Tag Archives: Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson

‘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.

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.

Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson

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.

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

‘Who is that chap with the terrific head?!’

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Robert Heriot Westwater’s most famous portrait is probably that of Christopher Murray Grieve (more widely known by his nom de plume, Hugh McDiarmid!). But Westwater also painted two very different portraits of Sir Godfrey Thomson in honour of his retirement in 1951:

Formal presentation of Thomson’s portrait at Moray House, 1951, with Lady Thomson on the right

Westwater’s first encounter with Thomson was as a student training as a teacher of art at Moray House:

I remember very clearly my first sight of Professor Thomson as he passed a group of us students in the corridor. “Who”, I demanded, “Who is that chap with the terrific head?”. For the rest of my course at the training college I vainly tried to screw up courage to approach him – the art students, alas, had no class under him – to ask him if he would sit for me. But I never quite succeeded. And in the intervening years I lamented this somewhat uncharacteristic lack of “brass neck”

Moray House Magazine, March 1951

Westwater was delighted several years later on being commissioned to paint the-chap-with-the-terrific-head’s portrait! The main portrait was to be a formal one in the striking red and white academic dress of the University of Durham DSc:

Westwater had some concern with regards to Thomson’s clothing outshining him in the painting:

With most other sitters such a garb would almost inevitably lead to a “portrait of robes with head attached.” But in Godfrey’s case, not so. When he arranged himself in the chair set ready, with complete dignity and composure, it was obvious at once that even such a gown could not compete. The “terrific head” easily subdued it to its proper and subordinate place.

Moray House Magazine, March 1951

Page with Thomson’s photograph from the Moray House Magazine, 1950

Westwater commented on the many and varied conversations he and Thomson had during Thomson’s sittings, informing the reader that they were even prone to a sing song now and again (Thomson’s secretary and students were quite used to him playing, singing, and humming Gilbert and Sullivan whenever the notion took him!). But my favourite passage by far is when Westwater gets rather verbose for his own good and waxes lyrical about the shape of Thomson’s head!:

The very bone structure of his skull begins the puzzle, for it is at once positive, virile, and yet almost frail in its delicacy. The eyes have an imperious authority and penetration, but the mouth under the forceful nose astonishes by its nearly feminine gentleness. it would be easy to cite another score of complexities, more subtle and more difficult from the painters point of view.

Moray House Magazine, March 1951

Quite! Westwater’s second portrait of Thomson was more informal, and was Thomson’s gift from Moray House :

This remained with the Thomson family for many years after Thomson’s death, eventually being donated to the University. Ever keen to see paintings around the university rather than in store, we are delighted that Thomson now hangs proud in the office of his greatest advocator! He is frequently seen and admired by a host of students and visitors.

Westwater clearly enjoyed painting Thomson, and likely he and Thomson would derive great pleasure from knowing his other portrait hangs in Moray House to to this day, reminding everyone, as Westwater put it, ‘of he whom they and I will always think of from different angles as “A Terrific Head”‘!

A few of my favourite things…III

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In his mid 20s, Thomson found himself studying for a PhD under the formidable talents of Nobel Prize winining physicist, Karl Ferdinand Braun, at the University of Strasburg. Today’s object is from this period, and likely held a great deal of sentimental value to Thomson:

Thomson’s watch fob

The watch fob bears the initials of Thomson’s student ‘verein’ or club, the M.N.St.V, (the mathematical and natural science student verein), which he described as a humble version of the expensive ‘Burschenschaften’, elite student clubs which exist to this day and often involve duals (or Mensur):

In the Mensur…the fighters are protected by goggles and nose-piece, by mattress-like chest and arm protection, must not move or flinch, hold the straight pointed rapiers above the head, touching and at the word…strike at each other’s head and faces. Two seconds crouch with drawn swords and at the first touch they strike up the combatant’s swords. this is repeated until the referee gives a decision, or for a given number of rounds. Often one man gets all the cuts, and the other none. they are mostly on the head, but also on the forehead and cheek and chin, a ‘Durch-zieher’ cutting across both cheeks almost horizontally. Then senior medical students give hasty and not very sterile assistance and stitchings, and the heroes drink beer and swagger (if well enough) through the next few days.

