Recollections of a Scientist Volume 2: Expanding Horizons: England and Europe (1948–51)

By Norman N. Greenwood

Recollections of a Scientist, Volume 2
Expanding HorizonsEngland and Europe (1948-1951)

This illustrated book is the second volume of Memoirs of a distinguished, internationally renowned scientist, Professor Norman N. Greenwood, FRS. It takes up the story of his life from the first moment he arrived in England as a research student from Australia in
September 1948. Term had not yet started in Cambridge so he spent a hectic first month visiting and getting to know the members of his parents families who lived in London and Brighton. He also spent some time in the delightful countryside around Guildford and the Surrey Downs with a fellow passenger, following a shipboard romance during the long trip from Melbourne. He then visited the recently inaugurated Atomic Energy Research Establishment at Harwell in Berkshire (where his former research supervisor was now a senior scientist in the chemistry division) and had the exciting experience of seeing Europes first, recently commissioned nuclear reactor in operation.
In Cambridge he took up residence in a set of rooms in Sidney Sussex College and began research discussions with Professor Harry Emelus, FRS the most distinguished inorganic chemist in the UK at that time. The unique charms of the Cambridge Colleges and the arcane procedures of the University itself are affectionately described, and at various places throughout the book there are graphic representations of life in Cambridge in the late nineteen-forties. An early example is his description of the Universitys decision to allow, for the first time in its seven centuries of existence, women to be awarded substantive degrees (rather than merely titular ones). The first such degree to be conferred on a woman, in an appropriately grand ceremony, was on the enormously popular Queen Elizabeth, consort of King George VI (later known as The Queen Mother).
At a more mundane level, post-war austerity necessitated the rationing of food and many other items at levels that were even more severe than those in operation during the war (WW2). The list given of a weeks rations is a salutary reminder of those days.
Norman is a past master at describing in accessible terms the research work that he was doing in the laboratory and its wider significance. He also gives perceptive descriptions of the international group of research chemists working in the laboratory at that time and of many members of staff. As earlier in Melbourne, he made the most of opportunities to attend lectures by famous visitors and distinguished members of the University in other departments of the University. There are memorable descriptions of a course of lectures given over two terms by Bertrand Russell on Philosophy, and numerous other lectures by Science Nobel Laureates.
Vacations provided a wonderful opportunity to visit other places in England and Europe. Just before Christmas 1948 he went with the Oxford and Cambridge Ski Clubs to Sestriere in the Italian Alps, a splendid location for skiers of all abilities. Directly following this, and with virtually no money left, he spent a memorable Christmas and New Year on his own exploring the wonders and glories of Paris. And what wonders he describes. He had a room in the Latin (student) Quarter at 350 francs per night (i.e. 35p or 0.35) for bed and breakfast at the then exchange rate of 1 ~ 1000 francs.
The next vacation, at Easter, was to southern Scandinavia to visit his sister, Margaret who had married a Swede in 1946 and was living on a small island in the Baltic Sea just off the coast near Karlskrona. [Volume 1 of these Recollections was dedicated to her on the occasion of her ninetieth birthday in 2012.] The journey was also memorable for a different reason for it was on the Flying Scot, en route to Newcastle upon Tyne to catch the ferry to Bergen in Norway, that he first met Kirsten Rydland whom he later married in 1951. [This Volume 2 is dedicated to her.] Norman was cl

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Oct 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477151877

Norman N. Greenwood

Norman Greenwood was born in Australia in 1925 and graduated from the University of Melbourne before going to Cambridge. His wide-ranging researches in inorganic and structural chemistry have made major advances in our understanding of the chemistry of the elements. He is a prolifi c writer, an inspirational lecturer and a superb raconteur—see www.webofstories.com/people/norman.greenwood Norman has travelled on all seven continents and has held visiting professorships in many of the world’s leading universities. He is now an Emeritus Professor in the University of Leeds and a Fellow of the Royal Society.

Book preview

Recollections of a

Scientist

volume 2

Expanding Horizons: England and Europe (1948–51)

Norman N. Greenwood

Copyright © 2012 by Norman N. Greenwood.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

1.Arrival in England (September 1948)

Arrival in Cambridge (9-10 September)

Guildford and the Surrey Downs (11-14 September)

Threefields Lodge (15-30 September)

Atomic Energy Research Establishment, Harwell (1-2 October)

Brighton (My Father’s Family) (2-4 October)

Arrival at Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge (5-10 October)

Appendix to Chapter 1: My Family Background

2.Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge

3.Research and Other Activities During My First Term in Cambridge

The University Chemical Laboratory (Pembroke Street)

Lectures and Other Activities

4.Visits to London and Oxford (October and November 1948)

5.Christmas Holidays and New Year (Sestriere, Turin, and Paris)

Sestriere and Turin

Paris

6.Research and Other Activities During Second Term

Research Programme

Lectures Attended in the Second Term

Other Activities During the Second Term

7.Scandinavian Trip (April 1949)

8.Research Work and Other Activities During Third Term (Spring 1949)

Research Work

Lectures Attended and Visitors

Other Activities During the Third Term

9.Exchange Student in Germany (Summer 1949)

Introduction: Getting There

Arrival in Darmstadt

Staying with the Nolls at Haardt Ring bei Südbahnhof

Return to England via Cologne and Brussels

10.Lake District Trip (September 1949)

11.Envoi: September 1948-September 1949

12.Michaelmas Term 1949

Research Work and Lectures

Other Activities

13.Lent and Easter Terms 1950

Research Work and Lectures

Other Activities

14.Easter Vacation in Norway

15.European Car Trip

France

Northern Italy

Rome and the Vatican

Pompei and Vesuvius

Venice

Switzerland

Austria and Germany

Belgium

16.Postdoctoral Year 1950-51

Kirsten’s Visit to Cambridge and the Lake District

Theoretical Chemistry Seminar

Social Life in Cambridge

Christmas and New Year in Norway: Engagement

Lent and Easter Terms 1951

17.North Cape Trip—Finnmarksvidda and Jotenheimen

18.Interlude

Endnotes

To my wife, Kirsten

Acknowledgements

Most of the photographs in this volume were taken by the author or by members of his family or by his friends. It has not been possible to trace who took the nineteenth-century photographs of my grandparents in Figs. 2 and 3 or the more recent portraits of family members in Figs. 4, 5, 10, 11, and 20. The same applies to the group photographs in Figs. 28, 70, and 71. Nor has it been possible, despite a diligent search, to establish the provenance of the postcards and other tourist photographs in Figs. 21-24, 36a, 36b, 38, 40-42, 60, and 61. All these, however, are over sixty years old.

