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A DANCE THROUGH THE FIRES OF TIME

9502 POLITICAL REVOLUTIONS – THE 1960s part 1

The 1960s are now seen, wearing rose-tinted glasses, as a time of revolutionary change; and in particular of love. In fact, for most of the population they were just a continuation of the repressive culture of the 1950s, and freedom for the majority didn’t start until the 1970s. Even the sexual revolution was only unleashed when the contraceptive pill became available, and allowed single women to avoid the social stigma of pregnancy. For just a few of us, though, the reality of the 1960s matched the myth. We were the true revolutionaries creating the new worlds, or at least we thought we were. In fact I was one of the leaders of two revolutions. At the beginning of the decade I was a leader of the social and political revolutions, most specifically as one of those setting up the student anti-apartheid movement. In the later part of the decade I was, as described in the next chapter, one of the powerful brand managers who ushered in the consumer revolution. Even then, as the final chapter in this section about the 1960s will demonstrate, even my revolutionary tendencies were soon toned down by the realities of earning a living.

As with many graduates, my time at university finally shaped the rest of my life. This may not, however, be immediately obvious. Thus, my academic progress – in physics -was disappointing, and I barely scraped a third class honours; though it has to be remembered that Imperial was then, and still is now, the top university and its standards reflected this. But this was the price paid for my social development, which was spectacular; and, in turn, paid the highest dividends three decades later.

But first the boring, but essential, context. Students may then have been revolutionaries, but we still had to study.

Thus, although the standards at Imperial were incredibly high, I found that not too much had changed from my experience at school. The emphasis was on chalk and talk. Unfortunately the lecturers, who were some of the best researchers in the world, were not good at either chalk or talk! Imperial was, and still is, pre-eminently a postgraduate College. Indeed it was home to more postgraduates than undergraduates. As such it had more than its fair share of Nobel Prize winners. The good thing was that we could talk to them, and get to know them -- which was a great privilege. The bad thing was that being a Nobel prizewinner did not guarantee that they could communicate; in fact it almost guaranteed the opposite! The result was that you were advised to go out and get the books the lecturers had written and work from those. Even so I religiously attended the lecturers, though much of these went over my head due to the poor teaching, and unfortunately I didn't follow the books assiduously  as I should have done.

Following the way science, and especially physics, was starting to develop, the essence was theory, theory and more theory. Thus, in the first year we studied maths and physics, as compared with maths, physics and chemistry studied at other universities!. Maths was taught separately in the old Huxley building, which is now part of the V & A museum. I remember sitting there in a large lecture hall, seating more than 100, and being bemused by the advanced mathematics being hurled at me, as a precursor for our other courses - including quantum mechanics! It was not the most thrilling set of lectures I have ever come across. Incidentally Harvey, from my lodgings, was a mathematician, so he had to do this all the time -- but it obviously suited him better than it did me. Obeying rules, especially seemingly arbitrary rules, is not my strong point!.

Like most students in the first year, I was more preoccupied by outside social events than by the lectures. When I'd been at Farnborough I had shared my room with someone who are just got an upper second, and I felt sorry for him that he hadn't got a first. What I didn't realize was that, by my lack of playing the game, at Imperial I was ultimately destined to get a third!

Symbolic of all the lectures was the one given by the Dean, Prof. Blackett. He was a legend in his own time, having worked out the statistical (game) theories which enabled Britain to beat the U boat menace in the war; though, of course, we didn't at that time know about the Bletchley Park code-breaking. Accordingly, we were all tensed up with excitement as he started his lecture. It was rubbish! He was even worse at communicating than our normal lecturers!

The academic pace increased in my second year at Imperial College, though by then we had reduced to just physics – supposedly getting rid of mathematics.  I appreciated not having to do mathematics as a separate subject, but discovered - to my horror - that most of the physics lectures still revolved around mathematics rather than anything more tangible. Thus, we had subjects such as the theory of aerial design -- a specialty of the academic staff, who had previously designed the radio telescope at Jodrell Bank.  I even designed my own half-wave filter for my hi-fi radio. I spent several years boasting about this to my friends, only to discover that the joint linking it to my hi-fi had broken and the aerial itself wasn't even connected. I was receiving signals only from the lead!  That was perhaps typical of the impact of my scientific ability in real life.

The other subjects we covered were more basic topics like optics and thermodynamics. However, the subject that really tested me, and in the end almost destroyed me, was quantum mechanics.  The lecturer started with the Schrödinger Wave Equation - which I did almost understand  - but then proceeded to develop this for 26 weeks on the trot.  As the board - which was about thirty feet wide and six feet deep - filled up, he used to go through the various elements which he had written on it and decide -- almost at random it seemed to me -- which ones would only be zero or infinity.  Then he would start all over again! The end result was a folder of notes about an inch thick which represented the development of just one equation.  I had never before thrown a course, but I had to in this case; since there was no way I could remember all those meaningless equations for the exam.

Thus we came to the exam.  The first part of it was the practical, at which I usually excelled The problem was that we were just given a weight, some string, a ruler and a clock; and told to weigh the earth. This was, of course possible, as long you remembered the relevant equation. Thus the whole practical revolved not around what you did with your hands but what you remembered of the equation -- and, of course, I didn't remember anything!  Scratch one practical exam!

The theoretical exam was equally nightmarish.  The only a part on which I did well, and I think it saved my bacon, was one on electronics -- where my former experience at Farnborough helped out.

The end result was a nasty shock. I was left hanging by my fingernails for the first time in my life. I doubted I would ever make it as far as the third year. It has been recognised that standards in the physics at Imperial were very high and indeed still are; Imperial College now has a clear lead at the top of the academic league tables. In fact then, possibly even now, it was head and shoulders above any other physics department in the United Kingdom. 

The ruthless nature of maintaining standards was actually incorporated in concrete.  Thus, the first year lecture theatre held 120 students, but the second and third year lecture theatres held only 80 each!  This meant that, no matter what happened, a third of the students had to be the thrown out at the end of the first year.  And, indeed, that was exactly what happened -- though most were welcomed at other universities where they probably got first-class honours!  It has to be remembered that this was the most elite physics course in the UK. I carried out a rough survey of the physics students, which indicated that three-quarters of the students, including myself, held state scholarships. This inevitably meant that some people with these scholarships were bound to be thrown out at the end of the first year.

The facilities, though, were superb. The new building had everything a physics researcher could ever want. It was even fully air-conditioned, a rarity in those days. The initial fly in the ointment was that, when they switched on the air-conditioning which was primarily designed to keep building dust free, the whole building disappeared in a cloud of dust. The builders had not cleaned out the ducts! 

In the second year my favourite astronomer, Fred Hoyle, came along to give a lecture -- which was overbooked to such an extent that it had to be relayed to the lecture theatre next door as well. Fortunately I got in to actually see Fred.  I think the lecture was about astronomy, for Fred was still trying to save his steady-state theory when the evidence for the Big Bang was first emerging.

However, the questions were nothing to do with this.  Fred was, at the time, also opposing the new continental drift theory.  Unfortunately Imperial was at the centre of the continental drift theory, and indeed over the succeeding years was proved to be correct. In any case, the audience proceeded to take him apart. Thus was one of the great heroes of my teenage years reduced in stature to a mere mortal before my eyes.

I was still, though, locked into a career in science. Thus, even after my second year at university, my vac job was still very much as a scientist. This time it was in Germany; at the equivalent of their national physical laboratory; the PTB in Braunschweig.

