Day 1
Pestilence has struck. The very week Endurance was to sail, Young Cecily awoke hot as a kettle. I, her loving father, could not depart frail Cecily in such a state. And Mrs. Shackleton is away at the suffragettes conference for the week, so old Shacky’s flying solo on this one.
Day 2
Young James and Edward have now too been claimed, and I am starting to feel a dreaded throat tickle. Mrs. Cooper, bless her, dropped by with jellied eels and swore to their restorative effects, saying something about how raw jellied eels had so many more benefits than pasteurized jellied eels. My trust in her is absolute.
Day 3
We are wrecked. The ulcers started on my hand, then a foot, then my mouth. Surely, there are no words to describe this abominable affliction. Walking is a chore, but still I must bring broth to the children, who now take sustenance—a hopeful sign, I pray. Stay strong, Shacky, your children need you. Humanity needs you.
Day 4
Faeces. Endless faeces. My bowels have never been such jelly. Whoever thought eating a bucket of eels fermented at room temperature in a widow’s cellar until they gelatinize could ever effect such an outcome. The cruelty of fate has no bounds.
Day 5
Hands bandaged, arse bedeviled, writing difficult. Yet, the children woke with a smile, seeming better, thanks be to God. Hope begets us.
Day 6
I write this from the safety of the garden shed. The children are crazed, rebounding with the pent-up energy of a week indoors. The six cups of tea might not have helped. Their capacity for destruction is amazing. James throws coal from the porch, Edward pees on the floor, and Cecily has been barking like a dog since dawn. Nothing can control them. I even tried singing the clean-up song. Persevere, Shacky, persevere. Tomorrow is a school day, and all shall be saved.
Day 7
Honestly, what kind of sadist schedules a PD day on a Monday? And communicating it by way of a notice on the schoolhouse door? Do they know how much effort it takes to ready and pack three exhausted, caffeine-withdrawn children into a carriage with these raw, bandaged hands? When we came home, I just wanted to crawl into the ditch and die, and I surely would have if it were not for all the jellied shite.
Day 8
Saved. We are saved. Like Lady Galadriel rescuing Gandalf from the dark fortress of Dol Guldur, or whatever, Mrs. Shackleton returned this morning. Her shock at our pitiful state was palpable; indeed, I overheard her say to Mrs. Cooper, “Jesus, I was only gone a week…” And what a week it was.
Day 9
Thanks be to God, I have boarded the Endurance and set sail. The first thing I did was sit in my cabin in complete silence for twenty minutes—utterly glorious. Then I engaged in adult conversation for a whole hour, not once having to threaten a timeout, stop someone from eating dirt, or remind myself to enjoy the time I have with my children now, because they will want nothing to do with me when they are teenagers. And not a single person barked like a dog, though Mr. Green did pee on the decking. At last, I am free, I mean, departed on this important journey, my mettle tested and my conviction secured. Surely, my fortunes have nowhere to go but up.
