With Scott Before the Mast E-Book

Francis Davies

• Herausgeber: Reardon Publishing
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 314

Beschreibung

British Antarctic Expedition 1910 – 1913.

My interview with Captain Scott, he explained what would be expected of me. My principal job, he said, would be the erection of Winter Quarters for the Southern party, which was to make an attempt to reach the South Pole..... He also told me that I would be paid GBP40 a year, adding that if I made a success of the job, he wouldn't say what he would do for me, but if on the other hand, I failed to come up to scratch, I would be for the high jump. The geographic and scientific accomplishments of Captain Scott's two Antarctic expeditions changed the face of the Twentieth Century in ways that are still not widely appreciated over a hundred years later. The fact of accomplishment has tended to be lost in speculative argument as to how Scott should have done this instead of that, supposedly to achieve the extra few yards per day to save the lives of the South Pole Party in 1912. Also lost to a generation overwhelmed with information, however, is the sublime sense of adventure into the unknown, which Scott's expeditions represented to his generation. We have forgotten what it is to take the awesome life-gambling risk of sailing beyond the edge of the map into nothingness and rendering it known. We send robot explorers instead. As a result, after two millennia of maritime and exploration history, we have become detached from the sea which surrounds our island and the tradition of exploration which it represents. With Scott: Before the Mast is a unique account that serves as an antidote to this disconectedness. It is no fictional 'Hornblower', although it may seem so at times. This is a true story. It presents one man's account of his part in a great act of derring-do, the assault on the South Pole in 1912. Most records of Captain Scott's British Antarctic Expedition aboard Terra Nova (1910-1913) are the accounts of officers. With Scott: Before the Mast is the story of Francis Davies, Shipwright, R.N., and Carpenter. The title says it all but may be lost on landlubbers. Before the mast means 'to serve as an ordinary seaman in a sailing ship'. This makes it a rare and hugely important account, presenting a viewpoint from the lower ranks. Such insight is rarely available and the long overdue publication of this account is greatly to be welcomed. When I first read this manuscript some years ago, I was hugely excited by the refreshing perspective that it gave to a well-aired story. Although an autobiographical period piece, written with an eye to publication many years after the events that it recalls, it is still of great interest. It tells the often forgotten story of the vast majority of Scott's men, the sailors of Terra Nova; the supporting cast, if you like, to the Shore Parties of officers and scientists. Through a kaleidoscope of memories, this book gets to the heart of the huge logistic effort that was the British Antarctic Expedition.

Leseprobe

Published by

Reardon Publishing

PO Box 919, Cheltenham, UK, GL50 9AN

www.reardon.biz

ISBN 9781901037555 (Hardback Edition)

ISBN 9781901037692 (Special Limited Edition)

Written by Francis Davies

Copyright 2020

Edited by Joy Watts

With thanks to everyone who has helped in this enjoyable endeavour to bring Chippy's journal to life.

Book Design by Nicholas Reardon

Endpaper Front:

Seamen crew of the Terra Nova 1910

Back rows : Horton, Brissenden, Parsons, Heald, Neale, Balson, McCarthy

Centre rows: A.McDonald, W.McDonald, Burton, McGillon, McKenzie, Omenchelco, Clissold, Mather, Davies

Front rows: Skelton, McLoed, Bailey, Forde, Leese

Endpaper Back:

Meares and Oates at the blubber stove in the stables.

