A Second year, at Horseshoe Island (continued)
Finally, we were able to board the New John Biscoe and head across the strait to Base D, Hope Bay on the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula. There we unloaded stores and changed over personnel, some of which would be spending a year with us at Horseshoe Island. Of course, we took on board any outgoing mail. Our next stop was Base N, Anvers Island, and from there on to Base F, Argentine Island, and the routine was more of the same. At each call we would take on board personnel for relocation and, of course, the very important outgoing mail. We had been encountering some heavy going in pack ice up to that time. Now it started to get worse to the point where there was doubt cast as to whether we would be able to get into Base W, or for that matter, Base Y.
But the ship pushed on and eventually reached Detaille Island. The site of the newly established Base W, which had been established the previous year. This was a ‘base’ which was established to survey the coastal regions and the north side of the Arrowsmith Peninsula. That whole area was not accessible from Marguerite Bay. The amount of ice on the approach close to the base was considerable, but no solid pack ice was encountered. The unloading of stores proceeded, as was the usual routine, as well as the landing of people, including John Smith. He would be spending a year on this island instead of coming to Base Y with rest of us. We had taken to hunting seals on the way down, going out on to any pack ice where there were a number of seals, to land at both Bases W and Y, since we were landing extra dog teams at both.
There was still a lot of work to do on the hut at Base W and that would keep them all busy, whilst the sea ice continued to tighten its grip with firm pack ice. The sea ice showed signs that it would soon be stable enough for sledge travel and for the survey programme to start. By the time the ship moved away from the base, the pack ice was beginning to really close in. The ship found it hard going with the pack ice growing ever thicker. Our ship forced her way westward away from the coast, the plan was to sail offshore along the coast of Adelaide Island. Then into Marguerite Bay. However, the ever-thickening ice was bent on defeating that plan. In fact, there was more than one day when we could not move at all. We took advantage of the situation to go over the side, on to the ice, hunting seals, to add to our seal-meat supply for the dogs at Base Y. The ship’s captain tried this way and that in an attempt to find a new route in the direction he wanted to go.
At one time it was discussed as to whether or not the ship should head back to Port Stanley and await changing conditions, before attempting to relieve Base Y in Marguerite Bay. But fate finally played a hand in our favour, and we finally made it out to sea beyond the pack ice and made our way along the coast of Adelaide Island, quite a distance off-shore. Our ship found that the entrance to Marguerite Bay was blocked by heavy pack ice, but she was able to push through it and headed over towards Horseshoe Island, through loose and broken pack ice.
Getting stores onshore took a lot of time, since the landing barge could only make ‘slow time’ through the ice. Eventually, the task was complete with all stores, the seal meat we had collected, plus the new additional dog teams. The most important thing we brought with us was the mail, letters from home were very essential for the morale of the base team. Introductions between the old and the new teams had to wait until all the mail had been read. A predictable occurrence once the mail had been landed ashore.
With the constant threat of uncertain ice conditions in the bay, the ship’s captain wanted to get going with his next assignment. Which was to put up a ‘refuge hut’ somewhere along the shore of the Arrowsmith Peninsula. This single-skinned wooden hut was to serve as a refuge for both Base Y and W field teams, should the ice and weather conditions turn against them. The ship had now to push its way up the fiord, through broken pack ice, up Bigourdan Fjord to Blaiklock Island, which in those days was connected to the Arrowsmith Peninsula by permanent sea ice. All those still on board would help to unload stores and construct the refuge.
Such as it was, simply a large single-walled garden shed with a tarpaulin roof, held down on the ground by two wire hawsers anchored to cast-concrete blocks. It would protect people from the 100 miles an hour winds, but without much comfort. The small stove inside the hut would not have much effect in the winter’s minus temperatures. The stores were stowed in piles around the hut. Unfortunately, no one bothered to map ‘what was where’ and that caused problems later in the year.
When the ship had finished her work, Pete Gibbs and John Rothera were put ashore to get on with surveying their side of the Arrowsmith Peninsula. When ice conditions permitted, it was presumed that Angus Erskine and Jim Madell would land and start surveying their area of the Arrowsmith as well as their nearby section of the main Antarctic Peninsula. The John Biscoe then made her way back to Base Y, to make her final call and pick up the outgoing mail. We heard via radio that the ship had a hard time calling into bases to pick up outgoing mail, before heading back to Port Stanley and eventually, UK.
Everyone soon settled into their assigned base routines, each taking a week’s turn as cook (no exemptions). With Percy Guyver, as base leader, issuing the duty cook with his week’s supplies. The food was whatever could be put into tins, with old wartime dried vegetables to add bulk. Tinned vegetables were useless, unless you could prevent them from freezing. The vegetables broke up and separated into a useless ‘goo’, and since there was no way we could guarantee them not freezing, we had to put up with the dried version, which I might add were nothing like the modern-day product. I remember in particular the dried cabbage, which no matter how you tried to make it juicy and tender, was always tough and chewy, as though you would be better using it for a new sole on leather boots. But beggars cannot be choosers, and if you get hungry enough you will eat anything, as we soon found out. The British bases were fairly basic and unlike the Argentine and Chilean bases, they did not have fridge/freezers, where they could store food under controlled conditions.
Our rations were restricted to tinned meats and dried vegetables, supplemented by the things that the cook could dream up. Using a range of dry goods, they would turn out welcome supplements, such as bread, meat pies, fruit pies and cakes, where rations permitted, with experience and a lot of ‘jeering prompts’ from the base team diners. Most of the base members developed high-level skills, developing their own ‘tasty dishes’, for which they received the recognition so richly deserved. Pemmican is the staple of field rations and unwrapped looks very much like a bar of dark-coloured soap; it is comprised mainly of minced beef and fat, with things like vitamins etc. added. I always enjoyed some of the concoctions I used to make with it at Deception Island. Cooked up with pea flour and rice, with the right seasoning added, it was a meal that really ‘stuck’ to any one’s ribs and certainly satisfied the hungry.
