technical boys were forever being cursed by the production people because the thing can’t be made, and it doesn’t work properly, this or that is an unreliable component, and so on. The technical people would say, ‘We know, we haven’t had time to look at all this ... we’ll have to change this.’ Then the production people say, ‘We’ve got a million items in stock, but we haven’t got any of what you’re talking about!’ So production staggers on. The tendency was to set everybody about each other’s ears in a way which was really most unfair, most regrettable, because they were really competent and capable fellows, (ibid.)
The production figures gradually increased, as did the quality of the television design itself. The inefficiencies of the process affected the profitability of those televisions that did get sent out, and ate away at the theoretical 40-50 per cent profit on the £200 retail price. From this notional costing margins were reduced by the remedial work that had to be done, the need to employ technicians on the assembly line, purchase costs when components were changed, and so on. It gradually came into profit as production reached some 2000 sets a month in early 1978. Having product available was a separate matter from exercising quality control over the sets that came off the end of the line, of course. Dixons and other retailers started to complain about quality, and the repair and replacement of defective sets decreased profit margins further, as well as discouraging high-street sales. The American Express order, for 10,000 sets, threw up even more problems. Although home sales were declining, the American market was crucial, being the best market for a novel and expensive gimmick. The New York office was inundated with defunct or defective sets from the American Express sale, and quality became as crucial as quantity. Hewett’s attempts to improve this aspect met with resistance from Sinclair:
Another thing friend Clive isn’t keen on is spending money on quality control. Quite often, when there was a meeting where production and engineering needed to be brought together, I wanted to have the quality-control manager in as well, because this is of the essence. Clive was always against having him there! ‘Don’t have him in,’ he’d say. ‘He just causes problems and trouble!’ Not only did he not want to be involved with [quality control] himself, but he didn’t want to know about them or their problems. Extraordinary fellow, (ibid.)
Although our readers, cognizant of earlier history, might at this point in the story not find it so extraordinary that Sinclair possessed the attitude Hewett described as ‘if you make it, and it just works, then get it to the customer and if possible forget about it, we don’t have to deal with the consequences’. Hewett was finding it increasingly difficult to deal with Sinclair, from whom he expected at the least passive co-operation. Instead, he was put in a position where he received minimal co-operation, maximal irritation, and interference. The conflict was one of style rather than personality:
Personally he didn’t dislike me, neither did I personally dislike him, although I got professionally very annoyed with him in many ways, (ibid.)
That the management styles conflicted is not in doubt. Derek Holley admits that Hewett was at a disadvantage in making the transition from the heavy electrical industry to consumer electronics and may not have adapted sufficiently. The wider problem was Sinclair’s character, and his resistance to any changes, however businesslike, that ran counter to his own views. His then wife said, in response to the question of whether the NEB was putting constraints on Sinclair and his ideas:
Well, I think constraints is a bit strong. If he has an idea and wants to put it into action usually his reasons for doing so are very strong indeed, and considering that he’s also very much a fighter, I wouldn’t like to be