All posts by Tim Jones

Science communicator who researches, strategises, writes, markets, in an atheistic, artistic, married, enthusiastic way....

astronomy, nature, Physics, weather

Mountains and Moonbows

September 29, 2010 Tim Jones Leave a comment

What do aurora, noctilucent clouds, sun-dogs, and green flash have in common ? Answer: they’re all examples of rare and interesting visual atmospheric phenomena I’ve totally failed to observe this summer.

Moon Ring — Lunar corona and Lenticular Clouds, Jungfrau Massive (Photo: Tim Jones, Darkroommatter.com)

Conditions have often been right, even optimal. I’ve made repeated observations with sophisticated equipment: my eyes and a camera, but no joy. The only solace for standing in a field staring at the twilight horizon for nights on end has been the proximity of the local hostelry. On reflection not such a bad deal.

I’ve had better luck in the past, but more so with the moon than the sun. Take the example above of a lunar corona in the Swiss mountains. Snapped between avalanches from an improvised snow-hole during my ascent of the Eiger from the window of the Beau Rivage Hotel in Interlaken.

Lunar coronae are in no way attached to the moon, but are an earthbound visual effect caused by moonlight passing through clouds of small particles. As it’s a diffraction effect rather than a refraction effect, it works even with particles that don’t transmit light, like pollen grains for instance. In this case the effect is most likely caused by water droplets in clouds. The same thing happens with the sun sometimes, the visual ‘corona’ in that case not to be confused with the physical corona that is attached to the sun – so to speak.

Talking of confusion, lunar coronae, or moonbows, are not the same thing as Moon Rings. I made that mistake when I started writing this piece and subsequently had to change the title. A Moon Ring is just a name, but it’s a name specifically reserved for a ring of light caused by the refraction of moonlight through high altitude ice crystals. Because ice crystals are hexagonal in shape, they all refract light at the same angle, which from an observer’s viewpoint produces a ring concentric with the moon at a fixed radius of 22 degrees (for fuller explanation see here). Measured across the sky, that looks like 44 moons put next to each other (the moon takes up roughly half a degree of the 180 degrees of the sky we can see at any time). The ring in my picture is at most ten moon diameters from the moon’s disc, or five degrees. So it ain’t a Moon Ring.

A lunar corona can be more spectacular though, and if the conditions are right, a whole rainbow of colours can spread out from the inner ring, going from red to blue.

On a different tack now….

Apart from the moonbow, this scene includes an almost text-book perfect example of a mountain weather phenomenon known as Mountain Waves and Lenticular Cloud formation.

Lenticular clouds over the Jungfrau Massive by moonlight — Blow-up of the scene above showing moonlit lenticular clouds forming over the Jungfrau Massive (Photo:Tim Jones)

When air is forced to rise by flowing up the side of a mountain, it can cool down sufficiently, to the dewpoint temperature, where water vapour condenses to form clouds. (That is adiabatic cooling and cloud formation as first explained by Erasmus Darwin. Just sayin’.) When the air descends on the other side of the mountain, it warms up to above the dewpoint and the cloud disappears, the water drops vapourising again. The isolated cap left on top of the mountain is a lenticular cloud.

That said, what I think we’re seeing in the photo here is a special circumstance for lenticular cloud formation that I first came across as a trainee private pilot. In this case, air flowing over the mountains is trapped under a higher layer of stable air, causing standing waves to be set up, with lenticular clouds peeling off the cusps.

kanagawa — Reminiscent of a Katsushika Hokusai painting

The same conditions generate a series of turbulent rotating eddies lower down on the lee side of the mountain which can cause so-called ‘rotor clouds’ or ‘roll clouds’ to form. It’s best not to fly anywhere near areas of rotating turbulence, so these clouds are good visual warnings for pilots to take special care (although as the mountain wave effect can extend 30 or forty miles downwind of a large range, you’re just as likely to feel the warning).