I got there after a horrendous journey, of which the worst part was getting across country to the port of the Harwich from my parent's place.  It seems that if you ever want to go across country in the United Kingdom, by train, you must allow at least three or four times as long. I eventually, boarded the overnight ferry and was deposited at the Hook of Holland after very uncomfortable night, Something like ten of 12 hours later, after travelling on the train through Holland and then Germany right to the border of East Germany, I came to Braunschweig (Brunswick in our translation).

It was daunting prospect.  Although I had done two years of German at school, I didn't really speak the language -- so I had difficulty finding my way around.  I was in digs in, I remember, Gliesmarode Strasse.  The landlady was a nice old dear who used to ply me with her 'saft', which was a soft drink made from fresh strabwerries, which was delicious.  From there I used to catch the tram, changing once, to the PTB; which was on the outskirts of the town. It had been built in the Second World War, as a leading nazi research establishment, but was in very good condition.

For a while I was a nine-day wonder and everyone spoke English to me -- they were all desperate to improve their own English (which was good anyway). But, after a while, they got bored with speaking English and I had to speak German instead. This proved to be the best way of learning the language!  I was there with another student, from Mauritius, who did not manage to learn the language and was somewhat disadvantaged as a result.  But I did learn something of the language, and eventually was sort of fluent in it.  I thought in German, but had a very small vocabulary. More important, since it offended Germans, my grammar was appalling. I was always using the wrong tense or the wrong gender or the wrong something or other.  But the girls use to love teaching me German. They called 'Mr Mitzekatze'; which was German for Mr Pussycat.

I worked in various labs, starting in one using high-voltage -- where I was at one end, controlling the power, and the experiments were at the other; and a German colleague was on the receiving end.  It was a very quick way of learning what worked in German, since otherwise one or other of us was fried!

Most of the time I was working the Hall Effect, an electromagnetic effect which promised much for the future  -- though, despite IBM conducting some research on its practical use, it has since not been used as much as we then expected.

But there were times to escape, and climb the towers which dotted the establishment. The top parts of these were made of wood, since they had been used to test radar during the war and had to be non-magnetic. Up there I was propositioned -- for the third time in my life - but, innocent as ever, I didn't accept!

As a provincial town there was not much to do. It had a cinema, to which I used go.  I remember seeing Ingmar Bergman's Wild Strawberries (Wilde Erdbeeren). This was something of an achievement on my part, because the films tended to be dubbed into German, so I really did have to understand German -- but I suppose I must have done.  Best of all, I saw 'Some Like It Hot' for the first time.  Again it was dubbed into German, but I will swear it was funnier as a result -- especially the closing lines!

But there was little else to do around the place. Eventually I got so lonely that Pat came across from the UK and joined me for a couple of weeks. Fortunately my landlady was able to find an extra room in her flat.  When I was working Pat went round the shops, still her favourite hobby. You can tell how provincial town was, for the staff at the PTB told me the next day exactly where she had been -- an English person in Braunschweig (even with its 100,000 people) stood out like a sore thumb. In evening we used go to the ratkeller and drink beautiful Moselle wine and eat German food. At lunch I ate in the PTB canteen, which served typically stodgy German dishes, which were actually quite delicious; mashed potato and pork in various guises.  I also took a liking to the German bread, which is very difficult to get over here -- so I have tended to buy the extreme version of this, pumpernickel, ever since.

At the weekend one of people I worked with took us all round Braunschweig and the surrounding country.  We even went to the Zonegrenze -- the border with East Germany -- with its barbed wire fences and minefields; and manned guard towers. I remember it was very political at the time. There were notices which said ‘Daruber ist auch das Vaterland’ (Over there is also the fatherland!). In any case, everywhere you saw posters which said ‘Dreigeteiled niemals’ (Never split into three – an allusion not just to the split with East Germany but also to the part given to Poland!). Almost immediately after I returned to the UK the East Germans built the Berlin wall. But the people in Braunschweig told me that most of those who crossed the border went back, because they preferred the culture in the East.

We also went through the Harz Mountains Forest nearby and to the medieval town of Wolfenbuttel, well preserved since it was not bombed, and had a superb collection of genuinely medieval buildings.  On the way back we stopped to look at the Till Eulenspiegel museum. Till was the famous German character -- Richard Strauss wrote a famous symphonic poem about him -- who was a practical joker, about whom many stories have been told.  When we got there the museum was closed, but we woke up the curator and were taken through the museum by him -- he was thrilled that we British had come all way to see his exhibit!

Other than that we went around Braunschweig itself, visiting places like the Grüne Jäger; which was Hermann Goering's house, though all that was left then was a public park for everyone to use.  We also caught the train to Hanover, though there wasn't much to see when we got there.

But, above all, I was no longer lonely.

While Pat was in Germany with me, the vac students were taken round Germany by the organisers; and Pat came along as well. We went to see the Volkswagen factory at Hanover -- which produced the VW Combi vans. It was fascinating -- especially as VW workmen had a superb reputation for quality at that time. I remember though, how they fitted the doors, which was the mark of excellence at the time (VW doors just whispered shut). I was astounded to see that, as the vans came down the line, a hydraulic ram was produced and was pumped so hard - across the doorframe - that the rest of the body of the car stretched until the worker thought it about right. Then he finished off the adjustment with a sledgehammer; but then it fitted beautifully!

We also went to see Hamburg, which was a long distance away - a very tiring journey. When we got to Hamburg the main thing we did was a three-hour trip round Hamburg docks on the harbour-master's launch. I can tell you every detail of those docks -- they were still, in those days, the old type of docks. The goods were unloaded by stevedores with very little mechanization. Those days have long since passed. The one thing I remember, apart from the dozens of single-story brick warehouses surrounded by luffing cranes, was the fact that the `paving' was of heavy timber beams rather than concrete or tarmac!

The only other technical site we visited was on a new motorway they were building. We went there to see the first ever stayed suspension bridge – which have since become common - supported by lines from one central pier, rather than from a catenary hung between two piers. So much for our sightseeing!

In Hamburg itself we wandered around the various sites including of course the "Michaelische Kirche" and the Inner and Outer of Allster. Needless to say we were not taken to the red light district for which Hamburg is most famous!

We also went on various trips into the countryside surrounding Braunschweig; including into the mountains. All-in-all it was very good for Pat's holiday, especially where it ended with a party in a beer cellar.

Pat then had to travel back to England. It was at this stage that I was hit by a new depth of loneliness and depression -- even though I now had only a few weeks go. My loneliness got so out of hand that, I guess, I had something like a breakdown. I just couldn't control myself. I just had to get home. Accordingly I literally just got on the train in the middle night and travelled back to England again having forsaken my work .

The journey back in fact was not that bad. But when I got back to London I couldn't go home, because my parents were on holiday. So I managed to get into my student digs and spent the last two weeks with Pat in the library. We bought a chess set and used to go out in the sunny weather in Hyde Park, to play chess in the open as I gradually recuperated. I fondly remember it as a time in the sun. My parents, though, were worried sick as they didn't know I was home and at that time the East Germans were building the Berlin Wall, and there was great talk of fighting developing along the East German border.

By opting out of the more specialised branches of Physics, I was hoping that my third year would be rather simpler, and more to my liking. I was very conscious that I had only just scraped through my second year in physics.  In practice electrical engineering, which I had chosen for my specialist area, was indeed more to my taste, and I put in a lot more effort -- dropping most of my outside activities.  Unfortunately, it was still not enough, for I still ended up with third-class honours!

