Edited and Compiled by Matthew Jones

Nothing encapsulates the essence of London quite like the red double-decker Routemaster bus. Its iconic design, since its 1956 inception, has become as much a symbol of the capital as St Paul’s or Tower Bridge.

The design was revolutionary, drawing largely on the many innovative technological advances brought about by the development of aircraft during the Second World War. Boasting a lightweight, two-part sub frame assembly, independent front suspension, an automatic gearbox, power-hydraulic braking and power-steering, this truly modern machine was like nothing seen before in public transport. The Routemaster was specifically designed and constructed for service in the tough operating conditions of London and its suburbs. It served this vast area for nearly half a century and its utility and mechanical reliability made it a dependable workhorse for London Transport, leading to several refurbishments and life extensions before it was finally withdrawn from general service in 2005.

Cherished by the public and tourists alike, it is a genuine classic and many heritage examples remain in working order – indeed, you can still hop on a Routemaster on parts of London’s number 9 and 15 routes. This book is a delightful celebration of the Routemaster, using authentic material covering its exterior and interior design, technical aspects and operation, and illustrated with diagrams and line drawings throughout. There are sections on learning to be a bus driver (circa 1960), behind the scenes in a bus garage, reports and press releases on the first Routemasters, timetables and bus maps from 1956, instructions for drivers and conductors, and even a user’s guide to the Gibson bus ticket machine for all aspiring ‘clippies’.

As Mayor of London Boris Johnson’s ‘new’ Routemaster takes to the road it is a timely reminder of just how great the original was.

• Development, operation and service history of the original Routemaster bus
• Charming nostalgia feel in the highly successful Conway Pocket-Book series
• Technical specifications, original drawings, and engine diagrams

Matthew Jones has worked in the publishing industry for several years. When not researching at Colindale and Broadway he’s a keen open-water swimmer and consumer of fine contemporary literature and music.

Conway • 128 pages • 180 x 120mm • 30 line drawings and diagrams • £9.99 • Available March 8th 2012 • £9.99

Throughout the American Civil War, the Confederacy was hopelessly mismatched against the maritime, financial and industrial resources of the Northern States. Tennessee-born Horace Lawson Hunley, with two associates, sought a technological equalizer. Their third design was built in Mobile, Alabama and after an initial trial success was shipped by rail to Charleston, South Carolina (the scene of the longest combined arms siege of the entire conflict). Hunley was placed under Confederate Army command but the target was clear: the Union blockading fleet. In addition to the pilot, she was powered by seven men, cranking the propeller and ballast tanks by hand. Somehow the Confederate submarine proved both manageable and undetectable, though her armament consisted of a spar torpedo extended from the bow and she was surfaced when she finally touched the Housatonic.  The ensuing blast sank both ships; ironically, more men perished on board the brave attacker than the unsuspecting victim. As the Hunley never returned from her mission, faith in the new ‘wonder weapon’ collapsed and Charleston remained a doomed symbol of Southern defiance. On 8 August 2000, her wreck was salvaged and the remains of the crew were subjected to forensic analysis before burial with full military honours.

Howard Fuller

39.5ft x 3.8ft (12m x 1.2m) • 6.8 tons [D] • Hull iron • Armament 1 x spar torpedo • Complement 8 • Built Horace L. Hunley, Mobile, Alabama, USA, 1863

Taken from Ship, edited by Andrew Lambert.

‘There is something slightly immature about using a rugby match to air centuries-old grievances, and the Scots were at it again at Murrayfield as England ran out to be confronted by a group of torch-brandishing dervishes dressed in extra’s outfits from the set of Braveheart. Had it not been cold enough to reconfigure the nether regions of a brass monkey, they would probably have bent over – William Wallace style – to let the visitors know that a true Scot neither cares much for the English, nor wears much under his kilt.’

