THE egg is ready. Maurice Ward makes certain of that. He hands it over to the TV producers, and the cameras start rolling.
鈥淭his is no ordinary egg,鈥� says the show鈥檚 presenter Peter McCann. Indeed, a blowtorch flame is barrelling onto its surface to no effect. The egg should have cracked apart within seconds under the blistering heat. Yet after a few minutes, McCann picks it up and holds it in his hand. 鈥淚t only just feels warm,鈥� he says. He cracks it open and out dribbles a runny yolk. 鈥淚t hasn鈥檛 even begun to start cooking.鈥�
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That was March 1990, and on the British TV show Tomorrow鈥檚 World was about to transform Ward鈥檚 fortunes.
The egg itself was nothing special. Its extraordinary resistance to the blowtorch鈥檚 heat came from a thin layer of white material that Ward had daubed on its shell. An amateur inventor from Hartlepool in the north of England, Ward had concocted the stuff with no scientific training and named it Starlite.
According to McCann, Starlite could easily be painted onto planes, electronics, wooden doors, plastic wiring 鈥� indeed any place where protection from heat and fire might be important. It looked like Ward would soon be a rich man. Sure enough, scientists, multinational companies and even NASA were soon rushing to get their hands on Starlite. There was talk of million-dollar deals. Then鈥� nothing.
Had Ward fooled the TV producers? Was Starlite a hoax? All the evidence suggests not. Subsequent tests in British and US government labs confirmed that it was the real thing. It also won praise from high places, including Ronald Mason, chemist and former . 鈥淚 started this path with Maurice very sceptical,鈥� he told a TV reporter in 1993. 鈥淚鈥檓 totally convinced of the reality of the claims.鈥�
Over the next two decades, Ward made a handful of samples of his material, but always refused to reveal the recipe. Then, in May 2011, he died.
So what happened to Starlite? The answer is a tale of frustration, power and secrecy, which serves as a sobering reminder that ingenuity and big ideas do not guarantee commercial success. Tantalising questions remain. How exactly did the stuff work? Was it a genuine breakthrough? And crucially, did Ward take its secrets to the grave?
How Ward came up with his invention is not clear, but he was certainly an outsider. A former hairdresser, in the 1980s he reportedly ran a small plastics company in northern England. He was also an English eccentric with a white beard, a bow tie and a divergent mind. He told journalists he made some batches of Starlite on his kitchen table in a food processor, but when a reporter asked what his magical material was made of, his answer was enigmatic, if not downright mischievous. 鈥淥h, just a bit of flour and baking powder,鈥� he said.
鈥淗e told journalists he made some batches of Starlite on his kitchen table in a food processor鈥�
Official scrutiny
Not surprisingly, when officials at the MOD heard about Starlite, they were sceptical. Still, by June 1991 they were sufficiently intrigued to ask one of their senior scientists, Keith Lewis, to take a closer look. At the time, Lewis was the head of the thin-film optics lab at the , now part of the Defence Research Agency, in Malvern, UK. His experience meant he was one of the MOD鈥檚 go-to guys for scrutinising promising ideas from unusual sources and he wasn鈥檛 about to pass up the chance to study a promising material just because its inventor had no scientific training. 鈥淕roundbreaking work can pop up anywhere,鈥� says Lewis.
About 18 months after the Tomorrow鈥檚 World appearance, Ward finally agreed to let Lewis run a series of tests, on condition that he wouldn鈥檛 analyse Starlite鈥檚 ingredients. The first thing Lewis and his colleagues did was fire powerful laser pulses at the material. There was little damage, despite the fact that each pulse contained 100 millijoules of energy and was focused to a tiny spot. 鈥淭hat will drill holes in bricks,鈥� says Lewis.
Other tests at White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico and the Atomic Weapons Establishment on the island of Foulness, UK, confirmed that Starlite was the real deal. At Foulness, researchers used an arc lamp, essentially a powerful tungsten bulb, to focus a huge amount of heat onto a small area of the material. Again an impressive performance: the material easily withstood temperatures of around 1000 掳C, according to a 1993 article in the military publication International Defence Review.