Figure 44 is reproduced by kind permission of the Australian Academy of Science. The early images in Figs. 12 and 13 were supplied by Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, who also gave permission to use the colour photograph of the college entrance for the cover illustration of the book. The six maps and the diagram in Fig. 16 were prepared by Alex Santos in the Graphic and Print Section of the University of Leeds, England. I am also most grateful to the School of Chemistry, the University of Leeds, for making facilities available to me during the writing of these Recollections during my retirement.

1.Arrival in England (September 1948)

The first volume of these Recollections described my boyhood and youth in Australia. It was a time crowded with many activities and impressions, but for sheer intensity and diversity, nothing in my first twenty-three years could be compared to the novelty and excitement experienced during my first four weeks in England. It is fortunate that I wrote down my first impressions so fully in my diary, for there was, indeed, so much to recollect. Highlights, in an approximately chronological order, were as follows (see Map 1):

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Map 1 Some places visited in south-east England

•   A walking tour of the West End of London with my uncle Laurie, seeing for the first time so many places that I had previously only heard of or read about.

•   A brief introduction to the glories of Cambridge, and my first meeting with Professor H. J. Emeléus, who was to be my supervisor.

•   Grappling with the intricacies of ration books, opening a bank account, and so on, in a new country.

•   Experiencing the old-world charm of Mr Sturch, the secretary of the Royal Commission for the Exhibition of 1851 in South Kensington and the source of my funding in England.

•   Sightseeing (with Margaret Watson from the Orontes) in the delightful English countryside around Guildford, Surrey.

•   Meeting my maternal grandmother, Bertha, and aunts Millie and Fanny (my mother’s sisters) essentially for the first time, after over twenty years of correspondence (also Betty Rothschild, my cousin once removed).

•   The stunning splendour of St Albans Cathedral and my first visit to extensive Roman remains.

•   Excursions with Fanny and Laurie to the Battersea Park Sculpture Exhibition, the Arts Theatre, Hampton Court, and Windsor Castle.

•   A visit to my former M.Sc. supervisor Dr J. S. Anderson at the Atomic Energy Research Establishment, Harwell, and my first views of a nuclear reactor, GLEEP (Graphite Low Energy Experimental Pile).

•   Meeting my father’s sisters, Bessy and Nellie, and my two cousins, Philip and Christine, also for the first time ever.

It was, indeed, a crowded schedule to fit in before the start of Michaelmas term in Cambridge.

As mentioned in the final paragraph of Recollections of a Scientist, Volume 1, I was met at Waterloo Station, London, on the day of my arrival in England by my uncle Laurie Malan. He whisked me into the underground (a great experience), and we had a late afternoon tea at the Lyons Oxford Corner House. Because the Orontes had arrived a day late, there was some difficulty with my overnight accommodation. I telephoned the Society for Visiting Scientists where J. G. Crowther (a left-wing author and friend of my father) had arranged a booking for me, but they had been unable to retain it. As the YMCA was also full, Laurie kindly invited me to overnight at Boxmoor, where he and Fanny had a cottage—she was at Teignmouth, but he phoned her to let her know.

Then we walked back to Waterloo through the quiet of the evening to collect my luggage. It was a memorable route he chose, via Tottenham Court Road, Soho Market, Soho Square and Frith Street to Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly Circus. My eyes were on stalks. Then down (lower) Regent Street and Waterloo Place, past Pall Mall and the Athenaeum Club to the Duke of York’s Monument—this was to become very familiar territory to me decades later, after the Royal Society had moved from Burlington House to its ‘new’ premises in Carlton House Terrace. Proceeding down the steps at the side of Carlton House Terrace, we looked up The Mall to Buckingham Palace and then went through St James Park to Birdcage Walk. I was feeling the thrill of first seeing so many frequently mentioned West End places unfolding before me as we followed Laurie’s neatly planned itinerary.

From Great George Street, we caught a glimpse of Westminster Abbey, and then, passing Whitehall, we came to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. We stood for a while on Westminster Bridge near Boadicea’s monument, looking down the river Thames to the City of London proper, where the Old Bailey and St Paul’s Cathedral dominated the skyline. Then, finally, we made our way along Victoria Embankment, over Hungerford Bridge and through a bombed area to Waterloo. We collected my three cases from the ‘left luggage’ and took them to King’s Cross Station in readiness for Cambridge the next day—they were sent on ahead of me from there. We walked back from King’s Cross to Euston so that Laurie could show me where to go next day and then continued along Euston Road and Tottenham Court Road by bus to the Oxford Corner House brasserie for our evening meal. It had been a magical introduction to the metropolis for me, and Laurie’s legendry efficiency could be gauged by the fact that we just nicely caught the 9.55 p.m. train to Boxmoor, precisely five and a half hours after alighting from the boat train at Waterloo.

When we arrived at Threefields Lodge, Betty had already gone to bed (no phone in the cottage), but she was soon up and had a bed and supper ready for me. I slept well after an exceedingly eventful day.

