Recently I met a friend for congenial conversation and ale. Much
of our talk centres around books: my friend is as much a searcher after strange
and odd volumes as I am – if not more so. As the walk to our public house of
choice would take us close to one of a chain of shops run by a well-known
medical charity, we thought we would we try our luck and examine the stock on
the small set of shelves reserved for ‘collectable’ books. I was not hopeful, as
several previous visits had yielded nothing; but I agreed to our small detour.
It was well that I did.
The stock had certainly grown in quantity, and the shelf was
crowded. We leaned in and got to work. Many books had faded spines with
lettering not easily readable or even visible, and I picked these out one by
one, just in case. Most seemed to be the histories of engineering companies or
shipping lines: of specialist interest to some, no doubt. Then I spotted a
faded turquoise spine on which words could just be discerned. Knees cracking, I
squatted to read, printed in worn gold capitals: STAR-LAND. Beneath, between
two small five-pointed stars also in gold, was the name of the author: Sir
Robert Ball.
I thought of an adventure novel set under the open skies, or
a lost-world story set in a high, hidden valley. Perhaps it was an early
interplanetary romance? The front cover did, after all, bear like a hieroglyph
a representation of what was clearly the sun, together with a comet or shooting
star. Opening the book revealed it to have a subtitle: Being Talks with Young
People about the Wonders of the Heavens. Star-Land is a collection of
six lectures, beginning with ‘The Sun’, going on via ‘The Moon’ and through the
Solar System to ‘The Stars’ and a concluding chapter on ‘How to Name the
Stars’. I had indeed found an interplanetary romance of sorts: one of space and
time, of astronomers and the diffusion of science.
Robert Stawell Ball (1840-1913) was born in Dublin, attending
Trinity College in his native city where he gained honours in natural science
and mathematics. But it must have been astronomy, the observation and study of
the objects to be seen in the heavens, that Ball wished to devote his life to
understanding and explaining. He worked for Lord Rosse, who had built the largest
telescope in the world; he became a Professor of Astronomy and Royal Astronomer
of Ireland; a knighthood followed in 1886. And Sir Robert Ball was appropriately
recognised when the asteroid 4809 Robertball was named after him. I was pleased
to see that he also had a connection with Birmingham, having served as
President of the Birmingham and Midland Institute, which apparently still holds
many of his books in its library. The shop in which I found Star-Land is just a few hundred yards
from the attractive Victorian red-brick premises that the Institute now
occupies.
As well as a being a highly-regarded scientist and author of
astronomical texts, Ball was also a very popular lecturer, especially for young
people – he delivered the Royal Institution Christmas Lecture on several occasions.
I hope that Ball was in reality the jovial and avuncular teacher that his
photographs seem to show, for the texts of his lectures are lively and jaunty –
he is never condescending or trite. Ball starts with basic scientific
principles and rigorously builds in new discoveries and theories: Star-Land is full of everyday analogies
that his audience and readers, children and young people of the day, would have
recognised and understood.
I must confess that I bought Star-Land primarily for
the frontispiece photograph of the author (clearly going about his work) and
the illustrations showing basic experiments that were presumably demonstrated
to the young audiences and which could also be repeated at home. There are also
numerous drawings of astronomical equipment, including Dunsink Observatory and
its telescope, which I hope the busy Sir Robert still found time to gaze
through while Royal Astronomer. There are also many atmospheric drawings of the
planets and other ‘heavenly bodies’ such as meteors and comets. In any case, Star-Land seems to have been a popular
book. The copy I found states that it was first published in 1889 and reprinted
ten times, with a Revised Edition appearing in 1899 and reprinted for the third
time in 1905. It seems to have been a favourite school prize: there are several
images online showing copies that were richly bound or bear ornately printed
labels especially inscribed.
Because Star-Land
was a product of the Victorian age, as I glanced through the text I expected,
despite the author’s evident belief in empirical science, to be confronted at
any moment by reverent and pious commentary – inevitable moralizing that our
Earth, the planets and stars are there because they were created by etc etc,
and so we – and you, boys and girls, should etc etc. But no. Sir Robert Ball
seems to have had no ulterior motives. Planets, stars, and nebulae simply exist:
they are to be discovered and understood by us, but not to show forth the power
(or any other attribute) of a creator. If anything, Ball seems to have wanted
to emphasise to his audiences the overwhelming vastness of the universe and the
smallness of humanity and all its works:
After allowance is made for the
imperfections of our point of view, we are enabled to realize the majestic
truth that the sun is no more than a star, and that the other stars are no less
than suns. This gives us an imposing idea of the extent and the magnificence of
the universe in which we are situated. Look up at the sky at night – you will
see a host of stars; try to think that every one of them is itself a sun. It
may probably be that those suns have planets circulating round them, but it is
hopeless for us to expect to see such planets. Were you standing on one of
those stars and looking towards our system, you would not perceive the sun to
be the brilliant and gorgeous object that we knew so well. If you could see him
at all, he would merely seem like a star, not nearly so bright as many of those
you can see at night. Even if you had the biggest of telescopes to aid your
vision, you could never discern from one of these bodies the planets which
surround the sun. No astronomer in the stars could see Jupiter even if his
sight were a thousand times as good or his telescopes a thousand times as
powerful as any sight or telescope that we know. So minute an object as our
earth would, of course, be still more hopelessly beyond the possibility of
vision.
And, in his final lecture:
No doubt it is a noble globe
which we inhabit, but I have failed in my purpose if I have not shown you how
insignificant is this earth when compared with the vast extent of some of the
other bodies that abound in space.
I wonder whether Sir Robert Ball could be considered as the
Patrick Moore of the time. Although as a youngster I was rarely allowed to stay
up to watch The Sky at Night, I did
avidly look out for any other appearances by Moore on television. I had been
given several of his books. I used to take my binoculars and star-map or
planisphere out into the back garden where, light pollution permitting, I would
scan the sky for the notable stars, planets, and nebulae that should be
visible. I was caught up by Moore’s breathless enthusiasm, and the feeling he conveyed
that anyone, even a teenage boy, could develop a skill, enjoy astronomy and lose
himself in something special and marvel-filled through learning the
constellations and finding out about the objects to be discovered in the depths
of space – and could even, perhaps, with dedication and hard work, turn a hobby
into a career.
I am also led to wonder about another boy who was a keen and
expert amateur astronomer. Ball’s outlook brings to mind the tremendous distances
and vistas of time that H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) would later evoke in his greatest
stories. The young Lovecraft frequented the Ladd Observatory in his home city
of Providence, published little scientific journals for his family and friends,
and wrote columns on star-gazing and planet-spotting for newspapers in Rhode
Island: a copy of Star-Land (perhaps a present from his beloved
grandfather) would surely have enchanted the boy – and helped maintain in the
man his enduring fascination with cosmic themes. To the end of his life
Lovecraft never lost his interest in astronomy. And now Star-Land has helped rekindle something of mine.
