16

Sue’s next opportunity to continue with her research arose sooner than she had expected. Pam arrived at her door one morning to beg a cup of tea and a chat.

“I haven’t spoken to an intelligent person for days,” her friend complained. “Sure, old Cummings is pretty competent as far as physical pleasures are concerned but when it comes to quantum mechanics, well, he just looks at me as though I were mad.”

“Oh, dear!” replied Sue, “My physics education ended with a magnet and a pile of iron filings.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll just have to settle for village gossip,” suggested Pam with a laugh.

The two chatted pleasantly over their tea and biscuits and inevitably the subject of Sue’s latest family history finds was raised. She explained that, whilst she had discovered an enjoyable and absorbing pastime, it was also a frustrating one. It was a stop – start process, dependent upon trips to London. Pam delighted Sue by revealing that one reason for her visit was to offer to take her up to town for the day later that week, as she was planning to oversee some repairs to the flat. On reflection, she thought that, if Sue fancied a girls’ night out, they could go up the evening before. Sue, though tempted, declined. Her present relationship with Dave was such that she would prefer not to add to the tension, though, of course, she didn’t mention that to Pam. Accordingly it was agreed that an early start on the day would suit best.

Pam’s mode of driving followed its usual pattern, which Sue would probably describe, oxymoronically, as controlled recklessness. Pam certainly knew her way around London which, combined with her positive driving style, ensured that she negotiated even the central areas with remarkable adroitness. On several occasions she drew grudging admiration from ‘cabbies’ as she weaved between them. After dropping Sue off in Chancery Lane, Pam continued on to her flat in Judd Street. She had given Sue directions to the flat, where they would meet at five thirty.

The part of the Public Records Office which dealt with the census returns was located in a tall building in Portugal Street, which was a short walk from Chancery Lane.

The most useful censuses for family historians were those for the three years 1841, 1851 and 1861. The hundred year confidentiality rule, meant that the 1871 was not due to be released to the public for several months.

Sue found this first visit unnerving. The records were stored on rolls of microfilm which had to be read on a film reader. The indexing search system seemed complex, especially when a large town or city district was involved. Eventually, with help from others, Sue located and noted the necessary reference numbers needed to complete the request form required to order the desired roll of film.

She wished to consult the 1851 census. Her first request was for records covering the village of Woolpit, in the hope of finding her Boughton ancestors. Whilst waiting for the film, she searched the Kensington index, looking for the address given on James Loomes’ birth certificate and, on finding this she ordered a second film.

Sue was nervous when the box containing the roll of film for the Woolpit area arrived. She was all fingers and thumbs, attempting to load it on to the roller and feed the film through the lens mechanism and onto the take-up spool. She had noticed a list of place names written on the side of the film box and she correctly assumed that these were other Suffolk villages in the neighbourhood of Woolpit, which were included on the same roll, presumably filmed in the order listed. With great anticipation, she wound the film through quickly as the list indicated that Woolpit was about half way through the roll. At last, she slowed and there it was, Woolpit. After a few pages, that indescribable pulse of elation. Did she make a sound? Certainly she inwardly squealed.

James Boughton – her, yes her, very own great, great grandfather, together with his wife Sarah and their family. Their son Thomas, her great grandfather, just as she’d hoped, was aged eight and born in Woolpit. James was born in a place called Pulham in Norfolk. Could that be the home of her more distant Boughton ancestors? She shakily made a careful note of everything on the page relating to this family and after rewinding, she returned the film to the desk clerk, hoping to collect the Kensington one. Alas, she was told, that it was already out being used by another researcher. What a nuisance. Couldn’t be helped. Time was moving quickly and as she didn’t wish to sit idly awaiting the return of that particular film, she decided to begin her search of the 1851 returns for Brighton, in an attempt to locate the two Caroline Pottens, one of whom was her great grandmother. She found the index giving the film reference number which covered Upper North Street, where one of the Caroline Pottens had been born, four or five years earlier. She put in her order and went back to check the indexes for the film number for Chichester Street, which was where the second Caroline Potten had been born.

The first Brighton film arrived and after a long search through, checking the folio numbers at the top of the filmed pages, she found Upper North Street and spooled the film slowly forward to house number forty one. Another inward squeal. Thank goodness. The Potten family were still living there. She again made notes, though she already knew the basic facts about Caroline and her parents. There were six children listed with the youngest having the unusual name of Octavia who, in 1851, was eleven months old. She also learned that Thomas, her possible great, great grandfather was forty five at the time and had been born at Sedley in Kent, which might be another of her family bases.

