Innovation Unveiled

[EDWARD'S POV]

20 January, 1337

The new year swiftly arrived and passed. As the days turned into weeks, I continued my diligent oversight of the Plantagenet Passage's construction. Remarkably, it was now more than halfway completed. The barony was undergoing a transformation under my guidance.

During this time, my father's persistent requests for me to return to Norwich became more frequent. He lamented our prolonged separation, and my sisters, too, yearned for my presence. It had been nearly three months since I had embarked on what was meant to be a simple tour but had taken an unexpected turn, making me the Baron of Wymondham.

Despite being temporarily away from my family, my tenure as the lord of these estates had been, thus far, immensely satisfying. The changes brought about were palpable. Employment opportunities were increasing, trade was thriving, roads were being constructed, the army was growing stronger, and local businesses were prospering. Life in Wymondham had never been better.

It was in this environment of progress and promise that I contemplated introducing a revolutionary change to the field of construction and civil engineering: the invention of cement.

The preparations for this endeavor had been underway for some time. The fundamental ingredients of cement, limestone, clay, and gypsum, had been secured. Limestone, vital for this innovative construction material, was sourced from Lincolnshire, a venture that cost me nearly £100 for approximately 60 metric tonnes. In a generous gesture, my father offered the clay, crucial for the cement's production, from Norfolk at no cost, expressing his curiosity about the new methods I would introduce to his lands. This was a welcome offer, considering the preciousness of money in these times. Gypsum, another key component, was procured from the mines of Nottingham, with an expenditure of £750 for 12.5 metric tonnes.

In addition to these materials, I took care to acquire the necessary equipment. Crushers were obtained from local millers, kilns from skilled masons, and grinders from millers, ensuring that all aspects of cement production were meticulously addressed.

To execute this ambitious project, I assembled a workforce of nearly one hundred individuals, primarily consisting of blacksmiths, millers, and masons, as these skills were vital for the task at hand.

On a day that would mark the inception of this groundbreaking venture, I arrived at a designated communal area, where a temporary shed had been erected to serve as our workspace. The operation commenced with millers using their crushers to break down the raw materials into smaller pieces. Subsequently, under the watchful eyes of appointed officials, laborers mixed the crushed limestone and clay in precise proportions, ensuring a homogenous blend was achieved.

Within the next thirty minutes, this meticulously prepared mixture was carefully fed into a substantial kiln. This kiln, a large, rotating furnace, would subject the blend to extremely high temperatures, approximately 2,700°F or 1,480°C. It was under these intense conditions that the raw materials underwent a transformative reaction, forming what is known as clinker. These were small, marble-sized balls of hardened material. After this process, the clinker was left to cool overnight, marking the first step in our pioneering journey into the world of cement production.

21 January, 1337

The following morning, we commenced the next phase of our cement production process. The cooled clinker, having hardened overnight, was now ready to be transformed into a fine powder. Skilled laborers operated grinders, meticulously breaking down the clinker into this fine powder. This grinding process significantly increased the surface area of the clinker, an essential step that would enhance its reactivity when combined with water.

In the subsequent stages, unskilled laborers were assigned the task of adding gypsum to the finely ground clinker. Gypsum served a crucial purpose in this process, regulating the setting time of the cement. Its inclusion prevented the cement from setting too rapidly, allowing for more workable conditions during construction.

At this point, the cement was in its initial, rudimentary form. Although I lacked precise knowledge of the perfect composition and proportions required, my historical insights provided a rough idea. The local apothecary did not offer any guidance on cement production methods, but based on my knowledge, the cement we had produced was of remarkable quality. It possessed the potential to construct a castle that would surpass the strength of those built in the current era.

While it might not match the longevity of pure stone walls, the reduced cost of repair associated with our cement construction compensated for this limitation. The prospect of this new building material was exciting, and it marked a significant step forward in our journey to transform and enhance the infrastructure and capabilities of Wymondham.

A remarkable achievement unfolded as 35,000 kg of cement were successfully produced. The next step involved the careful packing of this valuable material into common burlap sacks. A total of 700 sacks were utilized to contain the cement. While my intent was to fill each bag with precisely 50 kg of cement, the traditional methods of measurement proved somewhat imprecise, resulting in little variations in the actual weight of each sack. Nevertheless, this marked the beginning of a new era in construction and engineering within my barony, promising a future of innovation and growth.

23 January, 1337

With all the cement bags ready, a significant portion of them, precisely 500 out of 700, were allocated for the construction of the Guild Hall. The innovative use of cement promised to expedite the construction process, allowing the 20-foot, two-story building to be completed in just three months, a remarkable feat for its time.

I decided to send a letter to my father, offering to sell him 50 sacks of cement at the price of £150 per sack (which, when translated to future currency, would equate to £112,353). While this price might seem exorbitant by modern standards, the benefits and possibilities that cement offered vastly outweighed the cost. The remaining 150 sacks were stored securely within the castle, awaiting their use or potential sale at a later time.

This strategic move marked a significant step forward in the utilization of cement for construction within my barony, revolutionizing the way buildings could be erected and setting the stage for further innovation and progress.

