IMPERIAL STUDENT (1949 - 1953)
1949 to 1950
My first problem before arriving at Imperial was to find accommodation. The college hostel had only about 200 rooms, which were over subscribed. Hence students had to seek the help of the university lodging’s bureau. They recommended ‘Digs’ in the Fulham Road. Here I had a quiet basement room, with breakfast and dinner provided. Although initially successful, I had to change digs twice in my first year. The last change was just two weeks before my exams at the end of my first year….
On the Sunday evening before term started I went to a special service at the college church (Holy Trinity) right beside the hostel in Prince Consort Road. The church was packed (about 300 to 400 students) and the sermon was preached by Geoffrey Fisher, archbishop of Canterbury. His text was ‘Man is not an id ‘, perhaps an appropriate reminder to students concentrating on the laws of science, that men and women were not things!
On the Monday morning the new engineering students (about 200 men and 3 ladies) assembled in the main lecture theatre of the City and Guilds College. Most of the men (about 160) had had their studies interrupted by the war. They were very keen, but with an age range from 23 to 28, most found it difficult to resume their studies. The intake of young students was restricted to about 20% of the total by government policy. The three ladies had the privilege of rooms in the hostel-perhaps to encourage some limited social life. We were welcomed briefly by Professor Saunders (an expert in heat transfer). Then I had a disappointment.
I was mad about aeroplanes! But in 1949 Aeronautics students had to spend years 1 and 2 in the Department of Mechanical Engineering. Obviously the mathematics and theory of metal structure would be helpful for aircraft design. However, I considered the large scale tests on steam boilers and design of reinforced concrete beams would find little application to aircraft. So I had to wait until year 3 for Aerodynamics and Aircraft Structures. Anxious for an earlier connection with Aerodynamics and also to learn to fly, I applied to join the London University Air Squadron.
I was accepted and soon made the first of many long trips in an RAF van to Fairoaks (a grass airfield near Woking). Here I spent many dull, cold and weary Saturdays waiting for the sky to clear sufficiently for our ancient Tiger Moths to become airborne.
My first flight was described in my log book as ‘air experience.’ The Chief Flying Instructor (CFI) was the pilot (in the rear seat) and I was the student (in the front seat). The CFI first showed me the limits of our local flying area (defined by railway lines) and also pointed out Guildford Cathedral. He then let me try the controls and make some simple manoeuvres. Then he asked if he could practise a loop? I said yes. He asked me to check that my shoulder harness was tight –
and I did. The CFI ensured that we were flying parallel to the main railway line from Woking to Waterloo. After an initial dive, the aircraft nose reared up before me, I dropped about an inch towards the earth. Yes! My shoulder straps should have been even tighter! When we completed the loop the CFI was pleased to find that we were still flying parallel with the railway line. Then we flew back to Fairoaks to wait for the RAF van taking us back to South Kensington.
After this air experience flight I was assigned to my own Flying Instructor (FI). He attempted to teach me how to handle a Tiger Moth. I had no difficulty taking off, but I found difficulty judging the height for landing. After about 12 hours (and about 18 weary Saturdays) we had to change aircraft. Our ancient biplane Tiger Moths were replaced by brand new, Chipmunk Monoplanes. The Chipmunk had an enclosed, quiet cockpit, like an expensive sports car. The Chipmunk also had a radio so that messages could be transmitted and received. Unfortunately the new aircraft had two minor defects and one major defect (all subsequently corrected). Only the major defect concerns us. The new Chipmunks had difficulty recovering from a spin if more than three 360º rotations were attempted. There had already been one fatal Chipmunk accident in the Oxford University air squadron. Hence we were ordered to make only one rotation when demonstrating spin recovery.
The change to a modern aircraft did not improve my landing skills. Hence after about another 10 hours instruction (and 10 weary Saturdays) I was referred to the CFI for a check flight. I took off safely and did the simple manoevres requested. Then the CFI asked me to demonstrate the initiation and recovery from a spin. After checking the visibility below to port and starboard, I pulled the stick back and throttled back until the aircraft was ‘hanging on its propellor.’ Then I applied rudder to initiate a spin. I focussed carefully on a spot on the ground so that I could make a full 360º of rotation-but no more! That done, I applied full opposite rudder, pushed the stick forward and gently opened the throttle. I was just thinking how well this spinning test had gone when the CFI interjected, “I’m taking control! You have just exceeded the maximum speed of the aircraft” (120 knots). I had forgotten how rapidly the streamlined, monoplane Chipmunk accelerated in a dive, compared to the biplane Tiger Moth with its built in head winds provided by struts and wires. (This illustrated again that ‘a little learning is a dangerous thing’). The CFI landed the plane and said he would write to me shortly. His letter said that I was thereby discharged from the UAS “….which was essential for your own safety and that of other people.” He was right. I felt foolish, having wasted so many Saturdays.
Another disappointment soon followed. I performed badly in the examinations at the end of my first year, and received a reprimand. The combination of the UAS and the frequency of forced changes of digs was too much for me. I resolved to try much harder in my second and third years. When we reassembled in October 1950 I found that our 160 mature students had been reduced to about 100.
1950 to 1951
My second year began with two happy events. The University lodgings bureau found me a comfortable room in a large, top floor flat in Queen’s Club Gardens, convenient for both West Kensington and Barons Court stations. The kindly landlady provided me with breakfast and tea in the week and provided lunch and tea at the weekends. There was a medical student (straight out of the film ‘Doctor in the House’) who just hired a room. I bumped into him once or twice but his interests seemed to be rugger, tennis and parties (in that order).
