Turbulence (28 page)

‘Hello, Pi Dog,' was what he said into his handset. ‘This is Black Dog.'

Hindcasting the Weather for D-Day: a three-day symposium
held at Fort Ord Air Force Base, California, 5–8
June 1984,
commemorating the 40th anniversary of the invasion.

Transcript of an address by Heinz Wirbel, Emeritus Professor,
University of Nebraska.

Our lives take their meaning from their interlacing with other lives. I am that German or formerly German scientist whose plane Henry Meadows's ill-fated plan eventually brought down in the Scottish county of Argyll, as described in the book which I am holding in my hand. I did not like to parachute, but it is my honour and also my heartfelt desire to pay tribute to my long-time friend. We were both fascinated by the challenge of applying mathematics to nature, and, because I was quite intrigued by the connection between us, I pursued him. He was resistant at first, but we soon were writing frequently to each other. On several occasions, we met.

After D-Day, the United States recruited many German scientists to work for research programmes in this country. I was one of those figures, coming to the University of Nebraska to study turbulence: that same subject in which, working for the Zentral Wetterdienstgruppe during the war, I was tasked with discovering the involvement or not of Wallace Ryman, in connection with Allied plans for the invasion of Europe. From talking with my former colleagues I can tell you that we did
not fully see the break in the weather that enabled the assault; or rather, some saw an aspect of it but were not listened to. The key to the future is rarely grasped firmly, or by all.

You can read something about similar disagreements in the pages of this book. The image of the cover here – I will put it on the display – is a contour chart for June 6th 1944 over the English Channel. It comes from the archives of the British Meteorological Office. I can tell you that June 6th was indeed the right day, even if conditions were barely tolerable. Any further postponement would have necessitated waiting until June 19th, which is when the tides were next favourable. On that day, unforeseen by forecasters, a much worse weather came – a gale of unprecedented violence whose consequences threatened the Allied foothold on the continent as it was. There is no doubt that the assault would have failed if it had taken place then.

The relation of those times … the story inside this book – it is, I would say, not complete. Meadows's narrative ceases abruptly, though we know he eventually joined his Highness Sheikh Said on
Habbakuk
. Or Prince as he then was. Thank you, Sheikh, for saving the manuscript and providing financial resources to enable its publication, and that is what we are here to do today …

Now – a single event at a symposium entitled ‘Hindcasting the Weather for D-Day' cannot pay heed to all the questions that rise up out of even one book's pages. Here is not the place to cover Meadows's intervening life as a don at Cambridge University, England. I will only say that he wrote many brilliant papers and received a number of honours, which is how I first became aware that the very man who tried to bring down my plane over Kilmun became a fellow practitioner of academic meteorology.

Nor is this the place to cover all the other absent years and missing people. Even the occasion for Meadows's recollections
–I mean the journey of that astonishing ice ship – must be anticipated elsewhere.

All I wish to do now is to draw the attention of interested parties to the book – and who could be more interested than meteorologists and service personnel on both sides who were involved in the invasion? Some of you here will have known Henry Meadows. But there is one missing person I would like to mention, his beloved wife Georgia, née Clements. Henry kept up his links with the Met Office after the war and Georgia continued working there as Sir Peter Vaward's secretary; one day – he described it to me as the happiest of his life – Henry went back to that office in Kingsway and sought her out. They shared a love of music.

Although they could never have children, they had many happy years together until Georgia's death from throat cancer. This happened not long before Meadows took the commission for the
Habbakuk
, and I think it explains why the narrative written on that vessel sometimes takes on a tone of bitterness and dismay. Also, perhaps, those scenes that he witnessed on the beach; that would cause the nature of a man to become brooding, yes?

So far as satisfying such curiosity as may be aroused on the question of Meadows's own fate, I should say that, according to the Sheikh, he was last seen on the early morning of February 15th 1980, when the
Habbakuk
had nearly finished being resupplied at Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. Wearing a light tropical suit and Panama hat, he was spotted wandering round the dock area of that quiet, dusty port, but it is not known whether he rejoined the ship as it left that evening. It has been speculated that, if he did rejoin it, he may have gone overboard some time during the night. In any case, he was not reported missing until 1400 hours the next day, when he failed from the bridge to answer a telephone call. By that time the ship was well underway.

Did he seek what has been described as the faithful austerity of the sea? We must pray not. No, it is my fervent hope that Professor Meadows did stay on shore, fulfilling the long-held desire to return to Africa which is expressed in these pages. Let us all hope that his disappearance is not permanent and that we may see him again one day.

What, meantime, might be surmised of his character I leave to others, except to say that he did seem to have a rather childlike, stubborn relation to the world. That was certainly the impression I got from the artists Liss & Lamb, who saw him from time to time in the intervening years. They communicated to me – on a postcard showing a painting of theirs to be exhibited at a gallery in London's Cork Street – affection for Meadows tempered with frustration.