The Education of an Englishman, p.53

Physikalisches Institut, Strasburg, March 1906

The scarring resulting from the dual was, and is, seen as a badge of honour, and students often deliberately irritated the wound, packing it to ensure it was widened. In Thomson’s humbler club, duals were rare and usually in response to an insult or wrong doing. No uniforms were required, but members wore a watch fob with the verein’s arms. Thomson’s Leibbursch*, Carl Andriessen (whose name is engraved on the watch fob with Thomson’s) gave him his.

After World War I, Thomson lost contact with many of his German friends, many of whom were killed or missing. However, the inscription of one book in his collection, Das Deutschland Buch, shows he kept in touch with Andriessen:

Inscription from Das Deutschland-Buch

The book is inscribed with a message to Thomson and his wife Jennie, thanking them for their hospitality, and dated June 1931 – 25 years after Thomson left Strasburg. The more fluent among you might notice he refers to them as ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’, which made me wonder if the giver was in fact Andriessen’s son, though he refers to them as old friends, which would suggest otherwise. It contains many beautiful images of Germany, a country Thomson loved his whole life, despite the ravages of two World Wars:

I found the book rather touching – despite the remaining animosity of their prospective nations after World War I, the two clearly have a strong friendship, and Andriessen is able to give Thomson a book about the beauty of his own country, a country Thomson also loved.

For Thomson, the time he spent in Strasburg was one of the happiest periods of his life. It allowed him to indulge in his passion for research, undertaking intensive work on Herzian waves. His German became fluent, and he immersed himself in German culture. The watch fob, which he treasured for all those years, perhaps served as the perfect reminder of his life there, and a reminder of enduring friendship.

*’A second year student who adopts a freshman, shows him the ropes, and can claim services in return’

With many thanks to Sarah Noble, LHSA Conservation Intern, who patiently spent a morning showing me how to make bespoke museum boxes and made the lovely box for Thomson’s watch fob!

A letter from ‘Dear old Rack’!

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As mentioned previously, Thomson’s collection features a great many interesting letters, and I’ll be sharing these throughout the course of the project. One which I found particularly touching was a letter from Thomson’s friend, Marjorie Rackstraw (1888-1981), to Lady Thomson shortly after Thomson’s death.

Rackstraw is an excellent example of the interesting people drawn to the Thomsons. One of a five-daughter family, with no brothers, Rackstraw’s Father encouraged all of his daughters educationally, and gave them a small proportion of his fortune to afford them independence. Her collection features slides, photographs, and several letters – many of these are rather charmingly addressed to ‘Dear old Rack’!

Some of the many letters in Rackstraw’s collection with correspondents throughout the world

Rackstraw’s international driving documentation, 1930s-1940s

The Thomsons met Rackstraw at Edinburgh University, where she was warden of Mason Hall from 1924 to 1937. Before then, Rackstraw had studied history at Birmingham, found herself at Bryn Mawr College, Pennsylvania, and worked as a relief worker in Russia during the famine.

Rackstraw’s International Driving Permit photograph, 1939

As Lady Thomson’s annotations on the letter [below] suggest, Rackstraw’s particular concern was for the care of the elderly – particularly the poor, and she was Chair of the the Hampstead Old People’s Housing Trust until she was 80. She was a firm socialist throughout her life, a member of the Fabian society, and a Labour councillor. Her aid work did not end in Russia, she also volunteered for with the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration throughout World War II. Rackstraw had suffered from spinal difficulties as a result of contracting polio as a child, which impaired her movement somewhat, but she refused to allow this to get in the way of her humanitarian work, or indeed any other aspect of her life.

Readers might remember my earlier blog about the partnership of Thomson and Lady Thomson, and Rackstraw’s letter gives us more insight into this:

What a wonderful partnership it has been, something that has made one believe in the beauty and goodness of human nature.

I think you know how much joy it has brought me to have shared with you two so many wonderful things in life, the wonderful holidays at Glenapp, your dear house in Edinburgh, and oh so many jaunts

The Thomson’s had a great many friends who frequented their house, and Thomson himself often chose to work from home, so its unsurprising Marjorie comments on the warmth of his home. Most touchingly, she calls Thomson ‘a rare plant in God’s garden’.

Many of the letters sent to Lady Thomson laud Thomson’s achievements and his intellect, but Marjorie’s letter simply remembers the man. Her warmth and her kindness are evident, as are the love and esteem she felt for the family.

