Journalist Chapman Pincher was in thrall to the super scientist. He enthused in one of his dispatches: “What sort of man is this Penney who without any political touting or personal magnetism can command such power and authority? Never before in history has the British Government placed such reliance on one man’s word. On Penney’s assurance that his entirely untried H-bomb would work, the Government revolutionised the Forces, and invested millions in atomic works. I yield to no man in my admiration for this excellent man. I have witnessed his outstanding mind in action in the conference room, over the lunch table and during the tenseness of atomic blasts. His extraordinary position is unparalleled in the free world…”
All this hero worship only served to antagonize Penney who loathed publicity and had never been known to grant an interview. He avoided all contact with the press and even referred to Pincher as ‘Chapman Stinker’ in one dispatch from Australia
Getting him to Christmas Island without fanfare was a major operation. He eventually arrived on an American sea-plane (his favourite mode of transport) from Honolulu while his Hastings together with his normal entourage, were sent on a decoy trip to America.
Penney’s arrival was noted with some excitement by the RAF ground crew who shepherded the seaplane, a Catalina, to its slot on the runway. For as the doors opened out popped Penney, accompanied by four very attractive models. Aircraftsman Archie Ross recalled: “They were real stunners, and to us men who hadn’t seen a woman in months, a real tonic. We set up a chorus of wolf whistles as the little group made its way to the terminal. The girls gave us a wave before they disappeared. I think they were part of a film crew, but what they were doing with Penney I haven’t a clue. The Catalina didn’t stay long before it was off, with the four pretty girls back on board, which was more the pity.”
Penney was met by Cook and other scientists and taken to a private tented complex near ‘C’ site, the forward area. No official minutes have been released about the visit, but his arrival was duly noted by Ralph Gray, a steward in the catering core.
He had had a pretty good idea that “something big” was about to happen when he was ordered to report to ‘C’ site. His orders were to “look after a few gentlemen… and keep your mouth shut.” He was directed to a tented complex bristling with aerial equipment and surrounded by heavily armed guards. He was thoroughly searched and checked out before being allowed into the inner sanctum where he was introduced to the people he was to look after for the next few weeks.
The “few gentlemen” turned out to be none other than Sir William Penney, Bill Cook, Air Vice Marshall John Grandy, Air Commodore J.F. Roulston, the highest ranking Navy officer, Captain J.G. Western, and the Army’s Task Group Commander Colonel R.B. Muir. Half a dozen scientists from Aldermaston were also present making it the largest gathering of top brass Gray had ever seen. After perfunctory introductions, Gray was put to work serving what appeared to be everyone’s favourite drink: large gin and tonics infused with lashings of ice.
Gray delighted in the work. He was now living and working in comparatively lavish surroundings… a far cry from the primitive conditions the rest of the island had to endure. Duckboards on the floor were covered with comfortably-padded groundsheets, and the sleeping quarters contained real cast-iron beds with sparkling white linen sheets. Padded chairs and large deep armchairs were liberally spread about. An area set aside for drinks and food preparation had a large dining table and a modern well-stocked fridge. And the young steward could hardly believe his eyes when he discovered there was even a washing machine… an unheard of luxury on the island.
Gray, just 21 at the time, set about his duties with enthusiasm. He washed and ironed clothes, polished boots and cooked and served dinner every night. And he was always on hand to replenish the crystal glasses as the “few gentlemen” fortified themselves while they talked and planned well into the night. Of course Gray understood little of what the great men were talking about, but he did gradually become aware of a deep sense of unease that pervaded much of the table talk. From what he could gather Penney and Cook had only a vague idea of what to expect from the bomb and argued furiously as they pored over blueprints and calculations.
Penny and Cook were not getting on at the time. They had always formed a perfect partnership at Aldermaston and together had worked wonders to progress the development of Britain’s H-bomb. But now they appeared to be increasingly irritated with each other. The pressures were obviously mounting.
Cook was one of the ablest men in his field and the making of the hydrogen bomb showed him at his most typical and effective. He had worked in defence science all his career, was in close touch with defence policy, and had no moral qualms about the need for the weapon.
He was brought in to Aldermaston in 1954 as Sir William Penney’s deputy essentially to make sure Britain had a workable bomb in the shortest possible time. The theoretical side was, of course, primarily the work of Penney, but Cook played a vital part in harnessing theory to application. Cook had been in charge of the 1957 series when the first, unwieldy bomb was exploded: then in 1958, he was recalled to finish off the work and to take charge at Christmas Island again.
He might have viewed the arrival of Penney as a slur on his abilities and reacted accordingly. But nothing prevented him from working all hours of the day, or night. There is no doubt he missed his old drinking buddy, Wilf Oulton, and was often seen sitting alone next to the sea pondering a problem (accompanied by a whisky and soda) far into the night.
Despite their outward calm, both Cook and Penney were very worried men and Gray could sense the rising tension. “I got the distinct impression they didn’t have a clue what was going to happen,” he said. “They weren’t happy with their calculations and fretted continuously.”
As D-day approached, Penney and his team toiled in a large heavily-guarded corrugated iron “workshop” out of sight of prying eyes. Archie Ross used to watch the comings and goings. He said: “Every time some important part arrived, they would screen off the area surrounding the workshop with large pieces of canvas. I was never quite sure what they were hiding from us, but they were obsessed with secrecy.” Ross had been on Christmas Island since mid-1957 and had witnessed Grapple X. But there was something different about the preparations for this latest drop. “The activity was more intense,” he said. “There was definitely tension in the air.”
INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH
April 28, 1958.
The men didn’t need much prodding from their bunks; everyone knew there was going to be a bomb drop and the excitement was palpable. In the half-light of daybreak, they could see that weather conditions were far from perfect. It was raining heavily at Main Camp and the countdown was delayed. The gloomy weather was recorded in the Operations Record Book for No. 76 Squadron, the Canberra aircraft used to collect samples from the mushroom clouds.
After noting the heavy rain and ‘almost complete cloud cover’ the book records:-
There was considerable speculation as to whether the weapon would be set off that day as the squadron aircrews sat around straining to hear the extremely inadequate Tannoy across the dispersal tarmac.
Despite the delay, and with little fuss and a minimum of noise, trucks began ferrying thousands of men from the Main Camp to allocated “viewing” positions in palm groves and on beaches near the Port area. This was also a precaution against a radiation leak in the event of a crash landing at the airfield which was near to the Main Camp. Unusually, a dozen or more landing craft were moored on the beaches and the word spread they were there for a quick getaway should the bomber crash on takeoff.