Since I knew nothing about him, and Pegasus has been asking us to try the Search function, I did: Results Having found out who he was, I don't think it's far off topic.
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Caving with a joint replacement
- Thread starter benshannon
- Start date
Pitlamp
Well-known member
OK, in that case (after some thought) I'll put it on here. I realise there's an area elsewhere on this forum for obituaries but this is really to flag up what disadvantaged people are capable of, with enough determination, so it does seem connected with the original topic.
Some of you may have seen this before; below is what was published in the NPC Newsletter. There was a slightly more sanitised version went in the local Clapham Newsletter. It's too long for a single post (the forum won't accept it) so I've split it.
Peter Walker Shaw, or “Chester” as we all knew him, was a war child. He was born on 10th May 1942 in Barnsley (one of eight siblings) but his family moved to Bradford soon after. At the age of two he lost his right leg when a bus ran over him (not, as he liked to tell school groups at Ingleborough Cave, when it was bitten off in a cave by an alligator!). This meant he attended a special school, so Chester didn’t have the same academic opportunities as other children. He had a tough early life, learning to handle himself on the streets of Bradford, which partly explained his superficially rough exterior. But Chester was blessed with a great deal of natural intelligence and soon learned the benefits of living on his wits as he went through life.
Around the time he joined the NPC in the mid 1960s, he began an apprenticeship at International Harvesters. (He worked alongside Colin Vickers, one of the six cavers who later died in the 1967 flood at Mossdale Caverns.) Chester often failed to turn in on Mondays when there had been a big cave rescue. Sometimes there was only the most tenuous connection with the actual incident, a greater focus being on the Sunday evening “debrief” in the pub. Eventually he and his employer parted company and he did a succession of other jobs, including casual work laying concrete with Denis “Cadge” Carroll in Skirwith Cave (then open to tourists). This was occasionally supplemented by selling stamps on various market stalls, together with bunches of the “yellow flag” flowers which were “harvested” free from Clapham Common.
He also went to live for a spell in Ireland in the mid 1960s. On his return the NPC was discovering great things beneath Fountains Fell, under the leadership of Gordon Batty. Chester was involved in explorations at the deep Gingling Hole for example. This often involved much subterfuge as caving clubs were very competitive in those days. The fact that Chester was trusted within this “inner circle” of the NPC reveals how much his contemporaries thought of him, even as a young caver.
Some time in the 1980s (I think) Chester put down roots in the Clapham area, initially in a small cottage located (conveniently) next to the former Flying Horse Shoe Inn. Soon after he transferred to a place down School Lane within Clapham village and never moved on from the same house in which he recently passed away. He occasionally took in a lodger, more as a favour to needy friends rather than to improve his income. Pat O’Connell was a good example; Chester always said he only came round for a cup of tea but ended up staying for years!
He was the proud owner of a solid fuel Aga and produced magnificent meals from it. But the Aga had been acquired very cheaply and needed servicing every summer (which I helped him with for decades). It had been transported (in kit form) to Clapham from somewhere in the western Lake District by Andy Waddington over many weekends (rather incredibly, in his clapped out Mini van). George Cornes (a heating engineer by trade) had spent two days working out how to put it together in the garden before stripping it down again for final installation in the kitchen. Chester always looked forward to the annual milestone event of lighting the Aga each Autumn.
He worked as a guide at Ingleborough Cave from some time in the late 1970s to around 1992. This finally gave him some stability and, whilst reflecting shortly before he died, he said this was the happiest period of his life. Even today many Cave visitors still remember his legendary humour with great fondness. Chester played the leading role at the first ever Santa’s grotto at the Cave. There must be a whole generation of forty somethings who still think Father Christmas only has one leg! He used the Cave shop as a base from which to go digging after work with fellow NPC members. The most prolific effort was at Foxholes, eventually leading to the 1993 breakthrough.