Electrical engineering was, in fact, also pretty much mathematics-based at the college.  Thus I found myself studying the theory of control systems largely in terms of equations.  Indeed, I can barely remember anything but controls systems, for my life seemed to be dominated by positive and negative feedback.

On the other hand, the experiments were more interesting. Indeed, one of them nearly earned me a Nobel prize.  I was working with an analogue computer, essentially a collection of capacitors and resistors which simulated - in electrical form - the physical problem we are investigating.  That investigation was about the classical three body problem.  When you have three bodies influencing each other, through gravity or even just springs, the interaction between them becomes very complex -- and not easy to a predict.  Hence, by setting up the oscillation frequency and varying the resistors, to simulate changing the distances between virtual springs and the weights of the bodies, the idea was that computer would then show how these oscillations combined together to produce one single oscillation.  Normally all of these should have been sinusoidal oscillations. 

Perhaps it’s my fate to stumble into the unexpected. Thus one of the set-ups I ran resulted in random motion. It was nothing like the nicely sinusoidal pattern we were expecting but instead the relationship was literally random; switching backwards and forwards in a totally unpredictable way.  I notified my supervisor and he came to look.  He checked the various resistors and other values; only to a find nothing wrong -- though he was still convinced that there must be something wrong with equipment.  So he went and brought in more academics to look at this experiment.  It was running for several days, as they tried to work out what could be wrong with equipment to produce such an oddball result.  Eventually they just gave up and tore down the setup.  They never were able to explain what was happening.  Some years later I realised the explanation, for someone else had found a similar problem not long after me. But he had persisted, and tried to find an explanation. The explanation proved to be chaos theory, which earned him a Nobel prize!

For my end of year project, I changed direction once more and went into experimental psychology. My fellow expatriate from the physics department asked the professor what he wanted him to do. The professor simply asked him to make a Galton Board, used to demonstrate statistics, for his lectures.  This involved knocking in lots of nails -- albeit very accurately -- into a wooden board; demonstrating the skills he had learned in woodworking during the third year at school!  Indicative of how marks were awarded was the fact that, for this, he got a first.  My own work, which was more intellectual and much more demanding, got a third.

Indeed, that whole episode was rather fraught.  The work I carried out was - in theory - in conjunction with one of the engineering students, but most of it was done by Pat and myself alone.  Essentially what we were trying to establish was the impact of delay on communications. Thus, the equipment essentially consisted of two sound-proof booths, linked by equipment which -- using a tape loop - introduced a variable delay on the line.  The reason for doing this was that it was at the time when communications satellites were being positioned in geostationary orbits. Nobody then knew what the impact of the delay introduced by the 50,000 mile round trip would be.  The new technology would dramatically improve communication capability between countries, but it would also inevitably introduce a delay in communication.  As the geostationary orbit was 22,400 miles above the earth the two-way trip, at the speed of light, took around a third of a second.  I doesn't sound much but in fact, as we proved, it was about to be very disruptive of communication.

Thus, people speaking on the telephone, or even face-to-face, are used to responses coming back immediately.  When there is a third of a second delay their conversation virtually breaks down.  At its worse, one person starts a conversation and the other person also starts – perhaps a little after. The first having heard the second then stops, at which the second also stops. Then both the first and the second try again; and this disruption of normal conversation carries on for evermore.  You can sometimes see the impact of this in interviews involving untrained people on real-time television links via satellite. We did, indeed, find that the delay in travelling to the geostationary satellite meant that this factor which made normal conversation very difficult  was introduced – though, fortunately, it had no impact on computer to computer communication. Even so, my finding had immense practical significance, since it resulted in the PTT's having to lay numbers of fibre-optic cables across the ocean, for at least one leg of person to person telephony.

I developed a very nice technique for quantifying the impact of these delays. Thus Pat and I talked for hours on end, between the two booths, with the delay gradually being changed.  Our conversations were recorded on a tape recorder -- a very good tape recorder -- and I then analysed them.  The most suitable form of analysis was quite simple. The occurrence, over a given period of time, of frequently used words - such as 'the', 'and' or 'I' - was consistent.  Indeed in our experiment the occurrence of these -- over a sufficiently long time, so that any random blips were averaged out -- was plotted. These graphs very clearly showed the stress the speaker was experiencing.  It was these plots which showed that a third of second produced the highest stress rates, and that was the reason why the fibre optical lines had to be laid, for at least one leg, to halve the overall time delay to less than a sixth of a second. I like to use the simplest techniques in my research. If nothing else it is much easier to understand what is happening.

Maybe if I had left it at this I would have got something better than third class for my mark on this project.  But, as usual, I got fascinated by the subject and read up all the literature I could lay my hands on -- at the expense of my revision for the finals exams (another silly mistake!).  I found that there were a number of physiological brain functions which also seemed to have an impact at around a third of second or, more often, three cycles per second.  Hence, for example, strobe lights cause epileptic fits at three cycles per second. 

I worried about these facts, like a dog gnawing at a bone. Eventually, deriving from the delay mechanism we used on our equipment and combined with my knowledge of computers (and electronic delay lines), I came up with a theory that suggested that the brain had functions similar to a delay lines. It compared inputs into the ear with those that had occurred a third of a second before.  This was very easy to imagine in terms of inserting delay lines.  As such this enabled the brain to identify what was conversation or some other form of regulated noise and what was random noise!

The result was an inch thick project report, much of which was concerned with the backing for the theory.  I don't know if the Professor read it at the time, since he gave me the third - as I have already said.  What was rather surprising, however, was that he retained the project. The rule at Imperial College was that only the very best of the first-class projects were retained by the College -- all others were returned to students.  Even more suspicious, about a decade later the Professor came out with a similar theory himself!  I don't think it has ever held me back, and perhaps getting out of physics and electrical engineering was the best thing I ever did, but still rankles that I was only given a third for it! It took me another forty years to get my PhD!

In my leisure time, having had some experience of rifle shooting at school, I joined the Imperial College Rifle Club.  This had very suitable premises, underneath the City and Guilds build.  When the great exhibition was on, in 1851, a tunnel had been built all the way from South Kensington tube station to the exhibition; so that pedestrians could walk along it without having to go out in the rain.  By the time I arrived at Imperial this public subway ended by the Science Museum. However the disused tunnel which remained ran under Imperial College and we had a 25 yards rifle range set up in part of it. The facilities were very good, with people able to shoot on two levels, so we could support anything up to eight people firing rifles at the same time.  Best of all, unlike the very primitive rifles used at school, we had proper professional target rifles.

That's where I spent many happy hours, trying to improve my skills. The idea was that you should be able to hit the centre of the target, which was not much bigger than the bullet itself - just a few millimetres across - at a distance of twenty five yards.  With ten targets on the sheet, and 10 points for the centre and nine for the next ring, it was difficult to get a score of more than 90. Having said that, I eventually was able to reach fairly consistent score of 93-94.  Others, in the College first team used to be able to score a ton – 100 -- I never did!

But it was nothing like the shooting I had been used to.  We used single point slings.  This meant that you put a very tight strap around your upper arm, connected to the sling point on the rifle.  The strap was tied so tight that it effectively cut off your circulation, like a tourniquet, and your arm became rock solid as the blood flow stopped. Thus, when you'd finished shooting, and released the strap, your arm hurt like hell as the blood rushed back into it! 

The rear sights were the key element.  We each bought individual sights, with holes which were designed to match our own eyes.  Aiming the rifle correctly meant that the image of the small target, 25 yards away, had to exactly match the hole in the rear sight. In this way, you could see if you were on target by the fact that the sight was blacked out. It was nothing like any shooting gallery at a fair!