Martin Johnson, The Telegraph, 27 February 2006

This colloquial phrase, as employed rather inventively by England’s Rugby World Cup winning Captain in the quote above, is commonly used in the UK to describe extreme cold weather. According to much repeated orthodox naval tradition, a limited supply of four cannonballs was stored on ship next to each gun so as to be ready for immediate action. The balls were stacked up in pyramid fashion: a brass plate or tray (the monkey) incorporating three rings into which three balls were stacked, with the fourth ball sitting on the top. When, in extremely cold conditions, the brass contracted faster than the iron balls, the weight of the top ball would push the lower three off the plate sending them rolling across the deck. This was a very worrying prospect considering the amount of cannon carried by ships in the age of sail. For example at the Battle of Trafalgar HMS Victory, a first rate of 100 guns, carried thirty ‘32 pounders’ just on her main gun deck.

Other sources point to the brass cannon, nicknamed a ‘monkey’, of seventeenth century warships. Again, cold weather would make the brass contract faster than the iron cannonballs, thereby creating too much windage (the gap between ball and the cannon chamber) for the cannon to shoot. In this interpretation the phrase is worded to freeze the balls of a brass monkey rather than off a brass monkey.

Another further interpretation has Oriental entrepreneurs cashing in on the influx of western visitors in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by casting and selling small brass monkey souvenirs of the ‘Three Wise Monkeys’ at the Toshogu Shrine in Nikkō, Japan. Some included a fourth monkey which used his hands to cover his modesty. Moreover, the phrase ‘freeze the tail off a brass monkey’ seems to have originated in the United States during the 1850s and supports the theory of substandard oriental manufacturing practices at that time leading to problems with brass monkey souvenirs in inclement conditions.

January Stories

• 15 years a ‘Conway’ for Kom

• Mountain Heroes wins adventure book of the year in Germany

• Conway join the eBook revolution

• The Costa Concordia: ocean liner tragedies are nothing new

• Now on Facebook: join us on the official Conway page

In Search of the South Pole: The Life and Afterlife of Captain Scott

A talk by Dr Huw Lewis-Jones, historian of polar exploration

Initially lionised by the public as a figure of selfless heroism, chivalry and scientific endeavour, Scott’s reputation has altered many times since his death. This lecture will explore the highs and lows of his ‘afterlife’.

Date: Wednesday 15 February

Time: 15:00

Where: The Queen’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace, SW1A 1AA

Click here for more information and to book tickets

*

Approaching the South Pole is a time we will never forget. First I felt we were looking for a needle in a haystack, because a base in Antarctica is small. The first sign of being on the right track was the smoke from an LC-130 far away, taking off from the runway. We were three days away at that point. Then we started to see small buildings on the horizon. Because the station sits on somewhat sunken terrain, you have to get pretty close to see it. It was a wonderful day, the sun was reflecting in the snow and the manmade installations were beautiful from a distance…When we got closer, a guy from Switzerland was out taking photos and looked at us. Surrealistic. Some photos and greetings. We continued along the ‘roads’ on the station, quite bothered by the traffic lights to cross the runway. I remember looking at the buildings thinking, ‘This is ugly…’

 Closing in on the ceremony place and the South Pole, about twenty or thirty people were walking with us, asking all kinds of questions, many I don’t remember. I was in some kind of trance, happy. One girl, from the gift shop I believe, asked me why my sledge was still so full when we arrived. I answered, ‘Because we are going to McMurdo.’ Some guy behind me said, ‘Crazy Norwegians…’ People applauded as we closed in on the Pole. Rolf said to me, ‘Slow down Eirik, you are walking like crazy.’ My mind was another place, the South Pole was ours, and I wanted to be with my best friend when we touched the most southern point in the world. A lot of pictures and greetings. A girl came over and took my hand, ‘I’m Jensen, the station manager…’ When I looked at her face I swear it must have been the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. (Yeah, yeah…I hadn’t seen a girl for 13 months.) With all the wonderful people at the base I felt real warm for the first moment on the whole trip … seriously.

The unknown has always fascinated humankind. We are born curious… Close contact with nature is important for us to be able to understand our surroundings, both physical and psychological…For us, Antarctica has become a symbol for challenge and adventure; a continent which offers many of the most important things in human life; hard work, responsibility, sorrow and happiness… People are different, complex. It is not always easy to understand yours or others’ motivations for reaching a goal. Is it the goal in itself which appeals, or is it the long and demanding journey which leads you there? By exceeding our limitations we will find out –through good or bad– what it means to be a living being. …all development occurs through stretching our limits.

