Tom and Nell were married at Anascaul on 5 September 1917. It was a notable event in the village and Shackleton showed his affection for his old comrade by giving the newly-wedded couple a delightful silver tea service engraved from himself and Emily. Crean’s naval colleagues in the chief Petty Officers’ mess at Chatham presented him with a ceremonial sword.
Marriage was a temporary reprieve from the war, which in the autumn of 1917 was still locked in deadly stalemate on the European mainland. But Crean was luckier than many during the war. He escaped the horrors of the Western Front and remained in the relatively quiet backwaters of the navy for the final two years of the conflict. According to military records, Crean probably never saw any major hostile action in the two years which followed his return from the South.
He remained at Chatham Barracks from November 1916, until 2 March 1917, where he was engaged in routine, mundane tasks on the fringe of the war, such as helping to take a dredger, St Giles, from Immingham on England’s east coast, to Rosyth, Scotland, in early February. It was a long way from the rigours of Endurance or the James Caird but after two years’ living life on the edge, Crean probably welcomed the comparative serenity.
In March, 1917, he was transferred to the auxiliary patrol ship, HMS Colleen at Queenstown, Cork, in his home country of Ireland for another relatively quiet time. His duties took him to the Bere Haven patrol base in Bantry Bay on Ireland’s southwest coast and, once again, his task was far from arduous.
While posted in Ireland, Crean was also awarded a further decoration. In February 1918, he was given a clasp to his Polar Medal. His next appointment, to the battle cruiser HMS Inflexible, took effect on 14 November 1918 – three days after the war ended. Crean’s war was a quiet one.
Not so lucky were some of his comrades from the Endurance expedition. Tim McCarthy, the popular fellow-Irishman who had helped sail the James Caird across the Southern Ocean, was killed at his gun in the Channel and Frank Wild’s brother Ernest, who had served so nobly in the Ross Sea Party, died from typhoid while on active duty in the Mediterranean. Alf Cheetham, a veteran of four Antarctic voyages and months under the boats on Elephant Island, was drowned when his minesweeper was torpedoed only a few weeks before the Armistice in 1918. Another five members of the expedition were wounded, some severely.
A month after the end of the war, in December 1918, Nell gave birth to their first child. They named her Mary. Soon after, on 14 March 1919, Crean was transferred to the 4,300-ton light cruiser, Fox.11 It would be his last meaningful naval appointment.
In April 1919, Crean was Boatswain on board Fox for a routine trip from Chatham to the strategic ports of Murmansk and Archangel in northern Russia where Britain and other Allies were still attempting to stop the advancing Bolsheviks. By coincidence Shackleton had been there a few months earlier on a British mission to prevent the Germans seizing control of Murmansk, which is highly valuable as the only port in Arctic Russia which remains ice-free throughout the year.
Fox left Chatham on 27 April and, after an uneventful short journey up England’s east coast, arrived at Rosyth late on 29 April.12 What happened next is not clear and important parts of Fox’s records have since been lost. But while Fox was berthed at Rosyth on 29 April 1919, the long and distinguished naval career of Tom Crean effectively came to an end.
While the ship was being anchored at Rosyth, Crean mysteriously suffered a bad fall and was severely injured. According to medical records, he tumbled down the cable hatch and struck his head above the left temple, opening a one and a half inch wound which needed three stitches. He also suffered heavy bruising to his legs, left arm and side. The fall was so severe that for a time he lost the movement of his left arm. The medical certificate does not divulge any further details of the injuries, but dryly records that Crean was ‘sober at the time’.13
The Fox continued her journey into Arctic waters, but Crean was never the same again. The wound to the head had damaged his vision, though the precise details of the injuries have been lost. Despite the impediment, he continued to serve with distinction and his conduct earned full praise from the wardroom. Crean left Fox on 31 October 1919, and his Captain said he was:
‘A capable and zealous warrant officer.’14
By the end of the year he had joined the 5,600-ton special torpedo depot ship, HMS Hecla, in the Nore Reserve. It was to be his last naval appointment.
The fall at Rosyth proved to have a more lasting effect than anyone could have anticipated, particularly for a toughened character like Crean who had suffered countless falls in the hostile terrain of Antarctica and had always come up smiling. A few months later Crean retired from the Royal Navy, declared medically unfit with ‘defective vision’.15 It was 24 March 1920, or less than four months short of completing 27 years’ service.
In the official record, his commanding officer on Hecla said Crean had conducted himself ‘to my entire satisfaction’. But, perhaps aware that he was writing for posterity, the officer added the fitting testimonial for a famous son of the sea:
‘An officer of great ability and reliability. He is in all respects thoroughly deserving of all considerations of the service to which he is a great loss through being invalided.’16
26
Tom the Pole
Tom Crean quickly put his naval career behind him and embarked on a new course of building a home and a family. Although this was unfamiliar territory to a man who had spent almost three decades roaming away from his homeland, he was reasonably well equipped for the new life.
Crean had left the navy with two pensions – a statutory retirement pension and a special disability pension resulting from his injury at Rosyth. In 1922, the disability pension alone had been increased to £72 a year, which today is worth the equivalent of £2,300.1 This would supplement any income he might generate from his proposed life in the pub trade.