For a close-up view of a lenticular cloud, here is a lenticular altocumulus I snapped this summer floating off the leeward side of the San Gabriel Mountains in California. The bulges are caused by rotating air under the cloud.

lenticular cloud formation off San Gabriel mountains in S.California — Lenticular cloud formation (Photo: Tim Jones)

That then about wraps it up for mountains and moonbows. Just to leave you in the true spirit of transparent open-book research and a view of the laboratory where the Swiss studies were made, complete with proof of location. And flowers.

windowbox — Armchair atmospheric physics (Photo: Tim Jones)

Update November 2011 – Here’s another lunar corona; this time with Jupiter and taken from Kingston upon Thames:

Of related interest on external sites:

Rare Green Flashes Captured from the Moon (Universe Today)

http://www.sciencebase.com/science-blog/cloud-spotting.html

http://blogs.agu.org/wildwildscience/2011/12/17/magic-clouds-in-the-magic-city/

Biography, education, Physics

Of Physics, Firearms, and Fireworks

September 23, 2010 Tim Jones 4 Comments

I learnt only recently, while researching the early use of computers in schools, that my physics teacher from the late seventies, John Page, had died during 2009.

Better known by his nickname ‘Bumble’ (possibly after the Dickens character), he was certainly a character himself. He was also a teacher who encouraged me to think.

bumblememorial — Reproduced from the Gateway Magazine

For sure, Bumble covered the official syllabus: wheeling out worthy but ultimately plain vanilla physics kit like air pucks, weights, and springs. But the most interesting discussions – the ones that have stuck with me – followed some of his more off-the-wall demonstrations.

For example, as an introduction to Newton’s Laws of Motion and the Gas Laws, Bumble kicked off one lesson by discharging a black powder pistol at the front of the classroom.

The lesson started in the usual way, Bumble making his signature ponderous walk to the laboratory’s front desk, eyes looking at the floor.

Entirely normal so far, except today he carried a long-barrelled revolver in his hand, one chamber of which he proceeded to load, methodically inserting pieces of cloth, then gunpowder, then cloth again (no bullet thankfully), before compressing the package with a small ram rod. We watched in stunned silence.

Gateway Grammar School Leicester — Gateway Grammar School, Leicester (Photo: Tim Jones)

Remember, this was all way before the Dunblane massacre or other school shootings, so I guess we felt a sense of intrigue rather than fear. This was Bumble anyhow – he did weird stuff. With a copper percussion cap in place, the gun was pointed in the general direction of the laboratory wall. And fired.

Within seconds of the most enormous bang echoing through the now smoke-filled laboratory, the Head of Physics, Mr Gill, closely followed by the Head of Chemistry, Mr Scottow, tumbled into the lab looking suitably alarmed. They’d clearly not been pre-briefed, and I still remember their expressions changing from shock to relief – and a glance of resignation between them – as the gunman stepped out of the smoke.

Stunts like Bumble’s Colt Navy revolver demo were attention grabbing and fun, but also an introduction to typically stretching discussions.

In this case, Bumble got us thinking about how long a gun barrel would have to be before the bullet changed direction and went back the other way. Imagine the thought processes needed for that. First off, there’s the non-intuitive realisation that a projectile in a tube can change direction if the pressure behind it falls sufficiently relative to the pressure in front of it – which theoretically can happen in a long enough gun barrel. Then there’s the skill of mentally extrapolating the familiar (relatively short barrel) to unfamiliar extremes (hugely long barrel). Thinking in abstraction and at scales beyond normal experience is useful, for scientists and non-scientists alike, in appreciating the scales relevant to fields as diverse as evolutionary biology and cosmology (and presumably also super-gun design).

Sections of Big Babylon at Fort Nelson, Portsmouth — Sections of the ‘Big Babylon’ Iraqi super-gun at the Royal Armouries, Fort Nelson, Portsmouth (Photo: Tim Jones)

Then comes the actual physics and chemistry: mechanics, thermodynamics, kinetics, friction, shock-wave propagation – not to mention the mathematical tools needed (I don’t remember if we came up with an actual quantitative answer, and suspect an analytical solution is only possible with major simplification. ) The follow-on lesson might cover ballistics: catching up with the bullet after it leaves the gun.

