I had stowed away in a pocket, in readiness for a sunny day, a lens from one of the telescopes, but this was of no use during the voyage.

The sun seldom shone upon us.

The glass of the compass got broken one night, and we contrived to mend it with adhesive tape from the medicine-chest.

One of the memories that comes to me from those days is of Crean singing at the tiller.

He always sang while he was steering, and nobody ever discovered what the song was.