The next morning, Laurie and I caught the 8.15 a.m. train to Euston, though he got off at his laboratory at the firm Nordac, leaving me to carry on into town. From Euston, I went by bus to South Kensington via Tottenham Court Road, Oxford Street, Marble Arch, Park Lane, Hyde Park Corner, and Knightsbridge to the rooms of the Royal Commission for the Exhibition of 1851 at 1 Lowther Gardens, just off Exhibition Road. There I met Mr Sturch, the secretary, and Mr James, the assistant secretary, both quite young men. They showed me a book of photos of previous scholarship holders (an awe-inspiring list) and were most helpful in matters of finance. They said the first instalment of my scholarship was ready, and the second would be due in three weeks’ time on 1 October at which time I could also apply for an extra £50 towards expenses and might also be allowed some money towards my fare over from Australia—all very reassuring. I also learnt something of the Exhibition of 1851 bequests, including the founding of what is now the Imperial College of Science and Technology, The Royal Albert Hall, and several famous museums, all on the same huge site in South Kensington. Finally, they said that anytime I was in London, they would be glad to see me, whether or not I had any specific difficulties, and that they would always do their best to help me. It was a most heartening and reassuring interview at the beginning of my stay in England.

I walked to the other end of Exhibition Road and caught a red double-decker bus (an icon of London) along Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, Knightsbridge, Piccadilly, Shaftesbury Avenue, Charing Cross Road, Tottenham Court Road, and Euston Road to King’s Cross Station in ample time for the 12.15 to Cambridge. I was still absorbing sights and sounds and street names, and as I write this over sixty years later, I am surprised and impressed at how confidently I seem to have been able to manage the complex bus system in London so soon after arriving. Perhaps Laurie had given me a map or suggested appropriate bus numbers.

Arrival in Cambridge (9-10 September)

The railway station in Cambridge—as I was later to find was often the case in England, though very unusual in Australia—was quite some distance from the centre of town. I cloaked my luggage and set off to walk to the Chemical Laboratory, which was, at that time, still in Pembroke Street. I located Professor Emeléus fairly readily and entered his room, still wearing my heavy overcoat. A more charming man would be hard to find, and he immediately put me at my ease. In fact, his opening words were ‘Good God, man, take off that overcoat. You must be boiling’. ‘Yes, it is rather warm, isn’t it?’ I replied. As it happened, the temperature was nearly 90°F (32°C), which was considered in Cambridge to be an almost unprecedented heatwave but would have been thought merely pleasantly hot in Melbourne or the Middle East. Clearly, the perception of temperature was relative, and I would have to recalibrate my expectations.

We discussed fluorine chemistry as a possible research project, and what had previously appeared a barren subject to me suddenly became most interesting and full of exciting opportunities. As the university was closed (summer vacation) and Dr David Thomson—the tutor at Emeléus’s college, Sidney Sussex—was away, it was not possible to find out whether I had been allocated rooms within the college buildings. The professor very kindly arranged for a room at the Red Lion Hotel in Petty Cury and, after showing me over the laboratory which seemed very old and overcrowded, took me to my new lodgings, and left me, saying, ‘To the joys of discovering Cambridge by myself’. I collected my suitcases from the station and checked in at the Red Lion.

Emmy (as he was affectionately called by everyone) had said that Mimi Newing (a fellow student from Melbourne) was away, and a few phone calls also told me that Barry Dawson was not in town, nor Bob and June Honeycombe. Abe Yoffe was in America, whilst Bowden and Tabor were in London. I was, indeed, ‘on my own’.

Everyone being out of town, I went for a walk along Christ’s Lane, Christ’s Pieces, King Street, and Victoria Avenue to the river Cam, catching glimpses of Jesus College through the trees. It was a delightful walk on a summer’s evening, and I arrived back in time for dinner at 7 p.m. After that, I went to see Forever Amber which was showing at the Regal in St Andrews Street (whose gutters are always running with flowing water). The quaint charm of the town, to say nothing of the magnificent architecture of the colleges, was already beginning to weave its spell.

The following day (Friday, 10 September), I decided there was little point in staying on in a pub in Cambridge since there was little constructive I could do until nearer the beginning of term time in early October. I had arrived three weeks earlier than originally planned (see Recollections 1). I therefore arranged to spend a few days with Margaret Watson and her family in Guildford, before visiting my own numerous relations, as briefly outlined above. There was also time to visit J. S. Anderson at Harwell to plan the publication schedule of my M.Sc. research work. However, before leaving Cambridge, there were a few items of business to be attended to, such as ration books, opening a Lloyds bank account (on Emmy’s recommendation), and having a further preliminary discussion with Emmy about research topics. He introduced me to Alf Woolf (see page 15), a Londoner working on halogen fluorides for his Ph.D. We had a good talk, and Alf then took me to Bowes and Bowes to buy a guidebook of Cambridge, which proved invaluable in helping me to orient myself and progressively discover the wonders of the place. I also located a good photographic firm for developing my many films and spent some time familiarising myself with the chemistry library—very impressive, indeed. A chance meeting with Max Hargreaves, who was cycling along near the Cavendish Laboratory where he worked, emphasised the necessity of purchasing a bike (and registering it) since this was the almost universal means of transport for any journey of more than a couple of hundred yards in this town.

In the evening, I wrote to Laurie confirming that I would be arriving at Boxmoor, as he suggested, on the following Wednesday. Then I packed my things ready for a quick getaway in the morning and went to bed, reflecting on the charm of Cambridge town, its tortuous streets and delightful architecture, and the friendliness of everyone I had met. I was sure that my time there would prove to be full of joy and interest to say nothing of the intellectual excitement of doing research in such a place.

