Hell or the garden of eden

From this perspective years later I can see that I was amazingly lucky to have been allowed to prepare and submit that paper, which was the turning point in my life. Most of Mansel Davies’ students did not go on to a post doctoral fellowship, and at that point I did not even know that there was such as a thing as a post doctoral. Writing the paper was something I had to do, and that is a familiar feeling to all artists who suddenly want to paint, or all poets who suddenly want to write, or all composers. There is no difference between that and the scientific paper. The latter had to be based on a new discovery, and the strange name “paper” was given to the document that recorded a scientific advance or discovery. Usually the student would just be tagged on to the supervisor’s name and by the time the paper was published had already graduated Ph. D. and left university life. That first paper on MBBA is on the Omnia Opera of www.aias.us and reads like a mature paper that could have been written by an experienced full professor. Indeed I was told this by Professor Jozef Moscicki of Krakow years later. It is a Baconian paper, data being interpreted by analytical theory because computer simulation was not on the scene in 1972. Testing of theory against data was an obvious thing to do for me, and at that time I had never heard of Francis Bacon. All the Ph. D. papers were rigorously Baconian. It also seemed natural to Mansel Davies to test a theory against data, and that was also the method I had learned at Pontardawe Grammar School.

At that time I had sufficient depth of knowledge of the modified theory of the Brownian motion known as the itinerant oscillator to apply it using the primitive Elliott 4130 to data that I had collected myself. The role of the post doctoral Ian Larkin was to give some advice, but little else, and the role of Mansel Davies was to give some criticism. He was too impatient to give real advice, but could be encouraging. On the other hand he could be brutally dismissive of one of his students. This happened shortly later to Peter Deft of Liverpool, who sadly took to drink. Pete transferred from Bangor could not get any results in non linear dielectrics, another dangerous experiment with high voltages, and eventually I had to take him back to Liverpool by car. I hope that he recovered and did well in life. The use of the computer was something new to Mansel Davies, who never used one in his entire life. I wrote my curve fitting programs using N. A.G. routines in Algol. These are now on www.aias.us. I had to learn Algol myself after Arnold Baise had left for Temple University in Philadelphia. I took a graduate course in computing which helped a little, but the work was really all mine from the word go. Luckily, Mansel Davies recognized this and the creative side of his mind also began to awaken - at least I like to think so. I think that my work reminded him of his own student days, and it was a relief from committees. He frequently complained of having to attend over a hundred committees a year or similar. The Principal Sir Goronwy Daniel refused to have the heat on so all the professors froze. Goronwy Daniel turned up at Whitehall in a land rover and duffle coat of the fifties, maybe he wore wellingtons in committee. He was a permanent under secretary and a product of Pontardawe Grammar School, where everything happened in wellingtons. Numerical curve fitting was a key part of the paper. I knew what I was doing without being taught. I never cold shouldered Mansel Davies, and was never in any way offensive to him or anyone else, but sadly my courtesy was always one sided and I had to deal often with boorish fools. He was intensely suspicious of curve fitting and stated the obvious by protesting far too much. Parameters must be kept to a minimum. None of the CERN junk with twenty five loose canons. He was always afraid that I would do something that might affect his reputation, original thought in a student was dangerous to a careerist.

In that first year of my Ph. D. I was somehow lassooed into being the secretary of the graduate society and editor of the university graduate journal in chemistry, then called “Tetracol”. This was a blisteringly original name which came from the fact that there were four colleges: Aberystwyth, Bangor, Cardiff and Swansea. Using a flash of genius, I changed the name to “Pentacol”, when some UWIST opened in far off Cardiff. I cannot remember much about “Pentacol” except that I had to go to the printers of “The Cambrian News” to collect copies. Being secretary of the graduate society meant inviting lecturers and so on. One of these was Buckingham of Cambridge, who gave a terminally boring lecture which opened with the question “Do you like maths?” The answer was stunned silence. All the staff and students turned up to these lectures and I also had to host the lecturer to dinner. This was a complete waste of time, and I should not have allowed myself to be lassooed. It was always a relief to get back to the laboratory bench in room 262, now lined with decks of cards for the Elliott 4130. These decks of cards were prepared at the computer unit, which was stuck in a corridor between the geography / geology or earth sciences complex and the physical sciences complex on Penglais, two piles of hideous concrete now blackening with age. Special paper was handed out upon which to write the Algol code, and the deck of cards was then handed back after some time. I was allowed to mend minor errors myself on a public card machine.