Contents

Foreword by David Wilson

Preface by Joy Watts great niece of Francis Davies

Prologue

Chapter I. Signing on

Chapter II. Getting Ready to Leave

Chapter III. Setting Sail

Chapter IV. Heading South

Chapter V. Crossing the Line

Chapter VI. Hospitality at Simonstown

Chapter VII. The Roaring Forties

Chapter VIII. Disaster Narrowly Averted

Chapter IX. Christmas Day in the Pack-Ice

Chapter X. New Land Sighted

Chapter XI. Surveying the Three Kings

Chapter XII. Preparing for the Second Voyage South

Chapter XIII. The Polar Party Sets Off

Chapter XIV. Horse Racing at Christchurch

Chapter XV. Hydrographic Survey of Admiralty Bay

Chapter XVI. Last Voyage South

Chapter XVII. Return to Cardiff

Foreword by David Wilson

The geographic and scientific accomplishments of Captain Scott’s two Antarctic expeditions changed the face of the Twentieth Century in ways that are still not widely appreciated over a hundred years later. The fact of accomplishment has tended to be lost in speculative argument as to how Scott should have done this instead of that, supposedly to achieve the extra few yards per day to save the lives of the South Pole Party in 1912. Also lost to a generation overwhelmed with information, however, is the sublime sense of adventure into the unknown, which Scott’s expeditions represented to his generation. We have forgotten what it is to take the awesome life-gambling risk of sailing beyond the edge of the map into nothingness and rendering it known. We send robot explorers instead. As a result, after two millennia of maritime and exploration history, we have become detached from the sea which surrounds our island and the tradition of exploration which it represents.

With Scott: Before the Mast is a unique account that serves as an antidote to this disconectedness. It is no fictional ‘Hornblower’, although it may seem so at times. This is a true story. It presents one man’s account of his part in a great act of derring-do, the assault on the South Pole in 1912. Most records of Captain Scott’s British Antarctic Expedition aboard Terra Nova (1910-1913) are the accounts of officers. With Scott: Before the Mast is the story of Francis Davies, Shipwright RN and Carpenter. The title says it all but may be lost on landlubbers. Before the Mast means ‘to serve as an ordinary seaman in a sailing ship’. This makes it a rare and hugely important account, presenting a viewpoint from the lower ranks. Such insight is rarely available and the long overdue publication of this account is greatly to be welcomed.

When I first read this manuscript some years ago, I was hugely excited by the refreshing perspective that it gave to a well-aired story. Although an autobiographical period piece, written with an eye to publication many years after the events that it recalls, it is still of great interest. It tells the often forgotten story of the vast majority of Scott’s men, the sailors of Terra Nova; the supporting cast, if you like, to the Shore Parties of officers and scientists. Through a kaleidoscope of memories, this book gets to the heart of the huge logistic effort that was the British Antarctic Expedition. Through the eyes of the sailors who were its backbone, the heroism of derring-do seems to become all the more human, humdrum and every-day. To me, this makes the accomplishments all the more real and remarkable.

I commend this book to collectors, enthusiasts, historians and to those looking for a casual read on Captain Scott, in equal measure.

David M. Wilson

Polar Historian and Gt. Nephew, Edward Wilson of the Antarctic

Preface by Joy Watts great niece of Francis Davies

When I was a child, my mother often spoke of Great Uncle Frank's Antarctic adventures. His daughter, my cousin Beatrice, always known to the family as Maidie was custodian of her father's trunk holding artefacts and souvenirs from his polar travels. I refer to Francis Davies, Leading Shipwright RN, and Carpenter on the Terra Nova British Antarctic Expedition 1910 -1913.

Occasionally, Maidie would open the trunk and we would peer at the objects before us. A diverse collection, among it penguins’ eggs, lava from Mt. Erebus, charts and photographs, diaorami, tools and items used on Terra Nova and most intriguing to me at the time, a jar containing a seal embryo preserved in spirit. Also in the trunk and most treasured by Maidie was her father's account of his expedition experiences which he named ‘With Scott: Before The Mast’ written under the pseudonym Rudolph.

Francis Davies was born in Plymouth in 1885, where he was brought up in the Lower Crab Tree and Laira Green area of the city, attending Laira Green School. On leaving school and prior to his entry into the Royal Navy, he attained a shipwright's apprenticeship at the Royal Naval Dockyard, Devonport. It was as Shipwright on HMS Vanguard and when working in Devonport, he first heard mention of Captain Scott's plans for an expedition to the Antarctic and that shipwrights were required. Such was his longing for adventure into the unknown, he immediately knew he wanted to be a part of it. He applied, was accepted and duly appointed Leading Shipwright. He joined the British Antarctic Expedition on 30 May 1910 and signed on at Poplar, London.