Then just round the corner from Queen’s Club Gardens I found St Andrew’s Church, which was friendly and supportive. I became friendly with the vicar, the Rev. W. A. Hepher. I quickly became a server at both the 8am said Holy Communion Service and also at the 11am Sung Eucharist. This brought the challenge of learning how to manage incense and a thurible, so that at the correct time I could cense the priest, the servers, the gospel book and the offerings. The use of incense was an interesting novelty which spoke of the mystery and the holiness of worship. Rev. Hepher was an excellent preacher, who gave out amusing notices, “Will the lady from the Mothers Union who is present please tell all the other members that there is a meeting at two-thirty pm on Wednesday afternoon.” St Andrews church provided me with a firm foundation for my three years further study at Imperial College (1950 to 1953).
My results for my first year had been so bad that in my second year I set myself a strict study routine. On weekdays I did three hours study after tea and at the weekend an additional three hours study in the morning or afternoon (with no University Air Squadron). I always tried to take a walk before and after these study sessions. During the week I had a lunchtime walk in Hyde Park if the weather was suitable.
The summer term quickly came round, bringing the second year finals. I tackled every paper carefully. I finished the mathematics paper with 20 minutes to spare and worked through checking. After about 10 minutes I found a mistake, which I corrected and annotated before our time was exhausted. When the examinations were over I told a friend that, “I felt like a balloon which had expanded into a vacuum.” So I completed my week in London with two days holiday. On the first day I had a look at the Festival of Britain site and joined a fine choral service in the church specially restored for the festival. On the second day I watched a court case in the Old Bailey. Two young men had been wandering down a line of parked cars, checking if all the doors were locked. Was this an offence? The Defence said it was not as nothing had been stolen. Long legal arguments dragged on through the hot afternoon. By about 4pm the Judge said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have had a long day. I suggest we reconvene at 10am.” So I never knew the verdict. However, I knew the verdict on my exams a few days later. I had done well, and was awarded the Henrici Medal for Mathematics, having scored the top mark.
Engineering students at Imperial College were encouraged to get an industrial placement during the long summer holidays. I was offered a six week post as a vacation student at the Vickers-Armstrong Supermarine works at Southampton. This factory was badly damaged by bombs in August 1940. In July 1951 the works still had the concrete slipway that had launched the pre-war Southampton flying boats and the famous Schneider Trophy seaplanes (from which Mitchell developed the Spitfire). Now the factory was making large numbers of small, light alloy components for the Attacker and Swift fighter aircraft, which were assembled at South Marston (near Swindon).
In my initial four weeks at Southampton I was naturally only able to do unskilled jobs-like taking components to the correct heat treatment baths. As a teaching exercise, my supervisor encouraged me to make a small rectangular box (200 x 150 x 100mm) with a hinged lid, starting from a flat sheet of aluminium scrap. Sadly, when I left Southampton, I was ordered to leave my unique creation in light alloy behind. While I was making my box I also created a dictum: ‘There are places in industry for women, but industry is no place for women.’ These sentiments would not be politically correct today! But the ladies employed did mainly manual jobs and were treated roughly by most of the men.
After 4 weeks at Southampton the management agreed to transfer me to the more interesting aircraft assembly factory at South Marston. There I took a room in a large industrial hostel near the factory. I helped to develop an undercarriage test rig, besides observing the assembly lines. In the evenings I cycled through the quiet countryside of Wiltshire.
On my last Friday evening at South Marston I had to make a hurried change of plan for my homeward ride to Nevendon. I had planned to do this ride (about 120 miles) on the Saturday. However, I listened to the radio weather forecast at 1800 hrs; it was appalling for Saturday. Instead, I decided to cycle through the night and take advantage of the light traffic. Unfortunately, I had to rush into Swindon on a bus to dispatch my case from the station, and then take another bus back to South Marston.
I paid my bill and somehow managed to leave South Marston by 19:30. I cycled South East to join the A4 at Hungerford where it became dark and I switched on my dynamo. I then followed the A4 east to Newbury and Reading (2300). Here I made a comfort stop in the large central square (carefully locking my cycle). I was surprised to notice a large policeman follow me into the toilet, “Where do you think your going?” “I’m cycling to my home near Southend, in Essex” “Why are you wearing a towel around your neck?” “Because the sun has been down 2 hours now and its cold. My other clothes are following by rail from Swindon.” The officer was duly satisfied and wished me well.
I then cycled east along the A4 and had a good view of Heathrow’s operations at night (0100); the runway was busy with propeller driven Boeing Stratocruisers and Lockheed Constellations. I left an important message at my digs in West Kensington at about 0200 and cycled through Piccadilly Circus at about 0230 (not very pleasant at that time). I then cycled through Bethnal Green to join the A127, my familiar arterial road. The sky lightened and I could switch my dynamo off. I reached home at about 05.30; a record distance for me of about 120 miles in 10 hours. But how could I wake my parents without creating a disturbance? I tried throwing small stones up at their bedroom window, without success. So I decided to sing an appropriate chorus from Act 1, No 2 of Gilbert and Sullivan’s comic opera ‘The Gondoliers’, “And-if ever, ever, ever, They get back to Spain, They will never, never, never cross the sea again etc “ These words were appropriate to my entry on the scene, and woke my Father. He called out to my Mother in amazement, “Its that boy!” and then came down to let me in. After some explanations and cups of tea (very welcome) I retired to bed. The heavy rain forecast duly arrived during the morning.
1951 – 1952
My third year started with a forced change of digs (the explanation for my express letter delivery at 0200 on my way home). My landlady had to move abroad suddenly and I had to clear my room. Father Hepher let me store my gear in his vicarage and then found me excellent digs in Perham Road close to St Andrews church. These digs lasted my final two years-1951 to 1953.
In my third year it was good to be studying Aeronautics at last and having to learn the Greek alphabet as mathematical symbols. We had excellent lecturers on Aerodynamics, Structures, Propulsion (both propellers and jet engines) and Stability and Control. Our structures lecturer (Professor J. Hadji Argyris) had a unique style.* He liked to stop and ask questions to see if we were awake and following his lecture. In my year he always asked the same four people in the same order (including two Canadian Air Force Officers). One day he derived an equation and wrote it on the blackboard, “What is this integral? Canada 1? Canada 2? Bendor? Mabey?” “It might be a gamma ( г ) sir” ”It is a gamma Mabey! You are too cautious! You should have been a lawyer!”.