 Going on a ski trip in Antarctica must be the closest one can get to space travel on earth. Cold and lifeless in all directions, with only the tent and your clothes as thin shells between you and eternity. The only thing you know is to repeat your movements over and over, one ski in front of the other, one pole in front of the other. In addition, you have to steer a large kite in a lot of wind, with bad skis and zero visibility, through tall snow drifts, for hundreds of kilometers, week in and week out – all the while, your body is weakening and your mind is alone. A trip to the South Pole stimulates the senses in a way of which most people are unaware. Trivial things at home in the middle of civilization are blown away by the surroundings, where humans do not really belong.

Two beings, making their way through eternal wind, eternal snow, eternal cold. It can be called brain washing, in a positive way. Instead of feeling bloated and lazy, you are hungry and sharp. You are balanced between things which strengthen and weaken you. But you have to stay focused. If you sprain an ankle at the pole, the Red Cross will not come to the rescue. The South Pole can eat you alive.

*

Without hesitation I said YES. It was 1955. I was studying glaciers and glacial geology at the University of Stockholm under the famous explorer Valter Schytt having worked as his field assistant in Greenland during the previous summer. I received a letter from Bert Crary in Washington asking if I would like to be one of the glaciologists in the US Antarctic programme for the International Geophysical Year. 

To me the South Pole means the heart of the continent. If I had to sum it up in just a few words, it would be high, cold, isolated, a goal. More prosaically perhaps, I’d say longitudinal nexus. Yet, it’s a meeting point both in the geographical sense and one that lingers in the mind. My first experience in Antarctica was the spectacular view of the northern part of the Transantarctic Mountains and the sharp peak of Mt. Herschel as our icebreaker Northwind approached Cape Hallett. It certainly was a fine way to be introduced to this alluring, challenging place.    

Wintering at Wilkes Station in the IGY was a life-changing experience. There were seventeen Navy support personnel and ten civilian scientists. I was the Chief Glaciologist and had two great assistants, Olav Loken, who I had worked with in Norway in 1953, and John Molholm, who I worked with in Greenland in 1954. The station had a dual leadership with Don Burnett in charge of the Navy and Carl Eklund head of the civilian group. Overall station management was jointly handled by Don and Carl. The station was probably the most efficiently run of any of 1957 and we were very proud of our work there. Whenever we used the ham radio, KC4USK, we always stated: ‘This is Wilkes Station, the best station in Antarctica’. After a while Carl received an official message from Paul Siple, leader of the South Pole Station, that the Wilkes personnel were saying negative things about Pole Station. This was not the case – all we were doing was saying we were the best.

 The overwintering was certainly was more difficult for the Navy personnel than for the scientists. The Navy guys had the same duties to fulfill each day, such as maintaining the generators and filling fuel tanks while the scientists’ work became more interesting as time went on, as their data began to show patterns and trends. My own work was able to determine the thermal conductivity and diffusivity of ice as the cold wave moved through the ice; the rate of movement of the Vanderford Glacier, 2.1 metres per day; and the snow accumulation rate of 13.3 grams per square centimeter per year for the last 174 years in a 35 metre-deep pit. 

Sputnik when up in 1957 during my time at Wilkes Station. Our aurora guy was Ralph Glasgal a brilliant young man and he recorded the signals from Sputnik and he played them for us. In mid-winter the Navy meteorologists decided to pull Ralph’s leg so they tied a flashlight to one of the weather balloons and sent it aloft. They came running in to tell Ralph that they could see Sputnik. Ralph ran outside and sure enough there it was – but it only took Ralph a few seconds to say ‘Yes! But it is going the wrong way’. Only Ralph would have known that.    

I heard that my son Andy had been born on 11 March 1957.  It so happens that was the same day that Admiral Byrd died. Some years later Andy was in touch with Admiral Byrd’s daughter. The next year she called him on 11 March to wish him a happy birthday. Looking back now, my most memorable moment in Antarctica was when, as the National Science Foundation Representative at South Pole Station for the crew exchange, I arrived on 1 November 1979 (at minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit) and was able to stand AT THE POLE with my son Andy who was just completing his winter-over as the Supply Man for the station.