Guildford and the Surrey Downs (11-14 September)

I caught the 9.27 a.m. train from Cambridge to King’s Cross, having left the largest of my three suitcases in Emmy’s room in the Pembroke Street labs until I returned in October. I had heard that coaches were a better way to travel and cheaper than trains, so I went to the coach station at Victoria only to learn that the Guildford coach left from Oxford Circus—only a couple of miles away but not a trivial journey by underground with two suitcases in the days before the Victoria Tube Line was built in 1969—now it is just two stops, but then it was six stops via a change from the Circle line to the Bakerloo line at Charing Cross (now called Embankment). No doubt, Laurie would have known a smart bus route, but even so the London double-decker buses weren’t designed for passengers with luggage. In the event, I chickened out and caught a taxi—also a novel experience for me in London.

At 1.05 p.m., the (single-decker) coach drew up and whisked me along Oxford Street past Marble Arch and Kensington Gardens along Bayswater Road, Notting Hill Gate, and Holland Park Avenue through Shepherd’s Bush and down Hammersmith Road to the Thames. How I loved that drive through the western suburbs of London, absorbing all the signs and names—almost like revisiting old friends—because many of the names were familiar to me from the stories heard in youth, but now I was actually seeing them. Soon we reached more open spaces and turning out of Barnes Common into Roehampton Lane, we began the long descent curving in and out amongst huge houses set in magnificent gardens. At the foot of this long hill, we turned into Portsmouth Road, and at Putney Heath, we turned into the Kingston Bypass and Robin Hood Way which led between Coombe Wood on the right and Wimbledon Common on the left. By now we were well into suburban areas, but still the two-storied houses persisted. Finally, we came to the beautiful Surrey countryside with its green fields and neat little hedges. The coach passed through Esher, Cobham, and Ripley more or less along the route of the present-day A3 trunk road. As it approached Guildford, I saw the Green Man Hotel, which Margaret had told me was opposite her aunt’s shop, so I got out at the next stop and walked back to 7 London Road, Burpham, Guildford, where Mrs Ryall welcomed me. Margaret and Mrs Watson were upstairs. Margaret’s aunt was most generous and gave me a whacking great meal, after which Margaret and I went down Burpham Lane to the river Wey. It was our first experience of English canals, and we watched whilst a lad operated the locks to let two canoes through.

After a six o’clock tea, we sat listening on the radio to a symphony concert from the Usher Hall in Edinburgh—a very pleasant and restful evening with my new friends after my long journey from Cambridge.

The following day (Sunday), Mrs Ryall and Mrs Watson went to Sutton, some 20 miles away, to see their parents, so Margaret and I had time to explore Guildford Town, a beautiful old city which was first incorporated in a Charter of Henry III (thirteenth century). Margaret took me up the cobbled High Street to the magnificent clock over the Guildhall (AD 1590) and to the George Abbot Hospital. We then went to the ruins of Guildford Castle, first mentioned in the time of King John (AD 1200). It had been preserved in recent years and a series of beautiful gardens and terraces had been built between the ruins. Leaving the castle, we went along Warwicks Bench Road and Echo Point Road to the Pilgrim Way on which stands John Bunyan’s Cottage. Then looking across the Wey up Pewley Hill, we saw the ancient ruins of St Catherine’s Church, which was also founded in the reign of Henry III. This was living history indeed, and the antiquity of the place fascinated me. I was soon to learn (in St Albans and Roman Verulamium some ten days later) that Guildford’s antiquity was relatively modest by the standards of some other places in England, but it was an impressive start for me. I did not visit Guildford Cathedral because it was still being built; it was started in 1933—the first new cathedral to be built in England since the Reformation—and was consecrated some thirteen years after my first visit, in 1961.

On Monday (13 September), Mrs Watson, Margaret, and I went to Leith Hill. The Dorking bus whisked us through some simply perfect scenery and several picturesque villages such as Albury, Shere, and Gomshall. I determined to see some of it again on foot. We had a look at Dorking—itself a delightful town some 12 miles to the east of Guildford—and then took the Leith Hill bus along a narrow winding lane, the trees forming a natural arch of greenery above, the like of which I had never seen before. What a country! We climbed Leith Hill, the highest point in Southern England (965 feet, 294 m), and then ascended the Observation Tower, erected I believe in 1766. From here, we were rewarded with a superb view of ‘England’s green and pleasant land’; over the Surrey Downs, we could see Berkshire (to the west), Hampshire (to the south-west), the Sussex Downs (to the south), and Kent (to the east). It was, indeed, a sight to feast our eyes on. We had lunch on this high elevation and then walked back down another lane to Holmbury St Mary, where we caught a bus to take us back to the Dorking-Guildford road at Abinger Hammer.

The glorious summer weather continued, so next day, Margaret and I set out on a long walk to see, in a more leisurely fashion than bus-riding permitted, some of the villages which make the countryside around Guildford so attractive. We set off down New Inn Lane by the side of the house, through Merrow and the Merrow Downs to Newlands Corner—which was yet another vantage point to see and enjoy Surrey from. Surrey Hills—the eastern suburb of Melbourne, where I had lived for fifteen years—was taking on a new meaning for me. We dropped down to Albury to look over the Catholic Apostolic Church, a fine old building with a chapter house, and then along to the twin villages of Shere and Gomshall. What a perfect little place Shere is—its narrow lanes, the church spire rising from behind the greenery on the river’s bank, and the quaint little buildings adding a delicate grace and dignity to the whole. We had lunch in this village and then, walking across Albury Heath, set out for Peaslake via the Quaint Sanctuary at Burrows Lea associated with the spiritualist healer Harry Edwards. The little chapel nearby was of singular beauty in its simplicity. We continued on through Coverwood to Ewhurst, where we caught a bus back through Cranleigh, Shamley Green, and Wonersh to Guildford and Burpham. It is hard to describe the varied beauty of this walk and the effect it had on me. Sometimes, it led across open heath or downs and sometimes through closely wooded lanes with occasional glimpses across fields to ancient farmhouses, the myriad greens contrasting with the golden stacks of hay. Then we would see the sky and white clouds soaring above a ridge of Surrey pines. I was learning that this country has delights to enchant and refresh the most demanding traveller.