The Imperial College gliding club possessed a Slingsby two seater based at Lasham which was used to give students air experience. The glider was winch launched and flown by Frank Irving. Generally once the cable had been released the glider was quiet and it was possible to hear people speaking on the runway 500ft below. On our final flight of the day, Frank and I were launched under a thunder cloud. We climbed very rapidly until we reached the cloud base, which was turbulent and noisy. Then Frank pushed the stick hard forward to try to dive out-but we were still climbing. So he had to extend the air brakes before we started a slow descent. It is, of course unwise for any aircraft to be flown through a thunderstorm because of the severity of the severe gusts.
Suddenly our final examinations came upon us and we awaited our results. I was awarded the Finsbury Medal for Aeronautics, having scored the top mark.
My industrial placement during the long summer holiday of 1952 was with the Royal Aircraft Establishment at Farnborough. We were given 2 days to see the range of research available and then invited to make a choice. I choose the Aerodynamics division and was soon working happily in the 3ft x 4ft low turbulence wind tunnel and helping in the analysis of results from other tests. I enjoyed working with the scientists but asked if there was any chance of making a flight? I was offered a ferry flight to Westcott (a small grass airfield near Aylesbury) in a De Havilland Rapide-a twin-engined biplane. I had to work my passage by carrying a rocket component onto the Rapide and passing it out at Westcott.
My final week coincided with the Farnborough Air Show for 1952, the year when sonic bangs gained attention. I cycled away from Farnborough after breakfast on the Saturday morning. Thus I missed the horror of the tragic crash of the De Havilland 110 on the Saturday afternoon.
* Prof. J. H. Argyris (1916-2004) had a remarkable obituary notice in Aerospace Professional, p11 August 2000
1952 - 1953
In my fourth and final year at IC my Head of Department (Prof H. B. Squire, FRS) suggested that I might verify his semi-empirical theory for ‘The Formation and Decay of Vortices.’ I designed a test rig to generate vortices of varying strength within a perspex tube and a yawmeter to measure the swirl distribution within the vortices. The vortex tube and yawmeter were both made by the aeronautical workshop. The experimental results fitted the theory reasonably well and were reported in my thesis for my Diploma of Imperial College (DIC, 1953) and my subsequent London University thesis (MSC, 1955). In addition to my experiments, I took some more advanced lectures in aerodynamics; Turbulence (Prof. Squire), Fluid Dynamics (Prof. Thwaites), Supersonic flow (Prof. Temple from King’s College). Fortunately there were no examinations on these subjects, or on Advanced Mathematics.
On the morning of 2nd November 1952 I never completed my Advanced Mathematics lecture. A messenger from the admin office came in and mentioned my name to the lecturer, who called me out. I went outside with the messenger. He said “Prof. Squire wants you at the Goldsmith’s Livery Hall Take a taxi!”. Having been ordered to take a taxi, I did, confident that the fee would be refunded. But, why was I needed so urgently? When I arrived at the hall (close to the city), I found Prof. Squire anxiously awaiting me. He explained that the Duke of Edinburgh was due to view a special exhibition of the work of the City and Guilds College. This included a presentation of the new supersonic wind tunnel for the Aeronautics Department. Sir Frederic Handley Page (then chairman of the City and Guilds Institute) had demanded the presence of “A real, live, engineering student! Suppose the Duke asks some technical questions?” (This was always a possibility!) I was the real live student that fate had selected.
The press came round and took some biographic details-looking for the warm, human interest stories preferred by the Daily Mirror. In addition they carefully scheduled the positions and lighting for their cameras along the route the Duke was scheduled to follow. The Duke had just accompanied the Queen to the State Opening of Parliament. He arrived late at the Goldsmiths Hall.
As he came through the door our Aeronautics exhibit caught his eye. Before his guides were aware, he was standing before me and reading the captions. I thought I ought to speak and said something like, “These graphs show some initial results.” He nodded and went quickly past the other exhibits (in the opposite direction to that scheduled). As a consequence, few successful photographs were taken, although the Daily Mirror got a good photograph of the Duke, with Prof Squire and myself in the background. The photographer kept his promise to send me a print and I have cherished this for many years. The meeting provided an interesting contrast to Operation Debrett, which I will now describe.
Fig.2 Unscheduled encounter, 2nd November 1952
Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Professor Squire and myself.
OPERATION DEBRETT
On Coronation Day 2nd June 1953 I took part in “Operation Debrett” to provide material refreshments for the distinguished guests in Westminster Abbey. I wrote this account of my experiences that night. I was much too excited to sleep and I think it will be of interest to readers.
My alarm went at 2.45am.
At 3.10am I reached West Kensington station and waited a few minutes for the first train of the day, packed already, in which I stood to St. James’s Park. Around the station exit I found several groups of policemen in excellent spirits despite the hour and the cold, dispiriting rain. As I walked eastwards on the south side of Victoria Street towards Westminster Abbey I met another Imperial College student who was miserably selling the ‘Daily Mail’ in the rain; it made me very glad that I had changed my Coronation Day duty of a paper seller to a kitchen porter.
At the West end of the Abbey the police were cheerfully moving people on, but there were at 3.30am many gaps in the crowd that still offered a splendid view. I met some other Imperial College students and as it was rather wet we went quickly into the chilly Westminster Hall where we were to work. At 4.15am we were given a briefing. Our duties were to feed the guests from the Parliament Square stands between 7am and 12am; and then to feed the Abbey guests from 2pm onwards. There was an important difference between these two services. Before 2pm everything was sold; afterwards the cost was charged to Her Majesty. At 5.15am we had a cup of tea and warmed ourselves over the gas boilers. There were twenty Imperial College students now, the most noteworthy being a typical mathematician who, even at that time in the morning, could talk about the theory of residues or the ultimate problems of war and peace. The other students who were assisting us were girls from the Brighton Technical College. They had spent the night sleeping on the tables in a well-known restaurant close to Westminster Abbey. At that time of the morning very few of those girls were really a match for Imperial College students!
