Beeston Castle

Beeston Castle sits on a promontory on the sandstone ridge which runs down from the Mersey estuary at Frodsham towards Whitchurch. The castle location has been a centre of human activity since the prehistoric age, with significant earthworks put in place during the Bronze Age. The castle is now run by English Heritage, and is entered through a fine Victorian gatehouse. This is the result of a later period in the Castle’s life, during the 19th century when it was owned by Lord Tollemache, and became a tourist attraction. A wall was built at the level of the Cheshire Plain at this time, in part to keep the kangaroos in.

Victorian Ticket office  It felt wrong to remove the notice board which spoils the picture a little.

Heading up the steep hill we come to the outer gatehouse, this was most likely built during the 13th century at the direction of Ranulf III, sixth earl of Chester (1170-1232) in common with the inner ward and other major stone workings. It was built as much of as symbol of his power as for any strictly defensive purposes.

Outer Gatehouse

Heading along the outer curtain wall, we get views of Peckforton Castle, which is a Victorian building commissioned by Lord Tollemache which picks up the character of the much older Beeston Castle:

View to Peckforton Castle

Still further up the hill we see the inner ward of the castle, after the initial work on the castle in the 13th century it was relatively little used although during the English Civil War it was fought over and its decrepit state is as a result of deliberate destruction at the end of the War.

The inner ward

The bridge into the inner ward dates from the 1970s, it’s a very steep climb!

The bridge to the Inner Ward

Crossing the bridge over the hand-cut stone channel into the inner ward we can see a fine view towards Chester and North Wales:

View towards Chester from the bridge to the Inner Ward

The inner ward is rather rough-hewn, no real attempt to level it has been made:

The inner ward

The well seen here in the foreground is very deep, 100m as recorded during investigations in 1935-36 with medieval masonry extending down to 61m.

The inner ward well

The gatehouse offers some rather sturdy masonry, and following the rain the floor of this guardroom was one big puddle:

Inside the inner ward gatehouse

You can some feel of the precipice on which the castle sites from this view looking towards Stanlow:

Looking towards Liverpool

As recently as the 1950s the castle hill was bare of trees but now it is thickly wooded, attracting wildlife such as the great-spotted woodpecker:

Greater-spotted woodpecker

And cute bunny rabbits:

Baby bunny!

The ox-eye daisies are pretty too:

Daisies

And someone has woven a horse:

Woven horse

Close to the entrance there are caves, from which sandstone was quarried in the 19th century:

Red sandstone

A rather pleasant morning out with some spectacular views.

References

The wikipedia entry for Beeston Castle is quite brief (here), English Heritage has its own site (here) which has more detail although it is scattered about a bit. The English Heritage Guidebook is a quality production, a little brief but available for a very reasonable sum on Amazon (here)

Book Review: Visualize This by Nathan Yau

9780470944882 cover.inddThis book review is of Nathan Yau’s “Visualize This: The FlowingData Guide to Design, Visualization and Statistics”. It grows out of Yau’s blog: flowingdata.com, which I recommend, and also his experience in preparing graphics for The New York Times, amongst others.

The book is a run-through of pragmatic methods in visualisation, focusing on practical means of achieving ends rather more abstract design principles for data visualisation; if you want that then I recommend Tufte’s “The Visual Display of Quantitative Information”.

The book covers a bit of data scraping, extracting useful numerical data from disparate sources, as Yau comments this is the thing that takes the time in this type of activity. It also details methods for visualising time series data, proportions, geographic data and so forth.

The key tools involved are the R and Python programming languages; I already have these installed in the form of R Studio and Python(x,y), distributions which provide an environment that looks like the Matlab one with which I have long been familiar with but which sadly is somewhat expensive for a hobby programmer. Alongside this are the freely available Processing language and the Protovis Javascript library which are good for interactive, online visualisations, and the commercial packages Adobe Illustrator, for vector graphic editing, and Adobe Flash Builder for interactive web graphics. Again these are tools I find out of my range financially for my personal use although Inkscape seems to be a good substitute for Illustrator.

With no prior knowledge of Flash and no Flash Builder, I found the sections on Flash a bit bewildering. It also highlights how perhaps this will be a book very distinctively of its time, with Apple no longer supporting Flash on iPhone its quite possible that the language will die out. And I notice on visiting the Protovis website that this is no longer under development: the authors have moved on to D3.js, Openzoom which is also mentioned is no longer supported. Python has been around for sometime now and is the lightweight language of choice for many scientists, similarly R has been around for a while and is increasing in popularity.

