Stories from the stores

Walk into any museum curator’s office and you’ll encounter a mass of books and papers. It’s not that we’re messy – well okay, I am – but a lot of the material we use can’t always be found on the web. Even on Stories from the Stores.

One of my favourite books on my shelves is Astronomy Explained upon Sir Isaac Newton’s Principles by James Ferguson, who was born 300 years ago last Sunday. Published in 1785 (the first edition was 1756), it’s intended ‘for those who have not studied mathematics’ and contains beautifully illustrated explanations of how the Solar System works.

Ferguson in his study. (Science Museum)

Ferguson travelled around England giving lectures on natural philosophy. These were hugely popular, aided by the ingenious models he built to demonstrate scientific phenomena.

Ferguson's wooden orrery (c. 1755) uses hand-driven pulleys to demonstrate the motion of the Earth, Sun and Moon. (Science Museum)

Before moving to England and making his name as a lecturer, Ferguson lived in Edinburgh where he made a living as a miniature portrait painter. These pencil-and-ink miniatures show his talent:

Portrait miniatures made by Ferguson in the 18th century. (Science Museum)

And although you can’t find everything on the web that you can in a curator’s office, you can find out more about Ferguson for yourself by reading his autobiography here, and enjoy Astronomy Explained here.

Last time, I talked about early cycling, and today’s attempts to recreate the glamour of the past. Most of the time, though, cycling is just a practical, cheap and straightforward way to get around.

What makes it more flexible is the ability to mix modes – to combine cycling with rail travel, car or boat. Jimmy Savile made the point usefully in this 1982 BR poster:

'Ride it by rail' poster, 1982 (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

That family looks like it’s off on holiday, but commuters can benefit from mixed-mode journeys too, and this is where the folding bike comes in very handy (as most commuter trains don’t allow full-sized bikes at peak times).

The Folding Society is a great source of information for anyone thinking of buying a folder, as there are many excellent examples available. One popular make is Brompton, whose work we have on show at the museum.

Brompton L3 bicycle, made 2000 (David Rooney)

Last week, I took a look round Brompton’s west-London factory. Its location rather reinforces my point about mixed-mode journeys, hemmed in as it is by the M4 elevated motorway and a triangle of roads and railway lines.

M4 elevated motorway, 19 April 2010 (David Rooney)

Inside, the factory is a hive of activity as the bespoke cycles are manufactured, assembled, tested and shipped.

Brompton bicycle factory, 19 April 2010 (David Rooney)

Outside, I returned to the nearby Underground station and made my way back to work. Cities are great places for getting around, and the beauty is in the flexibility.

On foot, by car, on the roads or by rail, we switch from one mode to the other depending on what works best – and more often than not it’s quicker by bike!

As I’ve mentioned before, back in the Victorian age, the ‘ordinary’ bicycle, or penny-farthing, was the state of the art in cycle technology – and the height of fashion for brave men and women:

Lady and gentleman riding 'ordinary' cycles, 1874 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

As with most fashions, this one seems to have come around again. Earlier this month, 400 cyclists dressed in Edwardian and Victorian garb converged on London to take part in the twelve-mile 2010 Tweed Run.

I couldn’t make it myself, but judging by the many pictures on the web, these YouTube videos, and this Guardian write-up, it looks like a super time was had!

Whilst some chose to go retro in outfit alone, others took part on vintage machines too, including quite a few ordinaries.

The Science Museum has a splendid collection of about 150 bicycles, from the earliest days to the present. As we wait for next year’s Tweed Run, I thought you might like to see a few more of our historic machines…

Bayliss-Thomas ordinary bicycle, 1879 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Windsor 'ordinary' bicycle, 1878 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Singer 'Xtraordinary' bicycle, c.1884 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

These cycles, along with most of the rest of the collection, are in our store in Wiltshire. You can write to my Wroughton colleagues for an appointment if you want to study any of them, or if you want to see early cycles in historic context, come to the Science Museum and see the highlights.