Mustard Pot used on Terra Nova.

Often called Chippy by his shipmates his many skills were always in demand and constantly put to the test both on the voyage and ashore. Beginning with his work in the refit of Terra Nova from a blubber laden whaler, in a very poor state, to an expedition ship. He was meticulous in his most principal task, this being his planning and building of the huts, both the living quarters at Cape Evans for the Southern Party, about which Captain Scott wrote ‘we are simply overwhelmed by it's comfort’ and eventually at Cape Adare for the now Northern Party. The latter having to be rapidly constructed due to the urgency for Terra Nova to leave for New Zealand. Notably, he played a significant part in the emergency work in the engine room during the storm in the Southern Ocean at the very start of the expedition, when all was threatened and disaster narrowly averted. Along the way he was witness to the extraordinary meeting of Terra Nova with Amundsen's ship Fram in the Bay of Whales. To his final Antarctic task, the construction of the Memorial Cross to commemorate Captain Scott and the South Pole Party who perished on their return journey from the Pole. He chose to use the extremely hard Australian jarra wood. The Cross stands to this day on the top of Observation Hill overlooking McMurdo Sound.

Scott's hut at Cape Evans also still stands, both structures are designated Antarctic Historic Monuments. Davies' name is commemorated by Davies Bay, situated between Drake Head and Cape Kinsey, which was discovered in February 1911.

After the expedition Francis Davies served in the First World War and in 1920 took early voluntary retirement from the Royal Navy. He also served on Royal Research Ships Discovery ll and William Scorseby which were engaged in scientific work in the Southern Ocean regions. He later volunteered and served in the Second World War. All his career he sailed on long voyages often lasting years but always returned to the Plymouth area, Drake's country as he so fondly called it. He married Ethel Stephens and then lived at Nicholls Farm, Plympton with their children, Beatrice and Peter. Francis Davies died in Plymouth in 1952, his ashes being scattered on the sea in sight of the National Memorial to Captain Scott and the Polar Party at Mount Wise, Devonport.

My sincere thanks to all who have supported me with this publication. To... David Wilson for his initial encouragement and forward. Robert Headland of the Scott Polar Research Institute for kindly agreeing to proof read. Paul Davies, President of the Devon and Cornwall Polar Society, for his help and advice, and to fellow members of the society including, Michael Tarver and Julie Ellis for their enthusiasm. It was sometime ago when David first introduced me to my patient publisher, Nicholas Reardon, together, 'With Scott: Before the Mast' has at long last been printed.

I dedicate this narrative of adventure to the memory of my cousin Maidie, who first introduced me to the wonders of the heroic age of polar exploration, and those who dared.

I hope you enjoy Chippy's tale.

Joy Watts.

A sketch by Francis Davies of his home Nicholls Farm, Plympton.

Prologue

Exploration !

The magic word that dominated my early life and filled my mind with visions of the first primitive, rough-hewn boats, then galleys, followed by boats with coarse sails, graceful sailing-ships with wind-filled canvas, steamships throbbing with speed, and grim, grey warships relentless in their messiness of unsinkable armoury.

It was not, however, the ships that captured my youthful imagination. It was the distant lands they were bound for.

I wanted to see immeasurable stretches of ocean swirling in unsounded deeps. I yearned to peer into limitless gulfs of space, to gaze across thousands of miles of silent, frozen vastness constituting the Unknown – desolate immensity shrouded in eternal night.

I wanted to contact the Antarctic.

Francis Davies

Francis Davies Leading Shipwright RN

the Journals of Francis Davies

Francis Davies with his wife Ethel

The Royal Yacht Squadron White burgee from Terra Nova was mounted in a purpose built oak frame and presented to the Plympton St Maurice Masonic Lodge by Francis Davies. It was auctioned at Christie's in 1999. It is now in the National Maritime Museum at Greenwich.

Chapter I. Signing on

For over nine years from first to last, I served in expedition ships engaged in exploration and scientific research in the Antarctic.

