The West Winford Incident

by John Parker

  As the Electric Works have now been decommissioned, there are no implications for the Petroleum Corporation itself and, as No2 turbine is still to be examined, this provides an opportunity for delaying reporting until this has been done, which will be at least eighteen months from now. Mr Pritchard, Chairman of the Welsh Petroleum Corporation, informs me that none of the other operating units in their organisation have the shrink-fit keyway design.

  We are, of course, in a much more difficult position at present, with the turbines at both West Winford and Thornton being vulnerable. As disc cracking at Newport cannot be associated with a known contamination incident, we have to assume that our explanation for the West Winford failure (sodium hydroxide contamination) is, at best, suspect. This being the case we have to regard all turbines at West Winford and Thornton Power Stations to be at serious risk and therefore we need to modify our refurbishment programme to include all machines. The Engineering Director informs me that in eighteen months this work will be sufficiently advanced that the reporting of the Newport examinations at that time would not cause too much embarrassment.

  Dave was amazed at what he’d read. The first thing that struck him was that Pauline had appreciated the significance of this letter. Furthermore, she had taken this risk. He then considered the implications. If cracking was over an inch deep after thirty years’ operation at this power plant, the rate of cracking was about the same as that found at Winford. Clearly, as the letter acknowledged, the Slough hypothesis of a particular operational incident on Number 2 turbine (the contamination of the steam) could not be sustained.

  “Well, Pauline, I’m so pleased that you thought of letting me see this, but how did you get hold of it? Won’t you get into trouble?”

  “Yes, if anyone finds out. I came across it whilst I was standing in for the woman who handles the work for the secretariat of the main Technical Committees. No one knows I made this copy.”

  “But is there anything that we can do about it, without implicating you?” asked Dave.

  “I’m not sure. I was just so angry that I thought of alerting the national press directly. Surely if other failures occurred people could get killed, couldn’t they?”

  “There is a real risk, but it may not happen and it’s this uncertainty that the SSA is banking on. They are in a real dilemma now that the new government is looking hard into the whole SSA concept. If they acted as they should, both Winford and Thornton power stations should be removed from service immediately and all operators of similar turbines would be advised of the danger, but that’s unthinkable for them, as they approach the winter and peak demand. The programme of turbine refurbishment and the introduction of improved non-destructive examination is in hand and this should eliminate the risk when it is complete, but that won’t be for at least two years. Their best hope of avoiding failures in the meantime, is the suspension of routine overspeed testing, as it is this that really does increase the risk of a repeat of Winford.”

  “Yes, but that is only within the SSA,” countered Pauline. “By sticking to the Slough explanation they can’t alert other utilities, here or abroad, to the danger. Surely there are hundreds of turbines at risk worldwide?”

  Dave was surprised by Pauline’s passion. She had finished her drink almost without noticing. He explained that he would be away for about ten days, which would give him plenty of time to think the whole thing through. He could give her a call at the beginning of October. Although she seemed to accept this, he could see that she was clearly agitated.

  “Anyway, let’s get some food,” suggested Dave, but Pauline refused. She explained that she was going away on Sunday to Italy to visit her aunt. Dave was sorry. He would have welcomed her company.

  He was unsettled by what he’d heard and he didn’t feel up to the Italian restaurant so, after a quick snack at the hotel, he had an early night. It was to be a disturbed night as he slept fitfully. The following morning he handed in his keys at the reception desk, together with a letter to be posted. He was only sorry now that he’d missed the September deadline.

  During the flight, Dave’s anger subsided, but he had no misgivings about his reckless action and as he approached his destination his thoughts turned, with keen anticipation to the immediate prospects of this adventure. The British Airways jet touched down at Sheremetyevo on time. As the plane taxied along towards its designated stand, Dave noted the armed guards stationed on the tarmac around the terminal building, a collection of clones, just young lads really but their uniforms, severe haircuts and impassive expressions seemed so at odds with their years. Thank goodness we don’t have the need for anything like that at home, he thought. The idea of armed soldiers or police around the streets or at the airports of Britain was so foreign.