By now, Lewis and his colleagues were sure that Ward鈥檚 material was genuine, and almost certainly unique. But Ward鈥檚 obsession with secrecy prevented Lewis from publishing the tantalising results in a peer-reviewed journal. They knew it was a polymer composite 鈥� a mix of organic and inorganic components, including plastics, borates and ceramics 鈥� but Ward wouldn鈥檛 divulge the recipe. Beyond saying that it contained 21 ingredients, he gave no hint on the method. Besides, each new batch had subtly different properties so the data would not pass muster. Yet Lewis and others within the MOD were convinced that Starlite had potential 鈥� and more exciting results were to come.
At around the same time, Ward began negotiating with potential manufacturers. 鈥淎 huge number of large companies were beating a path to his door,鈥� says Toby Greenbury, who was a corporate lawyer at London legal firm DJ Freeman, and Ward鈥檚 lawyer for many years.
Greenbury was fond of Ward, and wanted to help him. However, it soon became clear that Ward had failed to grasp the needs of corporate investors. 鈥淢aurice was a very intelligent chap, but he was idiosyncratic,鈥� says Greenbury. During negotiations, Ward would ask for 拢1 million pounds one day, then 拢10 million the next, he says.
Eccentricity is one thing, but potential partners also struggled to extract useful technical details on Starlite. One afternoon, Greenbury took part in a conference call with NASA. He listened as Ward talked about Starlite鈥檚 properties, but soon realised Ward was bandying around scientific terms indiscriminately. 鈥淗e was using jargon he didn鈥檛 understand, and that they probably didn鈥檛 either,鈥� he recalls. 鈥淚f you look at his [contractual] agreements, it was complete gobbledegook. Scientific concepts thrown in willy-nilly.鈥�
Clearly an independent scientific analysis of Starlite was needed before anyone would invest serious money, but Ward was keeping his samples close and the recipe closer still. He feared researchers would copy his invention. Those suspicions didn鈥檛 extend to Lewis, fortunately. 鈥淚 was one of the few people he trusted,鈥� Lewis recalls. 鈥淲e built a relationship over many years.鈥�
From the laser tests, Lewis knew that Starlite was extremely efficient at scattering and emitting heat and light away from its surface. But that alone couldn鈥檛 explain what Starlite could do.
So with Ward鈥檚 agreement, he visited the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge, UK, where he and the researchers there put the material in a rig designed to measure thermal conductivity. Lewis had already used this apparatus to test heat shielding for missiles.
Secret in the holes
The Cavendish team began by sandwiching three layers of Starlite between metal discs fitted with temperature sensors. Then they briefly heated the top layer and used the sensors to record how fast that heat was spreading. Curiously, initial results suggested that the material was nothing special 鈥� its overall thermal conductivity seemed roughly equivalent to that of natural rubber.
So Lewis decided to take a closer look at Starlite with a scanning electron microscope. It was then that he noticed the surface had subtly altered in response to the heat. In particular, he saw that a network of small voids, each one between 2 and 5 micrometres wide, had formed. 鈥淚 thought 鈥楾his is it! That鈥檚 why it works鈥�,鈥� he says.
Lewis realised that these voids transform Starlite鈥檚 properties. They act like air bubbles in a foam, providing insulation and reducing the material鈥檚 thermal conductivity by at least an order of magnitude compared to fresh Starlite. But crucially, they are small enough not to disrupt the material鈥檚 ability to reflect and emit heat from its surface.
It looked as if Starlite was smarter stuff than anyone had imagined. 鈥淲hat Ward had done, and he didn鈥檛 know it until I told him, was develop a composite material with an engineered smart protection mechanism,鈥� says Lewis. This placed Starlite in the same class as sophisticated piezoelectric materials or shape-memory alloys, which can change their properties in response to heat, pressure or electric fields.
鈥淚t looked as if Starlite was smarter stuff than anyone had imagined鈥�
Perhaps the closest relative to Ward鈥檚 invention is 鈥渋ntumescent鈥� paint used to protect steel beams and columns in buildings. During a fire, these paints swell up to large volumes, but they function mainly as an insulator rather than a heat reflector and stop working altogether above 1000 掳C. Intumescent paints can also generate harmful vapour. Lewis鈥檚 tests showed that Starlite releases very little gas when activated. This would be particularly beneficial in closed spaces such as an aircraft interior.