You won’t learn to program from this book: if you can already program you’ll see that R is a nice language in which to quickly make a wide range of plots. If you can’t program then you may be surprised how few commands R requires to produce impressive results. As someone who is a beginner in R, the examples are a nice tour of what is possible and some little tricks, such as the fact that plot functions don’t take data frames as arguments: you need to extract arrays.

As well as programming the book also includes references to a range of data sources and online tools, for example colorbrewer2.org – a tool for selecting colour schemes, and links to the various mapping APIs.

Readers of this blog will know that I am an avid data scraper and visualiser myself, and in a sense this book is an overview of that way of working – in fact I see I referenced flowingdata in my attempts to colour in maps (here).

The big thing I learned from the book in terms of workflow is the application of a vector graphics package, such as Adobe Illustrator or, Inkscape, to tidy up basic graphics produced in R. This strikes me as a very good idea, I’ve spent many a frustrating hour trying to get charts looking just right in the programming or plotting language of my choice and now I discover that the professionals use a shortcut! A quick check shows that R exports to PDF, which Inkscape can read.

Stylistically the book is exceedingly chatty, including even the odd um and huh, which helps make it quick and easy read although is a little grating. Many of the examples are also available over on flowingdata.com, although I notice that some are only accessible for paid membership. You might want to see the book as a way of showing your appreciation for the blog in physical and monetary form.

Look out for better looking visualisations from me in the future!

Book Review: The History of Clocks & Watches by Eric Bruton

The-History-of-Clocks-Watches-by-Eric-BrutonEarlier, it was telescopes, now I’m on to clocks! Here I review Eric Bruton’s book “The History of Clocks & Watches”. I came to it via an edition of the Radio 4 programme “In Our Time” on the measurement of time (here). The book was originally published in 1979, the edition I read was from 2002. I mention this because there is some evidence that the text has not been fully updated.

1 Earliest clocks

The book starts with a slightly cursory look at the use of the sun to measure time, and mentions briefly the use of candles. The first mechanical clocks were based on water, and in Europe were used as timekeepers in monastic communities. No direct physical evidence appears to remain for these clocks, although there are detailed descriptions in books from the time such as Su Sung’s 1092 “New Design for a (Mechanised) Armillary (sphere) and (celestial) globe”. They appear to have been used widely in ancient times. The sandglass, superior to the water clock because of the flow properties of sand when compared to water, first appears in illustrations in 1337.

2 Advent of clockwork

“Clockwork” clocks started to appear started to towards the end of the 13th century, they were found in monasteries to call the monks to prayer. The key components of a clock are a mechanical oscillator, initially a bar with weights at the end know as a foliot, an “escapement” to allow motion coupled to the mechanical oscillator to work a display and a driving force to keep the oscillator going. In these early clocks falling weights provided the driving force. The first escapements were known as “verge escapements” and were in use until 1800, several hundred years after they were introduced. In fact it took an awfully long time for mechanical clockwork to replace solar clocks. Improvements to timepieces are in the quality of the mechanical oscillator: making it insensitive to pressure and temperature, and making sure the driving force and display train interferes minimally with the going of the oscillator.

3 Domestic Clocks

The first spring driven clocks appeared around 1430, the spring enables a rather more compact clock but the problem is the power it generates varies with how far it is unwound, this problem was addressed using a fusee which moderates the output power, apparently adapted from siege engines where it is used in reverse to enable men to wind up catapult style devices. Another trick is to use the spring only in a small part of its unwinding.

4 European mechanical clocks

It was not until 1657 that Christiaan Huygens introduced the pendulum as the oscillator for clocks, which produces a big improvement in accuracy – it actually becomes relevant for a timepiece to have a minute hand. Huygens made repeated contributions to the development of the clock, although he had a clockmaker implement his ideas in much the same manner as Robert Hooke had Thomas Tompion implement his ideas.

5 The Time at sea

As early as 1598 Philip III of Spain had offered a reward for a method to find the longitude, it was a well-recognised problem well before the Board of Longitude was created in England to provide a prize for its solution. John Harrison and his marine chronometers for determining the longitude are covered in some detail, extending beyond his life to cover the developments of other clockmakers including John Arnold, Thomas Mudge, Thomas Earnshaw and Pierre Le Roy. Harrison is famous for his dispute with Nevil Maskelyne, the Astronomer Royal, and something of an embodiment of the Board of Longitude that funded his work but it seems that clockmakers of the time were disputatious with each other and the Board.

