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A letter from ‘Dear old Rack’!

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

Keeping history a ‘humane study’

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It is a real privilege to catalogue an individual’s personal papers. Yes, its fascinating learning about the field they contributed to and the innovations they left behind, but there is nothing better than putting on your cardigan (a necessary implement – archive stores are chilly!) and making a new friend.

As @mandahill quoted on twitter

“Where there is a good collection of personal papers there is a greater likelihood of history remaining a humane study.” #archives

Quite. And there are many fascinating personal papers to be found in Thomson’s collection, from photographs, to letters, to artefacts, telling us about his life as well as his work. After two months of working on his papers, I really do feel like I am getting to know Thomson. And I rather like him.

Thomson and his son, Hector, in Cornwall

But it was today, when I was lucky enough to have a tour of Moray House where Thomson was director between 1925-1951, that I really got an idea of the working environment in which he carried out his research. Myself and others involved in the project were led by former honorary Moray House archivist, Hugh Perfect.

Old Moray House, built in the early 17th century

: We started the visit in the corridor of Thomson’s office, surrounded by beautiful 1930s architecture. Like many teachers and academics in the early to mid 20th century, Thomson wore academic robes while he taught, and I could almost see him walking purposefully along the corridors around his office with his robes billowing behind him!

The corridor to the right of Thomson’s office

The corridor to the left of Thomson’s office

His office had (and still does have) a smaller office adjoining where his secretary, Marian Cooke, worked. The pair had a close working relationship – in the 11 years they worked together, they had only one skirmish which began with Thomson losing his temper, and ended with Cooke slamming the door! Thankfully, according to Cooke, this incident was a one off, and the pair thoroughly enjoyed working together. Though whether she enjoyed Thomson’s renditions of Gilbert and Sullivan is anyone’s guess!

The view Thomson and Cooke shared from their adjoining offices

The interior of Thomson’s former office

We were also lucky enough to see Thomson’s portrait by RH Westwater, which hangs in a room now used as a meeting or conference space:

Thomson’s portrait by Westwater

It was certainly nice to see that Thomson is still remembered by Moray House over 60 years after his retirement, and fitting one of the buildings has been named ‘Thomson’s Land’ in his memory.

In contrast, ‘Room 70’, where Thomson and his team designed the Moray House Tests, is rather unrecognisable today from the picture Thomson’s papers paint – that of a hive of quiet activity, with only the sound of the calculating machine, the rustle of paper, and the sighs of the unfortunates tasked with marking the tests punctuating the silence! The room is now used primarily for seminars, and has been refurbished in a modern style.

The tour really gave us a feel for the environment in which Thomson worked, and it also gave me more of an idea of the man himself. Hugh’s extraordinary knowledge of Moray House was fascinating, and I learned something not only about Thomson, but about the institution he became such a part of.

Hugh has written extensively about Moray House, but it occurred to me that this is unusual in most cases – the buildings which are such a part of the papers are often no longer standing, or those with the sort of knowledge that comes only from years of habitation are no longer there.

The moral of this tale? If you are working on an individual’s papers, whether in the capacity of researcher or archivist, leave the books and the archives for a day and visit their old haunts. You might well learn something!

With thanks to Hugh Perfect for his time and knowledge.

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

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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!

‘Never mind, dear, I didn’t want a competitor, only a wife!’

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Behind every great man is that truly awful platitude reserved for the woman in his shadow! Researchers and archivists often despair about the absence of women – and not only women, but that’s several other blogs! – found in the margins of the papers of great men. What was their part in the story, other than that of a dutiful wife neglected in the pursuit of greatness?

Comparatively little is known about Thomson’s wife, Jennie (or to give her full title, Lady Thomson!). She is admittedly rather absent from his autobiography, The Education of an Englishman. This may be pardonable in some respects as it is largely about his education and career, though indeed one might say what is marriage if not an education?! Thomson tells us that he married his ‘younger colleague’ and settled down to ‘happiness and careful budgeting’. We know they met at Armstrong College, where Jenny was also teaching, and that they had one child, Hector. We know that Thomson’s many influential friends, including Carlos Paton Blacker, thought very highly of Jennie and enjoyed her company – but why? Was she witty? Good humoured? Or did she simply bake a mean scone as the annotations to Thomson’s recipe book would attest?!

Jennie Thomson

Thomson credited Jennie for winning the Urban Prize with him, saying that she carried out the mathematical calculations, but Jennie’s story is somewhat different:

One night, sitting as usual in his study with Crelle’s Rechaud Tafel on my knee I said to him ‘You know Godfrey, although I can do these calculations, I haven’t the faintest idea of what it is really all about.