Chester travelled to and from the Cave on an old Suzuki GT250 motorcycle, adapted for single legged use. Later he had a Fiat Panda (I think the only car he ever owned). This was a four wheel drive model and very good in snowy conditions. There is a story about him managing to get up the Hardknott Pass one day with George Cornes as passenger, when everyone else failed. It was in the days when having an Aga was considered the height of fashion and, as Chester roared off triumphantly past all the stranded motorists, George had leaned out and yelled: “He’s got an Aga an’ all!”.
Chester had a gift for helping people place their problems in perspective through his own brand of humour. I remember going up Ingleborough with my nephew, then 18 years old. He developed a blister and was limping by the time we got back to the New Inn. Chester noticed this and said “What’s up wi you?” When my nephew explained Chester pointed to his false leg and said: “Aye, mine started with a blister!”. On another occasion a very obese and sweaty lady staggered into the Cave shop early one morning, just as Chester also turned up. She was complaining bitterly about having to walk “all the way” from the village to the Cave. As she paused for breath I asked Chester where he’d been. He glanced at the disgruntled lady and, with a glint in his eye, said: “Oh I’ve just popped over Ingleborough to work up an appetite for breakfast”. She looked from his leg to his face several times in complete disbelief - and was immediately silenced. Of course, what Chester said was absolutely true.
I had cause to be grateful to Chester many years ago, having become fed up with my job (which was keeping me from spending time in the Dales). Each Sunday evening drive back, for another week’s grind, really brought home to me that things had to change. I had many discussions about this with Chester. He didn’t tell me what to do but he listened, occasionally commented - and let me work out for myself what was needed. Those long conversations with Chester many years ago were a great motivation for me to move to the Dales and make a career change. Both are decisions I’ll never regret.
Chester always had pets – most typically a series of Jack Russell dogs. I think his favourite dog was a black and white one called Domino; it went on every tour he did at the Cave and was always in the New Inn with him each evening. Domino was a real charmer and soon attracted the attention of tourists in the pub. This would inevitably lead to Chester striking up a conversation with said tourists and, more often than not, Chester would be bought a pint or two. Domino helped him stop a lot of beer going bad in those days; they were a very successful double act!
(continued below . . .)
Some of you may have seen this before; below is what was published in the NPC Newsletter. There was a slightly more sanitised version went in the local Clapham Newsletter. It's too long for a single post (the forum won't accept it) so I've split it.
CHESTER; A PERSONAL TRIBUTE
Peter Walker Shaw, or “Chester” as we all knew him, was a war child. He was born on 10th May 1942 in Barnsley (one of eight siblings) but his family moved to Bradford soon after. At the age of two he lost his right leg when a bus ran over him (not, as he liked to tell school groups at Ingleborough Cave, when it was bitten off in a cave by an alligator!). This meant he attended a special school, so Chester didn’t have the same academic opportunities as other children. He had a tough early life, learning to handle himself on the streets of Bradford, which partly explained his superficially rough exterior. But Chester was blessed with a great deal of natural intelligence and soon learned the benefits of living on his wits as he went through life.
Around the time he joined the NPC in the mid 1960s, he began an apprenticeship at International Harvesters. (He worked alongside Colin Vickers, one of the six cavers who later died in the 1967 flood at Mossdale Caverns.) Chester often failed to turn in on Mondays when there had been a big cave rescue. Sometimes there was only the most tenuous connection with the actual incident, a greater focus being on the Sunday evening “debrief” in the pub. Eventually he and his employer parted company and he did a succession of other jobs, including casual work laying concrete with Denis “Cadge” Carroll in Skirwith Cave (then open to tourists). This was occasionally supplemented by selling stamps on various market stalls, together with bunches of the “yellow flag” flowers which were “harvested” free from Clapham Common.
He also went to live for a spell in Ireland in the mid 1960s. On his return the NPC was discovering great things beneath Fountains Fell, under the leadership of Gordon Batty. Chester was involved in explorations at the deep Gingling Hole for example. This often involved much subterfuge as caving clubs were very competitive in those days. The fact that Chester was trusted within this “inner circle” of the NPC reveals how much his contemporaries thought of him, even as a young caver.
