Vol. 22 No.

3 2 August 2019
 JOURNAL OF ASTRONOMICAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE
ISSN 1440-2807

EDITOR
Professor Wayne ORCHISTON (Thailand)

ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Dr Clifford CUNNINGHAM (USA)
Dr Duane HAMACHER (Australia)
Dr James LEQUEUX (France)
Dr Peter ROBERTSON (Australia)

EDITORIAL BOARD
Dr Alan BATTEN (Canada)
Dr Suzanne DÉBARBAT (France)
Dr Steven DICK (USA)
Dr Priscila FAULHABER (Brazil)
Dr Ian GLASS (South Africa)
Professor Bambang HIDAYAT (Indonesia)
Professor Ionnis LIRITZIS (Greece)
Professor Nick LOMB (Australia)
Professor Tsuko NAKAMURA (Japan)
Professor NHA Il-Seong (South Korea)
Professor Ray NORRIS (Australia)
Dr Yukio ÔHASHI (Japan)
Professor F. Richard STEPHENSON (England)
Professor Xiaochun SUN (China)
Professor Joseph S. TENN (USA)
Professor Virginia TRIMBLE (USA)
Professor Mayank VAHIA (India)
Professor Brian WARNER (South Africa)
Professor Gudrun WOLFSCHMIDT (Germany)

The Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage (JAHH) was founded by John Perdrix and Wayne Orchiston in
1998, and since 2007 has been produced three times yearly, now in April, August and December. It features review
papers, research papers, short communications, correspondence, IAU reports and book reviews.
Papers on all aspects of astronomical history are considered, including studies that place the evolution of astronomy
in political, economic and cultural contexts. Papers on astronomical heritage may deal with historic telescopes and
observatories, conservation projects (including the conversion of historic observatories into museums of astronomy),
and historical or industrial archaeological investigations of astronomical sites and buildings. All papers are refereed
prior to publication. There are no page charges, and in lieu of reprints authors are sent a pdf or Word camera-ready
version of their paper so that they can generate their own reprints on demand.
The JAHH has its own dedicated web site at: https://www.jahh.org. This site includes guidelines for paper
submission, our ethics and malpractice statement, impact factors, and access to back issues.
Prospective contributors should read the „Guide for Authors‟ on our web site and carefully follow these guidelines
when preparing manuscripts. Papers should be submitted online, or if you don't have access to email they should be
posted to:
Professor Wayne Orchiston
Editor, Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage
523 Moo 1, Soi Ban Cholae, Mae Taeng,
Chiang Mai 50150, Thailand.
Book reviews should be sent to Dr Clifford Cunningham (Cliff.Cunningham@usq.edu.au).
The JAHH is an open access electronic journal, and is published by the National Astronomical Research Institute of
Thailand (NARIT). All content back to Vol. 1 (1998) may be downloaded free of charge from the Journal‟s web site
(www.jahh.org), the NARIT web (http://www.narit.or.th/en/index.php/jahh) or the SAO/NASA Astrophysics Data
System site (http://bit.ly/1bMwxBr) and its 11 mirror sites around the world. The electronic version of the journal will
continue to be produced three times a year (nominally in April, August and December) and posted on these web
sites. Those who want a hard copy may print it out or have it done by their local printers. For this reason a single
pdf of each entire issue (including the cover) is available on the NARIT site.
For all enquiries, email the Editor (wayne.orchiston@gmail.com).
The views and opinions expressed in this Journal are not necessarily those of the Editors or the Editorial Board.

COVER IMAGE
This shows a Persian painting that is in the Theodore M. Davis Collection in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New
York. Titled “Two Old Men in Discussion Outside a Hut”, the painting was signed by Alī Qulī Jubbahdār, a prominent
seventeenth century Persian painter, and it lists a date of 1085 (in the Islamic Calendar; which equates to a date of
CE 1674 ‒1675). The scene has two men, probably astronomers, discussing the sky, where there is what looks like
a comet, or a fireball with a long trail. When the painting was catalogued the celestial object was identified as a
comet, but as Ramesh Kapoor points out in his paper on pages 273‒293 in this issue of JAHH there was no notable
naked eye comet recorded in that year. Ramesh therefore considers whether the object in question may be a bright
meteor, or a bolide. Although this is possible, he believes it is more likely that the artist intended to depict a comet,
and one that he had seen earlier and clearly remembered. A possible candidate would be the Great Comet of 1668
(C/1668 E1). This reached maximum magnitude (between 1 and 2) on 8 March, and later that month its tail had
grown to more than 30°, so it certainly was an impressive naked eye object.
 JOURNAL OF ASTRONOMICAL HISTORY AND HERITAGE
ISSN 1440-2807

VOLUME 22 NUMBER 2 AUGUST 2019

CONTENTS

Page

Papers
The importance of historical measures for dynamical models of the evolution of Trapezium-type
multiple systems 201
Christine Allen, Leonardo J. Sánchez, Alex Ruelas-Mayorga and Rafael Costero
A further application of Google Earth in studying the orientation of ancient Greek monument 211
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
Baiami and the emu chase: an astronomical interpretation of a Wiradjuri Dreaming associated
With the Burbung 225
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
Minnaert’s folly: a forgotten teaching observatory from the 1960s 238
David Baneke
A tale of three telescopes: the John A. Brashear Company and its 46-cm objective 247
Richard Taibi
The short-lived CSIRO Division of Radiophysics field station at Bankstown Aerodrome in Sydney 266
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
On two seventeenth century Persian paintings depicting comets or fireballs 273
R.C. Kapoor
Identification of the stars of the Saptarsi Maṇḍala and its vicinity 294
B.S. Shylaja and R. Venketeswara Pai
A history of Drake Municipal Observatory, Des Moines, USA: from riches, to rags, to restoration 301
Kaley Wresch, Deborah Kent, Janis Winter and Wayne Orchiston
Highlighting the history of Japanese radio astronomy. 6: Early solar monitoring at the Radio
Research Laboratories of the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications, Hiraiso 328
Wayne Orchiston and Masato Ishiguro
A hypothetical Romakasiddhānta Calendar 339
Lars Gislén

Book Reviews
Cosmos and Community in Early Medieval Art, by Benjamin Anderson 342
Marion Dolan
th
Selene’s Two Faces: From 17 Century Drawings to Spacecraft Imaging, by Carmen Pérez
González 343
Wayne Orchiston
Starlight Detectives: How Astronomers, Inventors, and Eccentrics Discovered the Modern Universe, by
Alan Hirshfeld 346
Clifford J. Cunningham
Making Stars Physical: The Astronomy of Sir John Herschel, by Stephen Case 347
Clifford J. Cunningham
Kew Observatory & The Evolution of Victorian Science 1840‒1910, by Lee T. Macdonald 348
Clifford J. Cunningham
Fred Whipple’s Empire: The Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, 1955 –1973, by David H. DeVorkin 350
Jordan D. Marché II
Jupiter, by William Sheehan and Thomas Hockey 351
Clifford J. Cunningham

Page 199
 Contents

American Eclipses: A Nation’s Epic Race to Catch the Shadow of the Moon and Win the Glory
of the World, by David Baron 353
Wayne Orchiston
Imagining Other Worlds: Explorations in Astronomy and Culture, edited by Nicholas Campion and
Chris Impey 354
Clifford J. Cunningham
The Great Canoes in the Sky: Starlore and Astronomy in the South Pacific, by Stephen Robert
Chadwick and Martin Paviour-Smith 355
Wayne Orchiston
Rocks, Radio and Radar: The Extraordinary Scientific, Social and Military Life of Elizabeth
Alexander, by Mary Harris 358
Wayne Orchiston
Cosmos: The Art and Science of the Universe, by Roberta J.M. Olson and Jay M. Pasachoff 361
Wayne Orchiston

Published by the National Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand, 260 Moo 4,

T. Donkaew, A. Maerim, Chiang Mai 50180, Thailand.

Page 200
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 201‒210 (2019).

THE IMPORTANCE OF HISTORICAL MEASURES FOR

DYNAMICAL MODELS OF THE EVOLUTION OF TRAPEZIUM-TYPE
MULTIPLE SYSTEMS
Christine Allen, Leonardo J. Sánchez, Alex Ruelas-Mayorga
and Rafael Costero
Instituto de Astronomía, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México,
Ciudad de México, 04510, México.
E-mails: allen@astro.unam.mx, leonardo@astro.unam.mx,
rarm@astro.unam.mx, costero@astro.unam.mx

Abstract: As an illustration of the value of historical measures we present some examples of the dynamical evolution
of multiple systems resembling the Orion Trapezium. We constructed models by combining carefully selected
historical measures of the separations among components of young massive stellar systems with modern
observations. By computing large numbers of fictitious systems resembling real trapezia we were able to simulate
the dynamical evolution of such systems. Our results on the dynamical fate of the Orion Trapezium and of ten
additional young clusters resembling the Orion Trapezium show extremely short dynamical lifetimes for these
systems.
Keywords : Astronomical research, double stars, binary stars, stars: kinematics and dynamics, stars: formation

1 INTRODUCTION separations and position angles are valuable be-

cause they can be combined with modern mea-
Massive stars are currently thought to be formed
sures, thus providing a long time baseline not
in small clusters, similar to the Orion Trapezium.
otherwise available. This enables us to obtain
According to the definition given by Ambartsum-
the relative velocities of the components in the
ian (1954), a multiple star (with three or more
plane of the sky. In the past, we have success-
stars) is of trapezium type if three or more dist-
fully used a combination of historical and mod-
ances between components are of the same or-
ern measures to gain insight into the internal
der of magnitude. “Of the same order of magni-
motions of some trapezia (Allen et al., 1974;
tude” means, in this context, that their ratio be
2004). More recently, we have expanded these
greater than ⅓ but less than 3. If no three dist-
studies to include new data on the Orion Trap-
ances are of the same order of magnitude, then
ezium and on other massive trapezia, and to
the system is of ordinary type, according to Am-
construct models of their dynamical evolution
bartsumian. For the sake of clarity, we shall call
(Allen et al., 2015; 2017; 2018).
the latter „hierarchical systems‟.
Our present aim is to emphasise that hist-
Trapezium-type clusters—or multiple syst-
orical observations can be combined with mod-
ems—have been shown to be dynamically very
ern ones to yield valuable insights into the dy-
unstable, because their configurations (similar
namical evolution of multiple systems such as
separations among their components) rapidly
the Orion Trapezium. As an illustration of the
lead to close encounters which result in one or
use of historical measures to obtain such insight
more members being expelled from the system.
into the early dynamical evolution of young stel-
Gas loss shortly after the stars are formed also
lar groups, we present some results of our mod-
contributes to the instability of such multiple
els of the Orion Trapezium itself and of ten add-
systems. The aim of this paper is to highlight
itional massive multiple systems resembling this
the manner in which historical measures can be
Trapezium.
used to gain understanding about the internal
motions of multiple systems. These data can
2 SELECTION OF HISTORICAL
then be used to construct models of their dy-
OBSERVATIONS
namical evolution.
Since we combine historical and modern ob-
There exists a large number of historical
servations in order to have a long time baseline,
observations of position angles and separations
it is important to select only old measures with a
among components of multiple stars, available
precision comparable with that of modern ones.
from the United States Naval Observatory
As pointed out in Olivares et al. (2013), separa-
(USNO). Many of these measures were obtain-
tion measures of selected observers are usual-
ed visually by observers who were able to achieve
ly more reliable than position angle measures.
surprisingly accurate results mostly using filar
Therefore, we neglected the measures of posi-
micrometers. A comprehensive historical review
tion angles and considered only historical sepa-
of double star observers is given by Tenn (2013).
ration measures by the „best‟ observers, as des-
Carefully selected historical measures of the cribed in Allen et al. (1974; 2004).

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C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero
Figure 1: Charles Edmund Worley in
1964, at the USNO (after Mason et al.,
2007).
Figure 2: The micrometer, mounted on the 26-in refractor at
the USNO that Charles Morley used for most of his
observations (after Mason et al., 2007).
Figure 3: Wilhelm Struve (after Tenn, 2013: 83).
Page 202
The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems
Based on a lifetime of experience, the late
Charles Worley (1935‒1997; Figures 1 and 2)
acquired a very detailed knowledge of the ob-
servational uncertainties associated with individ-
ual observers, according to the time and number
of the observations, the instruments they used,
etc. Back in 1973 we were able to conduct ex-
tensive conversations with him and to profit from
his knowledge of the reliability of the individual
historical observations of separations (see Allen
Figure 4: Sherburne Wesley Burnham (after
Batten, 2014: 343).
Figure 5: Robert Grant Aitken (after Jeffers,
1952: 4).
et al., 1974). He estimated that the uncertain-
ties of the best observers were of about 0.07‒
0.08″ for Friedrich Georg Wilhelm von Struve
(1793 ‒1864; Figure 3), Sherburne Wesley Burn-
ham (1838‒1921; Figure 4) and Robert Grant Ait-
ken (1864 ‒1951; Figure 5); about 0.10″ for Wil-
lem Hendrik van den Bos (1896‒1974), William
Stephen Finsen (1905‒1979) and George A. van
Biesbrock (1880‒1974); and about 0.12″ for Otto
C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Wilhem von Struve (1819‒1905), Asaph Hall III Table 1: Errors of the most reliable observers
(1829 ‒1907), Ercole Dembowsky (1812 ‒1881), Best (0.1″) Good (0.12″)
George Cary Comstock (1855‒1934), Paul W. Struve 0.07″ O. Struve
Achille-Ariel Baize (1901‒1995), William Joseph Burnham 0.07″ Hall
Barnard 0.08″ Dembowsky
Hussey (1862‒1926), Paul Couteau (1923 ‒ Aitken 0.10″ Comstock
2014), Charles Edmund Worley and Joan George van den Bos 0.10″ Baize (t > 1935)
Arardus Gijsbertus Voûte (1879‒1963). These Finsen 0.10″ Hussey
uncertainties are sufficiently small to be mean- Van Biesbroek 0.10″ Couteau
USNO (t > 1960) 0.04″ Heintz
ingfully combined with more recent measures. Worley
Table 1 lists historical and modern observers Voûte
along with their associated uncertainties (Allen All others: >
et al., 2004). 0.20″
Modern Observers 0.01″ to 0.12″
Figure 6 shows the Orion Trapezium with
the main components identified. Figure 7 shows ation measures among other pairs of compon-
the separation of some of the components of the ents yielded similar figures. Note in each case
Orion Trapezium as a function of time using hist- the long time span covered by the observations.
orical and modern measures. For both historical
and modern measures we used the data given 3 THE DYNAMICAL EVOLUTION OF THE
in the Washington Double Star catalogue (WDS) ORION TRAPEZIUM
(Mason et al., 2001) but we supplemented them
To model the dynamical evolution of the trapez-
with our results obtained with the diffracto-
ium-type systems we conducted Monte Carlo N-
astrometry technique applied to Hubble Space
body simulations, that is, we numerically inte-
Telescope images of the Orion Trapezium (for
grated the equations of motion of ensembles of
full details see Olivares et al., 2013).
fictitious systems representing each trapezium.
Figures 8, 10 and 12 show the multiple syst- As initial conditions for the Orion Trapezium we
ems ADS 719, ADS 13374 and ADS 15184 and used the planar positions and the separation vel-
their main components. Figures 9, 11, and 13 ocities as a lower bound for the transverse vel-
are examples of the separation velocities be- ocities. The distance to the Orion Trapezium, as
tween some of the components of these multiple well as the component masses and radial vel-
systems, obtained by combining historical with ocities were taken from the literature. Random
modern measures. These multiple systems re- perturbations were assigned to each quantity,
semble the Orion Trapezium, being composed with dispersions representative of the observa-
of massive stars with similar separations. For tional uncertainties. Since no information on the
the historical observations we used again the „depth‟ of the system is available, random z-
data listed in the WDS. Uncertainties for each positions were assigned, within the projected rad-
modern observer cited in the WDS were esti- ius of the system. Full details are given in Allen
mated from differences in the separation meas- et al. (2017). Thus, we constructed a total of 300
ures conducted at nearly the same time. Separ- fictitious clusters, which were integrated for one

Figure 6: The Orion Trapezium Cluster. The six brighter components have been marked in the black and white negative image
(right). Field of view is ~2.37 × 2.37 arcminutes. NASA-ESA/HST NICMOS Near-IR image.

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C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Figure 7: Separations of the Orion Trapezium components A relative to B, A to C, A to E, B to C and C to D as a function of time.
Black circles correspond to WDS data with their associated error bars. Early measures by W. Struve, Burnham, Aitken, Barnard,
van den Bos and Finsen are plotted. Red circles denote diffracto-astrometry HST data. Their associated error bars are smaller than
the symbols. The lines show the best least-squares fit to the data.

Figure 8: ADS 719. Identification of five components (A, B, C, D and E) have been marked in the black and white negative image
(right). Field of view is ~2 × 2 arcminutes. North is up, East is to the left. 2MASS J, H, K bands composite image.

million years, with two values for the mass of
Component C, namely 45 M (the most recent
value) and 65 M (a plausible upper limit).
Surprisingly, with the former value of the mass
most systems dissolved in less than 10 thou-
sand years. This is a very short time compared
with the estimated evolutionary ages of the com-
ponent stars, about a million years. However,
the age of the Orion Nebula that surrounds the
Trapezium is much shorter, of the order of 15
thousand years. Assuming the larger mass, we
obtained longer lifetimes, about 40 thousand

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C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Figure 9: Example of separation measurements between pairs of components versus date of observation for the stars of trapezium
ADS 719. Historical and modern data are combined. Early measures by Burnham, O. Struve, and Dembowsky are plotted. The line
represents the least squares fit to the points from which we obtained the separation velocities.

Figure 10: ADS 13374. Identification of six components (A, B, C, D, E and F) have been marked in the black and white negative
image (right). Field of view is ~2.1 × 2.1 arcminutes. North is up, East is to the left. 2MASS J, H, K bands composite image.

years. These longer lifetimes are compatible

with the ones we previously obtained for the favour the larger value for the mass of Com-
mini-cluster associated with Component B of the ponent C.
Orion Trapezium, also about 40 thousand years Figure 14 shows the lifetimes and the types
(Allen et al., 2015). Our simulations thus tend to of systems resulting from the numerical simula-

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C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Figure 11: Same as for Figure 9 but for ADS 13374. Early measures by Burnham and Dembowsky are plotted.

Figure 12: ADS 15184. Identification of four components (A, B, C and D) have been marked in the black and white negative image
(right). Field of view is ~1.7 × 1.7 arc minutes. North is up, East is to the left. 2MASS J, H, K bands composite image.

tions. As seen in the figure, the simulations pro-
duced a large number of binaries and triple
stars, both hierarchical and non-hierarchical.
Thus, the dynamical disintegration of systems
resembling the Orion Trapezium will populate
the field with massive binaries and triples. It is
interesting to compare the properties of the
binaries resulting from the fictitious clusters with
those of observed field binaries. Most of the
computed binaries have semi-axes of a few thou-
sands AU, but binaries as close as a few AU
were also formed. The frequency distributions
of major semi-axes and eccentricities of the bin-
aries formed during the numerical simulations
do indeed resemble those of field binaries.

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C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Figure 13: Same as for Figure 9 but for ADS 15184. Early measures by Dembowsky, Burnham and Aitken are plotted.

4 THE DYNAMICAL EVOLUTION OF companions. Doubling the masses should also

TEN MASSIVE TRAPEZIA generously allow for the possible gas fraction
that escaped from the trapezium shortly after
We proceeded exactly as in the case of the
star formation. The bound systems were found
Orion Trapezium. As initial conditions we took
to disintegrate in 10 to 20 thousand years.
the planar positions and separation velocities,
along with the best available data for the dist- In the majority of the simulated clusters the
ances and masses. Again, no information on most massive star formed a binary, often accom-
the „depth‟ of these systems is available, so z-
positions were randomly assigned. For the in-
dividual components of these systems we found
no radial velocities in the literature, so we as-
signed them randomly, with values similar to the
separation velocities. Perturbations represent-
ing the observational uncertainties were also ap-
plied.
Again, we generated a large number of fic-
titious clusters and performed N-body integra-
tions of 100 perturbed systems representing
each trapezium. For a more detailed explana-
tion see Allen et al. (2018).
Figure 15 shows some results for ADS 719,
one of the few resulting bound systems. In- Figure 14: Numbers of different systems generated during
the integrations of an ensemble of 100 fictitious clusters
deed, most of the simulated systems turned out resembling the Orion Trapezium (mass of Component C: 65
to be unbound, even doubling the values of the M ), as a function of age. Trapezia are shown as blue
component masses. We assumed twice the squares, hierarchical systems as green circles, non-
values for the masses to take into account the hierarchical triples as orange triangles, hierarchical triples as
blue inverted triangles, and binaries as red diamonds. The
probable presence of undetected binaries among dynamical lifetime of the Orion Trapezium, defined as the
the components of the trapezia, since a large time at which the number of systems decreases to one-half
fraction of the massive stars are known to have of the initial number, is about 40 thousand years.

Page 207
C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero
panied by the second most massive star. These
binaries should end up as field binaries. The
frequency distributions of major semi-axes and
eccentricities of the binaries resulting from the
disintegration of bound systems were found to
be similar to those observed for field binaries.
However, the binaries resulting from unbound
systems do not accord as well with observa-
tions.
5 CONCLUSIONS
We have shown that historical measures of the
separations of the components of trapezium syst-
ems are important for studies of their dynamical
evolution, since they can be combined with mod-
ern measures to provide information on the
internal transverse velocities of the trapezium
components. With knowledge of the transverse
velocities provided by historical and modern mea-
Figure 15: Numbers of different systems generated during
the integrations of an ensemble of 100 trapezia resembling
ADS 719, as a function of age. Trapezia of type 1, 2, 3, and
4 are shown as black squares, trapezia of type 1-2, 3, and 4
(with a tight binary) as green circles, non-hierarchical triples
as orange triangles, hierarchical triples as blue inverted
triangles, and binaries as red diamonds. The dynamical
lifetime of ADS 719, defined as in Figure 14, is extremely
short, about 10 to 20 thousand years.
sures, and randomly assigning z-positions and
radial velocities (when unavailable), dynamical
evolution models can be constructed.
The models obtained from a large number
of simulated systems show that massive trape-
zia are dynamically very unstable. Indeed, most
trapezia turn out to be gravitationally unbound;
they disperse in less than 10 thousand years.
Bound systems disintegrate in only 10 to 40 thou-
sand years. These very short dynamical life-
times are surprising if we compare them with the
evolutionary lifetimes of the member stars. How-
ever, after a comprehensive literature search we
found data for only 10 systems of spectral types
O-B3, and thus likely to be true trapezia. Com-
pared to the number of O-B3 stars from which
the sample of 10 trapezia was obtained, this is a
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The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems
very small number. Thus, true trapezia are rel-
atively scarce in the field, which is consistent
with the very short dynamical lifetimes we found.
The end result of the numerical simulations
was usually a wide binary, sometimes a triple of
hierarchical or non-hierarchical type. Some hie-
rarchical triples survive for up to the full inte-
gration time, a million years. Non-hierarchical
triples survive for only up to 300 thousand years.
The wide binaries formed will end up as field
binaries. The binaries stemming from the bound
trapezia have properties similar to those of ob-
served wide binaries. Those formed in unbound
systems do not accord well with observations.
With these examples as illustrations our hope
has been to draw attention to the value of hist-
orical observations for modern research. There
are veritable treasures of useful historical ob-
servations that are easily available, continue to
be valuable, but remain largely ignored. Per-
haps the examples we have provided will inspire
further use of historical measures to obtain new
insights.
6 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We are grateful for the comments of three
reviewers, which greatly helped to improve this
paper. Our warmest thanks to E. Griffin, who
strongly encouraged us to publish this work.
L.J.S. and A.R-M thank DGAPA-UNAM for fin-
ancial support under PAPIIT projects IN102517
and IN102617. This work has made use of the
Washington Double Star Catalogue maintained
at the U.S. Naval Observatory.
7 REFERENCES
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Cambridge University Press (Proceedings of IAU
Symposium 240). Pp. 28 ‒32.
Olivares, J., Sánchez, L.J., Ruelas-Mayorga, A., et
al., 2013. Kinematics of the Orion Trapezium
based on diffracto-astrometry and historical data.
Astronomical Journal, 146, 106 (8 pp).
Tenn, J.S., 2013. Keepers of the double stars.
Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 16,
81‒ 93.
Christine Allen was born in
Mexico. Since 1972 she has
been a full time researcher at the
Astronomy Institute of the Na-
tional Autonomous University of
Mexico, where she achieved ten-
ure in 1978. Her main research
interests are galactic structure,
stellar dynamics, double and
multiple stars, and star clusters. Christine developed
in 1986 and 1991 a model for the mass distribution in
the Milky Way, which has been widely used. She has
compiled several catalogues of double and multiple
systems. The latest, containing wide halo common
proper-motion binaries formed the basis for a paper
establishing that MACHOs (massive compact halo
objects) must have masses smaller than 5 solar
masses.
In recent years Christine has turned her attention to
the dynamical evolution of young clusters. Still more
recently, working with X. Hernandez, Christine has
found evidence that in the very small acceleration
regime, as found in the outer parts of globular
clusters and in the widest binaries, Newtonian dy-
namics is not followed, a result that has been con-
firmed with Gaia data. The breakdown of classical
gravity in the low acceleration regime has, of course,
wide-ranging consequences.
Altogether, Christine has published over 100 research
papers, which have gathered over 1000 citations. She
has also published two books and over one hundred
outreach articles in newspapers and magazines.
Since 2001 she has served as Editor of RMxAA
(Revista Mexicana de Astronomía y Astrofísica).
Christine has lectured regularly. She has supervised
6 Bachelors theses, 2 Masters and 2 PhDs. Christine
was a member of the now extinct IAU Commission 26
(Double and Multiple Stars). She was elected Vice-
President in 2004 and became President in 2007.
Apart from her love of Astronomy, Christine loves
classical music. She is active in several choirs. She
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The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems
particularly enjoyed singing Bach's Magnificat and B
Minor Mass, Mozart's C Minor Mass and Vivaldi's
Gloria.
Rafael Costero was born in
Mexico City in 1941, studied
Physics at the Universidad Nac-
ional Autónoma de México
(UNAM) and obtained a Master
degree in Astronomy from the
University of Wisconsin, Madi-
son. Until his recent retirement,
he worked as a researcher at the
Instituto de Astronomía, UNAM.
On three occasions he was Assistant to the Director
of this same Institute and was head of the Obser-
vatorio Astronómico Nacional at San Pedro Mártir
(OAN-SPM), in Baja California. He has been visiting
astronomer at the University of California, Santa
Cruz, at the Osservatorio Astronomico di Trieste and
at l'Observatoire de Marseille. His research work has
covered areas such as planetary nebulae, interstellar
medium, active galactic nuclei, hot stars and cata-
clysmic variables. Currently, he is investigating the
bright stars in the Orion Trapezium. He also contrib-
uted to the instrumentation of the OAN-SPM. For-
merly he taught basic Astronomy at the College of
Geography at UNAM. Since a young boy, on and off,
he has sung in different choirs, played the acoustic
guitar and the bandurria, and serenaded several la-
dies.
Alex Ruelas-Mayorga is a re-
search scientist based at Instit-
uto de Astronomía in the Uni-
versidad Nacional Autónoma de
México (UNAM). He majored in
physics at this university in 1977
and then took his Masters
degree at the Victoria University
of Manchester in the United
Kingdom in 1979. He worked at
the Nuffield Radio Astronomy Laboratories at Jodrell
Bank. While at Jodrell Bank he worked under
Professor Rod Davies and Dr Jim Cohen. In early
1979 he moved to Mt. Stromlo and Siding Spring
Observatories in Canberra where he obtained his
PhD in astronomy under Professor Harry Hyland and
Dr Terry Jones, conducting research in galactic struc-
ture using the then new Mt. Stromlo Infrared Photo-
meter. He has been a research scientist at Instituto
de Astronomía since 1990 where he has conducted
research in several fields of astronomy such as:
stellar populations, globular clusters, elliptical and
spiral galaxies, dynamics of stellar groups, cata-
clysmic variables and atmospheric turbulence. He
has also been a lecturer at UNAM, and a theses
supervisor in the undergraduate and graduate pro-
grammes of this university. (Picture taken by J. C.
Yustis).
Leonardo J. Sánchez Peniche is a researcher at the
Instituto de Astronomía in the Universidad Nacional
Autónoma de México (UNAM) in Mexico City. He
studied physics at the UNAM and subsequently com-
pleted his Masters and PhD at the University of Nice-
C. Allen, L.J. Sánchez, A. Ruelas-Mayorga and R. Costero The Evolution of Trapezium-type Multiple Systems

Sophia Antipolis, France. He vatory among the best astronomical sites in the world.
works with collaborators in di- He actively participates in the training of new astron-
verse areas of astrophysics such omers, physicists and engineers through the teaching
as: observational astronomy, ast- of courses and thesis direction both in the Faculty of
rometry, photometry, astronom- Sciences and in the Astrophysics graduate program-
ical instrumentation and astro- me at the UNAM.
nomical site evaluation. Leonardo
has been part of the Atmospheric
Site Evaluation group of the Na-
tional Astronomical Observatory
in San Pedro Mártir, whose results place this Obser-

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 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 211‒224 (2019)

A FURTHER APPLICATION OF GOOGLE EARTH1 IN STUDYING

THE ORIENTATION OFANCIENT GREEK MONUMENTS
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
IAASARS, National Observatory of Athens, Metaxa I. & Bas. Pavlou, Palea Penteli,
15236 Greece, and New Lesbos Observatory, Pittakou 17, Maroussi 15126, Greece.
Email: ds@noa.gr, dimitris.sinachopoulos@gmail.com

Abstract: In this paper we use Google Earth images to investigate the orientation of ancient Greek monuments.
We examine the accuracy of the derived azimuth values, and we discuss the capabilities, advantages and
restrictions of using Google Earth images. A comparison with the two earlier methods used for such investigations—
the prismatic compass and astrogeodesy—shows that Google Earth is more accurate than a compass in the majority
of the cases, but it is also one order of magnitude less accurate than the astrogeodetic method.
Our azimuth measurements indicate that the orientation of the Olympian Zeus temple (the Olympieion) in Athens
may have been associated with the equinoxes, since according to the traditional cultural values of the Greek world
the east-west line is a fundamental celestial axis of symmetry that is supposed to comply with the will of Zeus and to
represent his criterion of beauty.
Keywords: History of Astronomy, archaeoastronomy, Classical archaeology, orientation of Greek temples

1 INTRODUCTION amples to illustrate how particular stars might

It is widely known that Greek temples have their
entrances ‘in the east’. The statue of the deity
stood at the west end of the cella, or naos,
looking towards the light entering the temple.
With some exceptions Romans followed this
Greek tradition in their Empire until the fall of the
old religion.
Boutsikas (2007) found that orienting relig-
ious structures, such as temples and sanctu-
aries, in relation to celestial objects and meteor-
ological phenomena seems to have been a
familiar concept in Greek thought. However, it
was Burnouf (1847) who first argued that the
determination of the astronomical orientation of
a temple could be used to determine the year of
its construction.
Following Burnouf’s idea, during the last two
centuries many researchers have determined
the orientation of Greek temples (e.g., see Bout-
sikas, 2008; Dinsmoor, 1939, 1975; Fafoutis,
2004; Lockyer, 1894; Orlandos, 1977; Pantazis
et al., 2009, 2014; and Penrose, 1894, 1897).
Some of these scholars (e.g. Boutsikas,
2008, and Pantazis, 2014), diverge from Burn-
ouf’s main point of view, and conclude that the
orientation of a Greek temple was probably used
to determine the beginning of certain religious
festivities of the city.
Boutsikas (2007, 2008) and Hannah (2012)
meticulously review studies of the astronomical
orientation of Greek temples that have been
made during the past two centuries, and provide
comments on many of these studies. Hannah
(2015) proposes that the increased refinement
of Greek star calendars with a larger number of
constellations might have been the result of a
desire to help synchronize the divergent seas-
onal and lunar timetables. He also gives ex-
have been associated with particular divinities
and festivals.
Salt (2009) compared the orientation of
archaic and classical Greek temples in Sicily
with temples in Greece. He detected strong
indications that there is a preference for solar
orientations. He also found differences in align-
ment patterns between the Greek temples in
Sicily and in Greece and suggested that these
differences reflect differing tendencies in the
expression of ethnic identity.
More recently García and Belmonte (2014)
found that Greek temples were oriented to sim-
ilar astronomical targets throughout the Medit-
erranean countries. They concluded that the
different orientation modes, which occur among
the temples in Sicily and in present-day Greece
must be understood as local variations of a com-
mon pattern.
Ranieri (2014) measured the orientations of
the axes and of the diagonals of 200 Greek
temples, and he found 57 temples whose main
axes were unequivocally cardinally oriented.
Among the remaining 143 temples he found that
103 had a diagonal that was cardinally oriented,
with a standard deviation of about ±2.5°. For
the remaining 40 temples he found that the
cardinal orientation could be attributed to the
diagonals of half of the rectangle of the temple.
Finally, and in an effort to explain the north-
ern orientation of the Epicurean and Thermios
temples of Apollo in Greece, Liritzis and Vass-
iliou (2006) found textual evidence for the
Epicurean temple of Apollo that its orientation
was related to the aurorae boreales.
In the past, two methods were traditionally
employed to measure the orientation of monu-
ments: one method used a prismatic compass

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Dimitris Sinachopoulos
and the other astrogeodetic instruments.
Compasses can achieve a precision of up to 1°
(Boutsikas, 2008), while the astrogeodetic meth-
od has an accuracy of one arc minute (Pantazis,
2014). In their study, Castro, Liritzis and Ny-
quist (2015) report a compass-based accuracy
of 0.5°, but this would appear to be an excep-
tional result. Measurements can be made with
compasses and data reduced relatively quickly,
whereas the astrogeodetic method is time con-
suming. Both methods require the physical
presence of at least one researcher and their
instrumentation at the site to be investigated.
2 MONUMENT ORIENTATION BY MEANS
OF GOOGLE EARTH IMAGES
2.1 Earlier Studies
Belmonte (2009) used a Google Earth image in
Figure 6 in his paper to show a double align-
ment of the temple of Hathor at Dendara. The
main building was orientated close to north and
possibly to the rising of Meshketyu in the late
Ptolemaic period. However, the hypostyle hall
of the small Isis temple located behind it was not
exactly perpendicular and could have been
orientated to the rising of Sothis (Sopdet), as
were many other buildings at this site before it.
Klokočník, Kostelecký and Pavelka (2011)
proved that Google Earth is a very useful tool for
studying some aspects of different ancient cult-
ures, before, during and after field measure-
ments, thereby making these studies much
easier to carry out. They used Google Earth
images to study several ancient monuments
around the globe.
Sadr and Rodier (2012) also found that
Google Earth images along with further GIS
tools justified revising maps of pre-colonial
stone-walled structures in South Africa in order
to study the early cultures in this landscape,
following similar North American experiences.
These studies seem to later inspire Shalt-
out (2014) and Shaltout and Ramzi (2014) to
study the orientations of ancient Egyptian
temples at Luxor, using Google Earth satellite
images. They found that the resulting azimuth
values derived by the Google Earth and com-
pass methods could differ by between 0.5° and
3.5°.
More recently, Castro et al. (2015) combin-
ed Google Earth and compass measurements to
study the oracular functioning and architecture
of five ancient Apollo temples. They concluded
that in certain instances Google Earth is a useful
and powerful tool.
Luo et al. (2018) provide a review of the use
of Google Earth images for archaeological and
cultural heritage applications, and they charac-
terize Google Earth as a powerful tool.
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
Finally, Magli (2013) gives a detailed review
of the very early use of Google Earth images for
historical, archaeological and cultural heritage
research.
2.2 An Azimuth Study of the Olympian Zeus
Temple (the Olympieion) in Athens
Using Google Earth
We noticed that one could repeat measure-
ments of the orientation of a monument based
on older satellite images, using the Google
Earth ‘historical imagery’ option. This way, each
azimuth value measured on one image can be
checked for statistical consistency against the
other available images, and thus the final inter-
nal accuracy of the measurements can be im-
proved.
To test the internal consistency of the re-
sulting azimuth of a monument by means of
Google Earth we used all available and good-
quality images of the temple of Olympian Zeus
(the Olympieion) in Athens. This temple was
chosen because it is large—110.35m long and
43.68m wide (Cartwright, 2015)—and its rem-
nants are in a very good physical condition;
these factors guaranteed that the internal accu-
racy of every single measurement would be
high. Furthermore, many historical images of
this temple are available on Google Earth, since
the monument is located in the area of ancient
and modern Athens that is monitored from
space quite often.
Figure 1 shows a photograph of the temple
of the Olympieion extracted from the Google
Earth image of 13 April 2016. North is to the top
and east is to the right. With the exception of
the green line, all of the other coloured lines cor-
respond to azimuth measurements of the
temple’s orientation, using the tool line of the
Google Earth utility ruler. The yellow line gave
an azimuth value of 90.01°, and the adjacent
pale blue line 90.08°. The azimuth of the south-
ern wall red line was 90.19°. We added the
erroneous southern green azimuth measure-
ment of 91.03° on purpose so as to demonstrate
how difficult it is to make a stochastically erron-
eous measurement of even 1°. Adding to these
measurements the western wall, orange colour-
ed line, azimuth measurement of 0.06°, resulting
in 90.06°, and the corresponding one of the
eastern wall resulting in an azimuth of 0.00° (or a
temple azimuth of 90.00°), we conclude that the
final mean azimuth of the Olympieion measured
internally on the Google Earth images of 13
April 2016 is 90.07° ± 0.03°. We then repeated
this procedure for all available Google Earth
images of this temple.
We explain here, step by step, how we got
this azimuth measurement using the Google
Earth utility ruler. We began by zooming into
Dimitris Sinachopoulos The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments

Figure 1: Ruins of the Olympian Zeus temple (the Olympieion) in Athens. The red, yellow and upper green lines indicate the
directions considered as parallel or perpendicular to the axis of the monument and used in the Google Earth image to determine the
azimuth of the Olympieion. North is to the top and west to the left. The southern green line shows an erroneous azimuth
measurement of the temple, made on purpose to clearly demonstrate an azimuth deviation of just 1° from the correct value.

Figure 2: Azimuth measurements of the Olympian Zeus temple (the Olympieion) in Athens. The filled circles correspond to
azimuths measured directly on Google Earth images, while open diamonds correspond to values computed after applying the
corresponding O-C values.

the Google Earth image so that it filled our
computer screen in order to be able to see most
of the details of the monument contained in the
image. The floor of the temple is raised above
the surrounding ground in three separate levels,
and this can be clearly recognized. Its sides can
be used to define the azimuth of the building.
Then we activated the Google Earth ruler
utility. By activating this utility, a ruler window
opened automatically. We placed the utility
marker at the north-western cornerstone point of
the monument floor and we left clicked with the
computer mouse to select this point. Keeping
the left button of the mouse clicked, we moved
the marker to the right until it fell on the north-
eastern corner-stone of the monument. The
ruler window showed the azimuth measurement,
as well as some additional information.
We repeated the same procedure for the
other three sides of the monument basement
and we got three more azimuth measurements
off this one Google Earth image. According to
our experience, the azimuth measurements on
each Google Earth image followed a normal
distribution. We then calculated the mean value
and standard deviation, of these measurements,
as well as the standard deviation of the mean
value.
We repeated the same procedure, applying
it to all available Google Earth images. As shown
in Figure 2, the azimuth estimations of differ-
ent Google Earth images do not seem to follow
a normal distribution, evidently due to internal
Google Earth calibrations of the different images
taken in different epochs often using different
instruments and certainly different atmospheric
conditions and orbital inclinations.
Since we do not understand the origin of
the poor calibration of the orientation of some
images of the same monument taken at different
epochs, we did not reject any image. We then
calculated the mean value of the mean azimuth

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Dimitris Sinachopoulos
Table 1: Azimuth measurements with Google Earth on 56 images of the Athens Olympian Zeus temple orientation and of the axis
Acropolis flagpole‒Ardetos hill trigonometric control points.
of each image, the standard deviation of all
azimuths measured on all images and the stan-
dard deviation of the mean azimuth value, as
shown in Table 1.
We tried to calibrate our internal azimuth
measurements by linking the Google Earth geo-
graphical coordinates to the Greek National
Trigonometric Network of Hellenic Military Geo-
graphical Service (HMGS, 2017). The first
HMGS point we used for the Olympieion was
the position of the basement of the Greek flag
flagpole on Acropolis Hill next to Parthenon,
which serves as an HMGS trigonometric control
point with coordinates 23.72797 E, 37.97183 N.
Although the HMGS trigonometric control
point, alias Acropolis flagpole, is visible on most
of the Google Earth images, this is not always
the case for all control points in the Greek Na-
tional Trigonometric Network. An HMGS control
point is usually a cylindrical or rectangular
concrete construction with approximate dimen-
3
sions of 50 × 50 × 100cm , usually sited on the
tops of hills or mountains. It is quite often the
case that even the shadow of such HMGS
control points is visible on Google Earth images.
On the other hand, many of them cannot be
detected on many of these images, because of
many different reasons (trees, surrounding
rocks,fog, clouds, etc.).
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
The Acropolis flagpole is regularly visited by
millions of tourists every year, and is at the
center of a quasi-regular octagonal yard with
sides of about 3.5 meters (see Figure 3). In this
photograph, one can easily see the long shadow
of the flagpole towards northwest. The Google
Earth coordinates of the flagpole appear slightly
displaced on all available Google Earth images,
and this is apparent in Figure 3.
The flagpole coordinates appear in Figure 3
to be displaced by approximately five meters in
a northeasterly direction. Similar stochastically
distributed displacements are observed in all
Google Earth images without clouds or fog that
include the Acropolis, and are shown in Figure
4. The mean displacement of the flagpole co-
ordinates is 9m ± 6m, corresponding to 0.3 ± 0.2
acrseconds. Figure 4 shows that there is no
trend in the data that could denote a change in
the flagpole displacement with time.
For the external calibration of the azimuth
measurements of the Olympieion we used the
Acropolis flagpole and the trigonometric control
point on Argetos Hill (23.73984 E, 37.96763 N).
This axis is shown in Figure 5 by a red line.
Using the HMGS data, the calculated azimuth
from the Acropolis flagpole to Ardetos Hill is
114.17°, and the distance is 1140m. The cor-
responding azimuth measured on the Google
Dimitris Sinachopoulos The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments

Figure 3: This is the quasi-regular octagonal yard, with about 3.5m sides, around the flagpole on the Acropolis of Athens, as it
appears on the Google Earth image of 27 April 2017. The flagpole is at the center of symmetry of the octagon. Its shadow is also
visible in the northwest direction. Its coordinates are 23.72797 E, 37.97183 N. One can also see many tourists on the picture.
Please note that according to this Google Earth image the flagpole coordinates are displaced by approximately 5 meters, and a
yellow pin indicates the point of displacement.

Figure 4: Displacement of the flagpole on the Acropolis in Athens, as it was measured, in meters, and computed, in arcseconds, on
available Google Earth images.

Earth 27 April 2017 image is 114.29°. (114.17°) is given in column three (‘Az. O-C’) for
the Olympieion azimuth calibration. This is the
The results of our Olympieion azimuth mea-
offset correction to be applied to the azimuths
surements and their calibrated values can be
measurements of the Olympieion temple, listed
found in Table 1 which is split into two identical
in column four (‘Az. O’), along with the standard
parts, namely the left and the right. Each of
deviation in column five (‘σ’). The difference
their lines includes the results of one of the
between the values in the fourth column minus
available 56 clear Google Earth images. The
the corresponding column three contents is
first column contains the date of the corres-
given in column six (‘Az. C’). This value corres-
ponding image. The second column (‘Az. GE’)
ponds to the temple azimuth after the applica-
contains the measured azimuth of the axis de-
tion of the correction, which resulted from the
fined by the two HMGS trigonometric control
calibration of the orientation of the Google Earth
points, i.e. the Acropolis flagpole and Ardetos
images. Azimuths are given in degrees. The
Hill. The corresponding calculated azimuth
three bottom lines in Table 1 show mean values,
using HMGS coordinates of Ardetos Hill seen
standard deviations and the errors of the mean
from the Acropolis flagpole is 114.17°. The
values. The mean value of the standard devi-
difference between the observed azimuth value
ations in column five are the square root of
in column two minus the calculated azimuth
the sum of the squares of each value, divided by

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Dimitris Sinachopoulos The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments

Figure 5: A photograph showing from the Acropolis flagpole to Ardetos Hill axis with Olympian Zeus temple (the Olympieion) in the
middle. The axis azimuth, calculated using HMGS values and measured from Acropolis flagpole, is 114.17° and its length 1140m.

Figure 6: Azimuth measurements of the axis from the Acropolis flagpole to Ardetos Hill in Athens based Google Earth images. The
calculated value of 114.17° (based on HMGS values) is shown by the dashed line.

