Atomic Thunder

by Elizabeth Tynan

  RADSUR established a colour-code system that helped to map contamination. The Pearce Report used this system to explain the state of each part of the site. Yellow areas had the highest contamination – above 400 kilobecquerels (10 microcuries) per square metre – while red areas had between 40 and 400 kilobecquerels per square metre. Everything else was white. During RADSUR, the Taranaki site was sampled, as it was known to contain the most contamination. The Pearce Report later outlined this part of the operation:

  The samples were in the form of a core approximately 16 cm deep by 7 cm diameter obtained by driving a tube into the ground. The sample was divided into layers 4 cm deep and the plutonium content determined by the scintillation counting method which was used for the measurement of surface soil samples. At some sampling points the rock substratum was near to the surface of this ground and prevented the sampling tool from being driven in to its full depth. This resulted in fewer soil samples in the lower layers.

  Some of the samples were taken to Aldermaston for analysis, while others were analysed on site. Ernest Titterton had travelled to Aldermaston in June 1966 to confer with Pearce, and between them they had apparently agreed to keep the sampling to a minimum. That Pearce and the AWRE wanted this done as quickly and efficiently as possible is clear from the correspondence between Pearce and the AWTSC in the lead-up to RADSUR. Moroney had been offering his suggestions about what needed to be done. In a letter to Moroney in August 1966, Pearce said that he agreed with Titterton, who, he felt, wanted to keep sampling to the minimum necessary. Pearce also told Moroney he wanted to minimise the personnel involved and suggested that CSIRO not take part, although it had offered to help.

  Pearce’s letter to Moroney prompted the latter to write an annoyed letter to Titterton, reacting to the suggestion that he was being over-zealous. Moroney said:

  From Noah’s letter and from your one comment to me when you came back, I get the impression that both of you are somewhat fearful that I am wanting to grow the sampling into a major and disproportionate effort. Noah recalls his conversation with you at Aldermaston and writes of ‘not letting the soil sampling get out of hand and tailoring it to the minimum necessary to establish the conditions obtaining at the various sites’. This is a pretty strong comment, and I certainly didn’t regard the suggestions I have made as being extravagant and warranting such a reaction.

  Titterton replied more or less endorsing a quick sampling regime, while blaming Pearce for any misunderstanding:

  Noah’s interpretation of his discussion with me in June in England has been translated in a very free fashion. I certainly am not enthusiastic to have groups of CSIRO, AAEC [Australian Atomic Energy Commission] or anyone else charging around the site. Nor am I enthusiastic for you, plus supporting staff, to spend a lot of time on the job … As we discussed in the past, our policy should be to get sufficient information for our purposes but not to make a big project of it.

  Moroney was not as dismissive of these issues as his boss. In a letter to Bill Gibbs, director of the Bureau of Meteorology, he said:

  There may be several points of principle wrapped up in all of this. The first is that we must be sure that we are getting all of the information we believe to be necessary for taking the decisions and to provide the essential data for the archives in the future. The second point is really a question of whether we should become directly involved ourselves in the clean-up operations; I can see that if one of us is actually there doing some work whilst the AWRE team is also on site, we will obtain direct confirmation of what we already believe, namely, that they will carry out the operation very thoroughly indeed. However, it may be worthwhile doing this simply because of the finality of the whole procedure.

  Was there a hint of irony in this comment? There may have been, although it was a couple of decades before Moroney accepted that the operation was not carried out ‘very thoroughly indeed’.

  Apart from sampling, other forms of measurement were undertaken. For example, RADSUR deployed an x-ray device. The monitor had a strap that the user slung over his shoulder and a jig to standardise the distance it was held above the ground. The user would stand still every 90 metres and wait for the needle on the meter of the instrument to arrive at a steady value. Once it stopped, this number would be recorded as counts per second. The grid was coarse since it would take too long, even with this over-shoulder device, to sample more frequently. Later events proved this was unfortunate since it missed much contamination.

