Ten Tors

The Challenge

A Short History

The following is an extract from a book called the Green Flag written by Lieutenant Colonel Lionel Gregory who commanded the Junior Leaders Regiment, Royal Signals at Denbury Camp back in the late 1950s.

He is credited, together with Major Parker and Captain Joyner, as the founder of the Ten Tors Challenge which in those days was a 55 mile hike through ten tor-located check points for teams of ten youngsters aged 15 to 18.

The following year, 1961, the event was opened to the public and since then the Challenge has developed into what it has become today.

On a cool Autumn night a disparate group of Junior Leaders made their way through the Moors in search of the right formula. The stars shone brightly, conversation was barely audible.

But Dartmoor is notorious for whispering messages to the uninitiated, which may explain why the words "Ten Tors" entered their consciousness and in the absence of any record of how many Tors were climbed Ten seemed to fit and it stuck.

By mid Winter an Expeditionary Force of 300 Junior Leaders was mustered to put the matter to the test: Not only because one of the unwritten rules of military operations is that there should be a trial run wherever possible, but to ensure that they would be equal to doing themselves what they planned to inflict on others. Apart from the more practical considerations, the rule book stipulated that Junior Leaders should put their faith in each other first, and then call upon God to straighten things out if necessary. That is exactly what they did, only to be rewarded with the heaviest snow fall Dartmoor had seen in years.

The snow began to freeze, visibility fell to zero, and suspicion began to grow that someone in Heaven was deliberately misreading Devine Orders, in order to make monkeys out of the Junior Leaders on earth. Unless, of course, the intention was to enhance the success of the operation by the conditions under which it was achieved. Anyway, that was the encouraging hypothesis communicated to all concerned, but it was as well to be armed with a little practical advice to: "Stick together chaps; don't lose site of your patrol leader; and if lost go to ground, batten down in your bivouac tent, get into your sleeping bag, tuck into your emergency rations, pray and wait." At the head count next day 8 were reported missing.

"Eight Junior Leaders Lost on Dartmoor. Colonel to Retire." thus headlined, the news spread. The BBC broadcast regular bulletins, the General Officer Commanding South West District sent his ADC to enquire whether the Royal Marines should be called in, and a string of hungry reporters sat in the Officers" Mess Tent enjoying Regimental hospitality and sharpening their pencils. With the prospect of Courts of Inquiry and other unpleasant procedures in mind, the officers responsible were already on their way back into Dartmoor, moving on pre-determined bearings and in radio contact with each other. Operating on the same frequency, a Naval helicopter was launched to help in the search and, if necessary, to evacuate any casualties.

The first sign of life came in response to a boot making contact with a mound of snow: "Hey!". The owner of the voice announced his presence loud and clear, but the much relieved owner of the boot still thought to ask if anyone was at home. "Yes Sir!" came the reply, and three Junior Leaders emerged. Safe and well they were given the option of accompanying the search party on foot or evacuation by helicopter. They chose the latter - perhaps because they had never flown before! Others were similarly rescued and no one was any the worse for the experience.

Thus Ten Tors was launched on its historic flight into the future. The challenge lay against self and the environment, not one another, a principle dramatised on the floor of the Union Inn in 38 Cantos entitled "The Ballad of Denbury Common".

The Ballad of Denbury Common.

A long time ago, on Denbury Common,
As the sound of massed trumpets splintered the air,
A thousand young faces, weary and yawning,
Crept out of their dreams while day was still dawning.

Overnight the base camp had mushroomed to life,
Hubbub, and confusion, and tents everywhere:
"Like pigeons in a loft," the RSM said
As he counted them in and tottered to bed.

Not far from the centre, by Denbury Cross,
The momentous briefing on Ten Tors began
To wild cheers and applause, and maybe because
Ten Tors was considered a cheerworthy cause

The reception over, we turn to review
How Rothwell of Ogwell and his merry crew,
Having weathered the storm from morning till night
Turned up to continue the watch at first light.

As the chattering streams poured into the yard
A voice could be heard, like the ghost of a bard,
Speak words of caution then go silent until
They heard him again up on Haytor's fair hill.

Back at Denbury, pilots checked out the start
And the military men consulted the stars.
From Salisbury a staff-car moved south through the night
Praying for good weather and a trouble-free flight.

The flags flutter gaily, trumpeters in red –
The same scarlet warriors that roused them from bed –
With a priest in his cassock to bless the day
That God sent to help launch Ten Tors on its way.

