by John Parker
Dave, anxious to see Tony, phoned Brenda, not for the first time, to remind her that it was urgent. Brenda assured him that she had not forgotten but, as Dr Honey had just returned from his holiday, Dr Richards would be with him for some time in order to brief him upon developments over the past three weeks. Tony had been covering for Sweety during his absence. She would let David know as soon as Dr Richards was available. Dave was irritated. He couldn’t appreciate that the vital importance which he attached to the recent developments in the disc cracking investigation, wasn’t shared by everyone else. His lack of perspective led him to believe that, whilst he sat around cooling his heels, Tony and Sweety were chatting pleasantly over coffee, as they browsed through holiday snaps. His mood did not improve an hour later when Brenda called to say that Tony would not be available that day.
It was the following morning before Dave reported on the adverse reaction that his draft report had received. Tony was taken aback, more by Dave’s sensitivity and perhaps over reaction to criticism, than to the fact that the Slough people had made adverse comments. However, he attempted to soothe Dave’s feelings. He thought that, whatever the outcome, it was a good piece of work and he was sure that Sweety agreed.
He continued by cleverly manoeuvring the discussion, so that Dave became calmer and accepted that, given the surprising nature of his results, it was only natural that confirmatory tests were necessary before publication. Tony suggested that it would be better for Dave to look at the situation objectively and resist the urge to assume that the Central Research Lab folks were his rivals. He had confidence in the results and was sure that their corroboration would be forthcoming, at which time Dave and his colleagues would reap the reward for which they hoped.
He asked if Dave had received any indication from Corrosion Review regarding publication times and learned that it would take about six months from the paper submission date before it would appear in print. Dave became more agitated and he reminded his Section Head that, if his results were confirmed, there would be an urgent safety issue to be addressed. Many turbines around the world were in danger of catastrophic failure, with possibly fatal consequences. The longer it took to get his results in print, the greater this risk.
Tony remained calm and pointed out that a balance had to be struck between acting on the information in a timely way, whilst avoiding unnecessary panic. It was on this note that Tony felt that the discussion should be left. Dave rose to leave but then recalled an additional point relating to external reporting. Although publication of a full scientific paper would take several months, he had been advised that it was possible to present significant information more speedily, as a technical note summarising the main points. Certain publications offered this facility and it seemed, that International Power Digest was such a journal. They prided themselves upon rapid dissemination of information and it was feasible to be in print within a month. He hoped that he could count upon Tony’s support to do this, as soon as confirmation of his results was obtained.
Dave returned to his office and slumped into his seat. He felt nauseous. He had been on something of an emotional roller coaster since joining the SSA. It had started with anticipation and keenness, which was natural; from the first moment he felt that this was to be a springboard for his career. Excitement had followed with his involvement in this major project, which had attracted national newspaper coverage and then, to top it all off, his surprising and significant results. Surely this was the final piece. It was this gradual increasing level of expectancy that had made the criticism that he’d received from the Central Research Labs and the caution from his own management, so upsetting and had fuelled his paranoia. He had tested the patience of many colleagues, by taking every opportunity to complain about the situation that had arisen.
Mike Pearson was more patient than many. He thought the recent general election result was a possible factor affecting the situation. It certainly would be on the minds of the senior management within the SSA. This was a critical time for the Authority which, after all, had been the brain child of the Wilson government. Obviously they would be under close scrutiny by the new administration. Difficult times indeed. Everyone in the organisation was in no doubt that they had to prove their worth and in some respects, that implied playing it safe. No one in the Authority would wish to publicise the possibility that all their turbines were in imminent danger of catastrophic failure, in addition to the simmering problems regarding energy supplies already apparent. The Authority chiefs had a very strong incentive to keep all power stations running flat out and no questions asked.
“You can see their point,” Mike concluded.
“But if a failure occurs and people get killed?” retorted Dave.
“The odds on that are pretty long, you have to admit,” countered Mike. “As soon as next summer’s outages begin then a major refurbishment and replacement programme will get underway. In two or three years, all turbines in the SSA will have been modified to prevent failure.”
“There are many other similar turbines, in this country and worldwide, so it isn’t just a matter of two or three years, the risk is much greater,” Dave persisted.
“All we can do about that is to publish your results as widely as possible.”
“That’s my whole point,” Dave announced triumphantly. He added that he had virtually completed the technical note and was just awaiting approval to submit it.
There was more disappointment for Dave when, seeking consolation, he phoned Pauline. He said how much he’d enjoyed their evening and couldn’t wait to see her again. Could they arrange something without having to await the next meeting of the sub-committee? Her reply saddened him. She had also enjoyed the evening, but she kindly, though firmly, declined. She gave her reasons, which, in effect, amounted to not wishing to make commitments. It was nothing personal, she was just a spur of the moment person. This disappointment added to Dave’s mental turmoil, which had not been helped by his loneliness in his empty house.