  There was more evidence of the cultural divide at passport control. Dave’s passport and visa card were taken in through the booth window and glanced at by another youthful clone – a very long, embarrassing wait. Dave finally assumed he could proceed, though the wordless automaton refused to blink.

  Exiting into the public area, he was amongst the waiting group of fur-clad men, women and children, together with the usual jostle of people holding up cards, hand written for the most part, with company’s names, family names, and so on, displayed to catch the attention of their unknown visitor. Then he saw ‘Mr Harrison’ displayed by a young man whom, Dave approached. He smiled and introduced himself as Ivan Razumov from the Electrical Institute of Moscow. A car was waiting and they were driven smoothly along wide, well-paved, roads into the city centre. Dr Razumov led Dave into the spacious reception area of the Rossia Hotel. It was a huge building. His host said that he would return later. Dave registered and was taken up to the fifth floor. He wandered along a corridor, looking at the room numbers. He was challenged by a middle-aged woman, sitting at a table at the corner of the corridor.

  “Gdye vash klyooch?” she said, and Dave could see that she was leaning forward over her table, looking sideways at his left hand, in which he was holding his key. He offered it up with a questioning look. “Da, prava,” she said, indicating a door on his right hand side and as he moved towards it hesitantly, “Da, da.” This woman, he learned, was the appointed ‘dezhurnaya’ (woman on duty) who, though apparently doing nothing, acted as the lynch-pin for that particular floor. She looked after the keys of residents, answered the phone and also supervised a samovar for guests. In most westerners’ eyes however, the role as a spy was thought to be her main duty.

  The hotel comprised four sections, built around the periphery of a large courtyard, and Dave was delighted to find that his room had an excellent view over Red Square. As he unpacked, he idly wondered where the microphones would be hidden, or was that just in spy novels?

  At seven o’clock he met Ivan and they went up to a restaurant on the twenty first floor. The service was slow. Eventually an impressive menu arrived. Dave mentioned how comprehensive the menu was and Ivan smiled. “Pardon me,” he said, “I am not making fun but I should perhaps explain. You see the very long list of food and wine on offer here?” Dave nodded. Ivan continued, “You will now note how many items have their prices listed. Take the wine, for example.” Again Dave nodded. There were probably over twenty wines mentioned, though only two had prices included. “So,” explained Ivan with a smile, “only two wines are really on the menu. If they only listed the available items, the menu would be only one page long, not ten.”

  Even with this limitation, Dave was hoping that Ivan would suggest something and order for them both, which he did when, eventually, their order was taken. Of the two wines, red or white, the latter had been selected by Ivan and Dave attempted to read the label ‘Tsinandali’ with only partial success. Ivan gave the accepted pronunciation and went on to say that it was a medium-dry wine, from the Georgian Republic. It was very good, as was the main meal. It was a pleasant evening and Dave learned a little of the arrangements for the week’s visit. His colleagues had arrived earlier and were being escorted
by an Intourist guide. Dave was pleased to be in a one to one situation, as he enjoyed Ivan’s company and was interested in his information and anecdotes about life in the ‘sinister’ Soviet Union.

  Monday morning arrived and Dave glanced out through his window. At eye level were the many domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral – so foreign. It was still dark. A more familiar scene down at ground level, as clusters of dark silhouettes shuffled along the pavements to their workplaces, heads bowed, a template for a modern day Lowry. A lukewarm shower and down to the breakfast room, where he met his British colleagues.