28 January, 1337

The construction of the Guild Hall was an endeavor of grand proportions, and I was determined to oversee its progress with meticulous care. With no fewer than a hundred dedicated workers employed at the site, it was imperative that their efforts were not in vain. I ensured they received not only fair but generous compensation for their labor, recognizing the invaluable contribution they made to the realization of my vision for Wymondham.

To enhance the working conditions and motivate the laborers further, I decided to take an extra step. I ordered the construction of a stall near the heart of the construction area. This thoughtful provision served a dual purpose: it ensured that the laborers did not go hungry while toiling away, and it created a small but bustling hub of activity, generating a modest income for the project. In this carefully planned establishment, bread was available at a modest price of a farthing (¼ pence), while a refreshing jug of ale could be obtained for a pence. Additionally, I offered free access to water, recognizing the importance of hydration in the midst of demanding physical labor. This endeavor proved to be as lucrative as it was compassionate, as remarkably, on the very first day, it earned me an unexpected but welcome sum of 2 pounds.

As the day's activities wound down, I retreated to the sanctuary of my chambers. Settling on my bed, I couldn't help but contemplate my father's persistent offer for me to return to Norwich.

In a bid to bridge the physical gap between us, my father had been urging me to return home, his appeals growing more persistent with each passing week. The offer was laced with love, concern, and a father's yearning to reunite with his son. To sweeten the deal, he had sent £7,500 along with my envoy in exchange for the fifty sacks of cement, a considerable sum in an age where monetary resources were precious and hard-earned.

I had accepted his proposal last week, as it seemed the opportune moment for a visit. I envisioned the joy and relief that my return would bring to my family. With this decision, I also decided to keep my part of the deal and send wagons to Norwich. These wagons carried with them 50 sacks of cement, an essential resource that had become a defining symbol of progress and innovation in Wymondham. Alongside the cement, I dispatched two officials who would supervise its use in Norwich's ongoing construction endeavors.

Contemplating the role of these officials in my grand plan brought my thoughts to a peculiar aspect of the time and society in which I found myself. There was no established civil service examination system in this era, at least not one that was widely recognized or followed. Instead, officials were predominantly selected from the ranks of the nobility, those with privileged access to a higher level of education and opportunities.

This practice inherently disadvantaged commoners, limiting their ability to rise to positions of authority and responsibility. The chasm between the educated nobility and the common population was evident, but it appeared to have minimal impact on the general public. Most commoners lacked access to education altogether, and even those who did attain a basic level of schooling rarely met the criteria for ascending to the ranks of officials.

This glaring inequality led me to a critical issue that had long been on my mind: the urgent need to establish an education system in the barony. A literate society was an educated society, and the path to progress often began with the dissemination of knowledge. The idea of opening schools had crossed my mind on several occasions, but I was acutely aware of the practical obstacles that loomed large.

The men in my barony, the backbone of its labor force and productivity, were primarily responsible for their families and daily labor. For them, attending school was a luxury that their demanding responsibilities hardly permitted. How could they allocate time for schooling when their days were dedicated to putting food on the table and roofs over their loved ones' heads?

My contemplation continued, and then, like a beacon of hope, a memory from the modern era surfaced. I vividly recalled a remarkably successful scheme initiated by the Indian Government in the distant future. This program aimed to provide mid-day meals to students in public schools, and it had achieved remarkable success in enticing rural students to attend school. The driving force behind this scheme was simple yet profound: it ensured that the students wouldn't go hungry. Families, primarily motivated by the assurance that their children would receive a meal, sent them to school, thereby kickstarting a transformation in the education landscape.

While directly implementing this scheme in my historical context presented challenges, the idea ignited a spark of inspiration. I had brainstormed for about ten minutes when I reached a decision. It was time to put my thoughts into action. I reached for a parchment and carefully dipped the quill into the inkpot. With great determination, I began drafting my own scheme, one tailored to the unique needs of Wymondham.

In summary, my plan aimed to provide mid-day meals to men under the age of 16. These meals would encompass nourishing items like bread, hard cheese, and pottage, ensuring that they received both sustenance and a taste of the benefits of education. For men above the age of 16, the scheme went a step further, offering them the mid-day meal along with an additional compensation of 2 pence per day. I calculated that this would allow them to attend school sessions, which were limited to three hours each day, and still work for the remaining 6-7 hours. In practical terms, this meant they could retain around 70% of their original income while taking their first steps toward education.

The beauty of this scheme lay in its win-win nature. Men under 16 would not only receive vital sustenance but also the opportunity to gain a basic education, a priceless gift in itself. Older men would have the chance to partake in this educational journey while maintaining the majority of their income. This two-pronged approach held the potential to achieve a significant increase in literacy within the next year or two, a transformation that could only be described as revolutionary.

As I completed the final words of my written scheme, I gently placed the quill back in its holder, folded the parchment, and returned it to its designated spot. With the day's work concluded, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of accomplishment and purpose. I settled back into my comfortable bed, my mind filled with the promise of a peaceful night's sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring more opportunities to shape the future of Wymondham.