By June 1980 I had reached the top of the technical promotion ladder. I was twenty‑eight, and there was talk of “man management”. The implication was clear: if you were good enough technically, the next step was to stop being technical.
I remember a long discussion with the departmental management about the difference between technical leadership and man management.
To my mind, technical leadership was pulling — setting direction, solving problems, helping people do their best work. Man management was pushing — allocating tasks, monitoring performance, dealing with the machinery of hierarchy.
I thought both were valuable. I just knew which one I was built for.
The promotion ladder didn’t recognise that distinction. It felt like someone saying, “You’re the best carpenter we’ve got. How do you feel about becoming an electrician?” The logic was tidy on paper and absurd in practice.
I didn’t want to manage carpenters. I didn’t want to become an electrician. I wanted to make things and to help others to make things.
And Rolls‑Royce no longer felt like a place that wanted me to make things.
So I stepped away. Not because the work had changed, but because the meaning of the work had1.