On Deception Island there was no need for field travel. The little pemmican that existed was in field ration boxes, which we managed to use in order to supplement our base stores. Horseshoe Island was a field survey base relying on a continuous programme of often lengthy field trips to complete the work programme, Therefore, we could not risk poaching from field rations. I would just have to wait for my turn in the field to enjoy my pemmican concoction. We did, of course, break the monotony of the food with the occasional penguin egg, or seal steak. These both had their own idiosyncrasies; penguin eggs did not look very appetising. A fried egg yolk is bright gold, and what should have been the white of an egg was instead transparent like clear plastic. Penguin eggs, therefore, were nearly always served up as an omelette. Seal meat, on the other hand, smells and tastes of the sea food it eats. Most of this taste is in the fat on the meat. The answer was to remove all its fat and steep the steak in a nice tasty marinade. But I have spent enough time on the cooking chore, what of the other tasks, for instance the wireless operator Bryn Roberts. He had to maintain a series of tight radio schedules. An example of which was the maintaining of three-hourly Morse, or voice schedules, with Port Stanley, in the Falkland Islands. At such times he would report the work programme intentions, state of health of personnel as well as send the current weather observation data. In addition, he would collect any messages and instructions from SecFIDS, or send out messages to SecFIDS from the base leader.
The diesel mechanic/base leader had to arrange all the refuelling procedures and ensure that everyone understood how to carry out the task. He also had to carry out all regular maintenance and repair tasks that were part of his specific discipline, for which he had been recruited.
The diesel-generators were only run during the day, a bank of 12 volt batteries supplied the lighting at night. The ‘meteorological’ men (of which there were four on base) had to organise a pattern of day and nightshifts. These had to provide cover for the observations to be taken every three hours. In between times, observers had to compile the data statistics associated with those observations.
The doctor would normally have his own ‘physiological study’ programme, but in our case we had been assigned an MD whose speciality was gynaecology. He was assigned the job of caring for the dogs. He spent his days up to his ears covered in seal meat and fat, after cutting up the carcasses into feed-size lumps. There were some tasks that had to be completed on both the exterior and interior of the hut. Changes to the bunk-room area and the finishing off of the ‘sledge workshop’ were priority tasks.
In addition, getting ready for the field work programme meant that all the field equipment had to be checked and, where necessary, repaired. That meant sleeping bags, sleeping mats and tents had to be examined for cracked poles or holes in the tent fabric. Sledges are the biggest job since parts of the type of sledge used were mainly held together with rawhide-thongs, giving the maximum flexibility. The latter property is important when traversing sea ice tide-crack ridges and ice hummocks, frozen into the sea ice as they form. After a season in the field, all the rawhide had stretched to the point where in some cases the sledge was not a rigid structure, in fact just the opposite.
Since the sledges had to carry up to a 1200 1b load, dismantling all of the parts held by rawhide and reassembling with either the original rawhide or in some cases new rawhide is essential. Care had to be taken to stretch the rawhide tight and then carefully secure the ends. The long sledge runners were of wood, with a running surface of ‘Tufnol’ laminated to it. Tufnol was a fabric-filled plastic composite in wide industrial use at the time. Tests had shown that it had a much longer running life that plain wood, which could be quickly worn away by the abrasive sea ice.
Occasionally, a sledge runner or sledge bridge would be broken attempting the rafted sea-ice hummocks along the tide cracks where the sea ice meets the land; these parts had to be replaced during the rebuild. Dog harnesses were another big job, because after a season of field work, there are not many harnesses that survived fit enough for another season. Since we would have four teams in the field, that meant that we would need something like 50 harnesses, including spares. Dog harnesses are made from wide tubular lamp-wick. This had been found over time, by FIDS, to have both the properties of strength, required for load pulling, and softness, for wearing comfort by each dog. A dog with chafed spots where his harness was rubbing was not going to be a very happy dog. I would think that every FID has spent some evenings learning to cut and sew dog harnesses. It was always considered a good pastime for ‘Met’ men on the night-observation shift. As well as routine tasks, many people adopted a personal project of their own.
I had built a recording tide gauge at Deception Island, because there did not seem to be any tidal information available. Here at Horseshoe Island I was in a new situation, this made me wonder about the frictional properties of ‘Tufnol’ on sledge runners, over a range of snow and ice surfaces. These properties would vary with temperature and the nature of the surfaces. I decided to spend any spare time, during my year, measuring these frictional properties.
But it was far from being straightforward. I had no suitable measuring device that I could connect into the dog-lines on a sledge when it was into motion. I devised a compromise approach, using a block-and-tackle, which had to be set up for each measurement. I had to set up the sledge on each new surface area, add that to the fact that conditions varied from thick, heavy wet snow, surfaces to hard, crisp low-temperature surfaces, sometimes with a dusting of tiny snow crystals that had the friction of dry sand particles. For each test run, I would set up a test load using sledge ration boxes, often having to abandon a test mid-cycle because of the onset of extreme weather conditions, requiring that I dig out my test setup.
By the end of May and early June, the sea ice around the island was solid and stable enough to start planning long-distance sledge journeys. The first was a trip to the Emperor Penguin rookery on the Dion Islands, followed by geology trips around the southern end of Pourquoi Pas Island. In the meantime, we received news via the radio that a sledge team from Base W had found itself stranded. It appeared that the sea ice joining the island to the shore broke up, leaving them with no way home. The sledge team was one headed by Angus Erskine, and he had made the decision to make his way across the Arrowsmith Peninsula to the ‘refuge hut’ on Blaiklock Island.
That refuge hut had originally been conceived for a single or at the most two sledge teams. But with three sledge teams holed up there, space would be stretched to the limit. Due to the lack of real heating, they were to find that it would be more expedient to erect their tents inside the refuge hut. To help out the situation we ran several supply trips up to the refuge, mainly fuel for the hut’s stove and alcohol for the stoves in the tents. Since ‘Midwinters’ Day was still in the future, it was decided that all the stranded teams would sledge down to Base Y for midwinters dinner celebrations. After which a support team would go back up to the refuge, from where they would organise a combined effort in support of Angus Erskine’s attempt to get back on to Detaille Island (Base W). Once the ice conditions were right, almost everyone was out in the field, except for two Met men and a radio operator.
There were occasions when only two men were left on base, these were the occasions when it was Len Maloney’s turn to stay on base. This was possible because he was able to operate the radio schedules, which freed Bryn Roberts, the radio operator, to take a turn on a field trip. Finally, Peter Gibbs, a surveyor, sledged back to base with George Larmour, in the company of Angus Erskine and Jim Madell, the stranded Base W sledge party, ready for midwinter festivities. After being one of two on the base for several weeks, it was almost like being taken out of isolation and plunged into an over-populated hotel, with all space stretched to the limit. But it had its compensations, conversation was lively, and everyone had at least one story to tell. Angus Erskine and Jim Madell told of their numerous attempts to get back on to Detaille Island and the various events that had frustrated each effort and held centre stage for most of the time.