That was the last of her positive results, for that day at least, as the second Caroline was no longer at the Chichester Street address. So it looked as though she would have to systematically search through all the many rolls of film covering the Brighton area, which could take several hours. She rechecked at the information desk and found that the Kensington film had still not been returned, so she considered how best to use the remaining time. She was in a cheerful mood as she decided to make a start on the trawl through some of the Brighton census. She managed to complete a couple of spools of film. Even though the result was negative, it meant that she would have less to do in future.

Time to make her way to Pam’s flat. Just one tube stop from Chancery Lane to Holborn and one on the Piccadilly Line to Russell Square. Following Pam’s directions, Sue found herself outside the tall red-brick, art deco building in Judd Street. She went up to the sixth floor. The corridor onto which she alighted was warm and richly carpeted. The flat was small but comfortable. They had a light tea, as Pam had suggested that they stop on their way home, at a pub she knew near Hungerford and have something more substantial. After phoning Dave to check that all was well, Sue agreed.

*

Though Dave had agreed to hold the fort, he was far from pleased. He was still feeling disappointed with the recent developments within the sub-committee. Tony had been sympathetic, when Dave updated him on progress, but felt that if the evidence from the Slough labs was sound, it was likely to satisfy the SSA management. They would consider this especially timely as, should the Tories win the forthcoming election, they would almost certainly be scrutinising the performance of the SSA very closely. They would be reassured to learn that the turbine failure was the result of a one-off incident, rather than being a widespread problem. Controlling steam chemistry was the key factor, but that had always been appreciated. Tony added that the Central Laboratory staff themselves must be confident of their hypothesis, having set up a conference to publicise it. Dave had to agree, although he was inclined to the view that the main purpose of the conference had more to do with ensuring that they would get the credit for providing the answer to the widely reported West Winford Turbine Incident. His objection to this, he would claim, arose on account of the many engineers and scientists who had worked so tirelessly through the previous winter. It was their work that had provided the Slough people with most of the evidence and in return they would probably not even rate a mention. His own personal annoyance at being side-lined didn’t help.

So Sue’s absence from home did little to ease his feeling of disappointment. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him just how this obsession of his wife’s was assuming ever greater importance. He felt that he was now relegated in her eyes, to little more than the breadwinner and useful child-minder. An additional irritation, though he was loath to admit it, was her relationship with this Peter.

When Sue finally arrived, her buoyant mood was quickly quenched by Dave’s evident ill humour. Although not venturing to criticise her and risk an argument, his restraint did not go unnoticed. After all these years he could not conceal such feelings from her. She knew well enough when an atmosphere was just waiting in the wings. On this occasion, she decided to avoid confrontation, though this resulted in prolonging the uneasy, cool, manner that existed between them. In retrospect, a row might have been preferable.

The following morning Dave was surprised to receive a phone call from Henry Fletcher.

“I’m calling to let you know that the Slough people have set the date for the conference. It is to be held on the 26th of June in London. In view of this, I have decided not to hold our usual monthly sub-committee meeting. We shall all be at the conference and should anything urgent arise, we can have a get-together there. Miss Sage is advising the others, but I wanted to speak to you on a separate matter.” Henry went on to say that he’d received an approach from the British Standards Institution, who were in the process of considering the situation regarding commonly used corrosion test methods. They wanted advice from experts on the desirability of standardising the variety of routine corrosion test methods, used throughout British industry.

He’d been asked to set up a meeting of leading corrosion scientists and engineers to consider the question. He was intending to hold this meeting in London on the day before the conference, as several of the experts he had decided to invite, including Dave, would be in London for the conference. Dave was delighted.

“I look forward to receiving the details, Henry, many thanks.”

With almost indecent haste, Dave phoned Pauline. He would be in London on the evening of the 25th of June and would be staying over for the conference. He wondered if she would like to redeem her voucher for an Italian meal. After a quick diary check, this was arranged.

The main feature of the BSI meeting, from Dave’s perspective, was the pleasure of being in such august company. He was the only unknown. He was relieved to find that, despite this, he was warmly welcomed into their midst. As for the meeting, it was agreed, after lengthy consideration, that there was indeed a need to standardise the most commonly used test procedures and a committee should be set up to undertake this work. Henry was pleased with the outcome and would report to the BSI secretary. Understandably, Dave’s mind was in something of a turmoil, as he travelled the short distance from Green Street to The Bonnington Hotel. He was nervous as he took a shower and prepared himself for his date. This was unfamiliar ground for him. He correctly assumed that things would be very different now from what they had been at the time of his last date, almost twenty years earlier. He met Pauline in the downstairs bar and they made the short walk to the restaurant. The meal was excellent and the house red (Pauline was quite happy with that, she assured him) was very palatable. They chatted unselfconsciously and Dave was surprised that it was only a little after eight o’clock when they left. He was in a strangely expansive mood and insisted that he would escort her home, adding that he was allowed out until after dark these days. It was an easy trip to Shepherd’s Bush from Holborn, Central Line all the way, so after a short time, Pauline let Dave into her flat, just off The Green.