My time in Guildford had come to an end, and I said goodbye to Mrs Ryall, who had looked after me so generously during the previous few days. I set off early the following morning for London with Mrs Watson and Margaret and left them at the BBC in Portland Place for their day’s sightseeing whilst I went on to Euston Station to catch the train to Boxmoor. Whilst I had been down in Guildford, my aunt Fanny had returned from Teignmouth, and Grandma Uhland and my aunt Millie had come down from Manchester so that we could all meet.

Threefields Lodge (15-30 September)

It was with great excitement and pleasurable anticipation that I travelled up to Boxmoor to spend a fortnight with my closest family relations in England. In a sense, of course, I knew them all well because they were a frequent topic of conversation between my mother, Gladys, and my aunt Jessie, and letters ‘from home’ were eagerly awaited and discussed. However, except for a very short period, when I was one to two years old, I had never met them ‘in the flesh’. My preformed ideas of their various personalities were to be born out and amplified during our many subsequent meetings over the years.

Boxmoor is a suburb of Hemel Hempstead, some 25 miles north-west of London in Hertfordshire. Threefields Lodge (Fig. 1) was owned by Frank Elmore¹ with whom, indirectly, Laurie worked as a chemical engineer at Nordac; he and my aunt Fanny had moved there when they were bombed out of their flat at 18 Mecklenburgh Square, Bloomsbury, London WC1, during the Blitz (1940-41).

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Fig. 1 Threefields Lodge, Boxmoor

At the time I am writing about, September 1948, my grandma was eighty-five years old, my aunt Millie was sixty-two years, Fanny (invariably known in the family as ‘Chippie’) was fifty-nine, and Laurie was approaching his fifty-third birthday. A fuller account of my family tree is given in Appendix 1 at the end of this chapter, but photographs of my mother’s side of the family are included here.

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Fig. 2 My Grandmother, Bertha Uhland (née Bechhold)

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Fig. 3 My Grandfather, Moritz Uhland

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Fig. 4 Millie Uhland

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Fig. 5 Jessie Uhland

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Fig. 6 Fanny (‘Chippie’) Malan (née Uhland)

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Fig. 7 Laurie Malan

My train pulled into Boxmoor Station at 1.30 p.m., and Millie was waiting on the platform, a picture of love and generosity. ‘Norman, my dear,’ she greeted me. ‘How grand to see you. Oh, this is a great day, and I want you to know there is a lot of love waiting for you here.’ I met Grandma, who came to the door of the cottage to meet me—a sweet old lady with a slight German accent and kindliness itself. She was always composed, never flustered, and quite firm in her opinions. It was clear not only that she had an immense knowledge of diverse subjects, but also that she had a nobleness of mind which impressively combined both dignity and simplicity.

‘Chippie’ was a box of tricks, always full of fun and ready to speak her mind without malice (and usually also without any thought for the consequence). She clearly worshipped Laurie with an apparent naivety which sometimes hid her own considerable capabilities, but she was content to follow his efficient leadership implicitly. Laurie himself could not have been kinder; he was completely free from worldliness, though far from being impractical. He was a model of thoughtful efficiency, and his great knowledge and capabilities were evident in everything he undertook. It was a wonderful moment to meet these people who, for the past twenty years, had been so kind and helpful and generous to us all in Australia.

Fanny and Laurie had planned a range of excursions for me, and I was also able to meet many of their friends and neighbours during my fortnight’s stay.²

Unfortunately, Millie had to return to Manchester the day after I arrived, but Grandma was able to stay on, and Betty (see Appendix) arrived to help in the cottage. It was a most welcome opportunity for Fanny and Grandma, in particular, to talk with me in detail about the family situation in Melbourne and, especially, how Gladys was coping with the difficulties of living with her sister, Jessie, and also our feelings about my father, John.

After lunch, following my arrival, we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening going through my photos (whilst Millie was still with us). They were thrilled to see all the pictures of the family in Melbourne, tracing through from 1926 to the time of my leaving, last month. It was a great day of reunion, and we all became one happy family, or rather, I should say, I was absorbed by their kindness into their already happy family.

The following day, I went into Hemel Hempstead by bus with Chippie and Millie to get rations, and so on, sorted. The township was not as picturesque as Guildford but certainly contained some very old and beautiful buildings. The Parish Church, dating from the twelfth century, is said to be one of the finest examples of a Norman transept church in the country; it had a magnificent altar and an impressive rib-vaulted roof.

My first experience of Chippie’s impulsiveness and lovable eccentricity came shortly after lunch when I went with Millie to Watford Station to see her off on the London train en route to Manchester. She had arranged via the Malans to meet Betty at Euston, and we were just strolling along the platform when a commotion behind us made us turn around. Chippie came rushing on to the platform waving her hands wildly. The porter at the barrier threw up his hands in despair as she rushed past him without a ticket and pantingly came to a halt by our side; she had forgotten to tell Millie where exactly at Euston to meet Betty, and she had borrowed 2/-(£0.10) from the ticket clerk at Boxmoor to follow us by bus. Her antics were hilarious, and she had us in fits of laughter as she sat with us in the train compartment awaiting its departure. After the train had left, Fanny returned to Threefields whilst I looked around Watford and bought a couple of maps of England and London.