Now, where did I put my plus-fours…

On Saturday I went to a conference commemorating the 150th anniversary of the foundation of the British Rainfall Organisation (BRO), organised by the history group of the Royal Meteorological Society. Here’s what I discovered…

The British Rainfall Organisation demonstrates the importance of networks in meteorology. It was founded in 1860 by George James Symons to coordinate rainfall observations by volunteers “of both sexes, all ages, and all classes”. 

Symons was known as kind man, who was supportive of his volunteers and had a twinkle in his eye (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Every morning at 9am hundreds of observers across the country (by 1900 there were 3,408 stations in Symons’s network) scurried into their back garden to inspect their rain gauges. They sent their results back to Symons, who analysed them and published them in British Rainfall magazine. In 1919 the BRO was taken over by the Met Office (who now make some of their rainfall data available online). However, ‘amateur’ observers still make important contributions to meteorology today, and I met some of them at the conference.

This particular rain guage, made in 1818, belonged to the famous meteorologist Luke Howard (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Site inspections and other quality control measures are an important aspect of managing any observation network. During a talk about the present-day rainfall network, I found out what this shiny instrument in our collection is for.  

A common issue with rain gauges is how exposed they are to wind, with very sheltered and very open sites both leading to inaccuracies. During a site inspection, this instrument is placed on top of the gauge and the domed surface reflects all the nearby obstacles – fences, hedges, buildings, etc. The scale allows exposure to be measured.

Clever. But everyone knows what the most useful, mushroom-like, rain-related instrument really is… 

This print, produced around 1845, satirised the fashion for umbrellas (Science Museum / Science and Society)

On Tuesday I attended our annual ‘Fellows of the Science Museum’ reception, in which we recognise the contributions of leading scientists and educators. This year we were particularly celebrating female scientists, with a speech from new Fellow Jocelyn Bell Burnell. 

Jocelyn in 1968. (Science Museum)

In 1967, Jocelyn was a PhD student at the Mullard Radio Astronomy Observatory in Cambridge. Her job was to analyse data from one of the telescopes for the characteristic twinkling of quasars. One day she noticed a ‘bit of scruff’ on the telescope’s charts and, rather than dismiss it as interference, decided to investigate further. It turned out to be a pulsed signal, always coming from the same patch of sky and repeating at regular intervals. For a short time, the Cambridge team had to consider the possibility that it was a signal from an alien civilisation – they jokingly dubbed it LGM-1, for Little Green Men.

The signal from the first pulsar appeared on the cover of Joy Division's 'Unknown Pleasures' LP. (Science Museum)

Jocelyn and her supervisor Antony Hewish (who’s also a Science Museum Fellow) soon detected signals from other parts of the sky and realised they had found a new class of cosmic object – a rapidly-spinning dense star. They are called pulsars and over 1800 are now known. 

Part of Jocelyn’s telescope is on display in Cosmos & Culture. It might take you a while to spot it, as it doesn’t look anything like your average telescope:

The pulsar array is now retired. During use, sheep kept the 4 acres of grass neatly trimmed. (Alison Boyle)

Jocelyn was recently the subject of the BBC’s Beautiful Minds.  Beauty is the theme of next Wednesday’s Science Museum Lates, and Jocelyn will be there talking about her work and inspirations. Hope to see you there!

Well, it’s Wednesday morning and it looks like we might soon be able to stop sheltering from the sky.

With air travel still a problem as airlines attempt to return to schedule, fresh attention has been turning to the sea. The Royal Navy brought home some travellers on a warship, and demand for ferries has been high.

