Tag Archives: Edinburgh University Special Collections

‘The old conditions cannot continue, and some new form of political and economic existence must be found’

All of history seems to be contained in the letters of ordinary people living in extraordinary times. We may know what backdrop will emerge, but there are seldom enough traces to discover the fate of the individual. The following letter, sent by a Dr Friedrich M Urban of Brünn a short while after the Nuremberg rally of 1938 to Professor Godfrey Thomson, is a fascinating example:

EUA IN1/ACU/G1/6/2/2, ‘Letter to Thomson from Dr Friedrich Urban’

It is not clear from Thomson’s papers how he knew Urban – quite possibly he had met him while studying in Strasburg, during which time he undertook a tour of Europe.

All from Coll-1310/1/2/3, which contains photographs of Thomson’s European tour of 1909

Urban’s letter shows a great deal of affection for Thomson and his wife, referring to the kindness of the Thomsons to their girls. Speaking to Thomson as an old friend, Urban thanks him for the suggestion of medicinal honey to help with his gallbladder, and reports on the method’s success! But the mood in the letter quickly turns:

Much has happened since we met and took those pleasant walks in the parc [sic] of the Spielberg. Our country was involved in a catastrophe which is bound to have the most serious consequences for its citizens. The old conditions cannot continue and some new form of political and economic existence must be found.

The first consequence was that we had to separate from our children. When we listened to Hitler’s speech at Nurenberg [sic] – for who did not? – we understood that he contemplated violent measures against our country. We wished to have the girls out of the way and asked Mr and Mrs Sanderson and Dr Fernberger for hospitality for our children. We got positive answers at once and managed to get the girls across the German frontiers. It was in the nick of time, for three weeks later the frontiers were closed.

There is much about the letter that is perplexing – initially, I thought Urban might have been writing from Brunn in Austria, but for the addition of the umlaut (both Germany and Austria have regions called Spielberg to confuse matters further). He could also have been writing from Brno in the Czech Republic, which does not seem an unlikely option considering Brno is home to Spielberg castle and was captured by Germany in 1939. However, it does seem rather unlikely that Urban would use the German spelling of his town in that instance.

If we are to assume that Urban is writing from Germany, his phrase ‘our country was involved in a catastrophe’ is an interesting one. The ‘catastrophe’ he refers to is likely the annexation of Austria by Germany, which took place earlier in the year. It was a catastrophe caused by Germany’s actions rather than their involvement, but he makes a clear distinction between the activities of the Nazis in this instance and ‘our’ country, his country, refusing to identify one with the other.

Urban tells how the girls stayed in London with the Sandersons for a few weeks, before sailing to New York where they remained in the custody of the Fernbergers in Philadelphia. He mentions how they are waiting for a letter describing the girls’ travels, but can’t hide quite how much they are missed:

We miss the girls tremendously, but inspite [sic] of this we thank God every day that they are not here and that we have friends who look after them.

He talks about how life at Brunn will likely become ‘rather difficult’, and asks for Thomson’s help in finding teaching work in Britain. While he accepts that this may be impossible, and admits his chances of securing work in Britain are ‘very small’, Urban remains optimistic nonetheless – thankful even – that his daughters are safe, and his health good. I can find no trace of Urban – whether he and his wife were ever reunited with their daughters remains a mystery. For me, this serves to make the letter, which describes the plight of millions throughout Europe from the perspective of one individual to another, all the more touching.

If you have any information regarding Dr Urban, do please comment.

The love story of Hector and Andromache…

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Valentines Day. A wonderful time of year when we can indulge in levels of cynicism and sarcasm simply unacceptable at any other! However, here in the archives our hardened hearts are often shamefully disarmed by the traces of friendship, romance, and (dare I say it!) love we come across every day within our collections.

Those of you familiar with Greek mythology may know the story of Hector and Andromache – Hector the bold Trojan warrior, and Andromache, his beautiful wife. For those who do not, the story doesn’t end happily, with Hector killed at the hands of Achilles. Today’s Valentine’s blog is about another Hector and Andromache – Hector Thomson, the son of Godfrey Thomson, and his rather beautiful wife, the aptly named Andromache.

Hector as a young boy with Thomson

From the outset, despite their fateful monikers, the pair seemed a rather unlikely match. Hector, according to one family friend, was socially awkward, quiet, and was most likely to be found with his nose in a book. Andromache, according to the traces of her in the letters of others, was the sort of house guest welcome at every home, who could bring cheer to even the most despondent of households.

