Stories from the stores

Bank Holiday Mondays

May 31st, 2010 | by | engineering, road transport

May
31

What would you do on your perfect bank holiday Monday? Well I don’t know about you guys, but as a kid I always dreamt about owning a Lotus and going for drive in the country.

Lotus Elan

Lotus Elan (Wikipedia)

The Lotus Elan was originally conceived by Ron Hickman, the director of Lotus Engineering, in 1963. It was a deeply covetable sport car available in two models – one with fixed position head lights and the other with drop-heads.

If the Lotus Elan is the dream, the reality of the bank holiday tends to be a little different – DIY. My dad was a builder and I remember him getting a Black and Decker workmate one Christmas.  He used that thing almost to destruction and I learnt a few carpentry skills on it as well.

I think mum liked it as well as it saved our chairs from being used as saw horses.

This is exactly what motivated the inventor of the workmate, the very same Ron Hickman who came up with the Lotus Elan, after he sawed into a Windsor chair! We have an early version right here in our collection. I can’t explain the excitement when I saw it for the first time and the flashbacks it triggered.

Work Bench

Folding joiner's work bench, c 1969 (Science Museum)

I love the fact that the designer of a high-end sport car also invented such a critical aid for the everyday man.

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The man with the weather eye

May 27th, 2010 | by | weather

May
27

Towards the close of 1837 Patrick Murphy announced that January 20th would be the coldest day of the coming year. The day duly arrived and bitter cold confirmed the prediction. Booksellers were besieged by hordes of people demanding copies of Murphy’s Weather Almanac, which contained predictions for the whole year based on planetary and lunar influences. Murphy made his name as a weather prophet and a small fortune too, but he didn’t escape criticism.     

Caricature of Murphy entitled "The Man with the Weather Eye"

This satirical cartoon references a comic play, in which a learned gentleman mistakes a potato seller named Murphy for the famous meteorologist. The telescope, moon and stars are references to Murphy's astrometeorological theories. (Science Museum / Science & Society)

To some, astrological almanacs simply betrayed the credulity of the British public. However in the 19th century ‘scientific’ and ‘non-scientific’ understandings of weather were not clearly distinguished.  

Take Robert Fitzroy. Better known as the captain of HMS Beagle, the fellow of the Royal Society headed the newly formed Meteorological Department of the Board of Trade (later the Meteorological Office) from 1854. Fitzroy was no astrologist but he did speculate that the moon influenced atmospheric conditions. And many shared his hope that, with sufficient data, predicting the weather might one day become as reliable as predicting the motions of the heavens.   

Fitzroy’s Department had two aims: collecting ‘accurate and digested observations for the future use of men of science’ and, more practically, aiding navigation. Fitzroy supplied instruments and charts to ships’ Captains, who in return sent meteorological data back to London. He also loaned barometers to coastal villages to help fishermen plan their work safely.       

Detail of a Fitzroy storm barometer, c. 1880

Fitzroy storm barometer, c. 1880 (Science Museum / Science & Society)

Using telegraphy, Fitzroy gathered daily reports from a growing network of British and European observers. From 1861 he used this data to produce the first ’forecasts’, which were printed in the newspapers. They were eagerly consumed. However, some members of the scientific establishment worried that they blurred the boundaries between elite and popular forms of knowledge making.   

In 1866, following Fitzroy’s death, an official report found that ”the truth of [Fitzroy's forecasts] is warranted neither by science nor by experience”. Like Murphy’s almanac, they caused the public “to confuse real knowledge with ill founded pretences” and threatened the reputation of “true science”.  Against considerable resistance, the service was cancelled and for a time weather prediction was left to the successors of Patrick Murphy and his fellow weather prophets.

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Messing about in boats

May 26th, 2010 | by | transport, water transport

May
26

As you read this, I’m away on a short break, taking my first holiday on a canal boat with some friends.

Canals can tell us a great deal about our history and our national identity. This scene, on show in the ‘British small craft’ display in our shipping gallery, contrasts the old and the new on Britain’s inland waterways in the 1960s:

Canal boats display, Science Museum (David Rooney)

A working barge features in the foreground, while a (then) modern canal cruiser sits behind.

This shift of use, from haulage to leisure, is a fascinating story in Britain’s marine history, and the rest of the display similarly sheds light on how we felt about our coastal identity back in the 60s, and how it sat in wider culture.

British Transport Films cameraman filming canal boat, 1950 (NRM / BTF / Science & Society)

We’ve got a really interesting vacancy at the moment. If you’re thinking of starting a PhD, we’ve got funding from the Arts & Humanities Research Council to pay for a doctoral student to study our British small craft display.