For passengers between the UK and France or Belgium, the Eurostar rail service has been a possibility (if you can get a ticket). Back in 1936, when the Channel Tunnel was a distant dream, a new train ferry service linking London and Paris was considered state of the art:

'The New Train Ferry Boats' poster, 1936 (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

Passengers boarded trains at London Victoria and disembarked at Paris Gare du Nord, fresh from a night’s sleep (give or take a carriage swap or two at Dover and Dunkirk, depending on the depth of their pockets).

The ‘Night Ferry’, as it was known, continued until 1980, when competition from airlines had got too great. Thirty years on, though, is it time to reconsider this slower, but perhaps surer, form of travel?

'Night Ferry' poster, 1959 (NRM / Pictorial Collection / Science & Society)

Air travel is a wonderful invention, in my view, but it’s not without challenges, and one big problem comes from relying on it to the exclusion of other forms of transport.

This week’s been a bit of a wake-up call. It’s forced us to remember that we’re a maritime nation, and whatever happens in the air, the ferries keep on sailing. We shouldn’t forget that fact once the ash cloud disperses, because who knows what might happen next?

What’s in a name? I ask with the new ‘United Kingdom Space Agency’ in mind. The ‘muscular’ new space agency was launched with a new punchy logo but, I fear, a rather weak name. We might shorten it to something pronounced UK-SAR or perhaps to a simple abbreviation reading YOO-KAY-ESS-AY.

Back in the 60s a fair chunk of UK space research was carried out at the Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE – pronounced AR-AY-EE) in Farnborough, Hampshire.

The Science Museum has many examples of the Establishment’s experimental work, which extended well beyond space endeavours like the Skylark rocket:

Skylark rocket launch (Science & Society)

To aviation research including the Concorde project and high altitude suiting:

Upper half of partial-pressure suit, ca. 1954 (Science Museum/Science & Society)

And on to breakthrough technologies, like the strengthening of carbon fibre:

Oven for making carbon fibre, ca. mid 1960s (Science Museum/Science & Society)

But back to the RAE name itself, which substituted ‘Air’ with ‘Aerospace’ in 1988 then, as rationalisation and privatisation beckoned, ditched the whole caboodle in favour of DRA (Defence Research Agency), DERA (Defence Evaluation Research Agency) and finally to the present post-privatisation forms of QinetiQ – the company – and DSTL (Defence Science and Technology Laboratory) – a government agency… which brings us back to UKSA.

On April 1^st 2010 UKSA takes over from BNSC (British National Space Centre) which had been coordinating the UK’s various space activities for over 25 years. Some say it was doomed because it lacked a dedicated budget or executive powers, but I suspect the main reason it was finally killed off was its lack of vowels: BNSC - try making a memorable acronym out of that…

Whereas NASA – whoa! Consonant-vowel-consonant-vowel, guaranteed to stick in the mind. That’s really how America got to the Moon – by perfecting the art of abbreviating and acronyming. They made a science of it.

Will UKSA achieve the same? Best ask how the following got on with the same letters: United Kingdom Sailing Academy; United Kingdom Skateboarding Academy and United Kingdom & Irish Samba Association … and there’s plenty more where these came from.

What a spectacularly unexpected week it’s been for transport. I don’t suppose many of us imagined seeing this kind of warning notice on the Underground…

London Underground notice warning of volcanic ash, 15 April 2010 (David Rooney)

As I write this at the weekend, the volcano is still erupting, and pretty much all UK flights have been grounded since Thursday afternoon.

It’s dangerous to attempt to fly through the ash cloud, as news reports have explained. The ash contains glass which can melt and then harden inside jet engines, causing them to shut down. Airlines are now carrying out test flights to assess the potential for damage.

Seeing this huge Rolls-Royce RB211 engine in the Science Museum’s Flight gallery gives an idea of the size and complexity of modern jet engines, which are masterpieces of precision engineering.

Rolls-Royce RB211 jet engine, 1970 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

But, as we’ve all been reminded this week, the power of the jet engine is nothing in the face of violent nature.