My first ship was Terra Nova of the British Antarctic Expedition 1910 – Scott’s Last Expedition, and it is of my experiences, generally, in this expedition that I am writing. Looking back, I now see it was the end of an era in Antarctica or more correctly perhaps, of Polar exploration when the work was carried on in wooden sailing ships of great strength, especially constructed to withstand ice pressure, and with auxiliary steam power for working through the heavy ice-floes. The vessels were built for whaling and sealing in the Polar Regions, and were the pride of the Dundee shipbuilders during the latter half of the last century.

My association with exploration started in the spring of 1910 when I was serving as a shipwright in HMS Vanguard, Super-Dreadnought, recently commissioned for the first time. One day, whilst my mate and I were in the dockyard at Devonport scrounging material for a particular job we had in hand, he met one of his old shipmates who during a ‘quack’ about old times, mentioned he had heard that three shipwrights were required as volunteers for an expedition to the Antarctic, to be led by Captain Scott. I immediately cocked up my ears and from a few apparently disinterested remarks, I gathered that the carpenter who had served with Captain Scott on his previous expedition, and was now a Shipwright Officer RN, was on the look out for suitable volunteers.

As I pondered on this casual information, memory of my boyhood’s favourite book Nansen’s Farthest North came vividly back. I remembered how I had longed for similar adventure. I lost no time getting in touch with the officer mentioned, who was then holding an appointment in the Shipwright Officer’s drawing office, nearby.

Within the hour I had had an interview and started the ball rolling. As he didn’t know me personally he said he would contact the Shipwright Officers under whom I had served and, if everything was satisfactory he would let me know in a day or two. I was not bothered about my professional qualifications, I did not see any difficulty in that direction, but I doubted whether my ten stone four pounds measured up to what I imagined an Antarctic explorer should be.

Two days later the Shipwright Officer came to see me on board Vanguard, and told me that from the reports he had already received, I was undoubtedly the man for the job and that he had forwarded my name to Captain Scott with a strong recommendation.

I was now on the tiptoe of expectation. In a few days I received a letter from Captain Scott, informing me that I had been accepted and that application had been made to the Admiralty for approval. As the days passed and there was no reply from the Admiralty, I became unduly anxious, particularly as Vanguard was due to sail for Bantry Bay on the west coast of Ireland, to calibrate her guns. I was afraid this might prejudice my chances.

Sailing day arrived and still there was no news.

However, after we had been a few days at Bantry Bay, I received a note by messenger from a friend of mine, a writer in the captain’s office, telling me confidentially that my Antarctic job had been approved by the Admiralty and that I was to be discharged forthwith, also that efforts were under way to prevent my leaving the ship before she returned to Devonport.

With this information up my sleeve I went aft to the Captain’s office to enquire of the paymaster in charge if there was any news concerning my release by the Admiralty for service with the expedition. He told me there was, and asked if there was any immediate hurry.

To be forewarned is to be forearmed. I said there was certainly need for haste, and pointed out that the expedition was due to sail from London in a months time, and meanwhile there was the refitting the ship, the huts for Winter Quarters, stores and a hundred and one things to be seen to.

I asked him to take me before the Commander, a very keen gunnery expert who was then on Monkey Island (upper bridge) directing calibrating operations. The commander was not easily approachable at the best of times so I was not surprised when the paymaster hesitated to butt in just then. However, he eventually agreed to take me before the Commander and up we climbed to Monkey Island.

It was as I had expected, when the paymaster tried to explain the purpose of my visit the Commander went off the deep end, saying he could not attend to the matter then and in any case there was no boat available to land me. I sensed he was intending to be awkward but I was not to be fobbed off in this manner and told him if there was any difficulty in my getting off the ship I should have to wire Captain Scott. That tore it! He was furious and literally swept us off the bridge.