On Friday, 17 September, I slept in again, as usual, and had breakfast in bed—I was being spoiled. Fanny and I then went for a walk into Hemel Hempstead and through Gade Park, where we had lunch under a giant oak tree on the banks of the river Gade. It was a delightful spot. Then we took the bus to Bourne End, further along the Grand Union Canal, and walked up through Westbrook Hay, a private park. All the while we were talking of family matters—a mutual getting to know each other at first-hand rather than by correspondence. We walked on, slowly, through the golf links and so across Felden Lane and home.

The following day (Saturday), Betty and I walked through the fields down to Chipperfield (about 3½ miles) and had lunch under the giant trees by the Twelve Apostles Pool, again a delightful spot. Betty was somewhat agitated about the Stern Gang’s assassination of Count Bernadotte, the UN mediator in Palestine, and this led her to talk considerably about Jewish politics and philosophy and about her family connections. Her mother (also called Fanny) was Grandma’s sister, and she had married an orthodox Jew, Herr Rothschild. From Chipperfield, we followed the road around to Bovington, where we visited the aerodrome and the Parish Church, a fine grey stone building. We then made our way back to Threefields Lodge through the fields and across the golf course.

After dinner, Laurie took me to the Elmore Laboratory in ‘the big house’, where he had worked for so many years. It was now disused.

On Sunday, Laurie and Fanny took me to London for the day. We went down on the 9.20 a.m. train, and the main activities included a prolonged visit to the Open Air Sculpture Exhibition in Battersea Park (just across Chelsea Bridge on the other side of the Thames from Victoria Station), then a walk through parts of the West End I had not yet seen, and a performance of Moliere’s Tartuffe at the Arts Theatre Club.

The route we took was across Euston Road, along Gordon Street, past Gordon Square and Woburn Square (where we saw the impressive new Senate House building of the University of London towering up in gleaming white Portland stone), then the extensive park in Russell Square, and on through Montague Place (where the colonnaded facade of the British Museum was guarded by two humorous looking lions who seemed to be enjoying a shared joke), then to Bedford Square and out through Bailey Street to Tottenham Court Road. The Squares were particularly attractive in view of the post-war drabness of many of the buildings surrounding them.

Continuing across Oxford Street, we entered Charing Cross Road with its many second-hand bookshops through Cambridge Circus and then, darting down Little Newport Street, came into Long Acre so that Laurie could show me the Stanford’s Maps Building. We were now in theatreland, and Laurie called in at the Arts Theatre Club to book some seats for the evening’s performance. Rather different from nowadays, when I doubt, it would be possible to go into a box office on a Sunday morning and book seats for the same evening.

We passed Garrick’s statue and then approached the church of St Martin in the Fields by way of St Martin’s Lane. What a fine old church it looked I recalled the visit of its former vicar Rev. Eric Loveday to Trinity College, Melbourne, only fifteen months earlier and his sudden death in bed there (see Recollections of a Scientist, Volume 1). Walking on the north side of Trafalgar Square between Nelson’s Monument and the National Gallery, we entered Pall Mall. Turning down Waterloo Place, we came, again, to the famous Athenaeum Club, but instead of continuing past the Duke of York’s Monument and down the steps to the Mall as I had done with Laurie on my first evening in London, we went through Carlton Gardens past Marlborough House and St James’s Palace, where a couple of sentries were perambulating their monotonous beat. These old palaces seemed quite commonplace and dilapidated from the outside, but I could imagine the splendour within. Passing the London Museum (Lancaster House), we entered Green Park, where we had a pleasant picnic lunch beneath the trees. I have a charming photo of Fanny and Laurie sitting on the grass and enjoying their meal (portraits 1946-49). I have purposely set out in detail this walk because—for me, newly arrived from Australia—I felt I was seeing and feeling and absorbing my English heritage whilst all the while being reminded of famous names and places in British history. The walk was a revelation to me.

After lunch, we caught a bus in Piccadilly, passed the now familiar Hyde Park Corner and Knightsbridge, then, turning down Sloane Street and Chelsea Bridge Road, came to the Thames. Just before Chelsea Bridge itself, we passed the Chelsea Barracks on the left and the gardens of the Royal Chelsea Hospital on the right. The two chimneys and magnificent art-deco facade of the Battersea Power Station dominated the view from the Thames, but we turned right into Battersea Park when we alighted and walked down Bridge Drive, along the river.

Laurie led us through some delightful flower gardens, and finally, we came to the Open Air Exhibition, in association with the Arts Council of Great Britain. It was the last day of what I understood was the first exhibition of its kind, where the sculptures could be seen in harmonious surroundings of lawns, trees, and lake. In all, forty-three pieces were displayed, and my detailed diary entry suggests that I viewed all of them with interest, though not always with affection. Clearly, I was not attracted to the massive bronze maillot figure in Dobson’s Woman with Necklace or his Three Graces (in lead, which I thought to be a singularly inappropriate medium). Hardiman’s Peace appealed more—I thought it was a masterpiece of modelling—‘you could almost feel the flesh’. Richard Bedford’s Tree in ash, painted green and orange, seemed to be trying too hard for effect.

Coming to ones I really enjoyed, there was Laocoon by Ossip Zadkine, an intriguing bronze work with magnificent intertwining limbs and serpents that could have held attention for hours. I was also pleased to see Henry Moore’s Recumbent Figure in Hornton Stone. I had previously seen a photograph of this at one of the Professor Bourke’s lectures in Melbourne, but no photo could do justice to it—it was so essentially three dimensional that each angle of view gave different impressions from the last. On the other hand, Moore’s Three Standing Figures was complete anathema to Fanny.

I liked both the examples of Espalier’s work; The Girl with the Gardenias was full of grace and action, an effect spoilt for me only by the expression on her face. For this reason, his Visitation appealed more—the form of the hands was so expressive, and the expression on her face was as exquisite as it was enigmatic. It was a face that could be studied for hours without reaching a decision as to what predominant emotion it aroused.