Midwinters’ Day celebrations were special in the Antarctic and for everyone it was their Christmas celebration, which they had missed, because December was a busy month. Because that was the time everyone was on the move, with bases coping with a change-over of personnel, as well as the re-supply of food, fuel and general stores. The June celebration was planned months ahead. Almost everyone on base had brought something special to add to the festive goodies. The better cooks would excel themselves in creating some dish that added the touch of Christmas; cakes, pies, savouries and drinks. It was treated like a formal occasion, and everyone changed into their ‘civvy’ togs to add to the atmosphere; that midwinters’ dinner was special. Although we did not have a turkey, Percy had previously canvassed the base members to get preferences for which it was to be a ‘penguin’ or a ‘cormorant’. The latter was the winner because on the table it would look more like a turkey. Despite the extra guests from Base W, there was plenty of goodies for everyone, probably too much. We managed to hook up over the base radio with other bases, sharing descriptions of each other’s celebration dinner. Next day everyone was recovering from too much wine and rich food.
Not much was done around the base except the essentials, feeding the dogs and keeping up the Met observations’ schedule. Plus, the three-hourly radio schedules with Port Stanley. Next morning, we loaded up the sledges for the trip up the fjord to the Blaiklock Refuge and the Arrowsmith Peninsula. There was going to be a lot of sledge traffic going in that direction; Angus Erskine and Jim Madell and myself had the Base W teams and loaded the ‘pulka’ sledge (man-haul sledge) on one of the dog sledges. Sandy Imray and Pete Gibbs had a Base Y dog team the Admirals and had Bryn Roberts with them. Bryn and I were hitching a ride because we had a hard man-haul task ahead of us. Since everyone was headed for the refuge, as a starting point it posed no problem. Sandy and the Admirals got away first, and it was another half hour before we were ready to leave. The trip to the refuge was 21— 22 miles and normally took around 4 hours or a little more with loaded sledges. By the time we got to Ridge Island, we had caught up with Sandy and the Admirals. He had been trying to break-in two new pups into the team, but they had continually caused trouble and were slowing him down. Everyone called at a dog pemmican depot on Blaiklock Island to stock up ready for Sandy, Pete, Angus and Jim Madell’s crossing of the Heim Glacier.
When we finally reached the refuge, we found the inside temperature was -15 Fahrenheit, whilst outside it had been -24. Before we could eat we had to go outside and dig amongst the food-stores buried in the snow. Guess what, the only food easy to find buried in the snow was, ‘yes’, baked beans; these were the only alternative to digging a trench around the refuge whilst searching for a wider selection of tinned foods. To keep warm, we erected the two pyramid tents inside the hut. It was easier to try and keep some heat in the double-walled tent, than in a single-skinned uninsulated wooden shed, held in place against the wind by a couple of stranded wire hawsers.
Next morning the four, Sandy Imray, Pete Gibbs, Angus Erskine and Jim Madell, set out on their respective programme tasks, leaving Bryn Roberts and I with the refuge to ourselves, not that it was any great asset. Angus and Jim were crossing the Heim Glacier to get back to their base, if that was possible; whilst Pete and Sandy were tagging along in the hope they could establish a common trig point between bases ‘W and Y’, if that was possible. Bryn Roberts was our base radio operator, and one of the reasons he had made this trip was to attempt a repair of the refuge’s radio. A task he was successful with.
This left us free to get our gear sorted for our trip. We ended up with a sledge load of 350—400 lbs and setoff for our objective, which was a headland on the northern tip of Pourquoi Pas Island. The distance was about 8—9 miles, and a good sea-ice surface allowed us to reach a point some quarter of a mile offshore from our target before the failing light was upon us. Instead of risking a search along the shoreline in failing the light for a suitable campsite, we decided to set up camp on the sea ice. The next morning poor visibility and ground level stratus cloud impeded our efforts to move the campsite onshore.
We found that one of our tent poles had snapped clean through during the night, so we had to make a temporary repair (which lasted the rest of the trip). Our new campsite was sheltered in a hollow between two rock outcrops, and it was just as well, because that night we had 80 mile an hour winds, which really tested our temporary tent pole repair. However, all remained secure, and we did not have to venture outside to check on the dogs, since this was a man-haul trip.
The next day, the weather seemed ideal to climb the headland and erect a cairn for the surveyors to use. We found that the approach slope to the headland was deep drift snow, with a choice of two possible routes to the top. Both were very steep, although we only had about 1500 ft to climb. The first route identified was over packed snow and ice and we would need to rope-up and use crampons. Our preference would have been not to use crampons, because we only had canvas mukluks (ex-army) as footwear, not the hard leather footwear that would have been more ideal for crampons. We decided on the second route on a rock scree and ice surface, which we thought might be managed with ice axes and crampons; we roped-up just in case. We had difficulty where some of the rock scree was smoothed over with ice, making a conscious decision not to descend by the same route. On the top, we set about building the cairn and erecting a flag, marking the position as 67 degrees 36 minutes south and 67 degrees 25 minutes west. Barely having time to finish the work before a bank of fog or low cloud closed around us. Our descent was via the ice and snow route, sometimes having to glissade down the steeper parts. That night kept a radio schedule with the base and reported that all was okay. With the task complete, we were glad to get back in the tent some hot food, which had the desired effect, and we were both soon asleep.
The following morning the weather was not too good, low cloud and poor visibility with snow falling under calm conditions. Such conditions make for a sticky surface, as far as a sledge is concerned; a hard slog when man-hauling. However, we decided to give it a try and broke camp ready to move off just before midday. The snow surface did tend to be deep and sticky, as expected the going proved difficult and slowly got worse with the visibility closing down all the time. Finally, when visibility was down to less than 100 yds, we decided to camp, be it on sea ice, whilst we still had some light. Our plan had been to reach the other Nide of the bay, a distance of about four and a half miles. Then the following day go around into the ‘Narrows’ to search for a supplies depot laid the previous year. After that we would take a look at another climb we had to make at the far end of the Narrows on Pourquoi Pas Island. We had only achieved some three miles in over four hours, but eventually we did reach the other side. It was too late to do anything else other than search for a campsite onshore, put our tent up and after a meal settle down to a well-earned night’s sleep.
That night we endured gale force winds with heavy drift snow. We were concerned that if our damaged tent pole collapsed on us, the drift snow could bury the tent, but the tent stayed up. When morning came, we took a peep outside to check the weather; it was very apparent that the storm was still raging and in fact did not abate until late in the day. It was another layup day for us, with nothing else to do except lay in your sleeping bag, read, or drink tea, or just try to dose off and get some extra shuteye. The following day, we found that the storm had gone, the sky was clear, the snow surface for travelling on was hard and smooth snow packed by the wind.
