The Citadel (27 page)

Next, he set out to show that the silica dust he had found in his examinations of sputum was actually present in the anthracite headings. Not only did he demonstrate this conclusively, but, by exposing glass slides smeared with Canada balsam for varying periods in different parts of the mine, he obtained figures of the varying dust concentrations, figures which rose sharply during blasting and drilling.

He now had a series of exciting equations co-relating excessive atmosphere concentrations of silica dust with excessive incidence of pulmonary disease. But this was not enough. He had actually to
prove
that the dust was harmful, that it was destructive to lung tissue and not merely an innocuous accessory after the fact. It was necessary for him to conduct a series of pathological experiments upon guinea-pigs, to study the action of the silica dust upon their lungs.

Here, though his excitement rose, his real troubles began. He already had the spare room, the Lab. It was easy to procure a few guinea-pigs. And the equipment required for his experiments was simple. But though his ingenuity was considerable he was not, and never would be, a pathologist. Awareness of this fact made him angry, more resolved than ever. He swore at a system which compelled him to work alone and pressed Christine to his service, teaching her to cut and prepare sections, the mechanics of the trade which, in no time at all, she did better than he.

Next he constructed, very simply, a dust chamber, in which for certain hours of the day the animals were exposed to concentrations of the dust, others being unexposed – the controls. It was exasperating work, demanding more patience than he possessed. Twice his small electric fan broke down. At a critical stage of the experiment he bungled his system of controls and was forced to begin all over again. But in spite of mistakes and delays he got his specimens, proving in progressive stages the deterioration of the lung and induction of fibrosis from the dust.

He drew a long breath of satisfaction, stopped scolding Christine and, for a few days, was fit to live with. Then another idea struck him and he was off again.

All his investigations had been conducted on the supposition that the damage to the lung was produced in response to mechanical destruction by the hard sharp silicate crystals inhaled. But now, suddenly, he asked himself if there was not some chemical action beyond the mere physical irritation of the particles. He was not a chemist but he was, by this time, too deeply immersed to allow himself to be defeated. He devised a fresh series of experiments.

He procured colloidal silica and injected it under the skin of one of his animals. The result was an abscess. Similar abscesses could, he found, be inducted by the injection of aqueous solutions of amorphous silica which was, physically, a non-irritant. While, in triumphant conclusion, he found that the injection of a mechanically irritating substance, such as particles of carbon, produced no abscess at all. The silica dust
was
chemically active.

He was now almost out of his mind with excitement and delight. He had done even more than he had set out to do. Feverishly he collected his data, drew up in compact form the results of his three years’ work. He had decided, months ago, not only to publish his investigation but to send it in as his thesis for the degree of MD. When the typescript came back from Cardiff, neatly bound in a pale blue folder, he read it exultantly, went out with Christine to post it, then slumped into a backwash of despair.

He felt worn out and inert. He became aware, more vividly than ever, that he was no laboratory worker, that the best, the most valuable part of his work was that first phase of clinical research. He recollected with a pang of compunction how often he had raged at poor Christine. For days he was dispirited and listless. And yet, through it all, there were shining moments when he knew he had accomplished something after all.

That May afternoon, when Andrew reached home, his mood of preoccupation, this oddly negative phase which had persisted since the dispatch of his thesis, caused him to miss the look of distress upon Christine’s face. He greeted her absent-mindedly, went upstairs to wash, then came down to tea.

When he had finished, however, and lit a cigarette he suddenly observed her expression. He asked, as he reached out for the evening paper:

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

She appeared to examine her teaspoon for a moment.

‘We had some visitors today – or rather I had – when you were out this afternoon.’

‘Oh? Who were they?’

‘A deputation from the Committee, five of them, including Ed Chenkin, and escorted by Parry – you know, the Sinai minister – and a man Davies.’

An odd silence fell. He took a long pull at his cigarette, lowered the paper to gaze at her.

‘What did they want?’