Sadly we have no photographs of Andromache in the archives. This scan was given to us by a relative.

Hector began his career as an Oxford educated Classicist. Perhaps surprisingly when compared to the accounts we have regarding his boyhood, he finished his degree with a yearning of adventure, and entered the diplomatic service, working in Baghdad.

Telegrams from Hector to his family sent during his time in Baghdad

At some point in 1939, he found himself teaching at the English School in Nicosia, Cyprus. It was here the somewhat socially awkward Hector met the vivacious Andromache! The pair quickly fell in love – in one letter from his father, Hector is told:

We would dearly love to hear from you, and especially to hear more about Andromache, but I know communication must be precarious.

His parents, of course, had their own love story.

Hector also fell in love with Cyprus – his letters to Thomson from this period discuss both the language and the religion of the Cypriots in great detail. Details which Thomson with his enquiring mind would have found fascinating. References to Andromache in the surviving letters are brief, with the Thomson’s sending their love and asking how she is – but we know in later years that the Thomsons, along with many of their friends and acquaintances, would affectionately call her ‘Mackie’.

Scenes from Hector’s time in Cyprus

After their wedding, they settled in Aberdeen where Hector eventually became senior lecturer in Ancient and Modern Greek at the University of Aberdeen. Hector’s teaching techniques owed a lot to his Father’s career as a psychologist and professor of education, throughout which Thomson emphasised the need to gain and keep the attention of students and pupils. This is by no means an uncommon idea now, but one which was new and innovative in Thomson’s time.

His Father’s methods are reflected in the many ways Hector grabbed and maintained the attention of his students, apparently even making yoghurt in one lecture! He endeavored not only to teach his students Greek, but invited them to share in his love of Greek culture.

Following his retirement, he and Andromache spent their time between the Thomson’s former home in Ravelston Dykes, Edinburgh (left to Hector in their will), and Cyprus. Hector died on 19th February 2008, aged 91. According to her relations, Andromache was bereft after his death, and decided to move back to Cyprus permanently. A few short months later, she too passed away. Hector and ‘Mackie’ were married for 67 years – they were a true love match. Now that, dear readers, is better than chocolates, flowers, and stuffed toys clutching hearts!

The disgruntlements of old age…

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Disgruntlement. The archives are full of it – though I should stress I am referring to the contents of our records rather than our lovely readers (or indeed my lovely colleagues)! This week’s letter is a wonderful example of disgruntlement from the eccentric and brilliant zoologist and classicist, D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson (1860–1948). The youth, he tells us, simply aren’t what they used to be:Thompson wrote the letter to Thomson in 1946 to congratulate him on his Galton Lecture, ‘the Trends of National Intelligence’, which explored the idea that as a nation, our intelligence was in decline.

While he acknowledges that he may well be ‘biased by the disgruntlements of old age’, he assures Thomson:

I still believe that my students are inferior to those of thirty or forty years ago, and to my own companions of 60-70 years ago. They have less ability, much less diligence, and hardly any of the old enthusiasm and joy and happiness in their work.

And that, according to Thompson, isn’t even the half of it!:

There is something, something very subtle and mysterious, which brings the Golden Ages and the Dark Ages; which gives one, in literature, the Elizabethan, the Queen Anne, and the Victorian periods; and in Art the great and shortlived glories of Greece, Italy, Holland and our English school of Reynolds, Turner, Constable and the rest. All gone!

Indeed. And according to Thompson, who finishes on a wonderful note of pessimism, its only going to get worse:

I judge from the young people I have to do with, that we are going to be worse before we are better.

D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson

But despite appearances, Thompson loved teaching – he was a renowned speaker whose lecture halls were packed, and he encouraged his students to exercise their enquiring minds. Even while he lay on his death bed, Thompson’s students visited and livened up his last days with discussion and debate. Any disappointment hinted at in his letter to Thomson could be attributed to his own brilliance, which perhaps caused him to expect similar levels of extraordinariness in those he taught.

Thompson’s love of biology was awakened by his Grandfather, who, along with Thompson’s Aunt, brought him up in Edinburgh. This was due to the death of his Mother and his Father’s appointment as professor of Greek in Queen’s College, Galway. He was educated at the Universities of Edinburgh and Cambridge – gaining a first, naturally, and was appointed professor of biology in University College Dundee.

