And we clattered off. It was like going through a city, but a very strange city, with no shops, few people walking about, and no women. Everyone was dressed in working overalls. Instead of houses, there were warehouses, vast and windowless; blocks of offices, equally grim in appearance, and other mysterious buildings which Mr Williams pointed out as we passed. 'That's Foundry No. 1,' he said, 'where the plate is made . . . the Gun Works, where the cannon are assembled . . .' And so we went on, the old horse clopping its way, with me in the back listening to Mr Williams's explanations, and veering wildly between elation at what man could achieve, and a certain feeling of gloom at the thought of the power of this vast organisation.

'And this,' Mr Williams said with the slightest quaver in his voice as we turned yet another corner, 'is the reason for all of it.'

Many people have seen a Dreadnought, far out to sea, or even in dock. They are impressive, breathtaking sights, even then. But only if you see one close up, out of the water, do you get any real sense of how enormous it is, for then all that is normally concealed, the gigantic bulk of the ship that is under the waterline, becomes visible. It went up, and up and up, until I thought its very top was lost in the clouds. From end to end it was so vast that the prow could not be seen at all; it disappeared in the haze of smoke pumped out by the factory chimneys. I had no idea how advanced the building work was; it looked as though it would take years before it was ready and even then I could not easily imagine how anyone expected such a thing actually to float, let alone move.

Mr Williams laughed when I asked. 'We launch in ten days' time,' he said. 'From laying down the keel to final fitting out should take twelve months. We are now eight months in and making good time, I'm glad to say. Every day we run over costs us £1,100 in lost profits. Well? What do you think?'

I shook my head. I truly believe it was one of the most remarkable moments of my life, to be confronted in this way with full proof of man's audacity and invention. How anyone even dared to contemplate building such a thing was quite beyond my powers to imagine. And then I saw the people, the army of tiny figures scurrying up and down the scaffolding, shouting at the cranemen as gigantic squares of armour plate were lifted up, the riveters methodically pounding rivet after rivet through the holes already made, the supervisors and the electricians and the plumbers taking a break after their labours. Many hundreds of men, machines ranging from the huge hydraulic cranes to the smallest of screwdrivers, all working together, all apparently knowing what they were to do and when they were to do it. All to produce this beast, which had started out on its long route to the high seas in a decision taken by Ravenscliff months or years before. He spoke, and it was done; thousands of men, millions of pounds reacted to his decision, and were still following his orders, even after his death.

What did I think? Nothing; I was overcome by the scale of it all, by the power one man had created. Now, for the first time, I could see why all the descriptions of him were superlatives. Powerful, frightening, a genius, a monster. I had heard or read all of these. They were all true. Only such a person would have dared.

'I'm afraid that I cannot offer you a tour of the ship itself,' Mr Williams said, interrupting my reverie. He was pleased by my reaction, I could see. I think I must have had a look of stunned amazement on my face; my silence was very much more eloquent than anything I might have said. 'It is dangerous when it is in such a state, and in fact there is little to see which would interest anyone but a specialist in naval architecture. I simply wanted you to see it up close. It is an impressive sight, don't you think?'

I nodded, but continued to gaze up and along to take in the vastness of the thing. It was dark; the hull had completely blotted out the sun, and the depths of the huge trench in the ground in which the ship was taking shape were cold, and windy and dark. I shivered.

'It does get cold. Sometimes it even starts to rain inside the dry dock, even though it is a fine enough day outside. The construction generates a lot of heat and vapour; that condenses against the sides and falls as rain. It is quite a problem sometimes. One of those little difficulties that even the most perceptive of planners cannot imagine in advance. I hope, by the way, you are convinced that this yard does actually exist now.'

I nodded. 'I think the executors might concede that one,' I said with a vague smile. 'And I must thank you for your time. It has been most generous of you.'

'Not at all. As you may have noticed, I am very proud of this place. It gives me great pleasure to show it off.'

'And your workers? Are they proud of it as well?'

'Oh, yes. I think so. They should be; they know they are the best in the world. And they are paid well. We cannot afford even one incompetent riveter or mechanic. They have to be paid well, and supervised very closely. When we launched Intrepid last year the whole city came to a halt so everyone could watch. They knew they'd done something remarkable. Come along.'

We walked back to the cab, and the horse walked wearily off once more, taking a different route this time. After a few minutes, Mr Williams asked the driver to stop. 'Please forgive me,' he said with a smile. 'I must just check with one of our people in here. Do come in, if you wish.'

I followed him into the entrance of a block of offices, which was attached to another giant building of such size that ordinarily it alone would have made one pause for thought. But I was almost getting used to them now. Another building the size of St Paul's. Oh, well. I wanted my lunch. Mr Williams led the way into the warren of offices, where dozens of clerks sat at rows of oak desks, each with his piles of paper. Then through more, where men with drawing boards were working. Mr Williams popped his head into one room, and called one of the men out.

'I have to see Mr Ashley for a few moments. Would you be so kind as to take Mr Braddock here to see our little arsenal?'

The young man, clearly pleased to have been chosen for such a task and to have attracted the attention of the most powerful man in the North-East, said he would be delighted. His name was Fredericks, he told me, as he led the way. He was a senior draughtsman, working on gun turrets. He had worked at Beswick for twelve years now, ever since he was fourteen. His father also worked here, in the yards. His brothers and uncles did as well.

'A family firm, then,' I said, more for something to say than anything else.

'I don't suppose there's a single family in Newcastle which doesn't have someone who works in the yard,' he replied. 'Here we are.'

He pulled open a heavy wooden door, and then followed me through. Again I was astonished, even though it took me some time to work out what I was looking at. Guns. But not ordinary guns, not like in museums, or put out for display at the Tower of London. These were more like tree trunks from some vast forest; twenty, thirty feet long, three feet thick, tapering meanly and menacingly towards the muzzle. And there were dozens and dozens of them, some long and almost elegant, others short and squat, lined up in rows on huge trestles.

'That's our biggest,' Fredericks said pointing to one of the longest, which lay in the middle of the building, shining dully from a protective layer of oil. 'The 12/45 mark 10. With the breech it weighs fifty-eight tons and it can throw an 850-pound shell nearly eleven miles and land within thirty feet of the target. If the people operating it know what they're about. Which I doubt they will.'

'And these are all for HMS Anson?'