Into The Weddelworth Channel: Day II

The second day of April began without much incident. A stout breakfast was made of porridge with golden syrup – though I found out to my dismay that the cook had packed semi-skimmed instead of whole milk; I wondered if we would survive the winter without that extra fat, but the cook assured me there was plenty to keep us warm when the seasons turned. I made adjustment to the rations just to be on the safe side. We hauled to and made for the ship shortly after nine o'clock. There was much ground to be covered that day.

The temperature that day was a cool 12°C, and many of the men wore jumpers. I kept an eye out for sea-ice, but thought it unlikely since we were in fresh water at present. A mysterious fog hung over the surface of the channel in the early morning, but my first mate, Smythe, assured me it was only water vapour and nothing especially untoward. The going was hard through the rest of the morning; one of the men got quite a severe splinter which had to be tweezed, and the dogs were getting restless. We broke the journey at twelve thirty to let them harry a small family of squirrels, and prepare a light luncheon.

We made better progress in the afternoon, the fog lifted to reveal a marvellous landscape of rugged hillsides and craggy rocks. It was so clear I could see as far as the satellite dish on the East Piddlington motorway services, which at the time was a good hundred furlongs in the distance. It was suggested we break for supper there, which I seconded since it was rumoured to house a Little Chef. A hot supper in us all, we made camp for the night on the forecourt. It was agreed upon by all to take morning tea here so as to preserve our fuel for the primus stove. We all slept soundly that night, Whycherstone taking first watch. We knew that luxuries such as these would not last for long, so I urged the men to relish the moment while we had it. Many long months were ahead, and who knows what the seasons might bring.

– Sir Walter Finchley Ruddington-Fry

Into The Weddelworth Channel: Day I

I had decided to leave South-Stitchford on the first day of April. We had been hoping for a break in the weather, owing to a particularly pernicious drizzle that had downcast our departure. Time was of the essence, if we hoped to make for good winter quarters, we must make it to dry land before the water gets too chilly. We had a hardy crew, but no man aboard was liable to survive long after taking an icy bootful from the Chestershon Dyke. Luck would be on our side for now it seemed, and on the morning of the first, the cloudline parted and a lead of majestic blue opened before us. We harried to stations and made haste to load supplies aboard our vessel, the Dudley Dribbler, which was to be our home and only respite for the coming months. Never was a ship more handsomely stocked as she, packed to her gunwales with all manner of necessities, from tins of corned beef to jaffa cakes and tuna sandwiches, and a large bag of biscuits for the dogs – one of the men joked that we would all return fattened from the excursion, which did much to stoke the morale. Had I been in a lesser mood, I might have had him shot, but owing to the weather and excitement of departure I let the incident slide.

Our first sailing brought us well clear of the docks and soundly into the treacherous Weddelworth Channel, but thus far we slipped on without impediment. We took a depth sounding at noon, and the reading came back at a little over four feet, which made sense as the channel was only about twelve feet wide at this point. At four o'clock I took order to anchor and make camp as the weather was beginning to turn and I did not want to get wet. Soon the tents were up and ready and it sure enough started spitting. The cook prepared a rudimentary snack on the primus stove, and it was then it was discovered that no-one had packed any tea – a serious undersight – so I called for volunteers, and sent Wychershen-Smithe to procure some from a nearby petrol station. By now there was a distinct patter of dropulets hazing from the clouds, so we took extra precaution and equipped him with a folding umbrella and a pair of galoshes. Before long he had re-emerged from the deluge with a large box of PG tips and a packet of chocolate hobnobs, which we divided up hungrily amongst the men. Shortly after supper we retired for the night, and I elected to take the first watch, being relieved by Hardy at around a quarter past ten.

– Sir Walter Finchley Ruddington-Fry