The South Pole Station is an outpost of science and diplomacy which people from all nations are interested in visiting. Beginning in the IGY as a science station, and one that stands out as a marvel of early logistics on the continent, it has grown in over the years into a major science complex doing groundbreaking (or rather, icebreaking) research in Solar Astronomy and Particle Physics. ‘Project Ice Cube’ for example is looking for neutrinos. The early days of the Station were ones where the few people, maybe twenty or so, considered themselves the most isolated people on the planet, but today with a station capacity over two hundred in the summer months and with immediate contact with the outer world via the internet, it is no longer isolated and is just another research station. The immense cost to maintain and run the station cripples the research budget that could be spent elsewhere. Antarctica is so large and there is still a need to study more areas than is presently possible. Without the Station, the South Pole itself is just an invisible, geographical point that draws dreamers and schemers; a prize to be won.

I have huge respect for those explorers of the past, particularly those whose names the new Station bears. Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. Always compared, forever linked from history to the present. Captain Scott was driven to seek the Pole. Although he made numerous errors in judgement, his trek to the Pole and back to near One Ton Depot is too easily dismissed off hand. To have travelled that far man-hauling and under such severe weather conditions was a major accomplishment. This fact doesn’t change. It was the dedication of Scott, Wilson, Bowers, Oates, and Evans to God, country, and each other that allowed them to make this amazing journey. I have always thought that the minute that Scott saw Amundsen’s black flag on the polar plateau, and knew he would not have priority in reaching the Pole, he would never make it back. The failure was crushing; it made that return journey next to impossible.

Amundsen was brilliant but also a bull in a china shop. A typical Norwegian, strong, self confident, focused. The story comes to mind of a group of world scientists that gathered and decided to determine which country produced the best scientists. They decided that they would meet in one year after each of them had prepared a book on elephants. When they met they presented their work. The French book was The Sex Life of the Elephant. The Germans brought forth a detailed two-volume Introduction to the Study of Elephants. The Americans offered a glossily-produced and marketable How to Grow Bigger and Better Elephants. And finally came the Norwegian’s book, an impressive enough study entitled Norway and We Norwegians.

During our Queen Maud Land Traverse of 1964-65, from the South Pole to the Pole of Relative Inaccessibility, we travelled where no one had been before. Yet, coming toward the end of my life, I still consider myself an explorer of a world already known. The recent adventurers who want to recreate the feats of the explorers of the past actually lack imagination. It has been done so why try and do the same thing. It’s never the same, not least as they can’t possibly use the same equipment as the old chaps, or honestly travel true to the ways of the past, so why bother, why try to claim to have done so? Why not dare something completely new instead of following old tracks? While at the NSF we were opposed to such ‘holiday expeditions’ as we would need to put our personnel at real risk to rescue them if help were needed. And frequently it was. 

Although we Americans are not so well versed in geography, people at least know that the South Pole is part of the world where peace reigns supreme. It is a place for science and international cooperation. It is one place where mankind is acting properly, and it must give us hope for the future. The Antarctic Treaty is in this sense the most important treaty that the world has ever known. For a major part of the land (and ice) surface of the Earth to be set aside for science and international cooperation is a fitting monument to the good in the world. There is a saying, ‘the bad things in the world make so much noise we do not hear the silent working of the good’. Here is the working of the good and if only this Treaty could be extended northward from its present limit of 60 degrees South, 5 degrees North each year until it covered the whole Earth, that truly would be wonderful. Some things, sadly, will always remain dreams.  

*

Why walk to the South Pole when you can fly? People sometimes ask me that. The answer is simple. Because we are all born explorers. You, me and everyone else. When I look at my three daughters, they are wondering what’s hidden behind the next hill, and they started  climbing on chairs, stairs and the likes  before they learned how to walk. Antarctica is already an important place for them; a white area on the globe where they can leave their dreams, an almost untouched continent they can create as they like in their minds. I believe everybody needs such a continent, even if they never visit it. That is why Antarctica is so important and should be protected. My challenge as a father is to make sure that my daughters do not stop wondering about what lies beyond their horizon. Because to be an explorer is not something you become, it is something you are when you are born. It is in your DNA. Nobody begins  to climb, or to dream about almost untouched continents, it is a natural state of mind. But if you are not very careful in your daily life, you will lose this state of mind early on. Years of school, parent’s expectations and society’s various demands slowly grinds your original spirit down  and eventually, you  start to behave in a civilized manner .