And so the appointment with many events:
The move, the assembly, the striking of tents.
Everyone to his task and all in its place;
But try as one might they'll still call it a race.

The men raise their faces, the women just smile,
The Sun plays its part in celestial style.
Then out of the heavens and haloed in light,
A whirring bird glitters and hovers in sight.

The cabin door opens, the steps are in place,
An officer stands by well briefed just in case,
As stepping out briskly and looking his best:
Behold the Queen's General commanding the West.

"Just a thousand this year but two thousand next;
Well done and good hunting," the gist of his text.
The trumpets then sound, a brief moment for prayer,
And again that voice speaks: "They conquer who dare!"

Now watch the action-men, patrol leaders stand
Astride maps on the ground compasses in hand;
They talk and they argue, some grumble, some dance:
Why march on a bearing – let's leave it to chance!

Away to the moors, every hill, every glen,
Beckoning young leaders, brave girls gallant men,
Well trained to resist any thought of retreat
From the weather or time, the tors or the peat.

Swift as the rushing winds and clear crystal streams,
By pastures and meadows in sunshine and beams:
A trek across Dartmoor's bewildering scene
To Hexworthy bound, thence to Colin's own green.

And there stands the leader at the entrance gate,
For once he is early, thank God He's not late:
Balaclava set right, bright toorie on top,
Saluting the general – and one word of shop:

"We"re through sir on FM to every tor;
Conditions are perfect – could not ask for more."
A moments reflection, then just one more word:
"Eh, by the way general, your breakfast is served."

That was the sitrep around eight hundred hours;
Some marching to the moors and some to the bars:
For VIPs, of course, how could they refuse
The Council"s kind offer of "dutyfree" booze?

As maps, tapes and checkboards are moved to and fro
Plant's giant display-chart takes Ten Tors in tow;
While Chandler works upwards, then down and around:
A flag for the lost and a pin for the found.

There's Willmott and Osborne and Simmonds in turn,
Wirelesses humming as the midnight oils burn.
Such dedicated men are happier this way
Which means working long hours without extra pay.

The sum of their figures progressively grew
As each one of Ten Tors was conquered anew.
Relentless, the timewatch goes on to the end
And wonder of wonders they"re not "round the bend!"

Across yonder field called the devil's delight
The pricker of blisters now limps into sight.
You may think what you wish, but shout while you can
"A most hearty welcome old medicine man."

Behind the red crosses the pots start to boil
Watched over by cooks as they babble and toil.
Ask Stacey, he knows that apart from their feet
Sooner or later even leaders must eat.

Bear with me a moment: “Up toories and cheer!”
The men and the women who year after year
Come to help where they can, and always on hand:
For them hoist the bunting and turn out the band.

Ah! Here a strange message the radio speaks
A patrol has collapsed on one of those peaks:
"Symptoms exhaustion; feet blistered and tender;
Negotiate terms for abject surrender.

How many patrols from Haytor first started,
How many since from their leaders departed?
With the urge to compete still setting the pace
Three hundred are forced to abandon the "race".

To digress once again, and ponder a while
Those stout-hearted women, the girls with a smile,
Who merrily, cheerily, right from the start,
Held no fears for Dartmoor and captured its heart.

Now that story's moral must have its own tale;
Did the women pitch camp near Princetown's old jail?
Ask Joyner, he's mum; there are rumours for sure
But what were they up to those guardians of law?

Throughout these proceedings, perhaps just as well,
The press played its part as Mike Hartnett will tell:
Reporting each up, but more fully each down
Then judging it time to retreat from the town!

The founder's own ruling must now state the case
That the men up in front did not win the "race".
And those coming home at the pre-state time
Most merit approval in reason and rhyme.

The endless procession, all tired, some lame,
Patrol after patrol homewards they came:
Juniors from Teignmouth and the Royal marines,
Bravo! and again for Ashburton's "Toreens".

As the hard night wore on and threatening frost
Officials working on to account for the lost.
And Rothwell's reception once more came alive
Till the last half dozen clocked-in at O five.

There are members of staff too many to name,
Indispensable in this annual game
Of pickets and rescue, in base camp and out,
And leadership on call: that's what its about.

To those men and women warm thanks are here due
For the bulk of the work well done by the few.
Yet asked if they'd rather be elsewhere, maybe?
Speak up in unison: "O no sir, not me!"

