by Nevil Shute
The Director went on to outline what had happened up to the point where the Reindeer crash in Labrador came into the picture. Here he called on me to speak. “I was very much impressed with the coincidence of flying times,” I said carefully. “The Reindeer crashed in somewhat mysterious circumstances when it had flown for 1,393 hours. Mr. Honey’s estimate of the time to tailplane failure, under normal weak mixture cruising conditions, was 1,440 hours—that is, 3½ per cent greater than the point at which an accident occurred. 3½ per cent is nothing in investigations of that sort, of course. Clearly, it is very possible that the accident may be related to the estimate.”
Group-Captain Fisher said, “If I may say a word, Mr. Chairman, Dr. Scott speaks of the Reindeer accident—the first Reindeer accident, perhaps I should say—as having taken place in somewhat mysterious circumstances. I cannot agree with that. The accident was very fully investigated and was fully explained. There is no mystery about that accident at all.”
Morgan said, “Quite so, Captain Fisher. I think we may come on to that a little later.”
Prendergast raised his head. “I should like to say a word, Mr. Chairman. I quite agree that the coincidence of flying times deserves attention, provided that one has confidence in the estimate produced by Dr. Scott and Mr. Honey. May we hear a little of the nature of this research and of the substance of this estimate?”
The Chairman said, “I was about to ask the R.A.E. if they would deal with that next.”
The Director said, “A point of difficulty arises here at once, sir. This estimate was produced by Mr. Honey as an incidental to a programme of pure research into fatigue problems. In the course of this research Mr. Honey has made a completely new approach to the fatigue problem. It is a very great pity that he could not have been brought here to tell you about it himself. However, I will do my best to outline it to you.”
He paused, and then he said, “Mr. Honey’s work is nuclear. He bases it on the small energy loss of materials under strain detected first by Koestlinger and further investigated by Schiltgrad at Upsala University. That work is public property. Mr. Honey related these investigations to certain work of a more secret character recently carried out at the N.P.L. which, with your permission, sir, I propose to gloss over.”
The Chairman nodded.
“Arising out of these investigations,” the Director went on, “Mr. Honey produced a completely novel theory of the fatigue effects in light alloy structures, which involved a considerable extension of the accepted nuclear theory. If confirmed by experimental tests, this theory would present for the first time a firm basis for designing structures to resist fatigue, instead of the somewhat hit and miss empirical design factors that we have used to date. Accordingly we put in hand a test upon the Reindeer tail left over from the airworthiness investigations, to confirm or to disprove the theory. That test has now run for about five hundred and ten hours, and on the present rate of progress, running twenty-three hours a day, we expect to reach Mr. Honey’s figure of 1,440 hours running time about the end of August.”
There was some discussion of the trial programme then and the nature of the test. I produced some photographs of it from my attaché case and circulated them around the table Prendergast seized them at once and began studying them intently.
The Director went on. “At the R.A.E. we do not pretend to expert knowledge upon every branch of natural science. There are bodies in this country charged with the investigation of nuclear matters; we are not one of them. When nuclear matters come our way we submit them to the appropriate authority, and in this case we submitted Mr. Honey’s thesis to the Inter-Services Atomic Research Board for guidance. In addition, Mr. Honey visited Sir Phillip Dolbear to discuss the matter. The letter from the Board is there, sir.”
The Chairman picked it up. “Well, yes. I think I’d better read it to the meeting.”
He did so.
At the conclusion he smiled wryly. “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “We all appreciate that the Inter-Services Atomic Research Board has a very full programme, but unfortunately this letter does not take us very much further. In its concluding paragraph it expresses the willingness of the Board to put fatigue problems upon their programme, indicating that they consider that an extension of the nuclear theory may yield useful results in assessing the effects of fatigue; at the same time they clearly don’t think very much of Mr. Honey’s work in this field. They do not go so far as to say that his work is inaccurate or worthless. They refer to it”—he glanced at the letter—“as a wild assumption, which needs much experimental verification.”
I said, “Which is what we are trying to do.”
