It’s time to step into the Terra Nova hut. Look, the door is already open.
It’s open because the Antarctic Heritage Trust is here doing their annual check-up. Just because they’re here, though, doesn’t mean you don’t have to do the same boot-brush-and-sign-in routine that you do at Hut Point, so you do that. Here’s the guestbook. Have a go.
Since we’ve got a moment here, allow me to draw your attention to the cloth hanging above the wood plaque. It’s a plankton net, probably one of the ones Nelson used as he studied the biology of the sea over which we’ve parked our snowmobiles. At our feet is an enormous bright red fire extinguisher, which is very important – ironically, on this continent of ice, the greatest threat to the historic sites is fire. We do not want this hut to burn down. No, no.
Between the sign-in table and the fire extinguisher is a stack of skis, and I’d like to draw your attention to one in particular.
This ski (and its partner, not pictured) belonged to Edward Leicester Atkinson, expedition surgeon and commander during the second winter, after Scott had died. They were returned to the Antarctic Heritage Trust 100 years after Atkinson left Cape Evans and are now back home. It’s good to see them here.
Now we can step inside, through the small vestibule which had been the original entrance to the hut, before the porch was built. The cylindrical device for generating acetylene gas from calcium carbide should be here, but the AHT is conserving or photographing it or something, so it’s in pieces somewhere else. That’s fine, because what we really want to see is this:
We are standing in the mens’ quarters – the hut is arranged like a Naval ship, with the officers at one end and the ‘men’ – the ordinary sailors – at the other. As the men’s quarters on a ship tend to be at the front end, we can call this area ‘forward’ and the officers’ area (which you can see down the passageway) ‘aft’, and therefore the sides of the hut are ‘port’ and ‘starboard.’ I will use these terms to describe where we are because they don’t change relative to which direction you’re facing, as left and right do. In this picture, port is to the right and starboard to the left. To orient yourself with the outdoor photos, the sea, from this viewpoint, is to starboard (left), where the sun is coming in, and Wind Vane Hill is a little forward (behind us) to port (right).
Everything is easier with some visuals!
This post, I’m just going to be showing you around the forward part. Future ones will cover the officers’ quarters, in sections, because there’s a lot to see and I have so many stories to tell you.
Right, clear as mud? Let’s continue!
I have walked around this hut many, many times in my mind, aided by historical photos and some modern ones, so actually stepping through that door and seeing it for myself was a very emotional experience. The wash of feelings was cut short, though, by noticing this object on the mens’ table:
It was so exciting I put aside my feelings entirely, because I didn’t know this thing still existed! It doesn’t look like much, but it was a tabletop game that might possibly have saved the mental health of the expedition, their second winter. Silas Wright can explain:
I do not think any chess games or indeed card games were at all common, but someone in the party had received a toy which proved to be most popular with all. I think it may have been called bagatelle; at any rate there was a wooden board about 4 feet by 5 feet, with a number of wooden balls, approximately spherical, a miniature billiard cue and a bridge across one end of the board with a number of arches which were wide enough to permit the passage of the balls. Of course all the balls did not long retain their original spherical shape and there was one which had early lost an appreciable amount of wood to which Demetri (I think it was) gave the name "British Pluck." Its movements when struck by the cue were extremely erratic.
I mention this childish game we all played. It may surprise my readers (if any), but it does give me a chance to say that the reversion to childish games was of real value in holding the party together. So firmly do I believe this that I would suggest that no small party such as ours should be without the wherewithal to play "darts" and "shove ha’penny" which do not really demand the surroundings of a bar as in the old English village "pub.” (Silas, pp.281-2)
They set up weekly bagatelle tournaments, where the winner would get a ‘medal’ and the lowest scorer would be ‘the Jonah’ for a week. That this vital piece of equipment should have survived to the modern day, and be displayed so prominently, was a tremendous joy. It may have lost its broad base board, but it’s far better than not existing at all.
Anyway. The wall behind the table, continuing the nautical tradition, was known as the ‘bulkhead’, and was made of packing crates full of food, stacked on their sides so they could be opened and their contents removed as necessary, then the empty crates used as shelving. In the most recent photograph I had seen of the restored hut, the bulkhead was largely missing, so I was glad to see it back. It looked like it had been largely reconstructed out of crates from outside, as the paint had prevented some weathering before finally weathering away itself.
Here is a historical photo of Tom Crean and Taff Evans mending sleeping bags against the bulkhead. You can see the shelving unit behind them, though back then it stood in front of the bulkhead rather than forming a part of it.
This bulkhead is the source of much criticism of Scott’s leadership style in modern times, dividing the officers and men into two units. I am not here to pass judgement, but I do invite you to consider the following question for yourself: If you were at a work retreat that was going to last for two years, would you want to sleep in the same room as your boss? Call me ‘not a team player’ but that wall would have been my favourite thing in the hut.
OK, to get your bearings, turn around, and here is the door we came in:
If you keep turning, you will be facing the galley, which is to port of the door. Nearest the door is the cook’s table, strewn with things useful to the preparation of food.
Turn slightly further, and you can see the cook’s bunk. For the first winter, Thomas Clissold (pictured above) slept here. He was first and foremost an artificer – like a machinist – and found novel ways to advance his culinary arts through metalwork, including, quite possibly, that tray on the table, which might have been used to make sausage rolls. His most cunning invention was a rising bread alarm: he would wake up early, get the dough going for the morning bread, then put it under his device. Once the dough rose to the desired height, it would trigger a bell and a flashing red light, which would wake him from the couple hours’ extra sleep which his ingenuity had earned.
Our tour will continue next week with the starboard side of the officers’ quarters, the section historically known as ‘The Tenements.’