tealin | Our Daily Bill: Cherrylude (Reply)

A break from semi-biography today, for excerpts from the foreword Cherry-Garrard wrote for Wilson's biography in 1933. It's a beautiful piece of writing and a little heartbreaking; it's clear what a profound impression Bill left in his life and how fresh it still was twenty-one years after losing him.

In a post-war world where ideals have been smashed by the million and disillusion has won the temporary day, where men and nations live on jealousy and fear, it is almost impossible, though inexpressibly pleasant, to get back into that atmosphere where a number of men ... risked their lives and all that was dear to them for an ideal. (pg xx)

Cowardice is catching; that is why men are down on cowards: they are frightened of them. But courage is catching too. These men handed down their spirit unconsciously and with cheerful generosity. It was easy to be brave when Bill and Birdie were near; it would have been difficult to run away. (pg xv)

How far was his courage based upon his faith? After all, courage alone will not take you far in the Antarctic as we knew it in the old man-hauling days ... Courage, or ambition, or love of notoriety, may take you to the Antarctic, or any other uncomfortable place in the world, but it won’t take you far inside without being found out; it’s courage: and unselfishness: and helping one another: and sound condition: and willingness to put in every ounce you have: and clean living: and good temper: and tact: and good judgment: and faith. And the greatest of these is faith, especially a faith that what you are doing is of use. It’s the idea which carries men on. There, if I am not mistaken, you have Bill Wilson.

Not that we knew anything of his spritiual life. The man upon whom we threw our troubles and our worries, as well as our aches and pains, who was to us such a happy companion, never revealed to us the depths of religious feeling which is apparent in those letters and diaries of his which I have read. When we were going to die [on the Winter Journey] we sang hymns because they were easier to sing than La Boheme and it was a good thing to sing something. You must not think of Bill as a ‘religious’ man. It has come almost as a shock to some of us to learn ... that he held a service to himself up in the crow’s nest every week. But after reading some of these letters I begin to realize why Bill made no comment when, after years of preparation and months of racking toil, he reached the Pole only to find that the Norskies had been there first. (pg xiv)

I saw him impatient only once, when I tried to pull him up an ice cliff by an Alpine rope: the rope had bitten into the snow cornice so that for all my pulling it was slack below. All through the journey he was quite self-controlled, and although the strain upon his nerves must have been great, he appeared to be unmoved. As we approached Cape Evans and the hut that last night in pitch darkness, he and Birdie had quite an angry argument as to where Cape Evans was: that was because the strain was coming off. I remember that, because it was the only time. (pg xxiii)

When men who are truly great get into these messes they think more and more of others, and less and less of themselves. ... What these men did and what they wrote inspired the world. There was no trace of selfishness, no regret for themselves, no blame of others. There was, it shines through all we know and read, all human help for their companions, and thought for those who would be left. (pg xxx)

And Wilson was convinced he had more work to do, although down South we knew little of those deep feelings which are revealed in his letters and diaries and which were the foundations of his character. We saw then his serenity, his courage, and his sympathy. For of course that sympathy, which in a way is love, was at the bottom of the devotion he got from us all. Whatever was the matter you took your trouble to Bill and, immediately, he dropped what he was doing, gave you his complete attention, and all his help. If you were doing your best he would do his best for you: though maybe you could not reach his standard, he was immensely tolerant of your shortcomings: he treated you as an equal even if you were not so. In a way he who lies in the snow of the Barrier was like Mallory who lies on the snow of Mount Everest. But Mallory was burning with a kind of fire, an ardent impatient soul, winding himself up to a passion of effort the higher he got. Bill was not like that: he was calm, unchangeable, serene, plugging along with a certain neat smartness and with a ready smile. Indeed, he was a gallant kind of gentleman upon whom you could lean. And so men did lean upon him, and no doubt he loved them for it, and liked them to come again. It was a proof to himself (could we have doubted) that he was doing some good. (pg xvii)