Wednesday 10th March 1937, shortly before Sir Cyril met Lord Gort.
The streets of Whitehall, London.
Bert sat with his feet dangling into the hole oblivious to the pedestrians thronging around the barriers he and Charlie had erected on the pavement. He was speaking into a handset he had plugged into a telephone junction box, one door of which was open to reveal a jumbled mass of wires. While this would have seemed an almost indecipherable confusion to the layman, the real problem was beneath the pavement. “It’s rats. Rats gnawing at the wires. It’s all in a bad way. I reckon some of those wires are pre-war, they’re worn out and the insulation’s going. It’s a mess, it’s just been added to piecemeal over the years and the wiring’s in a right state, I reckon some of those circuits would be overloaded even without the rats. And the earthing’s completely shot.”
Charlie appeared from the back of the G.P.O. van, “Another cup o’tea Bert?”
“Don’t mind if I do Charlie, don’t mind if I do…No. In my opinion the whole lot needs ripping out and starting again from scratch…The lines to the public exchange and the secure circuits as well…If I were to patch it it would just overload somewhere else…At least week a I’d say…wot about carrier pigeons? It is the Air Ministry after all! But I guess we could rig up some temporary lines in a day or two…But first things first, those rats have got to be poisoned and sent to rat heaven…No we cannot…Firstly they’d just start gnawing away at the new lines and secondly, it’s against regulations to be working where live rats are running about…”
Charlie came back out of the van and gave Bert a large steaming mug of tea, “Two sugars, there you go.”
“Ta Charlie…Right-oh, come down in the morning and have a look for yourself.” Bert put down the handset and began to determinedly stir his mug of tea, “Phew! Gaffers! Do they want us t’get on with the job or not?”
The streets of Whitehall, London.
Bert sat with his feet dangling into the hole oblivious to the pedestrians thronging around the barriers he and Charlie had erected on the pavement. He was speaking into a handset he had plugged into a telephone junction box, one door of which was open to reveal a jumbled mass of wires. While this would have seemed an almost indecipherable confusion to the layman, the real problem was beneath the pavement. “It’s rats. Rats gnawing at the wires. It’s all in a bad way. I reckon some of those wires are pre-war, they’re worn out and the insulation’s going. It’s a mess, it’s just been added to piecemeal over the years and the wiring’s in a right state, I reckon some of those circuits would be overloaded even without the rats. And the earthing’s completely shot.”
Charlie appeared from the back of the G.P.O. van, “Another cup o’tea Bert?”
“Don’t mind if I do Charlie, don’t mind if I do…No. In my opinion the whole lot needs ripping out and starting again from scratch…The lines to the public exchange and the secure circuits as well…If I were to patch it it would just overload somewhere else…At least week a I’d say…wot about carrier pigeons? It is the Air Ministry after all! But I guess we could rig up some temporary lines in a day or two…But first things first, those rats have got to be poisoned and sent to rat heaven…No we cannot…Firstly they’d just start gnawing away at the new lines and secondly, it’s against regulations to be working where live rats are running about…”
Charlie came back out of the van and gave Bert a large steaming mug of tea, “Two sugars, there you go.”
“Ta Charlie…Right-oh, come down in the morning and have a look for yourself.” Bert put down the handset and began to determinedly stir his mug of tea, “Phew! Gaffers! Do they want us t’get on with the job or not?”
