Chapter 4: Alan in Wonderland

When I was in my teens, my mind was filled with new ideas which I attempted to apply to my life. I was usually stopped at the first obstacle. Not once did I anticipate a problem; after all, I had the science right so there should not have been a problem. My gran told me I was full of brains but had no common sense but Mum admonished me that ‘A little learning is a dangerous thing’. I believed that I had grown out of this folly.

My plan for my future had me excited although I was still cautious about implementing the idea of founding a research company selling to the most appropriate manufacturer. After three months in the business world, I had learned that trained men and suitable machines were more important than the scientific basis of a proposal. My project Archie was not best suited to Paterson Engineering. Project Barbara, on the other hand, was right up their street except ... The truth is that Barbara is boring and was still undeveloped.

Archie is absolutely right for DEW, and my immediate future depends on selling the idea to them. I had intended to talk Henry into supporting my new venture, but Edith and her crew had undermined my judgement. I took her attack as an omen showing me the way when, in fact, it was a chimera feeding my natural impatience. Now, I had left myself with a single track which would lead to glory or ignominious failure. Tomorrow, I would pack all my eggs in one fragile basket and present my case to DEW.

The Dundee Engine Works (DEW) was founded by Ebeneezer Guthrie before Victoria came to the throne and before George and Robert Stephenson exhibited the Rocket. They built small locomotives for use in mines and harbours. By the end of the century, there was hardly a mine or port in the Empire that did not use DEW engines. The Guthrie in charge at the beginning of the twentieth century recognised, like the Vickers brothers in the North of England, that war was inevitable.

He designed field guns and made a considerable fortune during the Great War. During the twenties, they stubbornly remained a family business which meant they were too small to compete in the Second World War. Instead of manufacturing tanks or planes in their own name, they supplyied parts. They specialised in retractable undercarriages for fighters and bombers making another fortune in the process. After the war, the family turned their attention to spending their money. They bought a large estate near Perth, practically rebuilding the original Queen Anne mansion. It wasn’t until Sir George Guthrie took control that the slow slide into oblivion was reversed.

I do not know if Sir George has a degree, but he has built his success on an indomitable will and by cultivating the friendship of distinguished scientists and engineers. He has an instinct for inventions that will make a profit. Senior academics are treated to sumptuous dinners, but Sir George also selects promising young scientists who are invited to garden parties at his Perthshire estate.

The party I attended turned out to be two parties going on in the same location. On one side of the lawn, Lady Guthrie held court amongst the county set while, at the other end of the vast garden, Sir George reigned over a collection of nervous young graduates from all over Scotland. Lady Guthrie was escorted by a young bodybuilder while Sir George was accompanied by his latest secretary. There was a rumour that his daughter, the Honourable Amanda, would attend but she did not arrive while I was there.

It was Sir George who told me about matching proposals to the machinery already owned by a company. “I’m not going to spend thousands on a new machine to improve my profitability by a few percent. Give me an idea that I can implement without additional cost and we can talk business.” He employed very few scientists claiming he got better value by using them on contract.

“Any time you get an idea that I can use, young fellow,” he told me more than once, “Come and see me. No need to make an appointment. My door is always open to bright young men like you.”

On the basis of that rather vague invitation, I took myself off to Dundee on the morning after Manic Monday. I used a new razor blade and donned my best suit with a silk tie.

On arrival, I demanded to be conducted to the office of the great man only to be rebuffed by a succession of increasingly senior people. It took more than an hour to reach Sir George’s PA and five minutes to be escorted to his office. He was as good as his word, putting off other appointments so he could give me his full attention. I began by telling him that Project Archie had been designed with his machines and the expertise of his staff at the forefront of my thoughts.

He listened attentively while I described my proposal mildly disagreeing when I claimed he could go into production without delay. “You simply don’t have the experience to make that judgement,” he reminded me. “You mean well and I must admit that you have taken my advice to heart. There is, however, a good deal of detailed preparation still to do but Its not impossible.”

He had coffee brought in, even going to the length of supplying chocolate biscuits, so I thought I was on a winner. The atmosphere cooled significantly when he asked me what terms I proposed. When I asked for a quarter of a million for a five-year licence. I could see the shutters come down over his features. Suddenly his friendly interest evaporated but, to be fair, he didn’t throw me out on my ear.

“It is only fair to tell you that your terms are probably impossible to meet. You are a young man, untried in the business world. However, I will pass your proposal to my assessment team with a recommendation that they proceed with the matter; employing due caution, of course.” There was no point in pressing him further at that point, so I took my leave with much gratitude for his time and patience.

I wasn’t so naive that I believed the job was as good as settled but I did carry away enough confidence to face a difficult interview with Henry the following day. Before my former boss could start, I told him that, although there was no contract as yet, Sir George had strongly indicated that he would buy on my terms. Henry was sceptical, to put it mildly.

He did concede that the arrangement I had with Paterson Engineering was not working. He accepted the broad principal of supporting the development of a consultancy, but he baulked at having any part in funding the development. He did promise me two offices rent free for a year, but he claimed that it was not possible for him to raise the necessary capital. He was also unhappy that I would own a third of the new company without investing a penny. I wanted unconditional acceptance of my scheme and was inclined to be downright rude about his wishy-washy attitude.