Speak (6 page)

Alan Turing

c/o Sherborne School

Abbey Rd., Sherborne

Dorset DT9 3AP

7 April 1928

Dear Mrs. Morcom,

This is to say thank you for coming so quickly, in response to my letter, which I now realize was a little dramatic. It’s only that the world seemed as if it were ending. Thank you also for telling Chris that your travel plans just happened to change, and for the letter you left me, which was very kind, despite the fact that I seem to have overestimated the severity of Chris’s illness. I have read your letter five or six times, and I now feel as if we are friends.

I also want to say I’m sorry for avoiding you during your visit. I should have gone up to you and introduced myself, but I was rather queasy about having written you such a very urgent letter when Chris turned out to be fine. I should never have told you that I had a premonition of his death. That was extreme.
Also, I think perhaps I shouldn’t have told you so many extra details about my personal life, which perhaps you had no interest in knowing.

I also regretted the part in my previous letter when I defended breaking the honor code in our particular case. I do not believe that one ought go about breaking codes as it seems convenient. It was an especially dirty thing to have done in Chris’s name. It is our goal, as you know, to describe the natural sequences by which human beings develop their mind-sets. We both have great respect for the patterns that govern our material world. We agree that we humans are composed of such rules, so it is a dangerous thing to go about breaking them on a whim. I should not have done so in Chris’s name, especially not without his permission.

But I am still learning, and I have only now applied myself as I ought to have done all along. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. I promise to reveal myself next time you are here, as I am ever so grateful for the receipt of your letter. And for the fact that you raised such a straight-up and intelligent son.

Now that he is better I can safely promise that we will return to our studies with as much vigor as we maintained previous to his illness. We are even now reopening our investigation into the Fibonacci sequence, in the hopes that it will reveal to us new secrets about cellular growth. I am not sure if you are already acquainted with it. It is an integer sequence that grows according to a specific pattern: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, etc. Do you recognize the pattern? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you, in case you don’t see it. I shouldn’t want my letters to resemble a mathematics exam! (Mr. Ross, my form-master last year, would say, “This room smells of mathematics! Go out
and fetch a disinfectant spray!” He is my chief enemy at our school.) The sequence follows as such: the previous number (n
₁
) is added to the current number (n
₂
), producing the next number (n
₃
). So 1 plus 1, for instance, makes 2, and 2 plus 1 makes 3.

This may seem unremarkable enough, but would you believe that innumerable organisms grow according to this very sequence? The leaves of artichokes, for instance, and pineapples, ferns, palm trees, and waves. You can see why Chris and I have been drawn to investigate further. Such a seemingly inorganic pattern, shared across so many species! Why shouldn’t this be the sequence that governs the growth of our brains?

My favorite example of the Fibonacci sequence in nature is the chambered nautilus, whose shell is built of adjoining chambers that spiral according to our very pattern. Here at Sherborne, we have a nautilus in a glass case in the science classroom, along with a very nice fossilized fern. Someone has cut the nautilus in half and labeled the pattern of chambers with little red pins and paper flags. You can see each room the shell’s inhabitant once occupied, at each phase of his life. It is very beautiful to look at when your attention is not kept by the lecture Mr. Phelps is currently delivering. The other day I pointed it out to Chris, and said, “Look, another time capsule!” Of course Chris immediately knew what I was referring to.

I find it comforting to know that we most likely grow according to regular numerical patterns. Perhaps I am only waiting for my pattern, and when I do, I will shoot up and overtake Henry Thornton as the tallest boy in my class! I am only being humorous. But it is amazing, don’t you think, that such series exist connecting us to pinecones and waves?

But I am rattling on. I have gone on 805 words, not
counting the date. I intended to be briefer this time, only I am very excited that Chris and I are back at our work!

I promise to report our progress to you regularly, as you are probably very proud of your son and anxious to hear news of his studies. For now, though, I shall stop. In the meantime, Chris and I shall continue working hard on discovering the mechanism for cellular growth. The possibilities are endless, you know, if that kind of thing could be understood. We could one day create artificial organisms, prompting them to grow from single units in the same way that humans do! One day perhaps we’ll make a human brain, brick upon brick! Only imagine.