I don't know why other people went shooting then, or now, but I did it to relax.  You had to concentrate on the target for up to half an hour. After some practice, I found I was a relatively good shot.  As a result I became captain of the Imperial College C Rifle Team, and we travelled all over London competing with the other colleges; wandering around tube trains with rifles slung over our shoulders, something which would have resulted in our arrest these days!

My most important venture, though, was the Courtman Cup. This was the rifle championship fought over by the three IC colleges.  C&G had almost all of the members of the college first rifle team, and had won the cup for as far back as anyone could remember. RSM never came anywhere near and neither, for that matter, did RCS. But I persuaded the sports committee of RCS that it was worth having a try. In particular, I persuaded them to let us use as much ammunition as was needed. Thus I selected a team which was quite inexperienced but keen to win. Most important, however, was that I had them down on the range, every lunch hour, practicing for a number of weeks.  We got through boxes and boxes of ammunition, but eventually the team members were consistent in their scores.  Like me these were only consistent around 93-95; but they were consistent.

When the day came, therefore, the C&G team sauntered onto the into the rifle range and proceeded to take life very casually. My team, on the other hand, got down and achieved a better than normal average of 94.  As usual a number of the C&G team members recorded good scores, but some of them had a bad day.  The net effect was that we, RCS, won the trophy - for the first time a long time. But this was down to my management, as team captain, rather than to shooting skills! 

My room-mate in the first year at university, and one of the most influential people in my life, was Jonathan Power.  He had come to Imperial in order to transfer from an arts background to science courses. This foundation course lasted a year and was supposed to enable him to start studying a science at Imperial.  In the event he didn't succeed and he went off elsewhere to do geography!

John's influence on me came about because he was so intense about the things he was involved with.  He was not the usual teenager, living for the fun things in life. Rather he was very serious -- quite religious -- and intent on rectifying the problems of the world.  For the first few months, however, I tended to visit the fleshpots of London with Harvey and Martin; that was fun. Ultimately, though, Jon introduced me to his world.

In particular, at that time, he was heavily into anti-apartheid.  Thus it was that I found myself on demonstrations with him - on behalf of the anti-apartheid movement.  I certainly believed in equality, and was against any form of discrimination, but I had never done anything about it.  Now I found myself in the middle of the setting up the anti-apartheid movement in the West.

At first all of us went on demonstrations.  I well remember, having spent the night picketing South Africa House by Trafalgar Square, driving home to our digs.  The four of us were in the car but Martin was driving it, and – as a result of his tiredness - was seeing snakes crossing the road!

Ultimately, though, it was just Jon and myself.

Our demonstrations tended to be at South Africa House.  We used to march, with our placards, along the pavements; attracting attention from all the tourists there.  We rarely had trouble, but it took only one policeman to start a near riot.  I well remember one sergeant coming on duty and harassing us with an obscure law which said that, within a mile of Parliament, if you were on the pavement you had to get off it when the division bells sound -- since you mustn't block MPs rushing to vote!  When we moved from the pavement he immediately harassed us again, saying that as we were standing in the road we were causing an obstruction to traffic.  Hopping backwards and forwards, the level of irritation gradually rose -- until an inspector arrived who had good sense to remove him, whereupon - in minutes - everything returned to normal.

One thing I learned was that demonstrating, and especially organising demonstrations, was an art-form.  I normally handled the interface with the police. I found it easy enough to get them to trust me and this defused many possible situations.  But I also learned how easy it is to make a demonstration look bigger than it is.  When the Foreign Minister of South Africa came across, we had a number of demonstrations during the daytime; but – as most of our supporters had full-time jobs - we were unable to muster many demonstrators for these.  Therefore, in the afternoon, there were perhaps only 20-30 of us outside South Africa House. Although we were making a lot of noise we clearly did not seem very representative of the public at large.  Having said that, as soon as our chanting started, literally hundreds of tourists crowded round to see what was happening.  The result was that the papers, which fortunately were sympathetic, reported a demonstration of several thousand outside South Africa House.  What's more, as I had got separated from the main demonstration but was by myself on the steps of St Martin's, I was alone in doing my bit up there. Even so, the papers reported that another group of several hundred on the steps of St Martin's - that was me (and a lot of tourists!) - were also demonstrating!

The best example of this PR leverage had come the previous night.  The Foreign Minister was being smuggled into the Dorchester Hotel in the middle of the night, in order to avoid demonstrations.  The problem for the government, as it turned out, was that we were well-organised. We even had people at Heathrow to warn us when he was on his way. In any case, we always were better able to muster people, almost 100 in this case, in the middle of night than we were in the daytime!  There were no problems for him, though, until he entered Park Lane and approached the Dorchester, where he was to stay. At that point, however, he found that he had to pass through lines of massed pickets.  This time we didn't have banners, they would have been invisible in the darkness. Instead we had torches, with flames roaring up into the night.  What is more, we had two torches each; so it looked as if there twice as many of us. This was an incredibly successful tactic. As most of the press assumed that there would be one torch for – say - ten people in a normal demonstration, they assumed that there were perhaps 20 times as many demonstrators as were actually there!  Indeed, all hell broke loose. There was, of course, the loud yelling  of all of us demonstrators, and as this happened all the camera crews opened up with their bright lights. At this point I saw windows in hotels all the way along Park Lane come alight as people leaned out of them to see what on earth was happening.  On television, the following day it was spectacular.  It looked like, as the media reported, several thousand of us demonstrating in the middle of the night -- instead of the hundred or so actually were there -- and it achieved an immense impact.

As I got more involved, I was taken by Jon to meet the leaders  of the global anti-apartheid movement.  I met Father Trevor Huddleston, who was one of the great heroes of the fight in South Africa.  I also met, albeit the rather briefly, Oliver Tambo who was President of the ANC (African National Congress) while the other leaders (including Nelson Mandela) were in jail. In fact, overshadowed by the charismatic Mandela, he was later unfairly overlooked he was really the main driver of the anti-apartheid movement!

I also started to meet people within university. Although I thought I was a Conservative at the time -- where my parents read the Daily Express newspaper -- I found myself on the committee of the IC Socialist Society; but only because I felt sorry that they were short of members and didn't want them to lose out!  I also used to write letters to the IC Union newspaper starting "...as an ardent Conservative" and then propounding the most radical socialist ideas -- though I didn't realise this at that time.  All of this set me up for the second year at Imperial.

I think I may have for responsible for John failing his course. When he complained to his tutor, about the amount of time I was expending on the activities, she made the remark "...if he continues to work like that, and he passes the course, he will be another Einstein". I have always claimed since then that the Imperial College rated me a second Einstein!

I also started to get involved with the anti-apartheid movement within London University. Indeed, I was the one who had to go to you ULU (University of London Union) Social Committee to propose the formation of the society. This was named ULSARD (University of London Society Against Racial Discrimination) - nobody has ever accused such radicals of having an ear for poetry.  I had prepared a nice little chat for a handful of committee members.  Remember, I had never spoken to an audience before - except for a disastrous appearance in the debating society at school.  As I walked through the door I was suddenly confronted by a Social Committee of something between 100 and 150 people strong!  Thus was I thrown into public speaking at the deep end.  Fortunately I held my nerve and the motion was passed - and we had our society.

We, Pat and I,  both were very friendly with Jon, and with his girlfriend - Jeannie -- around whom his private life revolved. Not least, we had a very memorable meeting with them in the Christmas break, walking in the moonlight around Raby Mere. It was very romantic, two sets of lovers strolling through the moonlit countryside. Regrettably, Jon and Jean eventually broke up; even though we thought they made an ideal couple, where we – much less than ideal – are still married!

