Tag Archives: Edinburgh University Library

The simple art of reference writing

As I am now coming to the end of my time in Edinburgh cataloguing the papers of Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson, references aren’t terribly far from my mind! But I had some pause for thought after a conversation with my eighty-one year old Grandmother.  While most of my Grandmother’s contemporaries now shop, talk, and bank online, she remains resolutely uninterested.  When I explained I would never see my references – they would be e-mailed, uploaded, etc, my Grandmother was particularly disdainful.

For once, I found myself rather agreeing with her.  References were often treasured by the subject, years after they no longer had use for them.  They were a courtesy, a kindness.  While their primary function was to allow the receiver to gain further employment, they were also an acknowledgement of their hard work, and usually written by someone the receiver respected and admired.  References are still, undoubtedly, all of these things – but now, of course, the subject rarely has a copy, and employees rarely keep them for any length of time.

Thomson’s collection contains two – one from the Nobel Prize winning physicist, Karl Ferdinand Braun, and one from educator and historian of music, Sir William Henry Hadow:

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Reference from Professor Ferdinand Braun

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Reference from Sir William Henry Hadow

 

Both are highly complimentary.  Hadow describes Thomson as ‘one of my most distinguished students…a man of very pleasant manners and address…extremely popular in college’, and praises his ‘remarkable power of influencing others for good’.

Hadow was Professor of Education at Armstrong College while Thomson was in turn a student then lecturer.  Both had in common a love of music – Hadow frequently wrote on the topic, while Thomson was a skilled pianist.  We know that both Thomson and Hadow were interested in the role that music could play in a liberal education, and Thomson’s lectures on teaching music survive in his collection.  The notes written on the reverse of the reference are in Lady Thomson’s hand, and comment on Thomson and Hadow’s harmonious friendship and working relationship.

Braun was Professor of Physics at Strasbourg while Thomson was undertaking his DSc, supervised by Braun.  He was an inventor, and experimented widely with wireless telegraphy.  No doubt he would have been an exiting person for the young Thomson to work with, and it would appear the feeling was mutual – he describes him as well informed, and showing great ‘experimental ingenuity’.

Part of the reason these references meant to much to Thomson is because they were unique, and written in the hand of men whom he had a great deal of respect for.  While archivists are widely encouraged to see the beauty in bit code as much as they can illuminated letters (a gross exaggeration on my part!) I’m not quite sure how this will translate in our current day record creation.  Laying the ever evolving issues of digital preservation aside, references simply aren’t prescribed with long term value.  Which is a shame, because however biased they may be (which they are supposed to be – they are, after all, the opinion of the writer!) they certainly tell us a good deal about the subject.

With thanks to Simone Müller and Christina Schmitz for their translations, and to Serena Frederick for pestering them for said translations!

 

 

 

 

A letter from Pip

Some of the most interesting letters in Thomson’s collection were sent to his widow following his death in 1955.  The following, from psychiatrist and secretary of the Eugenics society Carlos Paton Blacker (1895–1975), gives a good indication of the friendship between himself and Thomson:

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DSCN0292It is not clear when Thomson and Blacker first became acquainted, but their research interests certainly overlapped.  Thomson was the key figure in the two Scottish Mental Surveys, which tested the intelligence of almost every school child in Scotland born in 1921 and 1936 in 1932 and 1947 respectively.  These were of direct interest to Blacker, who had helped establish the Royal Commission on Population.

The word ‘Eugenics’ is one which the 21st century audience is rather uncomfortable with.  Unsurprisingly, following the holocaust and devastation of World War II, mid 20th century Britain wasn’t comfortable with the concept either. At best Eugenics was considered a mere pseudo-science (as it is to this day, despite Blacker’s efforts, widely acknowledged to be).  But the eugenics of Blacker were more moderate than that of those preceding him.  As Soloway argues in his Oxford DNB entry:

Under Blacker the Eugenics Society was transformed from an unfocused, amateur propaganda agency dabbling uncertainly in the newly emerging areas of birth control and genetics, into a quasi-professional research foundation committed to family planning and the serious study of population problems.

Blacker had experienced first hand the effects of a lack of access to, and information about, birth control throughout his time as a medical student at Guy’s hospital, where he encountered large numbers of deeply distressed female patients undergoing unwanted pregnancies they were powerless to avoid.  However, it is undeniable that alongside this very human desire to help the women he encountered, Blacker viewed contraception as a tool to ensure what eugenicists saw as the least desirable echelons of society were not ‘out-breeding’ the more desirable.

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From the Wellcome Trust archives, Blacker being awarded the Galton medal, 1957 (ref: PP/CPB/B.20). Image Wellcome Trust

This was a concern that pervaded the first half of the 20th century – namely that of the perceived ‘differential birth rate’, the idea that the more educated (therefore the most desirable) sections of society were producing less offspring than the ill-educated working classes.  Indeed, the second Scottish Mental Survey was undertaken in order to establish whether Scotland’s intelligence was declining (in fact, the results indicated a slight increase).