Some coats were produced for the kitchen porters; there were 16 blue ones and 3 white coats. I was fortunate and was selected to wear a white coat. Also I was given the task of taking round trays of cakes and sandwiches. This pleasant occupation gave me access to the sausage rolls, bakewell tarts, fruit cakes and dainty cream cakes.
At 5.30am the Sergeant of Arms appeared, stepping down the steps of Westminster Great Hall, like Sir Joseph Porter, K C B. boarding H.M.S. Pinafore. He posed cheerfully before one camera and then strode out into the Abbey yard.
At 6.30am we breakfasted on ham sandwiches and tea and then commenced our day’s work. It was interesting watching the customers arrive and to move among them collecting their dirty crockery and wine glasses. Just before the Queen was due to arrive in Parliament Square the Hall cleared to watch her. I arrived three minutes early inside the gates of the Houses of Parliament and was told to climb down. But I stood on tip-toe and saw the Queen’s face and hand through her coach window.
Then, as the service commenced, we had our lunch-ham and beef, lettuce, tomatoes, sausage-rolls and a cake. Afterwards there was a great rush to get everything ready for the Abbey guests. As some two thousand plates had been lost due to an administrative error, we had to line the front of the counter with saucers. We also had the interesting task of making Pimm’s Fruit Cup. I was intrigued by the mixture of viscous green mint and crisp lemonade, which formed this concoction.
When the first guests came from the Abbey a few minutes after 2pm the kitchen porters were hurriedly ordered into the washing-up room at the end of the counter. We gazed out amazed on Princes, Bishops and Knights. I recognised the Dean of Westminster, the Bishop of Durham, the Moderator of the Church of Scotland (by his three-cornered hat and fruit squash), the Pope’s Representative (by his close-fitting cap) and various Knights of the Garter (by their blue sashes). Then came the Peers of the Realm, recalling the entrance of the great lords of lolanthe.
When the manager saw that the tables were rapidly being loaded with dirty crockery, Service books and hats, he came and asked the white-coated porters to take trolleys out into the hall and remove the dirty crockery. It was with delight that I pushed my trolley out onto the crowded floor. I adopted a dignified slow pace appropriate to the gathering and steered my trolley carefully between the ladies trailing their beautiful dresses (now sadly dirtied at the edges) and the gentlemen’s swords. I could not avoid catching snatches of conversation, “so natural and dignified”……”It was terribly draughty in the Annex”…..”A real beauty”….and so on.
When my trolley was full I trundled it back to the cleaning rooms and chivvied my companions to turn it around in record time. I was anxious to be out on the floor again amongst the interesting crowd. It seemed that as soon as we cleared a table it was spontaneously covered with crockery, but this process ceased with remarkable rapidity as soon as all the brandy and whisky had been drunk. The crowd then quickly dispersed, leaving behind hundreds of dirty cups and glasses. Fortunately we only had to pack the dirty cups and crocks away, clear down our tables and carry all the food away to complete our work.
The manager told us that he thought we had dealt with the situation very well and offered all the “glass” girls a gin-and-orange and all the male kitchen porters a whisky. He was quite merry himself and I heard him remark, “I’ve never seen such a small CID man”-so there probably was one working with us, disguised as an Imperial College student.
It was wonderful to watch the policemen drinking the good ale left over by the Lords, and to watch the Sergeant of Arms return at 5.30pm looking as prim as he did 12 hours before. He slapped one police sergeant on the back and exclaimed, “Now’s the time to relax” – it was indeed!
We were paid at 5.30pm and at 6pm I bought a 2d ticket to Westminster Station to avoid the queue for a ticket to West Kensington. I got a seat for the journey back to West Kensington in a carriage with bearded veterans of the street campaign and St John’s Ambulance men. My work was now over for the day.
Back at my digs a very merry party sat down to a buffet tea at 8pm. Everyone had seen the procession comfortably, and the St John’s Ambulance lady stationed at Scotland Yard had dealt with 150 cases. She felt well-satisfied with her efforts. Two patients had been sent to hospital, one for a hernia and another one for a heart attack. Then we listened to Churchill’s speech preceded by a dramatic pause – nearly too long – and followed by his characteristic cough. Then we heard the Queen’s speech.
When finally I went to sleep that night I heard the continuing noise of fireworks rising from the South Bank.
“GOD SAVE THE QUEEN”!
After the fun and excitement of my work in Operation Debrett, I had to consider the possibility of a vacation work placement for the summer of 1953. Although I had enjoyed my vacation work at Farnborough in 1952, I still wanted to see something more of work in the aircraft industry. So in the summer of 1953 I worked for 6 weeks in the aerodynamics office of De Havilland at Hatfield. Here the worlds first jet propelled transport-the D H Comet, was being developed. I found this work very interesting and decided that I would try to arrange an air experience flight on the Comet.
Much to my surprise, on my last Friday afternoon at Hatfield I managed to get a ride on a test flight. We took off at about 1600 and flew from Hatfield out over the English Channel. (Although there was no cloud over the Channel, the whole of southern England was covered with dainty cumulous clouds-normally a sure sign of an anti-cyclone and stable atmospheric conditions). Once over the channel we made a number of turns with decreasing radii (more steeply banked). We then flew the length of the British Isles and repeated the exercise just north of Scotland with a lower fuel load and at a higher altitude. During these turns I was sitting close to the aircraft centre of gravity and reasonably comfortable.
