As a child I lived, for a while, on open plains at
opposite sides of the planet where (like all my schoolmates) I was
fascinated by glimpses of how transport might be in our future. The
P1127 (an experimental VSTOL aircraft which would later become the
Harrier); the Belvedere (a twin rotor helicopter, already ageing and
soon to be swept away by the Chinook); and, most exciting of all,
something which we heard but never saw.
This gave rise to one of my earliest serious data
gathering and analysis projects: a notebook in which I religiously
recorded details of everything mechanical that moved and, with
particular attention to detail, rocket test firings. The date, time
and direction for every roaring launch, every thud of a concrete
warhead returned to earth, went into my little book. After a while,
though I didn’t yet know the term “data analysis”, I was able
to tell my friends with fair accuracy when the next launch was likely
to be, how long the flight would take and where the impact would
probably be.
These rockets had mysterious names like Honest John,
Thor, Thunderbird, and Bloodhound. Fifty-or-so years on, another
rocket bears the Bloodhound name but without the warlike aura. This
one aims to transport a human being, not an explosive charge, in an
attempt upon both the land and low level aviation speed records at
1·4 times the sea level speed of sound. At the same time, it is
generating data and methods for spin off into wider scientific and
technological theatres and scientific computing is at its heart.
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