The noise was deafening as the steel turbine disc burst, flinging fragments from the spinning rotor; huge chunks of high energy shrapnel released, some burying themselves deeply into the concrete walls of the test pit.
Several seconds elapsed.
“Bloody hell, what a show. That’s just about wrecked the bloody test rig.”
“Yeah! Spectacular wasn’t it? Still below normal overspeed test level. They’ll never believe it.”
Despite their apparent nonchalance, it was clear that both technicians were deeply shocked. The relative ease and the catastrophic nature of the failure of this turbine disc was as spectacular as it was unexpected.
Fortunately, the automatic trip cut off the power.
*
“Oh! look what you’ve done now,” cried Katy. “It’s smashed to pieces.”
“Wasn’t my fault, you shouldn’t have rushed in like that,” retorted her elder sister, “I was just about to wrap it up.”
“What’s all the noise about? Can’t you two do anything quietly?”
“Jo’s broken my French pot, the one I brought back last year.”
“Didn’t do it on purpose, did I? Anyway it was cheap and nasty.”
“Was not. Mum, tell her to do her own packing and leave my things alone.”
“It might be as well if you did do that, Jo.”
“Side with her, as usual. It was an accident. I thought I was helping her. Let her do her own stupid packing, I don’t care.”
“Well, let’s have a rest shall we? Daddy should be home soon.”
After some half-hearted pushing and pulling, the girls followed their mother downstairs. Normal sibling hostilities had been heightened over the past few weeks as the time for the house move approached. The girls’ apprehension was natural as they had lived in the house all their lives. It was the first family home into which their parents had moved twelve months after their marriage, following the birth of their daughter Josephine.
Almost fourteen years, no wonder that so much stuff had accumulated. Sue knew she would have to be resolute. Some things just had to be ditched. Her reluctance to be too severe on the girls stemmed from their hostility to the move, especially Jo’s. The thought of leaving Birmingham and all their friends was not one either girl relished, though young Katy seemed partially won over, the promise of a new bicycle having helped. Jo, however, was not to be bribed. There was no way that she would willingly accept her life being ruined. She was a one city girl and the fact that they were to be dumped out in the middle of bloody nowhere was totally unacceptable. Where the hell was Wiltshire anyway?
Sue was thoroughly excited at the prospect of a change of scene, complete change of life really. She had provided the impetus and encouraged Dave to apply for the job. For some time she had felt that her husband had far more talent than that required by Fisher’s Tubes. Even if he was to become Chief Metallurgist at such a small company it would not be such a great advance and they could certainly use the higher salary that this new job offered. Not that it was just a case of more money. She believed that Dave would relish the opportunity to flourish in his new surroundings. The girls would settle and soon adapt to country life. The new house, more money, Dave fulfilled, and she with all her plans. Yes, it was going to be a marvellous adventure.
“Anyone home?”
“Daddy, Jo’s broken my pot,” greeted Katy, rushing into the hall.
“Well, I’m sure she didn’t mean to. We’ll soon get you another one,” soothed her father, dropping his car keys into the dish on the hall stand.
“No, it was my French one and we won’t be going back there for ages.”
“Well, let me get into the house anyway. How is everybody? Had a good week?”
“Oh! Sure.” The sarcasm evident in Jo’s response, as she rose from her seat, left little doubt regarding her feelings at the prospect of being a week closer to her descent into social obscurity.
“No change there I see,” grimaced Dave.
“Don’t fret love.” Sue kissed her husband. “Mmm, that’s nice. Jo will be OK once we’ve settled in, it’s only to be expected that she’s apprehensive. Actually she has been quite a help today with the packing. I couldn’t believe it. She’ll come around, I’m sure.”
Dave decided he had time for a run before the evening meal. As he went upstairs to change he tapped on Jo’s door.
“You OK, Jo? Got all your stuff packed yet?”
“Huh!” was the succinct reply.
Making a mental note to have a chat with her later, Dave set off on his run. He started slowly easing the stiffness from his legs following the drive back from Wiltshire. He was encouraged as this would be the last time; he wasn’t due back at work until after the house move. As he ran along his well-worn route across the local common he reflected upon his new job with the Strategic Supplies Authority. The first two weeks had gone well and he felt encouraged that once the house move had been completed he would be able to settle into this new challenge.
He finished his run with a short burst of speed as far as the corner then, as he warmed down with a slow jog along his street, he thought how modest the row of small semis all looked. How differently he had viewed them when they had moved in, so full of optimism, all those years ago.
*
The impressive house was set well back from the tree-lined pavement. It was difficult to believe that it was only a hundred yards from the busy Warwick Road. Living out here in Solihull was the pinnacle of the aspirations of many Birmingham folk; an irrefutable sign that you had made it, which clearly Sue’s brother Barry had.
“Oh! Barry’s been out with the lawn mower,” observed Sue as they approached her brother’s house.
“What did you think?” Dave turned the car into the drive. “You wouldn’t expect anything less. I’m surprised that grass dares to grow above regulation height around these parts.”