56, the number of Google Earth images used.
Figure 6 shows the Google Earth azimuths
of the axis defined by the two HMGS trigono-
metric control points Acropolis flagpole and on
Ardetos Hill, listed in column 2 of Table 1.
Clearly, most of the measured azimuths are
larger than the calculated one of 114.17° (as
shown by the dashed line), based on HMGS
values, because only 11 out of the 56, O-C
values are negative. Provided that the mean O-
C offset value is 0.24 ± 0.35°, we conclude that
the O-C values are not significantly different
from zero and therefore the mean azimuth of
114.41° ± 0.35° is not significantly different from
the calculated value of 114.17°.
The azimuth measurements of the Olymp-
ieion—listed in columns four and six in Table
1—are plotted in Figure 2. They correspond to
azimuths directly measured on the 56 Google
Earth images (plotted as filed circles here), and
the ‘calibrated’ ones after the application of the
corresponding O-C values from column three in
Table 1 (plotted as open diamonds).
The data in Table 1 lead to the following
conclusions:
(1) Provided that the mean Google Earth dis-
placement of the Acropolis flagpole coordinates
is 9m ± 6m and assuming that this displacement
is representative for all HMGS trigonometric
control points on the Google Earth images, the
estimated standard deviation value (0.35°, in
column 2) of the azimuth of the two points, the
Acropolis flagpole and Ardetos Hill, at a distance
of 1140m, corresponds exactly to the statistically
expected azimuth error, under the condition that
the errors of the positions of the two points are
not correlated.
(2) The standard deviation of the Olympieion
azimuths measured directly on each Google
Earth image, and listed in column four, shows
that the method presented here provides an
expected orientation accuracy of 0.5° per Google
Earth imagery.
(3) Figure 6 shows that this accuracy of each

Page 216
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
Google Earth image orientation does not im-
prove with time, and that there are bundles of
Google Earth images, the azimuth estimations
of which can systematically diverge by almost 1°
from the final mean value and also show a max-
imum divergence of up to 1.5°.
(4) A comparison of the standard deviations in
columns four and six proves that monument
azimuth calibration using azimuth measure-
ments of neighboring HMGS trigonometric con-
trol points does not improve the internal Olymp-
ieion azimuth measurement. Therefore, we
decided to no longer use such calibrations.
(5) Our azimuth measurements show that the
orientation of the Olympieion could have been
influenced by the equinoxes.
2.3 Azimuth Studies of the Parthenon,
Hephaisteion and the Kalambaka Virgin
Mary Church Using Google Earth
We tried to get a first approximation of the final
external accuracy of the Google Earth method
by comparing its results to the state-of-the-art
accuracy achieved by Pantazis (2014) for the
Parthenon and Hephaisteion in Athens using the
astrogeodetic method.
The Google Earth result that we obtained for
the Parthenon was 77° 37′ ± 11'. Adopting Pan-
tazis’ value (77° 07′ ± 1′) as a reference we no-
ticed that our result was the second most acc-
urate one of the six values listed for the Parth-
enon in Pantazis (2014), but well behind the 77°
08′ 19′′ value published by Orlandos (1977).
Both Orlandos and Pantazis used the astrogeo-
detic method, while Boutsikas (2008) found (77°
± 1°) using a compass.
From the same table given by Pantazis
(2014) we concluded that of the nine azimuth
values listed for the Hephaisteion, our Google
Earth-based measurement of 102° 53′ ± 13′ was
statistically in a very good agreement with the
one by Pantazis of 102° 55′ ± 1′. It was also
closer to Pantazis’ value than to Penrose’s 1897
azimuth of 103° 06′ 02′′ or Boutsikas 2008 value
of 104° ± 1°, while all other values given by
Pantazis were usually even less accurate.
In these two well-studied cases, our Google
Earth azimuths deviated ≤0.5° from the recent
state-of-the-art astrogeodetic values. Google
Earth values were not only more accurate than
the compass values, but they also were more
accurate than all other historical measurements,
even the astrogeodetic ones, listed by Pantazis.
To test the accuracy of measurements bas-
ed on Google Earth images taken in rural and
rather remote places, we measured the azimuth
of the Byzantine church of the Assumption of the
Virgin Mary in the Greek town of Kalambaka.
The orientation of this church was measured
by Pantazis et al. (2004), and its azimuth was
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
found to be 90° 9.7′ ± 0.6′ using the astro-
geodetic method. We used all six Google Earth
images available for the church, and our mea-
surements can be found in Table 2. The result
of an F-test with 55 and 5 degrees of freedom
showed that the standard deviation of 163 arc-
minutes for the church was much larger than the
one for the Olympieion (0.54′). Therefore, the
accuracy obtained by the Google Earth method
in this case was statistically significantly lower
than the corresponding value of the Olympieion
case. According to the t-test, the measured
azimuth of 86° 47′ was significantly smaller than
the Pantazis et al. value of 90° 9.7′. This very
low accuracy for the Google Earth method for
the azimuth of the Virgin Mary church in the
remote locality of Kalambaka shows the weak-
ness of the method and it motivated us to com-
pare azimuth values obtained with a compass
and using the Google Earth method for other
Greek temples in order to evaluate the accuracy
of the two methods.
Table 2: Azimuth measurements of the orientation of the
Kalambaka Virgin Mary church from six Google Earth
images.
Image Azimuth σ
Date ° ′ ′
04 April 2009 89 59 10
24 October 2013 85 25 72
12 October 2014 89 15 25
07 May 2015 87 38 60
07 November 2015 84 19 24
09 July 2016 83 42 54
Mean Value 86 47
Standard Deviation 02 43
Error of the Mean 01 07
3 COMPARING THE ACCURACY OF THE
COMPASS AND THE GOOGLE EARTH
METHODS
We used Google Earth images to measure the
azimuths and orientations of 43 monuments
listed by Boutsikas (2008) in order to evaluate
the Google Earth method and to check whether
the low accuracy of 3° obtained for the church in
the remote town of Kabambaka would occur fre-
quently or was an exception. The results of our
measurements are given in Table 3 along with
the compass values by Boutsikas (in italics) for
comparison. In fact, these 43 new ancient Greek
temples orientations were our first results ob-
tained using the Google Earth method.
Table 3 has five columns relating to the
identification of the monument, its year of con-
struction, its azimuth, the corresponding azimuth
altitude of the local horizon, and the declination.
Every monument takes up three rows in the
Table 3, as it is described below.
The first row of the first column contains the
temple identifier, which includes the name of the
deity to which the temple was dedicated and the
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
name of the place in which it was built. The
second row contains the geographical co-ord-
inates of the temple. The geographic coordin-
ates were taken from Google Earth and listed in
Table 3 to quickly establish the location of the
monument.
The two rows of the second column contain
the year, or the century in which the temple was
built for the first time: sometimes there is a
second temple constructed on the remnants of
the first building. The time of the construction of
the newer temple is provided in the second row.
The input in the second column has relatively
low accuracy and should be used with care. We
listed this information mainly to study a possible
correlation between the year the temple was
founded and its orientation; however such a
correlation was not detected.
The first row of the third column shows the
azimuth of the temple axis in degrees and us-
ually in arc minutes using Google Earth images;
the second row contains the standard deviation
in arc minutes or degrees.
The fourth column shows the altitude of the
local horizon point corresponding to the direction
of the azimuth of the temple, in degrees. Greek
temples were often built in prominent places like
acropolises, on the tops of hills (e.g. the Pos-
eidon temple at Sounion), the central square of
a city (or a sanctuary), or on large flat spaces
outside of, but close to, the city wall (e.g. earlier
versions of the temple of Olympian Zeus in
Athens). For this reason the altitude of the local
horizon was usually small, up to a few degrees.
Exceptions to this rule, such as for the temple of
Apollo at Delphi are rare. For this special case
there is a detailed study by Liritzis and Castro
(2013). The height of the local horizon (altitude)
of every temple has been easily computed using
the Google Earth tool elevation profile on the
line connecting the temple axis from the temple
to the local horizon. In most cases of Greek
temples, the local horizon is at a distance of
several kilometers from the monument, so that
the error contribution of this distance is neglig-
ible for the final error calculation of the height of
the local horizon. On the other hand, even if the
elevation of the temple and of the point defining
the local horizon were estimated with a maxi-
mum uncertainty of 20 meters, the calculation of
the height of the local horizon error would
usually be <1°. But, according to Mather and
Koch (2011), uncertainties for Google Earth are
usually 5‒15 meters. The method that we used
to calculate the altitude of the local horizon is
detailed by Castro et al. (2015: see Figures 3
and 9). Comparing, again, our local horizon
altitude estimates with these published by
Castro et al. (2015) we found that they generally
agreed to the expected level of 1°.
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
Taking into account the azimuth, the altitude
of the local horizon and the geographic co-ord-
inates of a temple, we then calculated the cor-
responding declination of stars rising or setting
at the specific point on the visible horizon which
corresponded to the temple’s azimuth. Atmo-
spheric refraction was taken into account using
Bennett’s (2007) formula. Declinations are giv-
en in degrees in the fifth column.
The third row contains the corresponding
measurements by Boutsikas (2008) and are
given (in italics) for comparison between the
results obtained by compass and those derived
using the Google Earth method, while the indi-
cation ‘Boutsikas’ is given in first column.
Temples in Table 3 are ordered alphabet-
ically according to the name of the deity men-
tioned in the first column. A horizontal line
separates the temples from one another. A
narrow empty row separates the temples ded-
icated to different deities to improve the reada-
bility of the Table.
Two temples in our list have not been as-
sociated with a deity yet. They are therefore
appended after the temples of Zeus and sep-
arated from them by a wide empty row.
When we examine Table 3 we see that
there are six cases of temples in which the two
methods produce incompatible azimuths. These
are discussed below.
The first double-case refers to the old and
the new temples of Hera at Argos, for which
Boutsikas’ azimuths are 118° and 119°, while
our Google Earth values are 106° 39′ ± 29′ and
105° 53′ ± 29′ respectively. To check the orien-
tation of the Google Earth images for this region
we used the two HMGS trigonometric control
points (22.75138 E, 37.70820 N) and (22.78983
E, 37.68361 N), since there are two temples of
Hera between them and almost on the line con-
necting them. The calculated azimuth of the
second point seen from the first is 128.81° at a
distance of 4.4km. The corresponding mean
azimuth on the 17 Google Earth images is
128.9° ± 0.2°, proving a very accurate orienta-
tion of the Google Earth in this region and thus
confirming the correctness of the Google Earth
results for the orientations of the two temples of
Hera in Table 2, while the corresponding com-
pass results are >10° off.
The second case is the temple of Asclepius
at Messene, for which Boutsikas’ azimuth is
115° and our Google Earth one is 108° 20′.
Here we used the two HMGS trigonometric
control points (21.92658 E, 37.18559 N), at the
Ithomata sanctuary of Zeus and 21.90192 E,
37.15826 N, with a calculated azimuth of
215.86° at a distance of 3.7km. The corres-
ponding Google Earth azimuth was 215.6°± 0.6°,
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
confirming the correctness of the Google Earth
Asclepius temple orientation and the deviation of
the compass by about 7°.
The third case is the temple of Apollo at
Corinth for which Boutsikas’ azimuth is 77°
and our Google Earth value is 68° 50′. Using
the two HMGS trigonometric control points
(22.87546 E, 37.89185 N), at the temple of
Aphrodite on the top of the Acrocorinthos
(22.88975 E, 37.93336 N) we calculate their
azimuth 15.27° and the distance of 4.8km. Our
corresponding azimuth, using the available
Google Earth images, is 15.2°± 0.3°, confirming
once again the robustness of the Google Earth
method. In this case the compass azimuth is
about 8° off.
For the fourth case, the temple of Poseidon
at Isthmia with Boutsikas’ azimuth of 97° and
Google Earth 87° 28′) we used the two HMGS
points (23.01711 E, 37.90019 N) and (22.97861
E 37.92928 N) resulting in an azimuth of
133.63° at the distance of 4.7km. The Google
Earth method gave 133.7°± 0.2° reaffirming our
Poseidon temple azimuth and finding the com-
pass measurement nine degrees off.
The fifth case is the temple of Zeus in
Nemea. The HMGS points used were (22.71977
E 37.80307 N) and (22.68260 E, 37.82949 N)
with a calculated azimuth of 131.83° and a dist-
ance of 4.4km. The azimuth measured using
the Google Earth method was 132.1°± 0.5°.
The corresponding azimuth of the temple of
Zeus was 70°± 49′, while Boutsikas lists 75°.
We think therefore that the compass measure-
Table 3: A comparison of monument orientations measured by Boutsikas with a compass and our results using Google Earth.
Page 219
The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
ment is of rather of low accuracy at >4° off.
The last case is the temple of Artemis
(Apollo) at Sicyon, for which Boutsikas’ azimuth
of 95° is almost 5° larger than the Google Earth
one of 90° 04′± 0.19′. Using the two easily
locatable HMGS points (22.68097 E, 38.00020
N) and (22.73053 E 37.97895 N) with an
azimuth of 118.43° and a distance of 5.0km, we
measured with Google Earth a corresponding
azimuth of 118.5°± 0.1°, confirming yet again
the Google Earth result.
In these six cases (out of 43, or about 15%
of all cases studied), we see that the compass
can produce inaccurate azimuths, that some-
times deviate by more than 4° from the correct
values and even by >10° in rare cases.
On the other hand, although the Google
Earth method is generally much more accurate
than the compass method, it has, nevertheless,
its weaknesses as well: in 17 cases (40%) the
final internal accuracy of the measurements was
≤1°; in 9 cases (20%) it was ≤2°; in two cases it
was just 3°; and in one case it was 5°. These
usually occurred in remote places such as Kal-
ambaka, or when the ancient temple remnants
were inconspicuous on the Google Earth images,
or the temples were very small, or a combination
of these factors. This is shown in the case of
the temples in Dodona, Calydon, Gortys, where
the accuracy of the Google Earth method was
very low (see Table 2). In the remaining 60% of
the Google Earth results with final internal
accuracies of >1°, the median accuracy was
0.6°.
Dimitris Sinachopoulos The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments

Page 220
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
We checked whether sometimes the Bout-
sikas and Google Earth azimuths were statistic-
ally the same (equal mean values). In 22 cases
(50%) the azimuths were the same at the 0.05
level of significance and in 30 cases (70%) at
the 0.01. For the 26 most accurate cases of the
Google Earth method, when the final internal
azimuth accuracy was better than 1° the corres-
ponding percentages were 58% (15 cases) and
77% (20) respectively. These values were
computed assuming that the Boutsikas compass
mean values resulted from 25 independent mea-
surements per monument and that the final
internal accuracy achieved was always 1°. If
this last value is optimistic, then the above per-
centages obviously get larger and then more
temples have statistically the same azimuths. In
conclusion, at least half of the measurements by
means of the two methods were statistically the
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
same (at the 0.05 level) and up to 70% of them
were very probably statistically the same (at the
0.01 level).
Apart of temple orientations, but slightly re-
lated to them, using Google Earth images we
measured the altitudes of 28 of 258 best-known
Greek mountains higher than 1000 meters. We
found that the two altitudes for the same mount-
ain were linearly correlated by the equation
y = 1.0127x + 2.539 (1)
with a correlation coefficient of r = 0.9993, where
x is the altitude measured using Google Earth
and y the correct one, with an average accuracy
of 15.3m. In the same way we also used
Google Earth to measure the level of the Med-
iterranean Sea along the coast around the an-
cient Greek world and we found that it often
differed from zero (the correct value), with a
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
standard deviation of 3 m and an absolute value
for the maximum deviation of 12 m.
4 DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION
Upon evaluating the accuracy of the Greek
temple azimuth measurements obtained using
the Google Earth method we conclude:
(1) The internal accuracy based on one Google
Earth image depends on the quality of the image
itself, e.g. its pixel resolution, the geometrical
dimensions of the monument, the quality of the
monument remnants, the elevation of the Sun at
the time the photograph was taken, and the
transparency of the Earth’s atmosphere at that
time.
(2) Azimuth estimations of different Google
Earth images seem not to follow the normal dis-
tribution, due to internal Google Earth calibra-
tions of the different images taken in different
epochs, using different instruments and certainly
under different atmospheric conditions and
orbital inclinations. There are bundles of Google
Earth images, the azimuth estimations of which
can systematically diverge almost 1° from the
final mean value and which show a maximum
divergence of up to 1.5°. Thus, the accuracy of
each Google Earth image orientation does not
seem to improve with time. We did not reject
any image, and we calculated the mean value
of the mean azimuth of each image, the stan-
dard deviation of all azimuths measured on all
images and the standard deviation of the mean
azimuth value, as shown in Table 1.
(3) In the case of the Olympieion in Athens we
found that the final internal azimuth accuracy of
the Google Earth images was usually much
better than 1°.
(4) In the cases of the Parthenon and the
Hephaisteion, we found that the Google Earth
method can be even more accurate than 0.5°,
and sometimes surpass the accuracy of the old-
er historical measurements, even those made
with astrogeodetic instruments.
(5) For about 60% of the newly oriented
temples by the Google Earth method, the final
internal azimuth accuracy obtained was better
than 1°. In these cases, approximately 60% of
the Google Earth and compass azimuths were
statistically the same at the 0.05 level of signif-
icance and 75% of them at the 0.01 level. This
proves that orientations obtained by the com-
pass and the Google Earth methods are statist-
ically the same in the majority of cases for the
Greek temples that we investigated.
(6) Nevertheless there were some remote
places, such as the Kalambaka Virgin Mary
church, where the orientations of Google Earth
imageries were of rather poor consistency. In
such cases, the Google Earth azimuths were
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
usually less accurate than the compass values,
and could be as low as 3°. In these instances,
we think that 4° would be very close to the low-
est limit of the final azimuth accuracy of the
Google Earth method.
(7) On the other hand, one should probably
expect that 10%, or even more, of the compass
results will have a much lower accuracy than 4°.
Liritzis et al (2015) found that errors in
Google Earth compass tool computations with
regard to in situ readings for azimuth and angu-
lar altitude were ±1‒2°, which approximately
agrees with our conclusions.
We believe that users of Google Earth
images should usually expect measurement ac-
curacies of better than 1°, which is the adopted
accuracy limit of the prismatic compass. The
Google Earth azimuths were seldom less accu-
rate than 4°, as was the case for more than 10%
of the compass results. The Google Earth
method is applied easily and quickly, is widely
available, and has no cost. It can therefore
easily replace the compass and be used as a
valuable tool in preliminary orientation studies
and for all other cases where the highest pos-
sible accuracy is not necessary. When high
accuracy is required the use of the astrogeo-
detic method remains mandatory.
The accuracy of the local horizon altitude in
front of a Greek temple computed using the
Google Earth method was usually 1°. However,
in some situations (e.g. when there was precip-
itous terrain, as at Delphi) where the horizon
included nearby steep terrain, the Google Earth
method alone could not give a reliable result.
Fortunately, Vlachos et al. (2018) were able to
give this for the Delphi temple.
The final results of Greek temple orienta-
tions (declinations) obtained with the exclusive
use of Google Earth images should in general
be more accurate as these obtained using a
compass.
Our study of the temple of Olympian Zeus
(the Olympieion) in Athens shows that the
temple was probably intentionally oriented with
respect to the equinoxes, which is not the case
for any of the other four Zeus temples listed in
Table 2. The construction of the Olympieion’s
colossal platform was apparently begun around
520 BCE by Hippias and Hipparchus, the sons
of Peisistratos, and the temple was designed by
the architects Antistates, Callaeschrus, Antima-
chides and Pornius (Aristotle, around 340 BCE).
Its axis might have been related to the equin-
oxes and defines the unique line of the hori-
zontal plane that was shared by the equatorial
and the ecliptic ones. Selecting this direction,
Athenians very probably intended to show their
highest appreciation of and respect for the king
of the Olympian Gods who ruled over the Earth
Dimitris Sinachopoulos
and the heavens.
One could interpret this special orientation
of the Olympieion by considering the funda-
ments of the Greek culture, for which geometry
was one of its major pillars. The geometrical
element of symmetry gives to the Greek works
their characteristic sense of harmonious and
beautiful proportions and balance. The east-
west direction divides the path of yearly solar
rising and setting points on the horizon into two
symmetrical sectors. Therefore, this line has
been a major celestial axis of symmetry, com-
plying with the most important Greek ideals
concerning beauty and cultural values.
The Greek passion for symmetry was also
confirmed by Pantazis (2014) who found that the
two largest temples in ancient Athens, the
Parthenon and the Hephaisteion, were oriented
in and east-west direction with an astronomical
orientation of their main axis to 77° 07′ ± 1′ to
the north-east and 102° 55′ ± 1′ to the south-
east respectively.
On the other hand, in ancient Greek religion
Zeus was the god who ruled as the king of gods.
For the Athenians in the era of Peisistratus the
east-west axis of fundamental celestial symm-
etry was the main element of harmony and
beauty honoring Zeus. Therefore the Athenians
respectfully oriented the axis of his new temple,
the Olympieion, to these cardinal directions.
5 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am grateful to the anonymous referees for their
helpful comments.
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The Orientation of ancient Greek Monuments
Dr Dimitris Sinachopoulos was
born in Athens, Greece, in 1951.
He is currently the director of the
New Lesbos Observatory in
Greece. He got his BSc in
Mathematics from the University
of Athens in 1976 and his Ph.D.
in Astronomy from the University
of Vienna, Austria, in 1983. In the 1980s and early
1990s he worked for the mission of the ESA
Hipparcos astrometric satellite at the University of
Bonn, Germany, and the Royal Observatory of
Belgium. In the early 2000s he participated in the
preparation of the DRL DIVA satellite at the Royal
Observatory of Belgium, the National Observatory of
Athens and the Astrophysical Institute Potsdam, Ger-
many, but later this project was cancelled. He has
been a DPAC member of the ESA Gaia satellite since
1999. Dimitris has supervised more than five PhD or
Masters theses on gravitational lensing, satellite and
Earth-based astrometry, pulsating stars, and archaeo-
astronomy. On the basis of his extensive observation-
al experience at the largest European and South Afri-
can Observatories (including ESO) and as a Senior
Researcher at the National Observatory of Athens, in
1999‒2000 he established the Aristarchos Observa-
tory on the top of Chelmos mountain (alt. 2340 m).
This is home to Greece’s largest telescope (2.3m
aperture). Dimitris’ first paper on archaeoastronomy
was published in 1991.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 225‒237 (2019).

BAIAMI AND THE EMU CHASE: AN ASTRONOMICAL

INTERPRETATION OF A WIRADJURI DREAMING ASSOCIATED
WITH THE BURBUNG
BAIAMI-BU DHINAWAN YANHAMANHA:
GIBBIRGIRRBAANG WINHANGA-DURIN-YA WIRADJURI
YARRUDHUMARRA-BU BURBUNG
Trevor M. Leaman
School of Humanities and Languages, University of New South Wales,
Sydney, NSW, 2052, Australia
Email: t.leaman@unsw.edu.au
and
Duane W. Hamacher
School of Physics, University of Melbourne, Parkville,
Victoria 3010, Australia
Email: duane.hamacher@unimelb.edu.au

Abstract: A Wiradjuri Dreaming connected to the Aboriginal creation ancestor Baiami, and enacted during a
Burbung male initiation ceremony, was recorded by the Australian anthropologist R.H. Mathews in 1896. We
investigate this further and conclude that the Dreaming most likely relates to the annual movements of the
constellations in the Wiradjuri night sky, with Baiami represented by the stars in the Greek constellation of Orion, and
the terrestrial emu featured in the Dreaming represented by the Wiradjuri ‗dark‘ constellation of Gugurmin the
Celestial Emu, formed from the dust bands of the Milky Way. The Celestial Emu may also represent Daramulun,
another important ancestral figure associated with the Burbung, whose spirit descends from the Milky Way in emu
form to take part in the male initiation ceremony. The Dreaming narrative has parallels with the Greek myth of Orion
and the scorpion, represented by the constellation of Scorpius, in eternal pursuit of each other in the sky throughout
the year. The Dreaming narrative recorded by Mathews also suggests a reference to the orientation of Baiami in
Orion. He appears to be oriented the same way in the sky as Orion from Greek mythology, which is upside-down as
seen from a Southern Hemisphere perspective. This is consistent with rock art depictions of Baiami from the Sydney
Basin, and that of Nyeeruna, a creation ancestor of the Kokatha and Ngalea peoples from the Great Victoria Desert,
South Australia, which shares similar characteristics and attributions with Baiami. The alternative ‗right-side-up‘
orientation is also being investigated and will be the subject of a follow-up paper.
Warning to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People: This paper contains references to Aboriginal cultural
practices surrounding male initiations ‒ but does not provide secret details about those ceremonies. It also contains
historical archival photographs of people who are deceased.
Keywords: Aboriginal Australian Astronomy, ethnoastronomy, Wiradjuri, Baiami, Orion, Celestial Emu, R.H.
Mathews

1 INTRODUCTION any formal qualifications or training in astronomy

The Milky Way is Warrambool ... There is
one old man up there who was once a great
rainmaker, and when you see that he has
turned round as the position of the Milky
Way is altered, you may expect rain; he
never moves except to make it … (Parker,
1905: 95).
By drawing upon the available literature, mus-
eum and library archives, artworks, ethnograph-
ic fieldwork and archaeological studies, we are
now gaining a better understanding of the true
extent and wealth of Aboriginal and Torres Strait
Islander astronomical knowledge (e.g. Norris,
2016). What is becoming clearer is just how
much this astronomical knowledge is integrated
into every aspect of daily life, particularly its
prominent role in ceremony. Although several
early Australian ethnographers recorded such
ceremonies in detail, the fact that they lacked
makes it likely that many subtle clues relating to
astronomical content and connections to the sky-
world were missed. One such case is explored
in detail here.
Among the extensive list of publications by
Robert Hamilton (R.H.) Mathews (1841‒1918),
is a detailed record of a Wiradjuri male initiation
1
ceremony, or Burbung, which was held at Bul-
geraga Creek, New South Wales (NSW) (Math-
ews, 1896b; 1897a). The Wiradjuri (var: Wirad-
yuri) people of central NSW, Australia, represent
the largest Aboriginal language group in the
State, and second largest in Australia (Figure 1).
Having cultural and linguistic similarities to their
neighbours, such as the Kamilaroi (var: Gamilaroi/
Gamilaraay) and Ngemba (var: Ngiyampaa) (Fuler
et al., 2014a; 2014b), astronomical knowledge is
deeply embedded within Wiradjuri culture (Ham-

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Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming

Figure 1: Language map of SE Australia showing the Wiradjuri (Wiradyuri) in relation to neighbouring Aboriginal language groups
(Wikimedia Commons).

acher, 2014; Leaman and Hamacher, 2019).

However, as is the case throughout Aboriginal
Australia, invasion, colonisation and forced dis-
placement caused a significant fragmentation of
Wiradjuri traditional knowledge (e.g. see Mac-
Donald, 1998; Read, 1983; 1984), hampering
efforts to recover and determine the full extent of
this knowledge.
In his observations, Mathews describes the
physical layout of the Burbung initiation grounds,
and outlines the proceedings of the ceremony.
Of particular note was his detailed description of
a Dreaming associated with the ceremony involv-
ing the important ancestral creator Baiami, and
his pursuit of an emu. As both figures are repre-
sented in the Wiradjuri skyworld as constella-
tions, we explore the possibility that this Dream-
ing narrative of a seemingly terrestrial event is in
fact a reflection of events occurring in the sky-
world. We analyse this story, along with evi-
dence from rock art depictions of Baiami from
the Sydney Basin, to determine the orientation
of Baiami in Orion that best fits the narrative.
His chasing of the emu in the narrative also
appears to describe the movements of both
constellations around the South Celestial Pole
(SCP), similar to the later Greek story of Orion
chasing Scorpius across the sky.

2 ROBERT HAMILTON MATHEWS: A

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
Figure 2: R.H. Mathews, in about 1909 (courtesy: National The Australian-born Government surveyor and
Library of Australia). anthropologist R.H. Mathews (Figure 2) observ-

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Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
ed and recorded the culture of many south-
eastern Aboriginal language groups, including
the Wiradjuri. Being self-taught in the field and
lacking any formal qualifications, he was often
derided privately and publicly by his British-born
university-educated peers, Walter Baldwin Spen-
cer (1860 ‒1929) and Alfred William Howitt
(1830 ‒1908), who saw Mathews as something
of a ‗colonial upstart‘ (Thomas, 2012: 343 ‒345).
Other contemporaries from outside Australia,
such as folklorists Edwin Sydney Hartland (1848 ‒
1927) and Andrew Lang (1844‒1912), although
caught up in their own personal disputes, were
more supportive and appreciative of Mathews‘
work, often comparing and exchanging field notes
and ideas via frequent correspondences (Thom-
as, 2012: 270; 280‒281).
Mathews‘ extensive and detailed accounts
of Aboriginal daily life and culture are indicative
of the level of rapport he had developed with his
Aboriginal peers, often being allowed to witness
and record secret-sacred ceremonies normally
off-limits to non-initiates. His ethnographic re-
cords have more recently been used in support
of several Aboriginal native title claims (Thomas,
2012:196). Mathews‘ interest in anthropology
was initiated by first encountering the creation
ancestor Baiami painted in a rock shelter at Mil-
brodale, in the Hunter Valley, NSW (Mathews,
1893; Thomas, 2012: Chapters 1 and 6). Math-
ews was to encounter this figure time and again
during his years among south-eastern Aboriginal
peoples, as Baiami is strongly associated with
the land and skyscape of many of the neigh-
bouring language groups, including Muruwari,
Ngemba, Wailwan, Wongaibon, Euahlayi, and
Kamilaroi (Berndt and Berndt, 1977; Eliade,
1966; 1967a; 1967b; Hartland, 1898; Lang, 1899;
Mathews, 1994; Parker, 1905; Tindale, 1983).
Another equally important ancestral figure ass-
ociated with Baiami and the Burbung, and en-
countered by Mathews during his research, was
the maleficent shapeshifter Daramulun.
3 THE BURBUNG AND THE MILKY WAY
Baiami (var: Byamee, Baiame, Byama, or Bai-
amai) and Daramulun (var: Dharamulun or Dhur-
2
ramulan) are two powerful ancestral creator be-
ings, each playing an important role in the Bur-
bung ceremony where boys are ‗made‘ into
men. According to Hartland (1898), Baiami made
the Earth, water, sky, animals, and people. He
made the rain come down and grass to grow,
and welcomed good people to his ‗home‘ in the
Milky Way (a place of peace and plenty) upon
their passing.
Daramulun is a gigantic and powerful being
whose voice resembles the rumble of distant
thunder. Some accounts suggest that Daramu-
lun and Baiami are one and the same (e.g. see
Berndt, 1974: 28; Eliade, 1966:112), whereas
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
others suggest Daramulun was the son of
Baiami (e.g. see Howitt, 1904: 502). Mathews
(1896b) and Hartland (1898) simply state that he
was ―… one of Baiami‘s people.‖
According to Wiradjuri lore (Mathews, 1896b),
at a certain age young boys are handed over to
Daramulun to be instructed in the law and cust-
oms of the community. When they returned to
camp, the boys were missing a tooth. This was
a sign that they were initiated by Daramulun,
who told Baiami that he had killed the boys, cut
them up, burnt them to ashes, then moulded the
ashes into human form, and restored the boys to
life, albeit with one tooth missing (Hartland,
1898; Mathews, 1896b). However, it was ap-
parent that not all of the boys had returned from
this ordeal. When questioned by Baiami, the
surviving boys reluctantly admitted that Dara-
mulun had not killed and reassembled them, but
had extracted their teeth using his own lower
incisors. During this process, he sometimes bit
off the boy‘s entire face and then devoured him
(Mathews, 1896b). In his anger on hearing this,
Baiami destroyed Daramulun, but put his voice
into every tree in the forest. Thus, a bullroarer
(Mudthega) fashioned from any tree will have
the voice of Daramulun, and hence plays an im-
portant role in the Burbung ceremony (Hartland,
1898; Mathews, 1896b; 1897b). Baiami decided
not to tell the women and uninitiated about Dar-
amulun‟s indiscretions, but rather continued to
make them believe that boys were still being put
to death and restored to life by Daramulun. By
doing so, and showing men how to perform
tooth evulsion and how the laws were to be pas-
sed on, he instituted the first Burbung ceremony,
which has been followed by Wiradjuri men ever
since (Hartland, 1898; Mathews, 1896b).
Most Burbung grounds consist of a larger
circle of stones or mounded earth connected by
an avenue to a smaller circle some distance
away (Fuller et al., 2013; Hamacher et al.,
2012). The larger circle is the open, public gath-
ering site and the smaller circle is a restricted
secret/sacred space (Figure 3, right). Working
closely with elders, Fuller et al. (2013) showed a
link between the orientation of Burbung sites
with the Emu in the Sky and Sky Burbung in the
Milky Way, and the calendrical timing of the Bur-
bung ceremony. The Emu in the Sky, or Cel-
estial Emu, is a ‗dark‘ constellation in the Milky
Way made up of the dust lanes running from the
Coal Sack Nebula (the head of the Emu) to the
galactic bulge in Scorpius-Sagittarius (the body
of the Emu), and Ophiuchus-Scutum (the feet of
the Emu) (Fuller et al., 2013; Norris and Norris,
2009). This motif is widespread throughout
Australia (Cairns and Harney, 2004; Fuller et al.,
2014a; 2014b; Norris and Hamacher, 2009:13;
Stanbridge, 1861: 302; Wellard, 1983:51). Its
significance to the Burbung ceremony, where sen-
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
Figure 3 (Left): The Celestial Emu, with Sky Burbung superimposed, and oriented as seen in the Milky Way after sunset in August,
the time that most Burbung ceremonies were performed. (Right): Typical layout of a Ground Burbung mirroring the Sky Burbung
(photographs: R. Fuller (left) and S. Bowdler (right)).
ior male elders ‗make‘ men from boys, may be
reflected in the fact that it is the male emu that
broods and hatches the emu chicks and rears
the young (Coddington and Cockburn, 1995;
Love, 1987).
These accounts describe the Burbung cere-
mony predominantly taking place after sunset in
August, when the band of the Milky Way is
perpendicular to the horizon. Hence, the „Sky
Burbung‟ contained within the body of The Cel-
estial Emu is visually and spiritually ‗connected‘
to the terrestrial Burbung (Fuller et al., 2014b;
see Figure 3, left). This allows Daramulun, who
is of the emu totem, to descend to Earth and
take part in the ceremony (Fuller et al., 2014b).
The earthen figure of an emu adjacent to im-
prints of emu tracks morphing into human foot-
prints, as witnessed by Mathews (1896b: 229)
during a Burbung ceremony, may be symbolic of
Daramulun‟s descent to Earth as an emu and
his transformation into human form. Interest-
ingly, Howitt (1904: 588) states that the newly
initiated were not allowed to go to sleep at night
until the Milky Way was again horizontal in the
sky. Howitt does not offer a reason for this.
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
One possible interpretation is that once the con-
nection between Milky Way and ground was
‗severed‘, Daramulun was no longer able to
come down from the sky to walk the Earth, and
therefore unable to pose a threat to the boys.
In both the Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi langu-
ages, the name of the terrestrial emu is Din-
awan. Elders explain that the name of the Cel-
estial Emu (Kamilaroi: Gawarrgay/Gawarghoo,
Wiradjuri: Gugurmin) differs from its terrestrial
counterpart, and its role changes as the orien-
tation of the Milky Way changes over the year.
Each orientation is linked to a different aspect of
an overall narrative cycle linked to the emu‘s
behaviour and the ceremonial calendar (Fuller et
al., 2014b: 175‒177).
4 BAIAMI AND THE EMU CHASE
Burbung ceremonial grounds are often décor-
ated with intricate motifs carved into surrounding
trees (Etheridge, 1918; Mathews, 1896a; 1896b),
accompanied by ground-based anthropomor-
phic, animal, or abstract figures made of mound-
ed soil (Mathews 1896a; 1896b; 1901; Figure 4).
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming

Figure 4: Some tree and ground motifs found in association with Burbung ceremonies (after Mathews, 1896a; numbers refer to his
detailed descriptions).

Of the tree carvings (dendroglyphs), Mathews

(1896a; 1896b) and Etheridge (1918) each offer
a description of the manner of their construction.
These designs include motifs that appear to de-
pict the Sun and Moon, suggesting a connection
to the skyworld.
One of the earthen figures is of special in-
terest to our analysis. According to Mathews
(1896b: 300), an earthen figure of a man mea-
suring 6.60 m long by 1.68 m across the body,
and 0.53 m in height is positioned opposite a
large fire (‗Baiami‟s Fire‘). The figure, attributed
to Baiami, was lying face-down with his arms
spread out. Close to him were representations
of two giant handprints, made by puddling and
working the clay soil to shape. These were said
to be the handprints of Baiami when he tripped
and fell. A similar mounded figure was observ-
ed and photographed by Kerry in 1898 (Figure
5) during another Burbung ceremony, and thus
contemporaneous with Mathews‘ observations.
According to the narrative recorded by Math-
ews (18996b), Baiami was hiding in a tree sur-
rounded by bushes beside a waterhole, waiting Figure 5: Earthmound representation of Baiami similar to
for an emu to drink. When one did approach, and contemporaneous with the one witnessed and
described by Mathews (1896b) during a Burbung ceremony
Baiami speared it, but it ran some distance before (photograph: Charles Kerry (1898); courtesy: The Kerry &
it fell. On running after the emu, Baiami tripped Co. Collection, Powerhouse Museum, Museum of Applied
over a log and fell hands-first to the ground, as Arts and Sciences, Sydney).

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Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
Figure 6: Line drawing sketches of rock art from the Sydney
Basin depicting anthropomorphic figures attributed to
Baiami. Note the Boomerangs (crescent Moons) held in the
raised hands (images from McCarthy, 1983).
depicted in the earthen figure and handprints.
At the same Burbung ceremony, near the
earthen figure of the emu described previously,
was a Belar tree (not identified by Mathews, but
probably a Bellaway or River She-oak:
Casuarina cunninghamiana) to which was tied a
bunch of bushes. This was said to be ‗Baiami‟s
hiding place‘ (Mathews, 1896b: 300). Another
Belar tree about 3.20 m from Baiami‟s head was
surmounted by ‗a mock Eaglehawk‘s nest‘ (the
Eaglehawk is an alternative name for the
Wedge-tailed Eagle: Aquila audax), with the
bole of the tree carved with representations of
the Sun and crescent Moon (ibid.).
5 AN ASTRONOMICAL CONNECTION?
This narrative might seem unusual at first, des-
cribing and depicting Baiami—an important an-
cestral ‗All-Father‘ creator—in a rather compro-
mising and undignified manner. However, an
Figure 7: The north-south symmetry of the stars making up the constellation of Orion. Whether viewed from the Northern
Hemisphere looking south (left), or from the Southern Hemisphere looking north (right), the constellation still appears similar
(image: Wikimedia Commons, modified by T.Leaman).
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
explanation may come from relating the story to
the night sky. According to Eliade (1996: 41),
Baiami ―… dwells in the sky, beside a great
stream of water.‖ In Wiradjuri Lore, as with sev-
eral other Aboriginal cultures from southeastern
Australia, the Milky Way represents a great cel-
estial river, going by the generic word Bilabang,
‗river‘, from which we get the word Billabong
meaning a series of waterholes (Dixon et al.,
1992). More specifically the name of the near-
est terrestrial river is also used for the Milky
Way, such as Calare (var: Galare), the Wiradjuri
name for the Lachlan River, which flows through
central Wiradjuri country, Warrambool, the Wir-
adjuri, Kamilaroi and Euahlayi name for the Mac-
quarie River, which flows through northern Wir-
adjuri and southern Kamilaroi country, or Mar-
rambidgeri, the Murrumbidgee River, which flows
through southern Wiradjuri country.
If Baiami ―… dwells in the sky, beside a
stream of water‖, where among the band of the
Milky Way is he positioned? A clue may be
found in how he is portrayed in tree carvings
and earth mounds witnessed at Burbung cere-
monies (Mathews, 1896a; 1896b; 1901; see Fig-
ures 4 and 5), and in rock art (e.g. see Mathews,
1895; 1897c; McCarthy, 1983; see Figure 6).
These consistently depict Baiami standing with
legs splayed and arms outstretched, which is
very similar to the pose seen in the stars making
up the Greek constellation Orion. This hypoth-
esis has been confirmed on numerous occas-
ions by several anonymous Wiradjuri custodi-
3
ans. However, there are differing accounts as
to how Baiami is positioned in relation to these
stars. Due to the fairly symmetrical nature of this
constellation (Figure 7) it is possible for Baiami to
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming

Figure 8: Further strengthening the inverted orientation of Baiami in Orion is the fact that the
ecliptic (tan line lower left) passes close by his outstretched hands, allowing for the
occasional close passage of the crescent Moon, much as depicted in the Sydney Basin rock
art (see Figure 6). Several Dreamings associate Baiami with boomerangs and crescent
Moons, both being interchangeable motifs (image from Stellarium with the Moon scaled (X5)
for better visualisation).

be oriented in either of two ways: head down-
wards (‗upside-down‘) as is seen in the ‗classi-
cal‘ depiction of Orion when viewed from the
Southern Hemisphere, or head upwards (‗right-
side-up‘), which would still fit the pattern of the
stars equally well. Here, we discuss the evi-
dence for an ‗upside-down‘ orientation based on
Mathews‘ account, and supported by other evi-
dence outlined below. Evidence for the alterna-
tive ‗right-side-up‘ orientation will be the subject
of a future follow-up paper.
In Ngalea and Kokatha traditions from the
Great Victoria Desert surrounding Ooldea, South
Australia, Orion is identified with Nyeeruna (Bates,
1921; 1933), an ancestral being having many
characteristics in common with Baiami, including
an association with male initiations (Berndt and
Berndt, 1943, 1945; Leaman and Hamacher,
2014). Bates‘ account of Nyeeruna clearly
places him in Orion such that his right shoulder,
which holds his club that directs ‗sparks‘ (pos-
sibly referencing the Orionid meteor shower, as
its radiant is located in this part of the sky) is
indicated by the variable red-giant star Betel-
geuse (Leaman and Hamacher, 2014; Hama-
cher, 2018).
Are there any clues suggesting that Baiami
is also oriented the same way? Rock art
depictions of Baiami usually show him holding a
boomerang in one of his outstretched hands
(McCarthy, 1983; see Figure 6). Boomerangs
and the crescent Moon are often interchange-
able motifs, and both are associated with
Baiami. One Dreaming in particular describes
how, in order to settle a dispute between four
ancestral animals, Baiami brought the first
returning boomerang to Earth, which he threw
towards the western horizon to became the first
crescent Moon ever seen (Ellis, 2006: 114 ‒
4
117). It is worth noting that the plane of the
ecliptic, along which the Sun, Moon and planets
move in the sky, passes close to the head and
outstretched arms of Orion. Occasionally the
crescent Moon will also be seen to pass close
by (Figure 8). Is this Baiame holding his boom-
erang? If so, then this suggests that the orient-

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Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
Figure 9 (Left): The orientation of Orion as seen from a Southern Hemisphere perspective. (Right) The most likely orientation of
Baiami in Orion based on a summary of the available evidence (images taken from Stellarium using the Western constellation
artwork (left) and Wiradjuri constellations add-in for Stellarium developed by T. Leaman, and using the artworks of Scott ‗Sauce‘
Towney (right)).
tation of Baiami in Orion is head-downwards,
just as the Greek constellation of Orion is view-
ed from a Southern Hemisphere perspective
(Figure 9).
This orientation fits very well with the overall
narrative. Firstly, Baiami‟s chasing of the emu is
a perfect allegory of the nightly (and/or yearly)
movement of Orion and the Celestial Emu
around the South Celestial Pole (SCP) (Figure
10). A similar story is told of Orion chasing
Scorpius in Greek mythology. Secondly, Baia-
mi‟s tripping and hands-first stumble to Earth
describes the orientation of Orion as it sets in
the western sky, with his hands (extending from
his shoulders—the stars Betelgeuse and Bella-
trix) being the first part of his body to touch the
horizon (Figure 11). Lastly, in this orientation
his right shoulder, being marked by Betelgeuse,
5
fits well with another Dreaming narrative in
which this hand is capable of yielding immense
power—just what is needed to hurl a boomerang
at great distances.
Other elements of the narrative are also
represented in the skyworld as Wiradjuri con-
stellations. For instance, the log that causes Bai-
ami to trip could be from Yarran-Doo, the Yarran
Tree (either a River Red Gum, Eucalyptus cam-
aldulensis, or Spearwood Tree, Acacia homalo-
phylla), represented by the constellation Crux
(Southern Cross) (McKeown, 1938: 18), which
pivots around the SCP in the form of an ‗Axis
Mundi‘. The mock Eagle‘s Nest constructed for
the Burbung maybe a representation of the con-
stellation of Maliyan Wollai, the nest of the
Wedge-tailed Eagle, made up of the stars in
Corona Borealis (Ridley, 1875: 141‒142). Mali-
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
yan the Wedge-tailed Eagle can itself be seen in
Altair and the stars of Aquila (Ridley, 1875: 142;
see Figure 10, bottom). The Wawi (Rainbow
Serpent) also features in the ground and tree
drawings of the Burbung (Figure 4), and it too
has a celestial counterpart in the dark bands of
the Milky Way, stretching from Crux to Orion
(anonymous Wiradjuri custodian, pers. comm.).
6 DISCUSSION AND SUMMARY
The sky is home for many ancestral creator
beings that came down to make the world, the
animals, and the people during a period referred
to as the ‗Dreaming‘ or ‗Creation Time‘ (Clarke,
2007/2008). Unlike a modern Western world-
view, Aboriginal peoples do not separate the
realms of Earth, Sea, and Sky, but rather see
them as aspects of a unified ‗Cosmoscape‘
(Clarke, 1997). In this scheme, the skyworld is
every bit as real as its counterpart on Earth,
complete with rivers and forests inhabited with
fish, birds, animals, and ancestral beings (Clarke,
1997; 2007/2008; 2014; 2015a; 2015b); just as
these ancestral beings can come down to walk
the land, it is possible for one to journey into the
skyworld and interact with them (Clarke, 1997;
2007/2008; Eliade, 1967b: 161‒163; Howitt, 1904:
406 ‒408). In Wiradjuri, this place is called
Wantanggangura ―… beyond the clouds in the
sky.‖ (Berndt 1974: 28) or Murriyang ―… sky-
world, where Baiami lives.‖ (Grant and Rudder,
2010: 228).
Because little distinction was made between
the land and skyworld, traditions that describe
terrestrial events can just as easily describe
events in the skyworld, and vice-versa (Clarke,
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming

Figure 10: The ‗Baiami and Emu Chase‘ Dreaming narrative related back to the sky showing how it may likely be describing the
annual movements of Baiami (as Orion) and the Celestial Emu (Gugurmin) around the SCP, with Baiami firstly chasing the Emu
(top), then stumbling hands first to earth (middle). A full sky depiction of the Wiradjuri night sky (bottom) shows other constellations
that also appear to feature in this Dreaming narrative, including the Yarran-Doo, the Yarran Tree (Southern Cross), from which the
roots or fallen branch may have been the reason for Baiami‟s tripping during the chase, and Maliyan Wollai, the Eagle‘s Nest
(Corona Borealis). The Wawi (Rainbow Serpent) also appears in tree and earth mound figures in some Burbung grounds (images
taken from Stellarium using the Wiradjuri constellations add-in for Stellarium developed by T. Leaman, and using the artworks of
Scott ‗Sauce‘ Towney).

