They Said It Couldn’t Be Done

They said the job could not be done. But with a will they went right to it.
They tackled the job that couldn’t be done AND COULDN’T DO IT!

This is a true story about a man and a machine. The man in question is our esteemed treasurer “Tug” Wilson who, for some unknown reason, is known as “Colin” by Mrs. “Tug”. When Mrs. “Tug” rang the office one day and asked to speak to Colin Wilson she received the bland assurance that we didn’t have a Colin Wilson on the staff! Tug, John Norton and I, worked together for more years than I care to count, in a department that has had so many changes in title that I will use its original title “Development Engineers”. We were the three musketeers, and together we weathered many stormy times.

I have warned Tug that I might write this story so I will ask him to close his eyes when reading the next piece in order to spare his blushes.

Tug was our Eric Morecombe to the Development Engineer’s Ernie Wise, the analogy even extends to the fact that Tug in those days had more than a passing resemblance to the one with the horn rimmed spec’s. Even during the grim dark days, Tug was a bright light in my day with many a merry quip and an amiable laid-back manner that verged on the “wake me up when it’s all blown over!”

The machine in question was, as far as I remember called a “Sparcatron”, and was purchased under one of our roles which was to assess new manufacturing techniques. Spark machining is now commonplace and uses an electrode of any desired cross-section to slowly erode even the hardest of metals by means of, as the name implies, an electric arc causing a tiny spark. Thus a square, hexagonal or oval hole can be produced. (I must admit that I can produce oval holes with my electric drill without such a machine!) An unfortunate feature of the technique is the slow rate of machining, and this fact has a bearing on my story. The other drawback - when hunger pangs were present - was its tendency to sound like a deep fat frying machine going berserk! Our machine had arrived complete with installation instructions which must have been written by an unqualified Japanese translator. The instruction advised the customer to ensure that the bum be firmly bolted to the ground!   (Hopefully he was talking about the machine not the customer!)

In time the machine became a permanent fixture in our small workshop and was used for many an unusual project. One fatal day we were asked to provide a small component required for a camera to be used for the Concorde flight trials. As far as I can recall, the lens of the camera was icing up and it was thought that a tiny stainless steel tube could be used to spray the lens with de-icing fluid. The fluid would be fed into the tube which would then spray the lens of the camera from minute holes spaced at intervals around and along the tube. A piece of cake for a spark-machining process! Because of the urgency, Tug agreed to stay on until the job was finished which entailed working on into the evening and beyond if necessary. With the benefit of hindsight I should have volunteered to go home, but chose instead to provide moral support and to mop Tug’s feverish brow from time to time. But we spent a long evening chatting about this and that while the machine slowly sparked and spluttered its way through each tiny hole until many hours later the minute electrode broke through the wall of the tube to provide the last tiny hole.

It was almost impossible to check that holes were really present without an electron beam scanning microscope (O. K. I’m exaggerating!) and so I carefully connected the tube to a small plastic hose to the mains water supply. In fact it was our tap for tea making purposes marked with the notice “STRICTLY NOT FOR DRINKING” and which was fed from a roof tank containing an assorted range of corpses of the feathered variety. But all was well despite the contaminated tea, and it was with a huge sigh of relief that we watched the correct number of tiny jets of water raining down on our weary hands. I disconnected the tube and gently wiped it with a tissue, but Tug being a perfectionist and for some reason best known to himself, decided it should be given a final polish. The frantic shout from my tired lips came too late.

Tug had taken a “Scotchbrite” pad and rubbed it along the tube producing a shiny but useless piece of equipment as I quickly confirmed by subjecting it to our improvised water test. I am not a violent person, but if it had been anyone but Tug who had inflicted that late evening trauma on me, that person would be wearing a tubular stainless steel prosthetic device in a place that no self-respecting surgeon would have contemplated!

What happened next?

 Like most television programmes; this will be revealed after the commercial break - Another true story-witnessed at the Bradley Stoke branch of Tesco’s, where a tiny boy was being admonished by a smartly dressed young mother.

Back to the saga of the de-icing tube:

We had two choices. Either we had to go through the whole process - and the night - again, or in desperation could we find a piece of wire smaller than the smallest of holes and somehow poke out the burred metal and gunge that had caused the demise of our beautiful little fountain? In the gloom of a long and dreary night the second choice seemed to be impossible The fact that Tug is still here to confirm this story, and has been forgiven, is a giveaway. We tackled the job that couldn’t be done - and did it!

John Payne

Home

Top of Page

Next