Tireless Task

From Westminster's square Victoria Tower a bit of masonry hurtled 300 feet into a bowl of strawberries & cream which a guest was enjoying on the House of Commons terrace. The guest was annoyed. But the Ministry of Works was frightened. Suppose a gargoyle had dropped on the table. Clearly the 900-year-old Palace, which houses Britain's Parliament, was falling apart. To patch it, the Ministry appointed a score of unhurried stonemasons headed by earnest, bespectacled Henry Wadley, a dead ringer for President Truman.

That was in 1927. Last week Henry Wadley, now 57, and his mate, Fred Hurdman, now 60, were still working unhurriedly on the Palace. In 18 years (the last six of them without assistants) the two masons had mended more than 600 of the stone crowns, buttresses, lions, kings & queens, coats-of-arms and other heraldic devices that adorn Britain's Parliament.

Among the gargoyles and griffins atop the Palace, nothing--France's fall or Britain's peril--interrupted their tireless task. Through the blitz, which hastened the process of architectural crumbling and caving, the two men patiently pursued their chipping and patching. While the Battle of Britain was in -full swing, they gave Ethelred the Unready (968-1016) a new arm. While Winston Churchill was urging Britons to fight on the beaches, on the hills, on the air fields, the two masons, high above him, were replacing the four 8-ft. gargoyles that flank Big Ben.

Last week, after nearly 20 years on the job, Wadley was a trifle concerned about the end of it all. Said he: "I can't save the Palace just with Fred. Begging Mr. Churchill's pardon, give us the men and we'll finish the job."

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