  Ivan escorted them to the meeting place. This entailed a minibus ride passing alongside the imposing Kremlin wall on their right and down Leninski Prospeck. After about half a mile, they stopped and were greeted by an assorted bunch of men and women, no doubt including the statuary KGB ‘minders’, and hustled into the entrance hall of a tall office block. Dave and his colleagues were organised together to be taken up to the committee room. There were two ancient lifts, brass grill fronted, one of which was waiting at ground floor level. Dave and his party were squeezed into this together with the obligatory attendant – the USSR boasts full employment! The latter pushed the button but the lift refused to move. Repeating this with increasing violence did nothing to persuade it to budge. There followed a somewhat comical scene of confusion as a woman administrator, with an unnecessary theatrical display of arm waving and herding, corralled her charges into the second lift. Off they went, leaving the former liftman rattling his cage to little avail.

  After the formal introductions, each member from the host delegation gave a brief resume of their background and their area of expertise and the visitors were asked to do likewise. Amongst Dave’s colleagues were a variety of specialists in areas such as high voltage systems, instrumentation equipment and reactor operation. Dave was the sole turbine materials representative. The plan outlined by the hosts was to spend the day together in a general exchange of information on electricity production matters and for the rest of the week, they would get down to detail within smaller groups. Visits had also been arranged to suit the various interests.

  Dave and his colleagues quickly adapted to the routine and although they were a friendly group, Dave enjoyed being alone with Ivan in the evenings, as this experience was so different to his normal life. He was pleased to learn that Ivan had been appointed to be his guide on a visit to a power station, a little to the north west of Moscow, towards the end of his stay. Not only was Ivan good company but, being a qualified metallurgist, his area of interest was very similar to Dave’s.

  22

  The Norvokosky Power Station was similar in design to West Winford, therefore Dave could follow the explanation of the various functions given by the turbine hall engineer – once translated. There was a major difference in the staffing levels, compared with the UK, which perhaps had much to do with the USSR’s full employment policy.

  The scene within the turbine hall was one of surprising activity, certainly when compared to its western equivalent. Men and women were busying themselves around all six of the steaming giants. Insulation was being patched here and there, bearings were being oiled and an army of cleaners were working, half-heartedly mopping the tiled floor, between each turbine. So many people, in addition to the normal operators. Dave shuddered inwardly at the sight. Each machine hummed, the floor throbbed and steam escaped from various pipes and joints. Tons of hot whirling metal and it would only take a tiny crack to cause a repeat of Winford, but with this level of staffing, the thought was particularly frightening.

  The senior turbine operator was introduced to Dave and Ivan and he, Alexander Borisovich Denisov, provided the information on the operational detail. He also joined them for lunch. Dave instantly took to this charming and friendly man. Dave informed Alexander that, as a consequence of an LP turbine disc failure which they had suffered during an overspeed test, his organisation had suspended such tests for safety reasons. Alexander had heard of the incident and understood that it had been caused by contaminated steam. He was glad to say that Norvokosky steam was as pure as gold, as was all steam in the USSR, he added and, as if to emphasise his point, he laughed, displaying several gold teeth.

  “He says it’s better than holy water,” translated Ivan.

  “Da, da, kharashiya voda,” grinned Alexander.

  Dave was tempted to express his view that contamination was not the reason for failure, but he was a little intimidated by the circumstances, which compelled him to support the official line.

  During lunch, being free of any ‘minders’, they talked pleasantly about their respective lives away from work. Alexander shared Dave’s interest in running and he had a regular training routine similar to Dave’s, except for the addition of an icy plunge into the nearby river at the end of his route. They reminisced about some of the great runners of the past, notably Zatopek and Chatterway. Ivan was not to be left out and he brought the conversation around to football, which proved to be just as animated, as many of the famous players such as Lev Yashin and Gordon Banks were discussed. Following lunch, Alexander returned to his duties, after expressing the hope that Dave would enjoy the rest of his stay. Ivan and Dave rejoined the other visitors for a presentation by the station manager. The party then returned to the Rossia.

  Before leaving the hotel Ivan suggested to Dave that they try a less touristy restaurant later, to which he readily assented. Ivan’s plan was to meet outside the Bolshoi Theatre which was nearby, being just across Red Square. Dave was delighted, and even more so when Ivan introduced him to the Moscow subway system. Absolutely unbelievable! The stations were works of art, vast cavernous spaces with ornate columns and intricate carvings, all illuminated with chandeliers.