Nor had he forgotten the £100 gift from the Terra Nova expedition for saving Evans’ life on the Barrier in 1912. It was a useful injection of money as he contemplated building a new life and in August 1920, just five months after retiring from the Royal Navy, he wrote to Scott’s widow, Kathleen, to thank her for the donation. He said:
‘I will never forget your kindness towards me, for the £100 I received from the Secretary of the Expedition. It is a great help indeed.’2
At around the same time, Crean took the crucial decision to retire from his life of exploration and adventure. While some explorers found it difficult to adapt to the routine of a quiet domestic life after returning from their travels, Crean was happy to hang up his snow boots. His roving days were over. Even the personal appeals of Shackleton, a character he respected more than anyone else, could not persuade him to go South again.
All the evidence suggests that his love for Nell and the attractions of a family and a more settled life in Anascaul outweighed even his passion for the South, once regarded as his adopted home. Crean was approaching his forty-third birthday when he left the navy. He was only three years younger than Shackleton, a restless soul who by now was planning another expedition. The legacy of Crean’s eye injury undoubtedly played a part in his decision, although it did not have a lasting effect on his life. Shortly after retirement, he told Kathleen Scott that his eyes were ‘going on all right’.3
More likely is that Nell, a strong-minded and determined character, was the major influence on his career change and the arrival of their three children added fresh responsibility. Mary, born in December 1918, was followed in 1920 by Katherine and Eileen in 1922.
Nonetheless the decision to retire from polar exploration was something of an about-turn for Crean. He had earlier set his heart on undertaking another journey, despite the rigours of many years with Scott and Shackleton. Even after the escapades on Endurance, Crean had not lost his appetite for adventure.
Soon after returning from the Endurance, Crean had given his friend, Captain Dodds at Bere Haven, the clearest possible indication that he was once again fully p
repared to set sail for the South. In a letter to Dodds, probably written around 1918, he wrote:
‘I have now fulfilled three expeditions but will look forward to a fourth.’4
But by 1920 he had changed his mind, despite a personal approach from Shackleton who was putting together a new polar expedition.
At around the time Crean was leaving the Royal Navy in March 1920, Shackleton was completing a dreary series of twice-daily lectures on the Endurance expedition to audiences at London’s Philharmonic Hall. A month earlier, in February 1920, Crean had attended the 100th performance and was doubtless briefed about Shackleton’s new ambitions.
Crean joined several other former Endurance hands – Wild, Worsley, James, Wordie, Hussey, and Orde-Lees – to relive the experience with Shackelton. Hussey played his banjo and newspapers reported that the men received ‘a very special reception’ from the audience.
The audience, who paid between 1s 3d (6p) and 8s 6d (42½2p) to see the explorers in the flesh, were invited to ask questions from the floor and Shackleton was taken aback when one man asked: ‘Was there not any use for a proper trained nurse?’ The innocent question must have struck a chord for men with painful memories of almost two years of sexual deprivation and Shackleton diplomatically pointed out that women had so far not taken part in Antarctic exploration.
The lecture season was purgatory for Shackleton and he longed for the real thing. Initially he had plans for a trip to the Arctic north. He later changed his mind and declared his intention to circumnavigate the Antarctic Continent in a special ice ship. He bought a ship, renamed her Quest and began recruiting his tried and trusted comrades from Endurance.
First he wanted his two most loyal lieutenants, Crean and Wild, to accompany him on his latest adventure. Shackleton was so convinced that Crean would agree that he submitted the Irishman’s name in a list given to the Admiralty in London of people prepared to join the expedition. The list included Wild, Worsley, Macklin and several others from Endurance.5
Shackleton told the Admiralty that he had picked a body of experienced men, who were ‘ready to go with me’. Crean was to be ‘In charge of boatwork’ and he gave the Admiralty a brief rundown on his long Antarctic career. Indeed, Shackleton was so enthusiastic that he mistakenly claimed that Crean had accompanied him South on the Nimrod expedition, during 1907–9, when he came to within 97 miles of the Pole.
But Tom Crean said no.
Crean, now a father and a prospective businessman, politely declined. His second daughter had arrived in 1920 and with a mixture of playful blarney and typical firmness, he told Shackleton that his wife and family now came first. Crean simply said:
‘I have a long-haired pal now.’6
Quest, without the reassuring and formidable presence of Crean, sailed southwards in September 1921, with old Endurance colleagues forming the backbone of the expedition. On board with Shackleton and the faithful Wild were the instantly recognisable names of Worsley, Macklin, McIlroy, Hussey, McLeod, Kerr and Green. Three months later, on 5 January 1922, Shackleton died of a heart attack while the Quest was moored at the familiar setting of Grytviken, South Georgia.
In the period of only ten years, Crean had prematurely lost the two men – Scott and Shackleton – who had been so influential in his own life. Their loss aroused different emotions in Crean. He respected Scott but understood his weaknesses. In contrast, he worshipped Shackleton.