Jon was, though, rather like that the Vicar of Bray. When I said that society should be against all discrimination, he agreed entirely -- with the sole disclaimer and we must oppose Communists!  Not long afterwards he got involved with CND, which I never joined (since it was too dogmatically political for me), and was invited – all expenses paid - to a student congress in Moscow.  After that jolly he no longer thought we should discriminate against Communists!

Jon Power left at the end of the year, which was very sad. I saw little of him after that; though I did persuade him to be best man at my wedding. 

Having completed a geography degree in the UK, he went off to an Ann Arbor, Michigan, to do a masters a degree in agriculture. He then was one of Kennedy's Peace Corp in the US.  He was proud of the fact that his earnings from this paid for a Volkswagen car.  I saw him when he got back, when he was living in a flat over the Africa Centre and working with various voluntary organisations.  Regrettably, as I mentioned earlier, he had forgotten about Jeannie (as perhaps I had forgotten Margaret) and had married a rather over-bearing girl called Ann who was a Roman Catholic – and John had joining the Roman Catholic religion as the result.  Indeed he soon became a member of staff of the Catholic Herald.

I haven't seen him for years, but I now know from the Internet that he moved on to be a freelance author - somewhat like me - writing about a variety of charitable organisations.  Most recently he was photographed with Amnesty international -- which is one of his projects (he wrote the official biography of it) along with Paul McCartney at its anniversary celebrations. I should add that Jon regularly used to write about his contacts. The most important context for these was that he was in the same class at school as Paul McCarthy and George Harrison.  He also met Martin Luther King just before he was shot -- and I remember hearing him on radio describing his time with this modern legend.

Last year his web site showed that he had married again. His latest wife is a Swedish opera singer!  To a certain extent I suspect our careers have paralleled each other; we are both great dilettantes. 

A development from my anti-apartheid activities was my participation in the International Relations Club at Imperial College.  This was a useful political vehicle for us to capture. And we did just that, with Dan as chairman and myself as secretary -- though in fact I did most of the work.

The International Relations Club was intended to make students aware of wider issues across the world -- apartheid was only a small part of these -- and as such the college itself gave us significant funds. At the time it was very conscious that -- as a scientific college - it otherwise taught students across a very narrow curriculum.  The upside was that this meant I was allowed much greater funds, at my disposal, than most other clubs in the college.

Accordingly, in addition to our anti-apartheid activities, I got on with setting up a programme of speakers. Once a week one of these came and talked to students at the college over lunchtime. Usually we managed get 20 and 30 students together, sometimes more, in one of the lecture rooms.  We had a wide range of speakers including a Nobel Peace Prize winner, Philip Noel Baker, ambassadors (including the charge d'affaires from Cuba - which was very controversial at the time), Wedgwood Benn and a whole range of others.  The arrangement was that they spoke from 1.00 to 2.00 o'clock. Then myself and the guest would go to one of the local restaurants.  Lunch typically took a couple of hours and, for that time, I had a leading political figure, the Nobel prizewinner for example, all to myself. At the time I didn't think it amounted to much, but I later realised that it provided very strong bedrock for my later career.

We also ran charitable events.  One of these, which I inherited, was called a ‘starvation lunch’.  The idea was that something like half a dozen people met to eat dry bread and cheese --  to feel good about starving themselves. Out of the charge, of half a crown per head, something like two shillings was given to one of the overseas aid agencies (typically Oxfam). But I was concerned that we used to get only five or six people along to this miserable event.  My eventual question was “Are we doing this as a form of masochism or do we genuinely want to raise money for the Third World”.

The result was that I turned the event into what was called the 'Carnival Lunch' -- a much more attractive title. Thus, once a week, we took over the theatre in the union and provided a good lunch - again for two and sixpence.  This time, though, we provided appetising rolls - with tuna, cheese and ham - and as much as anyone could eat.  We found from experience the most anyone could handle was three rolls -- so we really couldn't lose money! At the same time we had the college jazz band playing on the stage, and students could dance in the space in front of it.  It was incredibly successful, arguably the most successful business I have ever run.  We only made six pence out of the half a crown, but instead of having five diners we had 500.  So successful was it that the refectories had to shut down on the days we ran it - since they had no customers - and we were able to give much greater sums to charity.

This was a major venture, with a team of 20 and 30 people running it.  I fortunately was able to delegate this to another member of the committee, since someone had to go to Covent Garden, to get supplies, at three o'clock in the morning!  Then the team had to grate the cheese, which we found was the easiest way of getting it into the rolls, and they had to do all of this before lunchtime.

In my second year at Imperial, after Jon had left, I found it was up to me to move forward the anti-apartheid movement in the University of London.  By then I had also met up with Dan Elwyn Jones.  Dan was a born political leader.  He been brought up as such. His father was a barrister and -- in the first Wilson government which soon followed -- was to become Attorney General!.  Thus, I observed a different sort of patronage.  We are all aware of nepotism which allows the rich to further the careers of their offspring, but socialists were supposed to be against this.  In fact, as Dan's progress showed, there was a different form of nepotism at work amongst those of the left. Thus, it was generally assumed by those with whom we worked that he would dominate everything he got involved with and, as he discretely dropped his father's name to his contacts, of course he did.

Having said all that, I found it quite convenient to follow along on Dan's coat-tails!

The small group of us who used to run the London University Anti-Apartheid movement was made up mainly of girls -- as socialist movements then were.  They were an interesting crowd.  Pat Louis was a very avid left-winger, and great activist.  Most of the others were followers.  I remember one I was fascinated by. She was a very bright, studying at SOAS (School of African & Oriental Studies), and clearly had a great future ahead of her.  But she was engaged to a coalminer back in South Wales and I wondered how that prospective marriage would survive. The only one I fancied, though I didn't tell Pat this, was a girl called Jancis.  She was nice and slim - something I have always lusted after (where I have always attracted Reubenesque girls myself!) but she had hairy legs. It is surprising how the small things put you off!

We worked with the main anti-apartheid movement, to generate a student movement throughout the United Kingdom. In particular we organised a big rally in Trafalgar Square.  We invited universities from around the country to send people to the march; as usual it was from Hyde Park Corner to Trafalgar Square.  To my surprise we managed to get something like 5,000 students on the march – though, as usual, the press (who for once supported us) exaggerated this and claimed there were 20,000 of us.  It was an interesting experience organising this.  I was in a loudspeaker van telling everyone, over the loudspeakers, what to do.  It ended with me circling Trafalgar Square, trying to marshal all the students into the central space in the Square to hear the various speakers. While I was doing this the amplifier, for the loudspeaker, developed a short; and the van filled with smoke.  Unfortunately I had to carry on marshalling the various students, and was almost made unconscious by the smoke even though I had all the windows open with smoke pouring out of these.  It was a spectacular demonstration of my commitment to the anti-apartheid cause!

The other major event was more subtle, but much more far-reaching.  Dan and I were elected to go to the United Nations Students Association (UNSA) conference, for we were both in ULUNSA (University of London United Nations Students Association) as part of our work with ULSARD.  Thus it was that we travelled down to a teacher training college in the backwoods of Bristol, where hundreds of representatives of United Nations Students Association clubs from across the country were meeting.  It was a dramatic introduction to political machinations.

We met to debate the various resolutions -- such events always have resolutions -- in the large lecture-hall/theatre.  We were at the front of the balcony; Dan and I that is.