The weather we had experienced forced us to take stock of our situation, for both the tent and sleeping bags were badly iced up and we urgently needed to replace the damaged tent pole as soon as possible. The decision was taken to make our way back to the refuge on Blaiklock Island, forget the rest of our journey as planned. To dry out our gear as well as replacing the tent pole. The surface was not as fast as we expected, probably because the temperature had dropped. We arrived at the refuge at about 3.30 pm and found that the temperature was -28 degrees Fahrenheit, with a minimum for the day of -30.4 Fahrenheit, which explained the slower progress. We stripped the tent and the sleeping bags to scrape all the ice clear and then stretched everything out to dry.
Since we had no tent to put up inside the refuge, we needed some chores to do to keep us warm. We visited some cairns which needed to have their tops dismantled, so that the theodolite could be fitted in position for a baseline extension. The weather turned against us again and became really foul, with winds rising to full gale force at times. We had to spend our days repairing sledging gear and then erecting some racks and shelves in the refuge. Whilst we were doing something, the cold was more bearable. When the weather did abate somewhat, Percy Guyver, John Rothera and Nigel Proctor arrived at about midnight, having made a late start from Nemo Cove, on Pourquoi Pas Island, hampered by deep snow most of the way. Two of their dogs were in a bad way, having come off worst in a dog fight during a two-day layup in a storm. Both ‘Taffy’ and ‘Joseph’ had large teeth punctures in the groin; to add to his wounds, Joseph had spent the night trapped in a tide-crack and was still half frozen. On the trip up to the refuge, Taffy ran behind the sledge, but Joseph was in such a sorry state that he had to be carried on the sledge. Both dogs were kept in the refuge for the night to dry out.
The next day was spent reorganising to accommodate the increased ‘local population’ and trying to assess the state of the two injured dogs. Hopefully, when they are fed and rested, the health picture will be a lot clearer. The following day was mainly a ‘sort-out’ day for everybody, since we had to prepare for our next task and Percy and Nigel had to tend their injured dogs. The following day Percy and Nigel took their team, less the two injured dogs, back into the Narrows to pick up some stores, which they off-loaded to make travelling easier in deep snow. John Rothera (surveyor), Bryn Roberts and myself set out on a fairly trip to set up a baseline for the planned area triangulation.
This was to do the first measurement for the baseline extension. After completing what was a fairly straightforward task, we set off back to the refuge. On arrival finding that Sandy and had returned from their trip over the Heim Glacier, and they informed us that during the trip they had recorded a minimum temperature of minus 44 degrees Fahrenheit (which was our lowest recorded for the year).
The day after, we set out again to make a second measurement o(he new baseline, ready for John and Pete (the two surveyors) to go out and extend the baseline. Then tie down one end, by reading the angles to features with previously mapped locations. They would then repeat the process for the other end of the baseline; all (his kept them busy for the next couple of days. The following day in fine weather I skied to the mouth of the Reid Glacier, a round (tip of about ten miles, to search for a route up on to the glacier. I found what appeared to be a snow ramp that had formed at the western side of the glacier mouth. Satisfied with my find, I returned to the refuge.
Next day weather kept everyone trapped in the refuge and left to their own amusements. Pete and Bryn Roberts (both avid smokers) spent the day scouring the floor of the refuge, picking up cigarette butts, breaking them open and collecting the little remaining unburned tobacco. From these they would make up something resembling a cigarette that they could smoke. It seemed the smokers were out of cigarette supplies until they could find a depot that included cigarettes. Others occupied the time bringing their field notes up to date and playing cards.
The next day brought a let-up in the weather, so Pete Gibbs and John Rothera took the opportunity to read a round of angles from the end of the new baseline to a new survey point. One that they intended to visit shortly to read a series of back angles to the new baseline. As might be expected, there had to be at least day where the ‘best laid plans’ were thwarted; it was another day to spend trapped in the refuge. The moment the weather pattern changed, Percy Guyver and Nigel Proctor loaded their sledge for a long ‘geological trip’ around the east coast of Adelaide Island and the Laubeuf Fjord area; they were taking no more chances of getting trapped by weather, in the area of the refuge. With the baseline extension now complete, John Rothera, Bryn Roberts and I were now free to man-haul our sledge back to base. The surveyors (jointly) had decided on a task for us to complete on route to base. That of climbing each end of Ridge Island to erect cairns the surveyors intended to use, in order to tie the island into their existing triangulation.
On the day we were due to start the trip, Sandy Imray and Pete Gibbs, who had nothing already planned for that day, offered to load our man-haul sledge and gear on to their dog sledge and haul us down to the end of the ‘Narrows’. After which they would make a fast run back to the refuge and whatever plans they had for the rest of the day. This meant we would cover the eight miles to Ridge Island in less than half the time of a ‘man-haul’, leaving us with the maximum window to build the first cairn. As a result, we arrived at the foot of the peak we were proposing to climb by around 12:30 hrs. A plus, so that we could start climbing straightaway; Sandy and Pete offered to set up our camp, an offer we accepted. We immediately put on our crampons and each armed with an ice axe, we set off for the approach to the foot of the glacier. This distance across the glacier was further than we had estimated, and it was an hour before we reached the foot of the peak. The climb that was before us was one relatively short, but a very steep climb, roping up, wearing crampons and using ice axes were all an absolute necessity. We reached the 2000 ft level with visibility closing in rapidly, in view of which we reluctantly decided to descend whilst there was still light.
During the climb we had been able to see Sandy and Pete, well on their way back to the refuge and making very good time by the look of it. Next day the weather was fine and we started to climb the peak for the second time. However, this time we climbed on to the glacier at a point much nearer the foot of the peak and climbed steadily onwards and upwards, and we saw the sun for the first time since it had disappeared in May. This time we reached the top only to face disappointment, in that the site was unsuitable for a survey cairn. It was screened from the points it had to triangulate up to by intervening topographical features. We arrived back at camp in semi-darkness, ate a hot meal of pemmican, pea flour and rice and slept like the dead, one and all.
The weather was still holding, so we broke camp and manhauled to the southern end of Ridge Island. Our intention was to try and erect a cairn on the peak, at the other end of the island. We started our climb and this time it seemed to be the case of ‘one step forward and two backwards’ was the order of the day. After only climbing a short distance, the light started to change, still bright with details tending to be lost in a situation of increasing white-out conditions. Ideal conditions for contracting snow-blindness, as I about to find out. We were still climbing in these bright white-out conditions when all of a sudden, I felt that someone was stabbing my eyeballs with thousands of fine needles. I could no Ionger see where I was going, I was in agony and I must have fallen, but I am not sure. I next remembered John and Bryn leading on a rope back down the slope. They got me into the tent and my sleeping bag and after leaving me with a moistened cloth to hold over my eyes, they climbed back up the ridge, to continue with the task in hand.
