Why I Became a Fid – Jim Fellows
The advert struck a responsive chord and after 24 hours thinking it over, I replied to the newspaper advertisement. Realising that I really knew nothing of the Antarctic, other than the story of Scott’s expeditions and the 1948 film about the final expedition.
I expected that things had moved on since 1911, but I really did not know in what way, or what conditions and work tasks I was thinking of undertaking. I reasoned that it was a challenge to do something different, and after all, I did not really have a valid idea of what I was getting into when I joined the Army. I survived that.
I plunged in head first and mailed off my letter to the Crown Agents. Then to think about how to first of all break the news to my employers. After all, I would have only just completed my training contract with them. I also had to think about how I would break the news to my mother. She now saw me as settled on a good career path with the potential for a good salary in a secure occupation. I think she wanted to see all her children settled and secure, remembering the struggle she had to endure in her early married life.
My brother at that time was in the air force and stationed in Germany, so he was not around to take sides in the issue. He was more or less on the road to an early marriage, to the girl he had courted for most of his teen years. In a way I was the only ‘loose ball’ in need of counselling and guidance. My grandmother, who in my early years had always been my font for wisdom and guidance, was of mixed feelings and seemed to understand the need for a new challenge in my life. Ever the realist, she dwelled on the fact that I would again be leaving my mother on her own. Pointing out that over the past few years my mother had not had her children around her.
The first reply to my letter was simply the acknowledgement of receipt of my application. This was followed by another letter stating that I should present myself at a doctor’s address in London, for a full physical and at a designated dentist’s office for a dental check-up. The second letter further stated that subject to successfully passing these examinations, I would be called at a later date for interview.
The big day dawned and a letter arrived calling me forward for an interview. With a great deal of trepidation, I travelled down to London for the interview, not quite having any idea about what an interview at the impressive sounding Crown Agents might be like.
Whatever I expected it did not match the reality. It was soon obvious the FIDS was the ‘low man on the totem pole’ with respect to facilities allocated. All character references, proof of education, work references and any other documents were checked in the open lobby, by someone who I took to be the doorman. This with people pushing backwards and forwards, as they came into
and out of the building, whilst the nearby cage-frame elevator kept cycling up and down. The interview was conducted in a tiny room, which, I found out later, had previously been a stationary storage room. Now it was the total space allocated for the administration of FIDS. This was all the space allocated to Frank Elliot, John Green and Bill Sloman in which to conduct their interviews. From where to run the administration tasks related to FIDS, three people and the place was overcrowded. Frank’s desk was strewn with bits and pieces of stores’ items he was approving for use on the bases.
One item in particular was a string vest, and Frank remarked that his wife was wearing one to make sure they were comfortable.
Frank Elliot had done his time on a FIDS base and was able to give a very detailed description of the sort of things one would be expected to be capable of as well as a description of life on a FIDS ase. He said there are two kinds of bases, the ‘sledging survey’ bases and the offshore island bases. Most people, of course, preferred the former. Except for surveyors, people had their first year on an island base. Then if they were lucky, they would be offered a sledging base for the second year. Of course, they were opening more new bases each year. He read through my résumé and, noting that I had done a certain amount of mapping in the army, asked if I had come with the idea of applying for a surveyor position. Because if that was so, I was in for a disappointment; he emphasised that they had ‘surveyor’ applicants coming ‘out of their ears’. The vacancies they were intent on filling were ‘meteorological ‘, ‘radio operators’ and ‘diesel mechanics’. After hearing some details of the various jobs, I opted for ‘meteorological assistant’. On the question of how I would get on in confined quarters, with a small number of companions, the question was seen to have been answered by my army service record.
The interview ended with an offer of a position as a meteorological assistant. For which I would be required to attend a six weeks’ training course at the Air Ministry training school in Stanmore. I would also be called back to London at some future date for some dental work to insulate all my fillings so that they would still hold in at sub-zero temperatures. I left the interview with the feeling that ‘Well, you have done it now’ and there is no going back. Now you have to face the problems of telling everyone else and in particular GEC. About that time the press was becoming full with articles about the impending ‘International Geophysical Year’, which was deeply connected with activities in the Antarctic. There were stories relating to preparations for the Trans-Antarctic crossing expedition to be led by Vivian Fuchs (later Sir Vivian Fuchs) with Sir Edmund Hillary as co-leader. This expedition was to cross via the South Pole from one side of the Antarctic Continent to the other and gave the newspapers a birthday of news to exploit.
So, it was at a time when the newspapers were full of Antarctic stories that I chose to go to the GEC personnel manager and announce that I would be shortly be leaving for an expedition to the Antarctic; that I would be away for slightly over two years. Whether or not he thought that I was going with the TAE, or something to do with the International Geophysical year, I have no way of knowing; instead of a reproach for what I was planning, he enthused about what an exciting opportunity it was for me.
In no time at all it was all around the site and I became a short-term celebrity. On the question of notice there was no problem Although I would have to re-apply for employment, they saw no reason why I would not be offered a position back in the design office on my return from Antarctica. My mother took a more realistic approach, being concerned with how I would survive all that cold. What if anything happened and no ships could get through the ice? She need not have worried on that count, the ships only visited once a year.
At Stanmore I was installed in a B&B accommodation together with two other FIDS, Cecil Scotland and George Larmour, both from Northern Ireland, all of us destined for the Meteorological Training College at Stanmore. The course was intensive and thorough, concentrating on the practical tasks we were expected to perform, rather than any programme of extensive theory. For us it was basic theory and a lot of practical practice.