The machinations started when we proposed that a country, which had just managed to obtain its freedom, should be congratulated -- via an ad hoc motion.  This cause chaos, since all motions had to be submitted by the various societies several weeks in advance.  Despite the platform opposing us we managed to get the motion passed. This was unimportant in itself, but it set the mood for the floor to oppose the platform.  The real business came when the main motion we were putting forward was debated.  This was at the time of Sharpeville; when the South African government was condemned by nations all round the world for the many people killed in the Sharpeville massacre.  My motion, as it was tabled, was that, at the upcoming Commonwealth Prime Minister's conference, we asked that the British government condemn South Africa for this massacre.  That was all that was said in the motion which was sent to the UNSA clubs around the country, and we fully expected that this would be passed with little opposition.

The machinations started however, when I proposed the motion.  Before anything else could happen. Dan - who was sitting next to me - proposed an amendment.  This changed the motion to add ..."and if South Africa does not abandon apartheid then it should be expelled from the Commonwealth". This caused a near riot, especially since I immediately accepted the motion as a part of the (now consolidated) main motion - as was my right.  We had done this because we very much doubted that that a motion in this form would have been supported by the quite conservative members in the UNSA clubs around the rest of the country.  But we gambled, and won, on the basis that their representatives at the conference would be more adventurous. After a lot of bargaining, and very strong opposition from the platform, the motion was in fact carried by a very narrow margin. Thus, I learned how it is possible to manipulate the democratic processes!

That wasn't the end of the matter.  The resolutions passed by the UNSA conference were then forwarded to the main conference -- the United Nations Association (UNA) overall.  To my surprise, the motion was also passed by the members there.  Thus, I found myself briefing its president, who turned out to be Clement Attlee -- the Labour prime minister after the war.  It was a relatively brief meeting which, paradoxically, took place in the National Liberal Club!  But, as he was one of my heroes and still is, it was a memory I treasure.

That passed the ball to the Labour Party, who decided it was an issue on which it was suitable for them to take political stance – and they then pushed it very heavily.

Surprisingly Harold MacMillan, who was then prime minister, also felt it deserved his support.  Whether this was because he was worried about losing votes, or felt he ought to live up to his recent ‘winds of change’ speech in South Africa, I don't know.  But he really did get behind it at the Commonwealth Prime Minister's conference.  Thus, to my surprise and the even greater surprise of most of the press, South Africa was expelled from the Commonwealth. It remained outside for many years. I don't know whether this had any major effect on the ending of apartheid, which only came about several decades later, but I know I was nervous about what BOSS, the South African secret police, might do to me -- and I never visited South Africa.

Thus from small beginnings do great things grow.  When I planned what to do, before attending the UNSA conference, I little thought that I would be starting something of such major political consequences. 

When I first went up to Imperial College, Pat was still living down in Chichester - where she was an assistant in the county library headquarters.  This meant I had to meet her either in Chichester or at her parents, at Chelwood Gate, which was somewhat closer.

The first time I met her after the holiday was indeed at her parents. It was gloriously sunny day and we went out onto Chelwood Common and hid ourselves away.  At that stage I had resolved that we would behave ourselves, but the temptation was too great.  I soon had my hand up her skirt and under her knickers; and the passion was on again!

After that first visit though I used to have to go down to the Chichester.  She lived in digs there, her parents having moved away from there a couple of years before.  To get the maximum time for my money, I used to catch the milk train out of Victoria at about 3 o'clock in the morning.  This meant arriving in Chichester around 5 in the morning, and walking to her digs. Even so, I always had problems waking her up by throwing stones of the window!

This lasted for the whole of my first term at Imperial; going down at the weekend to see Pat and being introduced to her life in Chichester.  I well remember her taking me to her favourite coffee bar -- the Mehitabel (Cleopatra's cat) -- where we feasted on mushrooms on toast.  Pat's ideal meal then was beans on toast, and accordingly mushrooms on toast was the ultimate in luxury!.  There were nice, but not what I would now call haut-cuisine. 

Mind you, in Chichester there were no opportunities for any hanky-panky!

Pat had been trying to get the job in London for some time, but fortuitously - just before Christmas - she obtained an interview at Imperial College library.  She was accepted on the basis of this, and became cataloguer in what was then the relatively small staff of half a dozen or so.

When I went up again to Imperial College after the Christmas holiday at home, I found that Pat was living in a very small bedsit in Notting Hill. Fortunately, I managed to get the student accommodation bureau of the University to look for digs for her and they came up with really excellent choice – the home of Pistol and Marion Packer.

Marion and Pistol had a large maisonette, in part of an Edwardian building in Putney, not far from the Thames,.  It was fascinating place, since Pistol was an artist. He taught at the Slade School of Art.  I should explain that Pistol's rather strange name came about because his surname was Packer; hence pistol-packer. Even more strange, when he entered anything into the Royal Academy summer exhibition, though he was never accepted, he hid his identity under the pseudonym Magnus Ferdich - Great Freddy - since his first name really was Frederick! His wife Marion was almost as arty as he was.  They had two children, and a spare room where Pat was boarded! 

The most immediate impact, as soon as the front door opened, was the smell. There were elements there of exotic cooking and, of course, of the oil paints used in his studio.  But, dominating everything else was the smell of Gauloise cigarettes. They had a unique smell, and the couple smoked them all day long. It was a very continental smell overall - and quite attractive.

The kitchen consisted of a galley of pine units – which was very artistic in those days. Next door to it was the studio, a room with a bay window which must have been 20 feet square.  Here Pistol painted, to music coming out of a very expensive hi-fi system!  His style, I suppose, was abstract expressionist. Anyway, I liked it very much and even now we have three of his paintings; the best being titled 'rape in the landscape'; the 'rape' being oilseed rape which gave the painting - painted on holiday in Provence - its golden yellow colour!.  But, above all, he and Marion were lovely people, and they made Pat -- and even myself -- very welcome.

Having said all that, Pat's room was the usual anonymous little bedroom, like thousands scattered across the city.  She stayed there, and we very friendly with Pistol and Marion, for a couple of years.  Indeed their daughter was the bridesmaid at our wedding. However, they eventually needed Pat's room for their daughter and Pat moved on to another bedsit on the other side of the river, in Fulham. 

Sometime later Pistol and Marion moved away from London. The last time we met Pistol he was renovating an old house down in Hastings.  He had all the floorboards up in most of the rooms, with almost nothing left of the interior.

Over the other side of the river Pat's new digs were on the top of an Edwardian semi.  It was close by Putney Bridge tube station, which was convenient for work.  Backing onto the Hurlingham Club, we had a suite of three rooms in the attic. There was a bedroom with a double bed -- which came in very handy for our evening games -- and a living room.

The house was owned by a quite conventional couple, but they leased out the first floor to girl who was a hostess at Churchill's club -- which was an interesting occupation in those days.  We didn't see much of her since she worked through the night and slept during the day!

At this time, in my second and third years, I had to move out of my digs in Fulham and moved into a room in a tall block of flats just next to Stamford Bridge football ground.  If you looked out of the back window of the flat you could watch Chelsea play at home -- though I normally tried to get away on those days, since the crowds outside were horrendous. Once more it was a bedroom for two. My new room-mate was from College of Estate Management. I never developed a real friendship with him - even though we shared the room for two years - since I only ever went there to sleep.  The rest of the time I was in Pat's digs where I did my work and everything else.

Indeed a lot of the time we stayed late in the library, since it had the best facilities for study. In those early days the library was in the corner of City & Guilds, on the first floor opposite the Science Museum. In addition to having a large selection of books and journals, it had a warren of offices at the back and that was where Pat worked as a cataloguer.  Her boss, Geoff - the indexer - with whom she shared an office, was very friendly – towards me as well as Pat - as was everyone in the library.