“Exactly, Dr. Scott. Well, gentlemen, I must confess I don’t see what further steps the R.A.E. could have taken in the matter. The confirmatory trial is running night and day, and such assistance as could be obtained has been obtained, from the I.S.A.R.B. I understand that in the circumstances the R.A.E. have a recommendation to make.”
The Director glanced at me.
“I have an opinion,” I said. “A recommendation, if you like, sir. I don’t think any Reindeer should fly more than 700 hours until this thing has been cleared up.”
The Chairman nodded. “Any comments upon that?”
Carnegie, the technical superintendent of C.A.T.O., said, “Well, sir, I should like to ask one or two questions. First of all, why seven hundred hours? What is the magic in that number?”
I said, “It’s half the estimated time to failure.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “Half the estimated time to failure is seven hundred and twenty hours.”
I swallowed. “All right,” I said. “Make it seven hundred and twenty hours, if you like. But I don’t think any aircraft carrying passengers should fly more than half the estimated time to failure.”
Sir David Moon said, “I don’t want anyone to think this is a trivial point. Twenty more hours flying, on an average of six aircraft only, means twelve more Atlantic flights, which would earn a revenue: of over sixty thousand pounds. I am very grateful to Dr. Scott for allowing us to make that money by his concession.”
I flushed at his tone. The battle was evidently on.
“I have another question,” said Carnegie. “Who decided this ratio of one half? We are all agreed that safety comes first, up to a point. If safety precautions are unreasonable, of course, they can stop aviation altogether, and we can all go home.”
He paused. “I should like to suggest that it is perfectly safe to permit these aircraft to fly up to two-thirds of Mr. Honey’s estimated time to failure—that is, to 960 hours. As operations are going, some of the aircraft will reach seven hundred hours before the test reaches 1,440 hours. As far as I can see, when the test has reached 1,440 hours the first aircraft will have flown about 910 hours, and after that the test should keep ahead of the aircraft if it runs twenty-three hours a day, because the aircraft seldom exceed ten hours a day, operating as at present. Two-thirds seems to me to present a fair margin of safety.”
Prendergast said, “I would certainly agree with that.”
The Chairman turned to me. “Dr. Scott.”
“I don’t agree,” I said. “I should like to. But we know too little about fatigue: problems and their onset. All estimates that I have ever seen upon fatigue in built-up structures—and there aren’t very many to see—have been very much in error, and in the majority of cases failure has taken place before the estimate. I think a factor of two is necessary in a case like this—seven hundred and twenty hours. I shouldn’t like to see the aircraft flying on to nine hundred and sixty hours.”
Carnegie said, “I take it, Dr. Scott, that that is just your personal opinion.”
“My personal opinion,” I agreed. “That’s what I think.”
Prendergast said, “Dr. Scott, am I not right in saying that another Reindeer, the one that there has been some trouble with at Gander, has flown 1,429 hours, without any trouble at all?”
“I think that’s
about right,” I said.
“Well, in view of that, do you still feel that so large a factor of safety as two is desirable?”
“For all we know that one may be on the point of failure,” I replied. “If it is, then I think a factor of two is necessary. We know too little about fatigue problems to sail nearer the wind than that, where passenger services are concerned. If it were a military aircraft, I might take a different view.”
Sparkes, of the Air Registration Board, spoke up. “Mr. Chairman, with every respect, the allocation of factors of safety is our responsibility, and not that of the R.A.E.”
“Certainly,” I said. “I’m just telling you what I think.”
There was a short pause.
Then Sir David Moon said, “Mr. Chairman, nobody here wishes to subject the travelling public to any undue risk. But this factor of safety seems to be a matter of opinion. Opinions should be based upon the consideration of all the factors involved, including both the technical factors and the operational ones. Now, here there is a political issue. If these aircraft are grounded at 720 hours, the British Transatlantic air service will virtually come to an end, probably for several months, with the most deplorable results to the prestige of this country. If they are allowed to go on flying up to 960 hours and therefore to two-thirds of the time currently run by the test at Farnborough, there is a very good prospect that it may not be necessary to interrupt the services at all.” He paused. “I should like to ask Dr. Scott if he has taken that into consideration.”
The Chairman glanced at me.