The next few days were tense for the whole group, who felt that Dave’s crusade was their own. Some offered their help, by taking on additional tasks, allowing Dave, Gritty and Ian to concentrate on their tests. A concerted sense of purpose enveloped them all. Dave, though in a constant state of nervous expectation, appreciated the support of his colleagues.
It was to be a brilliant period for them all. Whilst falling short of the achievements associated with the discovery of DNA, nuclear fission, or the Big Bang theory, it was for them, in its own way, pretty remarkable.
Thursday, the 6th of August. There seemed nothing particularly auspicious in the way the rising sun breathed warmth and life into the sleeping earth. Just another day. It was quiet, but not unusually so considering it was the holiday season. Sue had phoned to say that the girls were extending their stay, so she would be arriving home alone on Sunday.
Dave was at work early as he had promised to comment on a report for Mike Pearson. Barely had he made a start, when Ian burst into the room clearly excited. He urged Dave to drop everything and come to the lab. Ian led the way at a trot.
“Take a look at specimen number 11.”
This was one of the three highest stressed specimens. Immediately Dave could see why Ian was so animated; the chart recorder showed that the line being traced for that specimen was curving to the left. The load was dropping from its set value. Only very slightly, but it was definite. Ian’s eyes gleamed, “It’s beginning to crack.”
Dave agreed that it could be due to the formation of cracks acting to relieve the load, though he couldn’t really believe it. Hadn’t dared to hope. He perversely sought to argue against it.
“Let’s just hang on for a while Ian. It could be that this specimen is slipping in the grips of the machine. That would have the same effect.”
Dave checked the traces for the other specimens, but could not detect any deviation from the vertical. Although he knew that he was being foolish, he sat staring at the trace for number 11
for several minutes, mesmerised, willing it to move more quickly in response to a rapidly falling load that would be the precursor to failure of the specimen. He felt that the load recorder mocked him as the chart just inched forward, unaware of and unmoved by, his personal wishes.
The following morning Dave headed straight for the lab. He hadn’t slept well. As soon as he opened the door he realised that something special was happening. Ian and Gritty were gathered around the test machines. It was a scene that Dave would remember for some time. Their attitude typified the collective response from all his colleagues to what they regarded as the challenge from the Slough laboratories. They were not prepared to give in without a struggle. The whole subject had become a crusade for them, they had identified themselves with Dave’s efforts – they felt part of it. So it was no surprise to find them taking a keen interest, gathered around the chart recorder. Dave found that, not only had specimen number 11 continued to reduce load but, the other most highly stressed specimens, numbers 10 and 12, were also clearly showing the same behaviour. There was no doubt. Great news.
Dave found it impossible to concentrate on his paperwork, ever conscious of what was unfolding just a few yards away in the lab. His impatience was not rewarded that day. When he visited the lab on Sunday morning he was elated when he found a specimen from the next load level, specimen number 7, showing a loss in load, indicating that it too had begun to crack. The others would surely follow. He sat in front of the bank of tests and lost all track of time. It was late afternoon before he returned home. All that time had passed unnoticed and so Dave hadn’t been at home to welcome Sue back from her Norfolk trip.
*
Sue was travelling home alone to a place that she often felt alone. She became more pessimistic as she approached Wiltshire, fearing that her husband would still be caught up in his work and likely to be too absorbed to take advantage of their unexpected freedom. It seemed so long since their Lynton trip. She could see no alternative than having a serious talk with Dave. She would pick her moment.
Her plans were put on hold when she arrived home and found an invitation to attend a job interview amongst her post. She hadn’t mentioned her job search to Dave, but no doubt the company logo on the envelope would have intrigued him. She would phone the company tomorrow. She was disappointed, though perhaps not surprised, to find that Dave was not home. Following a shower she unpacked.
It was a strange reunion, with Sue, so pleased with the holiday and her Pulham trip and now this job interview and Dave so energised by the combination of his unfolding results and the search for the final piece of the jigsaw. They were almost paralysed by their situation. Without discussion, they simultaneously observed a truce, without ever having declared open warfare. It was an effort for Sue, as although Dave appeared to be taking an interest in her reports of the holiday and the girls, she could sense that, in spite of himself, his mind was elsewhere. He was looking at her across the table, but not really seeing her. His intense, almost worrying, preoccupation with his work was further demonstrated when it became clear that he had not even noticed her unusual letter.
Inevitably, Dave left for work early the next day as this was when he estimated the first of his specimens would fail. He could hardly contain himself, the anticipation was almost unbearable. Although the outcome was now beyond doubt, the tension that had been growing for the past few days had still not reached its climax but continued to stretch his nerves to the limit until mid-morning. At last. Euphoria. All the tension released. It had been worth it; had made it the more pleasurable. Now he’d show them.