In a similar vein, my introduction to fluid flow through constrictions and Bernoulli’s principle took the form of the largest firework rocket I’d ever seen being launched from the school playground. In the lesson afterwards, we talked about rocket nozzle design. It turned out Bumble was licensed to make fireworks and had designed and cast his own ceramic nozzles. I still marvel that the thing came down ‘safely’ in the confines of the school yard.

So that’s how I remember Bumble. We might at times have got distracted from the strict letter of the course syllabus; but that’s the nature of real-world problems if they’re studied with sufficient rigor. And arguably as the antithesis of spoon-fed exam training, Bumble’s teaching style may not have suited all students. But personally, I love the attitude and approach to education John Page represented, and very much hope we haven’t seen the last of the Bumbles.

animals, Biography, biology, events, History, Museums, Photography

Echoes of Muybridge – Photographic Pioneer

September 7, 2010 Tim Jones 2 Comments

Do the four jackdaws taking off across the left-right diagonal here remind you of anything?

For me, the regular spacing and apparent connected motion of the birds is reminiscent of the work of nineteenth century photography pioneer, Eadweard Muybridge.

Born in 1830, Muybridge photographed many sequences of birds in flight like the one below. But he’s probably better known for his animations of galloping horses, revealing for the first time that, at certain points, horses literally fly.

Eadweard Muybridge's Bird in Flight — Eadweard Muybridge’s Bird in Flight

Muybridge’s techniques revealed an animal’s true motion, knowledge that until his arrival had been lost in a blur of busy limbs.

Before photography, the motion of horses in motion was often mis-represented. Baronet with Sam Chifney Up, by George Stubbs. (Photo: Tim Jones of a painting at Huntington Library)

I should explain that Muybridge made sequenced compilations of stills taken of a single animal, while my picture is a happenstance capture of several birds taking off in close proximity and in apparent sequence: reminiscent of an airfield scramble or ducks flying up a wall. So I’ve got an illusion evocative of Muybridge, not a simulation, and the motions of different birds cannot be linked. (Or can they? Formation take-off? I’m reminded never to under-estimate the Corvidae family!)

By another happenstance, it turns out Muybridge was born and raised in the town where I now live: Kingston-upon-Thames in Surrey. And while he spent most of his working life in America, Muybridge left the materials of his important photographic legacy to his home town, where they reside in the Kingston Museum and Archive, five minutes walk from where I’m sitting.

A good selection of Muybridge material is normally on display in the museum, representative of his animal and human figure work, but also featuring his definitive 1878 panorama of San Francisco (link to America Hurrah website).

muybridgepanorama — Muybridge’s San Francisco Panorama (Photo credit: America Hurrah)

And if you’d like to find out more about Muybridge and his legacy, there couldn’t be a better time. Beginning this week, Wednesday 8th September, the Tate Britain will launch a Muybridge retrospective, and our own Kingston Museum will, from September 18th, host the Muybridge Revolutions exhibition, featuring unseen exhibits like Muybridge’s collection of Zoöpraxiscope discs. The Kingston exhibition is part of a broader range of Muybridge related activities being coordinated by Kingston University with Kingston Council.

Fallow deer. (Photo:Tim Jones, Darkroommatter.com)

But returning to my jackdaws in a more romantic frame. I like to ponder Muybridge walking the same routes I take today as I photograph the wildlife of Home Park; his meeting the ancestors of present-day jackdaws, deer and rabbits; and with his frustration at the unfathomable rapidity of their movements, the seed of motion photography being sown….

Update 12 October 2010

The powers that be are projecting Muybridge animations onto the side of Kingston on Thames police station. Very nice.

Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station (Photo:Tim Jones)

Archaeology, History, Politics

World War II Road Block – An Eerie Reminder of Darker Times

August 22, 2010 Tim Jones Leave a comment

Here’s some not so sophisticated, but still deadly serious, military technology we discovered while walking along the river bank this morning.

Anti-tank Road Block — Anti-tank road block near Sunbury

Thankfully it never happened, but in 1940 there was every expectation that Britain would be invaded by Germany. One preparation for that was the building of a series of defensive lines around London and other areas of the country.

