An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor

by Michael Smith

  Macklin made a dash to the flagstaff to hoist a signal and Wild put a pick through the last tin of petrol to start a fire from old damp woollen socks and mitts which were cluttering up the floor. In the rush to catch sight of the Yelcho, the lunchtime pot of hoosh was sent flying. Hard-man Wild was close to tears.

  Macklin recalled seeing a boat being lowered from the Yelcho and rowed ashore, with the familiar beaming faces of Crean and Shackleton clearly visible to the ecstatic castaways. The two men, he said, were looking ‘very well and to our eyes, very clean’.

  However ecstatic the men felt at being rescued, the greetings were kept brief as possible because of the threat that the surrounding ice would close in and trap them. The men were swiftly brought aboard the Yelcho. The rowing boat, with Shackleton and Crean supervising proceedings, made three excursions inside an hour to bring the 22 men off the beach and by 2 p.m. on 30 August the entire Endurance party had been reunited onboard the Chilean vessel.

  Soon after, the Yelcho was under way, her precious cargo of castaways safely on board and tucking into a hearty meal. Shackleton, Worsley and Crean passed on all they knew about the war and the men also absorbed every item from some old newspapers which someone had thoughtfully remembered to bring along for the occasion.

  The ship ran into severe weather on the return to civilisation through the Southern Ocean, but it seemed almost irrelevant. By 2 September the Yelcho had reached the Straits of Magellan and early next day anchored off Rio Seco, a few miles from Punta Arenas. Shackleton, aware of the value of good publicity, went ashore with Crean to telephone ahead with the news that the party had been rescued.

  Their arrival was not without bitter irony. As Shackleton and Crean rowed towards the quay, an excitable onlooker rushed forward and shouted:

  ‘Welcome, Captain Scott.’

  According to an eyewitness, Shackleton was not amused and could point out that while Scott had perished, he had both survived a terrible ordeal on the ice and saved his men. Jones recalled the incident and reported Shackleton’s icy response as:

  ‘… Shackleton replied: “Captain Scott be so-and-soed! He’s been dead for years!”’1

  A few hours later the Yelcho steamed into Punta Arenas to a tumultuous welcome. It seemed as though the entire population had turned out, with flags flying, sirens blowing and people cheering wildly. Macklin remembered that the ‘noise was deafening’ and the Chileans declared it a festival day. There were several German ships in the harbour, but they, too, hoisted flags in celebration. The headline in the Magellan Times screamed: ‘Indescribable Enthusiasm’ and the paper reported:

  ‘Never before in the history of Magellanas has a crowd been seen such as that which gathered to witness the entrance of the Yelcho.’2

  The men, slightly bewildered by the raucous noise after so long in isolated captivity, stepped off the ship and walked through the little town to the energetic music of a local brass band. Worsley, who like Crean and Shackleton, had already made friends with the Chileans, said the local hospitality knew no bounds.

  The men were led to the Royal Hotel where they were presented to the thronging crowds from one of the upper windows. As speedily as the festivities would allow, the bedraggled men were fixed up with clean clothes, a welcome shave and a haircut. In the evening everyone gathered for a noisy jostling reception at the offices of the British Association.

  Once again, Shackleton took the opportunity to thank people for their support and hospitality but he reserved special praise for the two companions who had endured the greatest ordeal with him. His simple, straightforward comment was:

  ‘I cannot speak too highly of Crean and Worsley, who have seen this through with me.

  My name has been known to the general public for a long time and it has mostly been as leader, but how much depends upon the men! What I do would be small, did we not work together. I appreciate my men on Elephant Island and the two I have on my right are fine fellows.’3

  The Chileans were determined to celebrate in lavish style, especially as it had been one of their ships and its sailors which had finally plucked the men off Elephant Island. The proud Chileans would allow no slacking in their endeavour to celebrate. At one lavish dinner, Worsley went outside for a breath of fresh air and was surrounded by a group of armed men with fixed bayonets. Asked why he was being threatened, Worsley was told that ‘no sober gringo [foreigner] leaves the building’.

  The generous hospitality of the Chileans and local expatriates continued for about twelve days until the party rejoined the Yelcho and cruised up the coast to Valparaiso, to the north of the capital Santiago. When they arrived on 27 September the party were greeted with another rapturous reception from huge crowds of cheering people and it took the men 30 minutes to walk the 50 yards (45 m) from the ship to the local Naval Club because of the crush.

  The Chilean president personally entertained the men and a few days later they set off by special train to cross the Andes for Buenos Aires, Argentina. Another rapid journey took some of the party to Montevideo where they could personally thank the people of Uruguay for their invaluable assistance.

  But the attraction of continual celebration was beginning to wear thin and the men had their own plans. Many, notably the seamen, were anxious to get home as quickly as possible and join the fight against Germany. In contrast, Shackleton’s concern was now focussed on the men from the Aurora in the Ross Sea party at Cape Evans on the other side of Antarctica. It was time to disband the expedition.