This little set back did not deter me from making arrangements to leave the ship at short notice, so when later, the Commander sent a message to the effect that he would give me ten minutes to get out of the ship I had time to spare. The boat landed me at Glengariff, not far from where the ship lay, some fourteen miles from the town of Bantry, the terminus of the railway in that direction. It would have been possible to land at Bantry, had a boat been available, but I considered myself fortunate to be landed at all under the circumstances.

My first concern was to obtain transport for myself and three hundred weight of luggage, motor transport was not in general use and practically unknown in this out of the way place. I was fortunate in finding the driver of a jaunting car, who was going to Bantry later in the afternoon to meet some visitors arriving by train.

He said he thought it was a bit of a load for his horse, I thought so too when I saw the horse which appeared to be built on the lines of a greyhound, but under the mellowing influence of a couple of pints of good Irish porter, for which that part of the country was famous, we came to terms.

Whilst waiting I celebrated my good luck so far, and by the time we started for Bantry I was full of the joys of Spring. As the old horse clip-clopped along the hard, dusty road I could see Vanguard still engaged on her lawful occasion. At intervals one of her big guns answered the questions with a flash and a roar, then all was peace again as the smoke drifted slowly away and disappeared in the haze. What a picture she made! Britain’s latest battleship, - the finest in the world – on that lovely afternoon, riding on the calm waters of the Bay.

In such a setting who would have been bold enough to prophesy that within little more that four years our country would be at war and fighting for very existence, and that during the war I should see the fine ship destroyed in the matter of minutes with most of her gallant crew. I never saw any of my messmates again. After completing a two year commission in the ship, most of them were drafted to HMS Monmouth, one of the ships of Admiral Craddock’s Squadron sunk by the Germans at the battle of Coronel, 1914. Many years later, when serving in a small scientific research vessel during survey of the Humboldt Current, off the coast of Chile and Peru, the ship was stopped about the position of the battle of Coronel, to pay our respects to the gallant dead.

I arrived at the Royal Naval Barracks, Devonport, on 1 May, and was discharged the following day for service with the British Antarctic Expedition, with instruction to report to Captain Scott, at the offices of the expedition, Victoria Street, London. In spite of the fact that I had volunteered for this job I was escorted to Plymouth by a petty officer who saw me safely on the train, complete with travelling warrant and meal ticket, the Navy never does things by halves.

At Exeter I decided to cash in on my meal ticket at a refreshment buffet on the station. It entitled me, beside sandwiches to a pint of beer. I shall never forget that beer, it was awful just swipes.

On arrival in London I put up at the Union Jack Club in Waterloo Road, which was run exclusively for the services, Navy and Army. The Royal Air Force was not even a dream then, flying being in its infancy. As a matter of fact, Bleriot had recently flown the channel and this was considered a great feat. The club was a boon to servicemen it had all the amenities of a good class hotel with excellent service at modern charges, which I deeply appreciated as I did not know London, having only been there once before on a visit to the White City exhibition.

On my first evening I took a stroll to get my bearings, and coming upon Drury Lane Theatre, where the play ‘The Whip’ was then running, I took the opportunity of seeing it whilst the going was good and enjoyed it very much.

Francis Davies' shipwright's trunk.

Francis Davies and family, wife Ethel, daughter Beatrice (Maidie), and son Peter.

Captain Robert Falcon Scott CVC RN

Chapter II. Getting Ready to Leave

The following morning I presented myself at the offices of the Expedition for an interview with Captain Scott. I was shown into a waiting-room where there was a great variety of the smaller items of polar equipment – clothing, harness for dogs and ponies, skis, pony snow-shoes, cookers and a hundred and one miscellaneous articles. While I was waiting, another gentleman very bronzed and wearing an ancient raincoat, was shown into the room. He, I noticed was particularly interested in the equipment for the ponies. This was Captain Oates of the Inniskilling Dragoons, although it was not until several days later I knew who he was.