I have never before experienced the agony of the endless hours followed, with the constant feel of those thousands of needles piercing my eyeballs. During those long hours, I would drift off to sleep only to be awakened by the stabbing pains in my eyeballs, which were so sore by this time that I could not bear to open them.
It is assumed that at some time John and Bryn returned to the tent and cooked a meal and offered some to me. But I was not interested in anything except the pain in my eyes. It would appear I lay in my sleeping bag for nearly two days before I was enough to open my eyes and engage in normal activities.
A decision was then taken that if I felt up to it, we would break camp and journey back to the base. John and Bryn told me that whilst I was indisposed, they had climbed the peak and built a really big cairn, which they considered adequate for the job, having marked it with a flag before descending. My eyes were still sore, but the needle-stabbing pains seemed to have abated. Although I did not seem to remember much, except that I was not much help in breaking camp.
Thrusting against the restraint of the man-haul harness, hour after hour, seemed to take my mind off my eye distress. We started making about four miles an hour, but after an hour that had dropped to three miles per hour, and by the time we reached base we were down to something even less. My two companions were anxious to get all the current news of the field teams, as well as news from elsewhere on FIDS. But for myself, after eating a meal and filling myself up with liquid, I stripped off and got into my bunk and slept the clock around. In a radio contact with Pete Gibbs, John Rothera learned from Pete (the senior surveyor) that the Ridge Island cairn would not now be needed, in a change of plans for the future triangulation from those that discussed. My eyes seemed to be back to normal now.
Just as well, as I was needed back on the meteorological observations schedule, to relieve someone else for a field trip. We were now in August and although survey and geology trips were still being undertaken, the hours of daylight meant that we only had very short working days.
One episode that stands out occurred about this time, but let me first fill in some background details. All of the outside doors have a short vestibule attached, so that there is a heavy door at one end which connects to the outside. Another lighter door gives access into the hut accommodation. It was the ‘golden rule’ for everyone, DO NOT OPEN THE INNER DOOR UNTIL AFTER YOU HAVE CLOSED THE OUTER DOOR. The reason for this is that high winds rush in with considerable force and do immeasurable damage to the interior structure of the hut. On this occasion, a man came in from the outside to drag a sledge into the sledge repair work-shop; he had the inner door open the same time as the outer, although it may not have been his doing.
We had in the past experienced 100 mph gusts that had only lasted a few minutes, but could regularly occur without warning. Such a gust of at least 100 mph wind suddenly filled the sledge workshop. The workshop window (12 x 4 ft) was immediately torn out of the frame of the hut by its force. The wind carried the window, in one piece, dragging out all the 6-inch nails that held it into the hut structure. Then carried the complete window 30 yds distance, before dumping it on soft snow without breaking a single glass pane. Of course, there was an immediate panic. It was essential to close off the opening before another gust of similar intensity occurred and possibly destroyed the remaining hut structure. This meant finding a large enough sheet of strong canvas, large enough to cover the open window space.
As soon as the wind abated for a few minutes, everyone had to turn out and help hold the canvas over an orifice that had once held a window. At the same time others had to collect wooden batons and nail these along the edge of canvas to hold it to the walls of the hut.
Without that first aid further gusts would had seriously damaged the interior of the hut and, of course, then the hut would have started to fill up with snow. Eventually, in a spell of calm weather, we were able to extract all the 6-inch nails, then remount the window securely back into the wall of the hut, and the incident became just a memory. Those who had now returned from field and the refuge took time to straighten out their gear. then update all of their field notes, ready for the compilation of end-of-year reports.
Eventually, Percy and Nigel returned from their long trip in Laubeuf Fjord. It seemed that the same freak winds that took the window out also wrecked three of their tent poles and, in fact, they nearly lost their tent. George Larmour (now relieved of his meteorological duties) set out with John Rothera, to survey the area of Laubeuf Fjord, where Nigel and Percy had been doing their geology. They would be using a newly formed dog team for the first time. The manner of their start suggested that the team would run well. We had a radio schedule with George and John informing us that they were camping at Cape Laintz on Pourquoi Island and had managed a sixteen and a half mile run.
Our next radio schedule with George informed us that they were camped on the ‘Long Ridges’ on the Bryand Peninsula and very good weather had enabled them to progress rapidly with their work programme. Problems always occur in the plural; ‘Kim’, lead dog of the ‘Church-men’ team had died suddenly, leaving Percy and Nigel without a full team to finish the geological trip work that was interrupted by weather. Percy planned to move ‘Dean’ up front as the lead dog and take ‘Phi’, one of the six-month-old pups to make up the team number. That six-month-old seemed to have fitted well into the Churchmen and Dean had nettled into his position of lead dog. Percy and Nigel were making their final plans to leave on the continuation of their geological trip would leave any day now.
I had been doing night-met observations and after a few hours’ sleep, I foolishly chose to ski out across Lystad Bay to investigate some strange beacon I thought I had seen; a round trip of about ten miles. By the time I was on the return journey, it was getting quite dark, and I let the shape of the terrain steer my skis. Next day when I looked at my ski trail coming back to the base, I realised how foolish I had been, skiing around the edges of huge snow scoops and bowls. If the edges had broken off, I would have been pitched into any one of these deep snow features, with a minor snow-slide following behind me.
Percy and Nigel have not left on their trip. Instead, Percy loaded a drum of paraffin on to the ‘Greenland-type sledge’ (it had very heavy solid runners, which wore well on sea ice) to be pulled by the Churchmen. The paraffin and other supplies were needed at the refuge for an early spring start of the field programme. Len Maloney loaded tents and rations on a Nansen sledge, to be pulled by the Spartans, and he followed behind Percy.
During the following days, Sandy Imray returned with Pete from their trip over the Heim Glacier and the western side of Pourquoi Pas Island. Near the end of August, Len and Percy returned from the refuge with their tales of woe. It seems Len Maloney’s sledge went over a snow ledge near the refuge, resulting in him losing his boxed sledge compass and the dog driving whip, and he broke a handle off the sledge. That was not all, ‘Liz’, a bitch with the ‘Spartans’, broke free from the ‘span’ overnight. Together with ‘Moose’, another Spartan, they killed ‘Ginger’. She was a bitch who was in ‘pup’ and whose litter was badly needed to Bryng the number of dogs up to strength for next year’s sledge journeys.
