The Crossing of Antarctica

One hundred years after Sir Ernest Shackleton set out on his ill-fated attempt to cross Antarctica, this book celebrates the expedition that succeeded where he failed. Thom Hunt of 7th Rise and Channel 4's Three Hungry Boys shares his thoughts on The Crossing of Antarctica. 

Fierce winter winds carved a gully behind the hut at Shackleton © The George Lowe Collection

In a world saturated by health and safety regulations, hedging your bets and insurance for every possible scenario, this book smashes through wary modern thinking like a freight train on its way to unexplored corners of the world.

The Cross of Antarctica tells the story of the 1957-58 expedition led by Vivian ‘Bunny’ Fuchs – an epic journey that fulfilled Shackleton’s dream and became one of the 20th century’s triumphs of exploration, a powerful expression of human willpower. 

The book comes from a time when men were men, with beards and dexterity; men who could fix almost anything and would laugh in the face of a blizzard. The photography – sourced from the private archives of Everest veteran George Lowe as well as items from the Fuchs' family collection – is mind blowing and the words and interviews a mixture of poetry, philosophy and downright bluntness. And why wouldn't they be? These chaps had been there, done that and gone back for more. 

I, for one, am thankful that these stories and photos have been discovered and published but I guess the last real test is this: if we read such tales of courage and determination then we close the pages only to remain stagnant, I believe we are doing a disservice not only to ourselves but also to these great men of adventure. Greatness is not reserved for the few enlightened ones, it is available for each and any of us who commit to advancing towards the unknown. This book taught me, just when I needed it, that the extraordinary is but a decision away.

If life is as adventurous as you want it to be then it ain't broke, so don't fix it. But if thoughts lurk in your mind of a life less ordinary, buy this book, read it,  then see how far the rabbit hole goes.

Star rating: 5/5

Reconnaissance foray on the Skelton Glacier, 1957 © The George Lowe Collection

© The George Lowe Collection

© The George Lowe Collection

George Lowe taking a portrait of a penguin  © Jon Stephenson

© The George Lowe Collection

© The George Lowe Collection

Vivian ‘Bunny’ Fuchs’ Sno-Cat Rock’n’Roll becomes jammed nose first in the far wall of a deep crevasse © The George Lowe Collection

© The George Lowe Collection

© The George Lowe Collection

The Crossing of Antarctica: Original Photographs from the Epic Journey that Fulfilled Shackleton's Dream by George Lowe and Huw Lewis-Jones is published by Thames & Hudson at £24.95.

Reviewer and adventurer Thom Hunt runs bushcraft and wild cookery courses with 7th Rise and is one of the Three Hungry Boys on Channel 4.

Conserving a Super Selector

Sophia Oelman works on the conservation team for Information Age, a brand new gallery about the last 200 years of communication and information technology, opening 25 October at the Science Museum. She tells us about the painstaking process of conserving one of her favourite items in the exhibition: the Super Selector radio receiver 

The portable super selector before conservation (Source: Science Museum / SSPL)

There are a huge range of exciting objects being prepared for the Information Age gallery. As one of the six conservators working on the project, I have the privilege of cleaning, documenting and repairing the objects before they go on public display. My favourite object is the Super Selector radio receiver, made around 1927 in London by Selectors Limited.

The Super Selector appeals to me because of its interesting shape and design – it looks more like a piece of furniture than a modern radio set. The radio has attracted lots of attention because of its size and shape it is commonly mistaken for a wooden PC computer.

The portable radio is very heavy compared to today’s pocket electronics. Perhaps that explains the rather well worn back of the object. (Source: Science Museum / SSPL)

The first challenge of working with this radio, was moving it from the storage rooms to the conservation lab at the museum.  Although it is called “super portable”, it weighs about ten kilos and is certainly not super portable by today’s standards, weighing one hundred times more than an average MP3 player.

When the object arrived at the museum, there were several areas of damage that needed to be documented and repaired before it could go on display. The main areas of concern were the leather handle, which was powdery and weakened and the textile speaker, which was torn with sections of missing fabric.  The object needed to be documented, cleaned, repaired and then documented again to record the changes it went through during conservation.

After inspecting the exterior of the radio I began to look inside. Luckily, there were two keys with the radio set, which allowed us access to the fascinating mechanisms within. Some of the most attractive components are the glass valves. These valves are potentially dangerous if broken as this may cause flying glass, so one of my first tasks, after cleaning the radio, was to pack the valves with tissue to prevent any breakages. After packing the valves, the conservation treatment of the radio receiver involved more cleaning, securing the handle and repairing the textile speaker.

The delicate glass valves inside the set needed to be carefully packed before work began. (Source: Science Museum / SSPL)

The silk speaker posed the biggest challenge in terms of repair, but after consulting a specialist textile conservator at the National Maritime Museum I decided to cover the fragile silk with toned patches of special conservation silk. I cut the patches to shape, coloured them so that they matched the green colour on the speaker and carefully attached the patches to the speaker frame.  This technique prevents further damage to the object from light, physical damage and dust.

The Super Selector radio receiver was a fascinating object to work with and despite the challenges involved, I believe the radio will stay in good condition for visitors to enjoy in the Information Age gallery for many years to come.

The radio is now fully conserved and radio for display in Information Age when it opens this autumn. (Source: Science Museum / SSPL)

This article was taken from The Science Museum's blog.

You can see the Super Selector and other fascinating items at the Information Age gallery, which opens 25 October at the Science Museum.