1997; 2007/2008; Leaman et al., 2016). Here,
we critically analyse elements of a Wiradjuri
Burbung recorded by Mathews and suggest that
the ‗Baiami and Emu Chase‘ narrative accom-
panying the male initiation ceremony in fact
describes events taking place in the Murriyang.
More specifically, we suggest it describes the
daily and/or annual movements of two Wiradjuri
constellations: Baiami (represented by the stars
of Orion) and Gugurmin the Celestial Emu (the

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Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
Figure 11: The orientation of Baiami (as Orion) as he sets in the west matches the description of his stumbling hands
first to earth after chasing an Emu (image taken from Stellarium using the Wiradjuri constellation add-in for Stellarium
developed by T. Leaman, and using the artworks of Scott ‗Sauce‘ Towney).
dark bands in the Milky Way from Crux to Scor-
pius) as they move around the SCP (Figure 10).
This is similar to the story of Orion‘s eternal
pursuit of a scorpion (represented by the zodiac
constellation Scorpius) from Greek mythology.
This narrative—supported by evidence from
depictions of Baiami in rock art from the Sydney
Basin—also indicates that his orientation in the
stars of Orion appears to be the same as the
Greek depiction of Orion itself, being upside-
down as seen from a Southern Hemisphere per-
spective (Figure 9). This orientation is consist-
ent with how Nyeeruna, a creator ancestor shar-
ing similar attributes to Baiami, is also oriented
in Orion (Bates, 1921; 1933; Leaman and Ham-
acher, 2014).
Further supporting this skyworld interpret-
ation are the parallels that can be drawn be-
tween elements of the Wiradjuri Burbung des-
cribed by Mathews (1896b) and the male initi-
ation ceremony (Minari and Baba Inma) from
Aboriginal traditions centred on Ooldea (Berndt
and Berndt, 1943: 46; 1945; Leaman and Ham-
acher, 2014: 189). Both centre on a cultural
ancestor represented by the stars in Orion, and
both incorporate representations of the sky-
world, either (a) through re-enactment of Dream-
ings associated with cultural ancestors repre-
sented by constellations, as is the case with the
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
Minari and Baba Inma, or (b) through repre-
sentations of constellations in ground and tree
drawings, and Dreaming narrative, as is the
case with the Burbung. Such re-enactments
through song, dance and ceremony are an ef-
fective way of memorising and transmitting
cultural knowledge across the generations (Kel-
ly, 2016). The ‗Baiami and Emu Chase‘ narra-
tive is consistent with this mode of knowledge
transmission.
This paper highlights the value of revisiting
the ethnohistorical records to uncover know-
ledge of astronomical phenomena overlooked
by previous researchers. It is hoped that further
research of the archives will recover more
examples that will assist communities in building
a more complete corpus of knowledge for future
generations.
7 NOTES
1. Aboriginal male initiation ceremonies are more
widely known throughout Australia as Bora,
which is a word borrowed from the neigh-
bouring Kamilaroi language (Dixon et al.,
1992: 150; Etheridge, 1918: 59). Here, as
we are focussing on a Wiradjuri Dreaming
and associated initiation ceremonies, we have
adopted the Wiradjuri word Burbung when
describing these ceremonies.
Trevor M. Leaman and Duane W. Hamacher
2. Early ethnohistorical researchers have adopt-
ed several spelling variations for these cre-
ation ancestors in an attempt to record the
regional dialectic differences in pronunciation,
both within Wiradjuri country and across neigh-
bouring language groups (Thomas, 2015:
236). For clarity, we have standardised on
Baiami and Daramulun in this paper. We
have also adopted the spelling conventions
listed in the Wiradjuri/English dictionary by
Grant and Rudder (2010) for many of the
Wiradjuri words used in this paper.
3. There is some debate as to whether Abo-
riginal people saw groups of stars as con-
stellations, as in the modern western tradi-
tion (borrowing mostly from Greek mythol-
ogy), or only a single significant star to re-
present important ancestors in their entirety.
There is evidence, however, to suggest both
view-points are equally valid depending on
context of the Dreaming being told. In Wir-
adjuri sky-lore, the small curve of stars mak-
ing up the constellation of Corona Australis
is seen as the Gugubarra, the Kookaburra.
Similarly, the curve of stars making up Cor-
ona Borealis is Maliyan Wollai, the Eagles
Nest. Guggaa the goanna is represented by
the star Antares, but the overall shape of the
goanna is marked by the other stars in Scor-
pius, and its changing orientation in the sky
forms part of an important seasonal resource
calendar (Leaman, 2019).
Similarly, while the whole of Orion may be
seen as Baiami (this paper), individual stars
in Orion can also represent separate ancest-
ral beings e.g. the belt stars are the three
brothers (Gibirgang) who lust after and chase
the Seven Sisters or the Pleiades, Malan-
dyang (alt: Dindima) (Grant and Rudder,
2010; Hamacher, 2014; Howitt, 1904), once
again mirroring the Greek myth of Orion.
4. One Wiradjuri word for ‗boomerang‘ is bar-
gan, and the word for ‗crescent Moon‘ is bar-
ganbargan, literally translating as ‗big boom-
erang‘. In Wiradjuri, as for other Aboriginal
languages, repeat words emphasise number
or size. Another example is with the NSW
town named Wagga Wagga. Wagga (or Wa-
gan) is the Wiradjuri word for Crow. Wagga
Wagga can literally mean ‗Place of Many
Crows‘ (it may also mean ―… barbs on a
spear like crow‘s beaks …‖ or ―… to dance
in a frenzied manner.‖) (Grant and Rudder,
2010; Gunther, 1838).
5. The brightness variability of Betelgeuse was
recognised by the Aboriginal people of the
Great Victoria Desert, and was incorporated
into a Dreaming narrative describing Nyee-
runa‟s waxing and waning lust for the seven
Mingari Sisters, represented by the stars of
the Pleiades (Hamacher, 2018; Leaman and
Page 235
Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
Hamacher, 2014; Schaefer, 2018). It is pos-
sible the Wiradjuri may also have observed
variability in Betelgeuse, but no tangible evi-
dence has yet surfaced.
8 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The authors wish to pay respect to all Wiradjuri
(Wiradyuri) Elders, past, present and emerging,
and fully recognise and honour their intellectual
property and traditions.
Hamacher acknowledges support from Aus-
tralian Research Council project DE140101600.
Leaman was funded by the Australian Postgrad-
uate Award, the Australian Government Re-
search Training Program Scholarship, and pro-
ject CT00156, a grant from the Central Table-
lands Local Lands Services (CT-LLS) in Orange,
NSW. Ethnographic fieldwork was supported by
UNSW Human Research Ethics project HC15037.
Elements of this paper were presented at the
17th Australian Space Research Council (ASRC)
conference, which was held at the University of
Sydney from 13‒15 November 2017.
The authors would like to thank Larry Town-
ey (CT-LLS, now retired) for sourcing the fund-
ing and assistance in the field. We also thank
David Towney, David Acheson, Chris Hecken-
berg, and other members of the Wiradjuri Cult-
ural Advisory Group for their advice, and mem-
bers of the Australian Indigenous Astronomy Re-
search team (www.aboriginalastronomy.com.au)
and two anonymous reviewers for editorial com-
ment and input. We would also like to thank
Scott ‗Sauce‘ Towney for permission to use his
Wiradjuri constellation artworks featured in this
paper, and Geoff Anderson and David Acheson
for providing a Wiradjuri translation of the title
of this paper, which honours the spirit of the
2019 International Year of Indigenous Languages.
Mandaang guwu, mudyigaang.
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Baiami and the Emu Chase: Wiradjuri Dreaming
Trevor Leaman is a Cultural
Astronomy PhD researcher in the
School of Humanities and Lan-
guages, University of New South
Wales (UNSW). He is research-
ing the astronomical traditions of
the Wiradjuri people of central
NSW under the supervision of
Associate Professor Duane Hamacher (UMelb) and
Associate Professor Daniel Robinson (UNSW). He
earned diplomas in civil and mechanical engineering,
degrees in biology and forest ecology, and an MSc in
astronomy. He has worked as an astronomy edu-
cator at Ayres Rock Resort, the Launceston Plan-
etarium, and Sydney Observatory. He also tutors the
unit PHYS1160 ―Introduction to Astronomy and
Search For Life Elsewhere‖ at UNSW.
Dr Duane W. Hamacher is an
Associate Professor of Indig-
enous Astronomy & Science in
the School of Physics at the
University of Melbourne. His work
focuses on astronomical heritage
and Indigenous astronomical
knowledge in Australia and Asia.
He is Secretary of the Internat-
ional Society for Archaeoastronomy and Astronomy in
Culture, Chairs the International Astronomical Union‘s
Working Group on Intangible Heritage, serves on the
IAU Working Group for Star Names, and is an
Associate Editor of the Journal of Astronomical
History and Heritage.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 238‒246 (2019).

MINNAERT’S FOLLY: A FORGOTTEN TEACHING

OBSERVATORY FROM THE 1960s

David Baneke
Descartes Centre for the History and Philosophy of the Sciences and the Humanities,
Utrecht University, BBG, Princetonplein 5, 3854 CC Utrecht, The Nethlerlands.
Email: d.m.baneke@uu.nl

Abstract: A deserted tower at the Uithof Campus of Utrecht University used to be an astronomical observatory,
purpose-built for Marcel Minnaert‟s famous undergraduate course in practical astronomy. The tower, which was
opened in 1964, has hardly been This paper reconstructs the history of Minnaert‟s „Sterrentoren‟.
Keywords: observatory, twentieth century astronomy, astronomy teaching, Minnaert, failures
priorities.
1 INTRODUCTION undergraduate students. It was built especially
A dreary parking lot, hidden behind some build- for Marcel Minnaert‟s practical sessions in his
ings, hosts one of the most remarkable build- first-year astronomy course. Professor Minnaert
ings at the Uithof campus of Utrecht University (1893‒1970; Figure 2; Roode, 2014) was a
(see Figure 1). The campus is known for its passionate promoter of astronomy teaching.
architecture—it includes buildings by famous Marcel Minnaert‟s „Sterrentoren‟ (star tower)
architects such as Rem Koolhaas (b. 1944)—but is a dramatic example of an observatory that
this building is less spectacular. It most re- failed. Its astronomical history is almost com-
sembles a watch tower at a heavily guarded pletely forgotten. It is not even mentioned in a
Cold War border, or the control tower of a small book about the history of astronomy in Utrecht
airport. It was, however, an astronomical ob- (De Jager et.al., 1993) or in Minnaert‟s bio-
servatory, but is now abandoned. And even graphy (Molenaar, 2003). It only features on a
before it was deserted, it was hardly ever used website on local architecture, where the tower is
for its intended purpose: observing sessions by described as a „folly‟, a decorative building with

Figure 1: The Sterrentoren (photograph: David Baneke).

Page 238
David Baneke
no practical purpose (Van Rossen, n.d.). That
does not, however, make it any less interesting
as astronomical heritage. Its history illustrates
the history of astronomy at a modern university,
and more specifically the changing role of ob-
serving practices in twentieth-century astronomy
teaching.
2 FAILURES AS HISTORY
The most treasured astronomical heritage is
often associated with famous people or discov-
eries, or ones that represent important steps in
the development of astronomy in a particular
city or nation. In the Netherlands, this includes
the lenses of Christiaan Huygens (preserved in
the Museum Boerhaave), the nineteenth-century
observatories at Leiden and Utrecht, and the
1956 Dwingeloo radio telescope (Baneke 2015).
But the history of astronomy is not only made
at prominent observatories, and not all instru-
ments produce important discoveries. Most
astronomers spend their time doing routine ob-
servations, calibrating instruments, and espec-
ially teaching students. And even this does
not always lead to the intended results. Many
initiatives simply fail. These failures are part of
the history of astronomy too, but their material
legacy is rarely preserved.
Three examples from Dutch history of ast-
ronomy demonstrate that stories of failure can
provide interesting history. In 1951, Jan van
der Bilt published a history of two prestigious
telescopes built by the Frisian instrument-mak-
ers Arjan Roelofs and Sied Rienks in the early
nineteenth century at the request of King William
I (Van der Bilt, 1951). They turned out to be
beautiful to look at, but unfit for astronomical
use. They were scrapped quietly, so as not
to offend the King. This history reveals much
about astronomical instruments, institutions and
patronage in this period.
More recently, Huib Zuidervaart and Rob
van Gent (2012) published a history of Felix
Meritis Observatory in Amsterdam, the first pur-
pose-built observatory in the Netherlands, built
and equipped at great expense in the late
eighteenth century by a society for science, arts
and commerce of the Amsterdam elites. Sev-
eral promising young observers were sent to
prestigious French and German observatories
for training, but one after another died before
being able to do useful scientific work. The
platform is still there (it was recently restored),
but the instruments have been scattered or lost
(ibid.). The story of Felix Meritis is a tragic one,
but also one that reveals as much about daily
astronomical practice as the stories of great
geniuses or stunning discoveries.
Perhaps the most notorious failure in Dutch
Page 239
Minnaert’s Folly
astronomical history was the observatory that
J.C. Kapteyn never got. For obvious reasons,
there is no material legacy of this non-observa-
tory, except a few designs in the archives of
Groningen University. For Kapteyn, around the
turn of the twentieth century this failure was a
major reason for him to pioneer new approaches
that were highly influential (Van der Kruit and
Van Berkel, 2000; Van der Kruit 2014). In 1896,
he established an „astronomical laboratory‟: the
first astronomical institute without a telescope,
relying exclusively on observations obtained
elsewhere. In this way, Kapteyn could still do
world-class research. However, he could not
train students, and observing skills were an
indispensable part of becoming an astronomer.
Figure 2: Marcel Minnaert in
1967 (photographer: Rob
Rutten; https://en.wikipedia.org/
wiki/Marcel_Minnaert#/media/Fil
e:Marcel_Minnaert.jpg).
3 ASTRONOMY IN UTRECHT
In 1642, Utrecht Observatory established its first
observatory in the Smeetoren, one of the towers
of the city walls (Figure 3). It was used on-and-
off for two centuries, depending on the interests
of the successive professors (De Jager et.al.,
1993). In the early nineteenth century, the tower
was in disrepair. In 1847 C.H.D. Buys Ballot
(1817‒1890) an ambitious new Professor, man-
aged to get funding to establish a new Ob-
servatory at the Sonnenborgh, an impressive
former bulwark of the city walls. This was more
or less a by-product of his main ambition: the
establishment of a Royal Meteorological Institute
(KNMI), also at the Sonnenborgh (Van Lunteren,
1998). Buys Ballot is known mostly for his
meteorological work.
Buys Ballot‟s successors were more active
astronomers, and when the KNMI moved to a
new location in 1897, the Sonnenborgh became
an exclusively astronomical observatory. The
Director at that time, A.A. Nijland (1868‒1936)
was known as a variable star observer and an
active organizer of eclipse expeditions. His
modest ambitions are illustrated by the title of
David Baneke Minnaert’s Folly

his opening lecture: “The Legitimacy of Small

Figure 3: The Smeetoren, which was demolished in the
nineteenth century (courtesy: Utrechts Archief).
Observatories”. In 1937, he was succeeded by
Marcel Minnaert, who reorganized the Obser-
vatory, introducing new research projects as
well as new teaching methods.
Marcel Gilles Jozef Minnaert had a remark-
able career (Molenaar, 2003). Trained in bi-
ology at the University of Ghent, he investigated
the effects of the intensity of sunlight on plant
development for his doctorate (which inspired an
interest in photometry). Later he became more
interested in physics. For political reasons, he
was forced to leave his native Belgium at the
end of the first World War (he had collaborat-
ed with the German occupiers to establish a
Dutch-language university in Ghent). He ended
up in Utrecht, where he joined the Physic
Institute of W.H. Julius and L.S. Ornstein, who
had established a spectrographic laboratory
(Heijmans, 1994). Here Minnaert found his life‟s
work, investigating the solar spectrum, and he
completed a second doctorate, this time in solar
physics. His solar work brought him in touch
with the astronomical community, and eventually
he switched disciplines again and became
Professor of Astronomy at Utrecht and Director
of the University Observatory (Figure 4). At
Sonnenborgh Observatory he started working
on a great atlas of the solar spectrum.

Figure 4: Minnaert and his University of Utrecht Astronomy Department colleagues. From left to right: Kees de Hager, Marcel
Minnaert, Tom de Groot, Hans Hubenet and Jaap Houtgast (courtesy: Universiteitsmuseum 1956).

Page 240
David Baneke
Minnaert is not only known as a solar
physicist. Today, his name is still known to
many as a popularizer and educational reform-
er. His Natuurkunde van „t vrije veld (Physics in
the Outdoors; the first of the three volumes
was also published in English: Light and Colour
in the Open Air) has become a classic. It is
illustrative of his didactic approach: for Minnaert,
understanding preceded formal knowledge
such as mathematical skills. He strongly pro-
moted the use of real-life examples and hands-
on experiments in mathematics and physics
education (Molenaar, 2003; cf. Minnaert, 1924).
Later, he was one of the most active members
of Commission 46 „Teaching of Astronomy‟ of
the International Astronomical Union. He was
also known as an extremely inspiring, if de-
manding, teacher himself.
4 MINNAERT’S PRACTICAL SESSIONS
In the 1920s, a specialized graduate program in
astronomy had been introduced at Leiden
Observatory by Willem de Sitter (1872‒1934;
Blaauw, 2014) and Ejnar Hertzsprung (1873‒
1967; Hermann, 2014). It combined thorough
theoretical training in physics, mathematics and
astronomy with practical observing skills (Ban-
eke, 2010). This was relatively new—especially
observing, which was something that most ast-
ronomers learned on the job, while working at
an observatory. Only from this time on did a
doctorate in astronomy become the standard
entry ticket into the professional astronomical
community (cf. Lankford, 1997).
As soon as he was appointed Professor of
Figure 5: Participants in one of the 1942 practical sessions, on the roof of Sonnenborgh Observatory (courtesy: Universiteits-
museum Utrecht).
Page 241
Minnaert’s Folly
Astronomy, Minnaert set out to reorganize ast-
ronomy teaching at Utrecht University, estab-
lishing the second major school of astronomy in
the Netherlands, after Leiden. Utrecht became
especially known as a school of solar physicists.
But Minnaert was not only interested in teaching
specialists. He also established an undergrad-
uate course, based on his ideas about hands-
on teaching. This became his famous Sterren
kundepracticum, practical work in astronomy for
first-year students. Minnaert (1969: xi) wrote:
It is intended for freshmen; future mathe-
maticians, physicists and astronomers, who
from the very start should be confronted with
the sky before they are asked to look at the
blackboard!
The practical sessions were mandatory for
all first-year students in physics, mathematics
and astronomy. The kandidaatsprogramma’s in
those fields (roughly equivalent to Bachelor
programmes) were combined: students had to
choose two of these fields as majors, with the
third one as a minor. Throughout their first year,
they worked in pairs on assignments ranging
from orbital calculations to measuring and in-
terpreting astronomical photos and spectra in
the library. On rare clear nights, they would
perform observations on the roof of the Ob-
servatory (Figure 5). Students started by map-
ping constellations, proceeding to more ad-
vanced observations with various instruments.
Other assignments included for example making
sun dials, grinding lenses, and measuring
parallaxes using lights positioned at various
distances in a dark, quiet street.
David Baneke
Figure 6: The small practice telescopes; a few copies have
been preserved in the Sonnenborgh Museum (courtesy:
Universiteitsmuseum, 1953).
Gradually, the assignments were stand-
ardized, and Minnaert (1969) eventually pub-
lished them. The Sonnenborgh‟s instrument-
maker Nico van Stralen made a series of ded-
icated small 40-mm f/12.5 telescopes (e.g. see
Figure 6); several dozens were made of various
generations.
Many students have participated in the
half century that the practical sessions existed;
more than one would-be mathematician was
converted to astronomy in the process (Mole-
naar, 2003). In the 1950s, Minnaert‟s staff
member and former student Hans Hubenet took
over the practical sessions, although Minnaert
still often came by (he lived in the Observatory).
Figure 7: Transitorium I and the Sterrentoren around 1970, seen from the south (photograph: J.C. Janssen, Utrechts Archief).
Page 242
Minnaert’s Folly
5 THE TOWER
In the 1950s, the number of students increased
rapidly, especially in the natural sciences. The
Government made funding available for expan-
sion of the teaching facilities (Baneke, 2012).
As space was limited inside the university towns
of Utrecht, Leiden and Groningen, universities
started to look for new locations. This led to the
establishment of university campuses at the
outskirts of the cities. The natural sciences were
usually the first to move there, later followed by
social sciences and academic hospitals.
Utrecht University selected the Johanna-
polder at the East side of the city for its ex-
pansion. It was became known as De Uithof,
although its official current name is Utrecht
Science Park. To facilitate the process, the first
building to be erected was „Transitorium I‟,
intended as a temporary transit building in which
departments would be housed temporarily while
their permanent facilities were being built. It
was a concrete structure (Figure 7), set up as an
indoor street lined with lecture rooms, so that
students could move around without having to
deal with the muddy building site that was the
rest of the Uithof (Reinink, 1986).
Physics and astronomy prekandidaten
(bachelor‟s students) would be the first to move
to the new campus. This was a chance for
Minnaert to realize a purpose-built „observatory‟
for his observing sessions. Architect Sjoerd
Wouda designed the observatory according to
Minaert‟s specifications. The tower is labeled
„Sterrewacht‟ (Observatory) on Wouda‟s blue-
print‟s, but other documents speak more mod-
estly of an „observing platform‟ (waarneemplat-
form) (Bestuurs-archief inv. 4.48). Minnaert
specified that he wanted a platform on the
south side of the building—the view towards the
south being the most important for astronomical
observations from Utrecht‟s latitude—with ample
storage space and room for 50 students (Min-
naert, 1960). The observing platform was
equipped with concrete pillars as described in
David Baneke
Figure 8: The observing platform in rare use, c. 1973; note the concrete pillars for equipment, and the tall Transitorium II building in
the background (photograph: Hans Nieuwenhuizen).
in Minnaert‟s instructions.
The Sterrentoren can be regarded as the
oldest building of the campus: it is built on the
official first foundation pile, which was ceremon-
iously driven into the ground on 15 April 1961.
Wouda‟s design evoked the old Smeetoren, but
in modern „brutalist‟ style, in which the traces of
the casing forms remain visible in the concrete.
The Transitorium I complex was opened on
12 March 1964. It was later renamed Marinus
Ruppert Building, after the member of the Uni-
versity Board of Trustees (College van Curator-
en) who coordinated the Uithof campus con-
struction. Even though it was designed as a
temporary construction, it is still in use. The
tower, however, is not.
6 AN IGNOMINOUS END
As the University kept growing—with the post-
war „baby boom‟ generation flooding into the
lecture halls in even greater numbers than ex-
pected—the need for space became more
urgent. In March 1967, the University Board
saw an opportunity to add a lot of floor space
fast, by copying some large office buildings that
were being developed in The Hague and
Rijswijk, also called „Transitoriums‟. Using the
same blueprints and the same construction
company would save a lot of time.
The buildings did not look particularly in-
novative but they were constructed in an un-
usual way. After the foundation, the first floor to
be built was the top floor. It was jacked up, and
a new floor was added under it, while the higher
floors were being finished (this technique is
known as jack-blocksysteem or lift slab con-
struction). In this way, a building could be built
in record time, from the top down. According to
Reinink (1986: 247), the Government had
Page 243
Minnaert’s Folly
promised the construction company Haskoning
and architects Lucas & Niemeijer to build at
least 10 such buildings, in order to make the
necessary investments worthwhile.
The 22-floor „Transitorium II‟ building (now
Willem C. van Unnikgebouw) was opened in
October 1969, only two and a half years after
the initial plans were drafted (Reinink, 1986). It
had not featured in the master plans for the
Uithof Campus. The building blocked the view
from the Sterrentoren towards the East. Even
worse, it was a source of stray light, significantly
impeding high-quality observations. By all ac-
counts, the observing platform was used only
incidentally after this (Figure 8). Some free fall
experiments may have been conducted in the
stairway.
The astronomers were undoubtedly un-
happy about this, but I have not found evidence
of great outrage or formal protests. Perhaps
they recognized that the University‟s building
frenzy was a juggernaut that could not be
stopped. But it is also possible that they con-
sidered the tower a temporary solution anyway,
because in the meantime, they were working on
bigger plans.
In the 1950s and 1960s, the Sonnenborgh
Observatory had become too small for the grow-
ing staff. Besides, Kees de Jager established a
Space Research Institute that was expanding
rapidly (De Jager et.al., 1993; De Kort, 2003).
New buildings, sometimes former city houses,
were bought to provide room, so that Astronomy
gradually became spread over many locations
throughout Utrecht. It was clear that a new
observatory was needed. An excellent location
seemed to present itself: Fort Rhijnauwen, about
one mile south of the Uithof campus, and this
1
was bought by the University.
David Baneke Minnaert’s Folly

Figure 9: Sjoerd Wouda‟s design for an observatory at Rhijnauwen fortress (Bestuursarchief box 08342).

Figure 10: The University of Utrecht‟s original Sonnenborgh Observatory is now a popular astronomy museum
(https://www.sonnenborgh.nl/bezoekersinformatie).

The fort was ideal: quiet, removed from city Volkskrant, 1968; cf. Bestuursarchief box
lights yet close to the university, while the heavy 08342). Eventually, the plan was dropped in
bulwarks offered a stable foundation for sens- 1976. This, too, is a tale of a failed observatory.
itive instruments. Architect Wouda designed a
There may be another reason why the
new building (Figure 9). But the project ran into
tragedy of the Sterrentoren attracted so little at-
trouble, in part because of the complex situation
tention. Perhaps practical classes were already
regarding building permits: the Johannapolder
losing steam. Minnaert retired in 1963 and died
was divided over four different counties, while
in 1970. Under his successors Cornelis “Kees”
the University also claimed to have an inde-
de Jager (b. 1929), Henk van Bueren (1925‒
pendent public mandate for its building plan-
2012) and Anne Underhill (1920‒2003), the
ning. Emerging environmental concerns proved
emphasis at the Utrecht Institute of Astronomy
a bigger problem, however. The deserted forti-
shifted to astrophysical work (Baneke, 2015, De
fication had evolved into a small but rich natural
Jager et.al, 1993). The institute was growing
area, home to protected plants and animals.
rapidly, and the number of graduate students
The astronomers argued that their plans did not
also increased. Undergraduate teaching was
pose a threat; in fact, establishing an observa-
probably a lesser priority.
tory would only strengthen the protection. Ast-
ronomers also required darkness and quiet- When academic programs were restructur-
2
ness, after all. But the activists were not con- ed in 1984 (for insiders: when the Tweefasen-
vinced. A national newspaper reported that this structuur was implemented), physics, mathe-
was the first time the fort saw battle (De matics and astronomy became separate under-

Page 244
David Baneke
graduate programs for first-year students. This
was the last straw; the practical sessions were
abolished. From now on, it was possible to
study physics, mathematics, and even astron-
omy, without actually looking through a tele-
scope. Astronomy in Utrecht (and in many
other places) became synonymous with astro-
physics. Skills in physics, mathematics, and
increasingly programming were more important
than knowing how to calibrate your telescope or
how to navigate the constellations.
The Utrecht Institute of Astronomy finally
moved out of the Sonnenborgh in 1987, to a
non-descript office building at the Uithof, which
was named after Buys Ballot. The new building
did not have observing facilities. The institute
remained a center for astrophysics until 2011,
when it was quite unexpectedly closed as part
of a large-scale reorganization of the Science
Faculty. Since then, Utrecht University has no
longer offered professional astronomy. The old
Sonnenborgh Observatory has become a public
observatory and museum (Figure 10; www.
sonnenborgh.nl).
7 AFTERLIFE
In the 1980s, the Sterrentoren was completely
abandoned, as new buildings kept being add-
ed around it. Many suggestions for repurposing
have been made, including using it as room for
prayer and meditation (stiltecentrum). More cre-
ative suggestions of the University‟s campus
management service include turning the tower
into a climbing wall, party room or bike parking,
or enclosing it in a glass cube to create a con-
ference center or greenhouse (UU DVC, 2016).
None of those plans seemed particularly real-
istic.
For many years, the tower was used as
storage space for the Utrechtse Introductie Tijd
(UIT), the festive introduction of new students
into Utrecht student life before the start of a new
term. The students who organized the UIT over
the years have recorded their names on the
walls and stairs. In June 2017, the tower hosted
an art project by Maarten vanden Eynde, but for
health and safety reasons only three visitors
could enter at a time (DUB, 2017).
The future of the tower is unclear, although
at least its existence is protected: the Transitor-
ium I complex, including the tower, was recog-
nized as cultural heritage of the city of Utrecht
(gemeentelijk monument) in 2017, as an ex-
ample of the architecture of the postwar recon-
struction era (wederopbouwarchitectuur) (Van
Santen, 2016). It still sits at the Uithof campus,
noticed by few, as a silent witness of changing
ideas about undergraduate astronomy educa-
tion.
Page 245
Minnaert’s Folly
8 NOTES
1. According to (Reinink, 1986: 253), this was
agreed to by Ruppert, the President of the
Board of Trustees, Count Van Lynden van
Sandenburg and the Minister of Defense on
an impulse. The University then paid the
Ministry, but ownership was never transfer-
red officially.
2. Similar arguments were being used to de-
fend plans for a new radio telescope at
Westerbork around this time (see Elbers,
2017).
9 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am grateful to Hans Nieuwenhuizen for provid-
ing Figure 8, to Frans van den Hoven of Utrecht
University Museum for Figures 4-6, and to the
staff at the Bestuursarchief of Utrecht University
for providing access to the university archives.
10 REFERENCES
Bestuursarchief: archives of the central administration
of Utrecht University, held in the Bestuursgebouw,
Heidelberglaan 8, Utrecht.
Documents concerning the construction of
Transitorium I and the tower in inv. 4.48, folder
Transitorium I – bouw.
Documents concerning the planned observatory at
Fort Rhijnauwen in box 08342.
Baneke, D.M., 2010. Teach and travel: Leiden Ob-
servatory and the renaissance of Dutch astronomy
in the interwar years. Journal for the History of
Astronomy, 41, 167‒198.
Baneke, D.M., 2012. De vette jaren: de Commissie-
Casimir en het Nederlandse wetenschapsbeleid
1957‒1970. Studium, 5, 110‒127.
Baneke, D.M., 2015. De Ontdekkers van de Hemel:
de Nederlandse Sterrenkunde in de Twintigste
eeuw. Amsterdam, Bert Bakker.
Bilt, J. van der, 1951. De Grote Spiegelkijkers van
Roelofs en Rienks: een Episode uit de Geschied-
enis der Leidse en Utrechtse Sterrewachten (1821‒
1846). Leiden, Universitaire Pers Leiden.
Blaauw, A., 2014. De Sitter, Willem. In Hockey et al.,
567‒569.
De Volkskrant, 10 August (1968). Voor de eerste keer
strijd om honderdjarig fort.
DUB 2017: Kunstenaar wint eerste slag om
Sterrentoren van universiteit, Digitaal Universiteit-
sblad (DUB), June 7 (2017). https://dub.uu.nl/nl/
nieuws/kunstenaar-wint-eerste-slag-om-
sterrentoren-van-universiteit.
Elbers, A., 2017. The Rise of Radio Astronomy in the
Netherlands: The People and the Politics. Cham
(Switzerland), Springer.
Heijmans, H.G., 1994. Wetenschap Tussen Univers-
iteit en Industrie. De Experimentele Natuurkunde in
Utrecht onder W.H. Julius en L.S. Ornstein 1896 ‒
1940. Rotterdam, Erasmus Publishing.
Hermann, D.B., 2014. Hertzsprung, Ejnar. In Hockey
et al., 956‒958.
Hockey, T., et al., (eds), 2014. Biographical Encyclo-
pedia of Astronomers. 2nd Edition. New York,
David Baneke
Springer.
Jager, C. de, van Bueren, H.G., and Kuperus, M., 1993.
Bolwerk van de Sterren. Amersfoort, Uitgeverij
Bekking.
Kort, N. de, 2003. Ruimteonderzoek. De Horizon
Voorbij. Amsterdam, Veen Magazines.
Kruit, P.C. van der, and Berkel, K. van (eds.), 2000.
The Legacy of J. C. Kapteyn. Studies on Kapteyn
and the Development of Modern Astronomy.
Dordrecht, Kluwer Academic Publishers.
Kruit, P.C. van der, 2014. Jacobus Cornelius Kap-
teyn: Born Investigator of the Heavens. Dordrecht,
Springer.
Lankford, J., 1997. American Astronomy: Community,
Careers, and Power, 1859 –1940. Chicago, Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Lunteren, F.H. van, 1998. De oprichting van het
Koninklijk Nederlands Meteorologisch Instituut:
Humboldtiaanse wetenschap, internationale samen-
werking en praktisch nut. Gewina, 21, 216‒243.
Minnaert, M.G.J.,1924. Natuurkunde in Leerlingen-
proeven: een Handleiding voor de Eerste Leerjaren
en voor Zelfstudie. Groningen, Noordhoff.
Minnaert, M.G.J., 1960. Letter to Sjoerd Wouda, dat-
ed 5 February. Bestuursarchief inv. 4.48.
Minnaert, M.G.J., 1969. Practical Work in Elementary
Astronomy. Dordrecht, Reidel.
Molenaar, L., 2003. De Rok van het Universum.
Marcel Minnaert, Astrofysicus 1893 ‒1970. Amster-
dam, Bert Bakker.
Reinink, A.W., 1986. De universiteit en haar ruimte. In
Dunk, H.W. von der, Heere, W.P., and Reinink
A.W. (eds.). Tussen Ivoren Toren en Grootbedrijf:
de Utrechtse Universiteit 1936 ‒1986. Maarssen,
Gary Schwartz. Pp. 231‒269.
Roode, S.M., 2014. Minnaert, Marcel Gilles Jozef. In
Hockey et al., 1493‒1495.
Rossen, R. van, n.d. De Uithof, Staalkaart van Mod-
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erne Architectuur (website: http://www.
ruutvanrossen.nl/De_Uithof).
Santen, B. van, 2016. Erfgoed van de Wederopbouw:
Gebouwd erfgoed in Utrecht, 1940 ‒1970. Report
Afdeling Erfgoed, gemeente Utrecht (https://
erfgoed.utrecht.nl/publicaties/cultuurhistorische-
rapportages/cultuurhistorische-rapportage-erfgoed-
van-de-wederopbouw/ ).
UU DVC, 2016. Universiteit Utrecht, Directie Vastgoed
& Campus, Unpublished report Sterrentoren
20160630.
Zuidervaart, H.J., and van Gent, R.H., 2013. Between
Rhetoric and Reality: Astronomical Practices at the
Observatory of the Amsterdam Society `Felix Meri-
tis’, 1786 ‒1889. Hilversum, Uitgeverij Verloren.
David Baneke teaches history of
science at Utrecht University,
where he coordinates the History
and Philosophy of Science Mast-
ers programme. He studied hist-
ory in Groningen, and obtained
his PhD in 2008 in Utrecht. He
was a postdoc at Leiden and VU
Amsterdam, and a Guggenheim
Fellow at the National Air and
Space Museum in Washington,
DC. His research addresses the role of science and
scientists in twentieth century society, culture and
politics, and specifically the history of modern
astronomy and space science. In 2015 he published
De Ontdekkers van de Hemel (Amsterdam, Bart
Bakker) about the history of modern astronomy in the
Netherlands. In 2019, together with J. Andersen and
C. Madsen he co-authored The International Astro-
nomical Union: Uniting the Community for 100 Years
(Springer Nature).
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 247‒265 (2019).

A TALE OF THREE TELESCOPES: THE JOHN A. BRASHEAR

COMPANY AND ITS 46-cm OBJECTIVE OF 1893
Richard Taibi
7002 Coolridge Drive, Temple Hills, Maryland 20748, USA.
Email: rjtaibi@hotmail.com

Abstract: This is a history of a 46-cm objective lens used in three refracting telescopes. It was designed and figured
by Charles S. Hastings and James B. McDowell respectively, employed by the John A. Brashear Company. In the
past, its fabrication had been attributed to John A. Brashear alone. The lens, mounted in two different telescopes,
had two periods of scientific use in the United States during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with Percival
Lowell (1894‒1895) and the Flower Observatory (1896‒1954), respectively. On 1 July 2019, the lens began a third
use in New Zealand.
Keywords: John A. Brashear, Charles S. Hastings, James B. McDowell, Objective Lenses, Percival Lowell, Flower
Observatory, New Zealand

1 INTRODUCTION 2.1 John A. Brashear

This is the history of a 126-year-old medium-
sized objective lens that has had an eventful and
and intriguing history. John A. Brashear, a steel
factory millwright who aspired to produce astro-
nomical optics of exquisite quality, formed an
eponymous company ca. 1881 to accomplish his
goal. As the company‟s production orders in-
creased Brashear‟s son-in-law, James B. McDo-
well figured more of those optics and became
the firm‟s chief optician. Soon observatory cust-
omers‟ sophisticated requirements necessitated
hiring a consultant who had specialized in geo-
metrical optics: Charles S. Hastings of Yale Uni-
versity.
The Brashear Company‟s design and fabri-
cation team, Hastings and McDowell, was given
the assignment of creating a 46-cm objective
lens that would showcase American mastery of
astronomical optics for the 1893 World‟s Colum-
bian Exposition in Chicago. After the Exposi-
tion, John Brashear leased the objective to Per-
cival Lowell to observe the 1894 ‒1895 Martian
opposition. Immediately after Lowell‟s use, the
University of Pennsylvania bought the objective,
in a mounting by Warner and Swasey, for its
Flower Observatory west of Philadelphia, Penn-
sylvania. From 1896 to 1954, the Brashear/
Warner and Swasey refractor was used princi-
pally for double star studies. In 1954, the tele-
scope was dismantled; it was in storage until the
early twenty-first century when the lens again
was placed in a mounting for use at a dark sky
reserve in New Zealand.
Figure 1 is a portrait of Brashear in late life.
John Brashear‟s family entered North America
in 1658 when forebears named „Brasseur‟ land-
ed in the Virginia colony. They had emigrated
from France with the Huguenots. In that same
year they moved to Calvert County, Maryland
and settled there for more than a hundred years
Over time the spelling of the family‟s name
changed and in 1713 it had become Brashear.
In 1775 John‟s great grandfather, Otho Brashear
emigrated from Maryland with two brothers
named Brown to a site in western Pennsylvania
where they founded a village they named Browns-
ville, site of John‟s birth in 1840. John‟s father,
Basil Brown Brashear (1817‒1890), was a saddle-
maker who suffered episodes of illness through-
out his life. John knew little about the maternal
side of his family‟s origins. His mother, Julia
Smith Brashear (1819‒1910) taught school be-
fore she married „Brown‟ Brashear and she con-
tinued to do so to support the family during his
illnesses.

2 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF
PRINCIPAL JOHN A. BRASHEAR
COMPANY PERSONNEL
The essential figures of the company‟s history
are John A. Brashear, founder of his company,
James B. McDowell, the principal optician, and
Charles S. Hastings, consultant designer of the Figure 1: John A. Brashear (1840 ‒1920)
company‟s largest optical products. in late life (Wikimedia).

Page 247
Richard Taibi
John Alfred Brashear was the eldest of sev-
en children consisting of five boys and two girls.
As a youngster he and a sister were needed to
help his mother with washing and ironing all
family members‟ clothes; in so doing he was in-
troduced to a lifelong pattern of helping and serv-
ing others.
John‟s maternal grandfather, Nathaniel Smith
was the hereditary and inspirational source of
his lifelong passion for astronomy. Smith had
been enthralled by the 1833 Leonid meteor storm
and the Great Comet of 1843; he regaled his
grandson with stories of those extraordinary ex-
periences. Smith also studied astronomy using
Thomas Dick‟s books. When John was eight
years old, Smith taught him the constellations
and when he learned that an itinerant who sold
telescopic views of the heavens was to visit
Brownsville, he paid for 9-year-old John to see
the Moon and Saturn. Seventy years later,
Brashear reminisced:
… the scenery on the moon and the rings of
Saturn impressed me deeply … the entranc-
ing beauty of that first sight has never been
forgotten. (Scaife, 1924: 8).
However, the boy noticed that the telescopic
images were distorted by what he, as an adult
would learn were striae in its lenses. As im-
pressed as he had been, he soon found himself
“… dreaming dreams of the day when I should
make a telescope better than …” the stargaz-
er‟s. (Scaife, 1924: 12).
Nathaniel Smith was a rural polymath. Bra-
shear recalled, that his grandfather “… was an
all-around mechanic, inventor …” (Scaife, 1924:
3). John attributed his own success in mechan-
ical work and the use of tools to Smith‟s
teachings; as a teen he assisted Smith in mak-
ing an electric engine, a Morse telegraph instru-
ment, a gyroscope, and an operational daguer-
reotype apparatus.
After John‟s early unsatisfactory experien-
ces as a preacher, a printer and salesman,
John‟s father determined his 16-year old son‟s
career by apprenticing him as a pattern-maker
in an engine factory which supplied local com-
panies building steamboats. The teenager flou-
rished in this work and his enthusiasm was no-
ticed by the master mechanics; Brashear said
that they “… were kind to me and I had every
opportunity given me to do high-class work.”
(Scaife, 1924: 14). His hard work ethic was ap-
preciated by the works‟ owners; it was ack-
nowledged by preferential treatment like assist-
ing management on paydays and being taught
mechanical drawing. They also showed their par-
tiality when,
… later on in my apprenticeship, I was fre-
quently called on to assist in putting the com-
Page 248
A Tale of Three Telescopes
pleted engines on the boats for which they
were made. (Scaife, 1924: 14).
This task required physical endurance and skill-
ful use of tools as well; the exercise of these
personal qualities were to become hallmarks of
Brashear‟s mechanical career.
Brashear completed his apprenticeship in
1859 at age 19. He was employed for the
next two years building engines for Louisville,
Kentucky‟s water works. Then he returned to
Brownsville at the declaration of the Civil War in
1861. He spent the war years as a steel mill
mechanic and ultimately was placed in charge
of the mill‟s machinery.
While serving as his church‟s choir leader,
he met the church‟s young Sunday school teach-
er, Phoebe Stewart (1843 ‒1910) and they mar-
ried in 1862. Although the couple was devoted
to each other they were childless. Undeterred,
they adopted a girl, Effie, and later a boy, Harry.
Harry died in his teens, but Effie lived to marry
James B. McDowell (1860 ‒1923) in 1880. Mc-
Dowell was a glass factory apprentice who later
became Brashear‟s employee (Scaife, 1924) in
the John A. Brashear Company and also the
firm‟s master optician (Plaskett, 1924).
When the Brownsville steel mill suffered a
work stoppage in 1867, John found a mill-
wright‟s position in South Pittsburgh and the
young couple moved there. Four years later,
Brashear was able to turn a calamity for his
employer into an opportunity for advancement.
A devastating fire in December 1871 destroyed
large portions of the mill and ruined its antiquat-
ed machinery. He was asked to rebuild the mill
with new machinery and accomplished the task
by May 1872. When work was completed the
factory ran “… with not a hitch in the new en-
gines, boilers, mills, shears, etc.” (Scaife, 1924:
26). He was rewarded with a pay raise and with
what became typical of Brashear‟s relationships
with industrialists, he found that “… they took
me into their confidence in many matters, and I
was a welcome visitor in their homes.” (Scaife,
1924: 25). Brashear consistently showed alleg-
iance to employers‟ interests and as a result he
earned their gratitude and their patronage which
enabled him to transcend his working class ori-
gins.
That $300 pay raise in 1872 provided enough
to allow the couple to build their first house in
South Side, Pittsburgh. Soon after moving in,
they decided “… to build a little shop and comm-
ence the construction of a telescope …” (Scaife,
1924: 31). They ordered optical glass in 1872,
but Brashear admitted that “I was absolutely ig-
norant of the various processes used in lens-
making …”; however, by trial and error, he learn-
ed to cut the glass squares into circles and to
Richard Taibi
… roughly compute the curves, although I
knew nothing about a study of the index of
refraction or dispersion of the glass. (Scaife,
1924: 33).
When their first lens was completed in 1875,
the Brashears‟ 13-cm doublet was “… barely
corrected …” in spherical aberration (Scaife,
1924: 34); but it allowed a view of Saturn that
Brashear declared to be better than the view of
Saturn in the itinerant astronomer‟s telescope
(ibid.). He had achieved the goal he had set
years before, to make a better telescope. Never-
theless, in 1876 Brashear asked Samuel Pier-
pont Langley (1834 ‒1906), Director of nearby
Allegheny Observatory, to inspect the lens and
give advice to improve his work. Langley was
impressed with the Brashears‟ first effort and
loaned John a copy of Henry Draper‟s (1837‒
1882) book about making a silver-on-glass re-
flector telescope.
The Brashears‟ next effort, in 1877 was to
grind a 30-cm mirror using techniques John had
learned after he devoured the instructions in
Draper‟s book (Scaife, 1924). John labored on
the mirror after a long work day, sometimes
after two days in a row, at the steel mill. But
with Phoebe as his partner in optical work he
made steady progress; he acknowledged, “… it
could not have been done without the deep and
abiding interest of my wife.” (Scaife, 1924: 47).
In one crucial event, it was her encouragement
and rough grinding of a second 30-cm disk that
rescued John from depression when the original
mirror cracked. The second mirror was a succ-
ess and its results in a star test were so good
that Langley, Frank Washington Very (1852‒
1927) and George Ellery Hale (1868 ‒1938) were
able to use it in their research projects.
Heartened by their success, Brashear plac-
ed an advertisement in Scientific American mag-
azine offering silvered mirrors, eyepieces and
zenith diagonals for purchase by amateurs. It
was greeted by hundreds of requests (Scaife,
1924). However John‟s routine of evening opti-
cal work after mill labor ultimately exhausted
him. In 1881 he collapsed and a physician diag-
nosed him with a “… nervous breakdown from
overwork.” (Scaife, 1924: 66). His health crisis
precipitated a family conference about John
leaving the mill to pursue private business. Effie
and her husband James McDowell agreed to
pool financial resources with John and Phoebe
to begin an optical business venture; thus the
John A. Brashear Company was born.
In July 1881 Langley introduced Brashear to
William Thaw, Sr. (1818 ‒1889) a philanthropist
who had been impressed by Samuel Langley‟s
reports about the quality of Brashear‟s work.
After inspecting his small workshop and home
and meeting Phoebe, Thaw asked Brashear to
Page 249
A Tale of Three Telescopes
write a proposal for a larger workshop with nec-
essary machinery. Thaw paid all costs, equal to
76,000 USD in 2018, for the new factory and
their remaining house debt without requiring any
repayment. By December 1881 machinery was
installed in the new shop and Brashear added
McDowell and George Klages, a mechanic, to
the factory‟s staff. By 1885, Brashear‟s staff of
five had more contracts than they could fill and
Brashear faced a predicament of how to expand
his factory to fill them. Once again Thaw fur-
nished the money and land for a two-story faci-
lity at no cost to Brashear. Thaw explained his
philanthropic motivation as “… my appropriations
to your enterprises are primarily contributions to
original research in science.” (Scaife, 1924: 93).
By the mid-1880s, James McDowell was re-
sponsible for figuring the larger objective lenses
and mirrors the firm fabricated under Brashear‟s
general supervision (Plaskett, 1924). Orders for
optical products began to increase from scien-
tists. The optical physicist Charles S. Hastings
(1848 ‒1932) had asked McDowell to polish prism
surfaces to exacting tolerances. The results were
so good that Hastings brought the company to
the attention of Henry A. Rowland (1848 ‒1901),
physicist inventor of a diffraction grating ruling
th
machine. McDowell was able to polish a 1/5
light wave speculum surface on metal plates
that Rowland used in his gratings. Impressed,
Rowland offered the Brashear firm a “… busi-
ness arrangement for supplying these gratings to
scientists …” that continued for decades. Bra-
shear wrote that “… several thousand of these
plates were made at our shop.” (Scaife, 1924:
75 ‒ 76).
In 1887, Brashear was proud to announce
that Charles Hastings
… proposed to join forces with us and cal-
culate the curves of any objectives for which
we might receive orders … we readily ac-
cepted his proposition … to his masterly
knowledge of mathematical optics … is due
the successful making of perhaps half a
hundred of the larger telescope objectives.
(Scaife, 1924: 85 ‒ 86).
Given that Hastings joined the Brashear Com-
pany in 1887, it can be assumed that he design-
ed the 46-cm lens that is the topic of this paper.
It was fabricated in 1893.
Brashear‟s social relationships with Pittsburgh
philanthropists were crucial to the establishment
of a Pittsburgh astronomical institution. In 1894
Brashear was elected Chairman of the Alle-
gheny Observatory Committee of what is now
the University of Pittsburgh. He led the Com-
mittee in fundraising, but by 1905 it had not rais-
ed enough money to complete a new observa-
tory. Brashear visited his friend Henry Clay
Frick (1849 ‒1919), Chairman of Carnegie Steel
Richard Taibi
Company, who agreed to pay one-half of the
observatory‟s remaining costs if Brashear could
raise the other half by 15 October 1905. Bra-
shear met the deadline and the observatory was
completed in 1912 in time to be dedicated and
presented to the University during an August
meeting of the American Astronomical Society‟s
predecessor organization. Frank Schlesinger
(1871‒1943), Director of the Allegheny Obser-
vatory from 1905 until 1920, summarized Bra-
shear‟s importance to the Pittsburgh community:
I have never seen elsewhere or at any other
time the parallel of Brashear‟s part in the life
of Pittsburgh during the past 15 years. He
enjoyed the confidence of men of every
stamp. He was the clearing house for all
kinds of projects: charitable, educational,
scientific, literary, and musical. (Schlesinger,
1920: 377).
Brashear continued in like fashion for the
remainder of his life. However, in what might
have been his final major optical work, Brashear
performed the rough grinding and preliminary
polishing of the 1.83-m Dominion Observatory
mirror from 1914 to 1915 (Plaskett, 1924).
John Brashear died on 8 April 1920, ten
years after his wife, Phoebe.
2.2 James B. McDowell
McDowell was born in County Down, Ireland on
2 December 1860. At age seven, his mother
brought him and his sisters to the United States
of America where they settled on the South
Side of Pittsburgh. He married Effie, John and
Phoebe Brashear‟s adopted daughter, on 25
March 1880. In addition to regular work with
a local glass-maker, he spent some evenings
working in his father-in-law‟s small optical
workshop. He soon developed skill (Scaife,
1924) figuring glass into lenses and mirrors for
astronomical telescopes, and he joined the Bra-
shear Company in 1882. McDowell accepted
more of the optical work when John Brashear
became increasingly engaged in public speak-
ing and civic and educational projects in the
Pittsburgh area:
Probably only a few of the many customers
of the Brashear Co. realized that the beaut-
iful quality of their optical instruments was
due to the skill, not of the head of the firm
but of his son-in-law and partner. (Plaskett,
1924: 186).
Specifically on that issue, Plaskett (1924:
187) reported,
… the only other large ... objective figured by
Mr. McDowell of which I have any special
knowledge was an 18-inch [46-cm] used for
a time by Percival Lowell …
Plaskett noted (1924: 187) that “Mc Dowell was
justly proud of the quality of this objective …”
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A Tale of Three Telescopes
McDowell was credited with taking great
care in fashioning the Brashear Company‟s lens-
es, mirrors and optical components and he did
not stint time and expense if they were needed
to create quality optics. McDowell‟s death on 28
November 1923 was attributed to too many pro-
longed work sessions requiring intense concen-
tration for delicate work on large glass surfaces.
At the time of his death he had recently com-
pleted work on a 66-cm objective for Yale Uni-
versity and was in the final stages of polishing a
69-cm lens for the University of Michigan. Mc-
Dowell‟s largest project was the 1.83-m mirror
for Dominion Observatory at Victoria, British
Columbia completed in 1918 (Plaskett, 1924).
2.3 Charles Sheldon Hastings
Charles Hastings was born at Clinton, New York,
USA, on 27 November 1848. Several paternal
forebears were physicians, as was his father.
When Charles was six years old the family
moved to Hartford, Connecticut where he at-
tended public schools. He earned a Bachelor‟s
degree and later a Doctorate in June 1873 from
Yale University‟s Sheffield Scientific School. He
pursued postgraduate work in Germany where
he studied with H.L.F. von Helmholtz and attend-
ed G.R. Kirchhoff‟s lectures on optics.
In 1876 Hastings was invited to join the fac-
ulty of Johns Hopkins University where he rose
to the rank of Associate Professor of Physics in
1883. After a 20,000 km trip to observe a solar
eclipse in 1883, he accepted a new position,
Professor of Physics, at the Sheffield School
(Uhler, 1938). He remained there until he retir-
ed in 1915 (Schlesinger, 1932).
At John Brashear‟s invitation in 1887, Hast-
ings joined the Brashear Company as a consult-
ing optical designer. That began what Uhler
(1938: 277) termed the „Brashear-Hastings-Mc-
Dowell Association‟. Schlesinger recalled (1932:
151) that “… these three men remained assoc-
iates until the death of Brashear in 1920 and
that of McDowell in 1923.” During their work
together, Hastings and McDowell became good
friends (see Figure 2) and Plaskett (1924: 192)
recalled hearing McDowell speak with “… en-
thusiasm about the optical … ability and the per-
sonal qualities of his great friend.”
Hastings was co-author of A Text Book of
General Physics for the Use of Colleges and
Scientific Schools (Hastings and Beach, 1898)
and sole author of New Methods in Geometrical
Optics with Special Reference to the Design of
Centered Optical Systems (Hastings, 1927). The
latter book
… was essentially a compilation of results
which its author had accumulated during his
life-long experience as consultant and theor-
Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

ist for the John A. Brashear Optical Co.