Crean had now decided where his priorities lay. First there was the matter of a family. His second child Katherine was a weak, sickly youngster who needed much care and attention from her concerned parents. Even today generations of Creans insist that the child was another unfortunate victim of Ireland’s Troubles.
Nell was heavily pregnant with Kate when she became embroiled in an incident with the hated irregular soldiers of the Black and Tans. Nell, an independent and resolute woman, had attended a parade in honour of the martyr Thomas Ashe, who hailed from Kinard a few miles from Anascaul. It was a relative of Ashe who had left Anascaul with Crean in 1893.
Ashe, a prominent supporter of nationalist leader, Michael Collins, had died while imprisoned by the British and Collins turned his funeral into a great national demonstration against British rule. Ashe’s funeral was an important episode in generating mass support for popular rebellion and his continuing popularity had a particular resonance for the British.
The Black and Tans, who were feared for their ruthless brutality, retaliated by raiding Crean’s home in Anascaul to search for any evidence which might link the Crean family to Ireland’s armed struggle. All they found was a Union Jack, a souvenir of Tom Crean’s honourable 27 years’ service in the British navy.7
However, Nell always swore that the rough treatment and harassment she received that day was the cause of Kate’s subsequent sickness. The young child, who suffered from epilepsy, struggled through a short life.
In 1924, Tom and Nell found enough money to take her on a pilgrimage to the holy shrine of Lourdes, the small town in southwest France where in 1858 a vision of the Virgin Mary is reputed to have appeared to Bernadette, a peasant girl, in a grotto. Millions of Catholic pilgrims have since visited the grotto for the waters from an underground spring which, it is claimed, have miraculous powers of healing the sick and infirm. But shortly after returning from the pilgrimage to Lourdes in December 1924, Kate Crean died, aged four.
At around this time, Crean’s plans for his own business, a pub in Anascaul, were beginning to come to fruition. It was more than a decade since he had bought the old thatched building adjacent to a forge at the western end of the village, alongside the stone bridge which crosses the Anascaul River. He demolished much of the structure and in 1927 opened a new pub which was given a name synonymous with his adventurous past. He called his pub the ‘south Pole Inn’.
The pub was a favourite haunt of locals, partly because of Crean’s fame and partly because he and Nell were popular figures in the village. To the people of Anascaul they were affectionately known as ‘Tom the Pole’ and ‘Nell the Pole’.
Although the pub trade was his chosen profession after leaving the navy, Crean was not ideally suited to pulling pints and running a business. He enjoyed the profile but disliked bar work and Nell, who had been born and brought up in an Anascaul pub, soon assumed full control. She was a natural publican, while he was a traveller, a seaman at peace when on the move. As a result, the thriving business of the South Pole Inn was managed almost entirely by the resolute figure of Nell.
It was a good marriage. The two were well suited. Equally, the division of labour at the South Pole Inn worked well. Tom fully recognised that Nell was the brains behind the business and he respected her business acumen. While she ran the business, Tom could be found in the small snug bar chatting with his close friends or perched on the nearby stone bridge over the Anascaul River, smoking his familiar pipe and passing the time of day with his neighbours. Crean’s simple lifestyle rarely ventured beyond a glass of stout, a glance at the newspapers or a bit of gardening. In particular, he liked to stroll up to his old home, the farm at Gurtuchrane, where his two brothers still lived. The prodigious traveller rarely ventured any further.
Crean never lost his love for animals. Each day he went for a long walk accompanied by two dogs, which he named Fido and Toby after two of the pups he had reared on Endurance. One of the dogs was accidentally killed after slipping down a cliff on the daily walk and Crean, the man who had seen and endured so much in his life, broke down and wept for the dead animal.
Nell also had to come to terms with her husband’s past life, sometimes with unexpected results. On one occasion she encountered Tom in the kitchen cooking bacon, sausages and eggs for his pals. It was a Friday, the day when Catholics are traditionally forbidden to eat meat. Nell began to chastise her husband for his sins and Crean, with his customary robust mixture of bluntness and ready wit, shouted back:
‘If you had been where I had been on some Fridays, I’d have eaten a slice
off your arse.’8
At one stage he bought a large house in a Dublin suburb near the famous Croke Park sports stadium where he and Nell planned to spend their retirement. But the man who had spent so much time in vast open spaces disliked the clamour and bustle of big cities and after some further thought, he abandoned the idea of moving. The house was subsequently rented out before being sold off many years later.
He did, however, like to keep up with the comings and goings in the navy and each day he walked to the now-closed railway station at Anascaul for a chat with his close friend, Bob Knightly, and buy English newspapers as they arrived from Tralee. He particularly liked the Daily Mail because, said friends, it published a list of naval appointments and retirements and he could keep up with events and the progress of old friends. But that was as far as he allowed his old life to intrude on the new.
It was almost as though he had closed the book on his great days and adventures with Scott and Shackleton. He was, of course, rightly proud of his achievements and the massive contributions he had made to the three famous expeditions of the Heroic Age. But, surprisingly, he rarely spoke about his old life.
An Unsung Hero: Tom Crean - Antarctic Survivor Page 33