7 November, 1910

While we've been inspecting the animals at Quail Island, Bowers has been busy unloading all the stores and dividing them into green and red marked boxes; some for us, and some for the Northern Party. We are picking up a large supply of fresh provision here in New Zealand; butter, eggs, mutton and so forth. 

I'll never forget departing on Discovery with an entire flock of sheep on board decks. As soon as we got to the Antarctic Circle we slaughtered the lot and hung the carcasses up in the rigging. What a mess. We won't be doing that this time. I invested rather a large sum in the building of an icehouse aboard ship in which to store our perishables so that we can sail with already frozen meats. 

I miss eggs the most. We have this stuff called "Truegg" which is a dried powder that can be used as a substitute, but it does get wearisome after a while. We have 500lbs of it.

6 November, 1910

Aren't the dogs grand! 

They're all males, of course, except for one bitch, Lassie, who we'll have along for breeding. One should be enough. 

It's not like we'll need to use too many dogs, of course. Not very good in the snow, dogs. It doesn't make any sense to me, to use a dog to pull a sledge. And besides, one has to be so cruel to them, and I can't abide cruelty to animals.

Naturally, we shan't be eating them, as was suggested. 

5 November, 1910

Boy wheeling a barrow asking a penny for the Guy from all the dock workers today. Some of them chipped in. One smart lad said "I'll give you tuppence if you call him Roald," which made Gran angry and the boy bemused. Still, they agreed and the tuppence was duly given. I think we'll go along to the bonfire tonight and see him go up in flames. 

In any case, I have decided to write to Nansen and see what he has to say about Amundsen's whereabouts. He must know. Someone must know something, and I feel uneasy setting off without feeling sure about it. 

I don't wish Amundsen success, but I also don't wish him to meet as gory an end as his namesake this evening. It all smacks of treason and plot. 

4 November, 1910

How grand it is to see the ponies we shall have! Popped over to Quail Island today, which lies in Lyttleton Harbour, thus serving as an excellent quarantine post for our animals. Took Kathleen along too. 

Oates gave them a workout for us, parading them up and down. I thought Meares and Bruce have done a remarkable job of securing us these fine beasts, not to mention transporting them all the way from Siberia on several ships, but Oates, who is to be in charge of them, doesn't seem to sure. I put that down to his general recalcitrance, but the look on his face when I gave them my stamp of approval! 

They seemed quite high spirited to me, and pulled trial loads well enough on the beach, as you can see. That's me in my uniform, next to Kathleen. It was a fine day with a bit of a brisk wind. Nothing like what they will have to face down South, certainly. But the important thing is that they are all white. The lighter the better, I told Meares, and when I greeted him he told he got me just exactly what I'd asked for, no more, no less. 

If only Oates could be so, well, willing to see things my way. 

3 November, 1910

The carpenters are doing a mock erection of the hut, marking all the wood, then re-packing it so that they can build quickly once we arrive. It's going to be a veritable palace. Not a big palace, and without toilet facilities, but we shall all be comfortable enough. I have decided that we shall preserve shipboard custom and divide the hut into two domains; the officers quarters and separate accommodations for the sailors and men. They shall eat at their own table, too. Everyone will be more comfortable that way. You can't have the classes mixing willy-nilly and getting beyond their station all cooped up like that for so long. 

I shall have my own sleeping quarters, naturally. 

It will be good to be able to lock myself away as necessary. 

Kathleen delights in all the activity at the docks, and enlivens the men as they work. 

2 November, 1910

All Saint's Day and for some reason I feel like everything I look at today, I am looking at for the last time. Kathleen caught me looking at her this morning and said stop it, you're scaring me. But it feels like I'm looking at everything as a visitor or a guest. 

Sometimes I do get scared of what might happen, of catastrophic injury, of hurt. But there's nothing to be done for it, except to move forward. 

1 November, 1910

November at last! We must sail this month if we are to get in a depot-laying journey before the winter sets in. 

How good it is to be with the men again. Bowers is an absolute brick; a whirl of energy and I feel entirely confident trusting him with our stores and provisions. He is unloading them all according to two groups -- red boxes and green -- for our party and the Northern party. What a clever idea! We have with us very generous supplies provided by certain companies who see fit to have us photograph ourselves using said items, so that they may benefit from the advertising afterwards. Hence Heinz and Colmans stamped on so many of our boxes. 

It is quite sobering to see it all laid out on the dock like that, however; knowing this is everything you will have to survive on for two or three years (apart from what seal and penguin we shall kill). 

He keeps meticulous log books of it all, too, numbered by crate and contents, which is another very good idea. Would hate to lose track of what we have where. 

Let me tell you, it's no fun to open an unmarked tin to find it contains not at all what you hoped was inside it. 

It's a challenge for the cook, too.