Stories from the stores

Preparing for the worst

September 17th, 2010 | by | medicine, public health, war

Sep
17

Seventy years ago, the bombing Blitz on Britain was into its second week.

London remained the main target and amongst landmarks damaged on the night of September 18th 1940 were the world famous Lambeth Walk and the John Lewis department store on Oxford Street. While across the city, around 200 civilians were killed and 550 injured.

Bomb damage 1940

Bomb damage in central London, 1940 (Science Musuem / Science & Society)

Such daily figures were typical in a month that left nearly 6,000 Londoners dead. But although the numbers were horrific, they were a fraction of those planned for in the pre-War period. Things were expected to be much, much worse.

In 1938, renowned British scientist J.B.S. Haldane predicted up to 100,000 deaths in an opening raid on the capital, while the Royal Air Force expected 20,000 casualties daily once German bombing begun. Plans were made to set aside 750,000 hospital beds and stockpile up to a million coffins.

Gas drill 1934

London schoolchildren being taught how to use gas masks, November 1934 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

The use of poisonous gas was also anticipated. Civilian gas drills had become increasingly common as war loomed and by 1940 around 38 million masks had been issued to the population – from babies to centenarians. 

Baby's gas mask

Baby's gas mask, c1939 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

As well as gas masks, our museum stores hold other reminders of this expected threat. For example, the small kit shown below was to familiarise Air Raid Wardens with the tell-tale odours of different gases. 

Poison gas ID kit

Poison gas identification kit issued during the Second World War (Science Museum)

As it was, the predicted civilian casualty figures for wartime Britain were wildly inaccurate. But then sustained, widespread aerial bombing of urban areas was – up until then – both an unknown quantity and a terrifying prospect. As post-war Prime Minister Harold Macmillan later remarked, “We thought of air warfare in 1938 rather as people think of nuclear warfare today”.

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Polar exploration

September 15th, 2010 | by | earth sciences, exploration

Sep
15

In my previous post I mentioned Sir John Franklin’s doomed expedition to the Canadian Arctic, on which the HM ships Erebus and Terror tragically disappeared with all 129 men on board after the summer of 1845.

While we wait and see what Canada’s renewed rescue efforts might discover about Franklin’s last journey, I think there are some items from his more successful voyages in the Science Museum’s stores that deserve a closer look.

Variation compass and magnetometer, by Henry Barrow & Co. (Adrian Whicher / Science Museum)

One such object is a variation compass and magnetometer, which would have helped determine a true course in relation to the magnetic and geographic norths (which do not coincide, as you may know), as well as measuring the intensity of the earth’s magnetic forces at different points at sea. Apparently used by Franklin on some of his Arctic voyages, it was later also used by others looking for the man among the ice! 

To complete my imaginary trek from pole to pole, I also found a Robinson dip circle taken to the other extreme of the globe by Sir James Clark Ross, on board HMS Terror, of all vessels.

A dip circle by Robinson, c.1830. (Alison Boyle / Science Museum)

After a string of successful expeditions up north, Ross set off on a magnetic survey mission to circumnavigate Antarctica between 1839 and 1843.

The magnetic needle of the dip circle, resting on the pivot at the centre of its case, would align itself to the Earth’s magnetic field, so the angle it made with the horizontal plane could be read off the graduated frame – this was of particular interest in polar regions, where the downward pull is the greatest, and where navigation with other instruments proved more difficult.

And to think that all this mileage is now under one roof…

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Northward Ho!

September 13th, 2010 | by | earth sciences, exploration, physics

Sep
13

I’ve been rummaging through the Science Museum’s collections looking for objects related to terrestrial magnetism and scientific expeditions.

I smiled when I came across the musical scores for “Northward Ho! or Baffled not Beaten” in a popular song catalogue from 1875 - it really brought home just how much Arctic exploration captured people’s imaginations in the second half of the nineteenth century.

Sheet music cover of "Northward Ho!" (Alison Boyle / Science Museum)

Commander John P. Cheyne of the Royal Navy, who penned the words for this dashing tune, was himself an Arctic officer. He took part in several voyages to the north, including Sir James Clark Ross’s 1848-9 search for Sir John Franklin’s lost expedition of 1845.

Franklin had been searching for the North-West Passage, when he and his crew suddenly vanished. Over the next fifteen years or so several expeditions were launched to find the missing hero, but only a few ominous clues about the men’s fate were ever found.

Sir John Franklin, 1824. (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Still, to Cheyne and others Franklin’s name would stand next to those of other revered explorers like Sir John Ross (James Clark Ross’s uncle*, as it happens) and Sir William Parry.