Some time in the 1980s (I think) Chester put down roots in the Clapham area, initially in a small cottage located (conveniently) next to the former Flying Horse Shoe Inn. Soon after he transferred to a place down School Lane within Clapham village and never moved on from the same house in which he recently passed away. He occasionally took in a lodger, more as a favour to needy friends rather than to improve his income. Pat O’Connell was a good example; Chester always said he only came round for a cup of tea but ended up staying for years!
He was the proud owner of a solid fuel Aga and produced magnificent meals from it. But the Aga had been acquired very cheaply and needed servicing every summer (which I helped him with for decades). It had been transported (in kit form) to Clapham from somewhere in the western Lake District by Andy Waddington over many weekends (rather incredibly, in his clapped out Mini van). George Cornes (a heating engineer by trade) had spent two days working out how to put it together in the garden before stripping it down again for final installation in the kitchen. Chester always looked forward to the annual milestone event of lighting the Aga each Autumn.
He worked as a guide at Ingleborough Cave from some time in the late 1970s to around 1992. This finally gave him some stability and, whilst reflecting shortly before he died, he said this was the happiest period of his life. Even today many Cave visitors still remember his legendary humour with great fondness. Chester played the leading role at the first ever Santa’s grotto at the Cave. There must be a whole generation of forty somethings who still think Father Christmas only has one leg! He used the Cave shop as a base from which to go digging after work with fellow NPC members. The most prolific effort was at Foxholes, eventually leading to the 1993 breakthrough.
Chester travelled to and from the Cave on an old Suzuki GT250 motorcycle, adapted for single legged use. Later he had a Fiat Panda (I think the only car he ever owned). This was a four wheel drive model and very good in snowy conditions. There is a story about him managing to get up the Hardknott Pass one day with George Cornes as passenger, when everyone else failed. It was in the days when having an Aga was considered the height of fashion and, as Chester roared off triumphantly past all the stranded motorists, George had leaned out and yelled: “He’s got an Aga an’ all!”.
Chester had a gift for helping people place their problems in perspective through his own brand of humour. I remember going up Ingleborough with my nephew, then 18 years old. He developed a blister and was limping by the time we got back to the New Inn. Chester noticed this and said “What’s up wi you?” When my nephew explained Chester pointed to his false leg and said: “Aye, mine started with a blister!”. On another occasion a very obese and sweaty lady staggered into the Cave shop early one morning, just as Chester also turned up. She was complaining bitterly about having to walk “all the way” from the village to the Cave. As she paused for breath I asked Chester where he’d been. He glanced at the disgruntled lady and, with a glint in his eye, said: “Oh I’ve just popped over Ingleborough to work up an appetite for breakfast”. She looked from his leg to his face several times in complete disbelief - and was immediately silenced. Of course, what Chester said was absolutely true.
I had cause to be grateful to Chester many years ago, having become fed up with my job (which was keeping me from spending time in the Dales). Each Sunday evening drive back, for another week’s grind, really brought home to me that things had to change. I had many discussions about this with Chester. He didn’t tell me what to do but he listened, occasionally commented - and let me work out for myself what was needed. Those long conversations with Chester many years ago were a great motivation for me to move to the Dales and make a career change. Both are decisions I’ll never regret.
Chester always had pets – most typically a series of Jack Russell dogs. I think his favourite dog was a black and white one called Domino; it went on every tour he did at the Cave and was always in the New Inn with him each evening. Domino was a real charmer and soon attracted the attention of tourists in the pub. This would inevitably lead to Chester striking up a conversation with said tourists and, more often than not, Chester would be bought a pint or two. Domino helped him stop a lot of beer going bad in those days; they were a very successful double act!
(continued below . . .)
Pitlamp
Well-known member
(continued from above . . .)
When the NPC Foxholes dig was in full swing Domino had decided to contribute by dragging a dead pheasant into the entrance passage. For a time we all had to crawl over the resulting maggoty mess, with it’s accompanying stench. Fair credit to Chester though; he was the one who went in and removed it. Mind you, I suspect this was only because we were all becoming fairly mutinous because of it. But that’s the true story behind the “Project Dead Pheasant” code name for this particular dig, which I think appeared in Green Close logbooks around the time.
