British Dental Association Museum

64 Wimpole Street

London W1G 8YS

Thursday November 3 2016

It would seem perverse if you had an appointment at the dentist, for actual treatment, to be visiting the Dental Museum  barely an hour before but that was the situation for one of us this week. It was partly the proximity as Wimpole Street for over a century has been the ‘go-to’ address for private doctors, many of whom can still be found here between the  institutions and august bodies – Number 1 is the HQ for the Royal Society of Medicine, the nurses were round the corner – but today we were heading for the dentists. Many of the houses are sturdy and handsome Georgian terraces but the BDA must have been  ‘filling’ (Ho-ho) where a gap appeared as the building dates from 1967. (By the way the numbering is so long-established the numbers go up one side and down the other – none of that odds and evens business.)

As Jo said, dentists are in the main disliked not for who they are but for what they do, which is often to cause pain, so everyone at the BDA was totally charming and welcoming. It is their professional body so there are numerous meeting and lecture rooms and we were directed to the museum, which is just off the library/archive on the ground floor. I suppose with the exception of the large chairs (and there is one of those on display) and the spittoons much of what dentists use comes small and the exhibits are well displayed and well captioned in a handful of themed cabinets.

You are drawn into the exhibition by a series of early/mid-20^th century posters encouraging parents to care for their children’s teeth – save those precious little pearls. Baby teething is a fairly brutal process and truth to say teeth can cause discomfort throughout life. Sadly Jo and I belong to what is known in the trade as ‘the heavy metal generation’ namely post war children where a combination of sugar coming off rationing, Vitamin C supplements coming in syrupy forms and relative ignorance about tooth care means we have more fillings than teeth, whereas the next generations benefited from the addition of fluoride and more awareness of the damage of sugar in all its forms.

But back to the museum which is arranged thematically.

Dentistry has a very short history compared to medicine – the first text book appeared in 1728 in French whilst in the UK it was mid-19^th century before practitioners started researching, writing and practising in a more coherent way: up until then any ‘dentistry’ (more likely brutal extractions) was done by the barber or the blacksmith, the latter having the tools. Sir John Tomes, who is honoured here, not only helped improve the instruments and the research but also became a lecturer and founded the British Dental Association in 1880. Up until then practitioners needed no qualifications and anyone could call themselves a dentist – it was as late as 1921 that the Dentists Act finally ensured those extracting and filling your teeth had been appropriately trained.

Decay is easy to spot and there are several examples of rotted and sometimes filled teeth that were found in the remains recently excavated in Farringdon as part of the  Elizabeth Line construction works.

Though some of these sets of teeth are probably later, there being perhaps several different ages of burial ground?  One set is filled with a little gold – unusual in what might have been a paupers’ burial site but who knows how anyone landed up there?

The 20^th century saw advances in drilling and filling (there are foot and hand operated drills for you to try, making early dentistry seem quite a ‘physical’ job) with the invention of amalgam fillings – a mixture of silver coins and mercury. 

Jo and I certainly remembered those early heavy slow drills then replaced by higher speed ones – no sound effects at the Museum but it did not need much imagination  to remember the earlier ones, a small scale woodwork drill only noisier, let alone the whine of the current ones.. Gold has long been a favourite material for fillings and crowns as it is totally tasteless and does not decay or crack, yet can be moulded accurately, so it remains a preferred material.

Of course if drilling and crowning does not work the next stage is extraction (multiple forceps on display) followed by ‘false teeth’. Again the evolution here is interesting – ranging from small carved bits of ivory (hippo or walrus being the most favoured), which are then tied in place with fine silk threads – how insecure this must have felt? The big revolution came when vulcanite  was invented (by Mr Goodyear).

The 20^th century not only saw a range of new materials open to the medical and dental professions but with the proliferation of professional expertise (the first dental school was opened in 1889)  there were also dental dispensaries for the poor before the advent of the National Health Service.

Alongside these technical innovations the profession also used anaesthesia – I will not elaborate as we have already visited the Centre for Anaesthesia and it makes for strangely bland and uninteresting displays.

Not so the section on Prevention – from the jolly posters advocating better care of your children’s teeth to early toothbrushes made of bones (the handles) and pig’s hair… There is everything here from novelty toothbrush cases to early forms of tooth powder. William Addis produced the first toothbrush

(there’s a nice little film here if you can get your computer to load it). Preventive dentistry became serious after the First World War when the Services realised that significant numbers of recruits were turned away because of poor or rotten teeth.

