CHOIR: Morning. It’s morning! Morning. It’s morning! The last stars are extinguished, the dawn’s here but the town is still in shadow. As lights come on in windows, the valley slowly fills with violet mist. Then the sun sets each of the mountain summits burning like flames, volcanoes in the sky. Morning. It’s morning! Morning. It’s morning! This show comes on each daybreak, and sometimes you can take the thing for granted, But we are lucky fellows to drink our morning coffee as we watch A whole ring of mighty peaks silently explode into fire. Gold floods the valley, the town is struck by sunlight, another day begins. It’s morning! It’s morning! Just an ordinary day, just another working day. We have no more time to dream, no more time to waste. Just another routine day going by, the same old way; Small catastrophes, small victories, and small truths to be faced. THE CLIMBER: It was a cold life, I can see that now. Other people always seemed too near, Their skin too close, their breath becoming part of mine. I was happier alone, and happiest of all when I could climb high above the world, Where the rock could be understood, where the snow was pure and white and clean. The other mountaineers used to say I was the anti-Social Climber. I didn’t understand the joke. I never understood the jokes. CHOIR: Just an ordinary day, just another working day, Moments that will make us frown, moments when we smile. Trying not to be machines, cherishing, behind the scenes, Our humanity, our sanity, a life that’s still worthwhile. THE CLIMBER: I came here for the climbing, many years ago. Just an amateur, no great achievements, Collecting mountains like a boy collecting stamps. But the high places were my passion, each new mountain like a love affair. I liked the routes that others didn’t climb, so I could be alone where no one else had been. The other mountaineers used to say I went where no human hand had set foot. I didn’t understand that joke either. I never understood the jokes. CHOIR: Our humanity, our sanity, a life that’s still worthwhile.

CHOIR: Beds to be made and the rooms to be cleaned again, breakfast to be cleared away and tables to be laid for dinner. Food to be cooked, and supplies to be carried in, luggage must be taken down and reservations need confirming. Floors to be swept, and the snow to be cleared away, taxis to be ordered, and a telegram to be delivered. Bills to be paid, and new staff to be interviewed, menus to be chosen, and the wine list to be redesigned… We aim to show hospitality. This is what defines our industry. We welcome all, as we welcome you, and though we get tired, our smile is true. Ask any cook, any licensee, there’s no harder work, they’d all agree. The strangers come, but as friends they go. We have new Best Friends each week or so. They want a table for six…And I need coffee for four… Room Twenty-Two has checked out… And Room Fourteen has just arrived…More Prosecco over there…They need more Grappa down here… This one is always half-drunk…And that one there tips pretty good… THE CLIMBER: I soon found the climbers’ hotel, high above the town. I liked the place; it seemed very clean. Apparently the food and the wine were good, but I never cared about that sort of thing. Lots of climbers in the bar, English and French and German and Italian. They were all hugger-mugger, and friendly together in the stuffy room. CHOIR: A tortellini with beans…An ossobuco and rice… I think my table is Dutch…And mine can only speak Chinese… THE CLIMBER: This is the worst part, I need to be a good fellow, One of the boys, one of the boys. Managed to make up a rope with some German lads. They had booked a guide, and they were glad for me to share expenses. We would make a basic ascent of the principal peak of the valley, the next morning. In my room, all the windows wide open, one blanket on the bed. To be cold is to grow strong. CHOIR: Beds to be made and the rooms to be cleaned again, breakfast to be cleared away and tables to be laid for dinner. Food to be cooked, and supplies to be carried in, luggage must be taken down and reservations need confirming. Floors to be swept, and the snow to be cleared away, taxis to be ordered, and a telegram to be delivered. Bills to be paid, and new staff to be interviewed, menus to be chosen, and the wine list to be reconsidered… All night, we’re still working… HUH!

