I had the privilege and pleasure of working directly under Roy Chad wick from 1942 until the time of his death in 1947. I use the word “pleasure” advisedly, for he seemed at that time to be the most unreasonable of men. At one moment he would be full of charm and consideration, and at the next a martinet who drove us well beyond what we mistakenly thought to be the limits of human endurance. I well remember standing in Oldham Street on a cold Manchester war-time morning, having missed all reasonable buses to Chadderton, to be picked up by Chadwick in a shiny Armstrong-Siddeley. All the way out to the factory he talked about the good old days of aviation, and the challenge of my chosen profession. At the front door we were welcomed by the commissionaire, and I went to my desk confident that God was in his Heaven and all right with the world. Within ten minutes the telephone—Miss Jackson summoning me to Mr. Chadwick's presence. As I entered his office he scowled at me and started in—“Lindley —you were late this morning ….”.