This concludes the main exhibition but we were encouraged to go downstairs where there was a special exhibition on dentistry during the First World War when their skills were needed not so much for the day to day fillings etc but for repairs following serious facial injuries. This is where dentistry meets up with maxilla-facial surgery, a later surgical speciality.

We thought the displays were well presented – rather than cases full of similar instruments they explain more fully, and in a very accessible way, including  some films,  the history and use of key items and significant developments acknowledging the pioneers of their profession.  In amongst the exhibits are frequent cartoons (not easily reproduced) and other humorous touches – we liked the tooth shaped (perfect of course) stools, and the ‘shop’ made an instant sale with its clockwork chattering wind-up teeth.

Next step – book that check-up… 

The Heath Robinson Museum

Pinner Memorial Park
West End Lane
HA5 1AE

Saturday 30 October 2016

With Linda meeting a friend, Roger and I took the Metropolitan Line to Pinner and strolled to this new and splendid celebration of William Heath Robinson's life and work. He lived here before moving to Surrey.



The Museum is very new, and one of the charming attendants told us that the lighting is still incomplete: certainly those of us with varifocals had to squint a bit at the captions, but the display and the explanations made it all worth while. The permanent display tells the story of his life.
Born in 1872, and from an artistic family, he was a book illustrator, including fairy stories, and some Shakespeare plays. He also wrote illustrated his own books, including The Adventures of Uncle Lubin. The Museum contains a number of volumes of his work, as well as many framed versions.  

To help him make a living, he produced humorous drawing for magazines and newspapers, the Daily Sketch recognising his wit and skill early on. He designed a series of nursery plates, and was employed to embellish one of the bars in the RMS Empress of Britain. Since she was sunk by a U-Boat when serving as a troop ship in 1940, only a couple of the plaques remain.

His watercolours and book covers and illustrations are all delightful, but of course. like most fans, we were really there to see the 'gadgets'. These began well before 1914, but became especially popular during the First World War. Some of these works are in the main gallery, and some in the temporary gallery, which is at the moment showing 'the artist at war'.


Perhaps shaken by the propaganda about atrocities and secret weapons, he designed a series of supposed German war machines: a set of open doors and windows with air hoses to give our boys stiff necks being one example.  Even more endearing are pictures from a a series called The Saintly Hun. From 1916 comes 'Three Uhlans helping an old lady cross the river Meuse'. Since the Uhlans were the troops most accused of burning churches and bayonetting babies in the government's heavy-handed propaganda was, this was perhaps his riposte.

At this point I should say that even Roger's skills as a photographer can't catch the dense detail of the works. But I hope they will give you enough of a flavour to get you to Pinner.

When it comes to the Second World War, Heath Robinson has slightly different targets. Fear of invasion is one of his subjects. There is a detailed seaside scene of deckchairs, sandcastles, ice cream stalls and the bandstand, each on an individual plinth under the water to give the impression of shallow water and thus drown the invading Nazis, who are shown stepping off their landing craft and sinking. But if they had landed, the tank stopper would have used melting butter (this was before rationing began, naturally) to stop them -  literally -  in their tracks. He also has a plan for 'doubling Gloucester cheese by the Gruyere method'.

Next, he has something to say about reserved occupations. A factory using complex machines to make the holes in waistcoat buttons is one example, as is 'testing the strength of washing lines'.

His third invention was the 6th Column, the brave chaps (and women) dealing with the Fifth Column, about which the government was obsessed. They are shown dismantling a secret gun emplacement in the dome of St Paul's for example.

Since the dastardly doings of Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty at the start of the war, were a constant topic of Nazi Propaganda, Heath Robinson also depicts him planting a bomb under Hitler's breakfast table, disguised as a swan to sow magnetic mines, and so on.


Finally, we come to the glorious series of modern life-style guides for which he is possibly most famous. Living in Flats is probably the best known, but they are all represented here.

