If anybody?s still interested in the early history of Nettle, I?ve been sifting through some of the old DPC caving reports recently and came across an article written by GL Travis in 1935. It makes for a very long post! But I thought it?d be worth sharing?
"My first recollection of Nettle Pot is fortunately that of its discovery. A somewhat abortive Oxlow Meet was held in August 1930, but lack of energy and organisation found us on Sunday with only sufficient ladder to do the first shaft. Possibly the meet was only held in order to do repairs, for I recollect spending several hours down below, attempting to build a wall to catch a perilously perched block. Seville was there, and Matthy Burnby, and I worked under his direction, while the brothers? Sissons worked on the top shaft. As the day wore on, we emerged bored and with unimpaired energy, which must surely have led the older and wiser members with questing noses onto the plateau above Oxlow. It was, I think, Matthy Burnby, who first saw the incipient pot, overgrown with nettles and filled with debris. It was Charlie Baines who confidently announced it was water worn and would go. It was Walter Sissons, characteristically enough, who bent down to pull away the first stone and it was Seville, soon to go to his heroic end, who miraculously produced gelignite and laid the first shot. I recollect our excitement as we crouched behind a hummock, heard the first dull explosion and rushed madly forward cheering beneath a barrage of falling debris. We peered down through the smoke and sure enough, the hole was deeper. Nettle Pot had started on its downward course to depths we little dreamed of.
My impressions of the following weekends are vague. Hardy pioneers dug away the first rocks and soon bucket and rope were in use. John Hind, Douglas, Sissons, Snelgrove and Joe Wells, were among the early stalwarts, and as far as I recollect, frequent shots were put in both by Seville and Snelgrove, culminating in a mighty effort by the latter, which was reputed to have shaken the windows in Castleton.
In 1931 the hole had assumed such dimensions, that Snelgrove petitioned for a hut to cover the entrance, and the noble edifice now existing was erected under his direction. Such reckless extravagance provoked a strong outburst among more conservative club circles, for those were the days of caution, economy, gold standards and such like, and the Treasurer could little foresee the hundreds of feet of rope ladder and miscellaneous tackle he would one day have to pay for.
I recollect making several visits after the hut was built. Streaming wet days with a biting wind cutting across the hills and inside the hut, muddied members laboriously hoisting buckets of stone and depositing them outside the hut in a convenient fold of the ground. Walter Sissons without collar, tugging at the filthy rope; Douglas looking even more disreputable than anyone could have dreamed possible; Billy Amies, even Sydney Turner doing his bit, and John Hind emerging from the hole, looking like a bedraggled Skye Terrier. I made several descents that year and I recollect well how miserable they were. Struggling on the confined floor with greasy boulders, using crowbar and hammer in a space about as big as the inside of a wardrobe, and constantly being warned not to touch this or that, piled up in convenient corners, for fear it came down and flattened us all out. Those however, were epic days and if the pioneers broke their finger nails and bumped their heads, at least they never despaired, for the draught came ever upwards and the floor sank ever downwards.
A few amusing incidents remain of those days. Two ramblers arriving at the hut to inquire the way, just as a blasting operation arrived at zero hour. The hut rose gracefully on its foundations, and the hikers, taking one hurried look at their chosen mentors, departed without further delay. Once we attempted an electrically fired charge, though even now no one is clear whether the charge was fired. The next week, Douglas groping in the mud, found what he believed to be the detonator complete with wire, and climbed to the surface with anxious care. However, his detonator turned out to be a lump of mud and those present breathed once more. I recollect excavating bones, which later John Hind sent to Manchester for examination. They were remains of red deer, reminders of a day when Peak Forest was a Royal Preserve and death the penalty for poaching.