  On 8 October 1916 the Endurance expedition finally came to an end on the concourse of a railway station in Buenos Aires as the men shook hands and went their own way. Shackleton and Worsley had decided to head for McMurdo Sound via San Francisco and New Zealand, while Crean, Wild and the majority of the others turned for home.

  The same could not be said of the Aurora party in the Ross Sea, which was cut off from the outside world for over two years and suffered appalling hardship as the men struggled to fulfil their obligation of laying supply depots for Shackleton’s crossing of the continent. Three of the ten-man party died laying supplies of food and equipment for men who would never come.

  The ten men knew nothing about the loss of Endurance and ploughed on regardless with their task of supplying the trans-antarctic party. Dutifully they set about laying depots on the Barrier and up to the foot of the Beardmore Glacier for Shackleton’s team, which was originally scheduled to make the land crossing from one side to the other from Vahsel Bay to Cape Evans via the South Pole, the Beardmore and the Barrier.

  The party was ill-equipped for the huge task and Joyce, a veteran of the Discovery and Nimrod expeditions, was the only person with experience of sledge travelling. But, in the face of remarkable odds, they travelled over 1,500 miles (2,400 km) in 169 days, which is among the most formidable man-hauling achievements ever recorded.

  Some of the men went almost five months without fresh food and were inevitably struck by scurvy. The padre, Arnold Spencer-Smith, had died within sight of safety at Discovery’s old quarters, Hut Point; two others, Mackintosh and Hayward, were lost trying to cross the dangerously thin ice between Hut Point and Cape Evans.

  The Ross Sea party’s achievements were quite astonishing and without the more widely publicised heroics of the men on Endurance, it is likely that history would have granted the men far greater recognition for their considerable efforts. Sadly, history has forgotten the men of the Ross Sea party whose tortuous depot-laying journeys onto the Barrier were all to no avail.

  It was also the last of the great man-hauling escapades of the Heroic Age of polar exploration.

  25

  War, honour, marriage

  Tom Crean’s hair had turned iron grey by the time he arrived back in Britain. It was the only visible sign of damage from the two year ordeal on the Endurance expedition. Physically the Irishman had come through the experience in remarkably good condition and displayed no other outward marks of wear and tear.

  Crean t
ravelled back to Britain from Buenos Aires on the liner Highland Lassie, arriving back in early November 1916. Just across the channel in northern France, the Battle of the Somme was finally drawing to a close after over four months of bloody slaughter.

  Crean wasted no time in joining the war effort, returning to the naval barracks at Chatham on 8 November. Six weeks later he was promoted to Acting Boatswain in recognition of his outstanding service in the South.1 He was also awarded the Silver Polar Medal, his third.

  Crean, however, remained characteristically modest about his own huge contribution to the expedition. In one classic piece of understatement, he wrote to Apsley Cherry-Garrard, his colleague on Scott’s last expedition:

  ‘We had a hot time of it the last twelve months when we lost Endurance and I must say the Boss is a splendid gentleman. And I done my duty towards him to the last.’2

  His contribution to the Endurance expedition earned special praise from the grateful Shackleton who knew the value of the Irishman’s support at many crucial moments during the previous two years. He was genuinely grateful.

  Shackleton’s highly personal and straightforward judgement of Crean is contained in a private letter to Ernest Perris, his close confidante and agent for the expedition, which he wrote in October 1916 en route to Cape Evans to learn the fate of the Ross Sea Party.

  His confidential verdict on Crean is notably brief and frank. It is also somewhat begrudging in view of the Irishman’s outstanding contribution to the expedition and particular heroics in the long drawn out rescue of the stranded men. Shackleton’s curt judgement reads:

  ‘Loyal and good. Splendid in the boats and all through.

  Hyper-sensitive.

  I have written to Balfour urging his promotion to lieutenant boatswain. Do your best to help this along.

  Ask him to defer his pay for some time if you have not sufficient to pay him up.’3

  Shackleton’s terse assessment of Crean, of course, reflects the time at which it was written. He had, after all, suffered a terrible ordeal in the previous months and was now increasingly concerned about the fate of the men trapped at Cape Evans, who were unaware of the plight of Endurance. Shackleton was undoubtedly under terrible strain, but he might have been a little kinder to a man who stood steadfast beside him and provided invaluable support.

  In finalising the details of the failed expedition, Shackleton had to decide how to pay off the men, particularly as the money had largely run out. Wild and Worsley had offered to defer their entire salaries and Shackleton asked the scientists to do the same. The crew, who perhaps needed the money more than the rest, would be paid in full, although some who had performed badly in Shackleton’s eyes were only paid up to the moment Endurance was abandoned. However, Crean and a seaman, Walter How, were placed in a different category. Shackleton did not want to make promises he could not keep to men he respected and admired and therefore he told them they would get paid when the money was available. As Shackleton’s letter to Perris shows, he was merely asking Crean to defer his wages until money was available. Mary and James Fisher, his biographers, who had spoken to many survivors of the expedition, said this was Shackleton’s way of paying a compliment to the two men.4

  Shackleton undoubtedly trusted Crean, both as a fellow traveller and perhaps more surprisingly, as a straight-talking representative for the expedition back in Britain. In particular, Shackleton was concerned that his wife, Emily, should get a first-hand report of events rather than rely on speculation and gossip which had inevitably encircled the expedition. As he was making his way to Cape Evans, Shackleton wrote to Emily:

  ‘I want you to see Wild, McIlroy and Crean – see Crean separately.’5

  Crean was also looking for a different form of recognition. He was 39 years of age and nearing the end of his naval career as he returned from the expedition. First he wanted the money owed to him from the Endurance expedition and then he wanted promotion to a higher rank, which would improve his immediate earnings and, more important for the long term, improve his pension. Crean was looking beyond the day when he would leave the navy and thankfully he had an influential ally in Sir Ernest Shackleton.