Thomson fought for a fair education for all that catered to each individual’s abilities regardless of their background, often in the face of eugenic principles which argued that such an approach would encourage the supposed ‘differential birth rate’.  Similarly, Blacker faced criticism from fellow members of the Eugenics Society who believed availability of contraceptives to all would lower the birth rate of educated professionals even further.  Both were men of strong beliefs, and the development of their friendship can be seen in records of the Eugenics Society held by the Wellcome Trust Library and available online.

The changes in how they address one another in the course of their correspondence are particularly telling.  The surviving correspondence in the records of the Eugenics Society dates from 1946-1950 (though we know from Thomson’s papers that he and Blacker were in touch until Thomson’s death).  At the onset, Thomson addresses Blacker ‘Dr Blacker’, then ‘Blacker’, then ‘My dear Blacker’.  Eventually, in his letter of November 1948,  Thomson begins:

(I would like to feel privileged to use the name you once told me was yours among your friends, but I can’t for the life of me remember it – Punch or Plug or something like that I think.  Do tell me).

From SA/EUG/C.329, ‘Professor Sir Godfrey H Thomson’, Wellcome Trust Library

Blacker evidently signed his reply (of which only the typed copy survives) by this name, which was of course ‘Pip’.  From then on, Thomson addresses Blacker as ‘Pip’, while Blacker moves from ‘My dear Thomson’ to ‘My dear Godfrey’.  Their correspondence shows the value each placed on the other’s professional opinion, as well as the interest they took in one another’s lives and the enjoyment they derived from one other’s company.

When Blacker was awarded the Galton medal two years after Thomson’s death, Lady Thomson wrote to him (her letter can be found in Blacker’s personal papers, held by the Wellcome Trust Library and available online) in her typically touching fashion:

I can only say how delighted I am, and you know how proud of you Godfrey would have been.

I hope he knows about it in some way or other.

From PP/CPB/B.20, ‘Award of Galton Medal to Carlos Paton Blacker’, Wellcome Trust Library

Blacker’s career was varied, taking him from an heroic performance in World War I (where he was awarded the Military Cross), to a medical graduate (then psychologist) working in Guy’s hospital.  Blacker went on to work as a psychiatrist in Maudsley Hospital, where he stayed to the end of his career, broken up only by his time as a field Doctor during World War II (where he was awarded the George Medal for gallantry), and a secondment to the Ministry of Health, where he was investigating the need for psychiatric care following World War II.

Blacker was certainly an interesting character.  His views, moderate in their time, are open to criticism in ours.  But then everyone is a product of the time from which they emerge.  Blacker’s work, whether it be establishing the needs of soldiers during and after warfare, or working towards making contraception both available and socially acceptable, was both far reaching and forward facing, and the traces he has left behind are a fascinating glimpse of the turbulent and changeful 20th century from some of its most interesting and complex characters.

Wellcome Trust University Award Research Fellow Dr Edmund Ramsden will be speaking about Eugenics and intelligence testing in the 20th century at a seminar titled ‘Gathering Intelligence: the work of Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson’, which will be held at Edinburgh University Library on the 16th May, 9-3.30 (with an optional tour of Moray House in the afternoon). Dr Ramsden will be one of 6 speakers, each looking at Thomson’s work from a different perspective. The seminar is free to attend, however booking is required.  Bursaries for travel and accommodation may be available. If you are interested in attending, please contact me at Emma.Anthony@ed.ac.uk for further information.

‘Encounters of a mathematician’…

For the last few weeks, I have been cataloguing the papers of mathematician, Walter Ledermann (1911-2009).  The collection largely composes of highly mathematical letters from Thomson to Ledermann.  Having the somewhat dubious distinction of failing mathematics twice, its fair to say I had misgivings!

My failure as a young mathematician was due in part to my ready dismissal of mathematics as a dull, dry, monotonous subject (but in the main, a serious lack of talent!).  I remember somewhat haughtily telling my long-suffering teacher that I liked subjects about people.  Mathematics, as far as I was concerned, lacked any humanity and any discernible art.  How wrong I was.

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Ledermann as a young man, from his autobiography

Ledermann, a German-Jewish refugee, was more than used to such criticism being levelled at the subject – the art form – of his choice.  In fact, he opens his autobiography, Encounters of a Mathematician, with the following:

Mathematics is a soulless occupation devoid of feeling and human values.

But that, Ledermann tells us, was never his experience:

I feel strongly that mathematics can and should form part of human relationships.

Ledermann grew up in Berlin, proving himself a talented violinist and mathematician from an early age.  He loved music, and despite growing up in the midst of the depression, attended concerts regularly by any means possible.  By the 1930s, the Berlin that Ledermann called home had changed rapidly, and he and his family were no longer welcome.  It was his love of mathematics that gave him hope – despite the anti-Semitism he encountered, Ledermann’s ability, talent, and enthusiasm could be neither denied nor quashed.  In fact, Ledermann’s talent for mathematics quite literally saved his life.