1932 was not, I think, a very great year for progress, but it was notable because fresh blood was transmitted to the club. Chantry, Chatburn, Thrippleton and Maurer joined the D.P.C. and their fresh energy and enthusiasm were immediately diverted to Nettle Pot. Like lusty young giants they flung themselves into the battle and once more the hole pursued its downward course. Douglas had been first through the upper narrows and John Hind first through the narrows proper. The Alcove and Chamber were reached later in the year after con-siderable blasting and very strenuous work. The year of grace 1933 therefore, opened with operations in the Chamber and it was at this moment that I renewed my acquaintance with the Pot. In August 1933, John Jenkins and his Birmingham braves came to the Bagshawe meet and the following day, Sunday, the entire party was conducted to Nettle Pot, where an attempt was made to render some assistance to Chantry, Chatburn and Thrippleton. In those days, one descended Nettle Pot cautiously and with con-siderable timidity. One forced one?s way downwards to the Alcove, privately wondering how a return journey would ever be effected and inwardly cursing one?s foolishness in having come so far. Worse, far worse was to follow! One listened at the Alcove to the sounds of exertion and profanity proceeding from below, and eventually one was permitted to creep a bit lower and, hanging on a ladder braced against a rickety stemple, survey the scene from one?s perch in the roof of the Chamber. There were, I think, three stemples in position when I paid my first visit and I felt three were but a tenth part of what safety demanded! The walls were walls. That is to say, they were stones laid one above the other and all quite ready to discuss the situation with one. Above, the great chockstone hung menacingly, ready to close the tiny chink which lead back to the warm world above. The floor was a loose mass of assorted masonry, and in the dim candlelight one descried a hero, with one arm through the rope ladder, waggling a crowbar in the debris at his feet and inviting the rest of us to listen to the stones crashing to the unknown floor a hundred feet below. At any moment one confidently expected both hero and debris to disappear completely from sight, and this opinion became in no way altered when one?s turn arrived to take over the crowbar. The walls descended gracefully from time to time and the pioneers ascended the rope ladder with the agility and celerity usually associated with absconding bookmakers. Such was the nerve racking ordeal of the Chamber, and those who took part in it are not likely soon to forget. Even now one feels the menace of the chockstone overhead, though it be tested a hundred times, and recalls at each passage of the Chamber, something of the early days. Week after week, work went forward making the place safer and safer, putting in stemples, cleaning down the walls, listening to the debris thunder down the great drop below. Excitement grew to a fever pitch as it became clear that the floor could be dropped and, after two very hard weekends work, the opening was cleared and the ladder lowered into the unknown cave, now called the Bottle. It is said ?fortune favours the brave,? and it is also said that ?fools rush in where angels fear to tread,? either of which could apply to the party first to enter the Bottle.
On that memorable September afternoon, John Hind, Joe Wells, Maurice Chantry and Henry Chatburn, spent some happy hours admiring the wonders of nature, and if their ladder was too short to take them to a further landing, one at least of the party was thankful to make a landing on the floor of the hut and return home a wiser man.
Thus warned, 1934 opened with further intensive work on the Chamber in which the indefatigable moles, Chantry and Chatburn, as usual, performed miracles. Snelgrove and myself, encouraged by the springtime, also ventured forth and assisted in the good work, our united endeavours succeeding in inducing a block weighing one hundredweight to descend and choke the neck again, thus greatly increasing the difficulty of this passage. It was however, virtually impossible to shift the block and so on May 27th, 1934, Maurice Chantry was lowered through the narrow neck, down the Bottle and landed on the unknown floor now called the Flats. I joined him a few moments later and shall not soon forget our excitement and triumph as we realised the magnitude of the discovery, the culmination of almost years of work, by so many patient helpers. We peered, wondering, into the chasm and listened to the stones we threw crash below, and realised the further depths waiting to be explored. Those were indeed moments lived at the peak of excitement, and we returned like conquerors to the Chamber, feeling as indeed Balboa must have done when first he saw the Pacific. Henry and Snelgrove, in turn, made the descent. Excitedly, we planned further expeditions into the unknown, sitting over the teacups and parkin at the little tin hut overlooking Mam Tor.
Snelgrove?s energy now knew no bounds and a mighty offensive was organised for Sunday, June 3rd. Further rope ladders were acquired, and on the Saturday another descent was made to the Flats, and rope ladders were lowered in preparation for the following day. Sunday dawned bright and fair and the big battallions were assembled at Nettle Pot in good time. That morning I was first to reach the floor of the Chasm, closely followed by Henry. We discovered the hole, now called Elizabeth, and a rough calculation with falling stones, showed that yet another 200 feet of sheer drop lay beneath us. The others arrived in the Chasm by degrees. Chantry, Hyde, Christie, Yeomans, Turner, Snelgrove and Bishop I know were present on that historic occasion. We lashed our ladders and lowered them down Elizabeth, and Henry Chatburn undertook the first descent.