The importance of artefacts in teaching was clear to Thompson from the outset. Under his guidance a rich museum of zoology was created, helped by the Dundee whalers. Thompson himself was deeply interested in whaling, visiting the Pribylov Islands as a member for the British–American ‘inquiry on the fur seal fishery in the Bering Sea’. This interest would continue throughout his life, seeing him speaking at international conferences; appointed CB (1898); becoming a member of the fishery board for Scotland; and becoming a British representative for the International Council for the Exploration of the Sea. In 1917, Thompson accepted the post of senior chair of natural history in the United College of the University of St Andrews.

Thompson’s published output was vast, and included papers on biology, oceanography, classical scholarship, and natural history. He had several honours bestowed upon him, including his election as fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh (1885); his election as fellow of the Royal Society (1916); the Linnean gold medal (1938); the Darwin medal (1946); and his knighthood (1937). Despite his description of himself as a ‘disgruntled old man’, Thompson encouraged the youth surrounding him to think, to enquire, and to explore – something he did right up until the end of his life.

‘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”‘!

‘I am a better man for loving him, and having had his friendship’

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Thomson described education as ‘the food of the Gods’, but he might well have described friendship in the same way. The many letters of grief sent to Lady Thomson following his death attest to how he cultivated and valued friendship throughout his life. But of all the friendships present in his papers, the one which I have found the most touching is that between himself and the delightfully named Sir James Fitzjames Duff, who was knighted on the same day as Thomson.

Thomson and Duff after being Knighted – Duff is situated on the right hand side behind Thomson, 1949

An eternal bachelor who had his widowed Mother, and later his equally wonderfully named unmarried sister, Hester, live with him throughout his adult years; who refused to learn to drive; and who was gloriously and unapologetically dreadful at golf, Duff sounds like he might just have had all the ingredients of the quintessential British eccentric!

Duff’s friendship with Thomson spanned from his employment at Armstrong College in 1922, when Thomson gave him a job as lecturer. Duff continued to work in Durham University, having been promoted to Warden of the Durham colleges in 1937, until his early retirement in 1960, as well as the various educational commissions and Committees he devoted his time to. He was enthusiastic about his career throughout his life, and very much enjoyed his work at Durham. In a letter to Thomson upon hearing the sad news of his illness, Duff writes:

Its just upon 33 years since you chose me for the vacant lectureship at Armstrong College; and I regard that as about the most fortunate day of my life, partly because it shaped my career in a way that has given me great happiness and more than adequate success, but partly because it led to my friendship with you. Considering that I was only on your staff for a very short time, its surprising how close and, to me at least, delightful the friendship has been. Part of that joy has been that I always looked up to you, as a younger man to a wise and kind elder. And at my age there are few indeed left to whom I can look up in that way. So don’t leave us yet, if you can help it. And if you can’t help it, let me tell you while I can that so long as I live, my admiration and affection for you, and my gratitude for your friendship, will not die. [Coll-1310/1/1/25]

Duff was not short of friends – he was renowned for his conversational skills, and could hold an audience rapt with his stories. One might say he seemed an odd companion for the more quiet, considered, Godfrey, but the two quickly became friends. They worked together on pioneering intelligence test work in Northumberland during which time Duff was seconded to Northumberland county council as educational superintendent. In particular, they were trying to ensure that clever children who suffered from a lack of education due to living in rural areas, would not miss out on secondary school places. Several items of correspondence survive from this time in the Duff papers held in Durham University.

From an affluent background, Duff had had many of the advantages Thomson had lacked, attending the prestigious Winchester College, then Cambridge. Duff much admired Thomson’s achievements in light of his relatively humble background:

Godfrey’s was really was a wonderful life. Personal affection apart, I can think of nobody whose whole life was so filled with happy beneficent actions as his. And the triumph over the handicaps and poverty of his boyhood adds a special sort of lustre to it all. [Coll-1310/1/1/25]

It was Duff who would write Thomson’s obituary, though the copy in the collection with Lady Thomson’s annotations attests that she thought his accounts of Thomson’s impoverished background greatly exaggerated, and gave him a jolly good telling off!

Following Thomson’s death in 1955, Duff kept in touch with Hector, and later edited Thomson’s autobiography, Education of an Englishman, ensuring its publication in 1969 much to the delight of Hector. Many items of correspondence survive between himself and Hector, which exchange anecdotes of Thomson many years after his death. Lady Thomson features as a topic rather than a correspondent, since by this time she was suffering from ill health herself, and spent a great deal of time in hospital. Rather touchingly, Hector tells Duff of his Mother’s removal to hospital, and her insistence, in her confused state, that the drive would have to be swept and cleaned because ‘Mr Duff’ was coming. Throughout this period, Duff continues to write to Lady Thomson, addressing her as ‘My dear Jennie’.

