Labour relations have always been good at Pledge's Purer Pickles; the last strike there was solved quite happily when Winston Churchill ordered the troops in. Demarcation disputes are unknown; cauliflower cutters get the same piece-work rates as gherkin girls, and the beetroot-boilers are totally happy with their two shillings a week danger money. Fringe benefits are good. You can take home as many misshapen pickled onions as you can carry. So why is there the smell of revolution in the air?