On completion of his degree at the University of Berlin in 1934, Ledermann won a scholarship created by students and citizens of St Andrews to support a Jewish refugee.  He received a warm welcome from his fellow students, his lecturers, and the local community at St Andrews, and tells us: ‘it is no exaggeration to affirm that I owe my life to the people of St Andrews’ (Encounters of a Mathematician).

Ledermann completed his PhD after just two years, and found himself at the University of Edinburgh.  This would be the start enduring friendships between Ledermann and the brilliant and troubled mathematician, A C Aitken, as well as Professor Godfrey Thomson.

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Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson

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Alexander Craig Aitken

Ledermann quickly became Thomson’s mathematical assistant (or ‘tame mathematician’, as he puts it!), assisting him in writing The Factorial Analysis of Human Ability.  Thomson and his contemporaries used Factorial Analysis to understand human differences (mathematics and humanity again!), and this is still a technique used by psychologists today.  Thomson spoke to Ledermann in fluent German at their first meeting, much to Ledermann’s delight, and the working relationship was a successful one:

My work with Godfrey Thomson was inspiring, creative, and intimate.  We met daily during the morning break at Moray House, where the Department of Education was situated.  After we had briefly surveyed the progress of our research on the previous day, Miss Matthew, his charming and highly efficient secretary, brought in the coffee and some delicious buttered ginger bread.

The very intensity with which he pursued his ideas, was a great stimulus for me to solve the mathematical problems he had passed on to me.  Godfrey Thomson did not claim to be a mathematician.  Although he understood mathematical formulae when they were presented to him, he preferred to verify his ideas by constructing elaborate numeral examples from which the theoretical result could be guessed with some confidence.

Sadly much of Ledermann’s replies to Thomson are absent.  Thomson sends Ledermann pages and pages of calculations with explanatory notes, then his next letter will be one thanking Ledermann for the brief formula he has sent in return (Thomson at one point refers to Ledermann’s formulae as ‘very pretty’!).  The letters also show the warmth of feeling between the two, with Thomson frequently enquiring of Ledermann’s family, many of whom were still in Germany, and telling Ledermann about his own family.

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An example of the small postcards Thomson sent Ledermann

Ledermann treasured the letters.  In a letter to Lady Thomson, who was attempting to write Thomson’s biography, he writes:

I have over a hundred letters from Sir Godfrey, written between 1937 and 1946, some of them short notes, others carefully worked out in the form of a research paper, with many interesting questions and illustrations.  I greatly treasure the correspondence, not merely on account of its considerable scientific, and, may I add, aesthetic value, but also because it contains so many typical examples of that human warmth and sympathy for which Sir Godfrey finds a place even at the beginning or at the end of a mathematical letter.

Letter from Ledermann to Lady Thomson, Coll-1310/1/1/1/17

Ledermann returned to St Andrews after working with Thomson, and would go on to accept teaching positions at the University of Manchester, and the University of Sussex.  His love of mathematics continued to endear him to students and fellow lecturers, and he continued to undertake revision lectures for students for years following his retirement.  His wife, Ruth, was a social worker and therapist, and they retired together to London, where Ledermann passed away in 2009.

For Ledermann, the beauty of the equations passed between himself and Thomson were no different to the music of his violin – each displayed ingenuity and art.  His love of mathematics was the source of the most satisfying ‘human encounters’ he had throughout his lifetime, and the correspondence between himself and Thomson serves as a reminder of the beauty and humanity of mathematics.

Sources: Walter Ledermann’s autobiography, Encounters of a Mathematician

‘Do not rest on your oars. It is never time to rest on your oars.’

As the celebrations of graduation came to a close this week, I was reminded of Thomson’s advice to graduates of Aberdeen Training Centre in 1954.

Graduation is a time of celebration, but it can also be a time of uncertainty, which is reflected in Thomson’s address.  He didn’t expect the graduates in front of him to have all the answers their bright eyed, bushy tailed counterparts lacked a few years earlier.  For Thomson, graduation was simply the beginning of a life long education:

You must remain students. No advice to those leaving college is more necessary or more important. Other things are also important, of course…you must be active, if you can, in the public life of the community in which you settle. But remain students. Study. Choose some branch of knowledge in which you can become, if not a master, at least a well-informed disciple. Choose a subject you like. “No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en”. And if you possibly can, do something creative in it.

Thomson presenting a prize at a school in Wolverhampton

Sound advice, but perhaps not quite what those of you about to gleefully burn the books would like to hear!  Thomson also advised the graduates not to become complacent:

The other that I want to emphasise is the importance of the early years of your career on your ultimate success, on the ultimate height you may hope to rise to. The years behind you have already laid their mark on you. The next few years will in most cases be decisive. So do not rest on your oars. It is never time to rest on your oars, but least of all in these years just ahead of you. There are of course vacations legitimately to be enjoyed. Life would be a sad journey without its inns at which to recuperate. But to spend the whole of life at the inn makes a sadder story.

Thomson admits his advice may seem rather grim at first, but as he tells us, ‘the fact is there is no greater pleasure than comes from work’, and there is no greater rest than that which is earned.

With that, I would like to congratulate our graduates, and wish them the very best!