Doctor, are you willin', to try this penicillin?

Selina Hurley, Assistant Curator of Medicine at the Science Museum, takes a look at the personal stories behind a recent addition to their collections - a bacteriologist's travel case from the Second World War

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One of the most enjoyable aspects of a curator’s job is acquiring objects that become part of the National Collections. Not only do we go out and actively seek objects but we also get offered some real gems. A recent addition to the museum in particular caught my eye: a rather wonderful wooden chest.

Major Scott Thomson (1909-1992), a bacteriologist, used this chest to carry supplies of penicillin in order to combat gas gangrene during the Second World War.

Wooden chest used by Major Scott Thomson. Credit: Science Museum

During the Second World War, Scott Thomson was a pathologist to various military hospitals, until 1943 when he was appointed by the War Office as a bacteriologist in the Penicillin Research Team. Thomson was posted to Algiers in May 1943 with surgeon Ian Fraser after undergoing special training at Oxford with Howard Florey.

He returned to Britain with the successful results of his trials, just as the MRC Penicillin Committee decided to concentrate supplies of penicillin in one area of battle activity in Italy. In December 1943, Thompson was posted to Monte Cassino and, according to his obituary in the Journal of Medical Microbiology, he was responsible for all of the world’s supply of penicillin during those months – a fact his daughters remember him retelling.

Like many of his contemporaries, Scott Thomson talked little about his time during the Second World War. However, I was lucky enough to meet Major Scott Thomson’s family who delighted me with snippets of information about his experiences.

The penicillin units, which consisted of just five people, were often at the back of every march as they were considered at the lower end of the army hierarchy. The lines between Allied and Axis forces were often so blurred that senior Axis officers wandered into the Allied camp.

Scott Thomson believed that the medical profession’s job was to cure. He determined that bacteriology was the main way of doing this and so focussed his research in antibiotics. By the late 1960s, his daughters remember him talking about the overuse of antibiotic resistance – a subject that is now always in the news.

By far, my favourite snippet the family were kind enough to share was the lyrics to Song for Penicillin, which may have been penned by Thompson's German friend with lyrics in German, English and Italian. The tune is unknown, but is believed to be based a popular German oom-pah song. I’ll leave you with the chorus of the song:

 

German Doctor, are you willin’?

Go and try this Penicillin

This is something else than killin’ – Penicillin!

Penicillin! Penicillin!

This article was taken from The Science Museum's blog.

You can discover more snippets of curious history and scientific discovery in the current iPad issue and inaugural print edition of Ernest Journal, on sale now.

The Sick Rose

Before colour photography, illustrations of afflicted patients were produced for 19th-century medical books. The Sick Rose by Richard Barnett compiles images from these rare texts, focusing on diseases prevalent in the 19th century, such as cholera and diphtheria, driven by industrialisation, urbanisation and poor hygiene. The book forms a "profoundly human reminder of mankind's struggle with disease."

The Sick Rose: Disease and the Art of Medical Illustration, by Richard Barnett is published by Thames & Hudson, £19.95

A century of stainless steel

Steph Millard of the exhibitions team at The Science Museum looks back over 100 years of stainless steel, first cast in August 1913 by Harry Brearley 

An early stainless steel knife made by Butler of Sheffield, c. 1915. © Science Museum/SSPL

Today’s journey into work sets me thinking. Stuck behind a queue of cars with their stainless steel exhaust systems I repeatedly glance at my wristwatch – with its stainless steel back – to check I won’t be late. To my right, the Canary Wharf tower – with its 370,000 square feet of stainless steel cladding – glints majestically in the early morning sunshine.

Stainless steel impacts on our lives in so many different ways. But what exactly is it and who invented it? One hundred and one years ago, in August 1913, an Englishman named Harry Brearley reported that he had cast an ingot of low-carbon steel that could resist attack from a variety of acids including lemon juice and vinegar. He called it ‘rustless steel’.

At the time, Brearley had been helping an arms manufacturer overcome the problem of gun barrel erosion caused by the release of gases when the weapon is fired. His genius lay in the fact that he could foresee the commercial application of his new material within the cutlery industry. After initial scepticism, manufacturers in his home town of Sheffield were also able to recognise the potential.

The essential ingredient of any stainless steel is chromium, which combines with oxygen in the air to form a strong, invisible film – a protective coating on the surface of the metal that continually self-repairs whenever scratched or grazed. But Brearley was by no means the first person to investigate the addition of chromium to steel. In the century before his discovery metallurgists from across Europe and North America were also experimenting with iron-chromium alloys.

Since then stainless steel – in all its various forms – has gone on to find a home in the widest range of applications, as a walk around the Science Museum’s galleries will testify. Within our Challenge of Materials gallery visitors can admire a wedding dress made of stainless steel wire – the brainchild of British designer Jeff Banks – while in the Exploring Space gallery our J2 rocket engine can remind us that between 1967 and 1973 NASA used stainless steel in all 13 of its Saturn V rockets.

Smaller, but equally intriguing, is the stainless steel dropper on display in The Science and Art of Medicine gallery, which instils oils through the nose as part of an Ayurvedic detox therapy to cure head ailments, such as migraine and sinusitis.

As we celebrate Brearley’s role in the history of metallurgy why not come along to the Science Museum and see how many different examples of stainless steel you can discover?

This article was taken from The Science Museum's blog.

You can discover more tales of British workmanship and industry in the current iPad issue and inaugural print edition of Ernest Journal, on sale now.