By the magic of PowerPoint you can see the painting on the next slide … it, too, is referred to in the text … And here is the writing of the other side. The artists say that after the war Meadows had to readjust his understanding of their relationship. They also describe him as ‘a pig-headed enthusiast for meteorology', which is as good an epitaph as any weather prophet could ask for. I'd be glad of it and I'm an old man now.

As for turbulence itself, the depths are marginally less obscure than formerly. Certain patterns, we can discern. But it still casts a spell, this turbulence. When we feel ourselves approach the frontier of established knowledge on this topic, we should beware, keeping a firm evidential footing. What we think we see beyond is sometimes just a vision, like a shadow cast on an iceberg.

I have now just a quick historical comment with which to close. The outcome for mankind would have been different if scientific advice had not been heeded on this occasion. I'm very pleased, as a naturalised American myself, that the government
continues to be convinced by the credibility of scientific experts. All theories await falsification, it is said, but while there is evidence for them, we ought to take proper notice, however complex that evidence might sometimes be.

In respect of which, just before we came out here to California, one of our participants – he's the senior historian for the US Air Force Weather Service and I think you can all see him sitting there, next to the Sheikh in the front row – received a telephone call from the Pentagon. It was from the team which supports Air Force One, whose duties include forecasting the weather for the destination of the President. As you know, the President is in France to commemorate, with other heads of state, the invasion we have been discussing yesterday and today and will continue to discuss tomorrow.

The Pentagon wanted to know: what was the weather on June 6th 1944, and was it as forecast? They plan to pass some supplementary notes to the President in the folder that flies with Air Force One. These notes will inform the President that the answer is, quite simply, yes. The weather on the day was essentially as forecast.

As we know, most of the troops killed on D-Day were Americans. I'm told that once a salute has been fired out to sea above the cliff-tops of Omaha beach, the President will tell veterans they shall be honoured ever and always, adding: ‘America would do it again for our friends.'

One day I hope that the leader of my own birthplace, Germany, and also that of Russia, will attend the D-Day ceremony. Perhaps then the haunting memory of the danger and sacrifice of that long-ago summer may at last be put to rest. Not forgotten, or obliterated, or dishonoured; but put to rest.

There is a line from Haydn's
The Seasons
, which work is mentioned in the text in passing. It is
Sei nun
gnädig, milder
Himmel
… What? Please, sir, do not fret that I speak German
on this occasion. The words mean, ‘Be thou gracious, O kind Heaven'.

With that, I think we should close the launch of this book, which is available for sale in the lobby. Before we move on, as you can see up here on the screen now, to an analysis of the upper-air synoptic charts made in the days prior to D-Day by my former colleagues in the Zentral Wetterdienstgruppe, I would like to thank you all very, very much … Excuse me, but I suggest that those entering for the next session come round by another route, so as not to clash with those who are leaving.

The character of Wallace Ryman in this novel draws on that of Lewis Fry Richardson, one of the unsung heroes of British science. I am grateful to my father-in-law Julian Hunt, great-nephew of Richardson's wife, for his invaluable help in writing this book. The depiction of Ryman was also greatly illuminated by the biography
Prophet or Professor? The Life and Work of
Lewis Fry Richardson
(1985), written by Oliver Ashford, a close friend of the Richardson family.

Of other books and papers I would like to recognise the following:
Pyke, the Unknown Genius
, by David Lampe (1959);
Forecast for Overlord
, by J. M. Stagg (1971);
Weathering the
Storm
, by Sverre Petterssen, edited by James Rodger Fleming (1974/2001);
Some Meteorological Aspects of the D-Day Invasion
of Europe
, edited by Roger Shaw (1984); and ‘With Wind and Sword: The Story of Meteorology and D-Day', by Stan Cornford (1994). Cornford's comprehensive paper is published by the UK Met Office and I would like to thank the library of that organisation for their help and forbearance.

Many individuals helped me in the preparation of the manuscript, including: Jean Boase-Beier, Lee Brackstone, James Campbell, Angus Cargill, Mark Currie, Nicola Garnett, Andrew O'Hagan, Julius Hogben, Trevor Horwood, Kate Murray-Brown, Ian Pindar, Steven Poole, Ian Sansom, Linda Shaughnessy, Rebecca Stott, Kate Ward.

Particular thanks are due to Ben and Sue Shephard, to Derek Johns and Julian Loose, my agent and editor respectively, to John Stirling at Castle House Museum, Dunoon, and, for their kind hospitality, to the Thompson family of Kilmun.

Most of all, I must thank Matilda, for keeping everything in its proper place.

Giles Foden was born in 1967 and spent his youth in Africa. Between 1990 and 2006 he worked as a journalist on the
Times Literary Supplement
and the Guardian. In 1998 he published
The Last King of Scotland
, which won the Whitbread First Novel Award and was later made into a feature film. The author of two other novels and also a work of narrative non-fiction, in 2007 he was appointed Professor of Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia. He lives in Norfolk.