Captain Scott commissioned the Discovery, a ship which the Lyttelton Times later described as an "ocean adventurer who goes out to fight the polar foe". Photo / ©Hufton+Crow
When travel resumes, a warm welcome awaits visitors to RRS Discovery in Dundee, writes Julia Hammond
On November 29, 1901, RRS Discovery sailed into Lyttelton harbour near Christchurch. Headed by Captain Robert Falcon Scott, it dropped anchor to stock up on provisions for his first scientific expedition to the Antarctic. Almost 120 years later, standing on its weathered deck, I crane my neck and look up at a custard-yellow crow's nest. It's mounted 110 feet above my head at the top of the mainmast, which seems an awfully long way up.
I'm thankful that it's off-limits to visitors as my 82-year-old dad is standing beside me. He's already climbed up there once, in 1951, when he was a Sea Scout, hauling himself up through the hole in its base with the fearless enthusiasm of youth. He points out the route he took to get up there, under the watchful eye of the bosun, rattling off details about rat lines, yardarms and backstays as if it were yesterday.
From 1936 to 1954, RRS Discovery (the RRS stands for Royal Research Ship) was moored on the Thames Embankment in London. During that time, the Boy Scouts Association used it to train Sea Scouts in seamanship. For two weeks, my dad scrubbed the decks, polished the brass and tidied the ropes. But such mundane duties were interspersed with rowing practice, ropework and fun activities such as "the Wide Game". This challenge entailed scrambling on board and ringing the ship's bell without being caught.
Dad's ascent to the crow's nest was his reward for victory. Thinking outside the box, he and his mate "borrowed" a dinghy and rowed out to board the ship from the river. Under cover of darkness, their faces blacked and their clothing turned inside out so the white cloth didn't give them away, they crawled up the anchor chain, inching along a narrow ledge until they could make a successful – and unexpected – dash for the bell.
"I think the bosun was secretly impressed," Dad told me, "but we both got a stern telling off for taking the dinghy."
These days, health and safety legislation means such games – and most definitely the prize – are no longer allowed. Climbing to the crow's nest was a dangerous activity. Scott and his men were reminded of that when tragedy struck as the Discovery departed Lyttelton harbour shortly before Christmas in 1901. A sizeable crowd had gathered to wave off the ship and the crew were in high spirits, excited at the prospect of what was ahead. Seaman Charles Bonner had climbed the mainmast and was balancing on top of the crow's nest when the ship reached the swell of open water. Losing his grip, Bonner fell to the deck, hit his head and died instantly. He was buried with full military honours. A memorial erected in Port Chalmers New Cemetery stands over his grave.
Scott himself had commissioned the Discovery, a ship the Lyttelton Times later described as an "ocean adventurer who goes out to fight the polar foe". Dundee's shipyards were the obvious choice to build it. In those days, the city was an established whaling centre and had considerable experience of constructing robust vessels suitable for voyages to such extreme environments.
To strengthen the Discovery, 10 different types of timber were used in its construction; they would ensure the hull would flex under pressure where steel would most likely buckle. Although the ship might become trapped in the ice, she wouldn't be crushed. Her rudder and propeller could be hoisted up into the hull of the ship to prevent them being damaged by the ice. The ship also had no portholes. Instead, her design relied on brass vents to ensure the sides of the ship didn't cave in. Unfortunately, it didn't take me long to understand why those who sailed on her nicknamed them "ankle bashers".
Although the Discovery had much in common with a whaling ship, there was one crucial difference. The newly-built whaling ships of the time were powered by coal. As it would be in short supply in the Antarctic, Scott would have to rely on wind power for much of the voyage. As a result, although the Discovery was fitted with steam engines, it was one of the last barque-rigged sailing ships to leave a British shipyard. It cost £44,372 to build and fit out, over £4 million (about NZ$7.6 million) in today's money. Sir Clements Markham, President of the Royal Geographical Society, was tasked with finding someone to foot the bill, which he did by securing a government grant and a substantial private donation.
In November 1901 the Discovery, with 11 officers and 37 men on board, made it safely to New Zealand. They remained there for three weeks. Scott's huskies were quarantined on Quail Island, while in town the crew made final preparations for the expedition. They oversaw essential maintenance which included fixing a leak that was letting on water. Provisioning went smoothly. Her stores were overhauled and she took on a deck load of coal. A herd of 45 sheep came on board. They would be slaughtered when the ship reached Antarctica to supplement a diet of seal and penguin meat. The latter was a chore to eat but the crew considered seal livers a welcome change from the "tasteless and boring" tinned, dried, bottled or pickled staples that even a dollop of mustard couldn't improve.
Mel Oakley, curator of the museum collection at the Dundee Heritage Trust, explains that New Zealand played a crucial part in the expedition's success. "The kindness received from New Zealand was important to Scott and the expedition. Berthing in Lyttelton Harbour in 1901 to restock and the reception as she left for Antarctica, the role of the relief ships during the years in Antarctica and the return in 1904 after a successful expedition demonstrate the special role that New Zealand held for the expedition and crew."
Today, in the Scottish city of Dundee, visitors are welcome on board the Discovery. It returned in the 1980s for restoration and is now a permanent fixture, dry-docked at Discovery Point beside the V&A Dundee. A comprehensive exhibition on dry land beside the ship covers every aspect of the Discovery's history, including Scott's scientific expedition, his later attempt to reach the South Pole, and also the Sea Scout era.
But Dad and I are far more eager to explore the ship itself. Below decks, we get a reminder of how tough such a voyage would have been. There are only a handful of us on board, but with a full crew and heavily loaded with supplies, it would have been a tight squeeze. Every available inch of space had a purpose, we learn, as we nose around the galley, grog room and bosun's store. We learn about the echo sounder used to measure the depth of the water and the salt boxes embedded in the wood to stop moisture getting into the timbers.
In the officer's quarters, Scott's well-appointed cabin boasts wood panelling, brass fittings and full bookshelves. Next door, Ernest Shackleton's typewriter sits on the desk beside his bed, his binoculars case hanging from a hook. In the wardroom, a dinner menu is propped on a polished mahogany table large enough to accommodate all the officers. On it are dishes like turtle soup and devilled skua. Skylights flood the space with light and a portrait of the King hangs on the wall. There's even a brass fireguard. All this is in stark contrast to the spartan mess deck where Dad and his fellow Sea Scouts once bedded down.
But Discovery's maiden voyage was very nearly her last. In December 1903, the ship became trapped in pack ice 20 miles from open water. The harsh weather hindered attempts to break her loose. Two relief ships were sent to her rescue. One was the Terra Nova, another Dundee whaling ship. On November 29, 1910, she would steam out of Port Chalmers and carry Scott on his final journey to the Antarctic for that infamous, ill-fated attempt to be the first to reach the geographic South Pole.
However, seven years earlier, Terra Nova was bringing orders from the Admiralty – if the Discovery couldn't be freed by February, the crew would be expected to abandon ship. At the eleventh hour, when it seemed all hope was lost, the weather improved and the men were able to blast away the remaining ice to save the ship from an ignominious fate. Fortunately for London's Sea Scouts and visitors to Dundee, the Discovery's story was only just beginning.
Discovery Point is across the street from Dundee station for train connections to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen and beyond.
Tickets for the RRS Discovery cost £9.95 (about NZ$19) and include entry to the ship and the museum, open every day.
More details can be found on the website: rsdiscovery.co.uk
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