When Nights Were Cold by Susanna Jones Page B

Discovery and Nimrod expeditions in the South Polar Times – and whatever else we can find – and we’ll follow their routes along the map. I’m sure there will be much to consider and enjoy. You’ll see that I have already marked the journey of the Nimrod from Hobart to McMurdo Sound.’ I went to the map and pointed out the line of the voyage. ‘I have listed the equipment and men on board, so we may gain a picture of the expedition and from there we might imagine what our men endured. We may also examine the scientific studies conducted on this and on previous expeditions and think about what we can learn from them.’ I held up the exercise books I had purchased the previous day. ‘These will hold the records of our meetings so we can write all our notes and observations in them. If there are no objections from the Society, I shall keep these in my sitting room. However, all members will be at liberty to borrow and use them at any time.’
    The members of the Antarctic Exploration Society nodded. I cleared my throat.
    â€˜Now,’ I said, ‘the intention of this Society is not simply to learn from books in an academic manner and accept all that we hear, but to engage and, most important of all, imagine. How can we understand everything that the explorers experience unless we consider what we would do in their situation? What is it like to live in the harshest conditions that Nature can unleash?’
    â€˜A real snorker, I’m sure,’ said Hooper with a small frown. She wore a necklace, a dove of paste jewels on a silver chain, and she fiddled with the chain. ‘But how can we ever know how it feels? I’m rather interested in studying flora and fauna. I’ve never thought much about what it’s like to be an explorer.’
    â€˜We’ll do that too,’ I said. ‘Flora and fauna. Penguins, lichens, fish and all that. It will be part of the journey.’
    â€˜We might try some play-acting,’ said Locke.
    â€˜That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Hooper. ‘We won’t know what it is to experience frostbite, or scurvy. It’s rather silly to think that we can.’
    â€˜And this is not Drama Society.’ Parr laughed as she spoke, but could not hide her scorn.
    I thought of my father’s hands, the deformed foot that made him limp and twist across the room, his pain and sadness. My fingertips were like people, Grace. Each had its own character. The same applies to my foot. I often wonder where these bits of me are, as though they have gone to live somewhere else. It hurt when they left me. The physical pain does not compare.
    â€˜This is what it is to lose part of your own body to the elements,’ I said. ‘I shall describe it to you.’
    I switched off the overhead light so that only a small lamp burned. The curtains were open and light from windows across the quad shone in.
    â€˜So. Imagine.’ I settled in the professor’s chair and clasped my hands. ‘We are together in our tent. We have travelled for days in blizzards.’
    â€˜Are we in the Antarctic specifically?’ asked Hooper.
    â€˜No, it doesn’t matter. We could be anywhere in freezing conditions. I’m just explaining frostbite.’
    Hooper sat back in her chair, unconvinced, but Locke and Parr leaned forward with glinting eyes.
    â€˜See your fingers in the dark.’ I whispered this to make them fearful. ‘You’ve been in the snow all day, perhaps in icy water, struggling to swim. Your gloves are hardened and you can no longer feel your fingers. They turn white, then blue. With your teeth you pull off your gloves. And – your fingertips are black.’
    I glanced at the ceiling. My father huddled and shivered on a stretcher while men tended to his wounds. His face creased up in pain but he didn’t cry out. A surgeon stitched up the rotten stubs of his fingers and toes. He lay flat on his