My interview with Captain Scott was very satisfactory from my point of view. He asked me why I wanted to go with the expedition and being satisfied with my replies, went on to explain what would be expected of me. My principal job he said would be the erection of Winter Quarters for the Southern party, which was to make an attempt to reach the South Pole, and the eastern party which was to explore King Edward VII Land at the eastern end of the Great Ice Barrier, discovered by Captain Scott on his first expedition. He also told me that I would be paid £40 a year, adding that if I made a success of the job he wouldn’t say what he would do for me, but if on the other hand I failed to come up to scratch I would be for the high jump.

Lieutenant Evans RN the Second in Command of the expedition, was also present at the interview. Antarctic exploration was not new to him, he had served as navigator of Morning, when that ship together with Terra Nova went to the relief of Discovery, beset in the ice of McMurdo Sound on Captain Scott’s first expedition. After the interview Lieutenant Evans took me along to the expedition ship then fitting out in the West India Docks.

What I expected to see I don’t quite remember, but I was much taken aback when I got my first sight of her, she looked an absolute wreck fit only for the knackers yard, long overdue in fact. A sailing ship was a new experience for me. Up to then all my sailoring had been in ships of the King’s Navee where everything was spick and span, regardless of expenses, ‘all ship-shape and Bristol fashion’ as we say at sea. I certainly saw Terra Nova at her worst.

The fact that the yardarms were all askew and the riggers were working aloft added further to the appearance of complete chaos. On the poop shipwrights were extending the saloon to provide additional accommodation for extra personnel and building laboratories for the scientists, amidships a large ice box was being built for transporting frozen meat from New Zealand for the shore parties and, what with all this going on and spare yards and spare rudder hardly a square foot of deck was visible.

Lieutenant Evans had told me going down in the train that he was rather worried about the condition of the ship and that the Board of Trade Surveyor had found so many defects which he wanted made good before he would give a certificate of sea-worthiness that he doubted very much if she could be got ready in time to catch the next Antarctic summer season. There was, however, he said, the possibility that Captain Scott would be elected a member of the Royal Yacht Squadron, and in that case we should no longer be troubled by the surveyor.

Captain Scott wanted his old ship Discovery which had been specially built for his first expedition, then owned by the Hudson Bay Company, she was in fact tied up in the West India Dock at the time but they could not be persuaded to part with her, so the next best thing was Terra Nova. There were not many of this class of ship to pick and choose from.

After Lieutenant Evans had shown me over the vessel pointing out her many weaknesses, he asked me if I would be afraid to sail in her as she was. It was hardly a fair question to put to me if he wanted a conscientious answer for I would have sailed in anything for the privilege of going on such an adventure.

Battered and scarred as she was, she still remained a fine ship having been soundly and truly built of well seasoned timber some twenty five years earlier. On one or two occasions she had been badly squeezed in the pack-ice, once so badly, I was told, that all her hatches were out of shape. For many seasons she had been sailing out of St. Johns, Newfoundland, and afterwards was badly neglected, possibly due to circumstances over which her owners had no control, for there was not much profit in the whaling industry in those days in spite of the dangers and hardships inseparable from that calling. She was also in a very filthy condition though in that respect, no worse than other ships engaged in this unpleasant occupation.

Under four hundred tons register she was built at Dundee in 1885, barque rigged with auxiliary steam power for pushing through the ice. Originally she was fitted with a two bladed propeller that was hoisted in over the trunk when she was under sail only, reminiscent of the days of sail and steam in the Royal Navy when up funnel and down screw was a familiar pipe. Sometime since she had been fitted with four bladed propellers and this made her a bad sailor, it dragged like a sea anchor. She had the most beautiful hull form I have ever seen and from the point of view of stability she was very seaworthy in spite of her heavy top hamper of masts and yards, a grand old lady of the sea.

Whilst getting my first once over of the ship, I was introduced to three of my new shipmates, *[note 1] Mick Crean, Taff Evans and Bill Smythe who were busy with the riggers sending up the yards. All had served in Discovery with Captain Scott on his first expedition and all had been seamen petty officers in the Royal Navy, Taff Evans and Mick Crean were still serving and had been released by the Admiralty for service with the expedition. Bill Smythe had found the Navy not to his liking after life in the Antarctic and had taken his discharge at the end of his first period of twelve years and had since sailed in tramps, he had now shipped as sailmaker.