Lyrics from 'Northward Ho!" (Alison Boyle / Science Museum)

The cover print of the song shows three hot-air balloons, Enterprise, Resolute, and Discovery, preparing for flight in the Arctic. Balloons had been proposed as a method of reaching the North Pole as early as the 1870s as they could avoid some of the hardships and dangers of a journey by sledge or on foot, and could also provide useful platforms for making scientific measurements at higher altitudes.

Expeditions may have been a question of sport and glory, but they were also intended to gather accurate scientific data on a large number of natural phenomena, including the Earth’s magnetic field. Investigating terrestrial magnetism made a lot of sense in the nineteenth century, since the required equipment could improve the efficiency of navigation across the oceans.

'Proposed Method of Reaching the North Pole by Balloons', c 1880s. (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Some brave explorers, like Franklin, didn’t make it back from the unchartered northern territories. But the lucky ones returned with the magnetic instruments that had made their voyages possible. Many of them are now in the Museum’s store rooms. More about these soon…

*[Edited on 15/09/10]

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From Vulcan to UAV

September 10th, 2010 | by | aviation, meta, war

Sep
10

The Farnborough Air Show is a biennial jamboree that’s actually more market place than show. It’s where you come to buy aircraft or satellites or spare parts or just about anything you might need if your business is about flying high. 

Crowds watching Vulcan XH558 landing at the Farnborough Air Show, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Crowds watching Avro Vulcan XH558 landing at the Farnborough Air Show, 2010 (Doug Millard)

But this year I abandoned the trade halls to watch the Avro Vulcan XH558 bomber take off – its Olympus engines howling like no other jet, and then land, having thrilled the crowds with a beautiful, graceful and yes – awesome flying display – the only Vulcan that is airworthy. 

Vulcan XH558 soars overhead at Farnborough, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Vulcan XH558 soars overhead at Farnborough, 2010 (Doug Millard)

I got talking to Michael Trotter, Business Development Manager of the ‘Vulcan to the Sky’ Trust whose volunteers had made XH558 airworthy once more. He was interested in the Science Museum’s Blue Steel stand-off bomb – as carried by Vulcans during the Cold War. 

Blue Steel

Trial Version of Blue Steel now in the Science Museum's Collections (Science Museum/Science & Society)

I was thinking of this the other day while reading an RAF Defence Studies booklet on UAVs – Unmanned Aerial Vehicles. According to its historical preamble the Blue Steel – which separated from the aircraft before accelerating to its target – would be classed as a form of UAV – after all, it was unmanned. But UAVs usually return to their owners – which the nuclear-tipped Blue Steel certainly wasn’t designed to do. 

Phoenix UAV shortly after launch, ca. 1990 (BAe Systems)

Phoenix UAV shortly after launch, ca. 1990 (BAe Systems)

The Phoenix UAV was designed to return – by parachute – having reconnoitred the battlefield, and the Museum recently acquired one to add to its small squadron of historic UAVs. 

The paper I was reading predicted an ever-increasing use of UAVs in the years to come. There were certainly plenty on static display at the Farnborough market place this year: 

Global Hawk, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Global Hawk, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Fire Scout,2010 (Doug Millard)

Fire Scout,2010 (Doug Millard)

Phantom Ray, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Phantom Ray, 2010 (Doug Millard)

 I wonder whether today’s market is likely to be tomorrow’s show?

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A glass act

September 9th, 2010 | by | astronomy, photography, puns, women in science

Sep
09

Today in 1839, John Herschel made the first photograph on glass. The plate, with the image now faded almost beyond recognition, is in the care of our colleagues at the National Media Museum.

The first photograph on glass, 1839, is kept in a commemorative case (National Media Museum / Science & Society).

The image was of the 40ft telescope built by John’s father William, something of  a tourist attraction due to its size. By the time this photograph was taken only the telescope support frame remained, with the tube already removed – the structure had begun to rot after years of disuse and John set about dismantling the telescope for the safety of his small children.

This is one of only 25 prints made from the original photograph (Science Museum).

A few years later, Herschel discovered the cyanotype or blueprinting process. His friend Anna Atkins used this process to make the first book with photographic illustrations, Photographs of British Algae.

Anna Atkins's cyanotype of a British Fern, 1853 (National Media Museum / Science & Society).

In 1867 another female pioneer of photography, Julia Margaret Cameron, made this extraordinary portrait of the ageing Herschel, who had been a longstanding supporter of her work.

Herschel at 75, by Julia Margaret Cameron (NMeM / Royal Photographic Society / Science & Society)

Regular readers of this blog will have noticed by now that I tend to bang on about the Herschel family a lot (like here, or here). It’s rather hard not to, as various members were hugely influential across a wide range of the sciences. And I haven’t even started on the younger members of the family yet … more blogs to follow, no doubt!

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