CHOIR: Take them up, then bring them down. We take them up, we bring them down... THE CLIMBER: On the mountain at last, moving slowly upward, rising out of the world… CHOIR: We just show people our mountains, and we bring them safely back again. That might sound like it was easy, but it takes a special breed of men. We know every peak, same as we know the lines upon our hands. Rocks and ice and clouds read like a book to one who understands. THE CLIMBER: Breathing cold and crystal air from a flawless, silent, sapphire sky, And the guide really knows his job, and the others don’t talk much, I’m beginning to enjoy myself. CHOIR: This is no stroll in the country, and you need to know what you’re about. If you don’t you’d be in trouble if the boys weren’t here to get you out. We know every peak, we’ve climbed them all a hundred times for sure, Still there’s things to learn, always it’s new. There’s always something more. THE CLIMBER: Working up the final ridge, legs aching, the horizon expanding, Then a scramble up the broken rock to the kern on the summit and it’s done. I’m floating on a choppy sea of foam-topped waves all sparkling beneath the sun. Each white-top breaker frozen in its tracks, and every wave five thousand feet from trough to crest. This frozen ocean stretches South towards the far-off golden mists that mark the North Italian plain. Above the distant ice of Switzerland, a smoky sun is slowly sinking in the West. These were the times when the mountain snow sang its sweet and secret song to me. Then I saw it. Mi scusi, Signore, quella montagna, come si chiama? CHOIR: She is Monte Cecilia. More small than this, two thousand metri, but beautiful... THE CLIMBER: Si, bella, bellissima..Will you take me? Will you take me? Will you take me?

THE CLIMBER: She wasn’t easy, she kept her secrets, she asked for respect. On some difficult pitches, quite technically tricky, just me and a guide. CHOIR: People can have the strangest ideas. People get strange ideas. A mountain can never be your mother, a mountain can never be your wife. A mountain is always just a mountain, just a mountain. But people can have the strangest ideas. People get strange ideas. A mountain is not some great cathedral, a mountain is not a way to God. A mountain can only be a mountain, just a mountain. But people can have the strangest ideas. People get strange ideas. THE CLIMBER: Only the flesh and the bones of the planet were real. Everything else was a bad dream, And I wanted to strip it away, get back to the last irreducible things. And her rock and her ice as they’re freezing and bruising my hands, and gravity hauling me backwards, I wanted my life to be real, and this was as real as reality gets. And when she surrendered, the summit was perfect, an ice-covered shrine; Whiteness and silence, clouds like a veil, untouched, undefiled. CHOIR: People can have the strangest ideas. People get strange ideas... Etc. THE CLIMBER: I didn’t want to be sharing this moment with anyone. I wanted to be alone with her. Told the guide I would like to try this route solo, but he wouldn’t hear of me climbing alone. CHOIR: Signore, is too much danger. Signore, this part of the year, Signore, is clouds and fogs, Signore, come with no warning. You do not know the way. Signore, you climb okay, but, Signore, precipice are many. Signore, when clouds are coming, Signore, the way is hidden. You must not climb alone.