Although small, Imperial College library was well respected.  Indeed it was twinned with the Science Museum library; and eventually the two merged in much bigger premises.  Being a science library its main resource was journals not books.  It regularly took literally thousands of scientific journals. 

Despite that there were still enough books arriving to occupy the time of the indexer and cataloguer -- Pat.  Amongst the others who became our close friends over the years, were Currie -- the College librarian who eventually moved to Canada and then back again to become librarian of the Ashmolean.  Then there was that sort of second-in-command Judith, who became a life-long friend.  She had the notable distinction of getting a fourth at Oxford -- and that beat my third!  This was because her boyfriend jilted her in the middle of her finals. Then there was Leonore, a Canadian who was at College with husband, John, who was PhD student.  He was in the group, working on lasers, headed by one of its Nobel prize winners --  (Denis Gabor, who obtained his Nobel Prize in Physics for his work on holography).  Finally there was the junior - Di - who later married Chester -- a lecturer at QEC and eventually a professor at Great Ormond Street Hospital. She stayed at the library (along with Judith) until retirement.

Later still there was Jenny, Currie's secretary, who eventually married (and then divorced and then married again and divorced again!) Mike, who was then in the Parachute Brigade as an intelligence officer, He loved nothing more than jumping into the Malaysian jungle and slashing his way though the jungle for as week before he got back to base.  They were both Miles' god parents, and -- after Jenny's time -- Mike went on to be the Head of the Defence Staff! 

There was also another Canadian, Janice. She was an enigma. Where Judith never found the partner to meet her exacting standards, Janice only required that hers had the same background as herself. Unfortunately, she was a Canadian Jew whose family had come from Russia; and her uncle was the head of the Canadian Communist Party! She never did marry!

It was a very pleasant environment.  Indeed it was very cosy of an evening. Pat and I used be there alone -- and frequently made passionate love on the tables!

Later on, in my third year, they moved to temporary premises around the corner in Queensgate.  This was because the old library was being torn down as part of the building of the new C&G premises and as well as that of the new library. The old mansion house that accommodated the library in Queensgate spread over something like four floors, it was much less intimate.  Pat was on the top floor where cataloguing was done. As the work grew, and more workers joined, the family feeling of the library disappeared. That said, the original members kept in touch and even had a nostalgic reunion 20 years later.

In my youth I was an innocent in an age of innocence; and I suppose I still am an innocent in very different times. In the days of my youth it was generally assumed that you would be virgin, until you reached the marriage bed. This was certainly true of girls, and of most boys.  Within ten years all that was to change.

I guess I was at the leading edge of change.  At the age of 19, when I met Pat, I eventually did have sex -- albeit I was seduced rather than the other way round - which was then more normal!  Even then it took four to five months for it to happen.  As I explained elsewhere we were into heavy petting, which went as far as being naked together, fondling each other very intimately, but it didn't go as far as intercourse. 

That experience came late at night on Christmas Eve, on the hearthrug in front of the fire in my parent’s kitchen.  Pat was staying with us for Christmas, much to the disgust of my mother. After my parents had gone to their bed, we proceeded to undress as on so many occasions before. One thing led to another and – for the first time in my life -- I penetrated a girl!  I don't know if it was really romantic - few sexual experiences before marriage were in those days, when they had to be snatched in the sleaziest of locations. But I suppose the firelight flickering on the walls made it more romantic than most. In any case, it was a sensational experience -- the first time I had ever felt that experience.

Indeed, unlike my contemporaries, I hadn't even masturbated to orgasm -- or even had the wet dreams which are supposed to afflict teenagers.  It was my first orgasm, and my God it was marvellous.

Thereafter, at every opportunity when we were alone, Pat and I made love. We were taking our lives in our hands, because pregnancy was difficult to avoid in those days before the pill -- and pregnancy before marriage was not just a sin then, but it removed you from polite society and ruined your future!.  We tried to get round this by using condoms, obtained by Pat on the National Health Service, but they were so crude that it was almost like making love in armour. Perhaps the intention was, in any case, to discourage sex. Anyway, I couldn't cope with the lack of feeling, and we soon abandoned those.  So we made love which ever way, but mainly in the missionary position, and everywhere possible -- from her bedroom to the tables in the library.  When her landlord and landlady went on holiday I was able to spend the night in bed with her. When we went on holiday I was able to sneak into her hotel bedroom and do the same. Life was one long round of sex!

As I said I didn't masturbate ever before I met Pat.  But I was then so tied up with sex that I even decided to experiment with masturbation in the bath in my digs.  Surprisingly it was more difficult than the real thing and it took some time before I was successful; then I masturbated in addition to everything else!

Thus we moved towards our wedding, in 1961, at Christmas in my last year at university.

The wedding in itself took place in the Christmas vacation in 1961.  Many people thought we were mad getting married while I was still at university; certainly my parents did. The reality was we knew that, as soon as I had finished at Imperial, I would be desperately looking for a job and we wouldn't know where we were going.  I also suspect not a few of our relatives were counting the days afterwards to see if Pat was pregnant!

My in-laws were interesting people.  On paper they looked very downmarket.  Pat’s father was a forester, who looked after the trees on the estate of the Member of Parliament who was chairman of the 1922 committee.  Sir Tufton Beamish was well off, as was his wife.  She was American. I well remain remember her vociferously complaining about “…those Bouvier girls, who were jumped up beyond their station in life”. Jacqueline Bouvier, with whom Lady Beamish had been at school, was of course married to President Kennedy!

The Hellyers had a tied cottage on the estate.  It was small, with only one and a half bedrooms, but it suited them down to the ground.  Pat's father's idea of being a forester was to go off into the woods and read books of poetry. As such his job was relatively light, though he also had to look after Tufton Beamish's gundogs -- and act as a part-time gamekeeper.

But he had a very good education. As part of the family in service to another rich family, he had been put through Midhurst grammar school, which was then a public school, and had achieved good results there.  He had, at one stage, been scheduled to go into the church, and was acting as an assistant to a vicar. But he chose instead to become a forester. 

He never seemed to regret the poverty this entailed; though his wife bitterly resented it.  She, incidentally, was also educated at grammar school -- on a scholarship -- and had been a secretary.  Of course in those days as soon as a woman was married she had to give up any career. Indeed, she had kept her marriage secret for some time in order to keep on working. But at Chelwood Gate she also effectively was in service, and had to do some of the cleaning jobs at the big house -- in return for keeping her husband in the job – but she hated the ignominy of this imposition. 

As I have said, Vic Hellyer was a lovely man; very well educated and in particular very well read. It seemed that he read more than he ever took a saw to the trees in his woods. Every Saturday we used to go with him to the local public library where he took out half a dozen new books to read. Most important, he was happier in his job than almost anyone else I have ever met!

Pat, although an only child, had lots of aunts and uncles.  They seemed to be spread all over southern England.  Every so often they would congregate and have a party. I remember going to one, celebrating a golden wedding, at which there seemed to be dozens of guests -- though I guess it was actually about 50 in total - and I was totally bemused by all the strangers I was presented to.

They all seemed to be characters in their own right.  Almost all of them were agricultural workers of one sort or another.  In the land of the gentry it was expected of them that they would tip their hat to the gentry as they passed them, and one suspected it hadn't been long before that they had to walk in the gutter.  On the other hand they seemed to get their own back by stealing everything in sight, and actually living quite rich lives.  Just one of them was businessman, a clothier, who seemed to get most of his business from members of family -- though he expected to charge over the odds rather than offer a discount! He was also a Mason -- and they bailed him out when he went bankrupt.