He said ’Never mind, dear, I didn’t want a competitor, only a wife!’

However, from Thomson’s papers it is entirely clear just how much his Jennie meant to him, and how much her Godfrey meant to her. Its telling, for instance, that Thomson kept so many photographs of Jennie, that on one of the photographs of her in full costume for an amateur production at Durham University, Thomson has written ‘Jane Hutchinson, (now my wife), in what I like to imagine was a proud and steady hand!

Jane Hutchinson (‘Jennie’), right, and Beatrice Buckley, left

Thomson’s notes on reverse

We can see Jennie in the papers of James Fitzjames Duff, in a letter from Thomson’s friend, G R Goldsborough, who recalls how Thomson informed him of his marriage:

I wrote back a congratulatory letter saying how fortunate she was to have a man of such fine qualities; which I was sure would lead to a happy union and future prosperity. He immediately replied saying that it would please him very much if I would write and say the same to Jennie! I felt it a pecuiliar request, but I did as he asked and got what I deserved for my pains – a cool reply with a plain hint that such an unsolicited testimonial was not required.

Jennie clearly knew that Thomson, for all his ‘fine qualities’, was jolly lucky to have her!

Jennie (right) and her sister on their graduation, Durham University

Nowhere is the love between Thomson and Jennie more apparent than her biographical notes. Thomson died 14 years before Lady Thomson. Sadly, Jennie never finished the biography, perhaps because she suffered from poor health following Thomson’s death until her own. However, the notes she left behind give an insight into the man she knew better than anyone. She describes Thomson’s characteristics – his humour, his kindness, his egalitarian nature:

He possessed a strong sense of humour, a ready wit and considerate personal charm which made him a perfect host at his own table. His tasks were simple, he loved his fellow men…He had what all great people had – humility.

Lady Thomson’s notes regarding Thomson’s death are particularly poignant:

I have said earlier that Godfrey sought truth and was not afraid of it when he met it. He was not afraid when he met it at the last.

He asked me two days before he died if the doctors had told me he was going to die. He said “I am not afraid to die, but I am afraid of the pain and anguish to you”.

Through my barely hidden tears, I said “Yes dear, I know you are very ill, but I am your old sweetheart you know – and I am coming to you soon”. He said “Some things are certainties”

Thomson died in the afternoon of the following day. Jennie, or Lady Thomson as she was by then, was flooded with letters of sympathy telling her how much the sender admired and loved Thomson, from many of the world’s leading statisticians and psychometricians including Charles Paton Blacker and David Glass, as well as several letters from past students. Almost every letter states Jennie should not answer, she should rest, etc., and almost every letter is marked ‘answered’, with the date Jennie replied.

We will likely never know terribly much about Jennie other than the traces dotted around Thomson’s papers – the photographs of her, the book about Durham she gave him for Christmas 1914 – but Thomson treasured these traces. He referred to them throughout his life, often annotating them in hindsight. Jennie wasn’t ‘just’ a wife to Thomson, and she wasn’t ‘just’ a figure in the background of his achievements. She was his partner, his friend, and the person he trusted the most, and he was all those things to her.

A man of excellent repute

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A pet hate of Thomson’s was his name being spelled ‘Thompson’. Any correspondent who did so was wont to find a rather amusing peculiarity in Thomson’s reply. Whatever their name, placed in the middle of it would be the offending ‘p’!

One can only hope that the following letter didn’t provoke the same response:

Letter to Thomson from Karl Pearson, 1919

Those in the statistical know will recognise the signature of Karl Pearson, often referred to as the founder of modern statistics. The first thing we notice about the letter is that Thomson has crossed out the ‘p’! The second, that Pearson is offering Thomson a job at the Francis Galton Laboratory, University of London, despite never having met him before. Such was Thomson’s reputation.

The collection boasts a further two letters from Pearson around the same time. Pearson has misspelled Thomson’s name in all three, so we can only assume Thomson thought better of correcting him!

The second letter offers Thomson more money, and the third graciously accepts Thomson’s decision not to accept the post. In this letter, Pearson tells Thomson ‘I think you have done the wise thing, although it is my loss as I am not likely to get as good a man’.

Thomson treasured the letters his whole life, and they were a great source of pride to him. His son found them after his death, along with other letters which held significance to Thomson, including letters from Edward Thorndike, Derrick Lawley, and Pearson’s son, Egon Pearson.

In the coming months, we will be looking at some of these letters, and the fascinating stories behind them, in more depth.

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: CRC

A letter from ‘Dear old Rack’!

A few of my favourite things…

Keeping history a ‘humane study’

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

‘Never mind, dear, I didn’t want a competitor, only a wife!’

A man of excellent repute

A brief history of Godfrey Thomson!