  For all its up-to-date measuring equipment, RADSUR did not capture the right information because its field data gathering was not properly thought through. Moroney came to the view that Operation Brumby was based on RADSUR data that were ‘so poor as to be useless’. Nevertheless, RADSUR formed the basis of Operation Brumby, which was intended to put the atomic test sites to rights.

  Emu Field also underwent a cursory clean-up as part of Operation Brumby. The Totem bombs at Emu had produced local fallout, and, in addition, the Kittens initiator tests had left behind beryllium and polonium. The grey metal beryllium is chemically toxic, though not radioactive. It should have been removed from Kittens test sites at both Emu and Maralinga. It was not. By the time of the clean-up, the polonium, which is radioactive, had decayed. When the ARL team visited in 1984, radiation levels from both Totem and Kittens had dropped, but Emu was still unsuited for continuous occupancy and will be until about 2025.

  The Pearce Report documented, quite briefly, the actions taken to survey and remediate the many sites of bomb tests. The 51-page report had numerous diagrams showing schematically what was done at each site. At Emu, the Totem 1 and 2 sites were hand-scavenged to remove metal debris and the larger pieces of glazing. An area of approximately 130 metres radius was graded and disc-ploughed at each site. All of the fences and signs put up during Hercules 5 were removed in an effort to return the site to its pre-test appearance – to spirit away the British presence.

  At the various Maralinga sites, much the same process was undertaken. Most of the fences and warning signs were removed, debris and glazing were removed by hand, and there was much ploughing and grading. In addition, soil was brought in to cover ground zero to a depth of a few centimetres. At Marcoo, where the ground-detonated bomb had made a crater, about 1.5 metres of earth was dumped and levelled, to even it out. Two new waste burial pits were dug into the limestone, making a total of 21. All the burial pits at Taranaki were capped with reinforced concrete.

  The minor trial sites at TM100, TM101, Wewak and Taranaki were either yellow or red areas. They were ploughed and covered with topsoil. The fences and signs around the Taranaki pits were left and the concrete covering the pits had ‘RADIO ACTIVE MATERIAL BURIED HERE’ imprinted onto it. Some of the contaminated soil from Wewak found its way to the Marcoo crater as fill. Several pits at TM101 were capped with concrete, like the Taranaki pits, and fences and warning signs were erected.

  The Pearce Report made clear assertions about the safety of the site:

  At One Tree, which has the highest doserate, a member of the public could, in 1967, stand up to four days a year continuously at ground zero without exceeding the dose limit recommended by ICRP [International Commission on Radiological Protection] … At the present time, even a permanent inhabitant of the Range, free to move about at will, would not be exposed to a significant radiation hazard unless he chose to spend most of his time at or near a ground zero. This eventuality is most improbable now and the likelihood of its occurring in the future should be considered in light of the above comments on the decaying gamma doserates.

  Pearce identified Taranaki, TM100 and TM101 as the worst parts of the site. ‘Following the treatment given during Operation BRUMBY the only sites where the level of radioactivity warrants further consideration are Taranaki and TM100–101. At all the other sites the contamination is well below the recommended permissible levels.’ Later, Pearce admitted to the Royal Commission, ‘I concede that it would have been useful, with hindsight, to have ex
amined those very high readings more closely’. Instead of increasing the measurements in the vicinity of the high-plutonium areas, Pearce and his team simply stuck to the same system used across almost the entire range, taking a measurement every 90 metres (although, anomalously, TM101 was surveyed every 9 metres). As Geoff Williams and the other members of the ARL team discovered in 1984, an awful lot of plutonium slipped through that large-gauge net.

  The Pearce Report claimed that about 20 kilograms of the 22 kilograms of plutonium had been buried, thus rendering it less dangerous. In fact, an estimated 20 kilograms was later found scattered around the site, in the form of particles of various sizes dispersed locally and fine dust spread over a very large area of outback Australia. Moroney believed that the inadequacies and gross inconsistencies of the plutonium field data used for Operation Brumby were not simple mistakes. He later discovered, as discussed in chapter 11, that the AWRE knew of the errors involved. These errors resulted in considerable confusion and misinformation about plutonium contamination at Maralinga for many years, despite Moroney’s vigorous efforts immediately at the conclusion of Vixen B.

