Phosphate Rocks Chapter 10: Gas Leak

The first sign of trouble came from the other side of the railway tracks. The product from the granulation plant was packed in a long shed, half a mile from the factory, on Salamander Street, the main road connecting Newhaven to Portobello. The Sally Street packing crew bagged fertiliser in fifty-pound sacks and one-tonne bags. It was rough work for tough men. 

Not long after the phosphoric acid plant had restarted on Jordanian phosphate, John received word from one of his many spies that the Sally shift had reported a gas leak and decamped to the pub. He jumped into the works van and drove over to save them from themselves. The men were entitled to a meal break like anyone else, and there was no rule that said it couldn’t be a liquid meal in the Black Bull with go-go dancing entertainment. Being drunk at work, however, was a sackable offence and John’s experience told him that most of the Sally shift wouldn’t know when to stop. John intercepted Big Stu, Tommy and Ronnie in the street outside the pub and took them back to the packing line to begin the inquisition. 

The men claimed it was unsafe to work with a gas leak. John pointed out that there was no gas supply anywhere near. But he had to agree with them that a strong smell of gas pervaded the long, low shed, and the street outside. 

John phoned the British Gas Corporation hotline. The emergency response team wearily confirmed that they had received hundreds of calls from North Edinburgh that evening but had been unable to find a single leak. They mentioned that they had already sent an emergency van to Salamander Street, tested for gas, and reassured the leading hand that it was safe to continue packing. 

John berated Big Stu and laughed him and the rest of the team back to work. But John was concerned. Back in the factory, he walked round each of the production units. Nothing. He went back to the phosphoric acid plant, nose in the air, sniffing. It was barely detectable, but there was definitely something different. He made a full report to the factory management.  

They took no notice. 

It happened again one week later. This time John took note of the wind direction, onshore; speed, low; temperature, mild. Exactly the same conditions as last time. No smell in the factory, but the stench hung heavy half a mile inland. John climbed on to the roof of the Salamander Street shed and looked across the railway sidings, over the bonded warehouses, the Albert dock and back to the factory. He raised his eyes to the chimney of the phosphoric acid plant, noting the inversion of the steam pouring out of the reactor chimney, how some wisps dipped and streamed inland, a blanket of noxious fog.