The digs in Alexandria Road were being spoiled by one unruly student so I decided to try one more time to get in to a Hall of Residence. By this time I was eligible for the graduate Cwrt Mawr, which was newly built at the time and of which I knew nothing. So hopefully I would get a taste of the good life high above the Campus and dark, damp slums of Aberystwyth. One evening in the early winter of 1972, the landlady Mrs Gill was deeply shocked and distressed when her husband suffered a heart attack, so may have had to give up the role of landlady shortly after I left. It was time to go and fortunately I was accepted in Cwrt Mawr. I did not spend very much time in the digs except on Sundays, when we were served generous amounts of food by Mrs. Gill. My athletics routine developed into a dedicated ten thousand metres every Saturday on the Penglais cinder track, whose only disadvantages were caused by frost and high wind. I was very dedicated but no athlete - having been born with limbs too weak for a sprinter and a heart lung system inadequate for the true and effortless distance runner. So the training was to strengthen limbs, heart and lungs - instinctively, not scientifically. In about June 1972 I moved in to Cwrt Mawr, to a room on the ground floor near to the central area which had a TV room and so on. The graduate students prepared their own food, eaten in a shared kitchen, but laundry was done for them. So I had to experiment with making food, and I had to extend my culinary knowledge to the stage where I could prepare more than a boiled egg, or boiled cyanogen. The products were mysterious, but I had to eat them. There were some interesting and mature students in my block of Cwrt Mawr, and fortunately no drunkards. Heavy drinking took place in the bar of the central building and I never went there. There is nothing more repulsive to me than a drunk, because of those experiences in Sea View Place and Powell Street. The problem of drink was ever present, as if students could not cope with reality. Now it is far worse, even though students have only a fraction of the work load and can waffle their way through to any kind of degree. The number of examinations have been reduced and the contemporary education system is a disaster that produces illiterate people when they leave years of school.

I began to buy paperbacks from Galloway on Pier Street and the shelf in my room filled with novels and books of poetry. These were given to my family for safe keeping but were “thrown away” or lost. They included the collected poems of Dylan Thomas, anthologies of poetry, and many novels. I liked the twentieth century poetry of Yeats and Auden and contemporaries, and short stories and novels by Steinbeck, Hemingway, Koestler, James Joyce, George Orwell, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus and many others, poetry in translation from Akhmatova, Machado, Jimenez and many others. I read Vernon Watkins and many others from Wales in both languages. Later I gradually became a poet myself. Later at Bangor I bought the classic “Gwaith Dafydd ap Gwilym” by Prof. Sir Thomas Parry and his classic “The Oxford Book of Welsh Verse”. One day I must buy the whole collection again, and that is easily done. I came across Huw Macdiarmaid and Patrick Kavanagh, and W. S. Graham in an anthology. Several are antecedents of mine on the Civil List: including Yeats, Joyce, MacDiarmaid, W. S. Graham and Vernon Watkins. I thought instantly that Kavanagh is a great poet, the son of a small farmer from the rural poor of Ireland. From Cwrt Mawr I started training every day instead of at weekends. I could just run straight out of Cwrt Mawr down the almost vertical road past Cefn Llan and back up again and around. Later on Saturdays I decided to do an eight or ten mile run down to the Plant Breeding Station and back along the main road, dodging the speeding cars.

In about 1972 my parents sold the farm “Pant y Bedw” and moved to an infinitely drearyand anonymous location in the small town of Clydach, at 91 Lone Road. The first thing I knew about it was a short telephone call to say that they had already moved, and that was the point at which I lost touch with my parents to all intents and purposes. I was always polite with them, and visited them quite often, but have always felt angry and betrayed. No doubt this feeling is irrational and maybe unfair to hard working people, but this is the fact of the matter. As usual there had been no attempt to consult me or to hand the farm over to me as the eldest son. So I was suddenly disinherited after years of work on the wholly uneconomical farm from an early age, often very hard work, on top of school work. The whole farm was thrown away in great haste for about five hundred pounds or similar, and all the buildings were allowed to fall in to ruin, including the house. That more or less invited in people with no knowledge of Welsh or even of Anglo Welsh culture. For years I tried to buy it back, but some vulture of an estate agent had already pushed up the price out of my reach. Sales such as this have almost killed the language in small villages such as Craig Cefn Parc and should be prohibited by law as in many other areas of Europe. Their legality should be challenged now in the European Court of Justice because there are European laws to protect indigenous small languages and cultures. I saw the house in a completely and deliberately ruined condition, it was a devilish experience as if time had hit a geological fault and was playing a sadistic trick, laughing in my face in the driving rain. There was nothing to go back to now in Craig Cefn Parc, both houses had been suddenly sold and I was definitely not consulted, my opinion not wanted: this house, 50 Rhyddwen Road, and “Pant y Bedw”. This experience alienated me from my family and made me very cautious of commercialized humankind. The lives of people are dom nated mindlessly by one thing, money, not by things like ideas and literature which have no commercial value. So my friends became intellectual friends.

