The Trunk

So let's take a closer look at this mysterious trunk I retrieved from the sidewalk on Wednesday, shall we?

You've already seen the outside, which identifies it as belonging to R. A. Stoodley of the International Karakoram Project of 1980. That project was organized by the Royal Geographical Society to mark its 150th anniversary, and consisted of about 70 people including scientists from Britain, China, Pakistan and elsewhere. It began with a conference in Islamabad in June 1980, followed by an expedition into the mountains along the treacherous Karakoram highway, which from the papers I've read sounds like a "highway" in name only. (At that time, anyway.)

"The steep, almost vertical sides of the mountains allow but a narrow track to be cut which on one side falls steeply to the Indus, and on the other is bounded by a rock wall," wrote J.A. Steers in The Geographical Journal in 1983, reviewing a book by the expedition's leader, Keith Miller. "Rock falls which contain blocks almost as big as a double-decker bus are of frequent occurrence; the greatest non-Polar glaciers reach down to the river in places, and the effects of rock falls and advancing ice not only cause obstruction to the highway, but also great dams in the river. These dams may be 'cemented' by finer material and so may exist for months. Eventually the lake impounded above breaks through and the river may rise 50 feet or more below the dam and cause great havoc. Erosion in its most violent forms is common in all the region."

The project's goal was to study the geology and tectonics of the area, while providing the Asian scientists with an opportunity to publish their work in the West. Stoodley, according to an article I found online, was on the logistics team, which I assume means he helped organize the practicalities of the expedition -- the transportation, the camps, that kind of thing.

That's the inside of the trunk, above. It's not in great condition, as you can see, and it's filled with fine wood dust from deterioration of the panels. It's also missing one of the top supports on the right-hand side.

Here's the manufacturer's label. Elsewhere on the exterior of the trunk is another label identifying it as a model called "The Plito." (Here's an identical one, in better shape, that looks like it traveled no farther than Paddington Station.) There are also handwritten notes, one noting that the trunk's weight was 49 kg (or 108 pounds) and another that says "RWP/LON" -- the old airport codes for Rawalpindi, Pakistan, and London.

Stoodley, incidentally, was quite well known as a war hero and one of the first men to parachute into Normandy on D-Day. He died last September at the age of 97; his large house in the English countryside, known as Otterbeck Hall, was put up for sale soon after.

So what was inside Stoodley's trunk?

There's this nylon garment. I don't even know what to call it -- a flight suit? Is it the kind of thing someone would wear into the Karakorams? It may not be associated with the expedition at all, but it apparently did belong to Stoodley, as one of the pockets contained a piece of paper addressed to him at Otterbeck Hall. On it, someone wrote a short supply list, including batteries, jump leads, tools and antifreeze.

This is the label on the garment. I have no idea what company this is. There's a luxury tailor on Savile Row that comes up when I Google G&H suits or menswear, but that seems unlikely. Other than the one slip of paper linking the outfit to Stoodley, the pockets are empty.

Some of the articles I've read about the International Karakoram Project include pictures, and no one is wearing a suit that looks like this. Stoodley, however, also went on other mountaineering adventures, including two trips to Mount Everest. Who knows what this suit's purpose was?

The only other item in the trunk was a pale blue Etienne Aigner suit for a girl or petite woman:

Otherwise, the trunk contained only discolored, dusty bubble wrap and scraps of old trash.

I think I'll get the Etienne Aigner suit cleaned and give it to charity. It seems to be in pretty good shape, and if someone's into vintage women's wear maybe they'd want it. The flight suit I just put back in the trunk, after I vacuumed out all the dust and debris, and I'll leave it there for now.

The International Karakoram Project, incidentally, wrapped up with a second conference in London in September 1981, to present the findings. It sounds like it was a treacherous undertaking, and one man did die while setting a beacon on a mountain. "Jim Bishop fell from the summit area of Kurkar down a very steep precipice at least 1000 feet before he disappeared," wrote Steers. Miller, in his book, described this as having a great effect on the participants, as one can imagine.

It feels a bit strange to now be the custodian of this trunk and its contents. But Dave and I agree it can live in our front hallway, beneath our hall table, as a sort of conversation piece. So for now, that's where it's staying.