Then to top it all, Percy had a mishap on the way up to the refuge, in which he broke the surface of the sea ice into a layer of unfrozen water beneath it, which instantly froze on his feet as he lifted them clear of the ice. This phenomenon is quite common in sea ice, where under the surface ice (an inch or less) there is a small pocket of unfrozen sea water insulated from the air temperature by the ice above it. These freeze the instant that covering surface is broken. It appears as though Percy had early signs of third degree frostbite, on his heels. This did not seem to bother Percy, because the next day he left base with Nigel to complete the delayed continuation of the geological trip, despite the fact that it was already late September.
That did not stop the exodus from base to the refuge; they were followed by Len and John with the ‘Spartans’ and by Sandy and Pete with the ‘Admirals’. They were planning to spend a week getting an astro-fix completed, combined with a journey across the Heim Glacier. On base we only had George, Bryn and myself, and to our surprise Nun decided to have her pups. But of the eight that were born, only three survived. Surprises were not over, an Argentine team came to visit us that had been based on Deception Island whilst we were there. Some close friendships had been established. They had, it seems, later moved to the Debenham Islands around the time we had moved south. So that once again we were neighbours. Three of them had arrived by dog-sledge, expecting to find our full complement of people home. Instead, they found only three of us, two Met observers and a radio operator and a few dogs. The visitors were Dr Rene Dalinger, geologist/glaciologist, and his assistants, two graduate students from Cordoba University. They came bearing gifts, in the form of fresh meat and a few litres of wine to wash it down with. Though with only three people on base, that would take some time. We welcomed our visitors to our base and cleared some space for them to stow their gear as they would be staying a few days. They were used to a few more home comforts than were available on their base. I guess they counted staying with us as part of the camping out experience. The Argentine teams were supported by their own ice breaker, the General San Martin. A ship that had helped FIDS out of many difficult situations, because FIDS did not own a ship of similar power in ice. Our visitors said that they had heard from their ship’s officers that they were expecting difficult pack-ice conditions when the day dawned for them to come south to restock their base.
On the first evening of their visit, we all ate steak, cooked to perfection with loving care and washed down with an ample supply of red wine. We talked all evening about things that had happened between us all and our bases as well as the parties we had enjoyed at each other’s bases. They listened in whilst we held our radio schedules with our field teams, with the radio operator relaying messages backwards and forwards. Of course, during their stay, one of us was the night Met-man. He had to spend the final couple of hours hunting and killing a seal to feed the dogs still on base. Since they also had dogs to feed, the two students/assistants readily agreed to help get seals for the dogs. This allowed the night-man free to get his head-down. Their visit was only three days, but it really livened up the pace of life for those of us alone on base. Before the Argentine team left, Emilio extended an invitation to visit them at their Debenham Islands base, which we gladly accepted on behalf of our whole team.
We watched them leave until their sledges were completely out of sight, and then it was back to the same old routines. We were now into December; our weather was foul and we learned from the radio schedule that all the sledge parties were doing a ‘lay-up’. Percy and Nigel in their tent on Adelaide Island and Sandy and Pete trapped in the refuge. From a radio schedule with our friends at the Argentine base on the Debenham Islands, we learned that the sledge party which had visited us was now safely back on their base, having managed the 30-mile trip in ten hours. The stormy weather still prevailed, forcing the two field parties into a continued lay-up, unable to get any field work done. News on our round of radio schedules reported that Hope Bay (Base D) was planning a massive sledge journey down the length of the Antarctic Peninsula (around 700 miles). They would be travelling high up at plateau level, which in some places would be extremely narrow.
One of the pups ‘Chloe’ was ill and the doctor from another base prescribed an enema, followed up with full instructions over the radio. Once the medical procedure had been completed, she appeared to recover. She then had a relapse and her condition did not at first look like it was likely to abate; however, with the passage of time, she fully recovered.
Somehow trouble always followed Chloe around. One morning she decided to crawl under the hut for a ‘mooch’, only to become entangled in a pile of broken glass. This resulted in a huge deep gash on her nose. So, it was back to the radio for the first available doctor on any base, who after hearing a report of her injuries, said we would have to clean up the wound, remove any foreign objects or glass and then stitch up the wound. This time the doctor stayed on the radio and dictated our actions ‘blow by blow’, starting with the anaesthetic injections. These Chloe fought against; in the end she had enough to have put the biggest dog to sleep. Cleaning of the wound was fairly straightforward. She did squirm a little, but the moment we started stitching, she screamed with pain, or fear. It was hard to know which; even after all the anaesthetic she had been given, she was still very much aware of what was going on. Eventually, it was all over and we left her to sleep it off. It only remained to say bye to the doctor, then shut down the radio transmitter, after but not before first writing down all the follow-up instructions for Chloe’s care.
In the days that followed, she quickly recovered and was soon her old self, and we let her go back to freely roaming the base site. We had first blocked off all the access points where she might crawl under the hut and do herself more harm. I mention Chloe out of all the pups because she would later play a major part in an incident that befell the team that would eventually relieve us at Base Y.
Whilst this last episode with Chloe was going on, Percy Guyver and Nigel Proctor arrived at the base, having crossed the bay from the Dion Islands, covering a distance of 37 miles in one day. They had been away from base with the other teams for a total of 40 days. Having filled in the gaps for the geology of Adelaide Island and sledged a route to the western side of Adelaide, they reported that at the Dion Islands they had seen some 100 adult emperor penguins and between 35 and 40 emperor chicks.
It was now late October and the field work was nearing its end. John Rothera and Len Maloney arrived back at base from the refuge, having had some primus stove problems., without which they could not prepare any hot food; a real essential item of equipment, on which everyone is dependent. Back at base, the stove was repaired, and three days later they left to finish off their survey work in the Laubeuf Fjord area. Sandy Imray (our base doctor) and Pete Gibbs arrived back at base, for a break from the rigours of living in a tent and to get their kit cleaned up and everything dried out. Then after three or four days on base, Pete Gibbs and Percy left for a compass traverse of the Heim Glacier and part of the Briand Peninsula. They met up with John Rothera and Len Maloney in the Narrows, the latter pair being on their way back to base.
We had planned to visit our Argentine friends on the Debenham Islands but rising temperatures and pools of melt water on top of the sea ice in the southern area of Marguerite Bay made sledge travel difficult, with the possibility of open water leads in the ice south of our base. So, the trip was postponed, and our promise of a return visit at their invitation was one that regrettably we were never to enjoy. In early November we heard that the new FIDS ship RMS Shackleton had struck an iceberg on its maiden voyage as a FIDS ship whilst en route from Powell Island in the South Orkneys to Hope Bay on the Antarctic Peninsula. She was holed in her side below the waterline and first reports said ‘she had had it’. But with FIDS and the crew striving to stuff mattresses into the hole in the hull, the latter held in place with timber bulks, she stayed afloat. That is until the arrival of the HMS Protector, with the means to effect temporary repairs, so that the early labour was not in vain. The loss of the ship was to be avoided.