By the way, in this context, my own family were involved with the Masons.  My grandfather had been the master of the Lilley Ellis Lodge in Port Sunlight, and my own father had been a member of the Birkenhead Lodge.  I knew about this because my father and mother used to go to the ladies' night -- and he went off once a fortnight or so to evening meetings.  I don't know why my grandfather joined, except that he was always an organiser.  I suspect my own father hoped that it might help him with his career, but it never did! I just refused to join.  I am not a joiner, in any case, but I hoped that the society of graduates would give me a greater benefit.  Again I'm not certain that it ever did!

The wedding itself was at Danehill church, the nearest church to Pat's parents' place in Chelwood Gate.  It was a nice old country church, and it was a traditional wedding.  Pat wore a short white dress and veil. I wore my one lounge suit, with my newly acquired RCS half-colour tie -- a beautiful silver colour!  My only really new item was a pair of winkle-pickers which were very fashionable in those days, where I was very unfashionable; and I even had my hair cut at Harrods.

John Power was my best man and my ushers included Norman Killey.  They stayed in the local pub, where I was to have had my stag night. That said, it was a disaster - perhaps a foretaste of things to come!  My parents, who were travelling down from the Wirral, ran into fog and didn't arrive until 2 o'clock in the morning; by which time it was far too late for my stag night. Perhaps that was a good thing, since – unusually for a bridegroom - I felt fine the following morning. 

We persuaded the organist at the church that the music for the bride coming up the aisle should be Bach's Toccata and Fugue; I suspect we were being a little highbrow at the time. That for us leaving was the traditional Mendelssohn.  We wanted Pat's cousin's Michael's daughter to be our bridesmaid, but she was Roman Catholic and was not allowed to take part in the Church of England ceremony!  So Marion and Pistol's daughter, Gaby, was our bridesmaid. Michael, though, took a very elaborate set of photographs -- he was a professional photographer -- and my parents took an 8mm cine film.

We considered having the reception at the local hotel, but their handling of our inquiries had been so poor that we chose the local pub instead; and had reception in the building at the back.  In fact it went very well. The food was good, the atmosphere was very relaxed, and everyone enjoyed themselves.  Even we enjoyed ourselves, as we rushed back to Pat's parent's house nearby to change - pausing only for the obligatory sex en route. As we rushed back to the reception, however, en route I managed to reverse my new father-in-law's car into the bushes. Fortunately there was no damage and I don't think anyone really noticed!

From there we were driven in Pat's Uncle's Jaguar to the nearby railway station and we went to London for the start of our honeymoon.

Coincidentally we got into the same carriage on the train as my roommate -- rather embarrassingly for everyone involved.  We were taking a late flight, so we had our evening meal - wedding breakfast -- in our favourite Indian restaurant; the Pulao was excellent - if hardly traditional. 

For our honeymoon we flew from Heathrow to Paris Orly airport.  This was so unusual in those days that the local paper reported our wedding under the headline ‘Couple fly to Paris for Honeymoon’. Indeed, it was our first time on a commercial airline, and it was jet engined airliner at that -- a Caravelle which was unusual in those days.  On the way across the pilot proudly pointed out all the piston-engined airliners we were overtaking. On the way back, on a piston-engined Constellation, the pilot didn't point out the jets that were overtaking us!

We had five days in Paris, in December.  You might have thought that would be rainy or at least overcast.  In actual fact it was brilliant sunshine, though terribly cold. It was so cold the oil in my camera froze up when we were on the first level platform of the Eiffel Tower -- as far up as we were allowed to go up in Winter.  We stayed in a little hotel off the Rue St. Honore. A nice little hotel, but the bed squeaked  and this, combined with our arrival in the middle of the night, put paid to our sexual activities for most of the week!  So much for the  carnal pleasures of a honeymoon. 

But, even so, we had a wonderful time doing all the usual tourist things - Notre Dame, the Sacre Coeur and the Eiffel Tower, for example - and had dinner on a bateau mouche.

In addition we had some very good food in the local restaurants, especially French casseroles. I also encountered steak tartare for the first time.  I thought I was ordering an ordinary steak with tartare sauce, and was shattered when the raw minced beef arrived.  I couldn't eat it!  I still don’t like it.

We also went out to Versailles, but mostly we strolled through the central Paris and visited the shops – such as the Galleries Lafayette which was decked out in its Christmas lights - and saw places like the Place de la Concord and Des Invalides.  Paris is a wonderful city for strolling about on foot. 

Having flown back home again we went to my parents for Christmas itself, and thus ended our honeymoon.

Pat had already moved to new digs in Napier Avenue, backing onto the Hurlingham club by the river.  This was because Marion and Pistol needed her bedroom for their growing daughter.  Accordingly, after the wedding, the two of us moved back there. Fortunately it had a large double bed in the bedroom and Marion and Pistol gave us a gas grill which was fitted up in the box room.  Thus, in one way or another, we had our first flat.

It was there that I prepared for my finals.  When the time came, or rather after the time came since I was very late starting, I desperately tried to catch up on all work I had missed over the years; and got myself into such a state that I had to get tranquillisers from the doctor.  Even so, as I have said many times, I barely scraped a third!

Approaching the end of my time at Imperial, however, I was genuinely scared that I would fail the exams for the first time in my life. I thought that I wouldn't get any degree. In the event it was a very close run thing, but fortunately I just managed to scrape a third!

I planned, though, to go on and do a second degree in economics -- the subject I now realised was the one I loved most.  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into account was that my state scholarship ended when I left Imperial.  Indeed, nobody would even give me a grant for a second degree. Despite all my strengths as a strategic planner, which were to emerge later, at the time I had been a total failure in planning my own progress through life!

Accordingly I looked around, and set my sights on doing an MBA at Harvard. This was just about the only university which covered the subject it in those days – where no university in the UK did.  To fund this I had hoped to get a scholarship, and so I went through the whole Harkness scholarship process. I got close to the final decision, but fell at the last fence. 

With Harvard Business School itself, however, I did the SAPS test and some general interviews and -- to my surprise -- was offered a place!  The sting in the tail came when Harvard told me that overseas students were expected to have completed five years in industry before they went there, so they could contribute that much more to the process of group education.  I had resigned myself to paying something like £20,000 for the fees in those days, much more than a hundred thousand pounds these days. I would have borrowed the money, and it would have been a very good investment.  But, as it happened, waiting five years was just not on the cards.  By five years later I was earning a fortune, was running brands in real life that were very similar to the Harvard simulated case studies, and had a family to support. For all these reasons it was no longer a viable option!

So, somewhat late, I went on the graduate recruitment trail.  My aim was to get on a graduate management development programme.  Thus I went to companies like Boots and RTZ and Unilever, most of whom turned me down at a very early stage.  The one where I went furthest was Shell. Halfway through the recruitment process, which lasted over to three days, I was actually offered a job in their chemicals division.  I decided that I would prefer to go for the fuel side.  When I was turned down by the fuel side, I said that I would take the chemicals job -- only to be told “Hard luck, that opportunity is no longer on offer!”

Thus it was that I, rather panicky, started looking in the job ads as well, and eventually found a job with Foote Cone & Belding (FCB) the big American advertising agency.  What I didn't know at the time, but found out a year later, was that they didn't understand the work that I had been doing in experimental psychology; and had mistakenly thought I was a psychologist! 

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