She met his scrutiny for the first time, fully revealing the vexation and anxiety in her eyes. She spoke hurriedly. ‘They came about four o’clock – asked for you. I told them you were out. Then Parry said it didn’t matter, they wanted to come in. Of course I was quite taken aback. I didn’t know whether they wanted to wait for you or what. Then Ed Chenkin said it was the Committee’s house, that they represented the Committee and that in the name of the Committee they could and would come in.’ She paused, drew a quick breath. ‘I didn’t budge an inch. I was angry – upset. But I managed to ask them
why
they wished to come in. Parry took it up then. He said it had come to his ears, and the ears of the Committee, in fact it was all over the town, that you were performing experiments on animals, vivisection, he had the cheek to call it. And because of that they had come to look at your workroom and brought Mr Davies, the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals man, along with them.’

Andrew had not moved, nor had his eyes left her face.

‘Go on, my dear,’ he said, quietly.

‘Well, I tried to stop them, but it was no use. They just pushed past, the seven of them, through the hall and into the Lab. Whenever they saw the guinea-pigs Parry let out a howl – “Oh, the poor dumb creatures!” And Chenkin pointed to the stain on the boards where I dropped the fuscine bottle, you remember, dear, and shouted out, “’Ave a look at that.
Blood!”
They prowled round everything, went through our beautiful sections, the microtome, everything. Then Parry said, “I’m not leavin’ those poor suffering creatures to be tortured any more. I’d rather have them put out of their pain than that.” He took the bag Davies had with him and shoved them all into it. I tried to tell them there was no question of suffering, or vivisection or any such rubbish. And in any case that those five guinea-pigs were not going to be used for experiments, that we were going to give them to the Boland children, and to little Agnes Evans, for pets. But they simply wouldn’t listen to me. And then they – they went away.’

There was a silence. Andrew’s face was now deeply flushed. He sat up.

‘I never heard such rank impertinence in all my life. It – it’s damnable you had to put up with it, Chris! But I’ll make them pay for it!’

He reflected a minute then started towards the hall to use the telephone. But just as he reached it the instrument rang. He snatched it from the hook.

‘Hullo!’ he said angrily, then his voice altered slightly. Owen was on the other end of the line. ‘Yes, it’s Manson speaking. Look here, Owen –’

‘I know, I know, doctor,’ Owen interrupted Andrew quickly. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon. Now listen. No, no, don’t interrupt me. We got to keep our heads over this. We’re up against a nasty bit o’ business, doctor. Don’t say any more on the telephone. I’m comin’ down to see you now.’

Andrew went back to Christine.

‘What does he mean,’ he fumed, when he had told her of the conversation. ‘Anyone would think we were to blame.’

They waited for Owen’s arrival, Andrew striding up and down in a passion of impatience and indignation, Chris sitting at her sewing with disquieted eyes.

Owen came. But there was nothing reassuring in his face. Before Andrew could speak he said:

‘Doctor did you have a licence?’

‘A what?’ Andrew stared at him. ‘What kind of licence?’

Owen’s face now seemed more troubled. ‘ You’ve got to have a licence from the Home Office for experimental work on animals. You knew that, didn’t you?’

‘But damn it all!’ Manson protested hotly, ‘ I’m not a pathologist, I never will be. And I’m not running a laboratory. I only wanted to do a few simple experiments to tie up with my clinical work. We didn’t have more than a dozen animals altogether – did we, Chris?’

Owen’s eyes were averted. ‘You ought to have had that licence, doctor. There’s a section of the Committee are tryin’ to play you up pretty bad over this!’ He went on quickly. ‘You see, doctor, a chap like you, that’s doin’ pioneer work, who’s honest enough to speak his mind, he’s bound to – well, anyhow, it’s only right you should know there’s a section here that’s dyin’ to put a knife in you. But there now! – it’ll be all right. There’ll be a regular old shindy with the Committee, you’ll have to come before them, like. But you’ve had your troubles with them before. You’ll come out on top again.’

Andrew stormed. ‘ I’ll bring a counter-action. I’ll sue them for – for illegal entry. No, damn it, I’ll sue them for stealing my guinea-pigs. I want them back, anyway.’

A pale amusement twitched Owen’s face. ‘You can’t have them back, doctor. Reverend Parry and Ed Chenkin they allowed they’d have to put them out their misery. In the cause of ’umanity they drowned them with their own hands.’

Sorrowfully, Owen went away. And the following evening Andrew received a summons to appear before the Committee in one week’s time.