Although he hadn’t known what to expect, his imagination had conjured up a vague idea of Pauline’s private life – he could hardly have been more mistaken. Immediately his vision of Pauline, together with one or two fellow professionals, occupying well-appointed flats in a spacious Victorian house, was shattered when he found himself in what could best be described as a cramped girls’ squat. The cheap furniture in the sitting room was bestrewn with skirts, tights, bras and other assorted underwear. Unwashed cups and plates decorated many of the level surfaces around the fireplace. He found a seat on a sofa, as Pauline went off to change. Almost immediately, the two ‘fellow professionals’ burst into the room, one of whom was almost fully dressed, the other almost fully undressed. They giggled and asked if he was Lena’s Dave. He supposed that he was. He was embarrassed. These girls were barely older than Jo, who in no time might be living in a place like this. He was genuinely amazed. He was familiar with the notion of the generation gap but until now he’d not fully appreciated it – a completely different world.

This initial impression, in itself, was sufficient to convince him that he was out of his depth in this unfamiliar environment, but the transformation in Pauline on her return compounded his confusion. It was not merely a question of the casual costume, beguiling though her new ensemble was, but an astonishing change of her whole personality as she exchanged banter with her flat mates. Surely this wasn’t the Miss Pauline Sage, secretary to the West Winford Corrosion Sub-Committee?

“Coming down The Grapes, Lene?” asked Tina – the undressed one. Pauline said maybe later as she seated herself beside Dave, after consigning a half empty crisp packet to the floor. Eventually they were alone.

“Now we can have a drink, if those two madams haven’t found it.”

They obviously hadn’t, as Pauline returned with half a bottle of gin and a couple of glasses. Dave, though not a gin drinker, was pleased to top up his alcohol level as he was still feeling uncertain as they sat side by side. As he put down his empty glass, Pauline, aka Lena, turned and kissed him enthusiastically, pushing him backwards against the arm of the sofa. He could feel her urgent breasts pressing into his chest and realised only a thin T-shirt covered her. He slid his hands beneath and she sighed as he caressed her – she felt warm, smooth and moist. She pulled away and began to remove his shirt. He began clumsily, trying to help. His tie tangled around his ears. They needed to stand, fumbling, and then staggered towards her room. Lena lay on the bed and wriggled out of her mini-skirt, whilst Dave attempted the difficult task of removing socks, trousers and pants, whilst trying to look cool. They lay naked and entwined. He was urgent and insistent and moved on top of her quickly. He was keen to establish himself as in control, credible, but it was a clumsy attempt. They coupled and Dave was firm, insistent, as he moved. Lena relaxed, still, seeming to submit. It was a ploy. As he moved with increasing urgency she did not succumb. Dave was almost at the height of his passion but he sensed a change and he paused. She moved gently, slowly turning whilst maintaining their contact. Gradually she moved on top. He was stilled. She moved, swaying gently, then firmer – releasing – firmer again – relaxing – harder still, as they moved together. He submitted, following her lead. The rhythm gradually increasing. Dave was now at the point when satisfaction beckoned, his breathing increased. It was amazing. Then, as he approached the height of his desire, she slowed, relaxed, lowering Dave’s passion gently. He moaned. The passion built again. How many times he couldn’t say. Then finally, at last, the craved-for ecstasy. He was taken at her insistent command.

Breathing deeply, satisfied, they lay together. The door burst open.

“Oooh! Sorry. Just letting you know Jake’s got a party going upstairs. See you later.”

Dave dressed quickly. He declined the party invitation and after making his farewells, left to catch his late tube back to normality, his head buzzing. Unsurprisingly, the whole episode led to a sleepless night, not entirely due to an excessive consumption of alcohol.

*

The conference on the Environmental Aspects of the Failure of Number 2 Turbine at West Winford Power Station took place at the Institute of Mechanical Engineers’ Headquarters in Birdcage Walk. It was well attended. Dave was still struggling to get back onto an even keel. The combination of alcohol, lack of sleep and a feeling of disorientation, were taking their toll. He did his best to disguise his discomfort, as he joined Tony and the other representatives from the Scientific Services Department, including Sweety and Bunsen, who had travelled up from Wiltshire that morning. They took their seats near the front of the conference hall. Dave’s head throbbed. In addition to those involved with the power industry, there were many other scientists from the chemistry and corrosion fraternity. Dave recognised two eminent university professors, both of whom had been at the BSI meeting, seated behind him. Slowly, he recovered his composure and began to take more notice of his surroundings. Despite his prejudice, he had to admit that the whole meeting was conducted with great aplomb. All the presentations, detailing station design, operation, steam chemistry, failure analysis and so on, were excellently delivered with high quality slides.