Following this first specimen, the two others from the same batch were destined to fail later that week and the three specimens from the next highest stress group would lose significant load with one failing a few days later. Dave was elated, as he could now complete his submission to International Power Digest.
*
Sue’s morning was far more mundane. She had plenty of housework and washing to catch up on, and the vigour with which she attacked these chores reflected her impatience to have them completed. Her ancestors were awaiting her pleasure. After lunch she, with a clearer conscience, began working diligently through her notes on her Pulham ancestors. Some of the recording clerks of ages past had been especially helpful. They had appended the mother’s maiden name alongside the birth entries which aided her in solving some of the family puzzles. Impulsively she called Peter and enthusiastically related details about her trip and its usefulness in taking her Boughtons back into the eighteenth century. She also mentioned her fortuitous meeting with the lady who had promised to supply more details. Hopefully, if she could sort the various families out from the notes that she had made, together with this additional information, she might be able to go back even further. Peter offered to help if required and she agreed to let him know when they met up on Friday as usual.
“It could be earlier if you are free on Wednesday. I realise that it’s short notice, but I am intending to spend the day in London and you are welcome to join me if you are able.”
Sue was taken aback. She hadn’t really settled in yet. Her initial reaction was to refuse the offer, as she still had plenty to catch up on. However, it was very tempting. It was clear that Dave wouldn’t object, wouldn’t even notice, he had been so self-absorbed, more so than before her trip, and the girls were not due back until Friday.
“I’ll quite understand if it’s difficult,” said Peter, sensing her hesitation.
“No, that would be lovely,” declared Sue decisively. It would be a hectic week, but so what?
20
Another early start. Sue was surprised to find that Peter was alone. It was rather a last minute decision, he explained, and the others were not able to get away. They chatted pleasantly as Peter tackled the A4. He asked Sue to look in the glove compartment as he had something that might interest her. She found a sheet of paper with, what appeared to be a poem copied out.
“I thought that it was rather appropriate, given your recent luck with the family bible,” he explained.
Sue read the lines:
‘While one within his scrip contains
A shattered Bible’s thumbd remains
On whose blank leaf wi’ pious care
A host of names is scribbld there
Names by whom ‘twas once possest
Or those in kindred bonds carresst
Children for generations back
That doubtful memory should not lack
Their dates – tis there wi’ care applyd
When they were born and when they dyd
From sire to son link after link
All scribbld wi’ unsparing ink… ’
“Well, as you say, it’s most appropriate but who wrote it?”
“John Clare. It’s part of a much longer poem.”
Peter went on to say that he was not on a genealogy mission this trip but visiting a friend in Highgate. He learned that Sue was returning to Portugal Street, to continue her search for the other Caroline Potten in the Brighton census. They agreed that he would drop her off at Ealing Broadway tube station.
On arrival, Sue settled in for what might prove to be a long day. This looked the likely outcome after almost three hours with no success. She struggled to maintain her concentration. Her eyes were tired. Then, the little jolt. Yes! Thomas Potten, her possible great, great grandfather, aged thirty six, with his wife Elizabeth and five children, including four year old Caroline, living in Vine Place. Thomas had been born in Mayfield, Sussex. She noted down the details. Though tired, she was relieved as she could have been searching all day. She was particularly pleased as she wanted to progress with her dear Caroline’s family.
Sue met Peter back in Ealing. He had had an excellent day and, learning of her success, he suggested they celebrate with a drink. Sue enthusiastically agreed. Her luck with her census search, together with all the other pleasing developments, certainly ought to be marked in some way. A few months earlier she woul
d have been unlikely to have agreed, as she would have felt that she should get home to her husband, but he had clearly demonstrated his indifference over recent weeks.
As they approached the Devizes—Avebury crossroad on the A4, Peter turned into the Waggon and Horses car park. They entered the dark interior of the ancient, thatch-roofed pub and found a quiet corner. Sue selected a long upholstered seat and sat with her back to the mullioned window. When Peter arrived with their drinks he slid alongside, rather than opposite her.
“Well, here’s to mark a successful day.” He raised his glass. After taking a sip, Peter replaced his glass thoughtfully on the table. He settled back into his seat and looked across at Sue with an expression which both puzzled and, in some way, unnerved her. Without any preamble, he asked her if she fully appreciated how well her research had progressed in just a few months. He knew of many people who had encountered difficulty with their research, even at an early stage. Sue wasn’t sure how to take this remark as, although it was true that she had progressed well, she still felt that she had done quite a lot of tedious searching through books and microfilm along the way. Even today, just one item had involved several hours of searching. She recalled how tired she’d been after wrestling with the large births and marriages indexes at Somerset House. Peter, as though sensing her indignation, continued by saying that it wasn’t that she hadn’t been working hard through the usual records to which he was referring, but rather the good fortune of her uncle’s information, her cousin’s bible and now the promise of a history of Pulham families.