(Uhler, 1938: 282).
Hastings was elected to the National Acad-
emy of Science in 1889. He also belonged to
the American Association for the Advancement
of Science. He married in 1878; the couple had
one daughter who married and had four chil-
dren, three girls and a boy. Hastings died 31
January 1932 in Greenwich, Connecticut.

3 THE BRASHEAR COMPANY’S

46-cm OBJECTIVE
Manufacturers of locomotives and cannons, fine
art painters, and makers of scientific apparatus
all looked forward to displaying their best work
at the World‟s Columbian Exposition which wel-
comed the public from 1 May to 30 October
1893 in Chicago. Forty-six nations publicized their
contributions to the world‟s fund of knowledge
and demonstrated the best features of their cult-
ures. The Exposition was an exciting opportunity
to proclaim American prowess in telescope man-
ufacture. One large telescope mounting that
was displayed would soon point the Yerkes Ob-
servatory‟s 1.02-m refractor to any point above
its Wisconsin horizon and follow celestial ob-
jects flawlessly. The Exposition was a golden Figure 2: Charles S. Hastings (on left) and James B.
opportunity that John Brashear (1892) did not McDowell circa 1920 (after Plaskett, 1924: Plate IV).
want to miss; he wanted to show the world an
example of American optical excellence that his It is clearer from the fore-going biographical
factory could produce. sketches that Charles Hastings was the lenses‟
Brashear‟s preparations to produce a mast- designer and James McDowell was the princi-
erpiece probably began in early 1892 when it is pal optician responsible for completing the ach-
considered that the completed achromat would romat. Assuming Hastings was the lens‟ de-
have to be display-ready and shipped to Chi- signer, he likely used a refractometer and meth-
cago by 1 May 1893. Brashear ordered a set of ods he described in a paper he wrote “… for the
46-cm diameter crown and flint glass blanks from purpose of discussing the theory of the ast-
the world‟s most skillful glass manufacturer, Man- ronomical objective.” (Hastings, 1878: 275).
tois of Paris (Report of Committee on Awards of The Brashear opticians‟ practice was to test
the World’s Columbian Commission, 1901). No an achromat‟s quality by examining the image
historical information was available about the the lens produced of an actual star. Such tests
blanks‟ cost but one estimate (Bart Fried, pers. were conducted at night outside the factory, us-
comm., 2019) was 2,500 USD in 1892, the ing a tube assembly mounted on a large test stand
equivalent of 71,000 USD in 2018. as shown in Figure 3.
No specific details about the optical proper-
ties of the crown and flint blanks or the firm‟s
fabrication methods exist, beyond the generali-
ties in the Report :
The constants of the various wave lengths
entering into the [design] problem were de-
termined with very great accuracy, and the
curves were computed from these constants
so as to eliminate spherical aberration and
give the very best possible color correction
to the objective. Fortunately the density of
the glass was very nearly equal throughout,
so that a spherical figure to each surface
was produced by [Brashear‟s] methods of
polishing and „figuring‟ and, as a conse-
quence, the objective came out exactly as it Figure 3: Objective lens test stands outside the Brashear
was computed. (Report, 1901: 941‒942). shop in 1891 (after Stofeil, 1891).

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Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

This objective has been used in telescopes

Figure 4: Brashear‟s 46-cm objective before installation in
the restored New Zealand telescope. (courtesy: Adrian
Ashford Collection).
Figure 4 shows the assembled finished achro-
mat. It had an 8-m focal length (Brashear,
1894), resulting in an f/17.4 focal ratio. When it
was mounted in a steel tube and on a stable
mounting it proved to be a very capable perform-
er. Charles L. Doolittle (1843‒1919), the Flower
Observatory‟s second Director, reported that
The Equatorial has been employed in a ser-
ies of observations of double stars. About
500 such measurements have been ob-
tained. This work furnishes one of the sev-
erest tests of optical performance which can
be applied. The result has been highly sat-
isfactory though occasions have been some-
what rare when atmospheric conditions allow-
ed the instrument to exhibit its full power.
(Doolittle 1897: 144).
at two observatories and at the time of writing, in
July 2019, it has just begun a third use. The
first telescope was one made by Alvan Clark
and Sons and was used by Percival Lowell and
his assistants from 1894 to 1895. The object-
ive‟s second use, by the Flower Observatory
staff, from 1896 to 1954, was in a tube and on a
mounting manufactured by Warner and Swasey.
The objective lens‟ third and present avatar is in
the Warner and Swasey telescope‟s tube and
mounting which has been modified for use in
New Zealand.
In order to place the 46-cm achromat in con-
text among its peers, two tables have been
compiled; one to illustrate how its diameter rank-
ed among the epoch‟s observatory instruments
and the second table to show where it stood in
the Brashear Company‟s history. Table 1 com-
pares the Brashear lens to other objectives of
the late nineteenth century. Inspection of the
table reveals that larger objectives were fabri-
cated by several other optical firms years be-
fore the Brashear Company produced its 46-cm
lens. Listed in Table 2 are large objective lens-
es and mirrors the Brashear Company fabri-
cated after 1888. Inspection of that list dis-
closes that the 46-cm achromat was super-
seded in diameter by nine more optics made
after it. However, production of the 46-cm lens
marked the Brashear Company‟s entrance into
the observatory-class objective market.
4 LOWELL OBSERVATORY AND THE
46-cm BRASHEAR/CLARK TELESCOPE
4.1 Introduction
American astronomer William Henry Pickering
(1858 ‒1938; Figure 5) had disregarded his old-
er brother Edward‟s orders. Edward Charles
Pickering (1846 ‒1919) was the determined Di-
rector of Harvard College Observatory (HCO).
Edward‟s goal was to pursue spectrographic in-

Table 1: Observatory refractors in operation by the end of 1893, and having objectives at least as large as the Brashear Company‟s
46-cm (after Hollis, 1898; 1914).
Lens Optical Observatory Location Telescope Date of
Diameter (cm) Company Manufacturer Manufacture
91 Clark Lick Mt Hamilton, California, USA Warner and Swasey 1888
83 Henry Meudon Paris, France Gauthier 1891
77 Henry Nice Nice, France Gautier 1886
76 Clark Pulkovo St. Petersburg, Russia Repsold 1885
69 Grubb Vienna Vienna, Austria Grubb 1878
66 Clark U.S. Naval Washington DC, USA Warner and Swasey 1871
66 Clark McCormick Charlottesville, Virginia, USA Clark 1883
63 Cook Newall Gateshead, England Cooke 1862
60 Henry Bros. Meudon Paris, France Gautier 1889
58 Clark Halstead Princeton, New Jersey, USA Clark 1881
51 Merz Manila Manila, Philippines Merz 1892
49 Merz Strasbourg Strasbourg, France Repsold 1880
47 Clark Dearborn Evanston, Illinois, USA Clark 1863
46 Henry La Plata La Plata, Argentina Gautier 1890
46 Brashear Lowell Flagstaff, Arizona, USA Clark 1893

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Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

Table 2: Large optics manufactured by the John A. Brashear Company, 1888‒1925 (after Plaskett, 1924: 188; Scaife, 1924: 245).
Year Aperture Telescope Observatory Location
(cm)
1893 46 Refractor Lowell Observatory and later Flagstaff, Arizona, USA and
Flower Observatory Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, USA
1902 93 Reflector Lick Observatory Southern Station Santiago, Chile
1905 76 Reflector Allegheny Observatory Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
1907 95 parabolic mirror Detroit Observatory Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA
1911 61 Objective Swarthmore College Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, USA
1914 51 Refractor Chabot Observatory Oakland, California, USA
1914 76 Thaw Refractor Allegheny Observatory Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
1918 1.83 Reflector Dominion Astrophysical Observatory Victoria, British Columbia, Canada
1924 69 Objective Lamont-Hussey Observatory Bloemfontein, South Africa
1925 66 Objective Yale University‟s Southern Station Johannesburg, South Africa

vestigations of the stars. Edward had sent Will-

iam to Arequipa, Peru, in 1890 because most of
the stars seen from Peru were below New En-
gland‟s southern horizon and they could not be
monitored from Cambridge, Massachusetts,
home of the HCO. William‟s assignment was to
photograph the spectra of stars in the southern
sky. If William had followed his brother‟s dic-
tates, HCO would have had the entire southern
sky‟s stellar spectra as well as the northern ones
that HCO had captured from Cambridge. In-
stead of honoring his assignment, William had
become captivated by an Italian astronomer‟s
startling claims of straight line markings on the
surface of Mars. Giovanni Schiaparelli (1835 ‒ Figure 5: William Henry Pickering
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_
1910) observed the lines using a relatively small Henry_Pickering#/media/File:Pickerin
refractor, one with an objective 22-cm in dia- g_William_Henry_02598v.jpg).
meter. In Peru, William had the use of a 33-cm
refractor that Edward had sent there. William more prospects. His family was well connected
was irresistibly drawn to follow up Schiaparelli‟s with wealthy Bostonians and he was in the midst
reports, especially since the Italian‟s eyesight of exploring their willingness to help him when
was reputed to be failing and he could no longer he began conversations with Percival Lowell
proceed with his work. In addition, William had (1855 ‒1916: Figure 6) in January 1894. By late
a larger refractor than Schiaparelli‟s and so he January Lowell and Pickering had agreed upon
expected to see the lines even more clearly. In an observatory project that was to be paid for by
fact, in the clear Peruvian mountain air, William Lowell‟s fortune and constructed with the benefit
found dark markings which he interpreted to be of Pickering‟s experience in setting up a large
hundred-kilometers-wide „lakes.‟ By 1893, Ed- observatory structure and telescope at Arequipa
ward grew tired of his brother‟s misuse of the (Martz, 1938; Strauss, 1994).
Arequipa expedition‟s funds and he directed Wil-
liam to return to Cambridge (Strauss, 1994). We
can easily imagine William‟s chagrin at having to
abandon the pursuit of the alleged Martian feat-
ures.
When William returned to Cambridge he be-
gan to explore funding for a new telescope and
observatory in order to continue his Martian in-
vestigations. In fact, he had contacted John
Brashear in November and December of 1893
saying that he planned to buy the 46-cm lens
with a loan from Andrew Carnegie, the steel mag-
nate. William was so intent on acquiring that
lens that his first letter to Brashear was dated
Figure 6: Percival Lawrence Lowell
two days following the close of the Columbian (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Percival
Exposition (Strauss 1994: 45, 46, fn21). And if _Lowell#/media/File:Percival_Lowell_
the Pittsburg magnate failed him, William had 1900s2.jpg).

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Richard Taibi
4.2 Lowell, Douglass, Pickering and Mars
in 1894
Lowell was a member of a wealthy Boston fam-
ily that had made a fortune by milling cotton; in
addition Lowell was a canny investor and had
accumulated his own wealth (Hoyt, 1996). From
1883 to 1893, he had made several trips to Jap-
an and became enthralled with Japan‟s culture
and language which he quickly mastered. To
nineteenth century Americans, Japan was an
exotic, little-known country that had only since
1854 admitted Americans. The country‟s resist-
ance to American curiosity made it irresistible to
Lowell who insisted on mastering its culture and
describing it to his fellow countrymen in a series
of four books (ibid.). It may have been Lowell‟s
curiosity about exotic and distant foreign places
that years later would make the planet Mars in-
escapably intriguing. For, Lowell, exploring the
red planet would be a greater thrill than dwelling
in Japan had been.
Figure 7: Andrew Ellicott Douglass
counting tree-rings (https://en.wikipedia.
org/wiki/A._E._Douglass#/media/File:A.
_E._Douglass.jpg).
The groundwork for collaboration on Martian
observation between Lowell and William Picker-
ing had actually been developing for a few years.
Their interest in Mars dated back to 1890 when
they had first discussed Martian research. In
addition, Lowell showed an enduring interest in
William‟s Martian sketches; in 1892 he asked
Edward Pickering to share William‟s Arequipa
drawings (Strauss, 1994). So, by 1894 Lowell
and Pickering were predisposed to consider each
other fellow enthusiasts and logical partners to
conduct a Martian investigation.
By January 1894 anyone who wanted to build
a new observatory dedicated to investigating Mars
faced a time crunch: the Earth would be nearest
to Mars, at its opposition in October. Numerous
logistical and construction problems needed to
Page 254
A Tale of Three Telescopes
be overcome in a short period of time. However
the team was primed to act quickly; Lowell al-
ready had a research program formulated and
Pickering may have been the only man in the
United States with recent experience in estab-
lishing an astronomical outpost on the frontier.
Even so, the men needed to act decisively and
quickly.
On 24 January 1894, Pickering informed
Brashear that Lowell would soon be writing him
for the purpose of leasing the 46-cm objective
lens (Annals of the Lowell Observatory, Volume
1, 1898; Strauss, 1994). While arrangements
between the two men proceeded, Lowell sent
Andrew E. Douglass (1867‒1962; Figure 7), a
HCO associate of William Pickering‟s and a vet-
eran of Arequipa too, to perform a survey of
geographical sites for the observatory. Based
upon Douglass‟ findings, Lowell decided on 16
April that his observatory should be built at Flag-
staff, Arizona Territory. A week later, on 23
April, Douglass had ground broken just west of
Flagstaff to begin building the observatory (Put-
nam, 1994).
Meanwhile, in the East Brashear and Lowell
finalized their agreement about the 46-cm lens
for Lowell‟s proposed telescope. Lowell Obser-
vatory‟s Archives contain a typewritten lease
statement written by Brashear and addressed to
Lowell. The lease‟s terms stated that it was to
last from 1 May 1894 to 1 May 1895, for which,
Lowell would pay 500USD (15,000 in 2018
USD) in advance. In the event that another
customer wanted to buy Brashear‟s objective
while Lowell used it, Brashear promised Lowell
the prior right to buy it for 6,000 USD (181,000
USD in 2018) (Brashear, 1894a). Lowell (1894)
sent Brashear a check for $500 on 3 May 1894.
Back at Flagstaff, Douglass now the obser-
vatory‟s construction supervisor, prodded work
to proceed at breakneck speed and it is no
surprise he later wrote: “The time occupied in
building the dome and in mounting the 18-inch
[46-cm] telescope was unusually short.” (Doug-
lass, 1895: 395). William Pickering arrived with
the objective lens on 20 May 1894 (Putnam,
1994) only seventeen days after Lowell‟s money
reached Brashear. When the lens arrived, wait-
ing for it was a steel tube and equatorial mount-
ing made by Alvan Clark and Sons.
Lowell Observatory Archivist Lauren Amund-
son opined (pers. comm., 2017) that Douglass
had engaged two brothers, local mechanical
jacks-of-all-trades, named Godfrey and Stanley
Sykes, to attach the lens to the tube. As shown
in Figure 8, the Clark mounting held a second
refractor too, one with a 30-cm Clark objective;
so the 46-cm telescope and the smaller one
were both poised to probe Mars‟ mysterious
surface features (Putnam, 1994). Lowell wrote
Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

(1898) in the observatory‟s Annals that formal
Martian observations by Douglass and Pickering
began on 22 May 1894; Lowell did not leave for
Flagstaff until 28 May (Putnam, 1994). May‟s
observations were made with the 30-cm tele-
scope; „first light‟ with the 46-cm telescope was
reserved for Lowell who did not arrive in Flag-
staff until 1 June 1894 (Pickering, 1898).
(1898b: 79) defended validity of his team‟s draw-
ings by arguing that,
For the substantiation of changes on the plan-
et‟s surface, it is … of paramount importance
that the drawings to be compared should all
have been made by the same person at the
same telescope under … nearly … the same
atmospheric conditions …

Lowell believed that visual inspection of Mars In other words, Lowell believed it was possible
was all that he needed to confirm his hypothesis to control observational error by insisting upon a
that life existed there; his records reveal no use rigid method: compare drawings made by the
of photographic or spectroscopic observations. same observer, using the same telescope, with
Instead, Lowell paid particular attention to the a similar atmosphere at two different dates; then,
telescope‟s eyepieces. These were crucial tools any changes recorded were due to changes on
which permitted him to capitalize on all the the planet.
resolving power and light grasp of the Brashear
objective. And so, Brashear had made special
efforts to optimize Lowell‟s observational ex-
perience. One example was a reshaped eye-
piece barrel to eliminate frustration when chang-
ing eyepieces. Without it an image that was
sharp in one eyepiece would be fuzzy in the
next one and observers wasted time refocusing
the telescope. To eliminate this aggravation,
Lowell asked (1894a) Brashear to shape each
of the eyepieces‟ metal barrels, i.e to „parfocal-
ize‟ them.
Lowell (ibid.) also had asked for a broad
range of eyepieces and Brashear provided them;
the list of magnifications was 112, 320, 420,
440, 617, 862, 1305 and 3522 times. In ad-
dition, he asked for two more high-powered
eyepieces that yielded magnifications of 673
and 1114. Lowell (1898) also agreed to Bra-
shear‟s recommendation for an eyepiece that
gave a magnification of 158 times. Despite all
those options, in practice he, Douglass and Pick-
ering discovered that they were typically using
440 and 617 power when they examined Mars.
Lowell (1898: 5) found that using “… a thin
piece of ochre glass placed in front of the eye-
piece as a rule [was] conducive to detection of
detail.” Douglass‟ preference was not to use a
colored glass filter, and Pickering used both Figure 8: The 46-cm Brashear/ Alvan Clark telescope and
methods when he believed the conditions war- smaller Clark together on the same mounting during
Percival Lowell observations at Lowell Observatory in 1894‒
anted (ibid.). 1895 (after Douglass, 1895: Plate XXVIII, Figure 2).
The three astronomers recorded their visual
impressions by sketching Mars‟ features. Before Lowell and his associates had considered
the advent of sensitive photographic emulsions using photography to record Martian appear-
drawings were the rule for this purpose. A ances and the 30-cm refractor mounted in
drawing‟s fidelity to reality is highly dependent parallel to the Clark telescope was to be used
on a number of idiosyncratic factors, e.g. artistic for that purpose. However, Douglass (1895:
ability, the viewer‟s eyesight, sensitivity to color, 397) reported that as late as 30 January 1895,
visual defects like astigmatism, expectations of “… we have spent little time at this work.”
what would be seen and perhaps other physio- Douglass did not report why efforts were ne-
logical and psychological idiosyncrasies. The glected. That was unfortunate because, if a
human eye-brain-hand system was prone to er- clear photographic image had been obtained, it
rors, yet in the late nineteenth century drawing would have provided objective support for claims
was widely considered the best means avail- of straight canals that Lowell had made based
able to record what an eyewitness saw. Lowell upon visual observations alone.

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Richard Taibi
Douglass (1895: 399) went on to report, “The
original plan of observation was to follow the de-
velopment of the seasons … and record them
chiefly by means of drawings.” He mentioned a
particular Martian feature that the team hoped to
see in October 1894 when Mars and Earth were
closest together and when detail on Mars‟ sur-
face would have been more easily seen:
The doubling of canals on Mars has of
course been a subject of special interest to
us. Through October and November [1894]
Mr. Lowell gave this his special attention and
in November saw a number of double canals
… Mr. Lowell saw them double only in the
best seeing, 8 or 10 on a scale of 10 [being
best], and then they appeared like railroad
tracks, straight and closely parallel. (Doug-
lass, 1895: 401).
Lowell had hoped to dispel criticisms that he
had seen what he hoped to see, by pointing out
that the Flagstaff sky was especially clear and
tranquil and therefore his claims should be acc-
epted as an actual state of Martian geography
and were not illusory.
William Pickering was particularly interested
in optical accessories that would allow him to ex-
amine Mars spectroscopically and in polarized
light. He hoped those means would confirm that
features on Mars‟ surface indicated evidence of
life or even the prerequisites for it. Brashear
was advised by astrophysicist James Keeler
(1857‒1900) to make highly refractive prisms for
the spectroscope. Following that recommenda-
tion, two were made; one was “… a 60 degree
prism of glass and a similar one of quartz.” (Doug-
lass, 1895: 395) These were “… mounted in a
somewhat different way so as to give the high-
est range [of the spectrum] for the investigation
of the chlorophyll band …” (Brashear, 1894b: 2‒
3). But despite these preparations, no use of a
spectroscope was reported during the 1894‒
1895 season.
To exploit another observational approach,
Brashear‟s staff made a “… polariscope of the
Airy pattern, which can be placed between the
eyepiece and the eye.” (Douglass, 1895: 395).
Its purpose was to reveal the presence of liquid
water. On one occasion, 4 June 1894, Picker-
ing found one Martian locale with “… clear traces
of polarization … this would naturally be the case
if it were water.” However, as he continued to
look for these telltale signs of water, he was less
convinced that they were common (Pickering,
1894: 554‒555).
Nevertheless, a persistent progression of
certain Martian features convinced Lowell that
there was wholesale transportation of water from
the southern polar ice cap through straight can-
als to irrigate areas of vegetation in the northern
parts of Mars. His examination of Mars from 1
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A Tale of Three Telescopes
June 1894 until 3 April 1895, his last observa-
tion with the Brashear objective, showed Lowell
what he perceived to be a Martian Engineer-
mediated sequence of events:
When we consider this chain of changes,
beginning with the melting of the south polar
snow cap and ending with the darkening of
the northern canals, we see, first that water
almost certainly be the [explanation] in the
matter, and secondly, that the phenomena
must be due … to its indirect effects in caus-
ing vegetation to sprout (Lowell, 1898b: 84).
Ultimately, Lowell would come to believe that
Martian engineers were responsible for creating
canals as a means of water transport. One of
Lowell‟s biographers wrote:
Percival Lowell evolved his formal theory of
the probable existence of intelligent life on
Mars within two months after observations
were begun … and after he himself had ob-
served the planet for barely a month through
the [46-cm] telescope. (Hoyt, 1996: 68).
This quote emphasizes how much Lowell‟s
theory was due to mindset as much as due to
visual observation. We know Lowell‟s conclus-
ions were erroneous because we are the for-
tunate inheritors of 126 more years of critical
spectrographic, orbiting satellite, and robotic sur-
face rovers‟ observations made by many invest-
igators who succeeded Lowell. Vanderbilt Uni-
versity astronomer David Weintraub (2018) has
documented how measurements of water abun-
dance, considered the sine qua non for life,
have steadily decreased over the decades since
Lowell‟s time. Yet, some astronomers have de-
tected sufficient water that prompt them to
believe life there may exist. Nevertheless, most
aqueous assessments of Mars make it seem
unlikely that any, especially intelligent, life exists
on it. If those accumulated data guide our per-
ceptions of the Martian surface, we think of it as
being desolate, cold and dry; in particular, the
accumulated data and its interpretation per-
suades us that no intelligent life can exist upon
it.
Today, with the benefit of satellite imaging
we know that changes in the color, shape, and
positions of dark areas on Mars are due to fierce
Martian winds that move its reddish sand to
alternately reveal and obscure darker portions of
the planet‟s surface. New knowledge has re-
vamped our mindset about Mars and so even
though it may look like Mars did in 1894, in our
minds it is not the same planet Lowell „saw.‟
Without today‟s accumulated knowledge, Low-
ell‟s preconceptions about water‟s presence led
to a theory about why he saw color changes on
the planet. Put another way, Lowell had project-
1
ed his biases onto the ambiguous features of
the Martian disc.
Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

5 FLOWER OBSERVATORY AND THE Pennsylvania. The telescope‟s pre-dedication

46-cm BRASHEAR/WARNER & SWASEY use began what was to be a 58-year career,
TELESCOPE from 1896 to 1954, of active astronomical re-
search by many Flower Observatory astrono-
5.1 Introduction
mers.
After it had served Lowell‟s purpose, the Bra-
The Flower Professors of Astronomy, 1896 ‒
shear firm‟s lens was returned to it just before
1954, who did double duty as the Observatory‟s
Lowell‟s lease term expired in May 1895 (Low-
Directors, held a vastly different philosophy about
ell, 1898a; Schindler, 2016). The lens did not
astronomical science than did Percival Lowell.
languish in Pittsburgh for very long; as Brashear
All of them, their Department of Astronomy coll-
wrote (1896) to a friend, “The [46-cm] I loaned
eagues, and their graduate student assistants
Lowell was sold to the University of Pennsylvan-
all construed an astronomer‟s duty to be the
ia …” because the University had made plans to
methodical performance of meticulous and pre-
use it at an observatory site west of Philadel-
phia.
In the summer of 1895 the University of
Pennsylvania began developing an observatory
site at a farm bequeathed by Reese Wall Flow-
er. It was to have an observatory built upon a
campus that included a director‟s residence and
a second building for small telescopes to be us-
ed in geodetic research (Doolittle, 1896). War-
ner and Swasey attached the 46-cm objective
lens to a steel tube and mounted it upon a large
equatorial mounting. By 12 November 1896,
John Brashear and Worcester Warner had fin-
ished installing the entire „equatorial‟ inside the
Flower Observatory building (Brashear, 1896).
Figure 9 shows the completed telescope as it
appeared circa 1912. University of Pennsylvan-
ia records are unclear about the instrument‟s
cost because it was combined with the Obser-
vatory buildings‟; the total for both was 12,797
USD (Financial Statement, 1896), a sum that in
2
2018 was the equivalent of 395,000 USD.
Six months after installation, on 12 May 1897
the Observatory was formally opened in a gala
ceremony at which Simon Newcomb (1835‒
1909) gave an address. Newcomb was one of
the foremost American astronomers and inter-
nationally respected mathematical astronomers
of his day. It was a curious footnote to the
Observatory‟s history that its first Director, Ezra
Otis Kendall (1816 ‒1899) was not present at the Figure 9: Flower Observatory‟s 46-cm Brashear/Warner and
Swasey telescope ca. 1912 (after Doolittle and Doolittle,
dedication. He died 18 months after that oc- 1912: Plate following 1: x)
casion and did not apparently play any role in
the Observatory‟s functioning during his short ten-
cise measurements and their compilation for
ure in the Director‟s post (Koch, 2010).
eventual publication. During the Flower refract-
However other Flower Observatory staff had or‟s lifetime this meant recording measurements
not waited for a formal dedication to begin using of double stars and magnitude estimates of var-
the Brashear/Warner and Swasey telescope. Eric iable stars. None of these astronomers expect-
Doolittle (1870 1920), son of the second Obser- ed that what they saw through the telescope
vatory Director, Charles Leander Doolittle (1843 would confirm unconventional theories about
‒1919) used the 46-cm equatorial to measure planets or stars. They did not expect to revolu-
separations and angular relationships between tionize astronomical science; they merely kept
the two components of 500 double stars before track of what they saw. „Saw‟ was the approp-
the ceremonial opening (Doolittle, 1897). The riate verb for most of Flower‟s existence; the
Brashear lens had been idle for only nineteen astronomers made visual studies, they did not
months between its last imaging of Mars in use photography to record observations. Only a
Arizona and the start of splitting double stars in few years before the Observatory was closed

Page 257
Richard Taibi
Figure 10: Professor Eric Doolittle at the filar micrometer
eyepiece of the 46-cm refractor at Flower Observatory in
1914 (after Billings, 1959: 73).
did staff members develop an electronic means
of measuring the brightness of stars. And only
once, on its inauguration day in 1897, was the
refractor used spectroscopically; on that occas-
ion, a Brashear spectroscope was mounted on it
to impress hundreds of attendees with the Sun‟s
spectrum (Koch, 2010).
5.2 Double Star Astronomy
William Herschel (1738‒1822) was one of the
earliest astronomers to study double stars syst-
ematically (Tenn, 2013). In 1802, Herschel coin-
ed the term „binary star‟ to designate pairs of
stars that orbit each other over periods of years
and were not mere line-of-sight couples. In 1803
he published a paper in which he presented ob-
servational evidence that six pairs whose pos-
itions he had measured over 25 years had actu-
Figure 11: Charles Pollard Olivier in 1914
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Poll
ard_Olivier#/media/File:Charles_Pollard_
Olivier.jpg).
Page 258
A Tale of Three Telescopes
ally orbited each other. His 1802 and 1803
papers, as well as two earlier ones (1782; 1785)
were the earliest double star catalogs. Younger
astronomers continued to follow Herschel‟s stell-
ar specialty including several Flower Observa-
tory astronomers who carried on the discipline
of binary measurement and catalog publication.
Throughout all Flower Observatory Direct-
ors‟ regimes all routine monitoring of cataloged
binaries was accomplished with the use of a filar
micrometer. Figure 10 shows third Observatory
Director Eric Doolittle as he used one. This de-
vice contains fixed and moveable wires and all
are seen with the target stars in the telescope‟s
image (Koch, 2010). The micrometer‟s wires
were moved by turning „screws,‟ small knobs
that controlled them. Moving the wires allowed
the astronomer to measure the separation be-
tween a double‟s components and the position
3
angle of the stars. The purpose of the meas-
urements was to record where the component
stars were located relative to one another. With
the passage of time, changes in the stars‟ pos-
itions might prompt a future astronomer to re-
compute the orbit to see if the result confirmed
an earlier computation.
A sense of what this work was like is clear
from its description by Charles P. Olivier (1884 ‒
1975; Figure 11), the Observatory‟s fourth Direc-
tor, who reported the tedious procedures he
used to measure a binary star‟s position angle
and separation:
The writer usually makes four independent
settings in position angle and four for double
distance, which adds up to 12 in all. In
angle, he has of late found it more accurate
to place his wire perpendicular to the line
joining the two components, rather than by
trying to bisect them. (Olivier, 1937: 127).
Olivier added that one such routine was
inadequate for the reliability he wanted and that
“… published results depend on from two to at
most four or five separate nights‟ work. Three is
the more usual number.”
One a graduate student, Raymond H. Wil-
son, Jr. (1911‒1989) modified the Observatory‟s
filar micrometer with a device he called an inter-
ferometer. He described this device and its
benefits as,
… an auxiliary tube fitted into the filar micro-
meter of the Flower Observatory [46-cm
telescope]. A double slit aperture forming
the interferometer was supported two feet
inside the focus of the telescope. The pos-
ition angle of the slits could be read from the
micrometer circle. From readings of position
angles of minimum fringe visibility have re-
sulted many accurate measures in position
angle and distance of 44 double stars be-
tween 0″.1 and 0″.6 in distance and down to
Richard Taibi A Tale of Three Telescopes

magnitude 7.5 in brightness. The interfero- Olivier. During his Directorship, Olivier made
meter more than doubles the resolving pow- every effort to increase his roster of staff mem-
er of the telescope and greatly reduces the bers who monitored double stars, and during the
inconvenience of poor seeing. Its defects period from September 1930 to June 1931 he
are a waste of light and susceptibility to er-
rors caused by atmospheric dispersion. (Wi-
reported that he had five observers who were
lson, 1936: 65). using the 46-cm refractor. Of the years 1929 to
1932, he wrote: “… double stars have taken up
Neither Wilson nor any other Flower Obser- 90% of the time spent on observations …” (Oliv-
vatory astronomer used the modified microme- ier, 1932: 4). Eric Doolittle and Olivier published
ter device after Wilson completed his 1936 dis- the results of their staffs‟ night-time labors in a
sertation, but he did describe it in a longer paper series of nine volumes of University of Pennsyl-
some years later (Wilson, 1941). vania Publications (Doolittle, 1901; 1905; 1907;
Double star work required the steadiest and 1912; 1923; and Olivier, 1932; 1939; 1949; 1957).
clearest air for the closest pairs to be monitored The total number of stars Flower Observatory
systematically. Even as early as 1897, Flower astronomers had monitored and measured over
Observatory‟s Director complained that atmo- nearly six decades totaled 10,591.
spheric conditions frequently interfered with the
full effectiveness of Brashear‟s objective (Doo-
little, 1897). Atmospheric quality steadily deter-
iorated as time went on because of expanding
business and housing construction that encroach-
ed on the Observatory‟s location in Upper Dar-
by. By 1932, Olivier complained (1932: 4) about
an
… immense increase in electrical illumina-
tion of both streets and buildings … we now
suffer from being practically in the city (of
Philadelphia).
Olivier explained that poor transparency and
seeing conditions forced him and his staff to
limit telescopic magnification to 212 times, on
most occasions, and to only 423 times on the
best nights. Use of such low magnifications, 5
and 9 times per cm of telescope objective, meant
that component stars did not appear very far
apart and errors due to eyestrain could more eas- Figure 12: Charles Leander Doolittle
(https://www.wikitree.com/photo/jpg/Doolit
ily be made when using the micrometer. tle-1368).
However when air conditions were excel-
ent, astronomers found the 46-cm objective per- 5.3 Photometry of Variable Stars
formed extremely well, sometimes slightly sur-
Soon after he became the Flower Observatory‟s
passing the Dawes‟ Limit. For the Brashear
Director in late 1928, Charles Olivier added a new
objective, the test would be components of a
research program to the Observatory‟s tradition
double star that were 0″.25 apart. Yet in 1901,
of double star studies: stellar photometry.
Eric Doolittle (1901: 1‒ 2) found that
… on nearly perfect nights … it has been The visual photometer used with the 46-cm
found possible to clearly separate stars whose objective was a wedge photometer that had been
distance is little if any greater than 0″.21 or in use since the 1880s. Measurements were
0″.22 which is well within the theoretical sep- made by positioning the telescope so that a star
arating power of a lens of (this) aperture. shone through a wedge-shaped piece of tinted
Doolittle (ibid.) also reported that, the lens glass located at the eyepiece. The observer mov-
allowed him to make “… good measures on stars ed the glass so that the star shone through pro-
the magnitudes of which Burnham estimates as gressively thicker (therefore darker) zones of it
13-14.”
4 and when the star disappeared, the place on the
wedge where it vanished marked how bright it
The Brashear/Warner and Swasey telescope had been (Pickering, 1882).
was kept busy monitoring, measuring and re-
measuring double stars from 1 January 1897 Olivier was an expert in using type of photo-
(the earliest published report) until late 1953 or meter, and had practiced with one beginning in
possibly early 1954. The work continued during 1901 when he was a 17 year old Assistant to
the administrations of three Directors: Charles Ormond Stone, Director of the University of Vir-
Doolittle (Figure 12), his son Eric, and Charles ginia‟s observatory (Olivier, 1967). Since he was

Page 259
Richard Taibi
now responsible for determining the Observa-
tory‟s research priorities, Olivier assigned his staff
to use the Brashear/Warner and Swasey tele-
scope and wedge photometer to monitor variable
stars. Even with this new duty, double star work
occupied most of the staff‟s observing time and
it was not until 1940 that a lengthy report was
made using the staff‟s photometric results. That
monograph detailed brightness estimates for 284
variable stars and many more non-variable com-
parison stars in the sky regions surrounding them
(see Olivier, 1940).
Until about 1947 the human retina was the
only receptor that received the 46-cm lens‟ fo-
cused light. Earlier users of the lens, from
Lowell to Olivier and his staff, all used visual
means to inspect celestial objects and made
judgements about them or measurements of
them. Furthermore, their brains were the only
data processors of the light beaming through the
telescope, but that all changed in the late 1940s
when William Blitzstein (1920 ‒1999) and Israel
M. Levitt (1908 ‒ 2004) used a 1P21 photomult-
iplier tube and d.c. amplifier to make a photo-
electric photometer (Levitt and Blitzstein, 1947;
cf. Koch, 2010). For his dissertation, Levitt (1949)
used this photoelectric system to correlate visual-
ly determined star magnitudes with photon counts.
Then, the counts were used to determine mag-
nitude fluctuations of ZZ Cassiopeiae.
5.4 Lunar and Planetary Observations
During the 1940s
Late in the Observatory‟s history, a „rogue‟ tele-
scopic project was carried on with the Brashear
lens. Walter H. Haas (1917‒ 2015) was a Grad-
uate Assistant to Olivier in the mid-1940s but in
addition to required variable star assignments
Haas found time to pursue a personal astronom-
ical project: lunar and planetary studies.
His fascination required him to pursue obser-
vational opportunities at unusual times of day.
For example, on 30 April 1944 he documented a
mid-afternoon occultation of Jupiter by the Moon
(Haas, 1944). Using the Flower Observatory re-
fractor his planetary observations yielded pub-
lishable results; for instance, during WWII, he
systematically monitored Jupiter during two suc-
cessive apparitions (Haas, 1945; 1946). Haas‟
observations were the last recorded ones, since
Lowell used the 46-cm Brashear lens for inten-
sive planetary studies.
Haas‟ advocacy for and pursuit of Solar
System observations ultimately found expres-
sion in his establishment of the Association of
Lunar and Planetary Observers in 1947.
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A Tale of Three Telescopes
5.5 The End of Observational Astronomy
at Flower Observatory
It could be said that the Brashear lens had its
„last light‟ at Pennsylvania in late 1953 when
Observatory staff ended their study of variable
star EZ Aquilae (Olivier, 1961).
The Observatory‟s closure had been coming
for at least 30 years. There were two reasons:
deteriorating sky quality at the observatory and
the University of Pennsylvania‟s desire to sell
the Observatory campus for cash. Flower Ob-
servatory astronomer-historian Robert Koch re-
ported (2010: 83‒ 85) that the University of Pen-
nsylvania was offered money for its Observatory
property beginning about 1922, and in 1949 it
was offered a sum that today would equal
811,000 USD. Eventually a decision was made
“… to sell the property and plan for a new
station …” The University sold the property on
12 August 1954 after the telescope had been
disassembled. The Brashear objective went into
storage on 30 June 1954.
6 TRANSFER OF THE 46-cm BRASHEAR/
WARNER & SWASEY TELESCOPE TO
NEW ZEALAND
6.1 Introduction
The separated Warner and Swasey telescope
and Brashear objective have had a precarious
history since mid-1954. However their misad-
ventures have had a happy ending when the
two were reunited and mounted in April 2019
and the complete telescope was opened to the
public on 1 July at a rural dark sky site in New
Zealand.
Robert Koch wrote (2010: 116) that as early
as “… 1951 and before 1955 it had been de-
cided that the Flower refractor would not be
erected at [a] new (Pennsylvania) site.” A Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania News Bureau release
(1964) was frank about why this decision was
made: funds were not available for the expen-
sive task of renovating the 46-cm telescope,
constructing a building and making a new dome.
As a result, the instrument was placed in stor-
age at the New Bolton Center, the University‟s
veterinary medical unit at Kennett Square, Pen-
nsylvania (Wood, 1963). Lack of money to re-
sume its scientific work was to be the tele-
scope‟s persistent nemesis for the next 65 years.
In December 1962 the fifth Flower Obser-
vatory Director, Frank Bradshaw Wood (1915 ‒
1997) made arrangements with New Zealand‟s
University of Canterbury to establish a jointly op-
erated Southern Hemisphere observatory (ibid.).
In anticipation of relocating the 46-cm Brashear/
Warner and Swasey telescope to New Zealand,
Frank Maine Bateson (1910 ‒ 2007), a veteran
New Zealand variable star observer and Univer-
Richard Taibi
sity of Pennsylvania Research Associate spent
three years making careful night-sky site sur-
veys throughout New Zealand (see Bateson,
1964). As a result, in June 1963 1,067-m high
Mount John, located in an isolated region of the
South Island of New Zealand, was selected as
the site for what would become Mount John Uni-
versity Observatory (Wood, 1963).
Because the refractor was destined for New
Zealand, funding was found for its complete ren-
ovation and this was entrusted to the Wilmot
Fleming Engineering Company. By September
1963 the telescope was refurbished and the
mounting‟s drive mechanism had been recon-
figured for operation in the southern hemisphere
(Size, 1963). It was then loaded aboard a mer-
chant ship and by October 1963 it had arrived in
New Zealand (Wood, 1963).
However progress stopped following deliv-
ery. Ominously, a University of Pennsylvania
news release (1965) reported: “UPenn has sent
a (46-cm) refractor telescope to the observatory,
where it is being stored until a structure can be
built to house it …” Lack of funding was again a
problem; and in particular, construction of a new
observatory was an expensive proposition. The
telescope remained in shipping crates at Mount
John Observatory while the Brashear objective
was stored at the University of Canterbury‟s cam-
pus in Christchurch. That state of affairs lasted
until 1990 when the University offered Christ-
church‟s Yaldhurst Museum of Transport and
Science possession of the telescope (but not
ownership) if it would provide an observatory for
the telescope. Contrary to everyone‟s hopes,
expense doomed this plan too. The telescope
had legally become the property of the Univer-
sity of Canterbury, but since there was no new
prospect for its resurrection, it remained in stor-
age at Yaldhurst for the ensuing 25 years (Ash-
ford, 2016).
6.2 A New Home under Dark Starry Skies
In 2015 an astronomical tourism business, Earth
and Sky operating out of Lake Tekapo at the
foot of Mount John offered the telescope a new
lease on life. Earth and Sky proposed that the
telescope should be the main attraction, among
other astronomical and local museum displays
at an Astronomy Village Centre on the shore of
the lake. The telescope‟s University of Canter-
bury curator, Professor John Hearnshaw (pers.
comm., 2017) arranged for Earth and Sky to
acquire it from the University and in September
2015 the stored telescope was trucked from
Yaldhurst to Fairlie, a town 30 minutes away
from the Lake. There it was taken to an engin-
eering workshop to once again be restored to
operating and display condition.
Page 261
A Tale of Three Telescopes
Volunteer technician Ade Ashford (2016) had
first-hand experience with Warner and Swasey‟s
craftsmanship when he helped with the renewal
work. Ashford assisted in removing the telescope
tube‟s protective paint applied before shipment
in 1963. He praised the luster of the telescope‟s
massive brass focusing mechanism as well as
the beauty of a mahogany-and-brass handrail
attached to the instrument. Warner and Swasey
did not merely manufacture a telescope; they
sculpted parts of it. Figure 13 shows the mass-
ive Warner and Swasey equatorial mounting as
it appeared after renovation.
The Royal Astronomical Society of New
Zealand‟s 20 July 2019 e-Newsletter reprinted
an article from The Timaru Herald newspaper
that informed readers of a long-awaited event.
Dark Sky Project (formerly Earth and Sky) and a
Ngai Tahu Maori tourism organization had com-
bined resources to make it possible for the tele-
scope‟s remounting and operation in an obser-
vatory. The two organizations had funded a
2
1140-m building with “… a dome [that] houses
the 125-year-old [sic] Brashear Telescope which
stands up to nine metres …” high. The building
and dome are sited on the shore of Lake Tek-
apo that is located in the Aoraki/Mt. Cook Mac-
kenzie International Dark Sky Reserve, which
was so designated by the International Dark Sky
Association. The complex was opened to the
public on 1 July 2019 after being blessed by
local Maori councils and presented to the public
by Dame Patsy Reddy, Governor-General of
New Zealand.
The Timaru Herald article included an image
of the renovated Brashear New Zealand tele-
scope. Tourists who visit it will see an esthet-
ically impressive instrument and will have a treat
in store for them when they look through Lake
Tekapo‟s refurbished refractor!
7 NOTES
1. „Projected‟ in this article is defined as a non-
pathological psychological phenomenon in
which an observer confronted with a novel,
confusing or ambiguous image labels it bas-
ed upon his or her own life experiences.
Seeing Mars telescopically through a turbu-
lent atmosphere is such an uncertain visual
experience. A cogent example of this type
of projection is G.V. Schiaparelli‟s response
to glimpsing straight lines between darker
Martian areas that earlier observers had la-
beled as „seas.‟ His undergraduate training
had been as a hydraulic engineer and he
called the lines „canali,‟ Italian for „channels‟
or „canals‟ which is logical for a man whose
occupational task it would have been to
direct water from one location to another.
Whenever we ask ourselves „What was it I
Richard Taibi
Figure 13: The refurbished Warner and Swasey equatorial mounting in New Zealand (courtesy: Adrian Ashford collection).
just saw?‟ our minds project our curriculum
vitae upon it in an effort to „explain‟ it. Ex-
cellent discussions of the perceptual chall-
enges inherent in visual Martian observations
and that prompted projection are Sheehan
(1988; 2015).
2. For this paper I used the following site:
https://www.measuringworth.com/uscompar
e/relativevalue.php. The „real price‟ value of
a commodity was used for this estimate. All
conversions of dollar amounts were made
using this website.
3. An illustration of the view through a filar
micrometer with the arrangement of the
wires used to make an observation is shown
in Russell, et al. (1927: 679).
4. „Burnham‟ referred to Sherburne Wesley
Burnham (1838 ‒1921), who was an expert
American double star observer, and compil-
er of earlier astronomers‟ double star cata-
logs (Burnham, 1906).
8 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I wish to acknowledge the following people for
their help in supplying images, information and
references: Lauren Amundson (Lowell Observa-
tory Archives); Adrian Ashford (author and tele-
scope renovator); John W. Briggs (The Astro-
nomical Lyceum, New Mexico); Judith Ann Brink
and Zachary Brodt (University of Pittsburgh
Library); Bart Fried (Founder and Past-President
Page 262
A Tale of Three Telescopes
of the Antique Telescope Society); Emeritus Prof-
essor John Hearnshaw (University of Canter-
bury, New Zealand); Timothy H. Horning (Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania Archives); Maria Mc-
Eachern (Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astro-
physics Library); Associate Professor Karen Pol-
lard (Mt John Observatory, New Zealand); staff
at Harvard University Archives; Randy Attwood,
Peter Broughton, James Edgar, Renata Koziol,
and Randall Rosenfeld from the Royal Astro-
nomical Society of Canada.
I also am grateful to the Royal Astronomical
Society of Canada for permission to publish Fig-
ure 2; and Adrian Ashford, Carleton College
Archives and the Rittenhouse Astronomical Soci-
ety for kindly supplying Figures 4, 8, 10 and 13.
Finally, I wish to thank the anonymous refer-
ees for their helpful suggestions.
9 REFERENCES
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Ashford, A., 2016. The Brashear Telescope, Restor-
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news-events/rasnz-enews/583- enews201907).
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 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 266‒272 (2019).