The fields of astronomy and timekeeping are tied together, many early clocks went to great lengths to show astronomical information such as the phases of the moon. Even in the 20th century the most precise mechanical clocks were made for astronomical use, in the past Thomas Tompion was renowned for his precision timepieces supplied to the Royal Observatory. Whilst Christiaan Huygens made revolutionary advances in both clock design and telescopes. There is a relationship between dividing a quadrant, a device for measuring angles in astronomy, accurately into increments and dividing the gear wheels of a clock accurately to position the teeth.

6 The development of the watch

Personal timepieces date from the late 15th century, in fact prior to this people carried personal sundials or even used themselves as the pointer in a simple sun clock. The challenge with a watch is to produce a compact timepiece, meaning small parts, which is robust to the forces that being carried around all the time exert. I have to say here that the watches that Abraham-Louis Breuguet made at the end of the 18th century are absolutely gorgeous (see here, for example).

7 Mass production

I found it surprising the degree of precision achieved in the pre-Industrial age in the manufacture of timepieces, but then I also found pre-Industrial lens grinding semi-miraculous. This probably says more about me then anything else but perhaps the message is that bespoke precision pre-dated the Industrial Revolution whose strength was in standardising components, introducing continuous workflows and making use of less skilled labour. At points in time specific areas of England, France, Germany, Switzerland and the US were predominant centres of manufacture with the US leading the way in mass production but the Swiss picking it up in Europe.

8 The Technological Age

The 19th century saw the arrival of trains and telegraph, these bring the need to standardise time and the means to do it. Scheduling of trains means that standardising time is to some degree a safety issue, the adoption of time zones in the US in 1876 was also driven by the railways. The adoption of Greenwich Mean Time occurred in 1880, the Greenwich Observatory had been providing a time single in the form of a dropping ball since 1833. The telegraph enabled such time signals to be distributed more broadly, and used automatically. Electricity was also incorporated in the running of the clock, the 1921 Synchronome electromechanical clock providing the ultimate in accuracy until the introduction of quartz and atomic timekeepers.

9 Watches for the people

The final part of the book covers the reduction of cost to mass produce watches which all could afford, this process includes simplifying the mechanisms and sacrificing accuracy where possible. It highlights the development of digital watches in the 1970s where the prevailing mechanism for testing the quality of electronic components was to sell them and see how many were returned!

For my own amusement I present the following table which presents the accuracy of various landmark timepieces in standardised form, the first two entries are from this wikipedia article whilst the remainder are from the book:

pre-1657 15 minutes per day 328500 seconds/year
1657 Christiaan Huygens 15 second per day 5475 seconds/year
1766 Pierre Le Roy 7.5 seconds over 46 days 60 seconds/year
1921 Synchronome Fractions of a second per year 0.5 second/year
1955 Atomic clock 1s in 3000 years 0.00033 seconds/year

Coincidently the improvement in accuracy for successive entries in this table is 100-fold.

The book is heavily illustrated with pictures of timepieces, diagrams of mechanisms and engravings of workshops. I rather like this, but in places it feels like you’ve seen an image before in relation to an earlier section of the book. Although the book is logically arranged, in fact I borrowed the logic to structure this post, the presentation of how clock mechanisms work is disjoint, and scattered throughout the book.

My follow on reading from this book is on Christiaan Huygens, he isn’t a central character here but he just turns up in so many different places!

Footnotes

  • My Evernotes on the book are here.
  • The Breguet at the Lourve exhibition looks interesting (here)

The sky at night!

And so after 10 days, I finally had a chance to play with my new telescope on Friday night! Optical astronomy requires at least a few gaps in the clouds but last night at 8pm it was completely clear – I was hopping up and down like an overactive child waiting for the sun to go down (scheduled for about 8:40pm) and simultaneously cursing the slightest wisp of cloud. It should be clear that I’m a bit new to this, so what I write shouldn’t be seen as in the slightest bit authorative.

Kindly folk at @newburyastro had suggested Venus and Saturn as targets for my first adventure into the night. Useful advice because, as a relative beginner I had little idea what I was going to see, or in fact when I was going to see it. Venus become visible at about 9:20pm towards the now-set sun, it turns out that pointing the ‘scope with the finderscope is much easier than the rather more hazardous enterprise of finding the sun without (something I describe here). In the eyepiece Venus appears as a small, bright crescent.