We landed back at Hatfield at about 1830. The first person to come aboard was a senior flight engineer. He shone a torch and carefully examined the main wing spar close to my seat, looking for cracks. The second person was the chief test pilot, ‘Cat’s Eyes’ Cunningham; he went into the cockpit to discuss the flight results with the captain and first officer. I expressed my thanks to the flight crew and went to retrieve my cycle. Then I had to cycle from Hatfield to my home at Nevendon, conscious of the wide disparity between my speed and that of the Comet. The long ride home gave me time to decide that on my return from America I would apply to work at the Royal Aircraft Establishment, Farnborough, where I had greatly enjoyed my vacation work placement in 1952. But I knew already that after a few days I would be off to America by sea to study at Brown University. How did this happen?
BROWN STUDY (1953-1954)
Going back to the spring 1953, I was a postgraduate student in the Aeronautics Department of Imperial College. I had registered for my PhD, which then was completed usually in 3 academic years. But after four years I was unhappy with the prospect of more years in London (rather like my mother in 1934). This was despite Dr Johnson’s remark, “When a man is tired of London he is tired of life, for there is in London all that life can afford”. Suddenly I was offered a chance to study and teach in America.
Professor Joseph Kestin came to visit the department. He advertised a vacancy for a Research Associate* at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island. The basic salary was $3600/annum working full time. Professor Kestin explained that I could work ¾ time (for $2700) and study half time (for a small course fee). I thought working 5/4 time sounded excessive. He assured me that many post-graduate students did this. I went to see our acting Head of Department, Professor J. Hadji Argyris. As a diplomatic move I apologised first for even thinking of leaving. Then I showed him Professor Kestin’s invitation and asked for his advice. He gave it succinctly, “You must go Mabey! You will come back more natural and less inhibited!” He opened the door to let me out. The decision was made.
But how was I to reach Brown University in time for the September term? It was Coronation Year and most sea passages were booked already. Fortunately Fulbright travel awards were still being offered for European students to study in America. I applied, and gained an award. With it came a passage on the Cunard liner Queen Elizabeth, sharing a four berth cabin with three other students. I also got a visitor’s visa, valid for one year……
We sailed from Southampton on 15th September and arrived in New York on 22nd September. The voyage passed agreeably. We enjoyed the sea air, the good food served in tourist class and chatting to other passengers. Every day at 1200 the Captain would announce our position and how far we had travelled. Every day at 1200 my group of students wrote appropriate messages in several languages on a sheet of Queen Elizabeth writing paper, headed by my home address. The paper was then placed in a bottle, carefully sealed and thrown overboard. We found this ritual rather amusing (as did other passengers) but I cannot recommend this as a reliable means of communication. Sadly, none of the messages was ever returned to my home. But perhaps there is still time……
I had an Uncle, Charles Mabey, who was Chief Engineer for the P&O line, so I had often visited marine engine rooms. I left a note with the chief purser of the Queen Elizabeth and he arranged for me to join a small party to tour the engine rooms. As we passed through the crew’s quarters, I noticed that there were diagrams showing how every life boat would be manned for an emergency. A boat would have a mate, a navigator, a cook, a purser and a number of able seamen. So if the ship sank, Cunard service could continue, albeit somewhat impaired.
* Research Associates were the lowest grade in the College Faculty. They were employed to do research and to teach – usually setting exercises and taking tutorials. They have no exact equivalent in the UK
Our trip included a Sunday and tourist class passengers were allowed to pass into the first class part of the ship for the service of Matins. This was conducted with great dignity by the captain. The hymns were well sung, but I don’t think there was a sermon. Seeing the magnificent furnishings, staircases and paintings in that part of the ship was a pleasure.
On our last day we approached New York at about 0800. We admired the famous skyline and saw the captain (resplendent in full uniform as at Matins) welcome the pilot aboard from his small cutter. When we docked, foreigners had a long wait (several hours) in a queue to pass through Immigration and Customs control. During that time some American Jehovah’s Witnesses wound back down the queue to find me and give me two leaflets. These explained (to their satisfaction, but not mine) that the Doctrine of the Holy Trinity was false. We had had long theological arguments on board ship, but they were determined to get the last word. I gave them full marks for keenness, read the leaflets as I waited, then put them in a rubbish bin. They were certainly not worth taking up to Rhode Island. The state was founded by a liberal puritan (Roger Williams), who did believe in the Holy Trinity.
I remember only one incident on the long rail journey from New York to Providence. A friendly American gentleman noticed my Imperial College blazer, with the royal coat of arms. He started to chat and asked where and what I was to study. After replying I asked his occupation, “Oh, I work in law”, “Then are you a solicitor?” “Young man, that is not the word we use here in America. I am an Attorney!” As our conversation continued agreeably, I thought of Churchill’s remark, “Two nations divided by a single language.”
On a sunny autumn afternoon my first impression of Brown was favourable. Brown was one of the five famous Ivy League colleges and had a leafy campus surrounded by modern buildings and a fine old chapel. I found the Administration building. The staff were helpful but were not expecting me, owing to some confusion over my arrival date. Where could I spend the night?
It was agreed that I could spend a night or two in the Faculty House. This was a comfortable house, usually used by visiting academics. I remember an excellent dinner and delightful conversation but nothing more. The next day I was given a list of possible addresses. I rented a room in walking distance from the campus. No meals were provided, so I had to eat breakfast and lunch in the college refectory. Dinner had to be eaten in a restaurant. I was to share the office of my supervisor, Professor Paul F Maeder. He was a Swiss, who had studied supersonic aerodynamics with the famous Professor Ackeret in Zurich. Maeder’s office was in the Applied Mathematics building at 182 George Street. He rarely came into his office because he was busy teaching, developing the new transonic wind tunnel (out of town) and visiting the new national wind tunnel site in Tennessee. This subsequently became the USAF Arnold Engineering Test Facility, which I visited many years later as an RAE scientist.