Chester and Dave Walker (who ran the former post office, now the Yorkshire Dales Millennium Trust) always used to locate themselves in what became known as “Moaner’s Corner” to the left of the main bar in the New Inn. Their reflections on the world in general were a hilarious blend of the cynical and the comical; they kept us all entertained for hours. They were good mates and Chester even managed to persuade Dave to join the Foxholes digging effort for a time, even though Dave was never a caver.
As age took its toll Chester gave up serious caving and became a mountain man. He did all the “Nuttalls” (English hills over 2000 ft high) and the long Cornish coastal path. Many of these expeditions were done with John Hodgson (“JH” as Chester used to call him) who was a superb hill navigator. Perhaps his most epic Nuttall was the ascent of Pillar Rock above Ennerdale in the Lake District. This is full on climbing with massive exposure and a tremendous sense of mountaineering history. A large gathering of NPC members turned out to support him on the day. Roy Roebuck and I managed to get him to the top before we all tramped back to Wasdale on a high, despite getting soaked by the ensuing deluge. The local pub laid on a sumptuous meal for us that night and much ale was supped in celebration. I think that was a contender for one of the most enjoyable weekends I ever spent in the outdoors. Soon afterwards Chester completed his last five Nuttall tops, an outstanding achievement for an ageing and supposedly disabled bloke. (Bill Nix can tell you more about the celebrations following the completion of the last one.)
Chester stomped around his local hills all the time. If ever you wanted to know details of some obscure footpath or how to avoid a difficult section, he would always point you in the right direction. His knowledge of upland northern England was impressive. But he often lost the rubber end covers from his pegleg. Everyone would know exactly what they were when these were found on the fells. He had a constant stream of people returning them to him in the New Inn (which he referred to fondly as his “office”).
In more recent years he started going further afield in search of adventure. Just over ten years ago Chester and Mitch (himself 65 years old at the time) set off to walk the GR10 route along the length of the Pyrenees, backpacking all their equipment. They made an impressive effort but were eventually beaten back by heat and logistics. They arrived, tired and dehydrated, in one of the minor Spanish airports and managed to arrange a flight back to England. But then they found that cash payment for the flight would not be accepted. A long and exhausting journey by bus and train ensued but they finally arrived “safely” in London. The date was 7th July 2005, the day of the London bombings. So the nightmare continued and it would be even longer before they were able, at last, to stroll into Clapham’s New Inn, with a story to tell that you just couldn’t invent.
Chester’s globe trotting escapades became even more ambitious when his love of cricket took him to some far flung places such as Australia and Sri Lanka with the “Balmy Army” of cricket fans. On some of these ventures he was accompanied by fellow NPC cricket lover Eric Hoole. He also visited Greece with Jim Eyre, who had been a main player in an early expedition to descend the outrageously deep Provatina shaft on electron ladders. The tales would always be recounted over a few pints, once back in Clapham. I used to delight in listening to them.
Of course, Chester sometimes went through periods when he was (let’s say) less than cheerful. Just occasionally his tough upbringing would well up after a lot of beer and it wasn’t unknown for him to take a swing at someone. But he would invariably miss, spin round a couple of times, then land in a heap on the floor. Keith or Barbara Mannion (who ran the New Inn for 20 years and were close friends of Chester’s) would peer over the bar and say: “Chester – yer drunk; go home!”. He would usually obey, because he thought the world of these two.
Chester was always up for a session of Yorkshire / Lancashire banter. His one apparent concession was that Lancashire black puddings were better. But that was just a cunning ruse by him and Dave Walker to ensure a constant free supply from all parts of Lancashire, just so they could “check” that these really were the best. I remember taking some round to his house once when he’d thrown a party in his back garden. He hit on the idea of slicing them and cooking them on the bar-b-cue. The results were superb (try it!).
He had a real sense of the ridiculous. One of the stories he told concerned an officious looking man from the Ordnance Survey going about Clapham with a clipboard. He was recording details of all the house names. Chester wasn’t around but when a neighbour was asked about the house where Chester lived he just said (logically) “Oh, that’s Chester’s”. So, allegedly, that house on School Lane is now forever officially known to the Ordnance Survey as “Chesters”. He was always very proud of that!