“Come on love, you have to admit it is a beautiful place and they keep it so nice.”
Dave grunted by way of a reply. Sue was right, of course. She and her sister were unashamedly envious of their brother’s house and he could see why. As for himself though, even if he had Barry’s resources, he would not feel comfortable living in a place filled with the sort of furniture and fittings that demanded constant respect. He preferred a home to live in rather than one that barely tolerated his intrusion. Despite that, he had to accept that this was the only family venue that could host such a farewell get-together and even then the elegant dining table would need to be augmented with its poor relation from the kitchen to enable them all to be seated at the same time.
Dave parked next to Pete’s car. The others had already arrived. The front door opened and they were surrounded by a posse of excitable cousins. It never failed to surprise Dave that, although all the kids saw each other often, their pleasure at meeting never seemed to diminish. Today the greeting was more animated than usual, which reflected the fact that no Turner family member had moved away from their home town in living memory – a momentous day indeed.
The pitch of the children’s greeting was mirrored by the grown-ups, endorsing the unprecedented nature of the occasion; its significance spanning the generations. The cousins swirled around forming an excited vortex, which hovered briefly in the spacious hallway before gaining energy and swooping upstairs, accompanied by squeals and giggles.
The adults fell into a mixture of kissing, cuddling and handshakes, which, though not matching the youngsters’ vitality, manifested the extent of the genuine good feeling between them all.
“Right, first things first. Let’s get the drinks sorted.” Barry was a good host. “Usual selection for the ladies – Babycham, lager, gin even, plus the soft stuff and a treat for the gents – a keg of Watney’s Red Barrel to be got through, and your usual brown ale, Dad.”
Sue and her sister, Jenny, went off into the kitchen to help Velma and catch up on the latest news. Dave shook his head in bewilderment. It must have been at least four days since the sisters had last been together, not to mention the statutory telephone calls since then. What a family. Dave had a sister, living in Stoke, and though both of his parents were still alive and living in Birmingham, his family only met occasionally with the odd phone call to keep in touch. Certainly nothing like the Turners.
Dave and the men-folk gathered in the lounge where they found Sue’s parents settled on the sofa.
“Not wanted any longer,” announced Mrs Turner (Senior), with a sniff. “My offer to help in the kitchen was refused. I expect that you’ll be disappointed David, I know how much you like my milk puddings.”
Dave made appropriate noises of assent. Lunch was served and the cousins were persuaded to give up their secret activities and join the oldies at the table.
“I guess that you are getting excited about the move, Dave,” said Jenny’s husband, Pete.
“Yes. Even though I’ve only travelled up and down to Wiltshire a few times I shall be glad when we’re settled.”
“Is the job what you expected?” asked Barry, circulating around the table topping up drinks.
“Thanks. Well, it’s early days, but so far, so good.”
“What’s this new organisation all about?” asked Pete. “Jenny gave me a rather garbled account, but you know as well as I do that the Turner sisters,” he paused here to nod meaningfully across the table in the direction of the said sisters, “are not very technical at the best of times.”
Dave briefly outlined his understanding of the idea behind the recently formed Strategic Supplies Authority, which the government had set up to ensure the integrity of some of the country’s main essential services. A small proportion of certain assets from existing utilities, electricity, water, gas and so on, had been transferred to the Authority. The idea was to integrate the organisation of these under the SSA, with the intention of ensuring a reliable, coordinated, network of independent supplies to vital services in the event of major emergency.
“So you’re now a civil servant.”
“Typical Labour ruse,” broke in Barry, “extend public ownership. More inefficiency.”
“I think it’s a sound idea for essential services at least,” countered Dave.
“But where will it end?” persisted Barry. “What about fuel supplies, food even? No, it’s just another of Harold Wilson’s half-baked ideas. Completely illogical.”
“I’m inclined to agree with Dave, at least in principle,” said Pete. “It is a little odd though, when you think about it that the most likely threat to essential services, in the short term at least, would seem to come from the unions, Labour’s main supporters.”
“I thought that this was supposed to be a party, so leave all your political arguments for another time,” burst in Jenny, conscious of where this conversation would lead if left unchecked.
“It’s a deal as long, as we don’t get drawn into the merits of some new-fangled kitchen accessory or whatever, from you lot,” replied Barry. “Any more drinks for anyone?”
“Please,” called Sue, waving her glass unnecessarily high. “Just another Babysham, brother dear.”
As soon as lunch was over the cousins rushed away from the table to continue their important business. The men agreed to wash up, by which time the mood had changed and so Dave was spared the necessity of explaining further, the role of the new organisation and his place in it. One thing that Barry and Pete were in complete agreement about, was in offering their commiserations to Dave, who would now be deprived of decent football down in the sticks. They even went so far as suggesting that his new local club, Swindon Town, might not offer very much more by way of footballing skill than the Villa, a sad indictment indeed. Dave readily admitted that this was certainly one of the crosses he’d just have to bear.
The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, aided by Barry’s cigar selection and his determination to finish off the Watney’s. Dave reflected as they drove home, that there were advantages to being associated with such a closely-knit family. Sue was quiet. The move was a major step and although the prospect excited her, an element of sadness was only to be expected.