Anti-tank roadblock concrete cubes near Sunbury — Blocks extend to the water's edge

The example here is a road block designed to slow down tanks and other armoured vehicles as they progressed in expected Blitzkrieg fashion across the green and pleasant land. The concrete cubes extend down to the water’s edge, leaving a small gap that could be plugged with a removable barrier, possibly a duplicate of the piece of bent railway track, or hairpin, still in place.

Bent railway track or 'hairpin' anti-tank barricade — Bent railway track or 'hairpin' barricade

I did a bit of fishing around, and discovered this particular defensive position close to Sunbury-on-Thames was part of the Outer London Stop Line. Other types of defense included concrete pillboxes, minefields and trenches, plus use of natural features like the river here.

A road block like this one would likely be defended by another firing position nearby, so it wasn’t just a case of the enemy turning up and spending five minutes pulling out the barriers.

There are many similar features around UK, but I don’t think the seriousness of the threat at the time, or the extent of the defenses put in place to counter it, are widely known.

It’s also sobering to think these blocks were put down only 22 years before I was born.

More on British anti-invasion preparations of Word War II here.

biology, Book reviews, Books, evolution, Fun

Latest Reading – Dr Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation

August 18, 2010 Tim Jones 2 Comments

O.K. – so I was the last person on the planet to see E.T., I still watch TV on a cathode ray tube, and I’m seven years late reading Olivia Judson’s hugely entertaining, accessible, not to say stimulating, guide to evolutionary biology: Dr.Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation, making this an admittedly after-the-event review, but a recommendation all the same.

Throughout the guide, Judson stays in character as sex therapist Dr Tatiana, helping all manner of creatures out with their sex problems – agony aunt style.

And creatures it is. Ranging from a stick insect jaded with the tedium of ten week copulations; to a praying mantis who finds sex so much more satisfying after biting off her lover’s head; to a fruit fly dismayed that he’s run out of sperm; to a queen bee’s concern that her mates leave their genitalia inside her after sex.

Mixed in with these familiar heterosexual and homosexual practices are gang rape, cannibalism, self-sacrifice, and deception – all to a background of hopeless promiscuity.

The entertainment is delivered by a fascinating cast of cads, bints, sluts, and whores, bonking away at romantic locations – including the inside of a rat’s intestines.

Lestes sponsa (Emerald Damselfly) — Damsel flies “have evolved some of the fanciest penises around” Lestes sponsa (Photo: Tim Jones)

That’s the language and tone then: spirited rather than crude I’d say, but probably not first choice for your great gran.

The anthropomorphism is extreme, caricatured, and humorous enough to make any questions around ambiguity and appropriateness non-issues (at least for me). It’s clever too, each section introducing a discussion on an aspect of evolutionary biology with some fun, if not a giggle, then quickly morphing into serious, yet always palatable, science.

Stick Insect — Stick insects can copulate for 10 weeks continuously (Photo: Tim Jones)

The concepts are familiar: sex ratios, altruism, asexual vs sexual reproduction, dangers of recessive genes and such like; so perhaps I’ve not been under a log after all. I kept getting flashbacks to ideas I’d first read about in Richard Dawkins’s Selfish Gene or Matt Ridley’s The Red Queen. By comparison, Judson’s style in the guise of Dr Tatiana is deliberately and overtly entertaining; but not at the cost of scholarly rigor (there are 62 pages of Notes and Bibliography).

Praying Mantis — Male praying mantis prefer not to give head (Photo: Tim Jones)

Previous reading certainly didn’t stop me picking up a bunch of new facts and figures on the more macabre and icky side of sexual reproduction. Knowledge any schoolboy/girl would be proud to have in his/her armoury.

Insects dominate Dr Tatiana’s surgery hours, but mammals and birds do get a look in. Like the girl hyena concerned over the size of her pseudo-phallus, or the moorhen bemused that his girlfriends are always fighting with each other.

But now I’m giving too much away.

