Stories from the stores

The V2 rocket engine was the first ballistic missile, built by the Nazis to fire missiles at London, but that wasn’t the only part it had to play in history.

V2 Rocket

It could travel at three times the speed of sound and was the first man-made object that had the capability to reach space.

On the 16 July, 1969 the Apollo 11 mission allowed the first men to walk on the moon. The Saturn V rockets which took up each of the Apollo craft used six J2 engines – developed from the V2 by some of the designers that worked on the V2.

Apollo 10

So how did Wernher von Braun, the designer of a powerful German weapon then design the engine that helped America land on the moon?

As World War II was ending, Von Braun surrendered to American troops. Von Braun and his team were moved to Fort Bliss, Texas, under the top secret Operation Paperclip.

The V2 was chosen as one of our centenary icons, because it launched us into space. But as the power behind the first long-range missiles, it also threatened to destroy our world. An engine of war and discovery, these rockets have a legacy that still looms over us today. You can see them both in our Exploring Space gallery.

V2 and J2 engine

As we navigate our way through the festive season, and possibly eat and drink a little more than is wise, it is always worth remembering the most basic transportation device of all: Shank’s pony, or going for a walk.

Maybe you’re a sporty type like these two, full of energy and ready to bound out of the house for a good stride across the countryside…

'Hiking' railway poster, c.1930s (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

You can even keep count of your paces as you march along using a pedometer…

Pedometer, eighteenth century (Science Museum / Science & Society)

But if that’s not sporty enough for you, you could always try wing-walking…

Mr Hearns wing-walking on an Avro 504K biplane, 1932 (Simmons Aerofilms / Science & Society)

This fearless chap is wing-walking on an Avro 504K biplane. You can see one of these aircraft suspended from the ceiling of our Making the Modern World gallery, but I wouldn’t try climbing onto the wing if I were you…

On Christmas Day, I showed you one of the sleighs in our transport collection. Sorry about the singing, by the way. I hope it was in tune.

Sleighs were very important vehicles in heavy snow in many parts of the world, and continued to be used long after motor cars became popular. We’ve got a handful of sleighs and sledges in our stores, including two push-sleighs at opposite ends of the glamour spectrum:

Push sledge for a child, date unknown (Science Museum)

Ornamental Dutch push-sleigh (Science Museum / Science & Society)

That Dutch sleigh is quite a beauty, isn’t it. What a way to travel! However, maybe you want a bit more speed, a bit more power. Well, rail travel isn’t out of the question. Last time I was at our store in West London, I enountered this great Victorian model of an ice locomotive designed for use in Russia:

Model of an ice locomotive (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Sometimes, though, it’s time to wheel out the serious kit. If you’re planning a Trans-Antarctic Expedition, this Tucker Sno-Cat might be just the job:

Tucker Sno-Cat tracked vehicle, 1955 (Science Museum)

If cold-weather transport is up your street, I haven’t found much written about the history of snow and ice transport, but I did come across ‘Snow travel and transport’, by Walter Lorch (The Gawsworth Series, 1977). It’s got lots of great pictures and information, and I’m sure you could find a second-hand copy on that book website named after a big river in South America…

Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh, o’er the fields we go, laughing all the way!

Bells on bobtail ring, making spirits bright, oh, what fun it is to sing a sleighing song tonight!

One-horse open sleigh, Science Museum collection, c.1880s (Science Museum)

[All together now:] Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh,

jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh!

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, and I’ll be off to the homestead in South Shields for a few days of rest, reading and relaxation. But I’ve got to get there first. Here’s how I imagine my journey will pan out:

It’s an early start at King’s Cross station…

'Going North, King's Cross Station', 1893 (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

…before I clamber aboard my fast train heading north on the east coast main line.

London & North Eastern Railway locomotive 'Mallard', 1938 (National Railway Museum / Science & Society)

With luck, I’ll arrive into the glorious Newcastle Central station three hours later…

'Interior of the Central Railway Station, Newcastle', 1850 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

…and onwards to South Shields, where I was born and brought up.

'South Shields' LNER poster (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

I’ll probably give the open air bathing pool a miss this year, but I’m sure I’ll find time to tread the golden sands during marine promenades (or maybe I’ll just curl up cosy with a book).

