Category: Antarctica

He was a serious man
but difficult to take seriously.
He was an intelligent man
who looked stupid.
He was diligent and shy
both were confounding – seemed wrong
as if he had appropriated another’s character.
His gait was rolling, almost clumsy
that fitted
it would have been
if he had been his look-alike – Fred Flintstone.

He was in charge for winter
200 people
living at the edge of the world
unreachable
sustained by engineered umbilicals.
It could blow anywhere- any time
then 200 would have to take to the trenches
it weighed on him – What if?

Whenever he rang
and worry catalysed frequent phone calls
“yabba a dabba doo,” would ring out in the background
a chorus
the recipient communicating
in laughter suppressed gulps
y . . . esss sir. . . n. . . oo. . .I’ll g. . . .ett onnn t. . . oo . . . . it.

It was called CAP.
No one could remember the precise translation
the old timers said it was an acronym
that it stood for Command Advance Programme.
It was for exemplary actions – not uncommon in the military
instant promotion –“ just add water,” the old hands said.

Winter Over was a command
each command entitled to one CAP
no questions asked – Commanding Officer’s discretion
use or lose
the CO did – to promote himself.
Perhaps he really was Fred Flintstone.

For the back story click Backstage

Scott, Robert Falcon
Naval midshipman
then Captain
then Antarctica.

1910 –13. ‘Scot’s last expedition’ – there were only two
death by starvation
half a day from 1 ton of food
four days north of plan
Oates, strong voiced against deviation
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ll come to regret not taking my advice”
he went outside… where One Ton should have been
symmetry: for both.

The flight is delayed
and again
finally at 1 a.m.
Two colours white and blue
a house with no walls
blue sky ceiling
white floor
ice and sky.
South, until there is only North.

“45 minutes ground time
props need to keep turning
entry and exit through the cargo ramp only.”

Obligation takes me straight to ceremonial pole
and requires to walk around the world
cold: like never before.
Inside
breakfast is beginning
coffee just made
the cook shakes my hand – “congratulations”
offers a cinnamon roll
and another.

90° south January 1912
“great God this is an awful place.” Diary entry : RF Scott

90° south November 1990
coffee, pastry, and warmth.

90° south January 1912
“now for the run home – I wonder if we can make it.” Diary entry : RF Scott

90° south November 1990
“ all pax board now . . . we’ll have you back to McMurdo by lunchtime.”

For the back story click Backstage

14 years after its projected expiry date
the airfield mess was still in use
still the same size
still with the same number of seats
but now feeding 200 not 100.

Space was tight in the kitchen
every spare centimetre gold
every space increasing innovation utilized
the bread slicer moved to the serving room
sliced loaves put next to butter and condiments.

One morning at breakfast
a man is dropping pieces of bread into blade spaces
they fall through
“hey man,” he bellows
“your toaster’s all fucked up.”

For the back story click Backstage