There followed an open debate on what had been presented and on the validity of the Slough hypothesis. Some discussion arose suggesting that this significant conclusion, having major practical and safety implications, was being grounded upon, what was after all, relatively circumstantial evidence. As Dorinda McCann began to respond to this point, with some vigour, Dave was surprised to hear one of the eminent men behind him commenting that he couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, as this was as clear a case of caustic cracking that he’d ever seen. Even allowing for the circumstantial nature of the evidence, it was generally agreed that this was the most likely explanation – after all what were the alternatives? The conference came to an end and the Chairman, the Chief Scientist of the National Laboratories, made his closing remarks, which included the intention to publish the results widely, in the leading international scientific journals. To Dave’s dismay, he went on to announce that the Technical Investigation Committee and its sub-committees would be disbanded at the end of the year. This would allow all those involved to bring their ongoing investigations to an orderly conclusion.

Dave’s shock and disappointment was understandable. He felt that he had missed out upon his own advancement within SSD by becoming involved with this investigation, instead of being focussed upon his project studying marine corrosion. His technical assessment, although only a few months away, would almost certainly have yielded a positive result if he had been able to obtain even some preliminary results from his Thornton trials.

His initial reaction was to terminate the Winford work quickly and move onto his Thornton project. Hardly had he settled upon this course of action, when his stubborn nature intervened. No, he wouldn’t just give up like that. He wasn’t convinced about the Slough theory. He had the rest of the year to run down the investigation, but what would the sub-committee members and more importantly, his own managers have to say?

“Come on David, you’re invited too.” His thoughts were interrupted by Sweety, who was clearly making the most of being associated with top managers from the SSA, who had been attending the conference. Indeed, there was something of a party atmosphere developing amongst these, as the other delegates left. A light buffet had been set up in an adjoining room for participants and invited guests and this was being supervised by staff from the SSA press office. Henry appeared to be slightly abashed as he was engulfed amongst a group of senior executives, who were paying him homage. It seemed that the national press, who had been in attendance, had gone off to file their reports on the satisfactory conclusion to the investigation of the West Winford incident. The cause, they had learned, was the result of contamination of the turbine steam due to the carry-over of sodium hydroxide from the boiler water during the early commissioning of the power station in 1965. Only turbines Number 1 and 2 had been in operation at the time and these, together with Number 3 turbine had been taken out of service, pending refurbishment of their LP rotors. No further action was deemed necessary.

As Dave travelled home, the lunch-time drink having settled his stomach, he couldn’t help feeling surprised and disappointed to find how easily people seemed to accept what he considered, at best, to be only circumstantial evidence. In the case of the suspected dosing error on Number 2 turbine, for example, Bunsen had recently chatted to one of his chemistry pals from Winford and had learned that it was very unlikely that the dosing mistake had in fact taken place. However, the Station Chemist, being a scrupulous man, had insisted that the possibility, however remote, ought to be included in the station operational log.

Despite his own reservations, Dave was, it appeared, in a minority, as the others were clearly pleased with the outcome. The most important point in his view, which had been neglected, was the crack initiation phase. If steam contamination had not occurred and the discs did not contain any original defects then just how could cracking occur? This was an aspect which required urgent attention. Having decided that this would be his next task, he settled into his seat and allowed himself the luxury of recalling the previous evening.

He marvelled at the difference in Pauline. He had seen films in which the rather dreary secretary was suddenly transformed into a beauty, as she discarded her horn-rimmed spectacles and roughly tumbled her hair out of its restraining pins, but this was quite different. In addition to her appearance, Pauline’s whole personality had changed. As Pauline, she appeared to be a smartly dressed woman, late twenties, privately educated, who fulfilled her role as a secretary with remarkable efficiency and charm – ideal for her position in the civil service. Lena, on the other hand, appeared to be an irresponsible teenager, making the most of her first year away from home at some city college, majoring in sex and drink – given a favourable interview she might be lucky to get a job in the corner shop.

It had all been so different with the girls in Dave’s own era. In the early 1950s you generally had to show a clear intention to marry a girl before you got so much as a feel and even then it was confined to the outside of her sweater. He supposed it was the pill that was mainly responsible for the change. His next thought was when he could realistically contrive to see Pauline, or rather Lena, again.