew and I remembered Everest and all it meant to us. The evening rang with the sounds of a ceilidh band, complete with caller, that I had managed to source. This type of dancing came as something of a surprise to our guests who were expecting the more predictable cheesy DJ and a few eighties’ hits but everyone danced the night away.

In his wedding speech, Andrew talked of our shared challenge of reaching Everest and how important it was to us. We spent our honeymoon in Venice. Not that I realised it before we left – the trip was to be a surprise for me. All I knew was that we nearly missed our ferry: that morning over a leisurely breakfast Andrew suddenly remembered our passports were with his best man, who was rowing on the Thames. A worried phone call (still no mobile phones) brought the news that Adam was too hung-over to row. Instead he met us at a service station en route to hand over the passports. Phew!

With balloons and decorations flapping from the car, we arrived at the ferry terminal and were motioned on across an empty boarding area. Talk about last minute! We stayed one night in a small village in France and then another on the banks of Lake Geneva in a small, eccentric Swiss guesthouse; I still didn’t know where we were headed. Eventually, we ended up in a sleepy little village called Chioggia over the bay from Venice, in a fisherman’s tavern, and were wonderfully spoiled by the locals. We then moved on to Sienna, Giglio (a lovely island) and Florence.

Marriage suited us. Andrew and I are both children of strong marriages. My parents (Robin and John) met when they were teenagers and despite their differences have sustained a commitment that’s still going strong; my in-laws’ marriage I often imagine as a rock in stormy seas.

After the excitement of the wedding and all the travelling the return to reality came as a jolt. That autumn Andrew bought a new suit, had a haircut and started work as a surveyor looking after investment property portfolios in London. The job was interesting and meant that he could follow his dream of working in the City. After working eight weekends in a row at the Hospice, however, I was tired of shifts. No stranger to change, I applied and got onto a health-visiting course. This included practical and theory tuition in affiliation with a GP’s surgery in Lewisham, which was around the corner from where we were living in Catford (otherwise known as Forest Hill). It started as soon as we got back from our honeymoon. In fact, I missed the first week of the course.

By the time I was five, I’d lived in four different houses. Since I’ve been married to Andrew (21 years as I write this), I’ve lived in just three: I like the permanence of home, I like feeling settled. Our first flat was a two-bedroom conversion in a large Victorian house in Catford with high ceilings and a mantelpiece. A little bit of back garden was accessible through the front door and down the side alley. We completed at the height of the property boom and were seriously hit by negative equity but it was all ours. I purchased oddments of carpet and some second-hand blue velvet curtains and filled the window boxes with peonies, geraniums, trailing lobelia, fuchsias and marigolds.