I stuck my chin out. “No, I haven’t,” I said. “This is a technical matter. For safety, I think this thing should carry a factor of two. That is, the aircraft should be grounded at 720 hours, subject to the further investigation of the fatigue problem.”
Sir David Moon said, “That’s a very positive statement, Dr. Scott.”
“It is,” I agreed.
Prendergast leaned forward. “Dr. Scott,” he said. “Is it not the fact that we have no evidence that there is any fatigue trouble in the Reindeer tail at all? Let me put it another way. Mr. Honey has produced a theory of fatigue which is unsupported as yet by any experimental evidence. This theory states that the Reindeer tail is dangerous. That is all we have to go upon?”
“Not quite,” I said. I opened the accident report lying on the table before me. “The tailplane of the first Reindeer crash is still lying in Labrador, and a metallurgical examination of that in the region of the fracture will show if that tail failed in fatigue or not. Here’s a photograph of that crash, and I’ve drawn a pencil circle round the stump of the front spar. It’s very tiny, I’m afraid, but it looks not unlike a fatigue fracture to me.”
There was a pause while the report was passed eagerly round the table. Group-Captain Fisher said irritably, “Nobody can possibly tell anything from that—it’s only about a sixteenth of an inch long. The accident was very carefully sifted and all the parts examined. There’s no question about what happened.”
Prendergast said, “Have any steps been taken to recover these parts for examination?”
The Director said, “We sent out Mr. Honey to investigate the matter on the spot. Unfortunately circumstances have prevented him from doing so. Instead, Dr. Scott is flying to Ottawa this evening to recover the parts and to carry out any other investigations that may be necessary, in conjunction with the Accidents Investigation Branch.”
The Chairman said, “Dr. Scott is going out there personally? That seems a very good thing.”
Prendergast said, “But at this moment, all the evidence we have upon this matter is this photograph and Mr. Honey’s theories?”
I nodded. “That is correct.” I knew that it was coming now, and it did.
He said, “Dr. Scott, leaving aside the photograph, have you got confidence in Mr. Honey’s theory of fatigue?”
“I’m not sure that that is quite a fair question,” I said slowly. “I’ll tell you quite frankly that I don’t understand it very well, and I doubt if anybody in this room would understand it any better. I have a bowing acquaintance with nuclear theory, as many of us have. I don’t know enough about it to criticise the work of somebody who has made a deep study of nuclear matters, as Mr. Honey certainly has. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but that’s the way it is.”
The Chairman said, “I think that is a reasonable answer. Dr. Scott’s appointment does not call for experience in nuclear matters—indeed, no appointment at the R.A.E. has called for that experience up to the present. The R.A.E. very properly applied for advice to the I.S.A.R.B., and it is unfortunate for us that no very definite advice has been forthcoming. However, there it is, and we must make the best of it.”
Prendergast said, “Making the best of it, Mr. Chairman, may I ask another question? Dr. Scott, are you satisfied with Mr. Honey’s work in general? In technical matters have you got confidence in him as a credible person?”
It was very hot in the conference room. I was beginning to perspire.
The Chairman said, “Well, that’s rather an unusual question.”
Sir David Moon said, “These are rather unusual circumstances, Mr. Chairman. So far as I can make out there is grave danger that we may be called upon to suspend the entire operation of the British Transatlantic air service because Mr. Honey has produced a theory of fatigue which the I.S.A.R.B. think nothing of, and which nobody else has checked. Some of my staff have had experience with Mr. Honey recently, as you know, and we are not at all impressed Indeed, so little impressed were we with his mental stability that we have felt compelled to refuse him any further passages in our aircraft.”
There was a tense pause. I said, “I should like to answer Mr. Prendergast’s question, if I may, sir. I have complete confidence in Mr. Honey. I think his work, in general, is very advanced and very competent. I think that in this matter he is very likely to be right.”
And I thought to myself as I said that, there goes your job.
Prendergast said slowly, “I am astonished.”
The Chairman said, “I think we should accept the opinion of Dr. Scott, Mr. Prendergast. Mr. Honey is a member of his staff, and he is better known to Dr. Scott than to anybody in this room.”