Lewis was excited. Although he couldn鈥檛 offer direct funding, he told Ward that he and researchers at the UK Defence Research Agency were keen to support the development of Starlite and provide the scientific analysis needed for manufacturing to begin. Yet Ward would not bite. The pair spoke several times a year over a period of five years, then communication fizzled out. 鈥淲e could have really helped him,鈥� says Lewis.
A similar story was playing out in Ward鈥檚 other negotiations. Aerospace giant Boeing was particularly interested, and their talks with Ward reportedly lasted for many years. 鈥淲e see the possibility of preventing injuries and death during aircraft ground fires with this material,鈥� Allen Atkins, Boeing鈥檚 then vice-president for technology, said in in 2002. But for Boeing and the other would-be investors, negotiations eventually reached an impasse: Ward wanted million-dollar sums but was reluctant to hand over the recipe. Even for a powerful corporate chief executive, that鈥檚 a big risk to take. Greenbury describes how one company boss was almost 鈥渄riven to dementia鈥� by the possibility that he could be investing in a hoax. 鈥淚f he was wrong, his board would sack him. Starlite was either one of the world鈥檚 big inventions, or it was custard.鈥�
By 2005 or so, Ward had still to strike a major deal, and Starlite languished unused. So he put fresh effort into publicity, set up a website and claimed to be working with a Texan investor. When in 2009, he said he was planning to make Starlite-coated fire doors, and was in fresh talks with an unnamed aircraft manufacturer. 鈥淭he interest is there, and growing,鈥� he said. But little happened. In May 2011 he died, without patenting or publishing any details of how his wonder material was made.
So why wouldn鈥檛 Ward loosen his grip on his invention? Certainly it can be tough for outsiders with a big idea to get the rewards they feel they deserve. And if Ward feared that his recipe might be stolen, he did have some justification. Take Robert Kearns, who invented the car windscreen wiper. In the 1960s, he showed his concept to automobile companies including Ford and Chrysler, but was rejected. A few years later, the wipers appeared on cars. Kearns successfully sued for infringement of his intellectual property. According to Greenbury, Ward was concerned that he would not be able to defend a patent in court if a large company decided to copy Starlite. 鈥淗e was never prepared to let his guard down,鈥� Greenbury says.
Yet Greenbury believes that Ward was never interested in the money. His thinks Ward wasn鈥檛 able to relinquish the role of expert. By passing on the responsibility for Starlite to trained scientists, Greenbury suggests, Ward would have lost this coveted status.
Most wanted
Although we may never know what motivated Ward, there is still a chance that his secret recipe has not been lost. A few years before his death, Ward appeared on a radio station called K-Talk, based in Utah. Towards the end of the presenter asked: 鈥淲hat if something terrible happens? What if you pass away?鈥� Ward dismissed the question. 鈥淢y family know how to make it,鈥� he replied.
Ward鈥檚 widow told New 杏吧原创 that the family would prefer to remain private about their plans for Starlite. They may, quite justifiably, want to put the experience behind them.
According to Mark Miodownik at University College London, who is compiling , this would be a great pity. If Miodownik had a 鈥渕ost wanted鈥� list of rare materials that he鈥檇 like to get his hands on, Starlite would be near the top.
Even though 20 years have passed since the wonder material made its debut, none of the materials scientists approached by New 杏吧原创 could name a polymer composite capable of protecting an egg in the way Starlite appeared to do. Most composites would quickly melt, burn or disintegrate.
Anything that promises the fire and heat-resistant properties of ceramics and can be applied to a surface as a room-temperature paste is a significant discovery, says Miodownik. 鈥淲hat seems peculiar about Starlite is that you can just paint it onto anything you want to protect,鈥� Miodownik says. Ceramics, by contrast, cannot be applied to delicate materials like wood or plastic without damaging them.
When Ward first daubed his material onto that egg, he surely could not have imagined the attention it would bring him. Although rigorous testing is still desperately needed, the tantalising possibility remains that this amateur inventor stumbled on something special. 鈥淣o material has ever come close to what Starlite does,鈥� Miodownik says. Starlite, it seems, deserves one more chance.
