‘Most people remember a strong sense of idealism, which expressed itself not only in a belief in internationalism and international atomic energy control but also in a desire to do something to demonstrate the peaceful uses of atomic energy as a counter-balance to the bomb. There was a belief that a whole new world would open up before them — a medical revolution through the use of radioactive isotopes, and a new and clean source of power which would end the pall of sulphurous smoke over the cities.’[12]
Fuchs himself wrote to his father shortly before coming to Harwelclass="underline" ‘I only hope that we can concentrate on the peacetime use of this tremendous force in the future.’
The work at Harwell was exciting because everything that was being done there was new. Never before had nuclear physics been an applied science. The design of an atomic reactor, the extraction from one of heat and power, the hazards of radiation and how to protect against them, the production and use of radioactive materials — all these were entirely new areas of investigation. Every scientist working there was breaking new ground. Some of the ideas going around seem today to be almost laughably primitive: for instance, people working at Harwell were given extra milk rations because it was believed that this strengthened their bones against the harmful effects of radiation.
Harwell shared with the rest of Britain a sense of optimism, a feeling that a new and better world was coming now that the long war was over. Britain alone among the nations had fought the war from the beginning and won through, and now she seemed to be following at home a policy of fair shares for all. British people on the whole were pleased with themselves. But there was little joy in the surroundings. In those immediate postwar years strict rationing was still in force, of clothes and fuel as well as food. The streets were gloomy, because street lighting was limited and shop window lighting was banned, weeds grew on the untended sites of bombed buildings, pubs were short of drink, restaurants were short of food, and homes were usually cold.
In those early days at Harwell, there were pioneer conditions to match the pioneering spirit of the scientists: muddy roads, inadequate housing and working conditions, and an occasional question mark over heating and water supply. The laboratories were set up in the RAF hangars, as was, later, the first research reactor. The chemists sometimes used milk bottles as beakers, and they used to pour their sludge down the toilets because these were the only drains that worked.
When Fuchs arrived he lived for a time at Ridgeway House, which had been the RAF officers’ quarters; most scientists and their families lived there at first, because there was no other accommodation for them. Like most officers’ quarters of the period, it was designed to give the residents an elevated sense of social status: ivy covered the front of the building, and inside, wooden floors, gleaming with polish, and shiny leather armchairs contributed to the country manor atmosphere. Ridgeway House is still a part of Harwell today.
After a while, rows of prefabricated houses were put up, ugly, box-like but serviceable bungalows, each with three rooms plus kitchen and bathroom, and families moved into these as they were finished — there were 200 eventually. Lawns were created early on at Harwell, and beds of flowers planted at strategic places: roses and chrysanthemums, dahlias and zinnias formed patches of gaiety in the bleakness. Rows of young trees were planted along the edge of the airstrip as a windbreak.
Harwell is within easy reach of Oxford and London, but most people did not have cars in the first years and bus services in the area were infrequent and did not run late in the evening, so life at Harwell was quite isolated. In this as in many other respects, Harwell resembled Los Alamos. There was the same close-knit community, the same intermingling of social and professional life, the same dependence on a bureaucracy for the necessities, the same strong commitment to the work and the same exciting newness about it. But there were also marked differences for those coming from Los Alamos, particularly when they looked outside the laboratories, whether one considered the landscape, comparing the close horizons and little fields around Harwell with the spectacular vistas and plunging canyons around Los Alamos, or looked at the narrow winding lanes, or 1940s ration-cramped meals. In those years, life in Britain was more limited than life in America, and young Englishmen, the kind who came to work at Harwell, had less money to spend than Americans, ate less, and wore tighter-fitting clothes of heavier material.
The lawns and flower beds at Harwell were the distinctive contribution of the director, John Cockcroft. He was keen on gardens, and he hired a landscape gardener who had been in the Royal Family’s employ. Cockcroft was the physicist who, with E. T. S. Walton, split an atom artificially for the first time, in 1932, in the Cavendish laboratory in Cambridge, an achievement for which they were awarded a Nobel prize nineteen years later. At Harwell, Cockcroft lived with his family in what had been the RAF base commander’s house, one of the few houses on the site.
His love of gardens was of a piece with the Englishness of his character. He was quiet-spoken, modest and retiring, and kept his thoughts and feelings to himself. He would go to great lengths to avoid conflict, like the conventional Englishman for whom the horror to be avoided at all costs is a ‘scene’. Sometimes, staff members would want him to adjudicate a dispute and would be rewarded only with some delphic utterance and go away frustrated. In those early days, Cockcroft involved himself and took decisions in every area of Harwell life, from the scientific experiments to the purchase of equipment to arrangements for housing and even laundry. He inspired loyalty in his staff, and helped to create the strong group loyalty to Harwell as an institution that developed there. Fuchs, for one, looked up to him and admired him.
When Fuchs arrived at Harwell, he was still worried by the discovery of the Canadian spy ring and the arrest of Nunn May, and he decided to lie low for a while and not resume his contacts with the Soviet intelligence service. This was just as well for him. Following the Canadian revelations, the British security authorities put a number of foreign-born scientists engaged in secret work under surveillance, including Fuchs. He was watched for the first six months he was at Harwell, but nothing suspicious was observed and surveillance was withdrawn.
He soon became well known in the Harwell community, striding about the site with his head tilted slightly upwards, his hair receding from his high forehead now, pale-faced, calm, imperturbable, usually either silent or talking, in his slightly high-pitched voice, about nuclear physics and its applications. He still gave the impression of a man interested only in his work. The AERE News, the weekly Harwell newspaper, carried a series of clerihews about Harwell personalities. One read:
Fuchs
Looks
Like an ascetic
Theoretic.
He had the cautious person’s habit of pausing before replying to a question. Sometimes, if the question was serious and the answer of some moment, he would say, ‘I’ll think about that and give you an answer tomorrow.’
For a while, he shared an office with Buneman and a secretary, a small room containing three desks and a blackboard. As often as not, Buneman would be carrying on a conversation with somebody and the secretary would be typing and Fuchs would be working, usually smoking a cigarette, apparently oblivious to the noise around him. Later, when new buildings were put up, the Theoretical Division had its own, Building 33, a red-brick, two-storey structure, and Fuchs had his own office there and his own secretary. He still worked hard, often going back to his office in the evening.