After the course was over and I had gotten my teeth fillings attended to, there was still a few weeks before the scheduled sailing for Antarctica. As I was now on the FIDS payroll, it was decided to assign me to the meteorological office at Birmingham Airport, to get some hands on experience. The work there was reading temperatures, pressures and humidity every three hours and filling out weather statistics sheets. My previous army experience with maps and plotting was put to good use, by having me plot out regular temperature and pressure charts for the area that the airport office covered. These charts were used by the weather forecasters and had to be updated on a regular basis. Plotting temperature and pressure isobars was not so different from plotting elevation contours in the army, so I soon settled down to the routine.
The day before the scheduled sailing, I caught the 20 minutes past midnight train to Southampton and was at the dock gates by about eight am the following morning. At the dock gates, I inquired as to how I would identify the John Biscoe and was told, “It’s easy, mate; all you got to do is go straight down there. At the quayside look for a ship with a covered in ‘Crow’s Nest’ on the mast.” I proceeded as directed and as I looked to the right, along the quayside, I saw this moderate-sized ship with the type of ‘Crow’s Nest’ described. Whilst I was musing over the idea that life could be comfortable on a ship of this size, the voice of the gateman interrupted my thoughts with a cry of, “Not there, mate, around to your left.” I moved along the quayside to my left and at first could see no other ship.
Then I noticed a mast just about sticking above the quayside. On closer examination, there was an enclosed Crow’s Nest attached to this mast. Walking to the edge of the quayside, I looked over, there below was the John Biscoe. She had been built as a submarine net layer for service on the west coast of Canada. There lay the ‘big ship’ I was sailing south on, 194 feet in length and 37 feet wide. A wooden-hulled ship that had been designed to drag a heavy anti-submarine net across wide harbour entrances. Not exactly what one would expect for crossing the roaring forties. In fact, I rather felt she would bob about like a cork when in any rough seas.
Instead of the expected gangway up on to the ship’s deck, this one had one walking steeply down to the deck level of a ship, whose deck was lying well below the top of the quayside. I went on-board and introduced myself to one of the FIDS who had boarded the day before. He showed me the way down to the bunk area, which lay along the beam of the ship. The area had four tiers of two bunks on either side of a narrow gangway, with very little space to stow personal belongings. After stowing my things on an empty bunk space, I was then lead to what was described as ‘the FIDS lounge’, equipped with a few padded easy chairs. This lounge also boasted two rows of seats, one on either side of a long mess table, which occupied the majority of the space. It was obviously for dining, and thinking about the number of sleeping bunks, I figured that space in this lounge would be at a premium, except for those sitting at the mess table. That was October 10th, and I then found to my dismay that the ship was not due to sail until the 12th.
After introducing myself to more of the FIDS, who were in the lounge, their opinion seemed to be that the majority of people who had already arrived were either up on deck or had gone ashore to kill time before sailing. The evening was spent getting to know each other, that is, those who had already joined the ship. It seemed there were still several people yet to arrive on board. The following day I joined a group who had decided to spend the day onshore, taking in the sites of Southampton, such as they were in 1955. Then the day for sailing dawned at last; we spent the morning ashore, at least until noon. We had to be back on board, in time to get our briefing from the captain. On that trip down, there were many I would be on base with. These I would get to know extremely well. There were others, which after they landed in the Falkland Islands, I would not see again for years. There were Percy Guyver, John Smith, Colin Johnstone, Len Fox, Pete Bunch, Stan Ward, Joe Axtel, Len Maloney, Gordon Farqhuar, Wally Herbert, Colin Clements, George Larmour, Cecil Scotland, Eric Broome and a host of others, whose names have passed out of my memory, I am afraid.
On deck were all the trappings for a newsworthy sailing, supported by a host of reporters representing both local and national newspapers. It was no surprise to learn that my photograph had appeared in a local newspaper with a report about my departure, to spend two and a half years away from home on an expedition to Antarctica. I am sure the others on board were equally covered, and finally, Lord Munster gave a farewell speech, on behalf of the secretary of state and with that we were ready to sail.
First, we had to be briefed on safety procedures at sea. We were then advised that because we would have so much spare time on our hands, it was planned that we would spend some of our time each day doing ship’s chores. Work, such as painting, sharing watches at the ‘wheel’ with the ship’s crew and helping with the preparation of vegetables needed by the galley (peeling potatoes). Cecil Scotland was to be the senior FID and would act as the liaison between the ship’s officers and FIDS personnel. It was his job to make up the rosters of people for the daily work-tasks. Daily tasks would be assigned by the bosun to the names on the roster, with the exception of the ‘wheel watches’, which were listed by name on Cecil’s list.
We set sail on the evening tide after a bright but cold sunny day. Afterwards, we retired to the FIDS mess/lounge for our first meal on board, which passed off smoothly even though crowded. I suspect the ship’s steward was exhausted by the time he had finished serving that lot. After the meal some retired to a quieter corner in order to write a letter home, to be posted at the first port of call, or sat talking about what was ahead of them all. Some had direct knowledge, others quoted pages from Kevin Walton’s book ‘Two Years in the Antarctic’. Others went on deck to unwind, since there was no way they could sleep after all the excitement of the departure.
Transcribed with Kind Permission of James Fellows from his book “The Story of Jim” (Published by Austin Macauley Publishers – www.austinmacauley.com)
Jim went on to winter at Deception Island in 1956, and then Horseshoe Island in 1957 – See Horseshoe 1957 for the story of his time there (coming soon).
Jim would have had photos to illustrate his story, were it not for the fact that all his colour photos went down to the bottom of Marguerite Bay, together with their mail for home, when the Argentine helicopter crashed into the bay in early 1958; “I lost the lot (all undeveloped film).”