Surely there is a mine for silver and a place for gold which they refine.
Iron is taken out of the earth, and copper is smelted from the ore.
Men put an end to darkness, and search out to the farthest bound the ore in gloom and deep darkness.
They open shafts in a valley away from where men live; they are forgotten by travellers, they hang afar from men, they swing to and fro.
As for the earth, out of it comes bread; but underneath it is turned up as by fire.
Its stones are the place of sapphires and it has dust of gold.
Man puts his hand to the flinty rock, and overturns mountains by the roots.
He cuts channels in the rocks, and his eye sees every precious thing.
He binds up the streams so that they do not trickle, and the thing that is his he brings forth to light.
But where shall wisdom be found?
And where is the place of understanding?
Job 28
CHAPTER 7 LYELL SOCIETY
Thorney slowed the car and turned off the A30 through the gates. “There you are, Royal Holloway.”
“Blimey,” said Cariton “There's no sparing the decoration on this baby.”
“High Victoriana gone berserk,” said Mortimer. “I’m amazed its still part of London University. It’s the sort of place they pulled down in the 1960’s and replaced with a concrete tower block.”
“If only Keble looked like this.” Cariton sighed. “Is that real lead up on the roof?”
“No.” Thorney smiled. “They sold it off a few years back and put in plastic replicas.”
“They say the Archbishop of Canterbury says churches can do it soon. Sell off their roofs. They’ll raise a fortune. I hope they have more modern buildings?” asked Cariton.
“Oh yes” said Thorney. “Laboratory and accommodation blocks off on the left and down the hill towards Egham. That’s mostly boring stuff. Twentieth century cheapo concrete and things.”
“There’s another car behind getting impatient,” said Mortimer.
“Ooh, sorry.” Thorney followed signs saying “Lyell Astro Geology Conference” to the left.
They got out and studied the huge building. More like confectionery than architecture. Orange and red candy, decorated with barley twist chimneys. Vanilla cream widow frames shaped like the Parthenon, with arches. Carved cornices to everything. Round windows to rooms in towers and turrets. Elaborate bay windows four floors high. Stone balustrades to tiny balconies. Cast iron gutters and down pipes let into the shaped brickwork.
High overhead, transatlantic turboprops from Heathrow, climbed slowly and quietly into the pale blue sky. “It must have been noisy here when they used jets,” said Thorney. Then he saw a notice hammered into the grass. “All cars parked without a permit will be clamped and removed.”
“Oh. Better get into reception and get a permit then.”
They took their bags up the stone steps to a lobby. The sign taped on a table said “Economic astro-geology of asteroids. Delegates registration.”
“Can I help?” asked a young man with a laptop.
“We’ve come down from Oxford. I’m Mortimer, this is Cariton and Thorney.”
“Actually I’m Huxtable,” said Thorney.
“Doctor Thorneycroft Huxtable,” said the young man. “It’s your car I believe.”
“Yup”
“So here is your parking permit, you’d better display it right now, before the local chav security guards drag it away for ransom. And if you wait a second.” The young man pulled a plastic label from another desktop gadget “This is your pass, if you could wear it round your neck at all times. We have a problem here with pykies trying to get a free meal and a bed. Not that you look undesirable of course Doctor.”
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