Such comradeship merits a grass-green silk tie
With something quite striking to capture the eye:
The old tinner's symbol, three rabbits, three ears,
Yet each displaying two to allay their worst fears.

Here comes the Admiral, spot on at six bells,
To present the awards and say the farewells.
"Remarkable," he says, "a jolly good show:
Its tough in the heat but much worse in the snow!”

Such wisdom and foresight brought forth a loud cheer
As he steered a brave course "round courage and fear".
And having thus planted a thought for the day
Hopped into his staff car and went on his way.

Designed by Hugh Ridge of St Ives Artists' Guild,
With Haytor and Ten Tors emblazoned and milled,
A medallion in bronze is honour enough
For all who are born with the best British stuff.

Perhaps VIPs, who preside on the day,
Could bear this thought in mind and mark what I say:
"Weighted down you may be with high honours galore,
But a Ten Tors medal could weigh even more."

(With acknowledgements to the officers, staff and junior leaders who were present on the day, and all who have since supported Ten Tors. Actual names are given throughout. The success of Ten Tors was marked by the patronage of His Royal Highness The Duke of Edinburgh, KG, KT. And there were other patrons too: The Lord Lieutenant of Devon, Lord Roborough; Brigadier Sir Ralph Rayner, MBE; Lady (Sylvia) Sayer; Admiral Sir Nigel Henderson, KCB, OBE; Air Marshal Sir Donald Evans, KBE, CB, DFC; Major-General F J Swainson, OBE; Major-General J R Holden, CBE, DSO, Brigadier J B Ashworth, CBE, DSO, ADC; Rear Admiral D J Hoare, CB, who together formed a ring of encouragement around the junior leaders from which they could emerge with confidence to take the risk and adventure.)

A first-hand report of Ten Tors 1960 is listed in the FAQ...

The Scene of Events

Dartmoor is one of the last wildernesses in England. It is a National Park, and occupies some 368 square miles (954 square Km) of hills topped by granite outcrops - the 'Tors'. At its lowest points Dartmoor touches 325 feet (100 m) above sea level, and the highest Tor-capped hill reaches 2018 feet (621 m). The valleys and dips between the hills often hold bogs to trap the unwary walker.

Only two major roads cross the Moor - others take a more cautious route around its skirts. It is no accident that Dartmoor Prison was built in the middle of the Moor, originally to house prisoners of the Napoleonic wars.

The Moor has long been used by the British Army as a training and firing range. Approximately 156 square miles (400 square Km) of the moor are owned or leased by the MoD for military training, and three ranges are used for much of the year for live firing exercises.

In 1959 three Army officers felt that the Moor would provide a challenge for civilians as well as soldiers, and Ten Tors was conceived. In the first year 203 boys and girls took up the challenge - and the Army thoughtfully suspended firing exercises...

The Ten Tors event - in parallel with the Jubilee Challenge - takes place one weekend in May, every year, and is now limited to 2400 individuals - 400 teams of six teenagers. The teams, depending on age and ability, face hikes of 35, 45 or 55 miles between ten nominated Tors over two days. The intention is that the teams shall be self-sufficient, carrying everything they need to survive two days on the Moor.

And survival forms a real and ever-present part of the challenge.

In 1998 temperatures were in the eighties (26º C) throughout the Event, and dehydration was a major risk.

In May 1996 Dartmoor was struck by a snow and sleet storm over Ten Tors weekend. The teams had poor visibility and numbing cold to contend with, and 2100 of 2400 participants were evacuated from the Moor in some of the most extreme weather seen by Dartmoor in any spring. That year Moor Group HQ at Okehampton, supervised by the British Army, were responsible for coordinating the successful mass evacuation of the teams, following requests from Tor Party Commanders to do so. The RN helicopters played a crucial role, particularly on Kitty Tor, in some unspeakable conditions even for them.

Support contingents from the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force, - who that year as in all years - man the Tors throughout the Event and, together with the Dartmoor Rescue Group, play a crucial role in overseeing the participants and ensure that none come to lasting harm. In 1997 43 (Wessex) were tasked by Commander in Chief Land, then General Sir Mike Walker, to take up the administration and coordination of the Event, based at Moor Group HQ at Okehampton over Ten Tors weekend. The Event continues to flourish under their stewardship.

Thanks are due to the officers, men and women of the Armed Services and to all the support groups, who make the organisation and execution of Ten Tors appear stunningly easy, and who provide the essential safety-net.

But congratulations and considerable admiration are due to the four hundred Teams who accept the Challenge!