Amazon have the paperback Dr Tatiana on for about £6.50 in the UK, and there’s also a DVD of the TV series based on the book. No brainer – go get it!

Aviation, Physics, Television

A Brush with Base Jumping

July 27, 2010 Tim Jones Leave a comment

I see from the TV listings that Channel 4 (UK) will tomorrow be airing The Men Who Jump off Buildings: a documentary about the extreme sport of base jumping. Launching from Buildings, Antennas, Spans, Earth (hence BASE), base jumping practitioners have only seconds to control their descent and deploy a parachute. Jumps from buildings and cliffs are particularly demanding due to the danger of hitting something sideways on the way down.

Base jumper in Lauterbrunnen Valley (Photo:Tim Jones) — Base jumper in Lauterbrunnen Valley (Photo:Tim Jones,Darkroommatter.com)

While the Channel 4 show promises to focus more on jumps from buildings, it reminds me of a base jump from a cliff side I witnessed in 2007, in Switzerland’s Lauterbrunnen Valley. The rapid-fire sequence of photos I took at the time should convince you that stamp collecting isn’t such a bad hobby after all.

I later discovered Lauterbrunnen is something of a base jumping hot-spot, famous for the quality of the jumps, but also for the number of related deaths in recent years.

The sequence of 16 pictures in the gallery below shows the various stages of the jump, including the free-fall glide and chute deployment; the main chute is activated by a smaller chute the jumper holds and throws out at the critical moment.

Although the guy in the pictures landed safe and sound – I had a chat with him later – the sequence shows him fighting to unravel a tangled harness. Jumpers say every jump is different, so an ability to think quickly on the spot is as important as understanding the theory.

Lauterbrunnen valley (photo:Tim Jones) — Lauterbrunnen Valley (photo:Tim Jones, Darkroommatter.com)

The timing and manner of the chute’s release depends on many factors, including the jumper’s velocity, which in some cases may be below the terminal velocity of around 120 mph. It goes without saying that the time available to avoid objects and adjust parachutes is severely limited.

Apart from one holiday paragliding experience in the Med., I’ve only worn a parachute while flying gliders – and thankfully never had to use it. And for now, exhilarating as I’m sure base jumping is, I think I’ll stick to walking up mountains rather than jumping off them.

Chemistry, Experiments, Fun, History, Museums, Visits

Accidental Pepper’s Ghost

July 21, 2010 Tim Jones Leave a comment

This picture of a rare bakelite coffin in the London Science Museum’s plasticity exhibition is also an accidental recreation of the Victorian optical illusion known as Pepper’s Ghost.

Pepper's Ghost effect in a bakelite coffin at science museum — Bakelite coffin at the Plasticity exhibition, London Science Museum (Photo:Tim Jones)

In one version of the illusion, an audience member stands in the coffin on a stage, and the rest of the audience watch as he gradually decays into a dancing skeleton before their eyes. In that case, the image of a brightly lit skeleton placed in a pit in front of the stage is reflected by an angled sheet of glass placed between the audience and coffin.

On similar lines, a less elaborate experiment you can try yourself with a sheet of plane glass and two tea-lights is described in this piece from the Naked Scientists.

I’ve had this picture for a while, and only noticed the Pepper’s Ghost effect when I pushed the shadow enhance slider on iPhoto. Quite scary seeing oneself encoffined. Good job I’m not superstitious….

computing, education, Engineering, Experiments

Out of the Archives – Calculators, Computers….and Stuff

July 19, 2010 Tim Jones 3 Comments

sinclair scientific calculator — Sinclair Scientific Calculator (Photo:Tim Jones)

This picture of a Sinclair Scientific is the latest recovered image from the 30 year archive of negatives I’m dutifully working through.

The reflections in this post are also prompted by this recent post on Andrew Maynard’s blog, (2020science), describing the sophisticated graphing calculator his children are required to have for school.

A pass-me-down from my brother, the Sinclair Scientific was my first electronic calculator. Built from a kit in 1975, I used it to prep for the UK O-Levels when I was 14 or 15; in the O-Level exams themselves we only had log tables :-P. By the A-Levels (16-18), I’d upgraded to a Casio fx-39.