I found the Kneeling Figure carved in reinforced concrete by McWilliam, a delightful piece; the limbs were most beautifully proportioned, and the unconventional treatment made it for me, more satisfying than Lambert’s Messenger although this, too, I also liked. And so it went on; the little alabaster figure of Leda and the Swan by Gertrude Hennes; Les Ondines, a strange group by Henri Laurens; the Lycidas of J. H. Thomas; and the magnificent bronze statue of St John The Baptist by Auguste Rodin—the modelling of the muscles was superb, and the whole figure gave the impression of power and kindness intermixed. Dora Gordini’s Kneeling Figure in green bronze also appealed.

Matisse was represented by a fantastic bronze bas-relief which was presumably a girl standing against a wall looking back over her shoulder. Modigliani’s Head, though distorted, was at least recognisable as such, especially after contact with El Greco and Dobell. There were several torsos such as Mankind by Gill and another, more ugly, by Mestrovic, but they didn’t particularly appeal. The overall impression of the whole exhibition, however, was one of exhilaration and almost sensuous pleasure, which was enhanced by the glorious background of the park with its subtle blends of sunlight and shadows. My interest in modern sculpture had been aroused, and I determined to find out more about it.

We left the gardens by way of the lake and caught a bus in Queenstown Road, retracing our steps to Knightsbridge and then on another bus along The Brompton Road back to the Lyons Corner House in Oxford Street for tea. A short walk then brought us to the Arts Theatre Club for their performance of Moliere’s Tartuffe. The Theatre had quite a small auditorium and gallery but was very comfortable, and Laurie had secured good seats. After a fairly slow beginning, the play warmed up and went with a swing, Moliere’s wit and biting satire carrying it along in fine style. The play ended at about 7.30 p.m., but our day in London was not yet over, for Laurie had planned our evening ‘stroll’ (aka ‘prolonged sightseeing tour of the city’). It was certainly ‘crammed with history’.

Our route took us through Covent Garden Market, up Bow Street, passing The Opera House and Police Station. Then along Russell Street, past the Drury Lane Theatre (a fine-looking building) and over Catherine Street to Aldwich, a magnificent crescent of impressive buildings such as India House, Bush House, and Australia House. Unfortunately, owing to electricity restrictions, the floodlit statues on Bush House, seen down Kingsway, were in darkness (twilight).

Proceeding down the Strand past St Clements (bombed), we came to the Royal Courts of Justice (Old Bailey) with their impressive Gothic arches, then, crossing Temple Bar, entered Fleet Street and the City of London proper. Fortunately, there was virtually no traffic and very few pedestrians on this quiet summer’s Sunday evening, so we could wander at will taking in the sights and absorbing Laurie’s informative commentary. Laurie guided us through a narrow gateway into the quietness of Temple Court and, although many buildings had suffered bomb damage, the dignified atmosphere of the place could be felt. The Crusader’s Church was a mere shell, as also were St Bride’s, St Dunstan’s, St Mary-le-Bow, and many others. The steeples of several, however, still stood as a monument to Wren’s artistry. We passed Dr Johnson’s Cheshire Cheese Coffee House and then walked up Ludgate Hill to St Paul’s. The damage in this locality was far more severe than in the West End, though miraculously St Paul’s escaped destruction. The area between Moorgate Station, Guildhall, St Bartholomew’s Hospital, and Aldgate Station was literally completely ‘non est’. Our route, however, took us around St Paul’s Churchyard and Cheapside to Poultry. Suddenly, we were in the heart of this great city, and I immediately recognised (from photos I had often seen) Lombard Street, Mansion House, the Bank of England, and the Royal Exchange. To think I was really here. We skirted the Bank via Threadneedle Street, Bartholomew Lane, and Throgmorton Street and then along Copthall Avenue to London Wall. The walk along Aldermanbury gave a ghastly idea of what London went through, during those air raids in the war. We re-entered Cheapside by way of Milk Street after an inspiring tour of many of the City’s most renowned sights.

A bus whisked us back to the Malan’s beloved Lyons Oxford Corner House for a hurried meal, and our busy day ended at 9.55 p.m. from Euston to Boxmoor. Once again, the ease of travel and the huge, though never tiring, itinerary were a tribute to Laurie’s efficiency, forethought and compendious knowledge of London and its transport system.

Following this very active visit to London, I took it easy for a few days at Threefields Lodge—reading, writing up my diary, catching up on correspondence, chatting to Fanny, visiting neighbours, contacting Margaret Palstra in London, and telephoning J. S. Anderson in Harwell (from Jacquie Barden’s place as there was no telephone in the lodge). JS sounded very pleased to hear from me and immediately set about obtaining security clearance so that I could get a pass to visit him at the Atomic Energy Research Establishment. There was also good news in the mail from Sidney Sussex, saying that I had been granted residence within the college (presumably because I was an overseas student in my first year at Cambridge as rooms in the college were very much at a premium). I was delighted, feeling that this would add considerably to my stay in Cambridge, as indeed it did.

On Wednesday evening, Laurie gave me a lot of information about field paths to St Albans, where I had planned to spend the next day alone in sightseeing. So on Thursday, 23 September, I set out mid-morning to walk over the fields to St Albans, a distance of about 9 miles from Threefields. The first couple of miles were along the Grand Union Canal, past Apsley Paper Mills, and then, striking up the lane at Abbots Hill, a beautiful spot, I went into the fields. Following the map, I crossed a road at Pimlico and then through the fields again. I was thrilled to see my first pheasant in Appspond Wood and another one again a little further on. I skirted Great Furzefield Wood and met the main St Albans Road (now the A4147) just near the Old Roman Wall. The glimpses of the abbey across the fields quickened my pace, and at the lake on the river Ver, I stood and admired a scene of highest beauty—green playing fields, the small lake and islands, graceful swans, and, surmounting all, the south-west face of the abbey itself on Holmhurst Hill. A glance at the modern Ordnance Survey Map of the region indicates that such a walk would be quite impossible nowadays, not only because of the growth of both Hemel Hempstead and St Albans, but also because of the construction of the obstrusive M1 and M10 motorways right across the line of my walk.