Do I have too romantic a vision for my Christmas excursion? I hope not. But one thing’s for sure: I’ll be far away from broadband and blogging software, so I’ve pre-recorded some festive posts and cued them up ready to be released (as if by digital magic) while I’m away. Do check back, if you feel like it, on Christmas Day, the following Monday and Wednesday, and on New Year’s Day. Normal service resumes on Monday the 4th.

Season’s greetings, dear readers!

It’s been a terrible few days for Eurostar and passengers trying to use the Channel Tunnel, following multiple train failures. As I write this (Monday morning) it’s still not resolved.

A tunnel under the Channel has been an engineering dream for more than two centuries. Tunneling under water brings a whole heap of technical difficulties, and the first successful underwater tunnel was not opened until 1843 when Marc Brunel completed his Thames Tunnel in London, now part of the East London Railway. We’ve a lovely Thames Tunnel peepshow on display at the museum, if you’re passing, and here’s an early print of the scheme:

Thames Tunnel, 1826 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Through the rest of the nineteenth century and into the twentieth, many proposals for a tunnel connecting England and France were made, but it wasn’t until 1994 that the dream became a reality.

But the engineer’s dream was the politician’s nightmare. This print from our pictorial collection, dated 1798, depicts a French invasion of Britain by sea, air, and an underwater tunnel. With Britain at war with France at the time, these fears were real and pressing. As I’ll mention in my first post of the new year, the Channel had been crossed by balloon just a few years earlier. Truly, England was no longer an island.

'Divers projets sur la descente en Angleterre', 1798 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

We’ve lots of fascinating stuff in our collections relating to the long history of channel tunnel attempts. You can find some of it in our online catalogue here. If you’re near York, it’s well worth calling in at the National Railway Museum, which has a Channel Tunnel train and display in its Great Hall. And if you’re caught up in the current problems, well, good luck.

Picture the scene. Two men are lurking at a London station, waiting for the Glasgow train. The train arrives and a third man disembarks, wheeling a suitcase. The three exchange some quick words of identification, the Londoners give the man from Glasgow an envelope of papers and he hands over the suitcase. The Londoners jump into a taxi with the suitcase … which contains a 23kg sapphire.

No, it’s not a scene from the latest Bond movie. The man on the Glasgow train was astronomer Martin Hendry and the others were my colleagues Doug and Chris. Martin’s department loaned us the sapphire for display, and rather than send our van the whole way to Glasgow and back we kept our carbon footprint down by arranging to  meet when Martin had to be in London anyway. Martin was back in London last weekend, and here he is with the sapphire in the Cosmos & Culture gallery.

Martin checks we're taking care of his sapphire

‘What sapphire?’ you might ask. If you were expecting something blue and multifaceted, look again. It’s the round clear object on the front shelf. It’s pure synthetic sapphire and it’s a test mass for an experiment called GEO600, which is using laser beams to try and detect gravitational waves, tiny ripples in space-time predicted by Einstein. To find out more about these types of experiment work, check out this video on our YouTube channel. 

Martin joined us to give a talk as part of our Cosmic Explorers Day event, which was supported by the Royal Astronomical Society as part of the International Year of Astronomy 2009 celebrations.  The day looked at how we make sense of space (or try to) and the enduring influence of Albert Einstein. But Einstein’s influence has spread far beyond astronomy – here’s a fun example from our collections.

An unusual use of Einstein's image (Credit: Science Museum)

Why use an image of a German-Swiss-American theoretical physicist to sell an Australian shoe spray?  Well, Einstein did have sweaty feet (which, along with varicose veins, got him out of doing Swiss national service) and famously never wore socks, but the packaging makes no reference to this. The famous image of the white-haired scientist seems to have been used to reinforce the makers’ claim that the spray is ‘scientifically proven’ to eliminate shoe odours, showing how Einstein has become the face of science for many. Martin evidently approves – look at his Tshirt – although we are sure he has very fragrant feet!

If, like me, you use the railways a lot to get around, you’ll know that the timetables changed last weekend. For those living in the south-east of England, it’s said to be the biggest timetable shake-up in 40 years. With so many services being altered, it’s more important than ever to know the right time.

