One hundred years ago yesterday since the world learned that Captain Scott and his companions had perished on their journey back from the South Pole. You can still catch this radio play based on letters between Scott and his artist wife Kathleen, who fell in love at first sight and started writing to each other almost straight away. She was at sea en route to meet him when the message came through that he was dead and had been for almost a year. Nor had he read any of the letters that Kathleen had written since they said their goodbyes; the first batch arrived after he set out for the Pole, the second not until after his death.

I seem to want so much from you. Is it unfair? I don't know amidst all the vague wants what it is I so greatly need but I think it must be a bit of your soul. Try to understand. I want someone to anchor to. Someone smart and sound and sure like yourself. Part of me is wanting this with heart and soul, part is bitterly critical and sceptical of the possible realisation of such a dream. So I sway, love you in interludes as you put it, but it is you hold the scales. Life's a tough thing, dear girl, and I reckless enough to make the worst of it ...

How much better it has been than lounging in too great comfort at home - but oh, what a price to pay to forfeit the sight of your dear face.