Letter to Sir Ernest Shackleton Dear Sir Ernest,
Having seen your advert, I feel inspired to be a part of your Antarctic expedition. As a lover of adventure, and with my qualifications, I can assure you that I will be an asset to you and the crew. I have a degree in engineering from Oxford and I am very skilful at mapping too. I have worked as a Naval officer but since the challenges were lacking in difficulty I soon got bored and requested to be relieved from duty. I deliberately did not marry as I wanted no burden of family or children. I always wanted to be an explorer but never knew how to go about it, until I saw your advert. My strength is reflected in my rowing, and I was in the Oxford team in the year we beat Cambridge. In addition I have read many inspirational articles about you which have given me immense inspiration in helping you achieve your dream. It goes without saying that I love to take on challenges as they give me a moral boost and enhance my confidence. My ancestors were also explorers but they could not take it to another level as they joined the Navy and took on the responsibility to earn for their families. I think they would be happy too and will shower me with their blessings when they see me fulfilling their dreams. I am excited to start my new life on the sea, I would love every second of the 1800 miles which we would travel across the Antarctic continent. I would happily serve under yours and Captain Mackintosh’s command, as long as I get to fulfil my ambition and desire to explore the world under your flagship. I can be of help and support to the group with my experiences as a naval officer. I hope to hear from you soon and look forward to being able to serve with you. Yours sincerely, Shreesh Shreesh Mehrotra, 5W
The Dormitories are Dark Dungeons with No Light….. Approaching the workhouse, the first thing you notice is the enormously tall, looming buildings standing ominously in the distance. As you come closer you catch sight of the twisted iron bars blocking any possible view. The massive brick walls tower gloomily in the darkness like evil sentries guarding their prisoners. Hopeless people slouch against the spiky iron railings, their hands cupped begging desperately for food. When the deafening ring breaks the silence, a porter emerges from the darkness of the workhouse and drags open the gate which creates a high pitched shrill as the wrought irons scrapes over the cracked cobblestones. Inside the main door a long, damp, dark corridor leads to an echoing hall filled with hundreds of boys all dressed in identical rags, their hair short and spiky. A faint smell of watery broth fills the room. They sit on benches eating in absolute silence. You can faintly taste the dampness of the air wafting to the back of your throat. The dormitories are dark dungeons with no light. The boys sleep under scratchy blankets in their cramped wooden boxes... claustrophobic at best. The only light comes from the old woman’s candle as she prowls up and down the room. The workhouse is a human with no heart. Dominic Doepel, 5M
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