Within Marjorie’s collection, we also have a letter from Thomson, sent a few short months before he died, which further shows the intimacy and friendship between the two:

As the letters of condolence sent to Lady Thomson show, his death was a surprise to many, since Thomson, perhaps unsurprisingly for his generation, did not mention his health troubles to his friends and acquaintances. However, he does share them with Rackstraw, telling her her that a specialist visited him, and hinting at how he is struggling to be cheerful.

Unbeknown to Rackstraw, Thomson’s ‘tummy troubles’ were down to cancer, and he would pass away a few months later in February 1955. It is likely Thomson and his family were unaware of this too – particularly since his son Hector, as Thomson mentions in the letter, had taken to shouting ‘Goodbye, Daddy, don’t die till I come back!!’!

Rackstraw with Thomson’s son, Hector, from one of the Thomson family albums, c1940s

Collections like Thomson’s and Rackstraw are fascinating not only because they tell us something of the creators’ work, but because they offer the researcher a slice of 20th century life, and an example of the colourful personalities, networks, and friendships abounding – Thomson’s collection informs the user of his work, but also of himself as an individual, his family, his friends, and the people he surrounded himself with.

Many of the letters in Rackstraw’s collection – which I confess I have merely scratched the surface of – are surprisingly candid, discussing marriages that happened too soon, regrettable career decisions, and the odd bit of scandal! In other words, all the components necessary to make the historical human. (Or at the very least, to make some deliciously salacious discoveries!).

Sources: Papers of Marjorie Rackstraw, Oxford DNB.

A few of my favourite things…

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Over the next few weeks, we will be looking at some of the fascinating objects associated with Thomson.

Today’s object of choice is this mechanical calculating machine, manufactured by Swedish company, Facit. The calculator was used in ‘Room 70’, Thomson’s intelligence testing unit.

‘Room 70’ was described by one former employee as quiet, happy, and industrious – perhaps with the rattle of this calculator occasionally breaking the silence!

The machine was operated by hand, and was the first Facit keyboard-set pinwheel calculator, produced between 1932-1939. It is part of Albert E G Pilliner’s collection.

Pilliner was a chemist by trade – throughout the Second World War he worked for a government research facility using his statistical knowledge and experience to evaluate the effectiveness of explosives. It was here Pilliner met William Emmett, who worked closely with Thomson.

After the war, Pilliner taught Chemistry and Physics, taking up a post as lecturer at Moray House College of Education. Following Thomson’s retirement in 1951, Pilliner and his colleagues continued his work, with Pilliner taking charge of the unit, which formally became the Godfrey Thomson Unit in 1965.

By the 1970s, much of Pilliner’s time was taken up working as a consultant to the British Council and UNESCO amongst others, conducting research into the examination systems of countries including Mauritius, Pakistan, and Malaysia. His collection contains many of the reports he produced throughout this period. He died in 2003.

With thanks to Emma Smith for providing the photographs

A brief history of Godfrey Thomson!

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In 1932 and 1947, every 11 year old child in Scotland was given an intelligence test, known as the ‘Moray House Test’, as part of the Scottish Mental Survey. Additionally, they were the subject of a questionnaire which gleaned information about their social and familial background. All of this was in response to the idea that as a nation, Scotland’s intelligence was decreasing due to a supposed differential birth rate. The resulting data, which proved this hypothesis wrong, survives to this day. It is an entirely unique and rich source of information, which has allowed current researchers at the department of Psychology at the University of Edinburgh to undertake pioneering research exploring cognitive ageing.

The creator of these tests (and chairman of the second Scottish Mental Survey) was none other than Professor Sir Godfrey Hilton Thomson.

So just who was Thomson- and why do we think him so important?!

Thomson was a pioneer in the interloping fields of intelligence, statistics, and education. He was the first person to the Bell Chair of Education at the University of Edinburgh, and the Directorship of Moray House School of Education simultaneously; published prolifically on the topic of psychometrics; debated voraciously with eminent statistician Charles Spearman for almost 30 years, and last, but by no means least, was a Knight of the Realm thanks to his considerable services to Education. More than this, Thomson was an egalitarian from a humble background, a ‘lad o’ pairts’ who achieved greatness thanks to his talent and determination, and who believed deeply in equality and fairness.

