Outside the silence was almost a shock, though even here, in the narrow channel between the two buildings, the metallic rattle of the tins on the march could be heard faintly against the muffled pounding of the other machinery. They entered the next building just underneath the conveyors, so that Gatt got a sense of continuity — here, then, was the next part of the film. This shed was very much less noisy than the first one, so that the guide could talk in his normal voice.
‘We’ve got a run of baked beans going at the moment,’ he explained, ‘so you can see the actual process — though in fact the handling or processed peas is almost identical. Here you see the dried beans in their original sacks, just as they are packed at the farms. Mostly they come from the Argentine. The sacks are taken up to the floor above, in the lift over there. Then they are tipped in a hopper filled with water — you see it? The beans will float, but any impurities (stones, earth and so on) sink to the bottom. The beans are scooped out of there and passed over magnets in this big apparatus.’
‘Why the magnets?’
‘To remove any metal that might be present. There’s never much of that, but you can’t be too careful. Here,’ he continued, ‘the beans are shaken through a kind of sieve and are sorted. It’s essential that they are all about the same size — otherwise the small ones would overcook and the big ones wouldn’t be cooked enough. Nothing is wasted, though. The big rejects are used in the soups and the small ones are sold for pig-food.
‘Now we come to a process that will probably interest you a good deal, Mr Gatt. Over here.’ He escorted him over to a row of steel cabinets that looked more like radio transmitters than anything else. But in the front of each was a glass panel, through which could be seen a continuous line of beans, falling in single file into troughs affixed below. ‘Any discoloured beans are thrown out by these machines They work like this every single bean passes through a “magic eye” apparatus — photo-electric cell to you! If it’s too dark in colour an impulse is sent to a high-voltage static charger which immediately puts a charge on the particular bean in question. Now, you see this deflector plate just above one of the troughs? That has a permanent charge on it, of opposite polarity to the one on the defective bean. The discoloured bean is attracted towards the plate and separated from the good beans, which having no charge, drop straight down into the other trough.’
Gatt was impressed. ‘I must say, you people certainly take some trouble about this. Mr Spigett is too modest.’
‘Mr Spigett,’ said the young man dryly, ‘bought this entire plant long after the equipment was installed.’ They walked over to the next gadget without saying anything further on the subject. More girls standing around in white coats.
‘Here the beans are immersed in water and partially cooked. Actually, it isn’t so much the cooking we’re concerned with at this stage, but the blanching — that is, putting the correct amount of moisture back into the bean that was taken out when it was originally dried. Otherwise it would soak up all the tomato sauce, and also the residual air in the bean would spoil the vacuum in the tin. Anyway, here you see the beans coming out at the other end on to a conveyor belt for the actual canning process. See? As each tin comes round, gripped in these chucks, the beans are shot into them through a nozzle. They don’t quite fill the tin because there must be room for the sauce which is put in’ — they moved round to the other side of the machine — ‘through another nozzle here.’
‘Where does the sauce actually come from?’
‘It’s cooked upstairs, and comes down though those pipes in the ceiling. Follow? Good. Now you see the lids being put on the cans, in exactly the same way as the bottoms were put on in the can-making room — except here a number is stamped on at the same time. This number tells us exactly what date the can was filled and what’s inside it.’
They walked along by the side of the conveyor, till again the can disappeared through a slit in the wall. The young man led the way through some double doors.
Gatt said: ‘This is a completely continuous process, then?’
‘That’s right. The cans and the dried beans go in at one end, and the labelled product comes out the other. But we haven’t finished yet. Here they are, coming out of the room we’ve just been in, on the same conveyor. These big cylinders they are being fed into are sort of giant sterilisers. Inside the beans are cooked, and then cooled, you see, while in the airtight tin. And while the cans pass through the machine they are shaken about so that all the beans cook evenly. This process sterilises them as well. And at the other end the cooled tin emerges ready for labelling. You want to see that?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Well, it’s quite straightforward, anyway. The labels are put on automatically, the boxes are filled and sealed, and everything is ready for delivery. Actually, we are supposed to hold them here for a few days while some tests are made on samples from each batch; but that doesn’t seem to happen nowadays.’
Gatt shot him a curious look. But all he said was: ‘I must say the smell is pretty appetising. If I were working here I’d want to snatch the beans off the line and guzzle myself sick.’
The young man smiled slightly. ‘That’s funny,’ he said, because I can’t even smell them now. I suppose I must have done once, though.’ They were walking back towards the offices, and the young man added: ‘Actually, there are times when I can smell the cooking, now I come to think of it. Especially when they try something new. Like the tomato sauce we had once.’ He took off his white coat, and hung it up outside a door marked Executive Canteen. ‘Come in and have a cup of tea.’
The only other occupant of the canteen at the time was a gloomy, squat little man wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses with powerful magnifying lenses. He had not bothered to remove his white overalls. ‘Morning, Richards!’ he greeted dismally. His mobile, plasticine face simulated a smile. ‘I see we have a visitor.’
‘Yes, this is Mr Gatt. He’s come down to have a look at our factory. Mr Gatt, this is our chief scientist, Mr Mobels.’
‘I’m afraid “chief scientist” is just a high-sounding phrase.’ Richards brought over a pot of tea. ‘Mr Sydney S. Spigett is not greatly taken with scientific matters.’
Gatt sat down, stirred his tea slowly. ‘May I ask you a few questions about the company?’
Mobels nodded. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Well, for a start, how long have you been here?’
‘I came here nearly fifteen years ago. In those days we were Mayhew’s Quality Foods — and I mean quality. Spigett bought this factory four years ago, when Mayhew got into financial trouble.’
‘I thought Spigett started manufacturing baked beans immediately after the war?’
‘He did. But he had a much smaller factory then. Somewhere in Kent, I believe. Anyway, when he bought out poor old Mayhew he sold his other one.’
‘I see. Cigarette, anybody?’ They lit up. Gatt continued: ‘Is the factory still run on the same lines as it used to be?’
Mobels and Richards exchanged glances. ‘I don’t think Mr Spigett would love us very much if I answered that question truthfully,’ said Mobels.
‘But I gather you don’t exactly love him?’
‘He fills my pay packet.’
‘Look,’ said Gatt. ‘I didn’t come down here this morning merely because I am fascinated by canning factories. You know that, though, don’t you?’
‘I gather that there is something in the wind. If you wouldn’t mind telling me what it’s all about—’