Epilogue – A Nutty Story – Robin Perry
Base O (Danco Island) was a politically expedient foothold established on this small island roughly 50km NE of Port Lockroy. It was a sledging base of five or six men to support surveying and geology, but possibilities for travel over land turned out to be minimal, and the base closed at the end of 1958. Although dogs were fed mostly seal meat on base, during journeys we relied on special high protein pemmican blocks called Nutrican, manufactured by the firm Bob Martins in Lancashire. These were delivered in tin boxes of perhaps four dozen blocks, and to minimise damage during the various modes of transport they had to undergo, the boxes were padded with various popular magazines. This was a considerate policy of Bob Martins, because any reading material was something for humans to treasure in winter, since nothing new could be expected until the next relief ship got through. That was life before the internet!
One of the magazines was Woman, and the chaps at Danco decided to write explaining the circumstances and inviting interested readers to correspond. I have no idea of the circulation of Woman in those days, but the response to that encouragement filled at least a dozen mailbags (so I was told). However, when spring and the ships came at the end of 1958, there was no point in them all being delivered to Danco because the base was closing. It was decided to farm them out among the other bases. Base Y received two bags. Being on met. duty meant staying up to perform the 3am observation. The base was then blissfully peaceful, an excellent occasion to go through those letters.
Some correspondents had obviously taken much trouble to write interestingly, posing intelligent questions. I felt that these, at least, deserved a reply. Given our unusual circumstances of isolation, the reply could only start its journey when we did, several months hence. Moreover, I had to indicate a permanent address since we would be all going home. I wrote a short note to between 30 and 40 people, all ladies except one (a dentist). Only half a dozen followed this up. A certain Swiss mademoiselle, secretary to a Geneva solicitor, had read the letter in Woman while babysitting for friends. Clearly she had an excellent knowledge of English, and was passionately fond of the Alps. We continued the correspondence, met briefly in London when she was over for a wedding, exchanged visits in summer 1961, and were married in December of that year.
After a honeymoon at Palma de Majorca and Christmas with my new in-laws at Morges, I had to return to Stansted airport for duty at the New Year. It got colder and colder as we drove north across France to what should have been the Green and Pleasant Land. But everything in the bungalow I had rented at Saffron Walden was frozen, there was no gas for the cooker, and to engender enthusiasm from the open fire needed weeks of close association and a certain kind of fuel. Thank goodness we had electricity and Liliane’s little heater for cups of liquid. Perhaps it was not a bad way to start married life. Things could only get better. And they did.