Godfrey Thomson, c1920s

The ‘Moray House Tests’ which the children sat in 1932 and 1947 actually had their origins in Newcastle in 1921. The local authorities, who at that time provided bursaries for secondary school education, were concerned by a lack of applicants from rural backgrounds. Thomson was conscious of the fact that rural children were often absent from school, so he wanted to create a test which would allow children to demonstrate ‘native wit’ or innate intelligence, rather than a test which would rely upon past learning.

Example of a question from the Newcastle tests

This striving for equality was typical of Thomson, and perhaps in part a result of his own humble background. Born in Carlisle in 1881, his Mother left his Father, taking the infant Thomson with her, to return to her childhood home in Tyneside. His Mother and he lived with her three sisters, and she earned a very modest income from working with a sewing machine firm in Newcastle.

Thomson had plans to become a ‘pattern maker’, a specialist joiner who made wooden models of steel castings for engineering works, after leaving High Felling Board School. However, after sitting a scholarship examination, Thomson found himself at Rutherford College, where he discovered various interests in mathematics, music, and etymology. Rutherford College was supported largely by the students entering and winning examinations as part of a government scheme, and Thomson soon became a veteran in these examinations, obtaining prizes for English and Mathematics amongst others.

Thomson as a young boy

At 16, he sat the London Matriculation exam, and returned to High Felling Board School as a pupil teacher. During this time, he took additional evening classes, studying chemistry, physics, botany, and zoology. In 1889, aged 18, Thomson sat the Queen’s Scholarship, an all-England competition, and came third, continuing his studies in what would become Armstrong College, and later King’s College, at Durham University. Thomson studied for his teaching diploma and a joint Mathematics and Physics degree simultaneously, and graduated with distinction. He went on to study at Strasbourg under the Nobel prize winning physicist, Professor Ferdinand Braun, and graduating Summa cum Laude following his work on Herzian waves.

After his three years in Strasbourg came to a close, Thomson returned to Newcastle, attaining the post of assistant lecturer at Armstrong College in order to fulfil the obligation of his scholarship. It was here he met his wife, Jennie Hutchinson, a fellow lecturer, and here he gained an interest in Educational Psychology. In 1916 he published a paper which would ignite a 30 year debate with the eminent statistician, Charles Spearman.

Essentially, the debate centred around Spearman’s Theory of Two Factors regarding intelligence. He believed that performance in each subject was down to specific abilities linked to each, and general ability linked to all. Thomson provided an alternative for this in his bonds model, in which he hypothesised that any mental task requires a number of ‘bonds’, some of which are more closely related to others in ‘pools’ (Thomson made a link between these bonds and the neurons of the brain). Thomson had no wish to discredit Spearman’s theory, rather to show that his provided an alternative, and he showed good sportsmanship in holding off publication during the war years to enable Spearman, who was serving, time to respond. However, the debate would continue until Spearman’s death in 1945.

In 1925, Thomson accepted his position in Edinburgh and his family (by now including his son, Hector) moved to Edinburgh. It was here in what became the Godfrey Thomson Unit that Thomson and his team would formulate the Moray House Test. The test, which included questions on verbal reasoning, English, and mathematics, was also used by local authorities throughout the UK for School selection. Thomson was not wholly comfortable with this, but concluded testing was preferable to nepotism, and worked on making the tests as fair as possible. Thomson could have made a considerable fortune on the tests, but instead insured all royalties were transferred into a research fund to facilitate their continual improvement.

On his retirement in 1951, Thomson, who had proved highly popular amongst staff and students, was presented with 2 portraits of himself by RH Westwater, one of which hangs in Moray House to this day. He passed away in 1955.

These are just some of the many reasons why we think Thomson is incredibly important, and has been unfairly neglected from the history of psychometrics. This neglect is, in part, due to scholars having no primary material to consult – the archive itself was only discovered in 2008, and it is no exaggeration to say it was rescued.

It is our task to catalogue his papers, and to ensure he finally receives the recognition his work deserves. In the coming months, we will be blogging about Thomson, his collection, and the people he came into contact with throughout his life and career. We hope you will enjoy!

Godfrey Thomson Project

Documenting the understanding of human intelligence

Tag Archives: Professor Sir Godfrey Thomson

‘Encounters of a mathematician’…

‘Who is that chap with the terrific head?!’

A few of my favourite things…III

A letter from ‘Dear old Rack’!

A few of my favourite things…

A brief history of Godfrey Thomson!