  Pearce never publicly admitted any flaws, and his Royal Commission statement claimed, ‘I would say that Operation Brumby was a successful exercise, meeting in all respects the detailed requirements of the [AWTSC] who were kept fully informed throughout the preparation and implementation of the proposals, and who were satisfied with the results at the time’. His statements were challenged at the Royal Commission when it sat in London in March 1985, and Pearce spent two uncomfortable days being questioned by Counsel Assisting Peter McClellan. His frequent tussles with McClellan, and his protests that he could not remember any details, added to a sense that his was not a firm hand on the clean-up tiller.

  The tone of the interaction between McClellan and Pearce was often testy and strained. Pearce was taxed on the tricky convolutions that the AWRE nuclear elite engaged in to slip Vixen B under the radar of the nuclear weapons test moratorium and was also asked about the ineffectual clean-ups. He was questioned repeatedly about whether he or others involved gave a thought to the way the site might be used by people in the future, and whether cost drove decision-making. He said, ‘My understanding is that at the end of Brumby we had satisfied the requirements of the Safety Committee and could declare that the range had been controlled’. He stuck to this line throughout his evidence to the Royal Commission, even though the story had already started unravelling. To the end, even with the evidence piling up in front of him, Pearce maintained that he had left the site in a safe condition and that anyone visiting the site would not be harmed. Would he allow his children to eat a rabbit caught on the range? He would eat one himself, he replied.

  In March 1967, George Owen arrives at Maralinga straight from his posting in West Germany. He will turn 26 the following month, a long way from home. He is a plant operator in the British Royal Engineers and able to manoeuvre heavy machinery. He volunteered to come to Maralinga because he was bored and fed up with his service in Cold War West Germany and was looking for an adventure. Perhaps he will find more than he expects.

  Owen’s first job is to get the trucks and earth-moving equipment working. Not much has happened at the site since the last Vixen B test four years previously. Desert conditions and disuse are hard on the gear, and it takes a good two weeks to get the vehicles fit for service. Once everything is moving again, the heavy work begins. Owen operates the Scoopmobile, a front-end loader with a big bucket scoop used to load contaminated Maralinga soil into tip trucks to be carted up to the Taranaki site, where bulldozers will spread it around the blighted test range. The Scoopmobile itself is not allowed to operate in the contaminated areas, because the vehicle will be sold later, and it can’t have any radioactivity. The days are unbearably hot for someone from the cold climes of the northern hemisphere.

  Owen is part of a crew of 100 men that loads about 76 000 cubic metres of soil each month. They work 12-hour shifts and he knows the work is urgent. The men work at Taranaki, not knowing that the ground is liberally dotted with plutonium-contaminated fragments. No-one says any such thing to him at the time.

  The English ‘health visitor’ Mr Edward Edwards tests material at the site for contamination. Edwards, a friendly and humorous man, calls the lads together when he arrives to give them a lecture. He recounts the difficulties he had back home on the docks in England. To convince sceptical dockers that the low-grade radioactive waste that they had been asked to handle was safe, he had picked up a piece of it and licked it. The Maralinga crew laugh heartily. They can relate to this sort of frontier bravado.

  With casual animal cruelty, bored truck drivers mow down sluggish kangaroos that come to Maralinga in the early morning to find moisture, a vision of carnage that will live with Owen for decades. He is especially upset to see joeys run over. Owen also notices that the numerous rabbits in the area are often deformed and have bulging eyes.

  After operating the Scoopmobile for a while, Owen shifts up to the contaminated zone at One Tree to do some bulldozing. One Tree is the site of the first major Buffalo test, and there is quite a bit of glazing there. Owen is among the team that performs an emu parade, walking along and picking up the glazed pieces by hand. The health visitor, Edwards, says that the glazing is emitting a little gamma radiation.