THE SHORT-LIVED CSIRO DIVISION OF RADIOPHYSICS FIELD

STATION AT BANKSTOWN AERODROME IN SYDNEY
Harry Wendt
Centre for Astrophysics, University of Southern Queensland,
Toowoomba, Queensland 4350, Australia.
Email: harry.wendt@gmail.com
and
Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand, 260 Moo 4,
T. Donkaew, A. Maerim, Chiang Mai 50180, Thailand, and Centre for
Astrophysics, University of Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland 4350, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com

Abstract: Between 1945 and 1961 the CSIRO Division of Radiophysics operated twenty-one field stations or remote
sites in or near Sydney and Wollongong during the early development of radio astronomy in Australia. One of these
field stations operated at Bankstown Aerodrome from 1947 to 1948. To date, the existence of this field station has
mostly escaped documentation in the historical record. This short paper gives an overview of the work carried out at
this field station in the context of the early development of Australian radio astronomy.
Keywords: CSIRO Division of Radiophysics, Bankstown field station, interferometer, R.F. Treharne, A.G. Little

1 INTRODUCTION
The Australian Council of Scientific and Indust-
1
rial Research (CSIR) formed the Division of
Radiophysics (henceforth RP) in 1939 to exploit
the development of radar secrets shared by the
British Government. Immediately following WWII,
the focus of RP deliberately shifted to a range of
peacetime activities, including the investigation
of sources of radio frequency „noise‟ reported at
a variety of radar and other sites across the
world during WWII (Sullivan, 2009). The leader
of this work was Dr Joseph Lade Pawsey
(1908 ‒1962, Christiansen and Mills, 1964), who
should be recognised as the „founding father‟ of
Australian radio astronomy.
RP operated twenty-one field stations and
remote sites during the period 1945 ‒1961 (see
Orchiston and Slee, 2017), and the geographical
distribution of these is shown in Figure 1. One
of the field stations (number 21) was at Banks-
town Aerodrome, and operated from around
June 1947 to July 1948. This research paper
discusses for the first time the work that was
carried out at this short-lived little-known field
station and introduces the two radio engineers Figure 1: Radio astronomy localities in the Sydney-
who were based there. Wollongong region; the dotted outlines show the current
approximate boundaries of Greater Sydney and Greater
Wollongong. Key. Field stations: blue; remote sites: red;
2 BACKGROUND ON THE BANKSTOWN other sites: black. 1 = Badgerys Creek, 2 = Collaroy, 3 =
SITE Cumberland Park, 4 = Dapto, 5 = Dover Heights, 6 = Fleurs,
7 = Freeman‟s Reach, 8 = Georges Heights, 9 = Hornsby
Bankstown is a suburb of Sydney located approx- Valley, 10 = Llandilo, 11 = Long Reef, 12 = Marsfield (ATNF
imately 20 km to the south-west of the Sydney Headquarters), 13 = Murraybank, 14 = North Head, 15 =
central business district, and was named after Penrith, 16 = Potts Hill, 17 = Radiophysics Laboratory
(Sydney University grounds), 18 = Rossmore, 19 = Wallacia,
Sir Joseph Banks in 1795 following European set- 20 = West Head, 21 = Bankstown Aerodrome. For scale:
tlement of the Sydney region (Flinders, 1814). from Dapto (site 4) to Dover Heights (site 5), as the crow
As early as 1929 it was identified as a site for a flies, is 88 km (map: Wayne Orchiston).

Page 266
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
Figure 2: Bankstown Aerodrome in 1945 (courtesy: Royal Navy Research Archive).
potential training airfield (Matts and Lockley,
2009). In 1940, 255 hectares of land were ac-
quired by the Federal Government to establish a
Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) base. During
WWII the RAAF base was also home to the
United States Army Air Corps and a Royal Naval
Fleet Air Arm Station (MHS Nabberly). In 1942,
de Havilland established an aircraft manufactur-
ing plant on the site to produce Mosquito air-
craft.
Page 267
The Radiophysics Bankstown Aerodrome Field Station
Immediately following WWII the focus of act-
ivity at the airfield switched to the disposal of mil-
itary aircraft and equipment. It was during this
period, before the official 1 November 1948 hand-
over of the airport to the Department of Civil
Aviation, that some 18 hangars and 16 huts were
hired out to a range of enterprises, including the
CSIR. This is how RP‟s little-known Bankstown
2
Aerodrome field station was formed. Figure 2
shows the appearance of the aerodrome in 1945,
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
Figure 3: Ross F. Treharne in
1951 (after Morton, 1989: 197).
not long before RP moved on site. Unfortunate-
ly, there is no record of which buildings were
occupied by RP at the Aerodrome during their
short stay there.
3 IMPROVED INTERFEROMETRY
By June 1947, RP had established a blossoming
line of research in both solar (Orchiston et al.,
2006) and cosmic noise investigations (Robert-
son et al., 2014), for which it would soon achieve
world supremacy (Sullivan, 2017). Early high-
resolution observations were obtained using a
sea-cliff interferometry technique first described
by McCready et al. (1947) for solar observa-
tions. Their paper also outlined for the first time
the use of the Fourier transformation for the
image reconstruction from interferometer data, a
technique that underpins all modern radio ast-
ronomy imaging. The sea-cliff interferometer,
however, had some severe limitations (see Bol-
ton and Slee, 1953). Interference fringes only
occurred while the source was close to the hori-
zon, either rising or setting, and was therefore
subject to refraction errors, while to vary the
observational baseline required finding a new cliff
site. These limitations were well understood,
and RP was also aware of the work underway at
Cambridge, England, using a Michelson (spac-
Figure 4: Alec Little at Potts Hill
field station in 1948 (courtesy:
CSIRO Radio Astronomy Image
Archive).
Page 268
The Radiophysics Bankstown Aerodrome Field Station
ed) interferometer technique (see Ryle and Von-
berg, 1946).
The minutes of the RP Solar Noise Group
meeting of 6 June (Pawsey, 1947) record a new
„proposed investigation‟ into improved interfero-
metry. While the sea-cliff interferometry tech-
nique was successful at locating the positions of
persistent radio sources as they moved through
the aerial beam due to the Earth‟s rotation, it was
unsuited to locating short-duration sources, such
as those associated with solar bursts. The
development of the new interferometer was to be
led by Ross Fredrind Treharne (1919 ‒1982),
and the objective was
To make equipment capable of yielding in-
terference patterns in a fraction of a second
with a view to extending this technique to
[solar] bursts. Initial ideas are to use manual
phase variation to aerials connected by a trans-
mission line. Frequency 100 Mc/s. (ibid.).
Treharne (Figure 3) had completed a double
Bachelor of Science-Bachelor of Engineering de-
gree at the University of Sydney, graduating in
1943 together with Bernard Mills (1920 ‒2011,
Frater et al., 2013) and Ronald Bracewell (1921‒
2007, Thompson and Frater, 2010), both of whom
would go on to achieve international prominence
as radio astronomers (see Frater et al., 2017).
Treharne began his career with Amalgamated
Wireless Australasia (A.W.A.) and in 1942 join-
ed RP (see Treharne, 1983: 153 for a short bio-
graphy). The first reference to Treharne joining
Pawsey‟s group appears in the minutes of the
RP propagation committee meeting of 10 Sep-
tember 1946, when he began part-time work on
ionospheric investigations. But by June 1947, he
was leading the equipment development for the
new interferometer.
In the minutes of the Solar Noise Group
meeting of 23 September 1947, Treharne, who
had now also been joined by a Research As-
sistant, Alec Little (1925‒1985; Figure 4; Mills,
1985), provided a comprehensive overview of his
program:
SOLAR INTERFEROMETRY PROGRAM –
Bankstown.
(R.F. Treharne & A. Little)
General Aim.
To establish interference methods of
determining the distribution of sources of
cosmic radio frequency radiation with
particular reference to the sun.
Physical Applications.
In particular, the following physical
applications appear to arise from such
methods:-
1. Determination of the actual size of
sources of “burst” or short duration radiation
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
at a frequency of 100 Mc/s and correlation
with optical frequency sources. In particular,
confirmation or otherwise of the hypothesis
that “burst” radiation sources on the surface
of the sun are of smaller size than the source
which gives rise to the “general enhanced
level” of the disturbed sun.
2. Location of sources of “burst” radiation
at [a] frequency of 100 Mc/s and correlation
with the position of optical sources. In
particular, confirmation or otherwise of the
hypothesis that burst radiation emanates
from positions on the sun corresponding to
positions of optical sunspots. Furthermore,
correlation of high-intensity short duration
“outbursts” with the appearance of “flares”
may be possible.
3. Determination of distribution of solar
sources of “enhanced general level” radia-
tion of frequency 100 Mc/s and correlation
with optical spots.
4. Determination of distribution of thermal
radiation from the “quiet” sun at a frequency
of 100 Mc/s and correlation with Dr Martyn‟s
theoretical distribution.
5. Determination of polarisation of thermal
level of “quiet” sun by suppressing radiation
received from one solar magnetic theory.
6. Determination of the size of the source
of cosmic radiation “Cygnus” at 100 Mc/s.
7. Determination of the sizes of circum-
polar cosmic sources of 100 Mc/s radiation.
8. Extension of experiments to other radio
frequencies such as 65, 200, 1200 and 3000
Mc/s.
Technique.
The technique of interferometry to be
employed rests largely on the use of two or
more aerials at various points on the earth‟s
surface separated by distances chosen to
give the desired interference pattern in space.
Then by varying the phase difference be-
tween the signals received from the aerials
taken two at a time and recording the re-
sultant amplitude as a function of phase dis-
placement the necessary information can be
deduced.
The first experiment to be carried out
consists of setting up a two aerial inter-
ferometer operating on a frequency of 100
Mc/s as shown diagrammatically in Figure
SK(E)3363 [not included in archives].
In the first instance, the aerials will be
so placed as to give an angular nul sep-
aration of about one degree. Continuous 360
degree per cycle 25 cycles per second
automatic phase changing will be obtained
by using remote frequency converter units
at each aerial fed by a common local oscil-
lator (see Figure). The phase of this local
oscillator will be varied continually by means
of a rotating transmission line phase shifter of
o
approximately 180 electrical length synchro-
nised to the 50 c/s mains [power source].
The resultant noise amplitude of 2 Meg-
acycles bandwidth will be detected and inte-
Page 269
The Radiophysics Bankstown Aerodrome Field Station
‒3
grated over a time interval of 4 × 10 sec-
onds and displayed on a 25 c/s time sweep
oscillography.
Visual display methods will be used at
first, and photographic recording, at a rate
determined after visual inspection of the de-
sired phenomena, will be used.
The conflicting bandwidth requirements
imposed by signal path difference and by
phase scanning rate have been taken into
account in planning this experiment.
Drift Interferometry.
It is proposed to adapt the system of
SK(E)3363 for very slowly varying phenom-
ena by using the natural drift of the sun
[as the Earth rotates] to produce the inter-
ference patterns and to record them by Est-
erline Angus mechanical recorders. In this
case, the phase shifter and oscillograph are
not used.
Extensions of Technique.
Extensions of the technique will be
guided largely by experience but will prob-
ably fall into the following groups:-
(i) Calibration of system in phase and
amplitude to permit both size and ab-
solute position to be established.
(ii) Extension to more than two aerials to
give higher accuracy, two-dimensional
positions for point sources or plane
distribution for multiple sources.
Immediate plans.
The equipment indicated in SK(E)3363 is
under construction and will be tested at the
laboratory. The system will be set up at the
Bankstown field station. It is hoped that:-
(i) Interference patterns from bursts will be
observed and the size determined.
(ii) Drift interference patterns from en-
hanced general level will be observed.
(iii) An experimental technique of phase
calibration established to enable ab-
solute positions to be determined.
(Note by Dr Pawsey‟s on Treharne‟s pro-
gramme:
This plan looks further ahead than the others.
Many aspects will not be touched for some
time, perhaps never.
Details of specific planning require discus-
sion at intervals in the future).
By 16 October 1947, Treharne reported that
the new interferometer was almost ready to be-
gin preliminary testing. However, a complication
had arisen as the building they were leasing at
Bankstown Aerodrome had been sold. Fortun-
ately, it appeared another building at the airfield
would be available. By 14 November 1947, Tre-
harne and Little reported obtaining drift interfer-
ence patterns for the first time, while the phase
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
shifter (Figure 5) was still under construction. As
it transpired, these drift interference patterns
were not real, but instead caused by gain fluc-
tuations in the receiver due to problems with a
power supply (McCready, 1947b). By 20 Feb-
ruary 1948, Treharne reported that the build of
practically all of the instrumentation was com-
plete and that they would soon begin making
observations.
Soon after the February report, problems
appear to have occurred at the Bankstown field
station. In a letter dated 24 March 1947 [likely
an error as it should be 1948] to Pawsey (who
was travelling in the USA), Lindsey McCready
(1947a) wrote: “Bad news: Robbery and van-
dalism at Bankstown. Have now found another
site for 100 Mc/s interferometer.” In a letter to
Pawsey dated 23 April 1948, McCready report-
ed that they had found a new permanent and
secure site at Potts Hill on the grounds of the
Figure 5: The phase-changer of the Swept
Lobe Interferometer. The arm connected the
inner and outer loops giving a phase change
to the local oscillator that varied continuously
over the electrical length for every rotation of
the arm. The arm rotated at 1500 r.p.m.
(courtesy: CSIRO Radio Astronomy Image
Archive).
Sydney Water Board Potts Hill reservoirs. With
the passage of time, Potts Hill would emerge as
one of RP‟s most productive field stations (see
(Wendt et al., 2011).
The problems with leasing arrangements
and then theft and vandalism of equipment
spelt the end for the Bankstown Aerodrome field
station. It also marked the end of Treharne‟s in-
volvement in radio astronomy. The minutes of
the Propagation Committee meeting of 12 April
1948, show that leadership of the program trans-
ferred to Ruby Payne Scott (1912‒1981, Goss
and McGee, 2009). Treharne left RP and for a
short period was a lecturer in Radio Engineering
at Sydney Technical College before joining the
Long-Range Weapons Establishment at Salis-
bury, South Australia, where he worked on mili-
tary projects, becoming a pioneer in Australian
Page 270
The Radiophysics Bankstown Aerodrome Field Station
Electronic Warfare. He was elected a Fellow of
IREE Australia and received the IREE Norman
W.V. Haynes Memorial Medal in 1958 for a
paper on transistors. He retired from the De-
fence Research Centre in 1980 and passed
away in Adelaide in 1982 (see Treharne, 1983:
153 for a short autobiography).
By July 1948 the Bankstown equipment
was relocated to the new Potts Hill field station,
where Payne-Scott and Little (1951) completed
the development of what would become known
as the Swept Lobe Interferometer (Figure 6).
They achieved most of the goals set by Treharne
in his ambitious programme in 1947 (Payne-
Scott and Little, ibid.; 1952). Bernard Mills would
also use this instrument for his introduction to
interferometry and the investigation of discrete
radio sources (Mills, 1952).
4 CONCLUDING REMARKS
While operating for only a short period, the inter-
ferometer developed and installed at Bankstown
was a unique instrument and marked the first
time an interferometer had been designed to
sweep its lobe pattern using a mechanical phase
shifter. The instrument was later fully described
by Little and Payne-Scott (1951) and would in-
fluence other interferometer developments (see
Wendt et al., 2011).
The use of the phase variation to produce a
sweeping aerial beam was used by the group at
Jodrell Bank to develop what they called, a
„Rotating-Lobe Interferometer‟ (Hanbury Brown
et al., 1955). They adapted the technique used
by Little and Payne-Scott and introduced the
use of a phase-sensitive rectifier for their in-
vestigations of weak discrete sources. Bolton
and Slee (1954) also reported the use of a
similar technique, varying the relative phase of
the local oscillator at two mixers to produce a “…
moving lobe pattern.”
The swept-lobe interferometer was an un-
precedented instrument (Sullivan, 2009: 300).
As Pawsey mentioned in his notes on Tre-
harne‟s original proposal, “This plan looks fur-
ther ahead than the others. Many aspects will
not be touched for some time, perhaps never.”
It is unclear why Treharne left RP in 1948.
However, he went on to a successful career in
military research.
5 NOTES
1. The CSIR became the Commonwealth Sci-
entific and Industrial Research Organisation
(CSIRO) in 1949.
2. Other RP field stations founded at this time,
or even earlier, were Dover Heights (number
5 in Figure 1), Georges Heights (number 8)
and Hornsby Valley (number 9). While Dover
Harry Wendt and Wayne Orchiston
Figure 6: A schematic of the 97 MHz Swept-Lobe Interferometer. The interferometer had
three Yagi aerials allowing two different baselines of 241 m and 40 m. The synchronous motor
driving the phase-changer for the local oscillator is in the centre of the diagram (after Little
and Payne-Scott, 1951: Figure 4).
Heights and Hornsby Valley went on to
make important contributions to inter-
national radio astronomy (e.g. see Orch-
iston and Robertson, 2017; Orchiston
and Slee, 2002; 2017: 502‒511, 514‒
519; Orchiston et al., 2015; Robertson et
al., 2010; 2014), like Bankstown Aero-
drome the Georges Heights field station
also was short-lived (but see Orchiston,
2004; Orchiston and Wendt, 2017; Wendt
and Orchiston, 2018).
6 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We would like to acknowledge the assistance of
Jessica Chapman for access to images from the
CSIRO Radio Astronomy Image Archive. We
also thank the Royal Navy Research Archive for
supplying Figure 2, and staff at the National
Archives of Australia, which holds most of the
Radiophysics records from the period.
7 REFERENCES
Bolton, J.G., and Slee, O.B., 1953. Galactic radiation
at radio frequencies. V: the sea interferometer. Aus-
tralian Journal of Physics, 6, 420 ‒ 433.
Bolton, J.G., and Slee, O.B., 1954. Special Report
No.3. U.R.S.I. Brussels, 44 pp.
Christiansen, W.N., and Mills, B.Y., 1964. Joseph
Lade Pawsey. Memoirs of Fellows of the Australian
Academy of Science, 32‒ 40.
Flinders, M., 1814. A Voyage to Terra Australis. Lon-
don, G. and W. Nicol.
Frater, R.H., Goss, M.W., and Wendt, H.W., 2013.
Bernard Yarnton Mills AC FAA 8 August 1920 ‒ 25
April 2011. Biographical Memoirs of Fellows of the
Royal Society, 59, 215 ‒ 239.
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Frater, R.H., Goss, W.M., and Wendt, H.W., 2017.
Four Pillars of Radio Astronomy: Mills, Christiansen,
Wild, Bracewell. Cham (Switzerland), Springer.
Goss, W.M., and McGee, R.X., 2009. Under the
Radar: The First Woman in Radio Astronomy: Ruby
Payne-Scott. Heidelberg, Springer.
Hanbury Brown, R., Palmer, H.P., and Thompson,
A.R., 1955. A rotating-lobe interferometer and its
application to radio astronomy. Philosophical Maga-
zine, Series 7, 46, 857‒ 866.
Little, A.G., and Payne-Scott, R., 1951. The position
and movement on the solar disk of sources of
radiation at a frequency of 97 Mc/s. I. Equipment.
Australian Journal of Scientific Research, 4, 489 ‒
507.
Matts, C., and Lockley, T., 2009. Bankstown Airport ‒
Historical Notes for a Heritage Assessment August
2009. Bankstown, Australian Aviation Museum.
McCready, L.L., 1947a. Letter to Dr J.L. Pawsey dated
24 March [1948]. Sydney, National Archives of
Australia: 12273507 - C4659/1 45.1[8].
McCready, L.L., 1947b. Letter to Dr J.L. Pawsey dated
December. Sydney, National Archives of Australia:
12273507 - C4659/1 45.1[8].
McCready, L.L., Pawsey, J.L., and Payne-Scott, R.,
1947. Solar radiation at radio frequencies and its
relation to sunspots. Proceedings of the Royal So-
ciety, A190, 357‒ 375.
Mills, B.Y., 1952. The positions of six discrete sources
of cosmic radio radiation Australian Journal of
Scientific Research, 5, 245 ‒ 263.
Mills, B.Y., 1985. Obituary - Little, Alec. Proceedings
of the Astronomical Society of Australia, 6, 113.
Morton, P., 1989. Fire Across the Desert: Woomera
and the Anglo-Australian Joint Project 1946 ‒1980.
Canberra, Defence Science and Technology.
Nakamura, T., and Orchiston, W. (eds.), 2017. The
Emergence of Astrophysics in Asia: Opening a
New Window on the Universe. Cham (Switzerland),
Springer.
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Orchiston, W., and Slee, B., 2002. Ingenuity and init-
iative in Australian radio astronomy: the Dover
Heights hole-in-the-ground antenna. Journal of Ast-
ronomical History and Heritage, 5, 21‒ 34.
Orchiston, W., 2004. Radio astronomy at the short-
lived Georges Heights field station. ATNF News, 52,
8‒ 9.
Orchiston, W., Slee, B., and Burman, R., 2006. The
genesis of solar radio astronomy in Australia.
Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 9,
35 ‒ 56.
Orchiston, W., Slee, B., George, M., and Wielebinski,
R., 2015. The history of early low frequency radio
astronomy in Australia. 4: Kerr, Shain, Higgins and
the Hornsby Valley field station near Sydney. Jour-
nal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 18, 285 ‒
311.
Orchiston, W., and Robertson, P., 2017. The origin
and development of extragalactic radio astronomy:
the role of the CSIRO Division of Radiophysics
Dover Heights field station in Sydney. Journal of
Astronomical History and Heritage, 20, 289 ‒312.
Orchiston, W., and Slee, B., 2017. The early devel-
opment of Australian radio astronomy: the role of
the CSIRO Division of Radiophysics field stations. In
Nakamura and Orchiston, 497‒ 578.
Orchiston, W., and Wendt, H., 2017. The contribution
of the Georges Heights Experimental Radar Anten-
na to Australian radio astronomy. Journal of Astro-
nomical History and Heritage, 20, 313‒340.
Pawsey, J.L., 1947. Minutes of meeting of Dr.
Pawsey's Solar Noise Group. Sydney. 972135 -
C3830 - A1/1/7 - Box 3
Payne-Scott, R., and Little, A.G., 1951. The position
and movement on the solar disk of sources of
radiation at a frequency of 97 Mc/s. II. Noise storms.
Australian Journal of Scientific Research, 4, 508 ‒
525.
Payne-Scott, R., and Little, A.G., 1952. The position
and movement on the solar disk of sources of
radiation at a frequency of 97 Mc/s. III. Outbursts.
Australian Journal of Scientific Research, 5, 32‒ 46.
Robertson, P., Cozens, G., Orchiston, W., and Slee,
B., 2010. Early Australian optical and radio obser-
vations of Centaurus A. Publications of the Astro-
nomical Society of Australia, 27, 402‒430.
Robertson, P., Orchiston, W., and Slee, B., 2014.
John Bolton and the discovery of discrete radio
sources. Journal of Astronomical History and Heri-
tage, 17, 283 ‒ 306.
Ryle, M., and Vonberg, D.D., 1946. Solar radiation on
175 Mc/s. Nature, 158, 339.
Sullivan III, W.T., 2009. Cosmic Noise: A History of
Early Radio Astronomy. Cambridge, Cambridge
University Press.
Sullivan III, W.T., 2017. The beginnings of Australian
radio astronomy. In Nakamura and Orchiston, 452‒
496.
Thompson, A.R., and Frater, R.H., 2010. Ronald N.
Bracewell: an appreciation. Journal of Astronomical
History and Heritage, 13, 172‒178.
Treharne, R.F., 1983. Multipurpose whole-band HF
antenna architecture. Journal of Electrical and
Electronics Engineering, Australia, 3, 141‒152.
Wendt, H., Orchiston, W., and Slee, B., 2011. The
contribution of the Division of Radiophysics Potts
Hill field station to international radio astronomy. In
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Orchiston, W., Nakamura, T., and Strom, R. (eds.),
Highlighting t he History of Astronomy i n the Asia-
Pacific Region: Proceedings of the ICOA-6 Confer-
ence. New York, Springer. Pp. 379 ‒ 431.
Wendt, H., and Orchiston, W., 2018. The contribution
of the AN/TPS-3 radar antenna to Australian astron-
omy. Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage,
21, 65‒ 80.
Dr Harry Wendt is an Adjunct
Research Fellow in the Astro-
physics Group at the University
of Southern Queensland. He has
a long-standing interest in early
Australian radio astronomy and
in 2009 completed a Ph.D. thesis
on “The Contribution of the
CSIRO Division of Radiophysics
Potts Hill and Murraybank Field Stations to Interna-
tional Radio Astronomy” through James Cook Uni-
versity (Townsville, Australia), supervised by Profes-
sor Wayne Orchiston and the late Professor Bruce
Slee. Harry has since published a series of papers
based upon his thesis and subsequent research, and
the book Four Pillars of Radio Astronomy: Mills,
Christiansen, Wild, Bracewell (2017, Springer, co-
authored by Bob Frater and Miller Goss). Harry is a
member of the IAU Working Group on Historic Radio
Astronomy.
Professor Wayne Orchiston
was born in New Zealand in 1943
and works at the National Ast-
ronomical Research Institute of
Thailand. He also is an Adjunct
Professor in the Centre for Astro-
physics at the University of South-
ern Queensland in Toowoomba,
Australia. During the 1960s he
worked as a Technical Assistant in the CSIRO‟s
Division of Radiophysics in Sydney, and forty years
later joined its successor, the Australia Telescope
National Facility, as its Archivist and Historian. He has
a special interest in the history of radio astronomy,
and in 2003 founded the IAU Working Group on
Historic Radio Astronomy. He has supervised six
graduate theses on historic radio astronomy, and has
published papers on early radio astronomy in Austra-
lia, England, France, India, Japan, New Zealand and
the USA. He also has published extensively on the
history of meteoritics, historic transits of Venus and
solar eclipses, historic telescopes and observatories,
and the history of cometary and asteroidal astronomy.
In 2016 and 2017 Springer published three of his
books, Exploring the History of New Zealand Astron-
omy: Trials, Tribulations, Telescopes and Transits
(733 pp.); John Tebbutt: Rebuilding and Strengthening
the Foundations of Australian Astronomy (603 pp.)
and The Emergence of Astrophysics in Asia: Opening
a New Window on the Universe (889 pp., co-edited by
Tsuko Nakamura). Currently, Wayne is the President
of IAU Commission C3 (History of Astronomy), and he
is a co-founder and the current Editor of the Journal of
Astronomical History and Heritage. He also is an
Editor of Springer‟s Historical and Cultural Astronomy
Series. In 2013 the IAU named minor planet 48471
Orchiston after him.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 273‒ 293 (2019).

ON TWO SEVENTEENTH CENTURY PERSIAN PAINTINGS

DEPICTING COMETS OR FIREBALLS
R.C. Kapoor
Indian Institute of Astrophysics, Koramangala, Bengaluru 560034, India.
Email: rckapoor@outlook.com

Abstract: In the Theodore M. Davis Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York there are two
seventeenth century Persian paintings by Muhammad Zaman and Ali Quli Jubbahdar that depict comets or fireballs.
From the inscriptions on them, the paintings were dated and on that basis the comets identified as those seen in the
years CE 1664/1665 and CE 1674/1675 respectively. I find these identifications in error and suggest instead the
bright comet of CE 1652 and the Great Comet of CE 1668 as the probable ones or that both paintings actually depict
fireballs rather than comets. Both the paintings depict celestial objects with tails, and are most likely based on
astronomical observations. Such a connection between astronomical knowledge and art was not common in the
Middle East and India during the Medieval and Early Modern Periods.
Keywords: Comet of 1652, Great Comet of 1668, fireballs, astronomy in art, Medieval Persian paintings, Farangi-
Sazi, Muḥammad Zaman, Ἀli Quli Jubbahdar, astronomy in seventeenth century Persia

1 INTRODUCTION ascribed as 30.95.174 Fol. 1 in the Davis Album

In the Theodore M. Davis Collection of the
Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (The
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2018), there are
two paintings, namely 30.95.174, fol. 1 and 2,
attributed to two prominent Persian painters of
the seventeenth century, namely, Muḥammad
Zamān and Ἀlī Qulī Jubbahdār respectively,
which depict what appear at first sight to be
comets. The paintings belong to the Safāvid
Period (CE 1501‒1722) and are beautiful repre-
sentations of tenebrism in art.
1
Muḥammad
Zamān was the premiere exponent of an exotic
mode of painting, termed the Farangī-Sāzī (in
the European style), that introduced a blending
of European visual style in the late Safavid
period painting tradition, and ―… was developed
by artists around the 1630s.‖ (Landau, 2011:
103). For Ἀlī Qulī Jubbahdār, the other painter,
Zamān‘s style was an inspiration. The respect-
tive descriptions of the paintings as given in its
website by The Metropolitan Museum of Art
(2018) and in Landau (2011: 101‒131) are very
informative and also identify the comets—the
ones seen in the years CE 1664/1665 and CE
1674/1675, respectively. Upon cross-checking,
I find that the comet identifications are not cor-
rect and suggest plausible alternatives. For the
trends of the times the subject matter in the
paintings is exceptional. Therefore, a look at
these in the context of seventeenth century
Persia‘s exposure to neo-scientific knowledge of
the West will be instructive. As its capital since
1598, Isfahan was then the central engine of
Persia and the Empire‘s gateway to the west,
north and the east.
2 THE PAINTING BY MUḤAMMAD ZAMᾹN
The painting entitled A Nighttime Gathering at-
tributed to Muḥammad Zamān ibn Ḥājī Yūsuf (fl.
1649 ‒1700; Landau, 2009; The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 2018) is shown in Figure 1. It is
and is chronologically the earlier of the two
paintings under discussion here. At the very top
of the painting it shows a starry night with a
comet or fireball in the sky, while below a mullah
and an old man confer, with books lying in front
of them. Standing beside them is a prince or
a nobleman and his counsel (an astrologer?),
with a book in hand listening to the conversa-
tion. The dress and the looks suggest the
princely figure to be an Indian. He is looking
askance, tense and frustrated, while his armed
guard watches. There are three people in the
distance, probably the prince‘s retinue or locals,
also looking at the celestial object. A less
conspicuous structure in the distance, possibly a
dwelling, also is depicted. The hillside in the top
left part of the painting is delineated with a
cluster of dwellings. The root cause of the
prince‘s worry is the possible fallout from the evil
visitor in the sky. His learned counsel could not
dispel it and so, no matter the language gulf, the
prince is here to seek advice and take remedial
measures if necessary. The painting is signed
and dated ―in the year 7‖. There is no Hijri year
inscribed and that is odd. According to The
Metropolitan Museum of Art (2018), the painting
may have been done in
… the seventh regnal year of the Mughal
emperor Aurangzib (i.e., 1665) … [and] may
record the first of two comets sighted in the
northern hemisphere in December 1664 and
April 1665 …
and the painting may have been produced in
Eṣfahān (Isfahan) or in India.
The date on the painting was interpreted
as referring to Aurangzeb‘s period when the
Safāvid King Shāh Abbās II ruled (i.e.
1642‒1666 CE; Matthee, 2014), which is rather
puzzling. It is true that in the 1640s, many
Isfahani painters were inclined towards the
Mughal and the Deccani style of painting and

Page 273
R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

Figure 1: A Nighttime Gathering, by Muḥammad Zamān; Theodore M. Davis Collection, Bequest of Theodore M. Davis,
1915, Accession Number: 30.95.174.2 (Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art; accessed 05.08.2019).

Page 274
R.C. Kapoor
drew inspiration therefrom (see Farhad, 2014).
Aurangzeb (b. 1027 AH/1618; r. 1658–1707)
ascended the throne on 1 Dhu-al-Qa‘dah 1068
AH (Elliott, 1877: 229; ≡ CE 31 July 1658 Greg).
The 7th year of his reign was 1074 AH (Elliott,
1877: 271). The corresponding Gregorian dates
for this year are 1 Muḥarram–30 Dhu-al-Ḥajjah
1074 AH (or CE 5 August 1663–24 July 1664).
It should be noted that beginning on 8 De-
cember 1662—the sixth year of his reign—
Aurangzeb went on an expedition to Kashmir,
after a sojourn in Lahore. The Italian traveller
and writer Niccolao Manucci (1639 ‒1717) who
worked in Aurangzeb‘s court also travelled to
2 and although no particular stellar configurations
Kashmir with the Emperor‘s entourage. Au-
rangzeb returned to Delhi on 18 January 1664
(Julian; Sarkar, 1921: 7), i.e., in his seventh
regnal year. How could the painter have related
his work to the Mughal Emperor‘s seventh reg-
nal year when the comet of December 1664 was
yet to appear? This comet was discovered on
17.9 November in the morning, from Spain
(Kronk, 1999: 350).
No comet in recent memory, not even that
of 1661 which was seen in February-March in
the morning and with a tail of less than 6°, would
tally with the depiction in Zamān‘s painting of
what appears to be a late evening situation,
since the comet‘s head faces south-west. In the
modern cometographies, the only comet worthy
of a mention prior to that of December 1664 was
the one that appeared in December 1652
(C/1652 Y1).
That comet was discovered by Jan van
Riebeeck (1619 ‒1677) from the Cape of Good
Hope on 16.8 December in the evening in the
east-southeast. It was a low declination object
when discovered, and lay to the south of the ―…
head of Orion [i.e. λ Ori], about 80° above the
horizon.‖ (Kronk, 1999: 346). A naked eye ob-
ject, it was observable for three weeks, and its
tail extended at most 6 ‒8° (Vsekhsvyatskii,
1964: 114 ‒115). In his Cometographia the
experienced Polish observational astronomer
Johannes Hevelius (1611‒1687) shows it as
having a straight tail (BnF, 2018), while Pingré
(1784: 9‒10) wrote:
This Comet, of a pale and livid colour, equal-
led almost the Moon in grandeur, at the judg-
ment of Hevelius & Comiers. It has been
observed by many astronomers since the
18th of December 1652 until the first days of
January 1653.
On 16 December, the comet had reached quite
close to the Earth (0.15 AU) and was moving
rapidly north-west. On 19 December, it passed
closest to the Earth at a distance of 0.1284 AU.
It would have been at its brightest then. After its
discovery on 16 December in the constellation
of Puppis, the comet passed through Lepus on
18 December, Eridanus on 20 December and
Page 275
Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
Orion-Eridanus-Orion-Taurus on 21 December.
Moving northwards, it crossed the equator the
same day. On 24 December, it passed 1° from
the Pleiades when the comet‘s tail, according to
Arcetri observers (Kronk, 1999: 347), was at its
brightest.
A comment on the night sky as depicted in
Zamān‘s painting is in order. Compared to
Jubbahdār‘s painting where the comet or fireball
is depicted more like the way it may have been
seen, the trail of the object in Zamān‘s painting
is horizontal and quite extended. Figure 2 is an
enlargement of the upper section of Figure 1,
can be identified with certainty, there is a pattern
of the stars that vaguely resembles the
constellations of Canis Major (Ṣūrat al-Kalb al-
Akbar) and Orion (Ṣūrat al-Jabbā). We do not
know if Muḥammad Zamān actually saw the
comet of December 1652, and if he did and
painted it whether he went so far as to
reproduce the night sky. We can only say that
he had a certain familiarity with the night sky,
even though he was not an astronomer.
Taking this discussion a little further, the two
bright spots on the trail in Figure 2, from left to
right, could depict Aldebaran and the Pleiades
respectively. The painting then portrays the
situation when the comet of 1652 was passing
the Pleiades, as observed on 24 December.
This scenario is possible, but it leaves us
asking: How can the sky be bright in the south-
east if sunrise is still more than 3 hours away?
That situation would have occurred about 3
months earlier, say in September of 1652. But
there was no naked eye comet around then, and
the starry background would have been dif-
ferent.
What sky references were available in Za-
mān‘s times? He could have used an Islamic
celestial globe or a star chart adjusted to a
recent epoch. Celestial globes were generally
based on the star atlas by the Persian ast-
ronomer Abū al-Ḥusayn Ἀbd al-Ṛaḥmān ibn
‗Umar al-Ṣūfī (CE 903‒86; Hafez, 2011). His
atlas Kitāb Ṣuwar al-Kawākib al-Thābita (Book
of the Fixed Stars), originally in Arabic (CE 964),
was a highly influential book (Hafez et al., 2011;
2015a; 2015b). It described Ptolemy‘s forty-eight
constellations. Most interestingly, the constel-
lations were depicted in mirror images—one as
seen on a celestial globe (al-kura), and the other
as seen in the sky (al-Samā).
The configurations of the constellations of
Orion and Canis Major as in a manuscript of al
Ṣūfī‘s atlas of 400 A.H. (CE 1009‒1010) are
reproduced here in Figures 3 and 4 (BnF, 2019)
to give an idea of what lay in store for an artist
wishing to depict them. Al Ṣūfī‘s book was used
as a standard reference work throughout the
R.C. Kapoor
Figure 2: An enlargement of the top portion of Zamān‘s painting in the Figure 1.
whole of the Islamic world; it was frequently
copied and translated, in Persian and later in
Latin. In the course of his PhD research, Ihsan
Hafez tracked down 35 different copies of al
Ṣūfī‘s book in various repositories in Denmark,
Egypt, England, France, Germany, India, Iran,
Italy, Lebanon, Qatar, Russia, Spain, Tunisia,
Turkey, and the USA (see Hafez et al., 2011:
128). The Bibliothèque Nationale de France
has in its possession the late sixteenth century
copy of the Persian translation by Naṣīr al-Dīn
al-Ṭūsī. There was another translation done in
the early seventeenth century by Ḥasan ibn Ṣa‗d
al-Qā‘īnī (van Gent, 2018). Notably, in India,
Luṭfullāh Muhandis also translated it into Indo-
Persian at the advice of his father, Aḥmad
Ma‘mār, the architect of the Taj Mahal (Pro-
fessor Razaullah Ansari, pers. comm., 2018).
Brentjes (2013: 489) mentions illustrated copies
of al Ṣūfī‘s book prepared in Persian in 1630
and 1634 in Mashhad, and copies in Arabic
dating to about the same period.
It may be said that al-Ṣūfī‘s monumental
work was read not only by astronomers or
students of astronomy but also by calligraphers
Page 276
Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
and painters, because its illustrations and fig-
ures would have been drawn by artists
(Mohammad Mozaffari, pers. comm., 2018).
Through the many successive editions, the
illustrations underwent variations. As these
depicted the constellations individually, it would
be difficult for one who was not a frequent
observer of the sky to recreate a starry con-
figuration by just consulting the illustration or
the arrangement on a globe. That may have
been a problem for Zamān when he did his
painting.
3 THE PAINTING BY ἈLῙ QULῙ JUBBAHDᾹR
Ἀlī Qulī Jubbahdār was Muḥammad Zamān‘s
contemporary and active from 1642 until late in
the seventeenth century (The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 2018). According to Negar
Habibi (2016: 147; 154),
The first painting signed Ἀli Qoli Jebādār is
dated 1069/1658-59 … ‗Babur kissing [the
hand of] Shah Ismail‘, executed on the order
of Shah Abbas II … [and] the last painting
signed is probably the folio 93 recto of
the Muraqq‘a of St. Petersburg dated 1085/
R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

Figure 3: The constellation of Orion in al-Ṣūfī‘s treatise Kitāb Ṣuwar al-Kawākib (al-thābitah) (400 A.H.), as seen on a celestial
globe (right) (folio 133v) and in the sky (left) (folio 134r), "Source gallica.bnf.fr / BnF" (BnF, 2019; accessed 05.08.2019).

1674-75, representing two European ladies

… In the 19 years between these two dates,
at least 10 other paintings are signed Ἀli Qoli
Jebādār. Presenting various artistic tech-
niques, these paintings show also a remark-
able thematic diversity … Since we do not
have any more dated and signed works by
the artist after this date … it would seem
more plausible that the career of Ἀli Qoli
Jebādār, or at least his time of high activity,
is estimated at 26 years between 1059/
1649-50 and 1085/1673-74.
Jubbahdār‘s painting in the Davis Album,
Two Old Men in Discussion Outside a Hut
(30.95.174 Fol. 2), is shown in Figure 5. It
depicts two old men, probably astronomers in
conversation and in the sky, there is a comet or
fireball with a long trail. There is also a bright
star, way down near the horizon. As in Zamān‘s
painting, here too the artist‘s stance is rever-
ential to the old as men of knowledge. On the
painting the name Alī Qulī Jubbahdār and the
date 1085 are inscribed (Landau, 2011: 115).
The Metropolitan Museum of Art (2018) des-
cribes it as based on A Nighttime Gathering by
Muḥammad Zamān ―… whose distinctive style ‒
farangi-sāzi (European mode), was influential in
the late seventeenth century.‖ Figure 4: The constellation of Canis Major in al-Ṣūfī‘s
treatise Kitāb Ṣuwar al-Kawākib (CE 1009), "Source
In 1972 Robert Skelton (Landau, 2011: 128) gallica.bnf.fr / BnF" (folio 143v, BnF, 2019; accessed
first drew attention to what he saw as a comet 05.08.2019).

Page 277
R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

Figure 5: Two Old Men in Discussion Outside a Hut, by Ἀlī Qulī Jubbahdār; Theodore M. Davis Collection, Bequest of
Theodore M. Davis, 1915, Accession Number: 30.95.174.3 (Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art; accessed
05.08.2019).