Yours very sincerely, 
Alan Turing

P.S.: I do think, considering his cough, that Chris ought to refrain from excessively sporty activity. You might suggest this to him next time you write him, as he is anxious to return to his previous routine.

P.P.S.: The last, on my honor: I hereby promise that if in the future Chris should fall ill, even if only slightly, I will be sure to write you again. One cannot be too cautious. That is all. I shall return to my studies, before it is lights-out and I must go to sleep.

10th
. Night. Perhaps, methinks, tomorrow morning I shall wake to darkness, and never again the promise of light.

Have had high words with father about impending marriage. Feared perhaps he would weep. He does not wish me to marry contrary to inclination or before I am ready, and yet he believes it to be best. He fears (and here it was he seemed ready to weep, and I fixed, without a tear) that he is not, as he ought to be, able to defend us from danger. Whittier (he said), a man known for estimableness and character, and courage in battle, having served under Monck when Monck was still loyal, and being awarded highest honors for service. Under great threat by natives, Massachusetts Colony requires more men of Whittier’s age. And so it be father’s wish that daughter marry, and so induce Whittier to join us.

Also, mother has resolved it to be so, feeling this to be proper time for author to come to womanhood.

In short, father resigned to unhappy arrangement. Hopes author can find herself equally tranquil.

Then sat us together in his brown study. Dark wood, leather Bible, globe; map of Copernican heavens; many books arranged to show bindings; scent of tobacco, parchment, wood shavings, ink. All these things, beloved between us. Despite indignation, awareness of closeness with father, and of possessing his highest trust. Watched father’s face, much fallen from years of great conflict.

Seeing this, and being repentant, took pains to convince father I comprehend all reasons for marriage. Importance of new colonies; liberty of conscience; danger, for Parliamentarians, of remaining in England; literacy, male and female alike; independence from monarchical rule, etc. etc. All extremely good reasons.

Still, despite best intentions, remain much troubled by anger. After discourse with father, went to meadow with Ralph. Cried until sky became thick, and of a color like a trout’s belly. Next, rain. Rocks and meadows becoming silver, and trees waving like pennons. Dark green on one side, pale green on the next. Whole banks of trees, shifting from one hue to the other.

13th
. Up early, and busy writing. Understand now that this book was not intended as gift for young adventurer. Intended instead to sweeten marriage. Mahogany leather, gold imprint, ribbon once flattering. Father’s belief in author’s potential. Same details troublesome now, with new awareness.

Feel shallow and mean. Only Ralph understands. Has lain with me in my chamber since morning. White ruff, brown eyebrows. Eyes, liquid. Full of pity. Love him with unbearable feeling.

15th
. Have been told by Besse, and this confirmed later by father, that Ralph must stay behind. Will not be permitted to sail.

Noon, and foul weather. Nothing else to report.

15th
. Up, and still abed, though very late. Have nothing else to say at this point.

16th
. Afternoon. Cannot sacrifice Ralph. Will not be persuaded that it be right to leave him behind, and with no explanation, him being incredibly loyal. Would sit still forever, facing the road and waiting for my return, which would never occur. Impossible to imagine for long. Will not agree to upcoming marriage. Will not travel abroad, not taking Ralph. Not even for my father’s sake. He is asking too much.

17th
. Having long suspected mother’s role in issue of marriage, received proof of it in the morning. Myself and Ralph to the copse, but came instead upon mother and father exchanging high words in the bedroom, and so waited in hiding with Ralph. Mother repeated conviction that author should not be closer to sheepdogs than people, and well time to be married.

Father: Had hoped, however, for arrangement out of affection.

Mother: Ours was an arrangement out of affection, and now you
abandon me to savages, having already abandoned me once, and only to heed your daughter’s affections?

Father: And yet she must consent.

Mother: And so her consent is of more value to you than my life.

Father: (Silent, but by the sounds of it heavy chastened.)