  The meal was excellent and beer was the favoured drink. It was late into the evening when Ivan abruptly introduced a solemn note into the conversation. He requested that Dave would not mention that they had been alone together away from work and the ‘designated’ hotel, as this might cause him problems. This came as a sharp reminder to Dave, who had been in danger of forgetting, amongst all the conviviality, that this was, after all, a totalitarian state. He nodded his agreement.

  “Kharasho – that is good,” smiled Ivan, “as I have another request to put to you.” Dave winced. He would be happy to take slight risks as he disliked this oppressive state, but what if Ivan’s proposal was something serious? In spite of his qualms he again nodded.

  “Actually we have an invitation to a social gathering, but it is absolutely unofficial, are you willing to take a chance?”

  Christ! Thought Dave, this was like something out of the bloody films. He could see himself in the Lubyanka by this time tomorrow. What should he say?

  “It’s our friend Alexander, Alexander Borisovitch Denisov, the turbine engineer from Norvokovsky,” he added seeing Dave’s puzzled stare. “We’re invited to a family dinner tomorrow night. Apparently he enjoyed your company so much, he was insistent that you should have a taste of real Russian hospitality. I can arrange a car if you are willing.”

  Dave was relieved, as there seemed to be a world of difference between attending a family dinner and conspiring with a crowd of anarchists, or the like. He agreed to be at the Bolshoi the following evening.

  What a great decision it turned out to be. It was one of the most pleasant evenings he could remember. This view was, of course, coloured by the unusual, slightly dangerous, circumstances, he would admit. Nevertheless, it was a great experience and one he would not forget.

  Sasha, as Alexander wished to be called, was blessed with a beautiful wife and two daughters. It was not Elena’s physical beauty, though indeed she was lovely, but rather her inner beauty that was clearly evident almost as soon as she greeted Ivan and Dave. She had the most deep, soulful eyes, which lit up as she received the two of them warmly and welcomed them into her humble home. Humble it was indeed, though no more so, Ivan told Dave later, than the thousands of similar, standard state, f
lats with their prescribed floor area.

  The two girls, Natasha, eleven and Tanya, nine were delightful. They looked very smart in their dresses and their hair had clearly received special attention. Healthy, lively children indeed, which inevitably brought Jo and Katy into Dave’s thoughts. Following brief introductions, they moved across to the table and sat as formally as the tight squeeze would allow.

  Sasha was the perfect host – the life and soul of the party. He produced a bottle of red wine which was a great compliment to the meal. They were treated to beetroot soup followed by a sort of schnitzel and noodles in gravy and finally, some pancakes. Dave was enchanted. He gazed around the table as he ate and when he caught young Tanya’s eye, who was often staring at him, she hurriedly lowered her gaze and concentrated on her food. Natasha was also shy, but concealed it better than her sister. They were all swept up, however, by Sasha as he launched into a series of stories, the political leaders of the USSR being the butt of his humour. Elena occasionally attempted to restrain the more extreme excesses of her husband, but she found it difficult not to laugh as she feigned displeasure. At Sasha’s prompting, the girls attempted some English remarks and Dave applauded their efforts, which made them blush. Sasha and Elena were clearly very proud of their daughters, with good reason in Dave’s opinion. Emboldened by their success, Natasha and Tanya went to their room to prepare themselves for a short entertainment, which they had planned for their guests. Sasha sought out a bottle of vodka.

  The girls returned and Ivan and Dave were treated to a poetry reading (in English), a song (in Russian) and a dance (Georgian style), the latter accompanied by enthusiastic rhythmic applause, led by a beaming Sasha. Both girls made their bows seriously but then burst into giggles. How like Jo and Katy, thought Dave. Parallel family lives separated by an ideology.