  Shackleton fully supported Crean’s ambitions and took the unusual step of appealing to the highest levels to win promotion for his colleague. Shackleton wrote personally to Lord Balfour, who was First Lord of the Admiralty in 1915–16 shortly before becoming a more famous British Foreign Secretary. His letter recommended Crean for promotion. He had also asked Perris, a distinguished journalist who later became editor of the Daily Chronicle, to use his influence to press Crean’s case.

  The immediate target was the rank of Warrant Officer, the level between commissioned and non-commissioned officers. But Crean had a problem. He was nervous and concerned about passing the necessary written examination. While he was an experienced seaman and held gunnery and torpedo qualifications, his weakness was undoubtedly his poor education.

  Crean was a practical man, someone used to handling physical problems. He had left school at a very young age after a rudimentary education in his hometown village of Anascaul which provided him with little more than the ability to read and write. This hardly equipped him for written tests, such as the Royal Navy exams which included some tricky mathematical questions.

  The written test, for example, typically asked questions like: ‘What fraction and decimal of half-sovereign is 7½d?’; or ‘If 50 casks of flour are sufficient for 400 men for 30 days how long will 15 casks suffice for 200 men if the rations are reduced by one fourth?’6

  The lack of schooling would have been glaringly apparent in the South, where Crean had to spend months in close confinement with officers, scientists, doctors and many others who had the benefit of university or some other private education. It may be that the hypersensitivity which Shackleton mentions in his letter to Perris reflects Crean’s sense of inadequacy in the company of well-educated men.

  Unsure of himself, Crean contacted Shackleton, seeking guidance and reassurance. Shackleton, though busy in the post-Endurance days, took time to encourage and console his old colleague. In one letter, written in June 1917, Shackleton emphasised that it was ‘absolutely necessary’ to pass the ‘easy examination’ before being considered for the commission. But Shackleton realised that Crean’s confidence needed a boost and explained:

  ‘You are sure to get it if you only do this: why don’t you buck up and tackle it. Go ahead old son it means a lot to you. You say that the others are getting army commissions. They are not the same as the navy. The training is not difficult. A soldier is made in a few months and a sailor in years. You are not frightened of any seafaring job so don’t let a little exam beat you.’7

  Crean was also given valuable morale support by Emily Shackleton, who had seen his letters to her husband while Shackleton was away from home. She, too, recognised that Crean needed reassurance and responded by writing:

  ‘… no one in the wide world deserves it [promotion] more and everybody knows the Admiralty want good men like yourself.’8

  In the event, Crean passed the examination and on 11 August 1917, less than a month after his fortieth birthday, he was promoted to the rank of Acting Boatswain.9

  Meantime, Shackleton had found some money to reward Crean. The Irishman had initially signed up for Endurance at a salary of £166 a year and during their many months together on the ice, Shackleton had privately agreed to raise this substantially to £260 (today: £13,000). In June he sent Crean £100 (today: £5,000) and promised to cable a further £100.10

  Crean was also surprised to discover that his old Terra Nova comrade, Apsley Cherry-Garrard, had tracked him down and sent a small sum of money. Like Evans, perhaps Cherry-Garrard had special call to remember Crean’s powerful presence on Scott’s last expedition, in particular, the raw courage he displayed in 1911 to alert Scott to the plight of Cherry and Bowers who were cast adrift with the ponies on an ice floe. Crean was touched by Cherry’s gift and promised to ‘buy som
ething’ with the present.

  The money from Shackleton and Cherry-Garrard had arrived at a particularly opportune moment for Crean, who was now getting married.

  Crean’s early career in the navy and his long years exploring in the frozen wilderness of Antarctica had clearly made it difficult for the Irishman to establish long-term relationships. He had been away from home for 24 years since running away as a youngster to enlist and the only permanent feature in his life during this time was the occasional period of leave back home at Anascaul. It was no surprise therefore that he would marry a local woman.

  His bride was Eileen Herlihy, the 36-year-old daughter of a local publican in Anascaul, who had known Crean since childhood. They had one other important thing in common. Eileen, who was invariably called Nell, had been born and raised in a pub in the centre of Anascaul and Tom Crean had already signalled his intentions of entering the licensed trade after leaving the navy. The liquor licence he had bought in 1913 with the old run-down bar in the village now assumed even greater importance.