Sir David Moon said, “With every respect, Mr. Chairman, I should like to say a word about that. In C.A.T.O. we also know a good deal about Mr. Honey. We consider him to be a man with an obsession on this question of fatigue that impels him to the most extravagant acts. I do not think I need go into what happened at Gander; I imagine we are all aware that Mr. Honey has wrecked one of our aircraft in deference to his theory.”
“No,” I said. “In deference to me. I told Mr. Honey before he left England that no Reindeer was to fly more than seven hundred hours.”
Carnegie exclaimed, “You did?” He turned to the Chairman. “Really, sir, I think that was a little bit high-handed. This meeting has been called to consider that very point.”
I said, “In emergencies, somebody has to say something. At that time we had no idea that any Reindeer had flown more than four hundred hours. But Mr. Honey knew my views, and he acted on them to the best of his ability. I don’t think he was backing up his theory by preventing that Reindeer from flying on. He was doing his best to ensure the safety of the travelling public.”
Sir David Moon said, “Nobody questions that Mr. Honey was doing his best, Dr. Scott. What we feel in C.A.T.O. is that it was the best of an unbalanced man. I do not know if you quite realise the seriousness of his acts. I have no exact figures yet of the cost of repair of the Reindeer which is now lying at Gander, nor of the loss to which my Organisation will be subjected due to that aircraft being out of service for a period of many weeks. It does not seem possible to me that the sum of those two figures will be less than eighty thousand pounds. I do not feel that my Organisation should be liable for that amount.”
The Chairman pursed his lips and wrote down the figure on his pad.
“We feel in C.A.T.O. that that large fin
ancial loss has been forced upon us lightly and unreasonably by an employee of the State who, let us say, thinks differently from ordinary people.” Sir David glanced at the chap from the Treasury, who made a note upon his pad in turn. The legal representative of the Rutland Aircraft Company was already scribbling busily; clearly there was going to be a fine dogfight over who was to pay for that aircraft. “Having had this experience of Mr. Honey and his obsessions we are quite unwilling to accept him as a passenger again in any of our aircraft. And, equally, we shall be most reluctant to accept any reduction of our services based upon the uncorroborated work of this man, in view of our experience with him.”
Prendergast said, “As one who has known Mr. Honey by repute for a great many years, may I say a word, sir?” The Chairman nodded.
The designer said, “I have worked in this industry for thirty-nine years. I came into it as a boy two months after Bleriot flew the English Channel, and I have been working in it ever since. At that time the R.A.E. was still known as the Balloon Factory. I have seen that establishment grow from practically nothing to its present size, and all that time I have been in close and intimate touch with it. I have seen scientists come and go at the R.A.E.; I know them, and I know their ways, and many of them have been most able and devoted men. But I can tell this meeting frankly I consider Mr. Honey to be exceptional. Scientists, like other men, are subject to mental disturbances, perhaps more so in view of the continuous mental efforts that they are required to make. Some scientists grow senile at an early age, they develop kleptomania and steal small articles from little shops”—he was speaking very slowly—“or they behave indecently in the Park, or they engage in treasonable activities, or they slip into religious mania.”
The Director flushed. All these were true incidents that had bedevilled him within the last three years.
“All my life I have watched these men in their careers,” Prendergast continued. “I fancy that I know the initial symptoms of a scientific mental decline by this time, and I could make a tolerably good guess of what the future holds for Mr. Honey.” The Chairman stirred restively, but Prendergast was Prendergast, senior in age and in experience to the lot of us. “We have here a man,” he continued, “who takes a deep interest in psychic phenomena—that is, gentlemen, in ghosts. Mr. Honey believes in ghosts; he has been chairman of a body dealing with psychic research. Apart from that, Mr. Honey will forecast the date of the coming dissolution of the world to anyone who cares to listen to him, based, I believe, on the structure of the Great Pyramid. If you take fright at that, and wish to escape from a planet which is doomed to destruction”—there was infinite sarcasm in his tone—“Mr. Honey is your man again, because he has been concerned with the Interplanetary Society and at one time produced designs for a rocket-propelled Space Ship, I think he called it, for a projected journey to the moon.”