  At Taranaki Owen operates a bulldozer and also helps to remove the metal bunkers built of steel 2.5 centimetres thick. Later he helps place concrete caps over the pits where much detritus is buried. One of the pits even contains a Canberra aircraft, although this was buried before Owen arrived so he missed the Herculean effort involved in getting the aircraft into the pit.

  It’s way too hot even for normal clothing, let alone protective gear. Owen discards his long gloves, even though he is picking up glazing known to be emitting gamma rays. He finds his respirator and hat too uncomfortable, so they come off too. The temperature tops 49 degrees Celsius, and sweat pours into the respirator. He can’t see and his eyes sting.

  At the start he is issued with a minicom – cotton one-piece underwear meant to absorb perspiration. In the early stages of his service he wears a double nylon coverall over the top. The blue film badge he dutifully wears is sent away every month, but he never hears what it says about his exposure to radiation. By the time he gets to One Tree and Taranaki, he wears only shorts, army boots and a white cap. It is the only way to cope with the temperatures.

  Every day when he breaks for lunch he wanders over to the mess caravan, operated by Australian civilians, known by the men on site as Queen Mary. Queen Mary herself will later be buried in a pit along with other contaminated vehicles. Owen places his hands inside a hand monitor that is designed to bleep if it detects radiation. It detects radiation nearly every time. He scrubs to remove the traces, but even he – with no prior experience of radioactivity – knows that it is a waste of time since he stays in the same clothing.

  Burned out cars, trucks, scrap metal and all sorts of waste including contaminated soil are pushed into the capacious pits at Taranaki, to be covered with sandy soil and concrete. Owen can see the shallow layer of soil placed over the contaminated material is nearly useless. The wind picks it up and swirls it around like whirlwinds he has seen in American movies, 120 metres high and a metre across. Willy willies.

  After five months working on Operation Brumby at Maralinga, Owen is discharged from the British Army. Soon after that he notices strange growths on his hands.

  In June 1967, the Australian health physics representative JF Richardson visited Maralinga to see how Operation Brumby was going. His brief and remarkably undetailed report was presented to the AWTSC on 17 July. Brumby was still in operation during his visit, so he paid most attention to the visible state of the range, the progress to date and any unexpected problems. He was told during his visit that 633 samples had been collected, including 500 from Taranaki, suggesting that Taranaki was the most problematic site. Despite this, Richardson said of Taranaki,
‘A low background [radiation] exists due to induced activity in the soil but no radiological hazard arises for this source’. He witnessed the 30-centimetre slabs covering the pits at Taranaki – ‘well-cured concrete resting on the surrounding limestone’, each carrying a sign warning of the radiation hazard. He also acknowledged the collection of a large quantity of cobalt-60 beads from the failed cobalt experiment at Tadje. The beads were placed into large lead pots and buried near the airfield cemetery. Richardson’s report was among the last formal requirements before the departure of the British from the site. Everything seemed to be in order.

  Just as no-one associated with the atomic tests could possibly imagine the specific conditions of the Maralinga lands 24 000 years before them, imagining that far into the future (when only half the radioactivity of the plutonium-239 will have died away) is impossible. McClellan tried to get Pearce to imagine this, but it was a doomed exercise. Whatever use the land will be put to, whatever climatic and geological changes will occur, no-one can predict. As the heavy undertone of the exchanges between McClellan and Pearce attested, leaving the land contaminated was expedient, not prudent. It was not based upon any depth of understanding about the future, or who could be harmed by the radiation now part of the soil and the dust. Geoff Eames, counsel for the Aboriginal people at the Royal Commission, put to Pearce a hypothetical scenario about sprinkling the grounds of Blenheim Palace in England with plutonium in the same concentrations found at Maralinga. Pearce said in this case he would not have recommended the plutonium be ploughed into the earth. It would not be okay at Blenheim, he said, because many more people would be in contact with the soil than at Maralinga. It was essentially a numbers game. And in any case, he said, it was up to the Australians to determine the future use of the range. That was not a matter of concern to the AWRE.