Meanwhile the case had flared into prominence like a petrol blaze. Nothing so exciting, so scandalous, so savouring of the black arts had startled Aberalaw since Trevor Day, the solicitor, was suspected of killing his wife with arsenic. Sides were taken, violent factions formed. From his rostrum at Sinai, Edwal Parry thundered the punishments meted out, in this life and the hereafter, to those who tortured animals and little children. At the other end of the town, Reverend David Walpole, chubby minister of the Established Church, to whom Parry was as pig to good Mohammedan, bleated of progress and the feud between the Liberal Church of God and Science.

Even the women were aroused to action. Miss Myfanwy Bensusan, local president of the Welsh Ladies’ Endeavour League, spoke to a crowded meeting in the Temperance Hall. It is true that Andrew had once offended Myfanwy by failing to take the chair at the WLE Annual Rally. But her motives, otherwise, were unquestionably pure. After the meeting and on subsequent evenings young lady members of the League normally active in the streets only upon flag days, could be seen distributing gruesome anti-vivisection folders each bearing an illustration of a partially disembowelled dog.

On Wednesday night Con Boland rang up with a joyous tale.

‘How are ye, Manson, boy? Keepin’ the old chin up? Good enough! I was thinking ye might be interested – our Mary was comin’ home this evening from Larkin’s when one of them simperin’ flag sellers stopped her with a pamphlet – these cruelty falderals they’ve been shovin’ around against ye. Do ye know – ha! ha! Do ye know what the bold Mary did! She up with the pamphlet and tore it into bits. Then she up with her hand, boxed the flag-sellin’ female’s ears, tugged the hat off her head and said – ha! ha! – what do you think our Mary said: “If it’s cruelty you’re after,” says she – ha! ha! – “If it’s cruelty you’re after –
I’ll give ye it
!”’

Physical combat was offered by others as loyal as Mary.

Though Andrew’s district was solidly behind him, round the East Surgery there was a block of contrary opinion. Fights broke out in the pubs between Andrew’s supporters and his enemies. Frank Davis came to the surgery on Thursday night, himself slightly battered, to inform Andrew that he had ‘knocked the block off two of Oxborrow’s patients for saying as ’ow our man was a bloody butcher!’

Thereafter Doctor Oxborrow passed Andrew with a bouncing tread and eyes fixed a long way off. He was known to be working openly with the Reverend Parry against his undesirable colleague. Urquhart came back from the Masonic Club with the meaty Christian’s comments, of which perhaps the choicest was: ‘ Why should any doctor have to murder God’s living creatures?’

Urquhart had few remarks to make himself. But once, squinting across at Andrew’s constrained, tense face, he declared:

‘Dammit to hell! When I was your age I’d have enjoyed a scrap like this, too. But now – oh, dammit! I suppose I’m getting old.’

Andrew could not help thinking that Urquhart misjudged him. He was far from enjoying the ‘scrap’. He felt tired, irritable, worried. He asked himself fretfully if he was to spend all his life running his head into stone walls. Yet, although his vitality was low, he had a desperate desire to justify himself, to be openly vindicated before the squabbling town.

The week passed at last, and on Sunday afternoon the Committee assembled for what was specified in the agenda as the disciplinary examination of Doctor Manson. There was not a vacant place in the Committee-room and outside in the Square groups of people were hanging about as Andrew entered the offices and walked up the narrow stairs. He felt his heart bumping rapidly. He had told himself he must be calm and steeled. Instead, as he took his seat on that same chair which as a candidate he had occupied five years before, he was stiff, dry lipped, nervous.

The proceedings began – not with prayer, as might have been expected from the sanctimony with which the opposition had conducted their campaign – but with a fiery speech from Ed Chenkin.

‘I’m going to put the full facts of this case,’ said Chenkin, jumping up, ‘ before my fellow members of this Committee.’ He proceeded, in a loud illiterate speech to enumerate the complaints. Doctor Manson had no right to do this work. It was work done in the Committee’s time, work done when he was being paid for doing the
Committee’s
work, and work done on the Committee’s property. Also it was vivisection, or near neighbour to it. And it was all done without the necessary permit, a very serious offence in the eye of the law!