John_Napier — John Napier, father of logarithms (Image: Wikicommons)

As it turns out, the calculator my nephews require for today’s GCSE syllabus is a Casio; but costing around £5, against the £75 or so for Andrew’s Texas Instruments machine.

An interesting feature of the Sinclair Scientific was its use of Reverse Polish Notation (RPN): an unusual but logical way to express calculations. Under RPN, the operator (+,- x, / etc) comes after the operands (the numbers); so the more well known Infix representation of 7+8 , in RPN becomes 7 8 +. RPN is more memory efficient for computers – a bigger deal once than it is now. Today, modern computers just translate into RPN without us seeing it.

You might think getting to grips with RPN was an awkward distraction for a 15 year old, but it proved handy background when it came to writing programs for this:

I guess this was our graphing calculator. Not exactly pocket size.

If memory serves, my school, named the ‘The Gateway’, acquired the 1958 Stantec Zebra from the local university; before that it was with the Post Office.

A small team of students operated and maintained the machine which, filled with hot valves, would frequently catch fire and give the occasional electric shock. This could never happen today of course, on safety grounds alone. But at the time, the teachers and students took it all in their stride, seizing the opportunity to build a short extra-curricular programming course into the timetable.

Programming lessons involved: writing code on cards with pencil and paper, encryption onto punched cards that the Stantec Zebra could read optically, then receiving line-printer output of the results. Looking back, it’s amazing any of this happened – a great opportunistic use of a rare resource.

powertran1 — Powertran Comp 80 (Photo:Tim Jones)

Pupils who later built their own computers, like the Science of Cambridge MK14, a basic kit machine launched in 1977 with about 2k of memory, or the Sinclair ZX-80, were doubtless inspired by the presence on site of their valve-driven (but still significantly more powerful) ancestor.

An interest in computers in this era meant just that: an interest in the information structure, solution algorithms, programming and hardware. High level programming languages, like BASIC even, were too memory inefficient to exist, and ‘games’ typically comprised simple models around the laws of motion; moon lander simulations were popular.

Our household variously hosted a home-built Powertran Comp 80, a Sharp MZ-80A (including some early green dot graphical capability), a Sinclair Spectrum and Sinclair QL. I’ve put pics of these and various other devices I’ve owned in the gallery at the end of the post – minus the obvious PCs that started with a Viglen P90 in 1995. Also our Creed 75 teleprinter – the only one I’ve seen outside the London Science Museum, this true electro-mechanical wonder was brought to good working order save for the chassis occasionally running live with mains voltage.

Are there any world-changing messages to be drawn from all this nostalgia? Possibly not. But I’m reminded how very hands on we were in just about everything. And that’s relevant given the buzz today about how kids might not be getting enough practical science and engineering experience in schools (I’m thinking of comments most recently made by Martin Rees in the Reith Lectures).

No one is arguing kids need a nuts and bolts knowledge of all modern gadgetry, but I do think off-syllabus projects like the Stantec Zebra (but perhaps less dangerous) are a good thing in schools. They show how diverse academic subjects come together in an application, making the theory real. This is pretty much my mantra in this earlier post about the Young Scientists of the Year competition. I would have thought such projects give a school a sense of identity and foster a bit of team spirit?

But it’s really an area I’m out of touch with. Does this type of stuff happen in lunchtime science clubs? Is there time in the curriculum? Do teachers have the time and/or skills? Or has our health & safety culture, however worthy, killed off anything interesting?

Also of interest

Kids Today Need a License to Tinker (Guardian 28/8/2011)

animals, biology, Experiments, nature

Blinking Crows

July 11, 2010 Tim Jones 1 Comment

Question to any crow experts out there. I recently spotted these two standing together, and noticed that they seemed never to blink at the same time – as if consciously taking it in turns. It’s easy to tell when a crow blinks by the opaque whiteness of the inner eyelid. This went on for a minute or two.

So, is this some kind of coordinated look-out tactic crows and/or other birds follow to maximise safety? They were long leisurely blinks, so that might make sense. Or was this a one off behaviour – and I’m making up my own stories?