Approaching the abbey closer, I was interested to see Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, reputed to be the oldest licensed house in Great Britain. A narrow lane led up to the Great Gate of the Monastery (built in 1361) and which now formed part of the grammar school. From here, the rebuilt west front of Lord Grimthorpe, with its large stained glass window, was seen to full advantage. It was a new experience for me to see so many different architectural styles incorporated in the one building, but, of course, all the major churches and cathedrals that I had previously seen in Australia were erected essentially in one operation, whereas some of those in England had undergone extensions and revisions sometimes over periods of hundreds of years.

The cathedral had a profound effect on me as can be gauged from the ten-page detailed description in my diary. I was clearly fascinated by it and spent several hours in minute examination of every detail. My appreciation was heightened by the sound of a magnificent baritone voice accompanied by the majestic organ which sent the tones of Handel’s oratorios ringing through the nave and aisles and filling every corner of the building. Finally, I left this extraordinary edifice and made my way into the town, which was fairly quiet as it was ‘early closing’ day. The Clock Tower (from 1410) immediately caught my eye; the bell was apparently even older having been cast in 1335. The quaint little medieval streets were a delight, as was the church of St Peter with its interesting looking spire.

After a quick snack, I made my way across the fields again, casting my eyes back to see the abbey rising on Holmhurst Hill above the river, and strode over to see the Roman remains. I arrived at the hypocaust just ten minutes before closing time—it was my first experience of an extensive Roman building with its superb tiled mosaic courtyard, subterranean conduits for the hot flue gases, and so on, all dating from the first century AD. The keeper of the hypocaust suggested that I rush over to the Verulamium Museum before it closed in seven minutes time. It turned out to be a single room whose walls were covered with glass cases containing relics of vases, instruments, and other artefacts excavated in the vicinity. It was a ‘crash course’ in Roman and pre-Roman history because there had previously been a Belgie town here, followed by the Prae Wood Settlement, and there were exhibits dating as far back as the second century BC. I avidly absorbed all I could in the time available. At closing time, the director of the museum suggested that I visit the Roman amphitheatre dating from AD 140, and I was glad to accept his advice. It is the only theatre of its kind extant in Britain and appeared to be two concentric rings of stonework broken at three points by sloping ramps and at the fourth side by a stage. It faced directly on to Watling Street. Illustrated guidebooks were quickly bought for subsequent further reading, and as it was now getting late, I caught a bus back to Hemel Hempstead through Leverstock Green, Bennets End, and Corner Hall to Moor End, where I alighted and walked across to Boxmoor Station and up to Threefields Lodge, arriving just before 7 p.m. after a memorable day. Fanny, with her usual exuberance and enthusiasm, wanted me to repeat all my impressions to fix them in my mind before they were forgotten—a wise precaution in view of our crowded schedule of sightseeing and meeting people.

On Friday, 24 September, Fanny and I went to Hampton Court—catching the 9.20 a.m. bus to Watford and thence by train to Willsden and Richmond, where we took a bus for Kingston upon Thames. Fanny and Laurie seemed to have an astonishing grasp of the complex public transport system. Once again, the weather was glorious as it had been ever since I had arrived in England more than a fortnight before. We entered the Home Park from Kingston and proceeded down the magnificent avenue of trees. It was not long before we saw a deer, and soon several more appeared quietly cropping the grass and wagging their great ears. I remember being surprised at their small size—I had imagined them to be a larger animal—perhaps it was the breed. Then we came to the great lake with its double-flanked avenues tapering away to the focus at the palace itself. What a sight, to see the deer swim the decorative lake and then leap from the water on the far side. It was in this setting that we had our lunch.

Then, passing through the huge iron gates, we entered the Great Fountain Garden with its splendid semicircle of faultless lawns and flower beds. From here, we saw the full front of Wren’s extension to the original Tudor Buildings. I absorbed the history of the place, from Wolsey and Henry VIII through Edward VI, Mary and Elizabeth, to the Stuarts, Oliver Cromwell and Charles II. My diary contains a rapturous six-page account of the buildings, furniture, and paintings—a stunning succession of courts, gardens, halls, staterooms, and terraces behind the moat, leading eventually to the priory gardens with their green paths and graceful statues. This led, in turn, down to the Thames where there was a series of wonderful wrought iron gates. The sunken garden, too, presented a delightful sight from the orangery. Of course, I didn’t miss seeing the Great Vine, planted in 1769; they said that the main stem was 7 feet in circumference and the main branch over 100 feet long. It would be impossible to single out particular gems of the afternoon’s tour, but the overall effect was awe-inspiring. Delight followed delight, only to be succeeded by yet another and another. Any one of the staterooms and its treasures could have engrossed us for the whole afternoon. In the end, we had to tear ourselves away and returned to Threefields via Fanny’s beloved Richmond, following the same route we had taken in the morning.

On Sunday, 26 September, Fanny and Laurie took me to Windsor Castle, another glorious day immersed in the rich heritage of this astonishing country. We caught the 8.48 a.m. train to Berkhampstead—the next station north from Boxmoor—and, from the train, saw the ruins of Berkhampstead Castle. From the top of a double-decker bus, we then had a good view of the Chilterns, passing down through Buckinghamshire to Windsor via Amersham, Chesham, Chalfont St Peter, Slough, and Eton. Windsor Castle looked magnificent in the sun as we approached it up the High Street. It dates from Norman days, although many later buildings have been