They were all very fine seamen, such as we are not likely to see again, particularly as the sailing ship has almost had its day. What characters they were, Mick, with his ever ready smile and Irish wit was for ever chewing ‘baccy, the quid rarely left his cheek except perhaps on odd occasions when he might be sent for by an officer, then it was transferred to his cap. His scalp, with its thinning, unkempt hair to which fragments of tobacco clung like tea leaves was stained brown by the juice of the quids which had found a temporary resting place.

Taff was enormously powerful and might have been a model for the man on the posters advertising a well known brand of stout. He had on more than one occasion been one of the field gun’s crew representing the Portsmouth Command at the Royal Tournament, Olympia. At dinner time these three worthies suggested they should show me where to get some ‘chow’. From the knowing look on their faces I guessed they were sizing me up, wondering if I would be good for a pint or two of ‘Harry Freemans’ (beer). I was really very pleased to be included in their company as I felt quite lost on the beach on my own and it would, I thought, be a good opportunity to pay my footing, which according to ancient nautical custom I should be expected to do sooner than later.

We went to a pub just outside the dock gates, called oddly enough ‘The North Pole’, as we passed the policemen on duty at the dock gates he handed Mick a can which Mick accepted without a word being spoken on either side. I was to find out the meaning of the can in the days that followed to my cost, custom demanded a pint for the policeman on the way back.

Knowing chaps those ‘bobbies’. Never did any of the crew slip out to the pub for a quiet one without being handed the can, what they did with it all puzzled me, they must have hollow legs.

‘The North Pole’ became a home from home for most of the crew till the ship sailed. For threepence we could get enough bread and cheese with pickled onions for a good tuck in, and as much beer as we could pay for or strap at tuppence a pint from 6 p.m. till midnight, with civility thrown in for good measure.

That was in the ‘bad old days’ of course, before this fine old country of ours had shipped the bonds of freedom, when we really were free and it was not considered necessary to pipe the fact every time the bell struck to bring it to notice. It is pleasant to remember having lived in those days. Times have changed a good deal since those not so far off times. I’m afraid the common man has swallowed the bait of democracy hook, line and sinker, and sprung the trap, and it will be a long time before he will gnaw his way to freedom again. As for my own generation. Well, we’ve had it, Chums!

A day or two after I joined the ship she was inclined for stability by a ship constructor from the Admiralty. Amongst the people who were assisting the seamen to hump the pig iron ballast from side to side of the ship to incline her, was Captain Oates, rigged in a serge suit and peak cap. None of us knew who he was up to this time and many were the guesses, all wrong.

I joined the ship in civvies, wearing a bowler hat, then very fashionable. Mick, when introduced mistook me for one of the scientists and said ‘pleased to meet you, Sir’ he never got over that mistake on his part and often ragged me about it, saying, ‘me, calling a …“hard hat”, Sir!’

The seamen generally worked aloft in bare feet, even when fitting out. Taff and Mick were in digs together, Taff used to spin the yarn that his first job mornings was to separate Mick from the sheets which had become stuck to the tar on his feet.

On one occasion they went shopping somewhere in Petticoat Lane and York Road. Taff wanted a ‘civvy’ suit and naturally did not want to pay too much for it, more clothes meant less beer. He spotted a suit on one of the barrows and thought it just what he was looking for. He tried the coat on as the barrow man, gathering a fathom in his hand at the back, told him it fitted him like ‘ de paper on de vall.’ The salesman wrapped it in paper and off they sailed, very pleased with themselves. It was rather late that night when they reached their digs, even so, Taff wanted to admire his new suit. When he opened the parcel all he found were two potato sacks. Either the barrow man, or somebody had rung the changes on him in one of the many pubs they had visited.