Page 278
R.C. Kapoor
in the painting, and he said that the depic-
tion was of the one that had appeared in the
year 1085 AH (1674‒1675). However, this
identification is in error, as there was no comet
visible in the year 1085 AH, or, at any time in CE
1674 or 1675 for that matter. Therefore, the
depiction could be a recall of some other comet,
possibly a recent one, or of a fireball. Comets
recorded just prior to the above date are those
of 1672 (C/1672 E1) and of 1673 (Kronk, 1999:
362 ‒364). These comets were noticed, but with
tails stretching to ~1°, they do not fit the de-
piction in the painting. Could it be a comet that
appeared still earlier? The way the object is
depicted suggests it to be an evening obser-
vation because then a comet would normally
have its head roughly towards the west. Also,
the depiction is about the phase when the comet
must have been really bright.
Prior to the year 1674, the recent comets
that became spectacular at some point of time
had appeared in 1664, 1665 and 1668. These
were noticed for their long straight tails. The
comet of 1664 (C/1664 W1) was discovered on
17.9 November as a morning object. It became
spectacular towards the end of December
when it showed up with the greatest tail length
during 23 ‒27 December, reaching 35° (Kronk,
1999: 353). A few days later it was seen in the
evenings. In Isfahan, it would then have been
visible to the south after midnight. However,
around then the light of the waxing Moon was
beginning to affect the view, with Full Moon on 2
January 1665. There is no impression of this in
the painting. Besides, the observed tail orient-
tation may not have been the same as that in
the depiction.
By the same consideration, the comet of
1665 (C/1665 F1) does not fit: it was discovered
on 27.8 March as a morning object with a tail
that had extended up to 17°.
In contrast, the comet of 1668 (C/1668 E1)
was an evening object. It was discovered on 3.8
March. It was in fact a Sungrazer, with peri-
helion q = 0.0666 AU and motion direct, that
passed perihelion on 28.08 February UT. The
comet reached a maximum magnitude 1‒2 on
8 March (Yeomans, 2007). It had a tail 23° long
on 5 March and 32° on 12 March. As noted by
Proctor (1926: 161), the comet of 1668 was
perhaps as remarkable in splendour as the
Great September Comet of 1882 (C/1882 R1).
Maraldi (1711: 102), in a communication on the
context of the comet of 1702, mentioned that
the comet of 1668 was seen in Isfahan and
written about in Chardin‘s report, as also in San
Salvador and the Cape of Good Hope, etc.
Is this the comet in Jubbahdār‘s painting?
The fact is that ruling out a comet is far easier
than establishing one. So, we need to delve
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
further. The painter did have some basic idea of
the sky but was not an astronomer per se. That
is the reason the sky-depiction renders the
unravelling difficult. For a painting being done in
1674‒1675, Jubbahdār might have before him
the apparitions of 1672 and 1673 but he would
remember more the Great Comet of March 1668
that became a subject of discussion among the
astronomers and was long ‗the talk of the town‘.
In Jubbahdār‘s painting when enlarged one
can find a lone bright star way down in the right-
hand corner. The star might not be Achernar (α
Eridani, southern declination ‒59° in 1668).
With no other bright object in the background,
our choice falls on Jupiter or Venus. The view in
the painting does not include the Moon. As the
New Moon was on 12 March, we may take it
that the sky corresponds to an evening earlier
than that of 13 March. The planet Venus was
not only in the evening sky but at comfortable
altitudes above the western horizon when the
comet of 1668 was passing through its brilliant
phase soon after its discovery. A computation
made for 8 March at 15:00 UT places the
comet‘s head 16° from Venus and on 12 March
at 19°. However, with no further information
available, this is as far as we can go.
4 THE ‘IN THE YEAR 7’ IMPASSE
The comet identifications in Landau (2011)
and The Metropolitan Museum of Art (2018)
rested on two premises. Firstly, the date sana 7
as inscribed on Zamān‘s painting may be re-
ferring to Aurangzeb‘s seventh year of reign,
which places it at the time of Shāh Abbās II.
Secondly, on the time axis, Jubbahdār‘s painting
(of 1085 AH) dates later than Zamān‘s. About
Zamān, Landau (2011: 122) says:
Although we have no documented dated evi-
dence that Muhammad Zaman was active in
the 1650s when Angel was in Iran, it is
indeed possible that the Safavid painter, who
had a natural talent for working in a variety
of artistic idioms, began his career in the
medium of mural painting, where the Euro-
peanised style seems to have first been
developed, as early as the mid-1600s.
The ‗Angel‘ above was the Dutch painter Philips
Angel (1618 ‒1664) who was in Isfahan in
1061/1651‒1652 and later built a studio where
he could execute his artwork. As Landau (2011:
121) further observed:
Angel, a bold and enthusiastic spokesman
for the art of painting, who was in contact
with Safavid officials and at least one court
painter, would have been in a good position
to communicate his artistic interests, ones
that he shared with Safavid painters and
their patrons … Angel and Muḥammad Za-
mān may have even directly interacted with
one another.
R.C. Kapoor
Later, Zamān‘s excellence earned him the
patronage of Shāh Sulaymān (1648‒1694).
Here, the work he did was on the themes that
were in line with the religious and political
thought of the Imperial Court. In this phase of
activity, nothing done by him has come to light
where an astronomical concept, phenomenon or
event is touched upon.
Zamān‘s first known work under the pat-
ronage of Shāh Sulaymān was a pen-case
(qalamdān) done in 1673 (Landau, 2009: 123).
As a part of the Safāvid tradition of illustrating
and refurbishing classic Persian and Arabic
manuscripts that included those on such sub-
jects as astronomy, astrology and medicine etc.,
three paintings by Zamān were added to the
sixteenth century copy of the literary classic
Khamsa (Quintet) for Shāh Tahmasp (r.
1524‒1576) and in the Shāhnāmā. These were
all signed sana 1086 or just 1086 (Landau,
2011: 101‒131). Likewise, Zamān dated his
biblical paintings to the 1670s and 1680s.
Therefore, a reference like sana 7 is an oddity
that should rather be a record of a regnal year or
one from tradition. Was it that the year 7 was
counted from the death of Shāh Abbās II in
1077 A.H./1666 or better still, from the reign of
Shāh Sulaymān in 1668? The latter date takes
us right into the year 1086 AH around when
Zamān became engaged in manuscript illu-
stration. Should that be the case, why would he
choose to portray a less spectacular comet of
1652 and not the Great Comet of 1668? The
comet of 1668 qualifies for Zamān‘s painting
but then his portrayal of the sky becomes ar-
bitrary. The next noteworthy comets were yet
to appear, i.e., in 1680, 1682 (Halley‘s), and so
on.
However, consider this. In the Persian phil-
osophy, the number seven has a sacred mean-
ing. It pervades many different aspects of the
Persian culture. Or, better still, the year 7 is
yūnt-īl—the Year of Horse, the seventh one in
the duodenary cycle of the Turkish animal cal-
endar (sanavāt-i turkī). The calendar was re-
sorted to in matters of taxes, book-keeping and
commercial matters, etc. and the Persians used
it in deeds, bonds and records etc., right until
the beginning of the twentieth century. Father
Raphaël du Mans (Richard, 1995: 369) notes:
In the Royal Chamber of Accounts they use
a certain old era distinguished by years
bearing the names of 12 wild beasts and
large animals and its vestiges borrowed from
the Great Tartars, as well as their names.
They believe that the influences that are
exerted on this year adapt to the quality and
property of the animal that governs the
current year. And after a cycle of 12 years,
they come back again at the beginning …
The cycle of Twelve Animals, common to
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
many cultures in Asia, is used to number and
designate years. In this calendar, the year
commences on the day of the Vernal Equinox.
Monshi (1930: II: II: x ‒xi) lists a few cycles of
the animal years. The last Horse Year listed
therein is 1027 AH = 1617‒1618. Since the
year 1027 AH is actually CE 29.12.1617‒
18.12.1618, we may take it that the corres-
ponding Year of Horse commenced from CE
21.03.1618. The years of horse next in the
cycle are those of CE 1630, 1642, 1654, 1666,
1678, and so on. The year of our interest
belongs to the period 1650s ‒1670s. The Year
of Horse 1678‒1679 (1089‒1090 AH) is rather
late for the painting of interest to us. Thus,
beginning on the day of the Vernal Equinox, any
one of the years 1654 (1064‒1065 AH) or CE
1666 (1076‒1077 AH) will be the sana 7. As for
the painting, it is difficult to believe someone
preferring in 1666 a comet of 1652 over a
spectacular comet of 1664 that was noticeable
for over four months. The comet of 1664 was a
morning object, but in Isfahan it could be seen
up in the sky towards the south at midnight in
late December when its tail also was of greatest
length. However, this comet never passed close
to Aldebaran and the Pleiades. If this comet
was his choice, Zamān went horribly wrong on
his astronomy and memory, something difficult
to believe. The system of astronomical know-
ledge in Persia was sufficiently robust at this
time, as evident from Father Raphaël du Mans‘
important observation mentioned in the Estat
de 1660 (Richard, 1995: 123‒125):
They have here the Almagest of Ptolemy in
Arabic, the Spheres of Menelaus and Theo-
dosius, several kinds of theories and means
[?], movements of planets as of Coagé [Kha-
wājah] Nescir [Naṣīr al-Dīn al-Ṭūsī] and
Mirzā Ulugh Beg, all of Euclid‘s works, some
fragments of Archimedes and Apollonius and
other old authors; also the perspective of Ibn
al-Haytham, the books of arithmetic, elm-e
hesāb, algebra, optics, minaser [in Arabic
Manāẓir for optics], of moving forces …
The overwhelming problem of matching
the objects in the paintings with suitable com-
ets leads us to examine another possible in-
terpretation: that they actually depict fireballs
and not comets.
5 DO THE PAINTINGS DEPICT FIREBALLS
RATHER THAN COMETS?
Could the celestial objects in the paintings under
discussion be fireballs or bolides rather than
comets? That is certainly a possibility. Meteors
brighter than the planet Venus, at visual mag-
nitude –4 or brighter still, are called fireballs,
whereas those brighter than the Full Moon, at
the magnitude –14 are bolides that explode in
the atmosphere. Very bright meteors shooting
R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

across the sky can stun viewers with their

suddenness, bright flickering light and sonic
boom—all in a matter of seconds—and a long
smoky-looking trail that can linger in the sky for
quite some time. Since some of these are
exceptional events they can have a long-lasting
effect on the human psyche, which later can
serve as the source of anecdotes about the
event.
In Figures 6 and 7, taken from Olson and
Pasachoff (1998; 2019), we see two interesting
examples of bright meteors. Figure 6 shows a
Leonid with a long trail, which was photo-
graphed on the evening of 17 November 2009.
In Figure 7 there is a painting by Thomas
Sandby (Olson and Pasachoff, 1998: 70 ‒71)
that depicts The Meteor of 18 August 1783 in
Three Aspects Seen from the Northeast Corner
of Windsor Castle. The artist depicts a wide
straight tail that has been mistaken by some for Figure 6: A Leonid fireball seen on the night of 17 November
a comet (Olson and Pasachoff, 1998: 63). 2009 (after Olson and Pasachoff, 2019: Figure 192).
We need to see the depiction of the meteor
in Figure 7 in light of the fact that this was paint- bolides in works of art were not very common.
ed at a time when nineteenth century astron- Europeans were fascinated by comets and
omy in Europe was already on firm grounds and when it came to depicting an unusual fiery
had a greater reach among the public—recall occurrence in the sky the general inclination was
the prediction of the return and the recovery of towards a comet.
Comet 1P/Halley, the two transits of Venus, the Fireballs and bolides were transient events
discovery of Uranus, and the sensation that all and generally were seen by only a small local-
of these caused. The various celestial events ised populations. Comets lingered in the sky for
inspired innumerable artists who pictured them much longer, and were there for all to see.
beautifully, including much detail. Yet, com- Furthermore, anecdotes about comets often
paratively speaking, depictions of fireballs and travelled far and wide, were long lasting and

Figure 7: A painting by Thomas Sandby depicting the fireball of 18 August 1783 (after Olson and Pasachoff, 1998; 2019).

Page 281
R.C. Kapoor
were sometimes connected to unfavourable
circumstances in life—famines, pestilence, the
death of a king or the fall of an empire—and not
necessarily concurrent. In some cultures, com-
ets were apocalyptic and assigned strong
astrological influence. As such, they had the
potential to fire an artist‘s imagination.
What do the paintings by Zamān and
Jubbahdār tell us? When we examine the
close-up of Zamān‘s painting (Figure 2) we see
that the tail is straight and narrow. This is what
a fireball normally look like. In Jubbahdār‘s
painting the tail also is long and straight, but no
bright spots are noticeable. However, note the
orientation of the people in both paintings. The
old men are engaged in deep conversation,
presumably about the celestial visitors, but if the
latter were meant to be fireballs or bolides we
would expect people to be looking at—or even
pointing to—these transient objects (just as we
see in Sandby‘s painting in Figure 7).
6 PERCEPTIONS OF COMETS AND
FIREBALLS IN INDIA AND THE
MIDDLE EAST
According to Aristotle (384‒ 322 BCE), comets
were dry and warm exhalations in the upper
atmosphere that belonged to the sublunary
sphere—see his book Meteorologica, which
dates to about 330 BCE. This perception con-
tinued until the time of Tycho Brahe (CE
1546‒1601), who on the basis of his obser-
vations of the Great Comet of 1577 was able
to argue that comets lay beyond the atmo-
sphere of the Earth and that they should follow
circular paths between the orbits of the Moon
and Venus. Drake and O‘Malley (1960) des-
cribe how in Europe views on comets began to
change dramatically in the seventeenth century,
particularly in the wake of the apparitions of the
Great Comets of 1577 and 1618.
How did the astronomers in India and the
Middle East explain comets, meteors, meteor
showers, fireballs and bolides at this time?
In the Bṛhat Samhitā, the Indian astronomer
Varāhamihira (CE 486 ‒587) identified three
different types of ketus (comets), namely, cel-
estial, atmospheric and terrestrial (Bhat, 2010:
Chapter XI). Celestial ketus were seen amid
the stars in the firmament, and although Varā-
hamihira described them morphologically there
actually were no real comets there.
In fact, no Hindu astronomy text actually
discussed comets. Nor was there a tradition in
India to record comets. However, Varāhamihira
included meteors and earthquakes among por-
tents. An ulka (meteor) is broad at its head and
has a tiny tail, but grows bigger and bigger as it
descends. There were many varieties of the
meteors, depending on form, colour and bright-
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
ness. As a guide, a king should not march in
the direction where an ulka strikes his town or
his army, and if the ulkas fall from the sky in
clusters, they portend the fall of the king and the
kingdom (Bhat, 2010: Chapter XXXIII).
The celebrated French astronomer Guill-
aume Le Gentil (1725‒1792) came to Pondi-
cherry in 1768 to observe the 1769 transit of
Venus and, while waiting for the event he learnt
the essentials of Hindu astronomy from local
Brahmins. Le Gentil noted that the Brahmins
did not know anything about comets, and
believed that they were signs of Heaven‘s wrath
(Le Gentil, 1779: 42).
In the Muslim world, unexpected pheno-
mena like eclipses, comets, meteors and
earthquakes were regarded as ill omens for
rulers and Emperors and so were routinely
monitored by astronomers and chroniclers.
Including such events in political histories was
a well-established tradition in the Middle East
(although it lost some momentum after about
AD 1400). These unexpected events and
objects terrified the people, who saw them as
portents. Thus, Arab legends refer to shooting
stars as firebrands that the angels hurled at the
Jinns who were ever eager to peep into the
Heaven (see the Surah Al-Hijr 15: 18 and Surah
As-Saffat 37: 6‒10).
Most Islamic astronomers held Ptolemaic
views on comets and meteors, and since they
were atmospheric rather than heavenly phen-
omena they could be ignored. But the re-
nowned Persian astronomer, astrologer and
philosopher, Ja‘far b. Muḥammad Abū Mash‘ar
(CE 787‒ 886), considered that comets were
celestial objects (see Neuhäuser et al., 2016).
Meanwhile, the Andalusian philosopher Ibn
Rushd (CE 1126‒1198), believed that comets
could not be classed with the other stars. The
tail and the comet burned with a flame and its
interaction with the effluvium created a long tail
(Cook, 2008: 195).
There are several records of meteor show-
ers to be found in medieval Arab chronicles,
and Rada and Stephenson (1992) have pro-
vided details of these. Arabic astronomers saw
the meteor shower of CE 4 March 571 as
coincident with the birth of the Prophet. As the
Islamic calendar is lunar, it would not have
been easy to come to regard enhanced meteor
activity as being annual. In a survey of Muslim
information on comets and meteors, Cook
(1999: 135, 138, 146) lists several instances of
bolides, while over the centuries meteor show-
ers were noticed in many places in the Middle
East: e.g., from Syria on CE 16 July 706 (the
Perseids?), from Egypt on CE 27 October 901
(the Leonids?), from Iraq and Egypt in CE mid-
October 1202, etc.
R.C. Kapoor
Kennedy (1980; 2019) has published mat-
erial drawn from a book titled Tanbīhāt al-
munajjimīn (Admonitions to Astrologers) by
Muzaffar b. Muḥammad Qāsim Junābādī
(Gunābādī). It was dedicated by the author to
Shāh Abbās I (r. 1588‒1629). Among other
topics, the book describes the portents as-
sociated with the appearance of ‗tailed stars‘,
(i.e., comets and meteors) and certain meteor-
ological phenomena. It also lists actual events
that occurred in different places in the Islamic
world, and, the sources used in compiling the
book. There is even a subsection listing dif-
ferent kinds of tailed forms:
(1) Nayzak (modern Arabic for a meteor, originally a
short spear).
(2) Shihab (a flower, firebrand, meteor).
(3) Amud (pillar, column, post).
(4) Buq (horn).
(5) Jabiyah (a pool, or well).
(6) Dhu Dhawdba (having a lock, or mane).
(7) Dhu Dhanab (having a tail, comet).
The actual objects listed by Junābādī are mostly
comets, but there are a few bright meteors, a
bolide that was seen in Sultān Maḥmud‘s
(971‒1030) time, and a new star (supernova) in
CE 1006 (Cook, 1999: 142). All of these events
are cited as portents.
The tradition of recording ‗politically-signifi-
cant‘ cosmic events continued for a long time,
and, not surprisingly, even was found in India.
Northern India was dominated by the Mughal
Empire during the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, and its chronicles record a number of
solar and lunar eclipses, fireballs and comets.
The emperors took the occurrence of comets
quite seriously and even sought remedial meas-
ures.
A comparison with how comets were viewed
in the Mughal period brings up similarities in the
perceptions. Between them, the Safāvids and
the Mughal Empire maintained a good relation-
ship for a long time. The regular stream of
migrants to the Mughal Empire included artists,
scholars and craftsmen who also brought with
them knowledge of astronomy, mathematics and
natural sciences (Ansari, 2016: 583). The Royal
Mughal memoirs written by courtiers provide
details of the occurrence of several astro-
nomical phenomena, namely solar and lunar
eclipses, fireballs and comets. The records also
bring forth the rulers‘ serious concerns about the
auspiciousness of the serendipitous phenom-
ena and how they sought counsel to tide over
the possible consequences and even suggest
remedial measures. The French traveller Jean
Baptiste Tavernier (1605 ‒1689), the Baron
d‘Aubonne and a jewel trader, has described
how the comet of 1665 terrified the Mughal
Emperor Aurangzeb (1618‒1707; r. 1658‒
1707) who, while the comet was in the sky:
Page 283
Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
… drank only a little water and ate a small
quantity of millet bread; this so much af-
fected his health that he nearly died, for
besides this he slept on the ground, with
only a tiger‘s skin over him, and since that
time he never enjoyed perfect health. (Tav-
ernier, 1925: 309).
Abū‘l Faḍl (1551‒1602), the Prime Minister
of the third Mughal Emperor Jalāluddīn Mu-
ḥammad Akbar (1542‒1605; r. 1556 ‒1605),
was a scholar. Citing past apparitions record-
ed in Middle East and West Asian sources, he
provided in his highly acclaimed work Ā’īn-i
Akbarī (Institutes of Akbar; in Persian, 1590) an
erudite exposition on comets. He stressed that
comets were related to the phenomenon of
evaporation and belonged to the realm of the
physical sciences. His discourse on the theor-
ies of their origin and formation was in the
context of the appearance of the Great Comet
of 1577 that he duly recorded in the Akbarnāmā
(see Kapoor, 2015).
After Aurangzeb, the Mughal Empire and
the Muslim rule in India in general began to
totter. There were no more political histories to
be written and the tradition of recording naked-
eye observations of unexpected phenomena
came to an end.
7 COMET AND FIREBALL REFERENCES
IN SOME PERSIAN WORKS
The ancient Persians distinguished between the
Sun, the Moon and the Fixed Stars as belonging
to the creations of Spenta Mainuyu (Good
Spirit), while the planets, comets and meteors
belonged to Angra Mainuyu (Evil Spirit). The
former class represented all that is orderly and
systematic while the latter class is of wandering
bodies. The wandering bodies were termed
fairies, being of the class of creations of the Evil
Spirit (Modi, 1917: 104).
The ninth–tenth century Pahlavi text Bun-
dahišn (Bundehesh; i.e. primal creation) is an
encyclopaedia of Zoroastrian theology and
cosmogony. In the chapter on the planets and
cosmology it says that
Seven chieftains of the planets have come
unto the seven chieftains of the constella-
tions, as the planet Mercury (Tir) unto Tish-
tar, the planet Mars (Warharan) unto Hap-
toring, the planet Jupiter (Ohrmazd) unto
Vanand, the planet Venus (Anahid) unto
Sataves, the planet Saturn (Kevan) unto the
great one of the middle of the sky, Gochihr
and the thievish (dujgun) Mushpar, provided
with tails, unto the sun and moon and stars.
The sun has attached Mushpar to its own
radiance by mutual agreement, so that he
may be less able to do harm (vinas). (West,
1897(5:5): 1‒2).
As stressed by Modi (1917: 101), the Bundahišn
makes no specific distinction between comets
R.C. Kapoor
and meteors. The Bundahišn further says that
As Gochihr falls in the celestial sphere from
a moon-beam on to the earth, the distress of
the earth becomes such-like as that of a
sheep when a wolf falls upon it. (West, 1897
(5: 30): 18).
The words mushpar (meaning: with tails) and
gochihr (head and tail) mentioned here refer to
comets. West here takes the word Gochihr as
referring to a meteor (Modi, 1917: 101).
Eclipses, comets, meteors and earthquakes
were signs of ill omen in the Persian life too.
The celestial events were related to the zodiac-
al signs in which they occurred (Donaldson,
2015: Ch. XII). Astrologers formed an integral
part of the Royal Courts and their counsel was
sought at the times of eclipses, Royal births, or
for determining auspicious times before em-
barking on missions or marches, etc. Thus, we
can understand how through the centuries the
Safāvid Persia viewed serendipitous phenom-
ena in the sky. The Great Comet of 1577 is well
documented by several cultures as a grave sign
of calamity. It was implicated in Shāh Ismaīl‘s
life, the son of Shāh Tahmasp Safāwī, who was
assassinated soon after the comet appeared,
and great troubles arose in Persia (Monshi,
1930: 25 ‒26). In the book Tanbīhāt al-
munajjimīn, Junābādī points out that he was
witness to the Great Comet of 1577 that
appeared in the west towards ―… the latter part
of Sha‘bān [ca. 2‒12 November, 1577].‖ Lastly,
he refers to two consecutive comet sightings in
the year 1027 A.H. The reference is made at
two places in Kennedy, the first of which reads:
―In the beginning of Dhu al-Ḥijja 1027 H. (ca.
21 November 1618), while the royal court
was at Qazwin (northwest of Tehran), a ḥar-
bah appeared in the east, in the sign of
Libra‖. In a later chapter, the author des-
cribes – ―On the morning of Monday, 8 Dhu
al-Ḥijja (26 November 1618) of the (above)
mentioned year, a comet (Au dhawaba) ap-
peared in the east in the middle of the sign
of Scorpio and lasted for about forty days‖.
(Kennedy, 2019).
Normally one says dhūdhnab, meaning dumdār
(‗one with a tail‘). The Royal Court referred to
above is that of Shāh Abbās I. The 1027 AH
references in the Tanbīhāt al-munajjimīn are
correct and made in respect to two different
comets, now identified as C/1618 V1 and
C/1618 W1 (Kapoor, 2016).
8 PERSIA’S EXPOSURE TO MODERN
ASTRONOMY
The period under Shāh Abbās I (i.e. 1588 ‒
1629) is said to be the Golden Age of Persian
civilisation, when Isfahan—the capital since
1598—flourished and became an international
city and a great centre of culture and commerce.
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
Diplomats from European countries and mer-
chants visited to foster trade, while delegates
from different religious orders came, intent on
founding convents in Isfahan and elsewhere in
Persia (Bomati and Nahavandi, 1998). Political
stability continued during the regime of Shāh
Abbās II, and life was good. Shāh Abbās II also
maintained diplomatic contacts with Europe, the
Ottomans and the Mughals of India, etc., in-
cluding the British East India Company, the
Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oost-
indische Compagnie) and the maritime compan-
ies of Europe (Dale, 2010). A significant political
occasion in his reign was his military expedition
to Kandahar where he wrested it back from the
control of the Mughals in 1649 (Matthee, 2014).
Kandahar was on a crucial trade-route between
the two empires.
Father Cristoforo Borri S.J. (1583–1632)
was an Italian Jesuit missionary known for his
astronomy and making magnetic observations
in Asia that would provide an ingenious way
of determining longitude. In April 1615 Borri
left Lisbon for Macao, stopping over at Goa
for six months, and arriving in Macao in 1617.
The mission soon faced unfavourable circum-
stances and he moved to Cochin-China (the
southern region of Vietnam). It is from here
that he observed the two bright comets of
1618. Unfortunately for him, Father Borri could
not adapt to the local circumstances, so he
decided to return to Europe. He went to Ma-
cao in 1622, and later that year left for Goa. He
stayed in Goa until February 1624, when he
eventually set sail for Lisbon, together with
Garcia de Silva y Figueroa (Dror and Taylor,
3
2006: 40‒ 42).
While he was in Goa in 1623, Father Borri
befriended a well-to-do and knowledgeable
Roman nobleman, Pietro della Valle (1586–
1652), who had travelled far and wide and knew
many languages. The celebrated traveller
described Borri as a great mathematician who
shared with him the Tychonic world-view and
also his own perception of three heavens.
Father Borri had been developing his theory of
tenuous heavens and recorded his views and
observations in a book. An impressed Pietro
translated this work into Persian in 1624, with
the title Risalah- i Padri Khristafarus Burris Isavi
dar tufiq-i jadid dunya (Compendium of a
Tractate of Father Christoforo Borri Giesuita on
the New Model of the Universe According to
Tycho Brahe and the Other Modern Astron-
omers). He even sent it to his Persian ast-
ronomer friend Mulla Zayn al-Din of Lār, who
was keen to learn about the new European
sciences.
Here was one of the first Western works
on the ‗new astronomy‘ to reach Persia that
R.C. Kapoor
Figure 8: Father Christoforo Borri‘s model of the Universe based on observations by Tycho Brahe and other astronomers (after
della Valle, 1631).
propagated a world-view contradictory of the
cosmogony of the East. Later, in 1631, while in
Rome, Pietro translated Borri‘s work into Ital-
ian: Compendio di un Trattato del Padre
Christoforo Borro Giesuita della Nuova Cost-
itution del Mondo secondo Tichone Brahe e gli
Altri Astologi Moderni. This book is preserved
in the Vatican Apostolic Library (Vat. pers. 10
fols. 7 recto - 6 verso orient18 IGH.06) and
carries a depiction of Tycho‘s hybrid Universe
with the planets revolving around the Sun and
the Sun round the Earth (Figure 8). A few
comets in orbits are depicted too, with tails
pointing away from the Sun to demonstrate that
comets could not be carried by the crystalline
spheres. Importantly, the book was well re-
ceived by scholars in Persia, Armenia and
Arabia.
Of the several comets that appeared after
the Great Comets of 1618, the first bright one
worth noting was the comet of 1652. This was
followed by several others, and bright ones
appeared in 1661, 1664, 1665, 1668, and so on.
The paintings discussed in this paper could be
records of two such apparitions.
In this context, of great significance are the
reports, dated 3 April and 23 April, by Father
Raphaël du Mans (1613‒1696; Richard, 1995)
of his observation of the Great Comet of 1668
made from Isfahan that he sent to the French
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
Consul in Aleppo (King, 1999: 139 ‒140). Ra-
phaël du Mans had come to Isfahan in 1647 to
head the mission of the French Capuchins, a
Roman Catholic order. He also became as-
sociated with the Royal Court in order to serve
the interests of his country, and he lived in
Persia until his death. He knew Persian and
was highly regarded by local people as an ex-
pert on mathematics, astronomy, optical science
and philosophy. He also is said to have con-
structed astronomical instruments. He would
have been in contact with the astronomers at
the Shāh‘s Court. One of them, Muḥammad
Zamān ibn Sharaf al-Dīn Ḥusayn of Mashhad,
was active during 1643 ‒ 1689 (The Metropolitan
Museum of Art, 2018), and is known to have
built astrolabes and celestial globes and written
a zīj for the Shāh circa 1668 (Landau, 2009:
196 ‒197). It is also likely that Father Raphaël
would have come across the painter Muḥam-
mad Zamān at the Royal Court (Landau, 2009:
196‒197).
In his report (written in French) about the
Great Comet of 1668, Father Raphaël wrote that
it was 30° 32′ in length with a uniform width of
3½°, and red coloured (King, 1999: 139‒140).
His figures for the comet‘s length and width
suggest how well he was able to use the
astronomical instruments in his possession and
also reflect his computational skills. Whether
R.C. Kapoor
he used a telescope to observe the comet is
not known. In this context, it is interesting to
note that among other gifts the Royal Court
received European optical instruments (ibid.),
and that not only had telescopes reached Persia
by the 1660s but Father Du Mans himself had
constructed the first Galilean telescope in Iran
(Arjomand, 1997: 7). It is stated that Father du
Mans used it to view the night sky:
A seventeenth-century Persian scholar by
the name of Mirzā ‗Abdullāh Iṣfahānī wrote a
book called ―The Garden of the Scholars‖
(Riyas al-‘Ulamā’) in which he refers to
Father du Mans and a telescope that du
Mans possessed. The instrument was 2.08
meters long and shaped ―like a bamboo
pipe, somewhat like the Indian reed from
which spears are made.‖ With it, many
strange things could be seen. Apparently,
Isfahani had the opportunity to view the sky
through the telescope. He reported that
many stars not seen before were revealed,
including a vastly expanded Pleiades (Seven
Sisters) that clearly could not be taken in
with one view, given the narrow telescopic
field of vision. Looking at the moon‘s rough
and uneven surface suggested to viewers in
Iran that there were ―lands, jungles, and
cities on the moon‖. (Huff, 2010: 132 ‒133).
Pouria Nazemi (pers. comm., 2018) points out
that during the 1620s an Italian missionary had
brought a telescope to Persia and even or-
ganised an observing session for the Shāh and
his courtiers. That, however, was a solitary
occasion only.
The observations that Father Du Mans re-
ported to the French Consul at Aleppo were the
first modern observations of a comet made from
Persia where a telescope may have been used.
Ironically, there are no accounts of the 1668
comet by Persian scholars or astronomers.
Nevertheless, it surely would have had a major
political impact on Royalty. Of great interest
here is the story of the repeat coronations of the
Safāvid ruler Safi Mirzā (1648 ‒1694), first after
the death of Shāh Abbās II as Shāh Safi II in
October 1666, and later as Shāh Sulaymān in
March 1668. The reason given was his con-
tinuing ill health caused by over-indulgence,
which began getting worse after he ascended
the throne. During his reign there was a severe
drought, earthquakes, and unrest in the north.
So, the Court astrologers, who were always in
attendance and ready with their astrolabes and
ephemerides for counsel (Chardin, 1711a(II):
117‒118; Richard, 1995), resolved that Shāh
Safi II had been crowned in inauspicious circum-
stances and, in order to ward off evil, needed to
be crowned again and assume a new name
(Matthee, 2015: 67‒98). While speaking about
Persia‘s Estat de 1660, Father du Mans recalls
how the kingdom
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
… annually spends more than 20,000 to-
mans to maintain his astrologers, munajjims,
who are all near him with their astrolabe[s] to
take the right hour, the ascendant, to divide
the sky in 12 parts according to houses, etc.,
to tell when it is good to sit, to get up, to
leave, to eat, to sleep, to vest such or such a
colour, so that he is in the absolute dis-
position. (Richard, 1995: 125).
Father du Mans further notes that
These astrologers draw their tables, like us,
each year from the mean motion of the
planets, what they call estekhrage [Arabic for
calculation]. For the longitudes and latitudes
of the courses of the stars, as well as for the
eclipses of our two great luminaries, they
have very few differences with ours; they
use the system of Ptolemy. They have zījes,
which are their tables of average move-
ments, composed by a scientist of the Tar-
tars named Ulugh Beg, calculations estab-
lished 400 years ago. In the great con-
junction of Saturn and Jupiter, they had
made a mistake of two months and our
[Andrea] Argoli tables had calculated them
4
well. They consider their representations of
the courses of the stars from an old author
by the name of Abd al-Raḥmān [al-Sūfī] but
they are mistaken in the longitudes of fixed
stars by eight degrees, and from this index it
can be concluded that these tables and that
the author of these tables are many years
older than our modern ones. (Richard, 1995:
359 ‒ 561).
The second ascension of Shāh Safi II took
place on the Nauroz. Notably, it was the day of
the Vernal Equinox when the Sun moved into
Aries and marked the first day of the first month
Farvardīn in the Persian calendar, a day for the
commencement of festivities. In 1668, the
vernal equinox fell on 20 March. This date
tallies with when the comet was still in its
dramatic phase. We believe that it was the
continuing presence of this formidable sign in
the sky, that had appeared in the month of
Ramaḍān (14 February‒14 March), which
prompted the astrologers—fearing even greater
disaster ahead—to moot the idea of re-crowning
the King and changing his name. And what
other day could be more auspicious than the
Nauroz that lay just a few days ahead.
The comet of 1668 has figured in the
memoirs of a few European visitors. Chardin
(1643‒1713), the merchant-traveller and son of
a Huguenot jeweller who had come to Isfahan
in the beginning of 1666 through orders that
his father received from Shāh Abbās II for
jewellery, mentioned observations of the com-
et in his Voyages en Perse II (Chardin, 1711a:
II: Chapter IX). He travelled around Asia and
returned to spend five years in Isfahan, first six
months in 1669, and then four and a half years
from June 1673 (King, 1999: 139‒140). His
R.C. Kapoor
writings on Safāvid Persia are spread over ten
volumes wherein he also elaborates on how the
science of astronomy was revered and culti-
vated in Persia:
They quite rightly observe the revolutions of
the Eclipses of Sun & Moon, and often meet
the moment of the obscurity of these two
Luminaries; but sometimes they mistake half
an hour, especially in the Eclipse of the Sun;
but it must be said also that in the sup-
position that they make of it, they do not
disarm the brain, as do the European ast-
ronomers, in the calculation of so many
small parallactic Arcs of longitude & latitude
... They have no Telescopes to observe
either the Constellations or the Phenomena
of Heaven; as it is said that the ancients had
none, and all the astronomers before Tycho
Brahe: I say this generally speaking; for it is
necessary to except some curious Mathe-
maticians, who since the Europeans came to
Persia, of whom they have seen Celestial
Globes, have started to make small ones, as
I have seen … (Chardin, 1711a(II): 119).
Chardin (ibid.) recounts the interest shown
by the elite class in new inventions from Europe.
He also observed that the Persians were not
accustomed to comets:
They believe that these phenomena always
presage great misfortunes, but they are in-
genious in returning their influence to distant
countries. They do not give a common
name to this sort of Meteora, as we flee by
calling them all comets; but they give them
the name according to the figure they re-
present ... They named the great and fam-
ous comet, a little spear that appeared al-
most all over the world in the year 1668.
Here is her face, as she was drawn up in the
Province of Persia; but I shall not point the
relation of it, having given in the Message of
Soliman; to which I will only add, that the
colour of this Comet was red, mingled with
black and yellow …
Chardin (1711a(II): 118) even presented a geo-
metrical illustration of how the comet was plac-
ed in the sky on the second day of the ap-
parition, which was 7 March, viewed from
Shiraz, the capital of Fars Province, and this is
reproduced here in Figure 9.
It is a coincidence that in 1085 AH when Ἀlī
Qulī Jubbahdār did his painting Two Old Men in
Discussion Outside a Hut and there was no
comet in the sky, Chardin was in Isfahan from 2
July 1674 until 18 May 1675 (Chardin, 1711b:
III). The Gregorian dates of the Hijri year 1085,
namely 7 April 1674–27 March 1675, are
therefore suggestive in the present context.
Chardin moved in socio-political circles and on
occasions would have discussed his own
impressions of unforgettable experiences, but
we do not know if he and Jubbahdār ever met.
Nevertheless, there would have been enough
Page 287
Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
anecdotes available to provide the input
Jubbahdār needed to present the Two Old Men
talking about an extraordinary object in the sky.
After the fall of the Safāvids, Persia‘s
interaction with the West remained at a low level
until the arrival of the Qājārs in 1786. The
interest in new knowledge slowly began to grow,
but the resistance of the traditional scholars
towards modern scientific thought continued
until the middle of the nineteenth century.
Pouria Nazemi (pers. comm., 2018) traces Iran‘s
modern beginnings in astronomy to Mirza
Mahmoud Ghomi (Qomi), alias Moshaver al-
Molk Mahmoudi (cf. González, 2018: Chapter
2). Ghomi was one among the forty-two
students sent to Europe in 1858 on State
scholarships to learn modern science and
technology and bring knowledge back to Persia
for the benefit of the country:
The first telescopes which were brought into
Iran for the astronomical and observational
purpose were during Naser al-Din Shah
Qajar (1848‒1869). We know that it was
imported into Iran by Mahmoud Ghomi an
Iranian scientist and astronomer who studied
astronomy in Paris and for a short time
worked at the observatory of Paris and
Belgium. He was also the first person who
requested the king to found the project of
‗Persian Royal Observatory‘ which was
denied. He held many observing events at
the top of Shams-el-Emare in Tehran for the
King and his family. The first professional
and scientific optical observatory in Iran was
the solar observatory of the geophysical
research centre of the Tehran University
which was built in 1963. (Pouria Nazemi,
pers. comm., 2018).
9 DISCUSSION
The tailed celestial forms in the Persian
paintings under discussion could either be
drawn from the imagination of the artists or from
astronomical records. From the inscribed dates,
and if they indeed depicted comets, the objects
were identified as the comets of December 1664
and 1674‒1675 respectively (Landau, 2011;
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2018). Curi-
ously, there were no comets in the sky around
the inferred dates. Bearing in mind the
mysticism and concern that revolved around
comets, the depictions in the paintings may
have been inspired by real apparitions that were
simply unforgettable. Both the artists chose late
evening settings for their illustrations. They
would not make such a mistake as to witness a
comet in the morning but present it as an even-
ing event. This has led us to zero in on the
bright comet of 1652 in the case of Zamān‘s
painting and the Great Comet of 1668 in Jub-
bahdār‘s painting. If so, the depictions were
done from memory only.
R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

Figure 9: A page in Chardin (1711a(II): 118) with a geometrical illustration of the observation of the comet of
1668; "Source gallica.bnf.fr / BnF" (https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/ 12148/bpt6k1050392t/f144.item.zoom accessed 05
August 2019).

But equally, the paintings may have been
inspired by observations of two outstanding
fireballs that were personally witnessed by the
artists. In Jubbahdār‘s painting, if it was a
fireball then the date (i.e., 1085 AH) is no issue,
but this is not so of Zamān‘s painting.
Notably, around the dates inscribed, there
were no political upheavals in Persia big enough
to be connected to any apparitions as signs of
calamity. There were no eclipses either. The
near total solar eclipse of 12 August 1654 with
a magnitude 0.999 over Isfahan that lay on the
western edge of the path of totality, or the total
lunar eclipse of 17 July 1674, should have been
sensational enough and the related anecdotes
vivid in the memories of the people. It is as well
that the eclipses would have been predicted.
Similarly, neither the death of Shāh Abbās II in
1666 nor the re-crowning of Safi Mirzā in 1668
as Shāh Sulaymān could inspire the painters.
That makes the subject of the paintings even
more exceptional.
A crucial character, namely, the princely
figure that Zamān chooses for his story looks
more an Indian than a Persian in appearance.
Recall that Isfahan was home to some 10,000

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R.C. Kapoor Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings

‒20,000 Hindus at the time, a major fraction comet of CE 1652 and the Great Comet of CE
being the merchant-class (les baniyān) as ob- 1668 respectively are the best fits. But as we
served in their memoirs by several European have already noted, there are serious problems
travellers (e.g. Richard, 1995: 149). Tradition- with these attributions, so that the objects in
ally, Hindus are afraid of eclipses, not comets, question may in fact be fireballs.
and for the former, the Prince would have no Notably, the artists, in an obvious departure
dearth of expertise. Zamān seems to transpose from religious and political thought, invoked
the irrational fears common to his culture to a celestial tailed forms to weave specific themes
Hindu to show his concern about the reper- on their canvases. Although the two paintings
cussions of the appearance of an imposing form were done independently, their situations are
in the sky. It could be the artist‘s attempt to similar. There is emphasis on erudition, which is
affirm Islamic knowledge of comets over Hindu a tribute to the system of knowledge in Persia at
perceptions of the same. That waters down the that time. The artists ‗touch two ends of a
supposition that the painting may have been thread‘: Muḥammad Zamān weaves a story
done in India. around a celestial visitor with an evil dimen-
Interestingly, the settings in the two paint- sion, while Ἀlī Qulī‘ Jubbahdār‘s work is eso-
ings resemble that in a miniature by Govardhan
titled ‗Astrologer and Holy Men‘ which is a part
5
of Shāh Jahān‘s Album (BnF, 1986); and this is
shown here in Figure 10. We can only
speculate if such paintings influenced Persian
artwork since works and copies of the works of
the Imperial ateliers would travel between the
Mughal and the Safāvid Empires; we know that
some of the Mughal artworks even reached the
Dutch painter Rembrandt (1606‒1669). One
may look up another painting, A Prince Visiting
a Hermitage, which was done by Govardhan
circa 1635‒1640 (see Beach, 1978: 28 and 73)
and has a setting, once again, like the one we
see in Zamān‘s painting.
There are several Mughal period paintings
that show astrologers or astronomers at work,
with astrolabes and other scientific instruments,
books and charts, often at the times of Royal
births (Sarma, 2008: Chapter 4). But signifi-
cantly, there are no paintings in the Mughal
memoirs or chronicles that feature astronomical
6
events (see Kapoor, 2016). That was the same
in the Middle East from the Medieval Period to
the Early Modern Period, barring such excep-
tions as the miniature in a 1580 manuscript of
the Shāhinshāhnāmā depicting an astronomer in
Istanbul observing the Great Comet of 1577 with Figure 10: Astrologer and Holy Men, by Govardhan. A page
from the Late Shah Jahan‘s Album, Musée Guimet, Paris,
a wooden quadrant (vide the Nuṣretnāme MA 2471. ‗Gouache on paper, Mughal School, circa 1630.
(1584), from the Topkapi Palace Museum Lib- The old man draped in white, seated under a straw awning
rary: TSMK. H. 1365, fol.5 v (b)). The Shā- and absorbed in his reading, is no doubt an astrologer, as
hinshāhnāmā is in Persian verse. It was com- indicated by the books and instruments scattered at his side:
a globe, a pendulum, an inkpot and on the floor of the hut,
posed by Ἀlā al-Din al-Manṣūr, and it chronicles an hourglass‘ (BnF, 1986) (Source: Wikimedia Commons).
the early phase of the reign of the Ottoman
Sultan Murād III (r. 1574 ‒1595). Here, in a teric, and focuses on the nature of the tailed
verse, it refers to the appearance of the comet object. The artists are to be congratulated for
(Ben-Zaken, 2010: 12). forging an aesthetic connection between ast-
ronomical knowledge and art. The depictions
10 CONCLUDING REMARKS evince the whiff of fresh air blowing into Persia
In this paper I have tried to investigate two after it opened its doors to the West, but was not
Safāvid period paintings, by Muḥammad Zamān yet very receptive to the new knowledge.
and Ἀlī Qulī‘ Jubbahdār respectively, that depict Nevertheless, it touched a relevant section of
comets or fireballs. Both paintings show the society, the aristocrats, the scholars and
celestial objects with tails and are most likely some others. Many were exposed for the first
astronomical records. I find that the bright time to the telescope and the wonders of the

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R.C. Kapoor
night sky through immigrants, like the astrono-
mer Father Raphaël du Mans from the mission
of the French Capuchins in Isfahan, and through
European travellers and merchants. Ironically,
this happened at a time when the Safāvid
Kingdom was beginning to decline.
Finally, I certainly cannot close this paper
without addressing the ultimate question: ―What
do I think Muḥammad Zamān and Ἀlī Qulī‘
Jubbahdār intended to depict in their paintings?‖
Professor Razaullah Ansari (pers., comm., June
2019) reminds us that
… whereas the appearance of a fireball is a
transient one-night phenomenon, comets ap-
pear after several years for several days in
the morning and again in the evening sky.
The former cannot be something worth de-
picting by an artist, whereas comets with
their astrological influences and long tails
could undoubtedly trigger an artist‘s imag-
ination.
While artists certainly have included comets in
their paintings (e.g. see Olson, 1985; Olson and
Pasachoff, 1998), and famous events like the
Leonid Meteor Storms have also attracted
ample attention, it is clear that some artists did
in fact intentionally depict fireballs or bolides in
their work—as discussed by Olson and Pasa-
choff (1998) in their classic work and in their
outstanding new book, Cosmos: The Art and
Science of the Universe (2019). Nevertheless, I
feel that Muḥammad Zamān and Ἀlī Qulī‘
Jubbahdār meant to show comets in their
paintings, unforgettable naked eye objects that
they had viewed some years previously which
so impressed that they left indelible images in
their memories. What better way of rescuing
these images for posterity than to paint them!
11 NOTES
1. Tenebrism (n.d.) is ―… a style of painting …
where there are violent contrasts of light and
dark, and where darkness becomes a
dominating feature of the image. The
technique was developed to add drama to
an image through a spotlight effect …‖
2. Manucci (1907: 17‒18) mentions meeting an
‗intelligent‘ Persian by the name of Muḥ-
ammad Paulo Zamān at Emperor Aurang-
zeb‘s court. Zamān had been sent by Shāh
Abbās II to Rome to study the Christian
faith. He returned greatly influenced, and
had to flee Persia fearing persecution by the
Shāh over his conversion. He sought
asylum in the Mughal Empire and was sent
to Kashmir. However, according to Landau
(2009: Chapter 2), this person is not to be
confused with the painter Zamān.
3. Comet 1618 II (C/1618 W1; Great Comet)
probably was first seen on 23 or 24
November by Garcia de Silva y Figueroa
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Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
(1550 –1624) from Isfahan. It was in the
east, a diffuse object, and had the colour of
Venus (Kronk, 1999: 338–341). Garcia de
Silva was the Ambassador of Philip III (the
King of Spain and Portugal) to the court of
Shāh Abbās I (r. 1588 –1629). He had
travelled extensively through the country
including to the city of Shiraz and the ruins
of Persepolis. The third bright comet of
1618, Comet 1618 III (C/1618 V1) was
spotted earlier than the comet 1618 II, on 11
November, by Garcia de Silva y Figueroa
from Isfahan. It was visible in the south-
east and had a tail about 60° long (Kronk,
1999: 335 –338).
4. Jupiter and Saturn came within ~1° of each
other on 18 October 1663, in the constell-
ation of Sagittarius. As for ‗Argoli‘, the
reference might be to a recent edition of his
Ephemerides.
5. Shāh Jahān‘s Album was actually initiat-
ed by Jahāngīr (r. 1605–1627), the fourth
Mughal Emperor of India who then passed
it on to his son Shāh Jahān (r. 1628–1658).
The latter arranged for several paintings,
illuminations and calligraphy folios to be
added to the Album (Viswanathan, 2010).
6. Jahāngīr recorded in his Tūzūk-i Jahāngīrī
(Memoirs of Jahāngīr ) the appearance of
two bright comets during a Royal excursion
from the town of Dohad in Gujarat to Agra,
the capital city of the Empire, via Ujjain, in
the thirteenth year of his accession, i.e.,
1027/1618. From the recorded dates, we
have identified him as the independent dis-
coverer of these two Great Comets, C/1618
V1 and C/1618 W1; the first was sighted on
10 November 1618 and the other sixteen
days later (Kapoor, 2016). Jahāngīr‘s
astronomers used an astrolabe to measure
the length of the tail of the first comet as
24°. The comets created a sensation in
Europe, and in India would have been the
subject of talk within the Royal entourage
and back home for quite some time.
However, there is no artwork showing
Jahāngīr observing either comet, even
though his atelier included many skilled
artists. In this context, one may refer to
Bichitr‘s ‗Jahangir Preferring a Sufi Shaikh
to Kings‘ or Abū‘l Hasan‘s ‗Jahangir
Embraces Shāh Abbās While Standing on a
Globe‘. Abū‘l Hasan had painted some of
the best-known illustrations of the Emperor
in the year 1618. Many of these paintings
are presented and discussed by Beach
(1978: 28 and 73) and by Bailey (2001:
47‒59).
12 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My sincere thanks are due to the referees for
R.C. Kapoor
their insightful remarks and useful suggestions.
I also thank Professor S.M. Razaullah Ansari
(Aligarh Muslim University, India), Professor
Mohammad Bagheri (Center for Kushyar Stud-
ies, University of Guilan, Iran), Dr S. Mohammad
Mozaffari (Research Institute of Astronomy and
Astrophysics of Maragha, Iran) and Mr Pouria
Nazemi (science journalist, Montreal, Canada)
for useful correspondence and helpful com-
ments. Mr Manu Kapoor provided crucial help
at the computer. I acknowledge the support of
the Director, Indian Institute of Astrophysics
(IIA), and thank the Library staff at the IIA for
help with accessing various references. The
figures in this paper were gratefully adopted
from the collections of The Metropolitan Mus-
eum of Art, New York (https://www.metmuseum.
org/), Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris
(https://www.bnf.fr/fr) and Wikimedia Commons.
Certain passages from original French sources
that I have quoted are software-assisted trans-
lations. This research has gratefully made use
of NASA's Astrophysics Data System, the ―On-
Line Solar System Data Service‖ of the Jet
Propulsion Laboratory, ―Eclipse Predictions by
Fred Espenak, NASA/GSFC Emeritus‖, and
classical reference material available on the
internet. Finally, I am grateful to Professor
Wayne Orchiston for help in finalising this paper.
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Professor Ramesh Chander
Kapoor began his career in
1971 at the Uttar Pradesh State
Observatory (now the Aryabhatta
Research Institute of Observa-
Tal in observational astronomy.
His main interest was flare stars.
His PhD is from Agra University.
R.C. Kapoor
From 1974 until 30 September 2010, he was on the
faculty of the Indian Institute of Astrophysics (IIA),
Bangalore where he worked on various topics in rel-
ativistic astrophysics: observational aspects of black
holes, white holes, quasars and fast pulsars etc. He
has published in peer-reviewed journals and present-
ed papers at national and international conferences.
Ramesh has participated as an observer and
organizer of IIA solar eclipse expeditions in India
(1980, 1995, 1999, 2009 and 2010) and Indonesia
(1983), and he independently visited the USA for the
eclipse of 21 August 2017 and Chile for the eclipse of
02 July 2019 and published his experiences. His
Page 293
Two Seventeenth Century Persian Paintings
current interest is the history of astronomy and in
particular historical aspects of comet sightings and
observations made from the Indian region. He has all
along been active in popularizing astronomy through
the print and visual media. He has published also on
the heavy metal medicinal preparations in the Indian
Systems of Medicine.
Ramesh has been a Member of the IAU (since
1985), and a Life Member of the Astronomical Society
of India (since 1973). He also is an Associate of the
National Institute of Advanced Studies (since 2002)
and an Associate of COSPAR Commission E (since
2005).
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 294‒300 (2019).