And then it was 'exit through the Gift Shop', as Banksy said.  They have lovely postcards and books and mugs and tea towels. But I would suggest that they have got the jigsaws a bit wrong:  35 pieces is great for children, but the adult puzzle-addict is looking for 1000 pieces, rather than 250, I should say:  perhaps a collage of assorted images. When they have one, I shall be back. Actually, I shall probably be back anyway.

ICE

Great George Street, SW1P 3AA

Friday 21 October

Although the Institution of Civil Engineers is not on our original list, the opportunity to see the longest LEGO bridge in the world was not one to be missed. 
Sadly Roger was not with us any more so the only photos are from my phone.  The Institution is housed in a magnificent building,  and the exhibition is up in the handsome library. The LEGO bridge is merely the centrepiece of an exhibition about bridges of all kinds and their crucial role in the whole history of mankind.


The LEGO Bridge is indeed magnificent, and is flanked by time-lapse footage of its construction as well as interviews with the many builders, and some discussion of problems of stress and load bearing.

Other displays of iconic bridges, and brief biographies of noted bridge builders were of interest to the grandparents in the party.  There was also an opportunity to try some VR goggles, which took the wearer down into the tube system.



But at the end of the room, with comfortable chairs for adults, was a treasure trove of construction LEGO and that is where some of the party settled, while others enjoyed the exhibition.

The staff were very friendly and helpful:  I believe they have not previously had children dropping in other than as school groups, and we had a very good time.  We also had fish and chips in the pleasant restaurant in the lower ground floor


It's only open to the public on weekdays:  how fortunate that half term is here.

HMS Belfast

The Queen’s Walk

London Bridge City SE1 2JH

Friday 21 October 2016

Today Linda was busy with domestic things, so we were delighted to have Roger join Nicholas, Christopher, Andrew and me aboard HMS Belfast. (For naval purists, I shall mention now that I can't seem to make the heading italicise or indeed bold the ship's name as would be correct) I am very grateful to Roger for taking the pictures.

Being with a 5 year old and a 7 year old slightly affects one's experience of the ship.  Plenty of space to run, and we enjoyed trying and failing to lift the huge links of the anchor cable at the bow. There was also some interest in the crane that used to lift the Walrus seaplanes back onto the ship after reconnaissance flights. But the fascinating film of the catapult launch of the aircraft was not for them, so the party could not enjoy it!


There was an 'experience' in one of the after gun turrets, but a small space filled with smoke was 'a bit scary' and did not detain us long. On the other hand, the ladders made the whole ship into an extended climbing frame.

We visited the signalling deck, and then climbed through the command area, the Admiral's Bridge and the Operations Bridge, where sitting in the high seats of the Captain and the Executive Officer was allowed. Information about the Battle of the North Cape did not engage the attention long.  

The Admiral and Captain had comfortable 'sea cabins' since their main quarters, beneath the Quarterdeck, had ceased to be satisfactory when the ship was no longer steered and fought from the stern










It's a natural progression to see the crew's quarters, where the hammocks are slung in every available space, including the capstan flat, and the space available is less than 50cm per man.  The ship's cat had disproportionate space, we thought.  The hammocks swing above the mess tables, where people are playing cards, or uckers (ludo to you and me) or writing letters, or reading, while others try tp sleep.
We passed the rum ration being served, with a careful eye kept on the list of men who had forfeited their right through misdeeds: a lesser punishment than the cells right up at the bow, where the noise of the sea and the exaggerated motion of the ship must have seemed a bit 'cruel and unusual'.

The boys were too excited by the ladders down to the shell rooms to linger in the 1950s living areas, with the excellent recreations of  dentist (aagh), surgery, galleys, meat and potato stores and so on.

Instead, we plunged down into the heart of the extra strengthened decks, where shells and cordite charges were stored for the huge guns above.  One of the main purposes of these great cruisers was to serve as gun platforms for bombarding land (as HMS Belfast did both off Normandy in 1944 and off Korea in the 1950s) It's extraordinary to think that this function is obsolete now, taken over by air power.

By the time we reached the steering and control rooms, safely below the waterline, the attention was flagging a bit, and the visits to the Boiler and engine rooms were much briefer than the adults of the party would have liked.  We shall come back, probably without the younger generation, or perhaps when they have doubled their ages.  This magnificent ship is so clearly explained and interesting that it will be worth it.


I suggest that it is also the Museum with absolutely the best views of this eastern end of the city and its river.