The things that preoccupy one on these warm summer evenings…..

Update September 2010

I found this pic going through my archives; taken in Windsor, UK. Look at the eyes. Still a small sample of two.

Book reviews, Books, Chemistry, Experiments, History, technology, Uncategorized

Recipes, Formulas And Processes

July 8, 2010 Tim Jones 2 Comments

Readers interested in early twentieth century chemistry, processes, and tricks of the trade used by industry and in the home, might like to check out the online edition of Henley’s Twentieth Century book of Recipes, Formulas and Processes, Edited by Gardner D.Hiscox – a pdf of Cornell University’s 1909 copy at the Internet Archive.

hiscox recipes formulas and processes by G.D. Hiscox — Recipes Formulas and Processes by G.D. Hiscox (1907 edition)

I’m lucky enough to own a 1907 first edition of Hiscox’s classic work, and love the way my copy is dis-colored and bleached by chemical splashes. Not by me, I hasten to add. But this book has for sure been used for its intended purpose! Whether the former owner, a James McQueen Jr. according to the bookplate, lived long and prospered because of its secrets, or in spite of them, is a different matter.

Secrets intended for all; the preface:

In compiling this book of formulas, recipes and processes, the Editor has endeavoured to meet primarily the practical requirements of the mechanic, the manufacturer, the artisan, and the housewife.

Some of the information is innocuous enough. You can learn how your great grandmother made blackberry jam. And Celery Clam Punch or Cherry Phosphate (with real phosphoric acid, maybe the origin of cherry coke?) sound refreshing for a summer evening.

But some of the medical cures are distinctly dodgy. We worry enough today about tanning products, but Hiscox’s cure for a tan, made from bichloride of mercury, sounds lethal. Helpfully, he shares with us that:

This is not strong enough to blister and skin the face in average cases.

Phew, good job most folk are average. Responsibly, he adds:

Do not forget that this last ingredient [the mercury compound] is a powerful poison and should be kept out of the reach of children and ignorant persons.

Folk would have taken Hiscox’s Cannabis indica based cure for corns in their stride (ouch!). And concern over the pinch of cinnabar in his nail polish would be just another case of health and safety gone mad.

But surely, even by the standards of the time, Hiscox’s idea of a light-hearted party trick must have raised some eyebrows (or literally blown them off): like ‘To take boiling lead in the mouth’, ‘Biting off red hot iron’, ‘Sparks from the finger tips’. And ‘The burning banana’ doesn’t bear thinking about.

hiscox recipes formulas and processes — Recipes, Formulas and Processes (1907 edition)

Some recipes were probably safe, but just sound a little icky. Like a nice pomade for sir’s hair, made from vaseline oil and beef marrow. Blue hosiery dye called for some ingredients I’ve never heard of: like 4 pounds of Guatamala and 3 pounds of Beugal Indigo; and others I have heard of: like 1 pail of urine. Hiscox also contains lots of paint and ink recipes but, disappointingly, there’s no mention of the infamous Mummy Brown.

‘Solid Alcohol’ sounds quite useful, maybe as a firelighter. I made something similar as a schoolboy, by dissolving soap in methylated spirit.

There’s nothing in Hiscox to separate the domestic from the industrial. Content is alphabetically indexed, but otherwise all mixed up. The section on glass includes industrial formulas for making different glass types and colourings in the furnace, but also includes instructions for a home-made glass grinding device.

Interestingly, Recipes, Formulas And Processes was republished through many revisions and editions into at least the 1930s. But I’m sure today there is nothing quite like it – unless we include the internet as a whole.

On another tack, it’s worth remembering that when Hiscox was published, the welfare and commercial infrastructure we take for granted today (some of us) was much less developed or non-existent. No popping down to the mall for a ready-made solution to every task. Folk just did more of their own stuff.

And should you decide to do more of your own stuff, don’t do it from Hiscox! He’s academically interesting to browse, but clearly some of his recipes and ideas are best left well alone.

Communicate Science