My most important job before the ship sailed was to see that the huts to be erected in the Antarctic as Winter Quarters for the shore parties were complete in every detail. Huts they styled, but they were more like Parish halls. The larger of the two for the Southern party was fifty by twenty five feet and the other for the Eastern party twenty five by twenty five feet. They were not made in sections as this would take up too much storage in the ship but the frames were mortised and tenoned as far as possible for easy erection. The framework was being made and erected, temporarily, on some waste ground at Poplar. This I could see was all in order, but the timber for cladding the huts was being supplied from the sawmills direct to the ship and this was not so satisfactory. I had asked the firm’s representative, a rather garrulous old gentleman on several occasions to let me have a copy of the orders so that I could check on it, but he always put me off with the assurance that there was plenty, and to spare of boarding, and invariably added that he had erected this class of building in every country in Europe.

I did not intend, however, to take any chances and eventually went to the sawmills myself and got a copy of the order. On checking it I found it was being supplied in squares (100 superficial feet) irrespective of the precise length of boards required. This meant a loss of at least 10% in cutting, just waste. I spoke first to the foreman on the job about the shortage and I could see he more or less agreed, but I suppose it was more than his job was worth to tell me so. Then I tackled the representative when next he came on the job. He still tried the old assurance subterfuge but this time it wasn’t going to work, and as I could not persuade him to do anything about it and the ship was due to sail in a few days, I reported the matter to Captain Scott.

The following day I received a wire from Captain Scott to appear at the office. There I found the garrulous old gentleman and his foreman. Captain Scott went into the matter very carefully and at first told me he was quite satisfied there was sufficient boarding. I again pointed out the amount of waste in cutting, due to the boards not being supplied in proper lengths and said I could not take any responsibility for erecting the huts unless I had the material I required. Captain Scott then saw what I was driving at and told the old gentleman that unless he was able to satisfy me there was sufficient material, before the ship sailed, the firm would not get a penny piece for the job.

I got what was necessary and apologies from the old chap, who admitted he had made a mistake not a serious one where a few hundred feet was easily obtainable, but rather so, in the Antarctic. He came down to see me before we sailed and tried to slip me half a sovereign, but I told him I wasn’t that sort of chap. He then promised to send me a box of cigars for Christmas perhaps he did, anyhow I never received them. During a conversation towards the end of the expedition, Lieutenant Pennell said to me, ‘You have done some fine jobs from time to time, Davies, which do you consider your best?’ I replied, ‘getting the huts away complete from London.’

Up to within a day or two of the ship sailing I felt the whole show as far as I was concerned might come unstuck, and this caused me great anxiety for up to that time I had not been medically examined by the expedition doctors and I really did not fancy my chances. However, my fears were groundless, I managed to get by all right.

Before we departed some members of a learned society calipered our heads and took the colour of our eyes and skin, presumably to note if these were affected in any way by the intense cold. They were elderly people and as we did not see them when we returned I suppose they had passed on to where these matters are of little concern.

All the stores were collected in a warehouse close to where the ship lay, and were sorted out for loading in their proper order. These had in many cases been supplied by the firms who manufactured them, free of charge, and were packed in light three ply Venesta cases, each about fifty pounds in weight for easy handling, the contents being stencilled on the outside with a distinctive band either red, green or black to indicate whether the case was for the Southern Party, Eastern Party or ship’s party.

We were all working like beavers to get the ship ready by the appointed date, but it was not all work and no play, our evenings were generally free and we made the best of them seeing the sights of London.

Being sailors it is hardly necessary to mention that the famous taverns came in for more than a fair share of attention. Beer was beer in those days, unlike the present “near water” infliction of today, and at a price that even the common folk could afford.

In this atmosphere the crew got to know each other and happy memories of those hilarious evenings were often recalled during the hard years that followed.

At last sailing day, 1 June1910, hove round. Captain Scott had been elected a member of the Royal Yacht Squadron and the hoisting of the white Ensign for the first time was made the occasion of a little ceremony on the poop, Lady Bridgeman, wife of Admiral Sir Francis Bridgeman, a Lord of the Admiralty, breaking the flag at the peak.

Copy of list of materials for construction of huts.Davies argued with suppliers and was adamant about ensuring sufficient quantities were acquired