It was a breezy evening which meant that my view jiggled about a bit, it also jiggled about a bit whenever I touched the telescope. However I did manage a picture of Venus taken on my Canon 400D at prime focus. This is an uncropped view, and it’s upside down.

IMG_1887-001

Venus (1/50 second, ISO200)

 

Mars made an appearance a little later at about 9:35pm along with a bright star which I believe is Regulus. This enabled me to get my telescope to work out how it was orientated meaning it could track to objects on demand and also tell me what I was looking at (very handy for a novice). My picture of Mars is a little uninspiring, I’ve zoomed in here as far as possible, in Mars’ favour it does look red and it isn’t a simple point.

IMG_1893-001

Mars (cropped, 1/3 second, ISO200)

 

By now more and more stars were coming out, so I thought I’d try out my piggyback mount. This image is taken with a 10mm lens (i.e. really wide angle) with the telescope simply used as a camera mount pointed at Polaris, it’s a 30s exposure.

IMG_1896

The Northern circumpolar region (Canon 400D, 10mm, 30s ISO200, f/4)

 

 

It took a while to get this because I had auto-focus on and the camera couldn’t find anything to focus on so wouldn’t fire – switching off auto-focus and focusing to infinity manually resolved this. It was at this point I wished I could remember how to switch the display on the back of my camera off because it was really bright, and remember which button was which without being able to see it. The thing that surprised me about this is that there are rather more stars than I could see with my naked eye and some of them are quite strongly coloured. I feel I should go about identifying the stars in my picture.

At this point I thought I’d give Saturn a go, I must admit I thought it was hidden behind buildings and trees from my position in the back garden but I punched it into the telescope handset and it pointed me into the side of the conservatory, so I picked up the telescope and moved it one metre to the right, peered through the finderscope and tweaked my direction a bit and… the planet with ears popped into view!! This was really exciting! I only have one eyepiece for my telescope and it’s quite low magnification but through the eyepiece I could see my target was not a point, and it was not round – it was shaped like a flying saucer and there were slight gaps either side of the central body. Having marvelled at this for a bit I thought I’d try for another photograph:

IMG_1910

Saturn (cropped, 1/4s, ISO200)

 

It’s not the best picture of Saturn taken last night but it is my picture!

The moon hadn’t risen before I went to bed, so when I spotted this morning I rushed out for a photo.

IMG_1918

The Moon 9(1/500s, ISO400)

 

I’ve not done any astrophotography before these (apart from my shots of the sun, and a couple of shots at the moon through a conventional lens). I guess the thing I carried over from that was that the moon is a rock in full sun, so you need to set your exposure times accordingly, the same is true for Mars and Venus so I suspect I should be using shorter exposure times for them to which will also reduce any motion blur.

My first night of viewing has highlighted a need to have a better grip of how to work your camera, plan what you want to look at in advance and, as with an SLR camera, a telescope is simply a gateway drug for further accessory purchase.

Book review: Measure of the Earth by Larrie D. Ferreiro

Measure-of-the-EarthThis post is a review and summary of Larrie D. Ferreiro’s book “Measure of the Earth” which describes the French Geodesic Mission to South America to measure the length of a degree of latitude at the equator. The action takes place in the 2nd quarter of the 18th century, the Mission left France in 1735 with the first of its members returning to Europe in 1744.

The book fits together with The Measure of All Things by Ken Alder, which is about the later French effort to measure a meridian through Paris at the turn of the Revolution in order to define the metre, The Great Arc by John Keay on the survey of India and Map of a Nation by Rachel Hewitt on the triangulation survey of the United Kingdom.

The significance of the measurement was that earlier triangulation surveys of France had indicated that the earth was not spherical, as had pendulum measurements made by Jean Richer in Guyana in 1671 which showed a pendulum there ran 2:28 slower there than in Paris. A Newtonian faction believed that the earth was flattened at the poles, its rotation having led to a bulging at the equator. A Cartesian school held that the earth was flattened around the equator and bulged at the poles, this was not a direct result of work by Rene Descartes but seems to have been more a result of scientific nationalism. Spoiler: the earth is flattened at the poles.

From a practical point of view a non-spherical earth has implications for navigation – ultimately it was found that polar flattening would lead to a navigational error of approximately 20 miles in a trans-Atlantic crossing although at the time of the Mission it was believed it could have been as much as 300 miles. Politically the Mission provided an opportunity for the French to form an alliance with the Spanish, and to get a close look at the Spanish colonies in South America which had provided huge wealth to Spain over the preceding 200 years. Ferreiro provides a nice overview of the L’Académie des Sciences under whose aegis the mission was conducted,and of the Comte de Maurepas, French minister of the navy and sponsor of the Mission.

