LITMIR.BIZ

      Happy honeymooners. Don and Phyl snuggle together

       “in the wilds,” 1920.

      “Are you stable?” Don asked. “I’m just hanging by a thread,” Phyl replied, as she looked around for a more promising ledge. Together they scrambled away from the gully edge and crossed the moraine upward, towards their companion. Around the campfire that night Don told the story. “Phyl was a marvel. She seemed to know even before I did of the danger that I was into.”

      Instinctive action or not, Don was convinced that a bond of communication existed between the two of them that did not require audible language. And thus commenced Don’s courtship. By nature, Don was taciturn, uncomfortable with extended conversation. His face held little expression, and it was difficult to read his thoughts. His outward appearance was the very opposite of Phyl’s; her expressive face could bubble over with enthusiasm. But behind Don’s façade was a romantic soul who composed poems about the beauties of nature and was a keen observer of all living things.

      He had loved before and knew love’s joys and pain. When he left for France he left also a relationship. While fighting in the trenches he had plenty of time to muse, but unfortunately, as he wrote, “my thoughts [alas] will return to where my heart is still.” By the time he was back at home in Vancouver, Don was over this love, and then appeared Phyl, embodying in her love of mountains a reflection of his own self. She was the one for him! Phyl, however, was not immediately smitten with Don’s personality. He was very different in character, she more spontaneous and outgoing, he more quiet and soft spoken, and he seemed so intense – but that was a characteristic shared by many men upon their return from war. She enjoyed his company and respected his abilities – he could teach her a lot about mountains and climbing. But, she insisted, she did not feel romantically inclined towards him. Phyl took a while to be persuaded by Don, who patiently bided his time. In the meantime they continued to hike on club-organized events and spent increasing amounts of time together.

      When Munday finally completed treatment for his injury, he had not regained the complete use of his arm and hand. He was able to do many things, but certain movements, such as carving a roast or tying his shoelaces, remained difficult. He was forever to travel with a small ball of wadded paper in his pocket. At odd moments he would put his hand in his pocket and roll the paper to keep his fingers nimble.

      Munday’s army discharge came in the fall of 1918. Because of his injury he could not resume his previous work as a carpenter but concentrated instead on expanding his freelance writing career. Besides, the typewriter provided good physiotherapy for his injured arm and kept his fingers agile.

      In his spare time, Munday served on the executive of the BCMC and for two years volunteered as the editor for the monthly newsletter, The BC Mountaineer. He also contributed much of the content. He wrote up accounts of climbs he, Phyl, and their friends undertook, many of which were first ascents, that is, the first documented climbs to the highest point on a mountain.