On the plus side, she was pleased that they had found a buyer for the house so quickly and at the asking price too. This would mean that there would be some cash left over after the move which, together with the rise in Dave’s salary, should make things much more comfortable.
But what of her own plans? As soon as they had all settled in, she intended to look around for something just for herself. She had been devoted to motherhood and homemaking for long enough.
*
Dave had been impressed when he had visited the Scientific Services Departmental Laboratories for his interviews. They were modern and well equipped. He had been appointed to join the Materials Section. Although his previous job, at Fisher’s Tubes, had also been in the Materials Section, that was, he imagined, where the similarity ended. The main difference would be the wider variety of the work here, as everything was on a much larger scale. The Strategic Supplies Authority was, after all, responsible for numerous operating units around the country – power stations, water works, gas installations and so on. He could be involved with any of these.
Though the increased salary would be welcome, it was not the main reason for his delight at landing this job. He was looking at the bigger picture, his long term career. He was moving away from general metallurgy and taking up a specialty – he had been appointed leader of the recently formed Corrosion Group – which he felt offered a better opportunity to make his mark; small pond syndrome. In addition, the emphasis would be on applied research. This had always been his ambition.
Was his interpretation of the new job accurate? He’d soon find out.
He had been lucky to find accommodation in Devizes for the couple of weeks before the house move.
“Hello David, nice to see you again,” greeted Tony Richards, with a warm handshake. Dr Richards was head of the Materials Section.
“Good trip down?”
“Only from Devizes this morning. I came down last night.”
They settled comfortably and Tony gave an outline of the Section’s organisation and work. Dave had learned at his interviews that the Strategic Supplies Authority, which had been set up in January 1967, had its headquarters in London. In addition to all the working units around the country, there was a Central Laboratory for Pure Research at Slough and themselves, the Scientific Services Department, in Wiltshire. The Scientific Services Department was divided into sections including the Materials Section.
Tony explained that the work with which they were involved at the moment was mainly concerned with the power stations now under the Authority’s control, whilst that from other sources was sporadic. He thought it would be best if David familiarised himself with the routine work and later they would discuss a longer term project, which he was hoping David would take on.
“Right, let’s go and meet the inmates.” The usual flurry of handshakes and confusion of names, which would only become fixed in Dave’s mind during the next week or so.
During his second week he was pleased to receive an invitation to join some of his colleagues for a few drinks at The Bear in Devizes. This was enjoyable, as was the local, Wadworth’s 6X, brew. It was also useful in getting at least some of those names memorised. Of all the groups within the Materials Section, Dave thought that his was the most interesting, based upon what he learned about the others that evening, with the possible exception of the Fracture Group whose work sounded fascinating. The fact that they made extensive use of the Scanning Electron Microscope (the new toy) added to its appeal.
*
This is rapidly losing its appeal, thought Sue. Exciting though the prospect of moving was, packing was becoming a chore. Would they need these stair rods? Would those curtains fit? The removal men would be here any minute and Dave should be back by now. Just going for petrol, he had said, but she supposed that he had thought of a final chum to see. She was anxious to check what would fit into the boot of their Morris 1100, as she hoped that they could take some of the more fragile items with them. They boasted ‘Fowler’s Removals – Safe in Our Hands’, but who was to know until it was too late?
The van arrived. It was actually happening. Sue was pleased to see Dave following. During the next three or four hours, beds, tables, chairs, wardrobes, books and the rest of the paraphernalia that made up late 1960s family life, were hustled into the van’s interior, packed and arranged with the deft skill of a dry stone waller. So much stuff into such a small volume.
“See you down there missus.” And off they went crawling down the street.
Following the last hugs and waves from the neighbours and accompanied by the girls’ sniffs and tears, they drove away to their new life.
On their arrival the girls made straight for their respective rooms, armed with posters and Sellotape. This was a civilised invasion as the quarrels over the allocation of rooms had been fought and settled following an earlier visit the previous month.
Dave and Sue had three days for combined activity before Dave was due back at work. Sue had devised a plan to maximise her husband’s usefulness during this period. The main items on her agenda included assembling the beds, followed by fitting curtain rails and light shades. There were extra shelves needed here and there and that bathroom cabinet had to go. As for the boxes containing Dave’s books, college stuff and the – ‘goodness knows what you want to keep those for’ – keepsakes, they were at the back of the queue. A 1947 Football Annual? – I ask you.
So, Sunday night already.
“Let’s leave it at that,” suggested Dave, “I don’t want to miss the moon landing, it will be on TV shortly.”
Sue and Dave settled with their daughters to witness this astonishing event. At last, Neil Armstrong descended the steps and his fuzzy black and white image could be discerned. After a brief comment upon the powdery surface, he announced “That’s one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind.”
“Well,” said Dave, “I guess we beat him to it with a sizeable leap of our own.”
It was gripping television. They remained to watch Buzz Aldrin join his colleague before going to bed.