By this time it was now obvious to the British that America was determined to retain its monopoly over nuclear weapons for as long as possible. And of course the Soviets, who were perceived as the new threat to world peace, were by now throwing everything they had into acquiring its own atomic bomb. Way ahead of the game, American flexed its muscles and carried out a series of atomic tests in the Pacific in the summer of 1946. The British were excluded from this program, except for Penney. Groves thought so highly of him, he invited him to join the scientific team gathered in the Rongelap islands, Polynesia. Penney’s political masters impressed upon him the vital necessity for him to attend; it could an invaluable experience if Britain was to have its own bomb.
Penney was welcomed back by Groves who allowed him a free rein to examine the arrangements. They were in the command bunker together when the huge atomic bomb was exploded 40-feet below the surface in a lagoon on Bikini atoll. A derelict flotilla of captured World War II Japanese warships was moored nearby to test the effects of the blast. Penney once again deeply impressed the Americans with the novel simplicity of measuring the blast wave using 300 old petrol cans and toothpaste tubes filled with varying amounts of water, strung around the atoll. Groves wasn’t surprised when Penney’s calculations proved to be more accurate than the immensely expensive electronic measuring devices used by the Americans (most of which, in any event, were destroyed by the blast).
On his return to Britain, Penney stock had now risen so high that he was seconded to take part in the first ever East-West discussions at the United Nations on the control of atomic energy. He was appointed scientific adviser to the British delegation. In a speech he announced that control over atomic energy was only possible provided nations allowed free access to observers. The Soviet Union, in the process of drawing an Iron Curtain across Europe, refused to cooperate.
In response, the USA decided to draw a curtain across its own scientific discoveries, especially those concerning atomic research. And in a surprise move the McMahon Act was introduced which specifically forbade Britain from a share in atomic secrets, despite the vital part played by British scientists in building the first A-bomb. It was a devastating blow for Britain which now had no choice but to go it alone if it wasn’t to be shut out completely from the world stage. In 1947 Penney reluctantly accepted the post of Chief of Armament Research at the Ministry of Supply (forerunner of today’s Ministry of Defense.) His job description was deliberately ambiguous to give the impression he was involved in conventional weapon research. In truth he had just one brief: “build an atom bomb.”
BATTLEGROUND BRITAIN
Britain was in a perilous position in the 1950s. Both America and the Soviet Union were stockpiling atomic bombs at an alarming rate and the only thing preventing mutual destruction was that neither had aircraft with a long enough range to reach the other. But America had an ace in the hole: its heavily fortified air base at Lakenheath in Suffolk, which Britain had allowed them to build, despite the bad blood over the McMahon Act. The US had strike aircraft based at Lakenheath that could deliver A-bombs to Russian soil. The Soviets had no bases close enough for retaliatory action on mainland America. The only place they could effectively strike back at was America’s closest ally, thus making Britain the likely starting point for World War 3.
The harsh reality galvanized the politicians into action. But building the atomic bomb was an enormous task and a huge drain on the resources of a country virtually bled dry by the ravages of five years of war. Nevertheless two reactors, both capable of producing plutonium, were constructed at enormous cost at Capenhurst near Windscale on the north west coast of Britain. In those days, the Cumbrian coastline between Barrow and Whitehaven was almost as remote as Los Alamos. Just to get there from London took all day and with construction workers arriving from all over the country, the area soon resembled the Klondyke.
But while Windscale was being built to make the plutonium for the bombs, it was decided to base Britain’s ‘Los Alamos’, the bomb-making facility, at Aldermaston, near Reading in Berkshire. This was a former Ministry of Supply wartime armaments research facility which was not as remote as Cumbria and therefore more accessible for Penney and his staff. Harwell, an old RAF airfield, 60 miles from London was also requisitioned as a base for the scientists who devised the plans for the new super weapon.
Living accommodation at both centres was basic with many of the newly arrived staying in caravans or converted wartime hangars. The roads were rutted and unpaved, and there was a shortage of everything. Scientists were so short of equipment that some used milk bottles as beakers; the only ‘luxury’ items afforded them were extra milk rations because it was believed this could ward off the harmful effects of radiation.
Klaus Fuchs was taken on as a section head at Harwell, where all the theoretical work was done. Penney, who was based at Aldermaston, often met with him and the pair collaborated on every aspect of atomic research. It was a huge shock to Penney and his co-workers when in 1949, and against all expectations, the Soviet Union successfully exploded its first atomic bomb.
Penney was summoned to London for urgent talks as the politicians desperately tried to work out how the Soviets had so comprehensively beaten Britain to the punch. It had been thought it would be 1954 and probably later that Russia would have the expertise to build ‘the bomb’, so Penney had some awkward moments explaining the situation to his political masters.
Meanwhile panic swept America where this sudden development was regarded as a national humiliation. This quickly turned to outrage when Klaus Fuchs, who was critical to the development of Britain’s bomb, was arrested in 1950 for espionage and confessed to being a communist spy. He admitted that while at Los Alamos he had provided the Soviets with the blueprints for the bomb.
The Americans were furious. Even Penney, the only British scientist with any access to United States nuclear technology was shunned by his erstwhile admirers in America. He was reduced, along with another Los Alamos scientist, the German-born theoretical physicist Rudolf Peierls, to visiting Fuchs regularly in Brixton prison to try to find out what secrets he might still have. It was a frustrating time for Penney.
Despite the setbacks, the development of Britain’s bomb continued and in early 1951 prime minister Clement Atlee wrote to his Australian counterpart Robert Menzies with a request for Australia to be used as the site for Britain’s first A-bomb. The anglophile Menzies agreed at once and the Monte Bello Islands, a small uninhabited archipelago off Western Australia, was earmarked as the site for the test.
By 1952, enough plutonium had been produced and the immensely precious and dangerous cargo was conveyed by saloon car to Aldermaston where Penney’s first bomb was being assembled. But amid scenes that could have come straight out of an Ealing Studios comedy, the car broke down on the way and the ingot of plutonium (in a container about the size of a large can of beans) had to be left on the back seat while the driver looked for a telephone. Penney and his high-powered team sweated it out for hours while a local garage carried out repairs before the ingot was delivered into their safe keeping.
Based on the Fat Man design of the American bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Penney’s bomb was an implosion device with about twice the destructive capacity. Penney’s team, short of materials and the latest technical know-how, toiled for weeks to perfect the design before it was finally delivered into the hands of the Royal Navy for transportation to Australia.
In an operation codenamed Hurricane, a special task force of ships left London in August 1952 for their destination on the other side of the world. The flagship and leader of the squadron was the aircraft carrier HMS Campania. She was accompanied by the supply and landing crafts, HMS Tracker and Narvik. Guarding the little fleet was HMS Zeebrugge. A total of 1,075 men were aboard the four vessels. As the fleet nosed its way down the Thames, it was joined unobtrusively by another vessel, a battered old frigate called HMS Plym which had recently been salvaged from the breaker’s yard. There was only a skeleton crew on board, together with a handful of scientists and technicians. In the hull of Plym was Britain’s greatest secret, the atomic bomb.