IDENTIFICATION OF THE STARS OF THE SAPTARṢI MAṆḌALA

AND ITS VICINITY
B.S. Shylaja
Jawaharlal Nehru Planetarium, High Grounds, Bengaluru 560001, India.
Email: shylaja.jnp@gmail.com
and
Venketeswara R Pai
Indian Institute of Science Education and Research, Pune 411008, India.
Email: venkateswara@iiserpune.ac.in
Abstract: The Saptarṣi Maṇḍala is the group of the seven main stars in the constellation Ursa Major. It is familiar to
all the observers of the northern hemisphere, and is cited in both astronomical and non-astronomical texts. Here, we
study the positions of the seven stars based on their co-ordinates provided in different star catalogues. This also
helps in fixing the epochs of the catalogues. We also discuss the relatively unknown constellations Trivikrama and
Śiśumāra (or Śiṃśumāra). We also discuss the constellation corresponding to Ursa Minor, as a fish with the Pole
Star at its centre.
Keywords: Ursa Major, star names in Indian texts, Saptarṣi Maṇḍala, identification of Śiśumāra, Dhruva, Pole Star,
the constellation Trivikrama

1 INTRODUCTION [northern distances from the ecliptic] of the

The seven stars of the constellation Ursa Major
are very well known in India by the name Sap-
tarṣi Maṇḍala. References to this group can be
seen in the literature of almost all languages in
India. The names of these seven sages are
also equally well known. The mythological stor-
ies give different sets of names, while the ast-
ronomical texts refer to them as the seven ṛṣis
or munis. In fact, in most of the mathematical
and astronomical texts, in the bhūta-saṅkhyā
system of depicting numbers (where some spe-
cific objects denote individual numbers, for ex-
ample the word ‗eyes‘ refers to the number 2),
the number 7 is represented by the word muni.
The seven stars can be identified in the sky
without any ambiguity. Therefore, we can use
them to fix the coordinates of other fainter stars.
References to their positions are given in the
context of the heliacal rising with the star Reg-
ulus (Maghā) which has been used by various
scholars to fix the epoch of specific texts (e.g.
see Abhyankar, 2007; Saha and Lahiri, 1954).
2 THE STAR LIST
The names of the individual stars differ in the
texts. We have used Āṅgirasa, Kratu, Marīci
Pulaha, Pulastya, Pulastya Atri and Vasiṣṭha,
with their coordinates as defined in the sācalya
samhitā:
Vasiṣṭha is 10 degrees west of Marīci.
Āṅgirasa is 7 [degreeoridnatess] west of the
[star Vasiṣṭha]. Atri is 8 [degrees] west [of
Āṅgirasa]. Pulastya is 3 [degrees] west [of
Atri]. Pulaha is 10 [degrees west of Pulast-
ya]. [The star] Kratu is 3 [degrees from
Pulaha]. At the beginning of the yuga, Kratu
was 5 degrees north at the beginning of
Visṇu‘s nakṣatra [that is, 'Sravaṇa]. The
[seven] sages are, in order, 55, 51, 50, 56,
57, 60, and 60 [degrees]. Their motion is 8
arc minutes [per year] eastward. [With] their
exceedingly small north-south motion [the
seven sages] complete a revolution in 2,700
years. (Colebrook, 1809: 360‒361).
Sule et. al. (2007) cite Srīratnagarbha as the
first text stating Arundhati, along with Vasiṣṭha
(Mizar and Alcor). As we see below there seems
to be no consensus on the order of names.
Generally Marīci is always cited as the last.
The catalogues used here have followed the
order of increasing E-W coordinates, Dhruvaka.
We use the list cited above (Colebrook, 1809)
because it specifically gives the names of the
stars and their relative coordinates. It should be
noted that instead of providing the Dhruvaka (D)
and Vikṣepa (V) separately for each star he
quotes only the differences. The coordinates D
and V used here are different from those used
in contemporary European texts, and refer to
polar longitudes and latitudes (Saha and Lahiri,
1954). For objects close to the equator or
ecliptic the error between these and the ecliptic
latitude and Vikṣepa is not large (Pai and
Shylaja, 2016). However, for these seven stars
with latitudes more than 45° from the ecliptic,
the differences are large; a small error in mea-
surement can lead to a very large deviation from
the position, as will be shown below.
The other source of star lists for this study is
the star dials of astrolabes. A large variety of
these instruments from India has been catalogu-
ed (Sarma, 2017), and many of them provide
lists of stars although these are generally re-
stricted to a small number of bright stars. It is
interesting that most of the stars in Saptarṣi
Maṇḍala do not appear in the star lists on the

Page 294
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai
majority of astrolabes. Many astrolabes only
cite Marīci, a few also cite Vasiṣṭha, while a few
more cite three of the seven stars. Only one of
them (D001, the large astrolabe at Jaipur) lists
all seven stars, but only the names are written
on the rete and the coordinates are not includ-
ed. Consequently, we could not use this astro-
labe for our research.
Mahendra Sūri referred to the astrolabe as
Yantrarāja, and in CE 1370 he prepared a man-
ual, written in Sanskrit, for its use. The proced-
ural details, including a list of stars, were trans-
lated from the original Persian text, and included
the epoch of the coordinates. Subsequently
Malayendu, a pupil of Mahendra Sūri, wrote a
commentary on this text in CE 1377‒1382
(Ôhashi, 1997). The star list in this manual pro-
vides various observed parameters like the
readings on the instruments, the corrected read-
ings for the epoch and also measured values of
the maximum altitude. The Pārasika name (the
original Persian name written in Sanskrit script)
is helpful in identifying very faint stars, though
they are very distorted. This text does not con-
tain the names of the seven stars being re-
searched here, but it does provide a very good
resource for the cross-verification of the coord-
inates of stars.
Nityānanda wrote another text titled Sidd-
hāntarāja (which has still not been published),
which lists the coordinates of about 84 stars;
and it is possible to identify almost all of them
(Shylaja and Pai, 2018b). This source gives ad-
ditional information on the brightness scale (mag-
nitude) such as ekamāna, dvimāna and so on.
Thus, it is a very reliable source for fixing the
names and positions of stars.
The book Yantra-Kiraṇāvali, authored by Pad-
manābha in the fifteenth century also provides a
list of stars. As always, the 27 stars of the
zodiac help in fixing the positions.
We have calculated the coordinates of the
Saptarṣi Maṇḍala stars using the star-lists pro-
vided by Nityānanda and Padmanābha, and these
given in Table 1. Nityānanda‘s list also gives co-
ordinates for three pairs of stars, designated Yug-
maka, Yugma and Yugmaka, which are situated
within the boundary of the constellation of Ursa
Major, and they helped us in fixing the correc-
tion for the epoch. The entries in Table 1 drawn
from Padmanābha‘s list are indicated by a P,
while those taken from Nityānanda‘s list are mark-
ed with an N.
The astrolabe or any other instrument can
provide the maximum altitude based on which
Vikṣepa (V) has been assigned. As mentioned
earlier, the error in Dhruvaka (D) is greater for
higher latitudes. Nityānanda‘s list is presented
in order of increasing longitude, with all stars
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Stars of the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and its Vicinity
from 0° to 3° listed under Aries (Meṣa), those
between 30° and 60° grouped under Taurus
(Vṛṣabha), and so on. Perhaps this was achiev-
ed using another table-top device like an arm-
illary sphere. The values of Dhruvaka are given
within that rā'si in degrees (bhāga/vibhāga) and
its fraction. Therefore, to get the longitude we
need to add 30 or a multiple of 30 as the case
may be. Furthermore, the precession correction
also has to be added. The result is that for
some stars in UMa, we may have to add n × 30
and for some we may have to add (n + 1) × 30.
We converted all the D and V values to
Right Ascensions and Declinations so as to
facilitate the comparison with conventional star
catalogues and software like Stellarium, Celest-
ia or Night Shades (the methods are described
by Abhyankar, 2007; Chandra Hari, 2007; and
Saha and Lahiri, 1954).
Here we encountered another problem. Al-
though the times of composition of the two texts
are the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the
copies available to us are more recent. The tab-
ulated values in Nityānanda‘s work do not corr-
espond to his epoch. As was pointed out by
Pingree (1996), they have been borrowed from
the original text. The manuscript used by us
was procured from the Bhandarkar Oriental Re-
search Institute in Pune, and was composed in
Vikrama-saṃvat 1696 which corresponds to CE
1638. Padmanābha‘s tables again do not corr-
espond to the epoch of his time. He mentions
that 15° needs to be added to the Dhruvaka
values. Ôhashi (1997) has studied two manu-
scripts, and the second one included the list of
the stars under study here. They have been
called ‗minor stars‘ and appear in only one man-
uscript (Lucknow, 45888); there is a colophon
that follows this tabulation giving the date as
samvat 1634, marga'sira masa, śukla pakṣa,
ṣaṣti, bṛghuvāra corresponding to CE 26 De-
cember 1576. For ease of comparison, we con-
verted the D and V values to Right Ascension
and Declination (as explained in Pai and Shy-
laja, 2016) corresponding to CE 1634.
The results are displayed in the Table1 and
are also represented in the star map in Figure 1;
the letters N and P are used to indicate the
positions provided by the two sources.
3 THE CATALOGUES
We found no ambiguity in the identification of
the stars, but the large errors in the declination
values need to be understood. As mentioned
earlier, an error in Dhruvaka leads to an error in
longitude and this carries forward to the value of
the declination.
Now, we shall discuss the coordinates of the
individual stars as per the Siddhāntarāja of Nityā-
nanda and the Yantrakiraṇāvali of Padmanābha.
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai
3.1 Coordinates as Given by Nityānanda
in the Siddhāntarāja
Here we provide a detailed description, the San-
skrit version, the translation and the coordinates
of the saptarṣis as given by Nityānanda.
Nityānanda lists the names without provid-
ing the formal names—the first one is called
Munīndra (The Great Sage), then follows anyo-
muni (the other sage), purato-muni (next muni),
tatpurato-muni (further next), and so on. There
th th
is confusion with the 5 and 6 , since the 5
th
th
has been called Vasiṣṭha. Traditionally the 6 is
called by that name; it has a visible companion
and that has been designated Arundhati, (wife
of Vasiṣṭha) in non-astronomical texts. The 6
th
th
is called muni and the 7 is Marīci.
Nityānanda‘s list gives the coordinates of
the stars in the bhūta-saṅkhyā system. The val-
ues correspond to the coordinate dhruvaka (pol-
ar longitude) of stars ranging from 0 to 30°.
That means, in the case of dhruvaka, that the
actual coordinate has to be determined by
adding 30 × i to the coordinate given in the text.
Here, the ‗i’ ranges from 0 to 11 depending upon
the ra'si (zodiac constellation) into which the star
is grouped. For example, suppose a star is sit-
uated in karka-ra'si (Cancer) and the coordinate
given in the text is ‗y’ degrees. In this case i is 3
and the actual coordinate of the star is (30 × 3)
+ y = 90 + y. However, the second coordinate
vikṣepa is to be used without any modification.
The first star in the saptarṣi constellation is
munīndra. The star munīndra comes after the
star named dhruvākṣa and is situated in the
karka-rā'si (the zodiac named Cancer):
सत्र्यंशसू ययैः १२ | २० त्रित्रमतं सदोदग् गोलोचनैः २९
यु ग्मकमस्य सं ज्ञं |
One-third of a degree added to (satryaṃ'sa) 12
(sūrya) degrees [is one of the coordinates of the
star which] shines with the third degree of bright-
ness (trimitam) and directed towards the north
always (sadodag). [The second coordinate] is
29 (go (9), locana (2)) and this [star] is known by
the name yugmaka.
पश्चात्मुनीन्द्रो त्रित्रमत्रतस्तु त्रसद्ैः २४ उदग्नवाब्धिप्रत्रमतत्रजिनश्च
४९ | २४ |
After that, [the star named] munīndra which has
a scale of brightness of 2 (dvimiti), along the
northern (udag) direction [having the coordinate]
1 it is being told that they are the three pairs of
24 (siddha. [The second coordinate is] 49 (nava
(9), abdhi (4)) [degrees] and 24 (jina) minutes.
Hence, the coordinates of the star munīndra are
114° and +49° 24′.
2 We see here the name of a hitherto unknown
सपादत्रपण्ैः २८ | १५ त्रित्रमत्रतस्ततैः प्राग् अन्योमुत्रनैः
पञ्चयु गैः ४५ उदक्यैः
The coordinates of the star anyomuni (meaning
of which is ‗the other sage‘) are 28 (piṇḍa) and a
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Stars of the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and its Vicinity
quarter (sapāda) degrees and 45 (pañca (5)
yuga (4)) degrees. [The star] whose scale of
brightness is 3 (trimiti) is situated in the northern
direction.
Hence, the coordinates of the star anyomuni are
118° 15′ and +45°.
त्रिमानमन्त्ां शचतु थिपादे २९ | ४५ सौम्यं नवात्रि २९ | ०
प्रत्रमतस्तु यु ग्मम् |
[The star] yugma shines with the brightness
scale three (trimāna) with the first coordinate
being in the fourth quadrant of 30 (antyāṃśa-
caturthapāda) degrees and the second coord-
inate is 29 (nava (9), aśvi (2)). [The direction] is
towards north (saumya).
Hence, the coordinates of the star yugma are
119° 45′ and +29°.
3
खेटनिगैः ९ | ७ उत्तरत्रदक् त्र्यमानैः सभा त्रवभागैः ४७
पुरतोमुनीन्द्रैः
The star of brightness scale 3 having the [first
coordinate] 9 (kheṭa) degrees, 7 (naga) minutes
is directed towards the north (uttaradik). This
[star] is called as puratomunīndra (the one
which is next to the munīndra) [whose second]
coordinate is 47 degrees (vibhāga).
Hence, the coordinates of the star puratomun-
īndra are 129° 07′ and +47°.
4
त्रदङ्ब्धभैः १० त्रिमानैः सदलकबाणैः ५१ | ३० रुदक्व्यतैः
तत्पु रतोमुनीन्द्रैः
[The coordinates of the star named] tatpurato-
munīndra (second next to the star munīndra) are
10 (dig) degrees and 51 (eka-bāṇa) degrees
along with a half (sadala) degree. [The magni-
tude of the brightness] is three (trimāna) and the
direction is towards north.
Hence, the coordinates of the star tatpurato-
munīndra are 130° and +51° 30′.
मेघ १७ | ० लवब्धिप्रत्रमतं सदोदग् तत्ां शकैः २५ | ०
यु ग्मकमन्यदे व इतीह यु ग्मियमेवलोक्य त्रित्रवक्रमस्य
प्रवदब्धि पादान्
5
Another [star named] yugmaka, which is entire-
ly (anyadeva) different [from the star named
yugma which is mentioned earlier], has the
coordinates 17 (megha) degrees (lava) and 25
(tatva) degrees. It has third order brightness
and is directed towards the north. Therefore,
having seen three (traya) such pairs (yugmaka),
legs (pādān) of the Trivikrama.
Hence, the coordinates of the star yugmaka are
137° and +25°.
constellation named Trivikrama: ―It is said that
these are the three footprints of Trivikrama.‖
Their positions are shown in Figure 1, and their
resemblance to foot-prints is striking.
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai
षष्ां शयु क्ताब्द १७ | १० लवत्रििमानो मुत्रनवि त्रसष्ठो त्रवद् शरैः
५४ | ० उदक्यैः
The coordinate of the star vasiṣṭha who is a
sage (muni) is one-sixth (ṣaṣṭāṃ'sa) of a degree
added to 17 (abda) degrees (lava). The bright-
ness scale is 2, the second coordinate is 54
degrees and the direction is towards the north.
Hence, the coordinates of the star vasiṣṭha are
137° 10′ and +54°.
त्रवत्र्यंशतत्ैः २४ | ४० त्रित्रमत्रतैः सदोदग् मुत्रनैः पुरस्थैः
सपदाङ्गबाणैः ५६ | १५
6 of stars Yugma and Yugamka were not associ-
The [coordinate of the star] Muni which is sit-
uated at the front (purastha) is one-third of a
degree subtracted (vitryaṃ'sa) from 25 (tatva).
It shines with the second order brightness in the
northern direction. The other coordinate is 56
(aṅgabāṇa) degrees along with a quarter of a
degree (sapāda).
Hence, the coordinates of the star Muni which is
at the front are 144° 40′ and +56° 15′.
पादोनषड् त्रभैः ५ | ४५ त्रित्रमत्रतैः सदोदक् वे देषु ५४ | ० भागैः
भगवान् मरीत्रचैः |
The star Marīci has the coordinates quarter of a
degree subtracted (pādona) from 6 (ṣaṭ) de-
7
grees and 54 (veda and iṣu) degrees. The
brightness scale is 2 and the star is towards the
north always (sadā-udak).
Hence, the coordinates of the star Marīci are
155° 45′ and +54°.
3.2 Coordinates as Given by Padmanābha
in the Yantra Kiranāvali
The first two stars are called Ūrdhva-Pa'scimaga
and Adhaḥ-Pa'scimaga; the last one is called
Prāgmuni. It was possible to deduce the
identification of these four (including Vasiṣṭha)
based on the coordinates provided by Ôhashi
(1997). The Dhruvaka of the first two are the
sameas given by saśīndraḥ (141). The Vikṣepa
of one is given as khākṣa (50) and the other is
śareṣavaḥ (55). Here, Ôhashi mentions that the
word kha is inferred as it is not clearly legible in
the manuscript. Thus, there is no ambiguity in
the identification for the four stars. These are
also included in the Table 1. Their positions
(marked by Ps) are shown in Figure 1.
4 DISCUSSION
Thus we have found that all ten stars in the
constellation of Ursa Major mentioned in these
two texts can been identified. Table1 and Fig-
ure 1 indicate that although the identifications
match, there seems to be a systematic error in
the declinations. The large deviation in Nityānan-
da‘s declination values still needs to be in-
vestigated in terms of instrumental and/or cali-
bration errors. As mentioned earlier, if measure-
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Stars of the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and its Vicinity
ments were used to read out the coordinates
from a table-top instrument, then the errors
would have been larger at higher latitudes be-
cause of the spherical nature of the surface.
As also mentioned earlier, the seven main
stars in the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala have been known
and cited in all forms of literature. The seven
constitute a group—but not the equivalent of the
constellation of Ursa Major as we know it today,
whose boundary as defined by the IAU extends
beyond these seven stars. Therefore, the pairs
ated with Saptarṣi. The three pairs discussed
above that constituted the constellation Trivi-
krama are mentioned on only one astrolabe, on
p.3202 of Sarma‘s Descriptive Catalogue of Ind-
ian Astronomical Instruments (2017). However,
the names engraved there appear to be distor-
tions of the Arabic names: Phikarai – ullā a.ca
Figure 1: A star chart of Ursa Major. Positions of the stars in
the two catalogs are indicated by P (Padmanābha) and N
(Nityānanda). The three pairs identified with three foot prints
of Trivikrama are circled (star chart: B.S. Shylaja and V.R.
Pai).
(Arabic name Quafzah-al-úláh), Phikarausā-niye-
chi.ca (Arabic name Quafzah-al-Thāní) and Phi-
karaisā lisai tri.dha (Quafzah-al-Thālith). This
raises some doubt about the usage of the word
Trivikrama.
In this context it is interesting to note the
other stars in the region, especially the Pole Star.
The reference in Vateśvara‘s commentary cites
the Dhruva-Tāra as the faint central star of a fish
or whale (Timyākriti tārānām tanu tārā Dhruva
tārā madhye) (Shukla, 1986). Therefore, it is not
practical to complete the imaginary figure of a
fish without reference to the other stars. Here a
discussion about the constellation Śiśumāra or
'Siṃ'sumāra is relevant, as it was used to refer
to an aquatic creature (a dolphin, porpoise or
the likes of).
The Si'sumāra Maṇḍala is considered to be
a constellation comprising Ursa Minor (Mukher-
jee, 1905). It is also called Dhruva-matsya, and
consists of seven stars. Dharmatāra (1) lies at
the head of the constellation and Dhruvatāra (2)
lies at the tail of the Siśumāra Maṇḍala. The third
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai Stars of the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and its Vicinity

Table 1: Identification of stars from the catalogues of Nityānanda (N) and Padmanābha (P).*
Dhruvaka Vikṣepa Right Declination
Name Magnitude Ascension
m °
° ' ° ' h m ° '
UMa Munīndra (N) 114 49 24 2 (1.8) 10 43 57 36 ‒ 03 ‒ 06
Adhaḥ-Paścimaga (P) 141 55 10 32 64 20 08 ‒ 01

Yugmaka (N) UMa, UMa 102 20 29 2 08 07 49 19

UMa Anyomuni (N) 118 15 45 3 (2.37) 10 48 52 21 ‒ 01 ‒ 06
Ūrdhva-Paścimaga (P) 141 50 10 32 59 19 07 ‒ 01

Yugma (N) UMa UMa 119 45 29 2 09 18 44 50

Purato-Munīndra (N) UMa 129 07 47 3 (2.4) 10 43 55 12 13 ‒ 07
Tatpurato Munīndra (N) UMa 130 51 30 3 (3.3) 10 46 56 08 18 ‒ 06

Yugmaka (N) Uma, UMa 137 25 3 10 25 35

Muni (N) UMa 137 10 54 00 2 (1.76) 11 13 59 08 ‒22 ‒ 03
UMa (N) 144 40 56 15 2 (3.99) 11 40 58 21 ‒25 ‒ 06
Vasiṣṭha (P) 183 66 13 03
UMa Marīci (N) 155 45 54 2 (1.85) 12 21 51 48 17 ‒ 05
Prāgmuni (P) 193 63 12 47 57 42 10 01
* The following colour-coding is used: Blue: stars for which N and P values are available. Orange: stars for which N values only
are available. Green: the three pairs of stars for which N values only are available. In column 4, the current magnitudes values are
provided in parentheses. The systematic shift in declination towards the south, evident in the extreme right hand column, was
probably caused by a systematic error in Dhruvaka (which was used to calculate the declination values).

brightest (3) is called Indratāra. Dharmatāra is 8
units south of Dhruvatāra. Indratāra is 2 units
away from Dhruvatāra and is at the mouth of the
fish, as per the reference given above.
Al Biruni records that Hindus imagined a fish
around the Pole Star (Sachau, 1910). In the long
list of astrolabes (Sarma, 2017) only one shows
the image of a fish, but it is on the outer rim not
on the rete (Sarma, personal communication).
Letters pu and pa (corresponding to Pūrva, east
and Pa'scima, west) are indicated. This does
not provide any clue as to the imaginary fish.
The constellation Śiśumāra or Śiṃśumāra
has been discussed extensively by Iyengar
(2016: 145‒163). He has identified it as the
constellation Draco, but this remains debatable
until the co-ordinates are found in some form or
other. Iyengar shows that the description
agrees with Thuban, the Pole Star, in about 3000
BCE. However, whether it was an aquatic
animal is debatable, since it was described as
having fairly long legs.
The consequence of Thuban being the Pole
Star requires that these seven stars be circum-
polar at that epoch. This circumstance has been
used to identify the antiquity of the tribal story by
Halkere et. al. (2018). The seven stars are call-
ed the ―… old lady‘s cot and the three thieves.‖
The name of grandmother‘s cot is prevalent in
tribal accounts from Central and Southern India,
but the story told by the Gonds of Madhya
Pradesh hint that it is circumpolar: the old lady
never sleeps because the three thieves are just
waiting to carry away the cot.
Quite interestingly, Padmanābha lists a star
called 'Si'sumāra but it is nowhere near the con-
stellation of Draco—it is in the southern sky.
5 CONCLUDING REMARKS
A study of the positions of the seven stars
known as the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and recorded in
two early catalogues provides us with the
epochs of these catalogues. Errors, possibly
due to the instruments used, are discussed. We
also discuss the little-known constellations of
Trivikrama and Śiśumāra. While the foot-print of
Trivikrama is identified without any ambiguity,
the boundary of Śiśumāra is not easily fixed.
This may have included Thuban, the Pole Star
of yesteryear. The constellation corresponding
to Ursa Minor as a fish with the Pole Star at its
centre is discussed, but this requires further
study once the coordinates for specific stars
become available.
6 NOTES
1. The term ―siddha” is also used to refer to
―jina”, which represents the number 24 in the
bhūta-saṅkhyā system.
2. The string ―sapādapiṇḍa” represents the num-
ber 28 | 15. But, the numerals in the manu-
script are 25 | 15, which are incorrect.
3. Here is an instance where the कटपयात्रद syst-
em of numeration is used. As per the kaṭ-
apayādi system the term “sabhā” represents
the number 47.
4. The manuscript has the number as 17 which
is wrong, since the string त्रदङ्त्रभैः corresponds
to the number 10.
5. The author uses the word ―yugmaka‖ for the
second time to represent the twin star. He

Page 298
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai
explicitly tells us that this star (yugmaka) is
entirely different from the ―yugmaka‖ that
has been described earlier.
6. The manuscript has the number as 51 | 15.
7. The term ―vedeṣu‖ combines two words,
veda and iṣu (bāṇa), which represent the
numbers 4 and 5, respectively, and not the
seventh case (saptamī vibhakti) of the
prātipadika, veda.
7 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We gratefully acknowledge the Bhandarkar Orien-
tal Research Institute (Pune) for providing a
copy of the Sarvasiddhāntarāja. Professor Clem-
ency Montelle kindly provided the tables of
Malayendu from the edition by Rivaka. Pro-
fessor S.R. Sarma shared his magnanimous
catalogue of Indian astrolabes, which was very
useful when it came to decoding the names.
Helpful discussions with Professor M.N. Vahia
have enriched this paper, and thanks also are
due to Dr Veena A. Bhat for offering help in
deciphering the text.
We also are thankful to the referees, whose
comments added value to the contents of this
paper, and to Professor Wayne Orchiston for
helping finalise this paper.
8 REFERENCES
Abhyankar, K.D., 2007. Pre-Siddhantic Indian Astron-
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Vedas.
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323 ‒376.
Hari, K.C., 2006. Polar longitudes of the Sūryasidd-
hānta and Hipparchus‘ commentary. Indian Journal
of History of Science, 41, 29 ‒52.
Halkere, G., Vahia, M.N., and Orchiston, W., 2018.
The astronomy of some Indian tribes. In Orchiston
et al., 235 ‒ 240.
Iyengar, R.N., 2016. Astronomy in Vedic texts. In
Ramasubramanian et al., 106‒169.
Mukherjee, K., 1905. Popular Indian Astronomy. Tara-
mandalas and Nakshatras. Calcutta, S.N. Guna
Ray (Google books).
Ôhashi, Y, 1997. Early history of astrolabe in India.
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Orchiston, W., Sule, A., and Vahia, M.N. (eds.), 2018.
Growth and Development of Astronomy and Astro-
physics in India and South Asia-Pacific Region.
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Proceedings of the 9 International Conference on
Oriental Astronomy. Mumbai, Tata Institute of Fund-
amental Research and Hindustan Book Agency.
Pai, V.R., and Shylaja, B.S., 2016. Measurement of
coordinates of Nakṣatras in Indian Astronomy. Cur-
rent Science, 111, 1551‒1558.
Pai, V.R., Ramasubramanian, K., Sriram, M.S. and
Srinivas, M.D., 2018, Karaṇapaddhati of Putumana
Somayājī, With Translation and Detailed Mathemat-
ical Notes. New Delhi, Hindustan Book Agency and
Springer.
Ramasubramanian, K., Sule, A., and Vahia, M. (eds.),
2016. History of Indian Astronomy: A Handbook.
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Mumbai, Indian Institute of Technology and Tata
Institute of Fundamental Research.
Raika, K.K., 1936. Yantrarāja. With commentary by
Malayendu Sūri. Mumbai, Nirnayasagar Press.
Rathnasree, N., Dasgupta, P., and Garg, A., 2018. A
quantitative study of accurate positions of star
markers on historical astrolabes. In Orchiston et al.,
17‒ 33.
Saha, M.N., and Lahiri, N.C., 1954. Indian Calendar.
New Delhi, CSIR (1992 reprint).
Sarma, S.R., 2017. A Descriptive Catalogue of Indian
Astronomical Instruments. (Online source: https://
srsarma.in/catalogue.php).
Sarvasiddhāntarāja by Nityānanda. Bhandarkar
Oriental Research Institute (BORI), Pune. MS. no.
206 of A.1883-84.
Shylaja, B.S., and Pai, V.R., 2018a. Observational
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Shylaja, B.S., and Pai, V.R. 2018b. Stars as recorded
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Dr B.S. Shylaja completed an
MSc in Physics at Bangalore
University and joined the Indian
Institute of Astrophysics. There
she studied binary stars with
Wolf-Rayet companions for her
PhD thesis (1987) under the
guidance of the late Professor
M.K.V. Bappu. She also studied
comets (including 1P/Halley),
metallic line stars and cataclysmic variables. She
then joined the Physical Research Laboratory in
Ahmedabad and studied the infra-red signatures of
winds of massive stars. Since joining the Jawaharlal
Nehru Planetarium in Bengaluru in 1994 she has
been studying historical aspects of Indian astronomy.
She translated the monograph on the 1874 transit of
Venus written by Chintamani Ragoonathachari in
Kannada, a language of South India, which throws
light on the techniques used by the Indian astrono-
mers of that era. She found that stone inscriptions
from throughout India and South Asia contain im-
portant astronomical information, as outlined in her
book History of the Sky – On Stones (2016, Benga-
luru; co-authored by Geetha Kydala Ganesha). Apart
from solar eclipses, she identified documentation
about supernova eruptions in these inscriptions. She
has studied the temples in India from an astronomical
perspective. As an observational astrophysicist she
also has studied the stellar observations recorded in
various ancient texts and in the traditions of indig-
enous navigators, with the aim of deducing the ob-
servational techniques that were prevalent in India.
Dr Venketeswara R. Pai completed his Post
Graduate studies in Physics at the Cochin University
of Science and Technology in Kerala, and a PhD in
the history of astronomy from the Indian Institute of
Technology in Bombay. His broad area of research is
the history of science, with a research focus on ―The
B.S. Shylaja and Venketeswara R. Pai
History and Development of Ast-
ronomy and Mathematics in India
from 12th to 17th century AD‖.
He is at present an Assistant
Professor at the Indian Institute
of Science Education and Re-
search in Pune. His particular
expertise resides in deciphering
the scientific manuscripts documented in Sanskrit and
Malayalam. He is currently pursuing his research on
the history and development of the Vākya School of
Page 300
Stars of the Saptarṣi Maṇḍala and its Vicinity
Astronomy as well as Bhāskara's innovations by
studying his auto-commentary known as the Vāsanā-
Bhāṣya (in collaboration with Professor M.. Sriram
from Chennai) which will throw some light on the
advancement of astronomy in the twelfth century CE.
Dr Pai has won the INSA medal for a ―Young Hist-
orian of Science‖, and is a founding member of the
Indian National Young Academy of Science.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 301‒327 (2019).

A HISTORY OF DRAKE MUNICIPAL OBSERVATORY,

DES MOINES, USA: FROM RICHES, TO RAGS, TO RESTORATION
Kaley Wresch and Deborah Kent
Drake University, 2702 Forest Avenue, Des Moines, Iowa 50311, USA.
E-mails: kaley.wresch@drake.edu; deborah.kent@drake.edu

Janis Winter1
Ankeny, Iowa, USA.
and
Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand, 260 Moo 4,
T. Donkaew, A. Maerim, Chiang Mai 50180, Thailand, and Centre for
Astrophysics, University of Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland 4350, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
Abstract: In this paper we discuss the history of Drake Municipal Observatory in Des Moines, Iowa (USA), and
identify three phases of its history: the early building stage, a period of decline, and the restoration. We also cover
the initial purchase of the 8.25-in Warner & Swasey/Brashear refractor and its installation on the main Drake campus
and introduce Daniel Walter Morehouse, the principal driving force behind the creation of Drake Municipal
Observatory in 1920 as a joint initiative of Drake University and the City of Des Moines. Following Professor
Morehouse‘s death in 1941, the observatory endured decades of decline until late twentieth-century efforts to restore
the Observatory. We conclude this paper by discussing the educational role of the Observatory, the remarkable
comet (C/1908 R1) discovered by Daniel Morehouse, and his research output while based at Drake Observatory.
Keywords: Drake University, George Carpenter, Francis Marion Drake, Warner & Swasey mountings, Brashear
objectives, Daniel Morehouse, Drake Municipal Observatory, restoration

1 INTRODUCTION was recognized as a city. Six years later Fort

This paper focuses on the Drake Municipal
Observatory, located in Des Moines, Iowa. Des
Moines started in May 1843, when Fort Des
Moines was constructed at the junction of the
Des Moines and Raccoon Rivers (for US
localities mentioned in the text see Figure 1).
Although the Fort was abandoned in 1846, set-
tlers occupied the site and in September 1851 it
Des Moines was renamed Des Moines and it
became the new state capital of Iowa. The
population swelled after 1866, when railroads
connected Des Moines to cities in the east. By
1880 Des Moines was Iowa‘s largest city, with
a population of 22,408 (Henning and Beam,
2003). Soon after, Drake University was estab-
lished.

Figure 1: USA localities mentioned in the text (base map: 800px-Map_of_USA_with_state_names.svg.png; map
modifications: Wayne Orchiston).

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Figure 2: G.T. Carpenter (after Bryn-
gelson, 2010).
Two miles west of the University, Drake
Municipal Observatory stands as a monument to
the vision and dedication of founding Drake
University astronomer Daniel Morehouse. The
Observatory is located in the middle of Wave-
land Golf Course, the oldest golf course est-
ablished west of the Mississippi River. In 2001,
one of the authors of this paper (JW) re-
searched the history of this Observatory as part
of her part-time off-campus internet-based
Master of Astronomy degree at what was then
the University of Western Sydney (in Sydney,
Australia). More recently, the first author (KW)
investigated the establishment of early uni-
versity observatories in the United States, in-
cluding Harvard University Observatory and
Yerkes Observatory (Williams Bay). Wresch‘s
work also involved archival investigation of
Drake Municipal Observatory that complement-
ed the late Janis Winter‘s earlier work. This
paper is mainly based on a combination of
these two projects.
The genesis and continuation of Drake Mun-
icipal Observatory parallels other university-
associated observatories established in the U.S.
in the late nineteenth and early twentieth cent-
Figure 3: F.M. Drake (https://www.
iowasuvcw.org/iowa-department-of-
the-g-a-r/).
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
uries (Bond, 1856; Donnelly, 1973; Osterbrock,
1999). More recently, it is a testament to late
twentieth-century joint effort by Drake University
and the City of Des Moines to revitalize the
Observatory so that it can be used effectively by
Drake University astronomy students and for
public outreach.
2 RICHES: THE FOUNDING OF DRAKE
UNIVERSITY AND ITS OBSERVATORY
2.1 Introduction
George Thomas Carpenter, Edmund N. Curl,
Francis Marion Drake, Corydon Eustathius Ful-
ler, and Daniel Robertson Lucas each played
key roles in the founding of Drake University in
March 1881 and its subsequent early devel-
opment. Carpenter, Curl, Drake, Fuller, and
Lucas were all active members of the Disciples
of Christ Church—now known as the Christian
Church. This church emphasized ―… intellect-
tual philosophy and education as a means of
perpetuating church ideals … [and consequent-
ly] establishing schools and colleges was a
natural part of the church‘s ministry.‖ (James,
2011: 86). So, as members of the church
participated in the western expansion of the
United States, ―… they established a number of
secondary-school academies and colleges.‖
(ibid.). In Iowa, this mission motivated the
foundation of Oskaloosa College and Drake
University. Brief biographies of the latter‘s
founders are given below.
George Thomas Carpenter (Figure 2) was
born in Nelson County, Kentucky, on 3 March
1834. Soon after his father died, and seven
year later his mother remarried and the family
moved to Illinois. Described as an ―… energy
filled, happy boy.‖ (Bryngelson, 2010), George
Carpenter attended Princeton Academy (Prince-
ton, Illinois) and Abingdon College (Abingdon,
Illinois), graduating from the latter institution in
1859. After teaching and preaching in Winter-
set, Illinois, for two years, George Carpenter
joined his brother W.J. Carpenter in Oskaloosa,
Iowa, where George served as first President of
Oskaloosa College which was founded in 1861.
In 1863, he married Miss Henrietta T. Drake
from Drakesville, Iowa. This union made Car-
penter the brother-in-law of Francis Marion
Drake, namesake of the university they would
both play a key role in founding. Carpenter was
the first Chancellor of Drake University and he
also was Vice-President of the University‘s
Board of Trustees. He retired in 1892, and died
on 5 August 1893 (ibid.).
Little has been published about Edmund N.
Curl, who was a successful Des Moines lawyer
and businessman, and a partner in Carter,
Hussey & Curl, a printing, binding and book
publishing company (James, 2011: 91).
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Francis Marion Drake (Figure 3) was born in

Rushville, Illinois, on 30 December 1830. In
1837, he moved with his parents to Fort
Madison (Iowa). They moved again in 1846,
first founding Drakesville before settling per-
manently in Centerville in 1876 (Myers, 2011).
Accounts describe Drake as well-educated and
‗a natural‘ in business and entrepreneurial
ventures. He served with distinction in the
American Civil War until seriously injured on 24
April 1864 (for details, see Hamersley, 1905).
Discharged from the Army as a Brigadier-Gen-
eral in 1865, Drake enjoyed a very successful
post-war career as a banker and railroad
builder. He became one of Iowa‘s richest and
most influential citizens. After helping to found
Drake University, he would go on to serve as
the Governor of Iowa for one session (1896‒ Figure 4: C.E. Fuller (https://www. finda
grave.com/memorial/28088929/corydon
1898). Francis Marion Drake died in Centerville -e-fuller).
on 20 November 1903. He was so admired that
―… a special train was added from Des Moines pursued formal clerical training. In 1876, he
to Centerville to transport all the mourners.‖ assumed the pulpit at the Central Christian
(Myers, 2011). Church in Des Moines. After helping to found
Corydon E. Fuller (Figure 4) was born on 2 Drake University, ―… in 1888, he returned to
November 1830 in Ohio, but when he was 15 Indiana to pastor the Central Christian Church of
the Fuller family moved to Grand Rapids, Michi- Indianapolis.‖ (Cauble, 1930). Lucas died in
gan. In 1851 he went to Ohio and enrolled at Indianapolis on 11 March 1907.
Hiram College, another institution affiliated with
2.2 The Founding of Drake University
the Disciples of Christ. There Fuller befriended
Francis Marion Drake, a connection that would The financial footing of Oskaloosa College had
continue for decades. Likewise, ―… both Drake never been particularly solid, so in the late
and Fuller maintained a friendship with another 1870s, George Carpenter and his brother began
college mate, U.S. President James A. Gar- discussing the option of moving the College
field.‖ (James, 2011: 92). from Oskaloosa to the state capital, Des
Moines. According to one source, neither the
After graduation, Fuller settled in Misha- College‘s stockholders nor the Church nor the
waka, Indiana. In the years leading up to the courts supported the move.
2
Consequently,
American Civil War, he made a living as an Carpenter and a group of 17 other prominent
itinerant bookseller in Arkansas, and neigh- Des Moines businessman and Disciples of
boring areas of Louisiana and Mississippi (Cox, Christ Church leaders formed the University
1996). In 1861 he moved to Rochester, Indiana, Land Company in May 1881 to finance the new
where he published the Rochester Chronicle university.
before relocating to Washington D.C. Fuller
moved again in 1865, this time to South Bend,
Indiana. Two years later, he settled in Des
Moines (Anonymous, 1880). There, his talents
in banking and land developments as Secretary
of the Iowa Loan & Trust Company and Cashier
of the Iowa Loan & Trust Bank would prove
invaluable in the early development of Drake
University. Corydon Fuller died on 12 Nov-
ember 1886 at age 55 (ibid.).
Daniel Robertson Lucas (Figure 5; Cauble,
1930) was born in Belvidere, Illinois, on 14 Jan-
uary 1840. In 1858, the Lucas family moved
to Burnettsville, Indiana, where Daniel began
preaching at the local Christian church. In 1862,
soon after marrying Mary E. Longley, Lucas
joined Company C Ninety-Ninth Indiana Volun- Figure 5: Chaplain D.R. Lucas in 1899
teer Infantry as a Second Lieutenant and chap- (http://www.therestorationmovement.
lain of the regiment. After the Civil War, Lucas com/_states/indiana/lucas.htm).

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Figure 6: Map showing the location of the original city of Des Moines in 1853, and the location of Drake University on the
northwestern corner of the city limits (solid rectangle) in 1881. By 1890 the city had expanded to include a number of former
townships, including University Place, to the north, east, south and west. Waveland Park, the site of Drake Municipal Observatory
is close to the western boundary of the enlarged city (after Jacobsen, 2011: 21).

Instead of siting the university in down-
town flood-prone Des Moines, they selected
gently undulating partly-wooded land on the
north-western boundary of the city (see Figure
6). Their plan was to purchase local blocks of
land that they could subdivide (plat) and sell
off at a profit.
The University Land Company ―… was
capitalized at $100,000.‖ The original stock-
holders were Central Iowa leaders with ―…
depth of experience in law, real estate and
banking.‖ They put up $20,650 to buy land
with ―… mortgages making up the difference.‖
The board of seven managing directors deter-
mined that ―… indebtedness was not to exceed
one-fourth of the capital stock.‖ (James, 2011:
90).
Edmund N. Curl served as first President
of the Land Company. He was paid to oversee
―… the platting and upkeep of the land during
the first year of the land company.‖ (James,
2011: 91). Table 1 summarizes the investment
and roles of Curl and other leading citizens
involved in both the Land Company and Drake
University.
When the University Land Company pur-
chased 139 acres of land that formed the
heart of the original University Place area,
about 65% of that land lay outside of the city
limits (James, 2011: 90). The Land Company

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Table 1: Leading citizens involved in the University Land Company and Drake University (after James, 2001; Jacobsen, 2011).
Name University Land Company
Position Investment Stock Issue
George T. Carpenter Vice-President $2000
Edmund N. Curl President $2000
Francis Marion Drake Major benefactor $2000
Corydon E. Fuller Treasurer $200
Daniel R. Lucas Secretary $1000
gave the University a five-acre parcel of land
for the campus as well as one-quarter of all
proceeds from land sales. This immediately put
the University in a strong financial position,
from which it also began making its own land
purchases and sales.
Members of the University Land Company
also persuaded Francis Marion Drake to do-
nate $20,000 toward the founding of the
University. In due appreciation, Drake Univer-
sity was named after him. Over the years,
General Drake would provide further financial
support for the University. By the time Drake
died in 1903, his various contributions totalled
$232,000 (Jacobsen, 2011: 61).
2.3 The Early Development of
Drake University
The Trustees of Drake University, Iowa‘s first
private university, issued the following ‗mission
statement‘:
This university has been designed upon a
broad, liberal and modern basis. The
articles of incorporation provide that all its
departments shall be open to all without
distinction of sex, religion, or race. (Cited by
Jacobsen, 2011: 60).
When Drake started, all but one staff member
from Oskaloosa College decided to join the
new university in Des Moines. A number of
students also moved and classes commenc-
ed in rented premises in September 1881.
Scholars have subdivided the history of
Drake University into four or five different
phases of development (see Jacobsen, 2011:
59). This paper will adopt the following period-
ization:
(1) The Early Years, 1881‒1893
(2) The Consolidation Years, 1894‒1902
(3) The Progressive Years, 1903‒1922
(4) The Consolidation Years, 1922‒1941
(5) The Modern Era, 1941‒ present day
During phases (1) and (4) astronomy flourish-
ed as George Carpenter and Daniel Morehouse
respectively served as the University Chanc-
ellor.
After Carpenter‘s experience at Oskaloosa
College, where shareholders controlled the
institution‘s destiny, he ensured that Drake
University‘s financial affairs were controlled by a
Board of Trustees (with General Drake and
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
University
Position
$5000 Chancellor, and Vice-President, Board of Trustees
$5000 Member, Board of Trustees
$5000 President, Board of Trustees
$500 Secretary, Board of Trustees
$2500 Member, Board of Trustees
prominent members of the University Land
Company listed in Table 1 playing key roles).
James (2011: 85) sees this oversight as central
to the early success of Drake University.
Carpenter worked strategically during the
Early Years to stabilize the institution. He made
an effort
… to actualize the ―university‖ part of the
school title, by affiliating with the off-campus
Iowa College of Law and the Iowa Eclectic
Medical College. The university otherwise
first consisted of the Literature and Arts
College on campus and it offered seven sep-
arate degrees (read colleges). The degrees
list included civil engineering, an acknow-
ledgement that practical training had a role
within the liberal arts. (Jacobsen, 2011: 60).
By consolidating with Calanan College in 1884,
Drake acquired buildings downtown that it us-
ed for teacher education. This off-campus
Normal School took the total number of col-
leges to seven. (Jacobsen, 2011: 60). Sig-
nificantly, by 1887, Carpenter accomplished the
separation of ―… faculty salaries from being
solely dependent upon tuition.‖ (Ibid.)
Carpenter also oversaw the erection of the
University‘s first two buildings. Stately ‗Main
Building‘ (Figure 7) was constructed during
1881‒1883, while the nearby Science Hall was
completed in 1891 and included a tower with an
astronomical observatory (see Figure 8). Be-
tween 1881 and 1904 there was considerable
suburban development near the University as
a result of the University Land Company and
the University selling off land holdings to con-
solidate the University‘s financial situation and
fund further on-campus developments (see
Jacobsen, 2011: 32‒36, 41‒ 42, 48 ‒54). In
June 1890 the University sold off ‗Smith‘s First
Addition‘ specifically to fund construction of
Science Hall. Jacobsen (2011: 58) notes that
―The concept of using real estate to support
the university was not a new one but was very
successful …‖
An 1890 portrait of Carpenter emphasized
the novelty of his business acumen among
academics:
It is often said that college professors know not
enough about business affairs to furnish their
own tables, but if this be true, Chancellor Car-
penter is a marked exception to the general rule,
as he can analyze business propositions as ac-
curately as he can a sentence in Greek.
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Figure 7: Main Building, completed in 1883 (after Jacobsen, 2011: 63).

Figure 8: Science Hall, completed in 1891 (courtesy: Drake University Archives and Special Collections).

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Table 2: Examples of telescopes with equatorial mountings manufactured by Warner & Swasey for American observatories.
Telescope Objective
Year* Aperture Manufacturer Observatory
(inches)
1881 9.5 Alvan Clark & Sons Smith Observatory, Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin
1884 9.53 Alvan Clark & Sons McKim Observatory, De Pauw University, Greencastle, Indiana
1886 36 Alvan Clark & Sons Lick Observatory, University of California, Mount Hamilton, California
1887 8 Alvan Clark & Sons Durfee High School Observatory, Fall River, Massachusetts
1893 12 John Brashear Dudley Observatory, Albany, New York
(1883) 26 Alvan Clark & Sons U.S. Naval Observatory, Washington DC
1895 6 John Brashear Theodor Jacobsen Observatory, University of Washington, Seattle
1896 12 John Brashear University of Illinois Observatory, Urbana, Illinois
(1896) 18 John Brashear Flower Observatory, University of Pennsylvania, Upper Darby, Pennsylvania
1897 40 Alvan Clark & Sons Yerkes Observatory, University of Chicago, Williams Bay, Wisconsin
1901 9 John Brashear Stephen‘s Memorial Observatory, Hiram College, Hiram, Ohio
1901 11 John Brashear Kirkwood Observatory, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana
1914 20 John Brashear Chabot Observatory, Oakland, California
1922 12 John Brashear Fuertes Observatory, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York
* Dates in brackets refer to remounted telescopes (the objectives were completed earlier).