CHOIR: She was hanging out the clothes on a bright and a breezy day. She was hanging out the clothes in the morning. She was hanging out the clothes, she was pretty as any rose, And the washing is still hanging on the line. On the line, on the line, the washing is still hanging on the line. First she let me kiss her toes on a bright and a breezy day. First she let me kiss her toes in the morning. First she let me kiss her toes, and I think there were ten of those, And the washing is still hanging on the line. On the line, on the line, the washing is still hanging on the.... THE CLIMBER: I was quite sure he was exaggerating. I was quite sure he was just looking out for his own fee. I was quite sure I’d be safe on that mountain. I knew I could conquer Cecilia again, on my own. CHOIR: Then she let me kiss her calves, on a bright and a breezy day. Then she let me kiss her calves in the morning. Then she let me kiss her calves, and I didn’t do things by halves, and the washing is still hanging on the… THE CLIMBER: A holiday, some local celebration, no one at work, any excuse for a party will do. No one around to check where I was going, no climbers out, I’d have the mountain there, all to myself. CHOIR: Then she let me kiss her knees, on a bright and a breezy day. Then she let me kiss her knees, in the morning. Then she let me kiss her knees, and I’m sure there were two of these, and the washing is still hanging on the…. You made your choice. No turning back. The dice are cast. Decision made. You heard the voice. You’re on the track. You’re breathing fast. You’re not afraid. (Rpt.) THE CLIMBER Doing pretty well, recall the route quite clearly. I managed the first rock face, Now I’m traversing a gorgeous snow field, blissfully clean and white, light cloud and a bit of a breeze getting up.... Now for the long ridge, rock and ice, a hard slog. Cloud building up, and the wind, it’s cold enough even for me. Now another small, steep face, and very tricky solo, think I can work round it from the East, But this is new ground for me.... Don’t like the look of the weather. The light’s bad; mist is coming up. This isn’t good. Now I’m in thick cloud. Can’t see a damn thing. Grey, freezing fog, driven on by a gale. Which way is North. Lost my bearings.... Stay put and wait for this to blow over. One wrong step and it’s curtains. Oh Lord, I’m cold....

CHOIR: ‘Quiet please everyone. The English is missing.’ ‘Which English?’ ‘The crazy one.’ ‘I knew he’d be trouble.’ ‘Old Ragoli saw him heading out of the town, on the path to Cecilia.’ ‘I warned him, the bloody fool, and the weather is dreadful.’ ‘Get your kit! Bring the gear! Make it fast!’ ‘He’s ruined the party, and if he’s not already dead, I’ll kill him myself!’ THE CLIMBER: Cold…Cold…Cold…stabbing me like a knife, beating me like a club, so cold… Shaking…Shaking…I just can’t stop myself shaking… Can’t feel my hands, now, I can’t feel my feet. Can’t feel my arms, now, I can’t feel my legs. My body is slowly disappearing. I’m getting smaller. I’m getting smaller. Someone, something help me… Feeling better now, I’m almost warm… Yes, I’m warm. Somehow I’m warm. Even the rock I’m lying on is warm. It’s soft and warm. Everything is going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. Don’t need this hat anymore. Don’t need these gloves anymore. I’m sinking through the ice and through the rock, As if it was a picture on a screen, And no more real than any other dream. Oh, let me be real! Please let me be real! Don’t want to be a figment of my own imagination... The mist cleared, the light shone, and something answered softly; “This is as real as reality gets”. I should have been informed… Somebody should have told me… How could I have had it so completely wrong, The universe isn’t cold and hard, the universe is warm and insubstantial. The universe isn’t made of ice and rock, it’s made of voices… The universe is made of voices…. Voices… voices… CHOIR: Signore!…Inglese!…Signore!…Inglese!… THE CLIMBER: Voices… CHOIR: Signore!…Inglese!…Signore!…Inglese!… Signore!…Inglese!…Signore!… There he is! Over there! Is he dead? No, no, His heart is still beating, Let’s get him tied down on the sled, and back double-quick!

THE CLIMBER: The doctors tell me that is simply the way that a person feels when you’re dying of cold, A classical hallucination of hypothermia. But I know what I saw, and I know what I heard, and I know what I felt, and I know what I know, And, these days, things and people that are cold and hard no longer appeal to me, And now I try to make a warm life, and now I understand the joke; the whole thing is a joke. CHOIR: There goes that old mountaineer. Keeps returning every year. What is it he comes here for? What is it he finds? Even though he's growing frail, says he still has peaks to scale; our humanity, our vanity, the mountains in our minds. THE CLIMBER: I don’t climb mountains any more, but still I come back to this place. The old man in the bar who wants to buy you a drink, he just likes making friends. CHOIR: We aim to show hospitality. This is what defines our industry. We welcome all, as we welcome you, and though we get tired, our smile is true. Ask any cook, any licensee, there’s no harder work, they’d all agree. The strangers come, but as friends they go. We have new Best Friends each week or so.