The students started to arrive. Brown then had about 1800 male undergraduate students working four years for their first degree. The associated lady’s college, Pembroke, had only about 600 students and thus they were assured of a busy social life. Many of the male students were in uniform, for they were sponsored by the US Army, Navy or Air force. Otherwise the students were dressed informally compared to students in England. Life was now becoming interesting.
A major problem arose within a few days of my arrival. Professor Maeder kindly drove me out of town to the experimental, transonic wind tunnel. I was allowed to look at the outside circuit which was like that of any other wind tunnel. But I was not allowed to look inside at the all-important working section, where models would be tested at transonic speeds. Sadly, it had just been decided that only Americans would be allowed the secret of how to generate a transonic flow about a model. This was done by replacing the “closed” walls of a conventional wind tunnel by “ventilated walls”, formed either by slots and slats or by perforations.
This change meant that I could not do the experimental work I had been invited to Brown to complete. This was a great disappointment both to me and to the Department. It meant that I had no significant financial resources for experiments and the Department had to fund an American student to replace me. It was ironic that when I returned to England I joined the Team developing a transonic wind tunnel at Bedford, which had a 3ft x 3ft working section. This tunnel was provided with three slotted transonic working sections. Some experience from the Brown University wind tunnel would have been valuable.
Although disappointed at not working on the transonic tunnel, I did two interesting pieces of research at Brown. I was allowed to spend a few $ of petty cash and make a simple apparatus to verify a special case of slowly rotating viscous flow; I had derived an exact theoretical solution for this. I borrowed a camera and by sprinkling particles of aluminium dust on the surface, I took excellent photographs of the surface streamlines. The theoretical solution and the photographs provided my first scientific publication¹. Then I discovered a new solution for the full equations of laminar viscous flow: a round laminar jet with a special swirl distribution. This became my second publication².
My formal lectures were held in the Applied Mathematics department. I struggled with vector and matrix analysis, taught by an Englishman – Professor Geofferey Hopkins. However the course on compressible fluids was exciting. Our lecturer was French – Professor Paul Germaine. He spoke excellent English and had an amusing catch phrase. Introducing every new topic he would say, “It is always the same! It is easy! I do it!” It was, of course, never the same or easy, but Professor Germaine always managed to solve the problem. Another special phrase he used was, “When the mathematics is compliqué it is not good”. We students agreed with this sentiment particularly as the examination approached. I managed a pass, but on the basis of my experiments, rather than my mathematics.
I had registered for my PhD and had to take a qualifying exam in reading scientific German. (I was exempted from French by my GCE pass from 1946). On the day the examination comprised the translation of a section from the well known text on “Boundary Layer Theory” by Professor Herman Schlichting, from the Aeronautical Institute at Göttingen. At that time (1953/54) the book had not yet been translated into English. However, I knew something about boundary layer theory and I had learnt a little German, I managed a competent translation.
My studies then hit another major difficulty. At that time English students generally travelled to the USA on a visitor’s visa, valid for one year only (as I had done). These visas were easy to obtain. At the end of a year the students would pass into Canada for a short holiday, and there get another visitor’s visa. This process could be repeated. Unfortunately this was now the McCarthy era. A bill was passed through the Senate (the MacClaren Act) to prevent it. So I learnt that I would have to return to the UK in September 1954, forget about my PhD and start earning a living.
I had no previous teaching experience and I expected it to be rather dull. In fact, I found it enjoyable and challenging. The students were in their second year, the Sophomores. They were lively and informal. We got on well until I introduced an innovation.
I had brought with me some of my second year course work from Imperial College. If I remember correctly, I think they were simple problems of pipe flow, such as a sudden expansion. I had shown them first to Professor Maeder, who agreed that they were appropriate for the second year engineering course at Brown.
Unfortunately, to my horror there was a student protest, “This crazy guy from England has introduced course work that is not in the crib books of our Fraternity Houses!” Most students lived in fraternity houses (given Greek names such as Φ, β, κ). As a privilege of membership, they had access to all the crib books. Now I had spoilt this comfortable arrangement! Another complaint was that, “The other group (taught by an American research associate) don’t have these new problems”. Fortunately Professor Maeder insisted that what I had introduced was reasonable and the crisis passed.
Shortly after this episode there was an unpleasant shock for all students. A student from the group taught by the American committed suicide in his own Fraternity House. The tragedy shocked both groups of students because they all knew him. I felt the tenseness in my group for about a month afterwards. I heard subsequently that the student had talked to the University authorities about committing suicide for a long time. It was then considered that while the subject was talking about it, it wouldn’t happen. They were wrong here. The sad event made a deep impression on me.
I will follow that sad memory with a cheerful one. I was sitting quietly in my office one afternoon when one of my students came in. I thought he wanted guidance on his course work, but I was wrong, “How would you like to spend a pleasant Saturday evening in a Fraternity House and enjoy an excellent dinner?” He explained that his House was giving a party, to which lady students from Pembroke College would be invited. Under the current University regulations, the Faculty had to provide three chaperones, two male and one female. These had to be present throughout the party. He had a male Professor and his wife, would I like to be the second man? I thought quickly; this party sounded like an interesting experience and fun. I said I would accept but took the precaution of taking the name of the Professor. I phoned him. He confirmed that he and his wife were going, we agreed to meet at the Fraternity House at the time suggested.
We met as arranged. My co-chaperones explained that it was recommended that always one chaperone should be “on duty”, circulating round the house, while the other two could be “off duty” at leisure in the centre of the house. This seemed reasonable. I was chatting agreeably with the wife when her husband returned rather hastily. He said, “I thought I’d wander down to the basement. Do you know, there’s one room down there with the door shut, all the lights out and lots of boys and girls in it!” His wife said, “Did you go in?” “Not likely!” said her husband, “Then I will!” His wife and I found our way down to the basement. Sure enough, there was one door shut. She opened it gently; there were no lights on. She found the switch, put the lights on and marched boldly into the room. We faced a sea of embarrassed faces. The boys and girls had been kissing and cuddling but nothing more. The wife told them to leave the lights on and the door open. Then we beat a hasty retreat.