In August this year, when Chester knew he was dying of cancer, he made a thorough effort to put all his affairs in order. He gave away a great many of his possessions, each gift and recipient being carefully considered. There was an old acoustic guitar which he’d often let me play over the years. It was a cheap thing but had a lovely tone and he knew I’d always liked it. I saw a great deal of him during the last weeks of his life and one day he told me he wanted me to have this guitar. It’s worth virtually nothing in monetary terms but its value to me now is beyond price.
Having known Chester since my mid teens, I looked on him as a close personal friend. Like lots of other ‘Pennine members, I’ve been in so many hilarious situations with him. We never treated him, or even thought of him, as “disabled”; he was just one of the gang. What he managed to achieve in life, against all odds, was incredible. When Chester passed away at the age of 74 on 8th September 2016, having borne his illness with bravery and dignity, we lost one of the best known caving characters the Dales has ever produced. He was a tough bloke, a gifted raconteur and excellent company. His funeral took place in a packed St. James’ Church in Clapham on 20th September and was a real celebration of this unique bloke’s life. Goodbye mate.
When the NPC Foxholes dig was in full swing Domino had decided to contribute by dragging a dead pheasant into the entrance passage. For a time we all had to crawl over the resulting maggoty mess, with it’s accompanying stench. Fair credit to Chester though; he was the one who went in and removed it. Mind you, I suspect this was only because we were all becoming fairly mutinous because of it. But that’s the true story behind the “Project Dead Pheasant” code name for this particular dig, which I think appeared in Green Close logbooks around the time.
Chester and Dave Walker (who ran the former post office, now the Yorkshire Dales Millennium Trust) always used to locate themselves in what became known as “Moaner’s Corner” to the left of the main bar in the New Inn. Their reflections on the world in general were a hilarious blend of the cynical and the comical; they kept us all entertained for hours. They were good mates and Chester even managed to persuade Dave to join the Foxholes digging effort for a time, even though Dave was never a caver.
As age took its toll Chester gave up serious caving and became a mountain man. He did all the “Nuttalls” (English hills over 2000 ft high) and the long Cornish coastal path. Many of these expeditions were done with John Hodgson (“JH” as Chester used to call him) who was a superb hill navigator. Perhaps his most epic Nuttall was the ascent of Pillar Rock above Ennerdale in the Lake District. This is full on climbing with massive exposure and a tremendous sense of mountaineering history. A large gathering of NPC members turned out to support him on the day. Roy Roebuck and I managed to get him to the top before we all tramped back to Wasdale on a high, despite getting soaked by the ensuing deluge. The local pub laid on a sumptuous meal for us that night and much ale was supped in celebration. I think that was a contender for one of the most enjoyable weekends I ever spent in the outdoors. Soon afterwards Chester completed his last five Nuttall tops, an outstanding achievement for an ageing and supposedly disabled bloke. (Bill Nix can tell you more about the celebrations following the completion of the last one.)
Chester stomped around his local hills all the time. If ever you wanted to know details of some obscure footpath or how to avoid a difficult section, he would always point you in the right direction. His knowledge of upland northern England was impressive. But he often lost the rubber end covers from his pegleg. Everyone would know exactly what they were when these were found on the fells. He had a constant stream of people returning them to him in the New Inn (which he referred to fondly as his “office”).
In more recent years he started going further afield in search of adventure. Just over ten years ago Chester and Mitch (himself 65 years old at the time) set off to walk the GR10 route along the length of the Pyrenees, backpacking all their equipment. They made an impressive effort but were eventually beaten back by heat and logistics. They arrived, tired and dehydrated, in one of the minor Spanish airports and managed to arrange a flight back to England. But then they found that cash payment for the flight would not be accepted. A long and exhausting journey by bus and train ensued but they finally arrived “safely” in London. The date was 7th July 2005, the day of the London bombings. So the nightmare continued and it would be even longer before they were able, at last, to stroll into Clapham’s New Inn, with a story to tell that you just couldn’t invent.
