When I first saw John Mills and his doomed companions in Scott of the Antarctic, I was filled with a deep, aching, sadness - I knew I was watching a film - I knew what was going to happen - but the beautiful cruelty of the tragedy overwhelmed me - I lay upon the carpet, staring up at the small blurry TV screen, transported to a world of terrible whiteness -
I turned to look at my mum and dad - they sipped their tea - I imagined that there were snow drifts in the corners of the cheery lounge - I could hear a blizzard in the hall -
That night, as I hid under my blankets, I dreamed of ice fields, of dark icy skies - I heard, very clearly - I was sure of it - Scott whispering to me - Great God, this is an awful place -
Later, whilst visiting Selborne, I spent hours in the Oates Museum, staring at poignant photographs - I remembered how Oates had left the tent in his stockinged feet -
Then, in Swanage, on a walk with Penny, I came across a tiny stone cottage - the home of Edgar Evans - Taffy Evans - there was a brilliant blue sky above the slate roof - it was late morning, in a sultry July -
I thought of Evans, after his fall on the Beardmore Glacier, his hands uncovered, frostbitten - a wild look in his eyes -
Once more, I felt that sadness - I was a boy again, longing for a happy ending -
Although this plaque has been on the cottage in Swanage High Street since the 1980s (as far as I recall), its inscription is not generally believed by residents of the town. Nor do published biographies of Evans lend any support to its claims.
ReplyDeleteEdgar Evans was a Swansea man - yes, Swansea, not Swanage - and he spent his last days in England with his family there before sailing on the "Terra Nova" from Cardiff.
If the person who put up the plaque has evidence to the contrary, I'd be interested to see it.
A sceptical Swanage resident.