Subsequently I was invited to be a chaperone again at another party. I thought it best to decline the invitation. Later I learnt more about the Fraternity Houses and decided they could be divisive and unhealthy.
Sunday provided a pleasant break from study. Beside the campus was “St Stephen’s”, bearing the notice “The Episcopal church welcomes you” - and it did! St Stephen’s was host to the Canterbury Club, a special club for students at Brown and Pembroke. I enjoyed worshipping with them and especially the parish breakfast (sometimes held after the Eucharist).
I met their new chaplain, the Rev. Samuel J Wiley. He had been a non-conformist naval chaplain during the Pacific War but subsequently became an Episcopalian priest. We became good friends and in 1955 he visited my home in Essex, King’s College Chapel Cambridge, and my own church in Bedford (St Andrew’s). Later he became a bishop but sadly died before I first returned to America as an RAE scientist.
I enjoyed meeting the students. One small pretty young lady was ‘the college campus Camel (cigarette) representative’. It was her job to ensure that every college social function had an adequate supply of Camels. I complained that this was wicked and unchristian, for research showing the harmful effects of smoking had just been published in America. She replied that she “was working her way through college. The camels paid all her fees. The students might as well smoke her free Camels as some other brand they’d have to buy”. I never succeeded in changing her mind.
Charles was a young man who worshipped regularly. I quizzed him about Fraternity Houses and their customs. He said, “Well, you select the kind of guys you want to be with”. He explained that one Fraternity demanded 80% grades, another athletic powers, another the Jewish religion. I pointed out that this was quite different from the Oxbridge system, where it was a delight to meet all sorts and conditions of students on one college staircase.
Caleb (a traditional New England Puritan name) was very tall and was sponsored by Uncle Sam. He, like many other of the students may later have been involved in the Vietnam War, which challenged America’s self confidence. Sometimes we were joined by members of the various faculties, including a few Professors.
Professor Lester Bradner was an expert in Elizabethan literature and Reformation history. We had some interesting discussions after church. We decided finally that the only way to understand the mind of Queen Elizabeth I was to recall that she was the daughter of King Henry VIII! Professor Bradner kindly invited me to spend a week in the Easter holiday at a “Faculty Theological conference” at Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut (then the insurance capital of America). I enjoyed the conference (especially the discussions) but now can remember nothing of lecturers or the topics addressed.
CHRISTMAS AND SOCIAL LIFE
Christmas 1953 was memorable and friendly. It started with a beautiful Carol Service in the college chapel. The hymn “Let all mortal flesh keep silence”, normally sung in England during the celebration of Holy Communion, made a very moving carol. On Christmas Eve I walked down the hill into Providence and went to Christ Church for the midnight Eucharist (for some reason there was no midnight celebration on the campus at St Stephen’s). During the hymns I noticed that my English voice (second tenor line) contrasted with the lower pitched, New England accents around me. Immediately after the service, a man behind me asked, “Are you English?” “Yes”. “Are you at Brown?” “Yes”. “Come home with me and my family and have a drink”. So I did. I was made welcome and after many greetings the man (a complete stranger) insisted on driving me back to my digs. Such a welcome was unlikely in England.
For Christmas Day the very active branch of the English Speaking Union in Providence had arranged hospitality for most of the English speaking students. I was collected from my digs by a lady with two pleasant daughters (aged about 20 and 23). After an excellent Christmas lunch we decided to play American Monopoly (with US property names) because the weather outside was cold and wet. After Monopoly, the younger daughter tried to persuade me that the only sensible system of government was a republic. Why did we Brits still have a Queen? What was the use of a constitutional Monarch? She got excited and enthusiastic about the prospects for a revolution in England. After a little while I remarked that I had myself assisted in the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II (see Operation Debrett above).
When the English wanted to get rid of their Monarchs, they just chopped off their heads; as they did for King Charles I. Thus until someone chopped off Her Majesty’s head, we would remain a Monarchy. I think the younger daughter was satisfied with this argument.
Professor Maeder kindly drove me down to the AIAA annual meeting in New York in January 1954. The roads were covered with snow and ice, but Professor Maeder had no difficulties, having driven for many years in Switzerland. The famous Professor Theodore Von Karman gave an amusing keynote address. He said that he travelled vast distances round America by air; he was tired of delays and cancellations. He wrote a letter of complaint on his own headed, University paper, to the President of a national airline. Professor Von Karman received a reply, which he started to read. It began
“Dear Mr Karman, unacquainted as you are with the principles of
aeronautics…..”
The remainder of the letter was lost in thunderous laughter.
In September 1954 I received an invitation from an acquaintance to visit Virginia. I hitched a ride to Washington with a coloured student (who had his own car). I just missed Hurricane Carol, which hit Providence a day after we left. I had a few days in Washington and then travelled on by Greyhound coach to Richmond (the former capitol of the Confederacy). My hosts were from a famous old Southern family and had a photo of General Robert E Lee on the wall. They spoke of the Civil War as though it had only ended a few days before. I have only two recollections. First, their overwhelming kindness and generosity to a comparative stranger. Second, a day spent trying to learn how to water-ski behind a motorboat. My companions quickly learnt the art. In contrast I never managed to get up for more than a few seconds. I attributed this failure to a lack of balance and poor co-ordination. I have never tried again. On my way back (by coach and train), Providence was battered by Hurricane Edna.
I had become friendly with an American PhD student in physics, Howland Fowler. Howland was from a very old established New England family and was a keen walker. He suggested that I might like to join him on a “field trip” to Block Island on the Labour Day holiday – 4th September 1954. Block Island was off the coast of Rhode Island and comparatively barren. I asked, “Where would we stay?” Howland said, “It will be warm. We can sleep on the beach.” He provided two sleeping bags and I borrowed some old blankets from my somewhat amused landlady.
