It's true to say that most of my brushes with the rich and famous have been of a somewhat second-hand nature. For example, about twenty years ago, I went on a blind date with a trainee physiotherapist who had just treated Chris Evert, and I once stayed at the same hotel as Boris Becker. I know this, because his manager barged in front of me and nicked my taxi. I used to know the ex-wife of the lead singer of the Ivy League (remember their big hit, "Tossing and Turning"? - well, he joined them during their subsequent decline from fame). And I did once work with someone who knew someone who claimed to have slept with Adam Ant. No, I don't have any further details, so stop being nosy. And of course, there was the time when I gave adult literacy lessons to the painter and decorator who did Freddie Mercury's kitchen. Bright yellow gloss, since you ask.
But the odd thing is that I'd completely forgotten about the really big one. Or at least I had, until I got sent a copy of my old school magazine. In this magazine there is an extended article on Information Technology at the school, going right back to the early days. On the first page of this article, there is a photograph taken during the visit of a Famous Person to the school computer room in 1973, shortly after the school had taken delivery of one of Digital Equipment Corporation's wonderful PDP 8/e's, boasting a massive 4K of memory. There are six people in the picture.
Four of them are staring intently at the printout emerging (extremely slowly) from a Westrex ASR33 teletype. One is an unidentified acolyte of the Famous Person, and the other three are particularly sad early examples of homo nerdus technologicus - you can tell this at a glance, even though most of the dandruff appears to have been airbrushed out. One of them is unmistakably the author of this piece - I had my doubts, but my wife reassured me that I still look just as awkward when I try to stand up straight.
Of the remaining two people, one - the master in charge of computing - is intently explaining some detailed technical point to the Famous Person, blissfully unaware that he is being completely ignored. For the Famous Person is in a world of her own, dreaming of future glories. After all, this was 1973, and Margaret Hilda Thatcher was only the Secretary of State for Education.
To this day, I really can't remember much about the occasion. I almost certainly shook hands with her, although the evidence for this is somewhat inconclusive, in that I still seem to have the usual ten fingers. The only thing I recall her saying was something along the lines of "You should have bought one from ICL", a comment to which the correct riposte ("They don't make cheap minicomputers, you wally") was sadly unavailable. She didn't bother to engage any of us in conversation (although, looking at the picture, you could see her point), and failed to display any interest whatsoever in any of the proceedings.
It was all a bit of a shame, really, because we truly were pioneers in the field of technology in education in the UK. We had one of the first ever school computers - indeed, I think I'm right in saying that we had the first multi-user system. It was heady stuff. I would have loved to teach her how to use the FOCAL interpreter (or BASIC if she preferred), maybe even introduce her to a little PAL III assembler. Or perhaps just a quick game of lunar lander? You would have thought a trained scientist like her would at least have wanted to push a few keys or something. But it was not to be.
So, where are they now? Well, I'm still programming after all these years - and still enjoying it. And Thatcher? Betrayed, dumped and embittered. Funny old world, eh?
© Jonathan M. Pinnock, 1996
(BTW, if you want to see what programs look like in those days, take a look at this. Warning: the image of the program printout takes a while to download.)