You can find out more about the project, being run jointly between the University of Nottingham’s geography department and ourselves, here.

If you’re interested, please contact Professor David Matless at Nottingham for an informal discussion. Closing date for applications is Friday 4 June, with interviews being held at the Science Museum on Thursday 17 June.

Meanwhile, if I haven’t accidentally fallen in the Kennet & Avon canal, I’ll be back in London next week. Now, does anyone know how to steer this thing?

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Sound Advice

May 25th, 2010 | by | communication, physics, sound

May
25

I set out to the National Physical Laboratory the other day and on my way down Exhibition Road passed an elephant.

Elephant Family appeal, Exhibition Road

Elephant Family appeal, Exhibition Road, 2010 (Doug Millard)

Some 250 of these colourful models are being positioned across London to raise awareness and funds for the plight of their living cousins. A little later something niggled at the back of my mind – as though that elephant was trying to tell me something – but I thought no more of it and caught a train for Teddington and the NPL.

This, I’m ashamed to say, was my first visit to the Laboratory, also known as the National Measurement Institute, where, for over a century, physical standards have been measured, studied, applied or all three.

Scientists at the NPL, 1932

Scientists at the NPL, 1932 (Science Museum/Science & Society)

It was International Metrology Day, May 20th - exactly 135 years since seventeen nations agreed to the metre as the fundamental unit of length. The original Metre, made from platinum and iridium, is housed in Paris but the NPL has one of the carefully guarded official copies. These days a Metre is defined by the distance light travels in a vacuum during 1/299 792 458 of a second.

NPL also does a lot on sound - acoustics - and I was particularly impressed by the Laboratory’s anechoic chambers.

Science of Acoustics, 1850

Science of Acoustics, 1850 (Science Museum/Science & Society)

Now, while the Science Museum has all sorts of acoustics objects and pictures in its collections it has nothing like the NPL’s rather fearsome looking chambers where sounds produce no echo; here’s a link to one of the NPL’s anechoic chambers in action.

NPL Anechoic Chamber, 2010

NPL Anechoic Chamber, 2010 (Crown)

The NPL studies all manner of sounds, those the human ear can readily detect but also those at too high a frequency for us to hear – ultrasonic – or too low – infrasonic. Other animals are different, though: elephants, for example, have been shown to communicate using really low frequencies. Scientists suggest that this allows them to coordinate their own movements over distances of many kilometres. Maybe the Exhibition Road elephant was trying to tell me something earlier that day.

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When good doctors turn bad

May 24th, 2010 | by | medicine, public health

May
24

Three corrupt doctors

18th century caricature showing three corrupt doctors (Science Museum / Science & Society)

The Greek authorities recently named and shamed a number of tax-avoiding doctors. A move that is perhaps more revealing of blame-shifting than an indication that the profession is morally suspect. Not that doctors are always the saints we’d like them to be. Just because they’ve taken the Hippocratic Oath, doesn’t mean they’re going to stick to it.

Buried within our vast and varied medical collections are a number of objects associated with good doctors that turned (very) bad.

Dr Neill Cream objects

Photographs and letters relating to Dr Neill Cream (Science Museum)

Dr Neill Cream appears quite the dapper Victorian gentleman doctor. Born 160 years ago, on May 27, he was trained at prestigious medical schools in London and Edinburgh. But his charm and appearance belied his true character – a backstreet abortionist drawn to London’s sordid underbelly. Nicknamed the ‘Lambeth Poisoner’, he was hanged for a series of murders. His alleged cry of “I am Jack…” as the rope went taut would tantalize generations of Ripper enthusiasts. The letter, sent to his fiancée from prison, contains declarations of innocence – and a plea for an alibi.

Dr William Palmer's cigar case

Dr William Palmer's cigar case and cigar (Science Museum)

An even more infamous doctor once owned this cigar case – complete with unsmoked cigar. Dr William Palmer, aka the ‘Prince of Poisoners’, was one of the 19th century’s most notorious characters. Better suited to a life of drink and gambling than healing, Palmer was convicted of a single murder after a sensational trial. However, it is believed he poisoned many more – including his own children and other relatives. He was hanged in front of a crowd of some 30,000 in 1856, but lives on in the enduring pub refrain of ‘what’s your poison?’, believed to be inspired by his exploits.

Compared to Cream and Palmer, those Greek doctors seem paragons of virtue.

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