The boat from Providence was very crowded but when we docked at Block Island we walked around the coast, away from the crowds. We settled down in sight of a distant restaurant. As the sun set we walked to the restaurant for our evening meal. As we walked through the foyer, two young ladies stretched out their legs to trip us up. Howland scarcely noticed, but I did. As we were directed to our seats, I said, “those young ladies wanted to join us for supper!” As a scion of a very old New England family Howland replied, “Well, I’m afraid they’ll have a long wait!” After a good meal, we noticed that the girls had left the foyer and we made our way back to the beach.
We turned in at about 10pm. There was one angler trying vainly to fish. Driven by curiosity he edged closer and closer to us. Satisfied, he then moved away. I spotted a weather balloon drifting out across the Atlantic high above us. Neither of us slept very well. There is a lovely evening hymn which says, “Birds and flowers and insects, soon will be asleep.” Well, the birds and the flowers may go to sleep, but the insects certainly don’t! We had breakfast at the restaurant and took a boat back to Providence and home comforts. When I left Brown for England, Howland presented me with “A little Treasury of American Prose”, edited by George Mayberry. Howland inscribed it “In recollection of a pleasant ‘field trip’ to Block Island”. I treasure that volume.
I should mention one other short weekend trip. I had been anxious to date a young American lady before I returned home, but I was concerned that I couldn’t offer her an ‘auto’ ride. My Canadian friend, David, advised it would be OK to invite her as long as I explained from the beginning that I had no auto. Accordingly I invited one of the Department’s secretaries, who had allowed me to use her office typewriter at the weekends. She was pleased and suggested that on a Sunday we should take a bus from Providence down to Newport, Rhode Island. She would provide a picnic lunch and we could eat dinner in Providence on our return.
We had a delightful day in Newport. We wandered round in sunshine amongst the gracious homes (many owned by millionaires) and amongst the expensive ships and yachts moored in the harbour. Then we returned by bus to Providence for dinner at the Brown Bear – a Chinese restaurant close to the campus. Dinner completed a pleasant day. The lady was the first I had dated. Perhaps I was becoming “more natural and less inhibited”, as Professor Argyris had predicted.
I then had to make my return journey to England. Cunard agreed that I could exchange my 5 night ticket on the Queen Elizabeth (from New York to Southampton) for an eight night ticket on the Ascania (from Montreal to Liverpool). I made this exchange so that I could have a quick look at Canada and a longer sea passage. I had enjoyed both the sea air and the meals on the outward passage. The Rev. Samuel J. Wiley (our Episcopalian chaplain) kindly drove me up to Boston station from whence I took the long slow train journey through the forests of New England to Montreal. I stayed in Montreal for one night and then took another train to Quebec. My Canadian friend, David, had advised me to speak French whenever I could. Then the French Canadians would enjoy telling me that, “Their English is much better than your French”. David had also advised me to stay at a small hotel he knew and to make sure that I visited the famous battlefield (the Plains of Abraham) above Quebec. Here the English general Wolfe defeated the French general Montcalm and both generals died in the battle.
On the return trip by train from Quebec to Montreal I met a French Canadian couple who quickly advised me that their English was better than my French. They were Roman Catholics and had two delightful children. As the train sped south the children looked out of the windows and demonstrated their fluency in two languages by calling out, “Les vaches! Les vaches! The cows! The cows! Les moutons! Les moutons! The sheep! The sheep!” The object of the game was to identify the objects we passed before the other child. It was an excellent, enjoyable way to build up a vocabulary. At Montreal I changed trains and went on to the capital, Ottawa. I can remember only two things about Ottawa. The first was visiting the impressive Parliament Building modelled on Westminster. The second was attending an evening lecture (free) given by a man who was extremely popular with the students at Brown, Dr Norman Vincent Peale. He was the author of the best selling book, “the Power of Positive Thinking”. Dr Peale claimed to teach self improvement using repeated mantras. When you got up in the morning you should look into the mirror and say, “I look good! I feel good! I am good!” You repeated this as required, then marched forth to conquer. After listening to that lecture I never understood why this “Guru” was so popular.
I took the train back to Montreal and boarded the Ascania (the oldest ship in the Cunard line). We sailed down the St Lawrence Seaway through small villages, each dominated by large churches. Sadly, the “Fall” was about a week late in 1954 and so I missed the glorious colours I was expecting. At the end of the St Lawrence we encountered some very rough sea off ‘Further Point’. I was nearly seasick, but I remembered advice and spent most time on deck, looking at the far horizon.
Out in the Atlantic the seas calmed and I wrote a note to the chief engineer, asking if I could visit the engine rooms (as on the Queen Elizabeth). I was disappointed to have no reply, so after a few days I called to ask the purser. He said, “oh, so you’ve had no reply from the chief engineer? Well, you won’t be getting one.” “But I went over the engine rooms of the Queen Elizabeth!” “The Ascania is not the Queen Elizabeth! The chief thinks its hard enough keeping the engines of this old tub turning without the additional hazard of passengers looking at them.” So my technical foray was unsuccessful. However, I did have a minor social success.
I was sharing a table for two with another IC engineering student (male). There was a pantomime on the first evening at dinner as we searched other tables for the cruets. As a consequence of the cruet search and much laughter, on the second evening two IC students were invited to join up with four young ladies from Vassar College (a top grade college in New England) making a table for six. Thereafter mealtimes were great fun!
We docked at Liverpool on the day scheduled (only the second time that year) and took the boat train to London, where my father met me. I spent the night at 350 Hackney Road and travelled on to Wickford the next morning where my mother met me. During a week based at home I travelled to RAE Farnborough for an interview with Drs Nicholson and Küchemann. They offered me immediate employment but as an aerodynamicist in the new wind tunnels at RAE Bedford. I was delighted to accept the offer.
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