Scientists have been studying volcanoes and their effects for centuries, with scientific explorers in the eighteenth century making some strikingly beautiful images of volcanic eruptions and their aftermath.

Eruption of Mount Vesuvius, 1779 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

These etchings of a 1779 eruption of Italy’s Mount Vesuvius by Peter Fabris, from William Hamilton’s Campi Phlegraei, demonstrate the sheer force involved.

Eruption of Mount Vesuvius, 1779 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Our copy of Campi Phlegraei is housed at the Science Museum Library and Archives at Wroughton. All the images have been scanned for our Ingenious website – see them here – or why not make an appointment to see them in the flesh?

If you’re stuck for something to do this weekend, don’t miss the rare chance to ride a steam train in Hyde Park.

A fully-working reproduction of our 1829 Stephenson’s Rocket is steaming up and down a specially-laid track in Kensington Gardens, just by the Albert Memorial, offering passengers the chance to experience the earliest days of railways.

Engineers installing track for 'Rocket' rides, 26 March 2010 (David Rooney)

The reproduction was built in 1979 and, like today, ran up and down a track in Kensington Gardens. Lots of people I’ve spoken to this Easter have fond memories of the 1979 run…

Reproduction of Stephenson's 'Rocket' being packed away, 1979 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

That was 31 years ago; to put it into perspective, that’s almost exactly how long the original Rocket was in use before going on display in South Kensington in 1862. It’s amazing how much can change in three short decades…

Rocket’s last London ride will be on Sunday afternoon, so if this sounds like your sort of thing, don’t delay. Adults ride for a fiver with children travelling half-price, and everyone gets a souvenir goody-bag.

Then visit the Science Museum nearby (for free) to see the real thing in Making the Modern World.

Stephenson's 'Rocket', 1829 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Our sister museum, the National Railway Museum in York, is in charge of the repro Rocket, and has another replica on show in its Great Hall, made in 1935 by the Robert Stephenson company.

Sectioned replica of Stephenson's 'Rocket', 1935 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Ride the reproduction in Kensington Gardens - then see the original at the Science Museum – then head for the National Railway Museum to see what it looks like inside! It’s a rocket-propelled steam dream this Easter…

My colleague Vicky is right. Spring is finally here. And yet… winter drags on, as the lingering winter vomiting disease continues to make its presence felt.

A family of viruses – known as the noroviruses – thrive in crowded conditions and are especially fond of schools, where pupils then take bugs home. An unpleasant scenario my young daughter and I played out a few days ago.

Avoiding it is partly down to luck. But one major defence is the good old public health maxim – ‘wash your hands after you’ve been’. While such basic hygiene seems obvious, there was a time we barely used to bother.

Public health poster from the 1950s. (Science Museum / Science & Society)

A Hungarian doctor, Ignaz Semmelweis, first highlighted the life-saving potential of hand-washing in 1847.  Like other champions of medical hygiene, such as Joseph Lister, he was initially ridiculed. Only after the acceptance of germ theory were such good practices really followed.

Hygienic habits amongst the public were also slow to catch on. Access to clean water was limited in 19^th century Britain and many homes didn’t have sinks, let alone bathrooms.

The 'Optimus' water closet. (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Lavatories, like the one above, were reserved for wealthier backsides. Public toilets, when they arrived, cost money. Most people relied on unhygienic communal toilets which had to service many households. And not without reason were the Victorian masses called ‘the great unwashed’. Effective soap was a luxury until well into the 20^th century.

We have examples of such products in one our smellier store cupboards. Cakes of soap still queasily fragrant nearly a century after they were made.

Cakes of soap (Stewart Emmens)

In time, good hygiene was seen as a public duty, especially in regard to washing hands. But people do need reminding.

Public health stickers (Stewart Emmens)

These stickers are from the mid 20^th century and were to be placed in staff toilets, especially those used by people preparing food. Because then, as now, you didn’t really want any little ‘hidden extras’ with your pie and chips.