An Argentine ship and a Norwegian whaler all rushed to the Shackleton’s aid, all stores and personnel were transferred to other ships. In the end the Shackleton was pulled over to one side to lift the hole clear of the water. Then navy divers went to work fitting a temporary patch over the outside of the hole. After that it was a matter of pumping the water out of the ship. The final work was to construct a wooden retaining cage behind the patch, which was then filled with a mixture of mattresses and concrete. This to support the thin patch against the forces of a wild sea. We heard later that she had managed to limp back first to the whaling station at South Georgia. Then finally the UK for complete repair and structural changes.
Percy and Pete Gibbs had now arrived back on base, having cancelled the idea of a compass traverse and so at last everyone is back on base. It was such a change, having previously only seen two or three other people for months. It was almost like being back in a ‘crowded city’, such was the contrast. Everyone had now settled down to writing end-of-season reports and final letters home with films to be developed. The thought of and the nearness of Christmas was on all our minds, whilst we patiently waited for news of our relief ship’s movements.
We received a message from the expedition office in Port Stanley, which gave rise to feelings of deep unease, as one can imagine. This message asked us to audit all our food stocks and fuel on hand and to be prepared to possibly winter again at Base Y. The ice conditions could force the John Biscoe to head back to the Falklands Islands and abandon any plans to relieve Base Y, until the following summer. That news dulled everybody’s spirit, although no one would have really minded another winter. It was just the disappointment of looking forward to mail and the relief ship’s visit, all of which was maybe not to happen. After that we hung on every word of news we received by radio, hoping for the news that they had finally broken through the belt of heavy pack ice.
Despite continuing bad news of the ship’s progress, life of the base went on as normal. Listing stores and requesting replacement parts for diesel generators, sledges, buildings, met instruments etc. We had 50 miles of solid ice in the bay. We had heard already that the RMS John Biscoe had already made three attempts to relieve Base J before she succeeded and that base was way north of our location. The ship also made it into Base F to have outgoing mail transferred to the RRS Shackleton. The John Biscoe then headed down the Lemaire Channel towards Base W and was almost immediately beset by very tight pack ice. When we next heard from her, she had only managed the odd mile or two, and as she moved forward, the heavy pack ice immediately closed behind her. She finally reached Base W, a distance of 60 miles from Base J, after 17 days of fighting her way through heavy pack ice. After several days there, the ship continued her attempt to reach our base. But as she pushed south down the west coast of Adelaide Island, she was faced with what appeared to be 40 to 60 miles of solid pack ice blocking the access to Marguerite Bay and our base.
The Captain of the John Biscoe was then faced with a logistical decision, should he spend time continuing in his attempts to relieve Base Y and risk being late to complete the relief of other bases on his schedule, or should he abandon any further attempt to relieve our base and sail northwards to Port Stanley for stores to relieve the still accessible bases.
By this time it was late January, not the time of year to risk getting locked in the pack ice. What has to be remembered is that the Survey did not have ice-reinforced ships that could push their way through pack ice, so they could not take too many risks with the ice conditions. In the final analysis, a decision was made to sail the ship northwards and leave the team at Base Y to stretch their limited supplies and spend a further winter on the base. By February we found that much of the sea ice had broken up inside the bay, and we could see a lot of open water. This meant that the bay ice was moving west and clear of the ice barrier that had blocked the progress of the John Biscoe. In late February, the Argentine ice breaker ‘General San Martin’ forced her way into Marguerite Bay down to the Debenham Islands to relieve and resupply their team based there. Since we were in regular communication with our friends there, they were all well aware of our situation due to the ice conditions.
So, it was no surprise when a helicopter arrived from the Argentine icebreaker with an offer to carry all our mail out and transfer it to the John Biscoe, once they encountered it further North. They also brought a present of a few bottles of Argentinian wine. This offer was gladly accepted, since we had all our personal letters as well as films that we had accumulated ready to go to the UK for processing and even more important, the base and surveyor’s reports needed for planning the following year’s work tasks. There were the two students from Cordoba University on board the helicopter, the two that had visited us by sledge during the past winter. Here this time to say goodbye and meet the rest of our team who had been out in the field during their first visit. It was some time later that we heard the tragic news about the fate of the helicopter. Details were scarce but the helicopter had crashed into the sea on its way back to the Debenham Islands base. Its flotation system having failed, it went straight under. The first report said that the navy crew had been rescued and gave the impression that there had been no lives lost. But to this day, I still wonder about the two students, since their fate was never specifically mentioned.
With that helicopter went our precious mail and films. Myself, I lost all my colour films of our activities including sledge journeys, which looking back is somewhat of a disappointment.
In early March, having heard of improving ice conditions in the Lemaire Channel and offshore from Adelaide Island, the John Biscoe left Deception Island for one final attempt to reach Base Y in Marguerite Bay. By 12 noon, some two days later, she had reached the southern tip of Adelaide Island. She radioed us to say she was just coming in towards Marguerite Bay. Well, once we were over our elation at the ship’s arrival, it was time to set to and unload the new supplies, as well as give a wild welcome for the relieving team, led by John Paisley. The man to take over from Percy Guyver as base-leader. The ship also brought new instructions, to the effect that the four men who were first year men would be landed at the old Base E on Stonington Island. This in the extreme southern end of Marguerite Bay.
The intention was to re-open the Stonington Island base, before others with territorial ambitions could decide to establish a base there. The people from our base were to be Pete Gibbs, Nigel Proctor, Bryn Roberts. They would be joined at Base E by Peter Forster, Alan Hoskins and Henry Wyatt. So, a lot of stores had to be sorted ready for landing at Base E, including some seals and couple of dog teams. The day dawned quickly for the time to wish John Paisley and his team good luck and goodbye, with no sense of the tragedy that was to befall them in a few weeks’ time. We sailed south to Base E and arrived there to be frustrated by the fact that the sea was too rough to be able to unload any stores. Before any of the new base people could be landed ashore, everyone would be required onshore to chip and clear the ice that had taken over the base hut. Some rooms had three or four feet of ice accumulated in them.