I was very lucky once more to find the little library in the computer unit which housed the manuals of the Numerical Algorithms Group (NAG) in Algol and FORTRAN. From this manual I learnt how to incorporate NAG routines into my own code. There was also help available from the irascible and overworked computer unit staff, and in through the windows I could see the Elliott 4130 computer itself, in its air conditioned room with racks of magnetic tape. No magnets allowed and no shuffling or card playing. When the code was complete the pack of cards was put between two cardboard supports with a label, and then it had to be submitted through a window in to a tray. There were priorities of turnaround, zero priority took up to a month or so. There was one Elliott 4130 for the whole college. In order to Fourier transform the paper tape output, the tape was tied to the pack with a rubber band. That program worked well because it was standardized, but my first attempts at writing Algol produced floating point overflow and algol errors. These were the twin pillars of devilry with which I had to contend many times, each time they appeared meant a trip in the car up to the computer unit and back down again, and a long walk through the damp and cold EDCL corridor carrying computer output and pack of cards. If I met Mansel Davies in the corridor he would look suspiciously at the output, wondering how much it was costing. In fact they were small programs that cost very little, sometimes they were just failed output from algol errors, but he did not appear to know that some programs consumed more computer time than others. So how I fought for that first paper. A large pile of output began to accumulate in room 262.

I remember my wild delight when I got my first program working, having consumed gallons of petrol and coffee. Once it worked all that had to be done was to change its input parameters. Now I could compute output from the itinerant oscillator models of Wyllie and Brot. I plotted the output by hand on graph paper and varied the input parameters to produce different curves. The problem was how to compare these with the spectra from the interferometer sitting on its table right at the back of me. I realized that the theory had to be fitted to the data, and found that the n parameter least mean squares NAG routine was the solution. This meant that the spectral output had to be fed in to a fitting program and I gradually learnt how to do this automatically. This meant many car journeys and miles of corridor walking and plotting by hand. The far infra red became a fascinating place of discovery, and when combined with the microwave and lower frequencies was a test of theories that few could pass. The rapid development of this work can be seen in the early Omnia Opera papers on www.aias.us in complete detail. It was work different from any other that was going on in the world of chemical physics at that time, and is as valid today as it was then. Its originality was recognized immediately and internationally as the reprint requests began to arrive from mysterious far off places. The big powerful computers of today would not better its quality of thought. Each paper was finished and entire of itself and they are all read now off www.aias.us. The methodology behind them originated in that year of 1972, when it seemed always to be raining, and so I had to find something to do.

I expected a reply to arrive from the Chemical Society but unknown to me at the time I had run into the inertia of the refereeing system, where a paper would be sat upon for a very long time. I was not even aware of the anonymous refereeing system. So week after week passed by, and once more I had to find something to do. This was a continuation of the very dangerous work on cyanogen, at long last a lecture bottle of the deadly poison had arrived from Matheson, marked with a skull and crossbones. That was most encouraging. The high pressure cell had to be used to compress the gas to over fifty atmospheres in order to obtain a spectrum caused by the collision of cyanogen molecules. This was known as quadrupole induced dipole absorption in the far infra red and the purpose of this suicidal experiment was to measure the quadrupole moment. Was my life worth so much? The cell had been built in the mechanical workshop of the EDCL with very thick quartz windows. There was no safety screen or fume cupboard, just a bomb on an old bench with a hole carved out of it. The double doors meant that no one would have heard an accident and I worked late at night. It proved difficult to get the gas into the pot because of a basic design fault that prevented the gas from reaching the pot through the narrow opening between the cell windows. So I had to devise a new method of unbolting the pot and attaching it directly to the lecture bottle with a Budenberg gauge. The pot was kept in very cold liquid nitrogen, so the gas condensed into liquid over a substance called zeolite used to dry it. The pot had to be unbolted and quickly attached to the cell before the liquid turned to gas and wiped out the whole EDCL.

One of my most vivid and ghastly memories of that year is of the safety office Sam Graham walking in to the laboratory just at the moment when the liquid cyanogen was exposed to the atmosphere, before I had had time to bolt it the cell. He walked around room 262, looking for safety flaws, such as a dropped pencil, and peered into the pot. I hoped that he would not sniff what was inside, or if he did, how I was going to dispose of the body. After a minute inspection of all the wrong parts of the interferometer he gradually became very bored and prepared to leave the room. During the whole visit I tried not to breathe and as soon as he left bolted the pot to the cell in a world record time. The gas evaporated and filled the area between the quartz windows. To increase the pressure the pot was heated with electric tape and gradually the Budenberg needle began its ominous journey across the scale. I was told to stop at fifty atmospheres, not for my sake, but to prevent three molecule collisions. There was no way of knowing whether the windows would stand the pressure, or be blown out like bullets. In order to get liquid cyanogen into the cell it had to be tilted over so I could see the liquid running in, peering closely at the windows. That was probably the most dangerous part of a dangerous experiment. No worse experiment could have been devised for a beginning graduate student. It was insanely dangerous and not particularly accurate, and I also had to learn the entire theory and code it up in Algol, without help from my supervisor. At the time he was on the Faraday Committee and was very rarely seen. That suited me because of his character. I could not talk to him so it made no difference that he was absent.