Much troubled at heart, returned then to my chamber and only from thence when forced by hunger to look after supper. Abed, and still troubled, it grieving my heart to give father sorrow. Father, much tired by struggles, no longer so strong as he once was. And who will protect him and my mother, if not a man such as Whittier?

Has long been author’s hope that father will recover himself once we are come to new land. For father’s sake, journey must prove a success.

17th
. Many hours later, still unable to sleep. Have resolved myself to marry, despite husband’s pockmarks and unsettling neck. Despite unthinkable loss of my Ralph.

18th
. Up with the candle, and then to prayer, and afterwards have made my announcing. Then spent all morning conceited, for having resolved myself to sacrifice. Took exceeding long walk, and found new shine on everything. Last cow parsnips, last apricots, last walk with Ralph along edges of meadow. It being a goodly and poetic sadness, author now understands why
many martyrs rejoice. Have been overweening with servants, for soon I shall lose myself. Self-sacrifice perhaps greatest indulgence. Disgust at Roger Whittier transformed into sensations of courage and remarkable grace.

And so I shall marry and then we set sail.

20th
. Have made many demands on mother since morning, with little compunction, being confident in position as most noble female member of family. Can scarcely look upon meadow for awareness of imminent loss. Ralph sits beside. Looks up at me from time to time, and his eyes deep pools. Suspects, I think, he will be abandoned. I am sick with affection.

22nd
. Up early, and preparations for departure. Heavy with sorrow for Ralph, but as the hours pass I grow increasing unfeeling. Tended to my proper duties but harbored throughout an abiding suspicion that perhaps I had died already. Ralph sent outdoors, for tripping the maid at her work. Deadly number of fittings, to get up for wedding and journey. Acquiesced with patience to all, as if watching myself, a curious, obedient child. Presided over wedding chest and the packing of my belongings. Insisted on having my viol, which will come in place of some linens.

House in high uproar, and a great concourse of persons coming and going, bringing deliveries and making departures. Wedding day shall be tomorrow. The following day we do depart, if weather be permitting.

22nd
. Night, and unable to sleep for fear of Ralph’s future. Outside my window, a thin sliver of moon. Cannot help but compare it to Ralph, alone in the country without us. Abandoned, waiting for our return.

Have resolved for writing directly to Ralph. God forgive me if this be impious. To Ralph, then: I did not want to leave you behind. Tomorrow, we shall take one final walk. You shall be let out in the sheep, and no one shall stop you from barking, and we shall stay far off from our stream, for water makes you afraid, and you shall not be permitted to suffer. You are my own, and have been with me in every part of my life.

23rd
. Evening. Weather holds. Have married Roger Whittier, before magistrate, in civil contract. Can you still love me, my Ralph?

In recognition of union, did receive this gift from Whittier:
A Perfit Description of the Caelestiall Orbes,
and beautiful binding indeed. Suspect hand of my father, well knowing author’s interest in planets. Upon occasion of present, Whittier delivered small and uncomfortable sermon on mutual respect and ongoing learning. Value of word, etc. Face tilted forwards on unhandsome neck. Proclaims desire to be respectful, and take time to know one another as friends. Author (he says) will not be obliged to enter his house, until at least she is ready. Hopes with time real love will arise, and did lean forwards and kiss my cheek, which doing caused my skin to go cold.

Later, and alone but for Ralph, the great concourse of well-wishers and family having gone home and left us. Have taken
final walk through the country. Scenery changed. Familiar place, viewed through the eyes of married woman. Felt wild and awful, wished for a storm. No storm; clear skies. Dappled light in wooded copse, and in the courtyard, apricot trees with new leaves. Come summer, who will gather their fruit?

Now abed, with you at my side. And so only us, under the mantle together, but in Besse comes to add silver cups to my wedding chest, which seems fit to burst. Her having gone, now it is only we who remain, except for that loathed chest, that sits very still like an unburied coffin. Write these words with my head on your side, and your rib cage moving beneath me.

23rd
. Now very late, and having come up with a plot will not write for fear of being discovered.