Adam and Eve left paradise because it was dull. They had to choose between the ultimate happy life in perfect circumstances on the one side, or the  pursuit of knowledge,  challenges that  would  bring, not only  happiness, but also unhappiness on the way. They were the first two explorers of history. ‘In paradise all dreams are made real. Everything is perfect – too perfect’, a friend of mine commented. And my guess is that this is also one of the reasons as to why so many people dream about leaving the perfect life and head south to the windiest, driest, coldest, sunniest and highest continent on earth. 

The most common question put to an explorer is:  ‘Why?’.  Why prefer to wake up to minus 54c on the pack ice towards the North Pole, why ski to the South Pole in total solitude, or why not rather climb a mountain next to Mount Everest? ‘Because it’s there’ is obviously the preferred reply and it is a good one because it suggests that there is actually very little we have to do in life. I believe most people primarily travel to Antarctica for everything that is not there, and to a lesser degree for what’s there. The lack of heat and other people, few disturbances, little shelter from the weather, hardly any safety nets if something were to go wrong. The minimalistic environment becomes a part of the enriched feeling of using your potential, being present in your own life, reaching for something which is beyond yourself and eventually to feel happy. If most people could do it, then you would have to find somewhere else to travel to. And Mallory’s reply is more honest than to common reason’s told by people skiing to the South Pole today: to raise  money for charity and scientific research, peace, to celebrate old heroes like Scott and Amundsen, to  protect  the environment or vulnerable cultures, and a love for the natural world. It may all be true, however, explorers tend to forget their other reasons: egocentricity, a need for attention and recognition, revenge, nationalism and money. I admit to at least four of these. No nationalism, and for many years, I did lose money.

I sailed to Antarctica on a sailboat from Bermuda in 1987. Antarctica became a love affair. As soon as the idea of becoming the first human to ski to the South Pole alone manifested itself some years later, I made the decision to  do it, and stopped thinking about anything else. It is an absurd thing to do, but love makes you blind. I fell in love with the idea of skiing into a white nothingness, with everything I would need for an entire expedition on my sledge, and, as I wrote in my diary, to be able to feel that Past and future are of no interest. I am living more and more in the present. When you begin, the sun’s orbit is tilted; it is arched higher in the southern sky, and lower in the northern sky. The tilt of the sun’s arc becomes less and less pronounced as you walk south in the midnight sun, the trip is one long day, and when you eventually get there, the sun has the same altitude above the horizon for twenty-four hours.  Antarctica has more hours of sun than Southern California and less precipitation than Western Sahara. A desert made of water. On day 14 I wrote: ‘I can hear and luxuriate in the stillness here. It feels good to be alone in the world’. Seven days later I pencilled: ‘At the beginning, everything appeared white and the beauty lay in the endless uniformity’. Since then, my senses have developed and my experience of nuances in nature has become ever greater. Flat can also be beautiful. When I began, everything was white all the way out to the horizon, but as the weeks passed by I began to see more colours; variations of white, some blue, red, green and yellow.  I developed a dialogue with the environment, threw some thoughts into nature, and got new ideas back. I read books that had the maximum number of words and ideas per gram of book weight. And I started to take pleasures from small things, or, as I mentioned in my diary Day 22: ‘At home, I only seem to appreciate ‘big bites’. Being down here teaches me to value small pleasures – a nuance in the colour of the snow, the wind as it lays itself to rest, a warm drink, the patterns of the cloud formations. The stillness’. My travel across a part of Antarctica became more of a travel into myself, than to the pole itself.

‘Many people will be jealous, but very few would have been in my place’, I thought on one of the last days. After 50 days and nights with no radio contact I reached my goal and on day 49 the diary says: ‘Just after midnight. 25 kilometres from the South Pole. It is so beautiful that I get a lump in my throat. I’ve felt lonelier at large parties and in big cities than I do here’.

A feeling and experiences you will never have in paradise or by flying to your goals, because you have to suffer on the way to make your love affair worthwhile. I believe everyone should find their own south poles