The theory of that cyanogen experiment was way beyond Mansel Davies, and much more difficult than anything we had been taught at undergraduate. It is recorded for history in the first paper of the Omnia Opera on www.aias.us and the intricately complicated equation (2) of the paper gives an idea of what it was like to code it up. With a sense of escaping from a coal mining accident I found one day that Mansel Davies was satisfied with the data and would allow me to write up the paper. It was submitted on 4^th December 1972. I may have been waiting still for a reply from the Chemical Society about the MBBA paper. This was a dangerous time for me in more than one way, because I knew by that time that Mansel Davies and the system would take credit for any good work I did, but would instantly dump blame on me for any failure. There was no supervision at all, so it was living under a patronizing guillotine that worked anonymously in far off places. An envelope must have arrived from the Faraday Society some time in late 1972. It returned the paper with some loose copy leaves marked as “referees’ reports”. I thought that it had been sent from the Football Association to the wrong address, but there two or three reports that had to be contended with. I recall that one started with the words: “I have heard of this young man”. This is always a prelude to something ominous. It turned out that only minor changes were needed and the paper was published in 1973, number two on the Omnia Opera of www.aias.us. These things had to be shown to Mansel Daives who grasped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white with condensed and compressed anger. For an instant I thought that my Ph. D. had run down a drain but the anger was being expressed at the referee. I had escaped another trial by poison and anonymity. These tedious delays and hurried, almost meaningless reports, had to be contended with throughout my academic life as one of the most productive and well read scientist in history, and not a single one helped me in any way.

In that early winter of 1972 I was further burdened by a sudden announcement that I was to be sent to France to work with Brot in Nice and Rivail in Nancy. So I was told to apply for a French Government scholarship and bursary, which had to be won in open competition. This I was terminally reluctant to do, because I was only just starting my Ph. D. This idea spoiled my Christmas entirely back at “Pant y Bedw” for a short while. I told my parents nothing about the dangerous mess under which I had been obliged to work. I also had to attend a French language course in the Old College, which annoyed me greatly. In early 1973 I chose another gas to work with in the far infra red, the much safer gas propyne. I carried out this study myself while waiting to go to France and the paper was submitted on 26^th March 1973. I obtained high quality far infra red spectra by averaging results from many runs, necessitating a very large expenditure of fuel backwards and forwards to the computer unit. The output piled up on the floor or desk of room 262, together with rolls of paper tape and packs of cards. Propyne spectra were more complicated to analyze than cyanogen spectra because propyne is not quite symmetrical. It has what is known as a dipole moment as well as a quadrupole moment. One day a small envelope arrived from the Chemical Society and inside it was an acceptance note, offering free offprints. Once more I threw up my arms as if I had scored a goal and was as wildly delighted as when I got my top first. To me it was like having a painting accepted in the Louvre or a poem in the best poetry magazine. No doubt I was naive, but that can be expected in a twenty two year old, when the age of innocence had not quite burnt away. In fact I am still just as delighted at the overwhelmingly enthusiastic international reception given today to my various papers, which are published in a much more efficient way. They are all read around the world all the time. That is what any scholar wants, that is what any artist desires, that is what any poet wishes for.

The only negative thing about that first acceptance is that Mansel Davies refused to order offprints, pleading poverty. In my innocence I had filled out an order for a hundred, a random number, but he just got angry. The system has pleaded poverty ever since. That was only a minor irritation because of the free offprints. As I developed a strong international reputation those offprints began to fill up large areas of bench space in room 262 and postcards began to arrive requesting them. They started with “Honoured Colleague” and similar, and came in from all the world. However in that Spring of 1973 everything was dampened by the thought of having to go to France to work with someone whom I did not know on something that was not defined. That is how I felt at the time. It seemed that a three month gap was about to be blown in my Ph. D., which I had to finish in three years or it was down the coal mine again. I was worried how I was going to cope with the French language and how I was going to survive. As time went on I received no communication of any kind from Brot, and no arrangements for accommodation or office space. I did not even know where I was supposed to work in Nice. I tried to put all that in the back of my mind and to think that Brot would have made some arrangements. Apparently he was someone that Mansel Davies had met at a conference and with whose work he had become impressed. On top of that I was given the proofs to read of a huge long article by Kielich, full of work that Mansel Davies did not understand. He did no have the mathematical technique to understand it. So I was beginning to feel irritated about being given unpaid work that my nominal supervisor should be doing. Later on Gareth Evans would be asked to walk his dog while Mansel Davies was at Criccieth on his summer break from Aberystwyth.