Ballad of the Endurance Expedition

Explorer Ernest Shackleton,
who’d tried for the South Pole,
planned to return but this time sought
another polar goal:

to cross the last great continent
from Weddell to Ross Sea,
a glory for the British flag
for Churchill to agree.

While Shackleton equipped his ship –
Endurance she was called –
the country joined the First World War
and polar plans were stalled.

‘Death is a very little thing
and Knowledge very great’,
wrote Shackleton to Churchill who
maintained the sailing date.

The ship manoeuvred through the floes
along a narrow lead
when pack-ice trapped her on all sides;
she never would be freed.

Ice pressure on the timber frame
caused fearful creaks and groans
like fireworks and heavy guns
that chilled men to their bones.

Sad splintered wreck, brave fallen beast,
hull shattered, masts askew,
she went down slowly by the bow
abandoning her crew.

Five tents, three lifeboats, some supplies
were saved before she sank,
for twenty-eight men and their dogs
stranded in Ocean Camp.

Born leader, Shackleton declared,
United we must stand!
We’re not on terra firma here,
we’ll cross the ice to land.

Reduce your pack to vital gear,
we have to save on weight,
two pounds of private kit per man
is all that you can take.

The carpenter McNeish’s cat,
a useless mouth to feed,
and surgeon Macklin’s favourite pup
were killed, a sorry deed.

Frank Hurley saved a few glass plates –
his photos of the ship –
and packed them sealed in double tins
as records of their trip.

They started out to haul the boats
but found the ice too rough,
so pitched their tents at Patience Camp
where life was very tough.

With scurvy an abiding fear
and nothing left to eat,
their catch of seals and penguins meant
a fresh supply of meat.

Lit by the half grey midnight light,
the heaving ice and bergs
of frozen Weddell Sea below
played havoc with their nerves.

Yet Shackleton inspired his men
and kept despair at bay
for months, while waiting for the thaw
they prayed for every day.

When at last the sea ice cracked,
with hunger at their throats
they shot and cooked and ate the dogs
before they launched the boats.

In Dudley Docker, Stancomb Wills,
James Caird, the men set forth
along the shifting pack-ice lanes
but drifted from their course.

Then Worsley got a quick sun shot –
for once the clouds had thinned –
and Ernest put the boats about
to run before the wind.

With Elephant Island as their goal,
the three boats plunged and tossed
till currents carried them to lee
and not a man was lost.

Although at last on firm, dry ground,
the men were far from safe;
of rescue there was little chance –
no ships stopped at that place.

So Shackleton took five good men
and set to sea once more,
another thousand miles to go
to reach South Georgia’s shore.

In raging seas and frozen spray
they bailed like men possessed,
while Worsley reckoned by a sun
intuitively guessed.

At last the James Caird ran through surf,
their boat journey was done,
an incredible achievement
but more was still to come.

We’ve landed on the wrong side
so for help we have to cross
the unexplored interior,
said Shackleton, “The Boss”.

He left the men who couldn’t walk,
three set off overland
for Husvik whaling station that
they knew all year was manned.

For thirty hours on glacial peaks
they never stopped to rest,
but felt a fourth man by their side
and by God’s hand were blessed.

A factory whistle cut the air
from Stromness Bay below,
hence Worsley, Crean and Shackleton
descended in one go.

Norwegian station managers
welcomed their filthy guests
and sent a whale-catcher out
to fetch the three they’d left,

while Shackleton put into place
another rescue plan
for his remaining stranded crew –
and saved them, every man.