Chester’s globe trotting escapades became even more ambitious when his love of cricket took him to some far flung places such as Australia and Sri Lanka with the “Balmy Army” of cricket fans. On some of these ventures he was accompanied by fellow NPC cricket lover Eric Hoole. He also visited Greece with Jim Eyre, who had been a main player in an early expedition to descend the outrageously deep Provatina shaft on electron ladders. The tales would always be recounted over a few pints, once back in Clapham. I used to delight in listening to them.
Of course, Chester sometimes went through periods when he was (let’s say) less than cheerful. Just occasionally his tough upbringing would well up after a lot of beer and it wasn’t unknown for him to take a swing at someone. But he would invariably miss, spin round a couple of times, then land in a heap on the floor. Keith or Barbara Mannion (who ran the New Inn for 20 years and were close friends of Chester’s) would peer over the bar and say: “Chester – yer drunk; go home!”. He would usually obey, because he thought the world of these two.
Chester was always up for a session of Yorkshire / Lancashire banter. His one apparent concession was that Lancashire black puddings were better. But that was just a cunning ruse by him and Dave Walker to ensure a constant free supply from all parts of Lancashire, just so they could “check” that these really were the best. I remember taking some round to his house once when he’d thrown a party in his back garden. He hit on the idea of slicing them and cooking them on the bar-b-cue. The results were superb (try it!).
He had a real sense of the ridiculous. One of the stories he told concerned an officious looking man from the Ordnance Survey going about Clapham with a clipboard. He was recording details of all the house names. Chester wasn’t around but when a neighbour was asked about the house where Chester lived he just said (logically) “Oh, that’s Chester’s”. So, allegedly, that house on School Lane is now forever officially known to the Ordnance Survey as “Chesters”. He was always very proud of that!
In August this year, when Chester knew he was dying of cancer, he made a thorough effort to put all his affairs in order. He gave away a great many of his possessions, each gift and recipient being carefully considered. There was an old acoustic guitar which he’d often let me play over the years. It was a cheap thing but had a lovely tone and he knew I’d always liked it. I saw a great deal of him during the last weeks of his life and one day he told me he wanted me to have this guitar. It’s worth virtually nothing in monetary terms but its value to me now is beyond price.
Having known Chester since my mid teens, I looked on him as a close personal friend. Like lots of other ‘Pennine members, I’ve been in so many hilarious situations with him. We never treated him, or even thought of him, as “disabled”; he was just one of the gang. What he managed to achieve in life, against all odds, was incredible. When Chester passed away at the age of 74 on 8th September 2016, having borne his illness with bravery and dignity, we lost one of the best known caving characters the Dales has ever produced. He was a tough bloke, a gifted raconteur and excellent company. His funeral took place in a packed St. James’ Church in Clapham on 20th September and was a real celebration of this unique bloke’s life. Goodbye mate.
In reply to the OP, I don't cave with a joint replacement - but I broke my ankle while canyoning 5 months ago, had surgery to bolt everything back together, haven't yet been caving again on it, and am worried about doing so. My worries at this stage are mostly related to pain/soreness/stiffness in even getting to a cave entrance, and that's before I even get to thinking about the actual caving. My ankle flexibility is much less, and I find steep gradients challenging atm. (I do appreciate it's only been 5 months since the injury, though it feels like forever.)
I'm intrigued by the stance that caving itself could be considered rehab, rather than something I need rehab to be able to do again. I suppose it'll always depends on the individual injury. And I guess a healing/healed joint is a different animal to a full joint replacement anyway.
I'm intrigued by the stance that caving itself could be considered rehab, rather than something I need rehab to be able to do again. I suppose it'll always depends on the individual injury. And I guess a healing/healed joint is a different animal to a full joint replacement anyway.
A canyoning accident 13years ago for me ended up with some metal work.
I started back caving pretty much after the pot came off.
Initially I used crutches to get to the cave entrance and obviously chose fairly straight forward trips to start with. The body can recover from some significant trauma.
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