The seas eventually calmed enough to start unloading stores and people. The dogs were taken ashore and spanned out ready to pull some of the stores from the beach over to the hut site, by sledge. Clearing the ice was particularly hard work, and people alternated between moving stores and clearing ice. The Base E team put up their pyramid tents and camped onshore so as to be on hand to supervise where they wanted their stores and to be responsible for the checking. The ship had stopped periodically on the way down to hunt seals, as a supply of dog food. All these carcasses had to be off loaded onshore. Finally, the time came for the ship to leave, and I personally did not envy any of those moving into the base hut. Although most of the ice was cleared, it would take a long time to dry out enough to warm even the small part of the base they would occupy to start with. I suspected they would spend some considerable time living in their pyramid tents.
They were going to have a tough first few months, and all of us on the ship wished them well with our ‘tongue in cheek’. Now the ship was headed back to Port Stanley in the Falklands Islands, only making short stops at one or two bases on route to pick up mail and outgoing personnel. There was still plenty of pack ice around, and the ship’s captain had to pick his way through carefully. We did not want any unforeseen holdups now we were on our way out.
I mean, if we ever started to miss the life, we could always sign on for another tour with FIDS. Port Stanley in the 50s was not exactly a thriving metropolis. More like the early western towns in the USA that we used to see on films. There was just the one circular road around the township, with the bars having a sawdust-covered floor. They used to hold pony races down Main Street once a year. The sheep herders would come into town from the sheep camps to take part in the celebrations and races. The population was essentially of Scottish descent, mainly from the offshore islands Orkney, Shetlands and Outer Hebrides. A people who were very much at home in the climate of Falklands Islands and sheep farmers used to managing sheep over difficult terrain.
Later they were joined by a few people of South American descent, either through marriage or as migrants. These people were very much the minority. All commerce, incoming or outgoing, was handled by a trading company granted an exclusive right by the British Government. This was the Falklands Islands Company, which in early years ran the islands affairs. The islands at their peak earned a rich income from ‘whaling and sealing taxes’, which England enforced with presence of a British warship.
The indigenous population were on the whole fairly heavy drinkers, and the fact that a bottle of whisky incurred the same shipping costs as a bottle of beer meant they were heavy whisky drinkers. This indulgence in ‘a glass or two’ was further strengthened when any whalers were visiting on their way north. They were not allowed alcohol either on the whaling factory shore stations or aboard the whaling ships. There was just one police sergeant keeping law and order.
The wives, with the cooperation of the bar owners, had their own system for dealing with wayward husbands who habitually came home drunk. They went to each pub or bar and had their husbands’ names written up for so many weeks on a publicly displayed slate. For the length of time a name remained on the slate, that person would not be served any drinks. The unfortunate person would turn up at his favourite waterhole only to be told, “Sorry Jock, your missus has put you on the slate.”
Crime was not a problem, if one discounted the odd drunken brawl between whalers and locals. Which, in the main, was left to let it sort itself out. So, for the visitor on his way out, there was not too much to occupy his day. Except a little sightseeing and photography, looking at the old hulks of wrecked sailing ships, driven ashore by the stormy weather whilst coming around the tip of South America.
The day dawned when we boarded the RMS John Biscoe for the trip home, and we were due to stop en route at Montevideo in Uruguay to land mail and take on fuel and supplies for the rest of the journey. We would be there for three days, giving us all time to let our hair down. Also re-acquaint ourselves with the female version of the human species. We were able to draw funds (against our meagre salary accounts) from the ship’s captain before going ashore to renew our experiences, first enjoyed on the trip south some two and a half years earlier. The less said about our escapades; those we could remember are best left buried without evidence.
That fairly long sea trip back to UK left one with plenty of time to mull over what the Antarctic experience had been to each of us. I felt that the strongest effect that I was immediately aware of was one of inner self-confidence, one that recognised who I was as a person that had evolved in the total real world. Memories of vast empty space, just yourself and a sledging companion to soak up a view that was unique. Or to be standing on some high point and be able gaze to the horizon to see an endless expanse of sea ice. In another direction views of mountains rising to around 6000—7000 feet straight up from sea level. This was real isolation; I think during my time there I seldom thought of UK. Not even family, the feeling was one of detachment and part of a whole experience. The army had given me a sense of self-discipline. A purposeful drive to see through any direction life may take me. The Antarctic gave me the insight into who I really was, the product of genetic history, education. Plus, experience that resulted in one unique individual. Now aware of his limitations, goal-seeking drives and ability to think through problems as they arose and arrive at a solution that my personal psyche could accept.
I will never forget the Antarctic and the superb scenic examples of the creative power of nature. A whole continent that had one time been tropical and was now covered by 3000 metres of thick ice. To have stood there as an individual in isolation, taking in all the colossal mountain scenery of the Antarctic Peninsula. Already it has become something of a tourist destination, but I am thankful that I saw it before all this change. When dog-teams were still the primary mode of travel, a ship the main method of reaching the Antarctic, aircraft being the alternative for a very small select minority. As the ship sailed north towards the British islands, under an uninterrupted blue sky, to see there on the horizon, one isolated layer of cloud, quite small relative to the span of the horizon, everyone knowing that beneath that little patch of cloud was our destination England and Southampton.
One of my close friends, having both worked for GEC and spent a lot of time together, socially with friends and girlfriends, had promised that he would get his father to lend him the family car and drive down to Southampton to pick me up. This would save me the torture of two trains and a bus journey.
As we pulled into Southampton, the quayside was fairly empty except for one or two FIDS officials and a few relatives waiting for someone on the ship. Very different from the crowded quayside when we left, with a band and the press making a big thing out of who was sailing and where we were going. Sure enough, my reliable old friend Colin was there, true to his promise. No car in sight as yet, but no doubt he had parked elsewhere than on the quayside. I quickly gathered my belongings, bid a rapid farewell to my shipmates, people that I probably would not see for a long time, or maybe never again. I hurried down the gangplank with awkward-shaped luggage, which conveniently Colin was able to help me with, in order to reach his parked car.
The car was as I remembered it, in immaculate condition, as his dad always kept it. A Jaguar ‘Swallow’, just about the first design Jaguar built, after changing their name from Swallow Sidecars. I had always loved that low-slung design of the Swallow. To this day it is still the body design concept that I still think of as the one and only Jaguar design classic. Despite all that has transpired since.
The journey home took quite a few hours, and so we had plenty of time to exchange stories. What had happened in the past two years, girls still around that were not married and, of course, who Colin was currently dating.
Eventually, we reached my home and after quickly dropping me off with a quick greeting to my mother, he dashed off with the parting message that he would pick me up to go for a drink the following evening, since I did not have any transport.
Jim Fellows, Met. Deception 1956, Met. Horseshoe 1957