Upon his sudden death at Dublin airport in 1970, his beloved sister, Hester, writes to Hector Thomson, expressing her gladness that Duff managed to finish editing Thomson’s biography and telling Hector about the manner of his death:

As for the manner of James’ going, I do not think he would have wished it otherwise. he had a slight heart attack while on holiday in Ireland, made an excellent recovery, and was passed fit to go home, then collapsed and died quite suddenly (of a coronary thrombosis) at Dublin Airport. Although I miss him more than I can say, I could not wish him a long illness and old decline.[Coll-1310/1/1/28]

Fifteen years after Thomson’s death, Hester tells Hector that he still has Thomson’s photograph on his mantelpeice:

There is a photograph of your Father on James’ study mantelpiece…He is standing with his hands on a desk, wearing glasses, aged perhaps 40. [Coll-1310/1/1/28].

It is clear that Thomson’s friendship meant a great deal to Duff – in a letter to Lady Thomson following his death, he writes, ‘I am a better man for loving him, and having had his friendship’. But equally, it is clear his friendship too meant a great deal to Thomson, and indeed the Thomson family. True to his word, Duff’s admiration and affection for Thomson did not die.

* Any stories of friendship (or romance!) from your historical research? Tweet me about it at @emmaeanthony using the #makehistoryhuman!

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.

Education and the ‘Disconnected Mind’

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This week, I was lucky enough to have a good rummage through the Scottish Council for Research in Education collection, which is in Glasgow University Archive Services. The council, which began in 1928, spent much of its life situated in Edinburgh, until its latter years when its staff were moved to the faculty of education in Glasgow.

It was the Scottish Council for Research in Education (who shall henceforth be known as SCRE!) who carried out the Scottish Mental Surveys, with funding from the Population Investigation Committee, the Eugenics Society, and, with later follow on studies, the Nuffield Trust. The surveys tested every child in Scotland born in 1921 and 1936 in 1932 and 1947 respectively, and there were three follow on projects (the ‘Binet 1000’, the ‘6-day sample’, and the ’36-day sample’). Some of the children from the 1947 survey were still in contact as far as 1963, their achievements and social background being examined alongside their original results to see what bearing these had had on the rest of their lives.

The records of these surveys, including the completed test papers, compiled results, follow on studies, and sociological data, survive to this day within the collection, and have been utilised to great effect by psychologists at Edinburgh University who are working with participants of the surveys to explore why some individuals’ cognitive abilities decline more than others. Their work is part of the Disconnected Mind project, which aims to prevent an increasingly ageing population from losing their cognitive abilities, and is funded by Age UK. You can hear Prof Ian Deary discuss the project here:

Like Deary, SCRE were concerned with the ‘disconnect’ of the mind, though that of the child rather than the adult. Much of SCRE’s work involved the engagement of the child in their learning. They had various primary school committees including committees for handwriting, numbers, spelling, and bilingualism (of which Thomson was convenor), as well as committees looking at the needs of blind, partially sighted, and deaf children.

This is reflected in the SCRE published spelling list:

Dr Robbie reported that in preparing the spelling list which the panel is proposing to compile the panel had sought to discover the kind of subject about which children liked to write. he explained that the pupil’s spelling and vocabulary would be obtained by distributing the chosen topics to selected schools, from this, a spelling list compiled on the child’s need would ultimately be compiled [Council minutes, 21 June 1947].

This concern about the child’s interests was, in actual fact, highly forward thinking, and there are many artefacts and teaching aids surviving in Moray House which show how teachers at the demonstration school piqued the interest of the children:

Some of the artefacts from the Moray House cupboard/wunderkabinet! [photograph courtesy of Emma Smith]

Another of the Moray House demonstration school’s teaching aids [photograph courtesy of Emma Smith]

Today, SCRE is no longer in operation. However, the publications they produced as a result of their work were widely disseminated, surviving in many higher education libraries. These, along with their records, show SCRE to have been both a highly innovative and democratic organisation, exploring hitherto unexamined areas and keeping equality, as well as the abilities and potential of each child, at its core.

With thanks to Glasgow University Archive Services.

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!

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.

Godfrey Thomson Project

Documenting the understanding of human intelligence

Tag Archives: Edinburgh University Special Collections

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