Paul Torday: Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

And I fish, an unreconstructed activity of which Mary disapproves. She says fish feel pain whereas I, as a fishery scientist, know that they do not. It is perhaps the one subject on which we have to agree to disagree.

So there it is: another anniversary. This year has been much like the last year, and that year was very like the one before. If I occasionally wish for a little more excitement, a little more passion in our lives, I can usually put this down to neglecting to follow the dietary guideline that people of my blood group (Type A) should follow: not too much meat. Occasionally I fall prey to temptation and eat some beef, and so it is not surprising I then have irrational feelings of…I am not sure what? Am I bored, perhaps? How could I be?

It only takes something like this Yemen salmon project to raise its head to remind me that I have a dislike of the irrational, the unpredictable and the unknown.

8 June

We had a departmental meeting today to consider the final draft of my paper ‘Effects of increased water acidity on the caddis fly larva’. Everyone is being very complimentary, especially David Sugden. Is this a peace offering? He has not pressed me again about the Yemen salmon project and I, of course, have done nothing. I have just kept my head down and am waiting for the whole issue to go away. Anyway, the director’s public praise for the work on caddis flies was a pat on the back for my team. In fact, David went so far as to say that, following the publication of my article, there was probably nothing further worth saying about the caddis fly. Praise indeed. At such times I know that the money doesn’t really matter. Mary sometimes complains that I am not paid enough, but there is much more to life than one’s salary. I have moved forward the boundaries of human knowledge about a little brown insect that, insignificant as it may be in itself, is a vital indicator of the health of our rivers.

Both Trout & Salmon and Atlantic Salmon Journal want a press release.

Mary is in New York. She was home all of Friday and Saturday. Nevertheless, the fridge is empty. I have just been down the street to the late-night Indian takeaway, to buy a few things to eat, and I am sitting here writing up my diary and mopping balti chicken from my lap after some of it slipped off the plastic fork. I have just realised that I forgot to buy any coffee for tomorrow morning.

A last word of self-reproach after a day of professional triumph. How selfish I am, going on about my own success with my caddis fly research-I want to record my admiration for Mary, whose work, which I alluded to in yesterday’s entry and although of a different nature to mine, has attracted comment and admiration at her bank, InterFinance S. A. She is on the fast track at InterFinance. I am a huge believer in women doing well, and to see it happen to one’s own wife in the male-oriented world of finance is very rewarding. The female caddis fly also plays a profoundly important role in her social group.

9 June

My bowel movements this morning were somewhat affected by the takeway, perhaps not surprisingly. I did not go for my usual morning run as I felt rather unwell. There was no coffee left in the tin, and the single pint of long-life milk was well out of date. I arrived at the office feeling out of sorts and it took me a while to get into gear.

It is odd how quickly things can change in one’s life. For the last two days I have been contemplating the tranquil and intellectually engaged nature of my life with Mary, and the intense reward I can still derive from a piece of scientific work well done. All that seems, for the moment, as nothing.

I now have to record one of the most unpleasant incidents of my professional career. At 10.00 a.m. I was sitting with Ray, selecting the most visually compelling photographs to accompany the caddis fly article, when Sally came in and told me David Sugden wanted to see me right away. I said I would go along to David’s office in a few minutes, as soon as Ray and I had finished.

Sally gave me a strange look. I remember her exact words. She said, ‘Alfred, the director means right away . He means now .’

I stood up and apologised to Ray, telling him I would be back in a few minutes. I walked along the corridor to David’s office feeling a little angry. Ours is a consensual department. We are scientists rather than managers. Hierarchies mean little to us, being treated as human beings means everything. David has, on the whole, got the hang of this and although he is a career civil servant he has fitted in quite well. He has certainly been here long enough to know I do not like being bullied or pressurised.

When I entered David’s office I forced myself to smile and keep any sign of annoyance out of my voice. I said something like, ‘What’s the emergency?’

I think it is important to remind David that he is a manager and that I am a scientist. Without scientists, there would be no need for managers.

As usual David’s desk was absolutely clear of paper. A flat-screen computer monitor and keyboard sat on it, otherwise it was several square feet of matt black metal, relieved only by two sheets of paper. He lifted one of them, without inviting me to sit down, as he usually does. He waved it in front of me. I could not see what it was. Then he told me it was my P45. He put it down on the desk and waited for me to say something. At first I did not take in his words, then my heart started hammering. I replied that I did not understand.

David looked at me without smiling. He said, ‘I know you live somewhat in an ivory tower, Alfred, but even you must be aware what a P45 is? You need it for the Inland Revenue and social security people when your employment is terminated by your employer-in this case, us.’

I stared at him. David put down the first piece of paper and picked up the second. He explained that it was a letter, drafted in my name, to Fitzharris & Price. It was a request for a meeting to discuss the Yemen salmon project in the near future. The tone of the letter was apologetic and wheedling, explaining my delay in replying was due to pressure of work and expressing my hope that the opportunity to work together was still there. After I finished reading it I found I was trembling, but whether with annoyance or alarm, I was not sure.

David picked up the P45 again and took back the letter to Fitzharris & Price. He held them up in front of me and explained in a neutral tone of voice, ‘Dr Jones, you can leave the office with your P45 or you can take away this letter and sign it and get it sent by messenger round to Fitzharris & Price. Personally, I am wholly indifferent which you choose to do, but I believe Fitzharris & Price has been told you are the man to talk to, otherwise I have to say I would not have given you the luxury of this choice.’

I looked around me for a chair. I saw one on my left and asked if I could sit down.

David looked at his watch and told me he had an appointment with the minister in half an hour. He said, ‘The minister will be asking me for a progress report on this project. What am I going to be able to tell him?’

I swallowed several times. My legs were trembling. I pulled the chair across, sat in it and said, ‘David, this is wholly unreasonable-’

He interrupted me. ‘Which piece of paper are you going to leave this office with?’

I could not speak. This Nazi behaviour shocked me to the core. I pointed to the letter to Fitzharris & Price.

‘Then sign it now.’

‘May I have a moment to read it?’ I asked.

‘No.’

For a moment I almost lost control. I wanted to crumple the letter up and fling it in David Sugden’s face, but instead I found myself reaching inside my jacket for my fountain pen, and then I pulled the hateful rectangle of paper towards me and signed it.