Our newly-refurbished ‘Measuring Time’ gallery is stuffed with clocks and watches from the Middle Ages to the present. It’s a great collection and well worth spending time in. One highlight is a huge turret clock from Wells Cathedral, still in full working order.

Wells Cathedral, c.1880 (NMeM / Science & Society)

The clock now on show in our gallery was made in 1392, and is the third oldest surviving clock in the world (and only six years younger than the oldest, which is at Salisbury Cathedral). It’s huge, and a joy to watch in operation. Here’s a detail of the escapement (the bit that ticks):

Detail of the Wells Cathedral clock, 1392 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

The clock chimes on the quarter-hours and strikes the hours, and the majestic sound of the bells as they ring across the Science Museum’s central galleries is a joy to hear. Still keeping time after over 600 years!

British Railways Western Region poster promoting services to Wells, 1950s (NRM / Science & Society)

Coming back to the railways, this 1950s British Railways poster shows the prominent position of Wells Cathedral over the city. No excuses for missing your train…

Some time ago, I told you about Louis Brennan’s remarkable gyroscopic monorail car. His 1907 model is at the National Railway Museum in York. Brennan used it to convey somewhat reluctant family members across his garden on a stretched wire.

Louis Brennan's gyrocar prototype (Science Museum)

He went on to make a full-sized version, capable of carrying ten tons…

Louis Brennan's gyroscopic monorail car, c.1910 (Science Museum)

… which was displayed in 1910 at the Japan-British Exhibition at London’s White City.

Japan-British Exhibition catalogue, 1910 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

By then, his invention had become well-known. H. G. Wells, in his 1908 book ‘The War in the Air’, describes a remarkable near-future in which Brennan’s monorail was used to connect countries and span seas. Here’s Wells’s vision:

'Presently the English Channel was bridged', 1908 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Wells wrote, ’Brennan sprang his gyroscopic mono-rail car upon the Royal Society. It was the leading sensation of the 1907 soiree … the great inventor expounded his discovery, and sent his obedient little model of the trains of the future up gradients, round curves and across a sagging wire.’

It seems certain Wells had seen Brennan’s device in the flesh. He went on, ‘It ran along its single rail, on its single wheels, simple and sufficient; it stopped, reversed, stood still, balancing perfectly. It maintained its astounding equilibrium amidst a thunder of applause.’

Yet Wells hit on the human factor that would prevent the gyrocar ever taking off. ‘The audience dispersed at last, discussing how far they would enjoy crossing an abyss on a wire cable. “Suppose the gyroscope stopped!”‘

The War in the Air is a remarkable book. More about it – and gyroscopic monorails – in future posts.

The wonderful caricature of a windswept midwife by Thomas Rowlandson in my last post got me browsing through other prints by this famous artist. They’re a great window into the past.

Sea monster devouring a fleet of ships, Thomas Rowlandson, 1811 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

The caption of this one states, ‘Lose their compass, their ship slips between the teeth of a fish unknown in this part of the world’. Not what you want to happen, really, when out for a sail.

It was one of Rowlandson’s wonderful images to accompany the tall tales of German baron Karl Munchhausen, who fought for the Russian military against the Turks in the eighteenth century. This was a busy time for sailors, with seafaring nations taking to the water with great vigour to trade, explore and fight (often in the same voyage).

We’ve hundreds of exquisite model ships in our collections, mostly on display in our shipping galleries. If you are looking for a contemplative escape from the pressures of the day, they’re well worth a visit if you’re nearby.

Model of a 50-gun warship, 1730s (Science Museum / Science & Society)

This is one of the many eighteenth-century models of British wooden warships we’ve got. The detail is exquisite, and the story of the Georgian navy is fascinating. Naval historian N.A.M. Rodger’s book, ‘The wooden world’, is superb, if you’re interested.

Mariner's compass, eighteenth century (Science Museum / Science & Society)

But what about that pesky lost compass, in Rowlandson’s print? Well, perhaps it is forever lost, but fear not. You will be pleased to learn that others from this period have survived. Here’s one. We’ve lots. Bon voyage!