The core members of the Geodesic Mission were Pierre Bouguer, Charles-Marie de La Condamine, and Louis Godin they were accompanied by Spanish Naval cadets Antonio de Ulloa y de la Torre-Guiral  and Jorge Juan y Santacilia. Other members were Joseph de Jussieu (doctor and botanist), Jean-Joseph Verguin (engineer and cartographer), Jean-Louis de Morainville (draftsman and artist), Theodore Hugo (instrument maker), Jean-Baptiste Godin des Odonais and Jacques Couplet-Viguier.

Louis Godin, an astronomer, was the senior academician and nominal leader of the mission. Pierre Bouguer, was a mathematician, astronomer and latterly geophysicist: as well as the measurement of the degree of latitude he also attempted to measure the deflection of a plumb-line by the mass of a mountain – an experiment which Nevile Maskelyne was to conclude successfully in 1775, I wrote about this here. Bouguer also wrote a treatise on ship building whilst away in South America. Charles-Marie de La Condamine could best be described as an adventurer although he was also a competent mathematician and geographer, it was his more lively writing on life in South America which would have a bigger impact on their return to Europe.

The scheme for the determination of the length of a degree is to measure the length of a meridian (a line of longitude) close to the equator by triangulation, making a ground measurement baseline to convert the angular measurements of the triangulation survey into distances and a second baseline to confirm your workings; the latitudes of the ends of the triangulation survey are determined astronomically by measuring the positions of stars. I’ve read of this process before, the new thing I learnt was the method for aligning up your zenith sector with the meridian – which I’m tempted to try at home.

These measurements were done in the area around Quito, in modern Ecuador (named after the equator), the endpoints of the survey were at Quito in the north, close to the equator and Cuenca approximately 200 miles south. During the survey, through the Andes, the team scaled peaks as high as Mont Blanc (and suffered altitude sickness for their troubles) which would not be climbed for another 50 years. The survey was repeated in the early years of the 20th century and even then it took 7 years – the same length of time as the original survey, due to the transport difficulties presented by the terrain.

The work of measuring the meridian was made more difficult by the journey to get there (which took the best part of a year), the terrain and conditions when they got there (mountainous and cloudy), the poor leadership of Godin, local political machinations and the mother country cutting them loose financially. Ferreiro makes a lot of Godin’s poor leadership, some of which is justified – he spent Mission money on prostitutes and regarded the Mission funds as his own purse. Frequently the Mission split into two groups, one containing Bouguer and La Condamine and the other Godin – sometimes this is quite appropriate, in duplicating measurements for consistency whilst on other occasions it is simply fractiousness.

To a degree the Mission was scooped by measurements made above the Arctic Circle in Lapland, this mission was also promoted by the L’Académie des Sciences, led by Pierre Maupertuis (a rival of Bouguer) and Anders Celsius. It completed its work in 6 months, well before the Geodesic Mission had finished their work, discovering that the poles of the earth were flattened. However, doubts remained over the results and the full determination required the data from the equator. Bouguer presented this on his return to France, to great acclaim, showing that the earth was flattened by 1 part in 179 (later measurements showed that the flattening is actually smaller at 1 part in 298).

The Mission spawned a wide range of publications by its members, covering not only the geodesic component of the work but also regarding life and nature in South America. Ferreiro credits La Condamine’s work in particular has setting the context of how South America was viewed for quite some time after the mission. The Spanish officers also made in impact an highlighting colonial misrule back to their home country. Arguably the international collaborative elements of the Mission set the scene for the measurements of the transit of Venus later in the 18th century.

Ferreiro makes a comparison between the French Geodesic Mission, which was centrally run by the state and the British Longitude Prize, which although state funded was privately executed, implying that the former was superior. It’s not clear to me whether he’s engaging in a degree of hyperbole here, since the Mission was to some degree an organisational car-crash and was in large part funded from La Condamine’s own purse at the time. Furthermore, L’Académie des Sciences also awarded prizes – having copied the British government in this and the Royal Society was from the outset a very internationally oriented organisation. So the picture as Ferreiro presents it is something of an over-simplification.

I found the book very readable, its clearly based on a large quantity of primary source material and covers a great deal beyond the simple mechanics of the Geodesic measurements.

Footnotes

My Evernotes on the book are here.