Carpenter did business as President of Des Based on a variety of published sources,

Moines‘ Merchants and Bankers Insurance Co. Table 2 shows that Warner & Swasey used
in addition to his University commitments. lenses from Alvan Clark & Sons for telescopes
that they made in the 1880s, beginning with
The location of Drake University in a rich
their very first telescope, destined for Smith
agricultural center in the Midwest allowed for
Observatory at Beloit College (Anonymous,
rapid growth, and within ten years it had ex-
1930). Thereafter, Brashear lenses predom-
perienced a tenfold increase in students and
inated although Warner & Swasey used only
faculty (see Jacobsen, 2011; James, 2011).
Alvan Clark & Sons objectives for their most
The Early Years ended in 1893 with the ambitious telescopes (including the 40-inch
death of Carpenter, who had rapidly achieved Yerkes Observatory telescope, which is still
a great deal to ensure the long-term survival the largest operational refractor in the world).
of Drake University. In 1895, old University Morehouse‘s (1918) account of the 6 June 1918
Avenue was renamed Carpenter Avenue in his total solar eclipse confirms that Warner &
honor, and several years later a small park was Swasey used a Brashear objective for the
named Carpenter Square (James, 2011: 94). Drake University telescope.
2.4 A Telescope and an Observatory The original plan was to install the Drake
University telescope in the Science Hall ob-
In 1890 Professor William Alfred Crusinberry servatory so that it would be available to
(1850 ‒1929), a Masters graduate from Oska- students starting in the fall of 1893. However,
loosa College, began teaching Mathematics the Drake University student newspaper, the
and Astronomy at Drake University (Find a Drake Delphic, reported a disappointing delay
Grave). in September 1893:
The new Science Hall included an ob-
servatory to house a telescope that could be
used by students for practical assignments (see
Figure 8). General Drake generously funded
the purchase of an 8.25-in (21-cm) refracting
telescope to fill that need. Drake University
accounts of the telescope state that it was
manufactured by the well-known Cleveland
(Ohio) firm of Warner & Swasey, but this is
only partially correct. Worcester Reed Warner
(1846 –1929) and Ambrose Swasey (1846 –
1937) were justly famous for their precision
equatorial mountings and robust telescope
tube assemblies (e.g. see Figure 9), they did
not manufacture the optics, leaving the ob-
jectives to America‘s most accomplished ast-
ronomical optical practitioners of the day, Al-
van Clark and Sons of Cambridgeport, Mas-
sachusetts (Warner and Ariail, 1995) or Pitts- Figure 9: A close-up of the Drake University telescope‘s
burgh‘s John Brashear (1840‒1920; Figure 10; distinctive Warner & Swasey equatorial mounting (photo-
Brashear and Scaife, 1925). graph: Deborah Kent).

Page 307
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Figure 10: John Brashear (after Bra-
shear and Scaife, 1925).
Prof. Cruisenberry‘s recent talk explained
the matter fully. The telescope is now mak-
ing at Warner & Swazy‘s [sic] establishment,
Cleveland, O. Several delays have occurred
but six months will doubtless find the in-
strument in place. It is of the latest con-
struction and will be an object of much pride
to all. The money for erecting the dome is
also secured and next spring our students
will begin to measure sidereal distances.
When the telescope finally arrived at Drake
University, the Astronomy Department welcom-
ed it as a valuable addition.
3 DRAKE UNIVERSITY AND THE
DEVELOPMENT OF ASTRONOMY
DURING THE PROGRESSIVE AND
CONSOLIDATION YEARS (1903 ‒1941)
3.1 The Role of Daniel Walter Morehouse
Three years after the Drake University tele-
scope was installed, a student named Daniel
Figure 11: Daniel Morehouse (courtesy: Drake University
Archives and Special Collections).
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
Morehouse would be its first beneficiary, and
later he would be the passionate force behind
the founding of the Drake University Municipal
Observatory.
Daniel Walter Morehouse (Figure 11; Fox,
1941) was born in Mankato, Minnesota, on 22
February 1876. After spending his childhood in
South Dakota. he spent two years at North-
western Christian College in Excelsior, Minne-
sota, before transferring to Drake University in
1897. Likely at that time he ―… little dreamed …
that he would be associated with that institu-
tion during the remainder of his life.‖ (Wilson,
1942: 338). Morehouse was a dapper and
well-liked student who participated in the liter-
ary society and played on a championship foot-
ball team. He graduated in the spring of 1900
and the next fall began teaching Physics and
Astronomy at Drake University. In 1902, he
earned a second Bachelor‘s degree, from the
University of Chicago, and that same year was
awarded an MSc by Drake University and ―…
promoted to the rank of professor of physics and
astronomy.‖ (Wilson, 1942, 341). Thus assured
of ―… a successful career[,] he married Myrtle
Slayton of Des Moines on June 9, 1903.‖ (ibid.)
Morehouse then spent successive sum-
mers pursuing graduate work at the University
of Chicago, using facilities at Yerkes Obser-
vatory. There, he was one of only a handful
of visiting astronomers permitted to use the
Bruce Telescope, and in 1908 he discovered a
comet that eventually was named after him.
This is discussed further below, in Section 8.1.
Morehouse served as an instructor in ast-
ronomy at the University of California during
the 1911‒1912 academic year. Afterwards, he
completed his PhD, in 1914, with a thesis titled
―The Orbit of the Seventh Satellite of Jupiter.‖
3
(Morehouse, 1914).
Back at Drake University, he then balanced
observing activities with a heavy teaching load
that included courses in mathematics, astrono-
my, and physics. His approach was to teach
astronomy
… in such a way as to fascinate students,
avoiding the highly mathematical and theo-
retical aspects of the subject that would in-
terest only specialists. (Wilson, 1942: 343).
In 1919 Morehouse was appointed Dean of
Men and Acting President, starting a deep
involvement with University administration. This
only intensified in 1923 when he became
President of Drake University—a role that
continued until his death in 1941. Even with a
taxing administrative load, Morehouse never
completely abandoned teaching. He was ―…at
heart primarily interested in astronomy and
teaching, which were ever his foremost joys.‖
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
(Wilson, 1942: 340).
As both an educator and an administrator
Morehouse extended himself tirelessly. He
was a dedicated and hard-working Drake Uni-
versity President, during what historian Jacob-
son (2011: 72) calls an ―… era of great plans.‖
Overall, the vision was to launch ―… a com-
prehensive campus plan….for a modern uni-
versity …‖ with fundraising efforts to match
(Ibid.). Both the John D. Rockefeller Fund and
the Carnegie Foundation provided Drake Uni-
versity with money on the condition ―… that
the university had to become strictly secular.‖
(ibid.). In early 1925
A six-year fund raising campaign was
launched … to raise $1.3 million. A 1929
drive to raise $10 million for an interest
bearing endowment followed, half of these
funds were for campus enlargement …
(ibid.).
These fund-raising efforts produced consider-
able on-campus construction, including a new
stadium, field house, women‘s and men‘s
dormitories, the Cowles Library, and a student
union. Wilson (1942: 344) has described how
The completion of each new building was in
turn a proud and happy moment in the life of
President Morehouse. Each is a substantial
testimonial of the time and energy spent in
behalf of the University by its courageous
and tireless leader. Each is also the evi-
dence of his ability as a business man in
building up the physical resources of his
institution.
The campus impact of Daniel Morehouse‘s bus-
iness savvy parallels that of George Carpenter.
Beyond the University, Morehouse served
as President of the Iowa State Academy of
Science in 1921‒1922. While engaged with
statewide and national boards and councils
of educators, he was also a member of the
American Astronomical Society, the British Ast-
ronomical Association and the Royal Astro-
nomical Society. The American Association for
the Advancement of Science also elected him
Chair of its Astronomical Division. One summer
Morehouse served as guest Director of the
Adler Planetarium in Chicago, where he had
been invited numerous times as a popular
guest lecturer. Morehouse was on location in
New York at Corning Glass in March of 1934 for
the pouring of the 200-inch telescope mirror
intended for the world‘s largest telescope at
Palomar Mountain in California (Wilson, 1942).
Daniel Morehouse built a legacy as a com-
et discoverer, as a brilliant administrator, as an
inspirational teacher, and as the builder and
Director of Drake Municipal Observatory. His
productive life ended on 21 January 1941 after
several years of heart problems. Wilson
(1942: 337‒ 338) remembered him as
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
… a distinguished scientist and educator, as
well as a sincere and devout churchman and
a true Christian gentleman. The nobility of
his character was widely recognized, and
he was ever a loyal friend, confidant, and
adviser of the many who knew and loved
him well ...
3.2 Observational Astronomy at
Drake Observatory
On 4 April 1909, the Drake Delphic reported an
enhancement for the telescope (A generous gift,
1909): five generous alumni donated $500 to
purchase a photographic doublet lens for the
4
instrument. Later documentation mentions that
this objective was made by John Brashear
(Morehouse, 1918).
The Drake Delphic continued to report on-
going telescope use by staff, students and inter-
ested members of the public during the early
decades of the twentieth century. For example,
an article published on 21 September 1911 des-
cribes a new comet:
Mr. Whisler of the Department of Physics
and Astronomy in the University has been
studying this new appearance and has
succeeded in securing several photographs
of it. While it is in sight he will be glad to
make arrangements for those interested to
view it from the big telescope in the Ob-
servatory any time in the evening. (Another
comet is discovered, 1911).
Percy Frazy Whisler had received a Bach-
elor of Science from Drake University in 1909
(University of Illinois, 1911). He taught Physics
and Astronomy at Drake University while More-
house conducted his doctoral work at the
University of California, Berkeley. (see Additions
to Drake Faculty …, 1911). Whisler received his
graduate astronomy training at the University
of Illinois (Urbana), and was the first Master‘s
student of Joel Stebbins. Stebbins (1876‒1966;
Whitford, 1978) was one of the pioneers of
photoelectric photometry (Hearnshaw, 1996),
and Whisler participated in many of his early
experiments (History of the Observatory …,
n.d.). Since they used the University of Illinois‘
12-in Brashear refractor (see Stebbins, 1911)
listed here in Table 2, Whisler would have
been familiar with early techniques in photo-
electric photometry. Hence, he would have
realized that the Drake Observatory 8.25-in re-
fractor lacked the required light-grasp for such
experiments.
Due to Professor Whisler‘s experience and
dedication, Drake University remained up-to-
date with new astronomical developments
despite being a small Midwestern educational
facility. For example, when what is now known
as Nova Geminorum 1912 (DN Gem) appeared
on 13 March 1912, Drake Observatory was
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
notified of the discovery. As the Drake Delphic
reported:
Professor Percy Whisler has received a
telegram from E.C. Pickering, professor of
Astronomy at Harvard University, that a new
star has appeared in the heavens. This new
star is of the fourth magnitude and is near
Theta Geminorium. The star can be seen
without the telescope if you know where to
look for it. It has been observed here with
and without telescope by Prof. Whisler. (An-
other new star …, 1912).
3.3 In Search of a New Observatory Site
Daniel Morehouse‘s experience at Yerkes Ob-
servatory in Wisconsin and later at Lick Ob-
servatory in California impressed on him the
pedagogical, scholarly, and community-building
value of locating a new university observatory
away from streetcar vibrations and the light-
pollution from suburbs growing around Drake
University. Figure 12 illustrates that local hous-
ing construction between April 1919 and April
1924 was booming to the south and south-
west of the campus. The north arrow on the
Figure 12: Map showing new houses constructed near the Drake University campus, 1919 ‒1924. The empty land at the bottom of
the large arrow is Waveland Golf Course, the eventual site of the new Drake University Municipal Observatory (base map after
Jacobsen, 2011: 22; map modifications: Wayne Orchiston).
Page 310
A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
map is over Glendale Cemetery and Waveland
Golf Course, which ―… formed a boundary to
westward residential growth.‖ (Jacobson, 2011:
22).
After his work at the University of Califor-
nia, Morehouse returned to Des Moines in-
creasingly motivated to find a new home for the
Drake Observatory 8.25-in telescope. Conse-
quently, he contacted astronomers at establish-
ed observatories, to solicit information about the
recommended location, financing and layout of
a new observatory.
3.4 Drake University Municipal Observatory
3.4.1 The Location
Other universities had grappled with the cen-
tral concern of locating an observatory some-
where that reconciled proximity to the univer-
sity with distance from the light and noise
pollution of urbanization. In the early 1800s
when Harvard College originally planned its
observatory, the chosen site was a peaceful
location just minutes from the heart of campus.
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Figure 13: Drake University Municipal Observatory soon after construction, showing the transit room (left), the central entrance
doorway leading to the rotunda, and above that the dome room with the 8.25-in refractor (courtesy: Drake University Archives and
Special Collections).).

Figure 14: Another view of

the Drake University Mun-
icipal Observatory, showing
the transit wing (right), the
main dome housing the
8.25-in refractor, and in the
foreground the lecture room
(courtesy: Drake University
Archives and Special Coll-
ections).
However, an urban area quickly sprang up,
creating a dilemma by the time of construction.
In the end, integrating the observatory with
student life was top priority, so the observatory
went ahead near campus—as originally plan-
ned. Great care was taken to mount equipment
properly to minimize any outside disturbances
(Bond, 1856). In contrast, the University of
Chicago chose observational clarity over prox-
imity to campus. They opted to establish
Yerkes Observatory at Lake Geneva in Williams
Bay, Wisconsin, far from a major urban area
(Osterbrock, 1995).
Morehouse‘s aim was to locate the obser-
vatory within easy access of Drake University,
for the benefit of faculty and students, but he
also wanted a location that would bring ast-
ronomy to the people of Des Moines. Thus,
Morehouse began a collaboration with city ad-
ministrators to determine a workable solution
for an improved observatory facility. The City
of Des Moines and Drake University eventually
reached an agreement: the city would provide
a site in the city‘s golf course at Waveland
Park, build an observatory and maintain the
outside of the building, if Drake University would
agree to supply the necessary astronomical in-
struments, maintain them and the interior of the
building, and offer public programs (see More-
house, 1922a; 1922b).
Drake University Municipal Observatory
(Figures 13 and 14) was built in 1920 ‒1921 ―…

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Figure 15 (left): An aerial photograph showing Waveland Park, with Drake University Municipal Observatory located in the middle of
the golf course (after Morehouse, 1922b: Plate 1).
Figure 16 (right): Drake University Municipal Observatory occupies the highest point in the Waveland Golf Course and Des Moines
(http://kristaziogolf.blogspot.com/2011/04/review-waveland-golf-course-des-moines.html).
Figure 17: The floor plan (right) and cross-section (left) of Drake University Municipal Observatory (courtesy: Drake University
Archives and Special Collections).
in the center of a ninety-acre park which is kept
as a golf course.‖ (Morehouse, 1922c: 223).
Waveland Park (Figure 15) is the oldest golf
course west of the Mississippi River, and the
Observatory site marks the highest ground in
the City of Des Moines (see Figure 16). It is
less than two miles from Drake University and,
at the time of construction, was on the outskirts
of the city.
Twenty years after the fact, Morehouse
fondly recalled a stroll—about the time he first
graduated from Drake University—during which
his youthful self had serendipitously
… walked over the Waveland park grounds
and said to himself that the sightly knoll in
the middle of that beautiful public park was
the place for an astronomical observatory …
(cited in Morehouse, 1921: 327).
3.4.2 The Layout
The information Morehouse learned from his
exchanges with other astronomers resulted in
plans for Drake University Municipal Obser-
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
vatory that reflected standard practices of the
time (see Donnelly, 1973). Harvard establish-
ed one of the first American collegiate ob-
servatories in 1839. With the development of
larger and more precise telescopes came the
practice of building an observatory with a cen-
tral insulated dome to protect the telescope
and facilitate its proper mounting. Director,
William Cranch Bond (1789‒1859; Turner,
2014) advised such a design for Harvard to
house a telescope and other stationary mount-
ed equipment. Two straight wings extended
from either side of the central dome and con-
nected to the Director‘s living quarters (Bond,
1856). Yerkes Observatory followed a similar
blueprint. A central dome housed first-rate
mounted astronomical equipment donated
from the personal collection of George Ellery
Hale (2008). Yerkes also features a single ex-
tending straight wing, which housed the library
and offices (Osterbrock, 1999).
The layout for the Drake University Munici-
pal Observatory (Figure 17) likewise features
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

a central rotunda and telescope dome with

adjacent rooms for work, meetings or lectures
and instruments. The architectural style is
Grecian, with a sundial outside the main en-
trance. The building is made of buff-colored
‗Bedford stone‘, a high-quality limestone also
known as Indiana Limestone that was quarried
mainly between the cities of Bloomington and
5
Bedford in Indiana.
Surrounding the entrance doorway are rais-
ed panels with carvings of the twelve signs of
the zodiac (see Figure 18), surmounted on
either side by Greek Corinthian columns, re-
minding visitors of ―… the contributions which
Greece made to the arts and sciences.‖ (More-
house, 1922a: 172). DRAKE UNIVERSITY
MUNICIPAL OBSERVATORY is carved in Ro-
man letters on a lintel above the doorway, and
above this ―… is the familiar bas relief of the
winged sun with attendant cobras, used so Figure 18: The attractive entrance doorway to the Obser-
frequently by the Egyptians on their architect- vatory (photograph: Deborah Kent).
ural monuments.‖ (ibid.), and representing the
infinitely small point or individuality in rela- Comet C/1908 R1 (Morehouse) that were tak-
tionship to the vastness of the Universe. On en at the Royal Observatory, Greenwich (En-
either side of this bas relief is carved the date gland), shortly after the comet‘s discovery in
of the construction of the Observatory: AD 1920 early September 1908 (see Figure 20).
and the Julian Date 6633. Morehouse (ibid.)
explains the logic:
Thus in review before our minds passes the
ancient Chaldean, Persian, Egyptian, Greek
and Roman civilizations, each of which con-
tributed its part to the science to which this
building is dedicated.
In addition, marble used in the Observatory orig-
inates from various countries, once again re-
flecting the global nature of astronomy (Names
of the marble …).
The main door accesses a rotunda that is
directly below the Dome Room with the historic
Warner & Swasey/Brashear telescope. The
sky-blue marble floor of the rotunda is tiled with
an inlaid mosaic not-to-scale map of the Solar
System (Figure 19) that does not include
Pluto—a reflection of its later discovery, in 1930
(not to mention its demotion in 2006). Drake
Municipal Observatory Lecturer Herb Schwartz
has dated the planetary configuration shown in
the Solar System map to 1 October 1921, which Figure 19: The floor of the entrance Rotunda, showing the
was within two weeks of the building‘s ded- inlaid mosaic Solar System (photograph: Deborah Kent).
ication ceremony (pers. comm., 2001).
From the rotunda, a doorway leads direct-
ly to the public lecture room, which is designed
to hold up to 150 people. A raised dais at the
far end provides an excellent lecture platform.
Along the walls of the room are photographs of
other observatories, as well as many different
astronomical objects such as nebulae and
comets. On either side of the raised dais is Figure 20: Photographs of Comet C/1908 R1 (Morehouse),
a series of photographs honoring Professor taken at the Royal Observatory, Greenwich, in 1908 (ohoto-
Daniel Morehouse, included seven images of graph: Deborah Kent).

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Figure 21: The 8.25-in Brasheat/Warner & Swasey refractor (photograph: Deborah Kent).
There are two other doors off the rotunda.
The one on the right accesses an office, while
the one on the left leads to the Transit Room.
When the Observatory opened, this room
housed a transit telescope to provide official
time for the City of Des Moines, and a telegraph
line from the Observatory provided time directly
to the railroad.
A spiral staircase leads directly to the Dome
Room on the second floor. The 8¼-inch re-
fractor (Figure 21) is mounted on reinforced
concrete beams (Morehouse, 1922a). The
dome is 18 feet (5.5 meters) in diameter, and a
Figure 22: The pock-marked dome, ‗decorated‘ by stray golf
balls (photograph: Deborah Kent).
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
balcony runs around the exterior of the ob-
serving tower thus providing a wider view of the
sky. Four doors exit the Dome Room and three
of these lead to the balcony. The fourth door
leads directly to the roof of the lecture hall
which serves as an Observing Deck. This area
has space for a large group of people to ob-
serve the sky. In the daytime it also provides
a good view of the dome, which is liberally pock-
marked with dents (see Figure 22), courtesy of
its intrusive location on a golf course!
3.4.3 The Equatorial Telescope
It is clear from one of Morehouse‘s four ac-
counts of the Observatory‘s founding and from
photographs of the astronomical instruments
installed there that they came from the original
Drake University Observatory in Science Hall,
including the 8.25-in refractor with its distinctive
Warney & Swasey equatorial mounting and ob-
jective worked by John Brashear (Morehouse,
1922c). Given Morehouse‘s attention to detail,
it seems strange that he lists the aperture of
the objective as 8.5 inches in another account
(Morehouse, 1921), and as 9 inches in the two
other largely-duplicated accounts (Morehouse,
1922a; 1922b).
Other astronomical equipment provided by
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Drake University were ―… transit instruments, Meanwhile, Drake University‘s commitment

clocks, chronometers and portable instruments.‖ to the community continued. In the same issue
(Morehouse, 1921: 328). of the Drake Delphic announcing the new worm
gear, the following information was provided
3.4.4 The Dedication Ceremony Drake students, and any others who wish
The Dedication Ceremony was held on Sat- to visit the observatory, are welcome to
urday 5 November 1921 (Morehouse, 1921), come on any Monday or Friday night, and
and was a grand event ―… of more than local will have the opportunity of viewing the man
in the moon at close range. (ibid.).
importance.‖ (Morehouse, 1921: 327). It also
marked the culmination of an investment of In 1937, the telescope was scraped and
$53,000 by the City. (ibid.). The program (Fig- repainted (Drake Observatory Telescope Re-
ure 23) included the dedication of Drake Uni- paired, 1937) and in 1940 Theodore Mehlin
versity Municipal Observatory by Des Moines (1906 ‒1971), the Professor of Astronomy at
City Councilman Harry B. Frase (1875‒1927) Drake University, designed a new mounting for
who presented the keys to the founding Di- the Observatory. All manufacturing was done in
rector, Professor Daniel Morehouse for ―… per- Des Moines. The new mounting was needed
manent care forevermore, with the well wishes
of the city.‖ (Dedication Program, 1921: 19).
Morehouse responded that
This observatory is a physical proof of a
principle, which I have been giving to my
classes, that astronomy is the greatest ex-
ample of cooperation in the world. (Dedi-
cation Program, 1921: 20).
Furthermore, the Observatory was deemed to
be unique as
… the only one built and owned jointly by a
[US] city and an independent university and
dedicated at once to the work of research,
student instruction and the enlightenment
and entertainment of the general public.
(Morehouse, 1921: 328).
The ‗Dedicatory Address‘ was presented by
Professor Forest Ray Moulton (1872‒1952;
Gasteyer, 1970) from the University of Chi-
cago, who spoke on ―Larger Worlds‖. Moulton
was well known for his astronomy text books
and as a champion of the ‗Chamberlin-Moulton
Planetesimal Hypothesis‘—that the planets of
our Solar System formed by coalescing from
smaller bodies termed ‗planetesimals‘ (see
Brush, 1978).
Figure 23: The program used during the Dedication of
4 MAINTENANCE OF DRAKE UNIVERSITY Drake University Municipal Observatory on 5 November
MUNICIPAL OBSERVATORY 1921 (courtesy: Drake University Archives and Special
Col-lections).
After the Municipal Observatory was completed,
Drake University continued to add new equip-
because formerly, when the camera and tele-
ment and refurbish the old as had been agreed
scope were all on one mounting, only one
upon. As President of Drake University, More-
person at a time could use it. The 16 Febru-
house continued to make headlines and bring
ary 1940 Drake Delphic article that discussed
prestige to the institution. Thus, after his paper,
the new mounting also stated that the camera‘s
―A Ring Nebula (Dark) in Cygnus‖, appeared in
5-in (12.7 cm) telescope was a gift from William
the February 1927 issue of Popular Astronomy,
Dunn in memory of his son Maurice who was
the Iowa Academy of Science rewarded this
killed in France during World War I (Drake Ob-
work with funds to add a guiding telescope to
servatory telescope …, 1940).
attach to the camera at the Observatory (Equip-
ment Added to Observatory, 1928). Then in When Daniel Morehouse died in January
1930, a new stainless steel worm gear replac- 1941, both Drake University and the State of
ed the original very worn and pitted one (Re- Iowa lost an outstanding leader. Through the
pairs made …, 1930). Drake Municipal Observatory his dream of bring-

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
ing astronomy to the people of Des Moines
had been realized. Whether this dream re-
mained a reality would be a challenge for the
future.
5 RAGS: DETERIORATION OF DRAKE
MUNICIPAL OBSERVATORY IN THE
POST-MOREHOUSE ERA
5.1 Introduction
Following Professor Morehouse‘s death, Drake
University Municipal Observatory slowly be-
gan to deteriorate. Brief periods of growth did
not keep pace with ongoing decline, some of
which resulted from natural wear as the build-
ing and its equipment aged. Social and eco-
nomic factors also contributed. Thus, low
Astronomy enrollments at the University, limit-
ed budgets from both Drake University and the
City of Des Moines, and vandalism all con-
tributed to the deterioration.
Meanwhile, the City of Des Moines exper-
ienced rapid population growth, and the once-
quiet and peaceful golf course on the edge of
town soon was swallowed up by the expanding
city. A new freeway was constructed along one
side of Waveland Park, leaving only a small
hill and a few trees separating the Observatory
from the noise and lights of passing traffic.
However, the growing community would also
become an integral part in saving the Obser-
vatory, and a factor in keeping the Observatory
vital during this period of decline. Except for a
short period in the 1970s, the lecture series
continued to bring astronomy to a growing and
interested public.
5.2 Astronomy Enrollments at
Drake University
During his lifetime, Daniel Morehouse was the
heart and soul of the Astronomy program at
Drake University. From all accounts, he was a
gifted lecturer (Fox, 1941; Wilson, 1942). His
passion invigorated the Astronomy program,
which dwindled with his death. Other factors,
such as World War II, may also have played a
role in the dropping Astronomy enrollments
during the 1940s. Consequently, academic use
of the Observatory also declined.
On 3 April 1951 the Drake Delphic ran an
article about the Astronomy Department, report-
ing that there were only thirteen students en-
rolled in the program. Professor Mehlin had
moved to Williams College in 1942 (see Pasa-
choff, 1998: 72), and by 1951 Caltech and Uni-
versity of California (Berkeley) graduate Philip
S. Riggs (1906‒1994) was Professor of Astron-
omy at Drake University. Riggs apparently took
over where Morehouse left off at Drake Univer-
sity Memorial Observatory ―… as an inspiring
teacher and popular lecturer …‖ (Obituary …,
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
1996), but he lacked a distinguished research
record, and he was less successful in attract-
ing students to his Astronomy. Riggs explain-
ed in a 1951 Drake Delphic article that Ast-
ronomy was ―… a field that cannot absorb
many people.‖ He also stressed that despite
low enrollments, passion was high, and that
some former Drake University students who had
used the Observatory facilities to launch suc-
cessful astronomical careers. He specifically
mentioned Dr Seth B. Nicholson, who ―… has
for many years been at the Mt. Wilson and
Palomar observatories in California and has
discoveries to his credit.‖ (Manion, 1951). Riggs
also highlighted W.F. Meyer, who, though
deceased, had ―… spent the greater part of
his life as professor of astronomy at the
University of California at Berkley [sic].‖ (Ibid.)
But even with such successful graduates
the program was dwindling. The University had
less use for the Observatory, and at the same
time the University and the City struggled to
attend to its upkeep.
5.3 Vandalism
Vandalism became a problem for the Observa-
tory during the decades of the 1960s, 1970s,
and even into the 1980s.
The costliest and most devastating was the
break-in that occurred in March 1970 (A Brief
Account …, 1970; Lytton, 1970; $10,000
damage …, 1970). Vandals broke into the
Observatory and smashed many of the dis-
plays and instruments, leaving only the main
telescope unharmed. The estimated damage
was $10,000, a considerable sum at that time.
Most significant was the damage to material
inside the lecture hall. Books, many more than
100 years old and out of print, were stolen or
destroyed. Transparencies were ruined and
cases holding meteorite samples were smashed
and the samples scattered on the floor. Fire
extinguisher foam was sprayed on everything in
the lecture hall. Luckily, the lock on the door to
the Dome Room kept the main telescope and its
accessories safe and untouched.
Another break-in occurred in November
1980, and resulted in the theft of five auxiliary
telescopes valued at $5,000 (Telescopes stol-
en …, 1980).
5.4 Budget Cuts
By 1973, the need for repairs to the Drake
Municipal Observatory had become urgent,
and Professor Riggs stated: ―It is struggling
with the problem of existence.‖ In the 13 April
1973 issue of the Drake Delphic Riggs listed
problems relating mainly to city lights, smog, the
age of the Observatory and its up-keep. The
article also quoted Jack Muller from the Des
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Moines Parks Department: ―Because of recent
cut backs, the most the city can do for the
observatory [at the moment] is minimum re-
pairs.‖ (Freimoth, 1973)
Emergency repairs were made to the
building in 1983, and ―Although only a few
leaks were apparent in the observatory, the
ceiling began to cave in.‖ (Peterson, 1983).
The 4 November 1983 issue of the Drake
Delphic also reported that the public lectures,
which had been such a vital part of the
Observatory‘s history (e.g. see Public Lecture
Series, 1970; Public Nights, 1969; Public Nights
Schedule, 1969), henceforth would only be
held in the fall and spring. Lack of both inter-
est and funds was the reason given for not
conducting a winter lecture series (Peterson,
1983).
5.5 On-Going Community Support
Over the years, the Drake University Municipal
Observatory faced a succession of challenges
and obstacles, but each time the community
rallied behind it. With the passage of time, the
Observatory suffered quite a lot of weather
damage, not to mention the break-ins and van-
dalism. There was vast public outcry over the
vandalism, and many community members
wrote letters to Drake University administrators
to inquire about fixing the damage. When
these issues were not addressed by the City of
Des Moines further complaints were made, and
Professor Riggs (1970) then reached out to a
city representative, Dean Johnson, and asked
him to act as an advocate for the Observatory.
The Observatory was badly damaged and in
desperate need of repairs, which were esti-
mated to cost $225,000. However, the city
was not willing to pay for the repairs, and the
University was ready to abandon the Observ-
atory. Des Moines citizens from the neigh-
borhood then came together to support keep-
ing the Observatory, and many people and
businesses donated money for the necessary
repairs.
But this was only a stop-gap measure (‗Too
little, too late‘), and by the 1990s the Observa-
tory had reached a sorry state. Any visitor to
the Observatory would be discouraged by its
rundown appearance (Suk, 1999). Restoration
would likely exceed $700,000, and it was now
time for both Drake University and the City of
Des Moines to decide the fate of its once
proud Municipal Observatory. Would it be
restored, or would it continue to deteriorate?
6 RESTORATION: A NEW LIFE AT LAST
6.1 The Role of the City of Des Moines
The Observatory had been neglected for many
years, so the City of Des Moines faced an
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
extensive list of required repairs in 1999. (Suk,
1999).
The major concerns were repairing the
copper dome and replacing interior fixtures.
The roof over both the east and west wings
would need to be replaced within six years. The
City of Des Moines designated $127,000 for
exterior repairs, but help from the city did not
stop with municipal funds. Businesses came
forward to do what Iowans are known for—
neighbor helping neighbor. Mid-Iowa Environ-
mental Group Inc. paid for asbestos removal.
Waldinger Corporation donated a new heating,
ventilation and air-conditioning system to elim-
inate the need for a boiler. Mid-American
Energy donated a gas line, and ABC Electric
offered to update the electrical system at
cost. The list grew as more and more people
and companies came forward to help. Then
came a potentially devastating blow. Drake
University announced budget cuts that would
prevent it from upholding its end of the
agreement: the public lecture series and the
University‘s commitment to the Observatory
would cease.
6.2 The Role of Drake University
When Drake University announced that it would
phase out support for the Observatory, more
than 300 people attended an open house at the
facility. The Waveland Park Neighborhood
Association circulated a petition requesting
continued University support for the Obser-
vatory. Letters to the Editor of the Des Moines
Register newspaper overwhelmingly supported
the facility, and Iowans fully expected the Uni-
versity to uphold its end of the 80-year-old
‗gentleman‘s agreement‘.
Supporters of the Observatory sighed in
relief to read an article on page 5 of the 18
November 2000 issue of the Des Moines
Register: Madelyn Levitt (Figure 24), a Drake
University booster, offered to donate $150,000
towards the renovation of the crumbling Ob-
servatory. Levitt said:
I‘ve always been a dreamer … Dreamers
look to the stars. When I heard that we
were having trouble finding help for the
observatory, I knew I had to help. (Finney,
2000).
With these and other resources Drake Uni-
versity re-committed itself to the restoration of
the Observatory (Waldman, 2000).
6.3 Renovation – at Long Last
On 4 May 2001 Drake Municipal Observatory
held an Open House. This ‗Walkthrough Tour‘
gave the public an opportunity to see the pro-
gress that had been made with the Observa-
tory Restoration Project. The Open House
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
Brochure (2001) that was given to guests listed
extensive renovations.
Visitors could now see a brand-new side
to the Observatory; it was no longer the ‗dil-
apidated old tomb‘ they had come to know
(Boone, 2001). In the basement, foundation
walls had been excavated and waterproofed,
drainage tiles were installed and plaster dam-
age had been repaired. New natural gas lines
replaced oil as a heat source, and a furnace
replaced the old boiler. The whole building had
been rewired and all asbestos had been re-
moved. There were new exterior doors, and the
restrooms had been renovated.
On the first floor, extensive plaster damage
from water entering through leaks in the roof
and around the dome was repaired; walls were
repainted; and new carpet had been laid. A
new security system was installed to deter
further vandalism. In addition, a former stor-
age closet had been converted into a wheel-
chair-accessible restroom.
Figure 24: Madelyn Levitt (https://
drakeapedia.library.drake.edu/wiki/File:
1stphoto.JPG
Structural improvements were made on the
second floor, where the dome houses the
telescope. The base of the dome had been
repaired, and the structural ring that keeps the
dome circular had been replaced. The de-
teriorating lower section of the dome had also
been replaced with new wooden framing and
copper sheets. Repairs were also made to
the exterior walkways and railings. Weather
stripping was repaired and improved to pre-
vent animals from gaining entry to the build-
ing. New shutter doors were built and clad in
copper, then rehung using the original hard-
ware.
In addition to these structural improve-
ments there were new designs and revamped
amenities. And although the name on the
entrance doorway was not changed and Drake
University maintained its association, the re-
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
furbished facility quickly became known simp-
ly as the ‗Drake Municipal Observatory‘.
The Observatory now stands as a testa-
ment to what a community can accomplish
by supporting restoration and astronomical
science.
7 DRAKE MUNICIPAL OBSERVATORY IN
THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY
Today the Observatory still stands proudly in
Waveland Park (Figure 25). It is still home to
the very same 125-yr old 8¼-in refracting
telescope, but its years of hardship are long
gone. The Astronomy program at Drake Uni-
versity once again is flourishing, and students
in every new Introductory Astronomy class take
trips to the Observatory to foster a deeper
appreciation for this oldest of sciences.
There is now a long list of Observatory
supporters. In addition to co-owners Drake
University and the City of Des Moines, there
are countless companies that donate their time
and resources to ensure the high-quality up-
keep of the building and its equipment.
Finally, Daniel Morehouse‘s dream of bring-
ing astronomy to the community is being rea-
lized though vibrant public programs. When
Drake University first began inviting commun-
ity members to the Observatory, a variety of
programs were designed to incite public inter-
est. From these, the two main programs that
remain are Friday Public Nights and the Lecture
Series.
Public Nights allow visitors to view celestial
wonders through the telescope every Friday
evening, provided the sky is clear. People of
all ages are encouraged to attend and learn
about the fascination of the Universe. The Ob-
servatory has recently acquired a Meade 16‖
Starfinder Reflecting Telescope. Starting in Fall
2019, this will be available outside at ground-
level for accessible viewing during Public
Nights.
The Observatory‘s Lecture Series (Figure
26) began in 1970 and runs annually during the
summer months. The aim is to teach about
specific astronomical topics, such as planets
in our Solar System or space travel. This is an
effective way directly to engage community
members and it also provides lecturers with
opportunities to discuss important new discov-
eries.
These public initiatives expand the Obser-
vatory‘s influence beyond Drake University
Astronomy students, and also bring the com-
munity together to share in a learning op-
portunity that otherwise would not exist.
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Figure 25: Drake Municipal Observatory on 15 March 2016 (courtesy: Dr Scott Kardell).

Figure 26: People at the last Public Lecture in 2018 voting to have Drake Municipal Observatory introduce a Winter Series of Public
Lectures in 2019 (courtesy: Drake Municipal Observatory).

8 DISCUSSION time. Morehouse discovered the comet in 1908,

8.1 Comet C/1908 R1 (Morehouse)
For many present-day astronomers the name
―Morehouse‖ immediately brings to mind the
remarkable comet that bears his name.
The circumstances of its discovery are
recounted by Phillip Fox (1878 ‒1944, Aitken,
1944), a PhD student who was present at the
when he was helping Yerkes Observatory
Director Professor Edward Emerson Barnard
(1857‒1923; Sheehan, 1995) conduct a photo-
graphic survey of the Milky Way using the
Bruce Telescope. On the evening of 1 Sep-
tember, Morehouse photographed a region
along the fringe of the Milky Way, and Fox
(1941: 290 ‒ 291) recalls that

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
In mid-morning on 2 September 1908, as I
came down from the 40-inch dome where I
had been working with the spectrohelio-
graph, I met Morehouse as he came up
from his dark room. There was excitement
in his manner and voice so much so that
he scarcely whispered as he spoke: ―Fox, I
think I‘ve found a comet.‖ When I asked
him if it appeared on both plates he rushed
down to the dark room and in a moment
returned to report the confirmation. It may
be added that two nights later, 3 Septem-
ber, Borrelly independently discovered this
comet.
Reference above to ―… both plates …‖ refers to
the special nature of the Bruce Photographic
Telescope. The instrument, which is shown in
Figure 27, actually comprised
Figure 27: The Bruce Photographic Telescope (after
Barnard, 1905: Plate I).
… a five-inch guiding telescope and two
photographic doublets of 10 and 6¼ inches
aperture, rigidly bound together on the same
6 most as favourable circumstances, and it
mounting. (Barnard, 1905: 37).
The distinguished Belgian-American ast-
ronomer Georges Van Biesbroeck (1880 ‒
1974; Hockey and Williams, 2014) has des-
cribed how Morehouse‘s discovery plate was
h m h m
exposed for six hours, from 15 35 to 21 40
Greenwich Astronomical Time. At this time,
Both the 10-inch and 6-inch lenses were
used simultaneously as part of Barnard‘s
program of Milky Way studies. The nuc-
Page 320
A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
leus of the comet made a long trail and the
tail was spread out in a wide band. The
h m
exposure being centered at 2 20 and 60°
the comet was so far from the center that
only the 6-inch plate showed the object
completely, while on the 10-inch plate the
nucleus was out of the field and only the
blurred image of the tail appeared. (Van
Biesbroeck, 1943: 139).
In fact, in 1908 the Bruce Telescope acquired
a third portrait lens, of just 3.4-in aperture,
mounted in a wooden box. The new comet
was successfully photographed with all three
lenses. Barnard explained (1908: 296) that
The smaller lens, while showing practically
everything obtained with the larger ones
but on a smaller scale, gave the full extent
of the tail, which sometimes extended be-
yond the edges of the larger plates.
Regular observations of the comet started
on 3 September. Many astronomers followed
it, but what quickly set Comet C/1908 R1
(Morehouse) aside from all previously observ-
ed comets was ―… the most bizarre, most
whimsical, most unpredictable …‖ nature of its
tail (Fox, 1941: 291). It would change marked-
ly over the course of only a few hours—as
revealed in many photographs. At times the tail
would split into several separate tails, and at
other times the tail would detach from the head
of the comet (these are now known as ‗dis-
connection events‘). These on-going changes
in the tail were reported by many astronomers
(e.g. see Barnard, 1908; Glancy, 1909; Miller,
1908; Motherwell, 1909; Wilson, 1908).
After discussing her Lick Observatory pho-
tographs, Estelle Glancy (1883 ‒1975) com-
ments:
Photography finds an important usefulness
in comet work, and Comet Morehouse is a
remarkably favorable subject for two rea-
sons. In the first place, the orbit plane
could scarcely be better situated with re-
spect to the Earth … Perihelion passage oc-
th
curred on December 26 . Hence, from
st
September 1 to December the comet was
visible in the northern hemisphere, and dur-
ing the early part of this period it was a cir-
cumpolar object. Five weeks after its dis-
appearance below our horizon it became
visible to the southern observers under al-
can be followed for several months more.
Though visually fainter than Comet Daniel
1907, Comet Morehouse photographed more
readily. This is due to the fact establish-
ed by spectroscopic observations here and
elsewhere, that the radiations lying in the
visual regions of the spectrum (red, orange,
yellow, green) are weak and those in the
photographic regions (blue and violet) are
remarkably strong. Hence this comet, which
appears in the visual telescope as an object
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

of little interest, has secured the continuous

attention of numerous observers. (Glancy,
1909: 76 ‒77).
In his paper on the definitive orbital ele-
ments of Comet C/1908 R1 (Morehouse), Van
Biesbroeck (1943: 152‒153) lists in Table 2 the
published photographic observations he utilized
in his analysis. These reveal the intentional in-
terest shown in this unique comet, and derive
from observatories in the following (present-day)
countries: Algeria, Austria, Belgium, Chile, China,
Denmark, England, France, Germany, Greece,
Ireland, Italy, Japan, Netherlands, Poland, Rus-
sia, South Africa, Ukraine and the USA. In
Figure 28 we show a representative selection
of photographs.
Apart from its ever-changing tail, the spec-
trum of the comet‘s nucleus also attracted at-
tention, as several unidentified emission lines
were reported by observers (e.g. see Campbell,
1908; Campbell and Albrecht, 1909; Frost and
7
Parkhurst, 1908).
Soon after the 1 September 1908 discovery,
Daniel Morehouse returned to Des Moines,
and he made micrometric observations of the
position of the comet‘s nucleus on September
28; October 1, 6, 11, 13, 29; and November 2,
8, 10 and 11 using the Warner & Swasey filar
micrometer that came with the 8.25-in Drake
Observatory telescope (Morehouse, 1909b).
Subsequently, some of these measurements
were used by others to derive the orbital ele-
ments of the comet.
In November, Morehouse (1909a) also took
photographs of the comet with a 3-in portrait
lens supplied by E.E. Barnard, and attached to
the tube assembly of the 8.25-in refractor. Like
others before him he commented on the ever-
changing tail, but noted that ―Outside of this
the comet seems perfectly normal. The head
is bright and small giving off a few short spurs.‖
As was customary at the time, Daniel More-
house received the Donohoe Medal from the
Astronomical Society of the Pacific for his
comet discovery (Fox, 1941).
Figure 28: 1908 photographs of Comet C/1908 R1
8.2 Morehouse’s Record as a Research (Morehouse) in chronological order. Key: = 20 September,
Astronomer Yerkes Observatory (https:// retrofutureground.tumblr.com/
post/102874019742/yerkes-observatory-morehouses-comet-
In spite of his busy life at Drake University, c1908-r1; accessed 20 July 2019); = 1 October, Yerkes
Professor Morehouse still found time to carry Observatory (https:// retrofutureground.tumblr.com/post/
102874019742/yerkes-observatory-morehouses-comet-
out some astronomical research, but Wilson‘s c1908-r1; accessed 20 July 2019); = 2 October, Yerkes
claim (1942: 346) that ―… his contributions to Observatory (https://retrofutureground.tumblr.com/post/
the literature were many and varied.‖ is perhaps 102874019742/yerkes-observatory-morehouses-comet-
an over-statement given that his list of ast- c1908-r1; accessed 20 July 2019); = 15 November, Lick
Observatory (after Doolittle, 1910: 21); = 16 November,
ronomy publications totals less than two Heidelberg (https://www.facebook.com/140234731687/
dozen—a very modest full-career tally photos/ comet-c1908-r1-morehouse-was-photographed-by-
max-wolf-at-heidelberg-koenigstuhl-/10154992834691688/ ;
Moreover, most of Morehouse‘s ‗papers‘ accessed 20 July 2019); = 22 November, Royal Obser-
are actually short notes of less than one page, vatory Greenwich negative (after Buczynski, 2018: 15).

Page 321
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
or 1‒2 page ‗short communications‘. Only four
contributions equal or exceed 5 pages, and his
longest paper is only ten pages.
Most of Morehouse‘s publications are des-
criptive accounts of his own visual, photograph-
ic or micrometric observations (although More-
house et al. (1911) and Morehouse (1922) deal
with the work of his students). But, as Wilson
(1942) reflects, Morehouse‘s papers do show
his wide-ranging astronomical interests. Thus,
there are papers about solar eclipses and
the chromosphere (Morehouse, 1918c; More-
house and Fox, 1933); the planets Mars, Jup-
iter and Pluto (Morehouse, 1922d; 1930); ast-
eroids 8 Flora, 21 Letetia and 1909 JA (More-
house, 1910a, 1912; Morehouse et al., 1911);
some of the Jovian satellites (Morehouse
and Myer, 1912); aurorae (Morehouse, 1918a,
1925); meteors and possible meteorites (More-
house, 1907, 1918b), comets (Morehouse,
1910b, 1910c, 1919), and a dark nebula (More-
house, 1927). Non-observational papers are
about the longitude of Drake Observatory
(Morehouse, 1915) and ―Astronomy‘s contri-
bution to the stream of human thought‖ (More-
house, 1932). This latter paper is primarily
about the sociology of astronomy, and is bas-
ed on the address that Morehouse gave when
elected Chairman of the Astronomical Division
of the American Association for the Advance-
ment of Science. This was his only paper
published in the prestigious international jour-
nal, Science. Finally, one book review rounds
out Morehouse‘s list of publications.
Of all Morehouse‘s publication, we would
single out his account of the 1918 total solar
eclipse and his investigation of the longitude
of Drake Observatory as being of greatest
international importance. And it is telling that
they, and the afore-mentioned paper pub-
lished in Science, were his longest research
papers.
It is noticeable that Morehouse did not
publish any papers on astrophysics. It is equally
interesting that at no time did he seek to re-
place the 8.25-in Warner & Swasey/Brashear
refractor with a much larger reflecting tele-
scope that could have been used effectively
for astrophysical research. Morehouse ap-
pears to have been a classical astronomer at
heart.
With the exception of his solar eclipse re-
ports, all of Morehouse‘s observational pap-
ers were based on observations that he carried
out at Drake‘s on-campus observatory and
later at the Drake University Municipal Obser-
vatory in Waveland Park. This is interesting
because Morehouse had close friends at Lick
and Yerkes Observatories and he could have
applied successfully for observing time at both
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
institutions—and at other observatories with
instrumentation that was far superior to that
found at Drake Observatory.
Furthermore, it is significant that the great
majority of Morehouse‘s papers were publish-
ed in Popular Astronomy—a journal with a wide
8
amateur astronomy following —while only a sol-
itary paper (and a short one at that) appeared in
one of the leading journals of the day, Astron-
omische Nachrichten. Morehouse published no-
thing in the other leading journals, namely the
Astronomical Journal, the Astrophysical Journal,
Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical So-
ciety and Publications of the Astronomical So-
ciety of the Pacific.
In spite of Morehouse‘s administrative and
teaching loads at Drake University, he still found
time to conduct the short-term projects men-
tioned above. Had he revised his research
priorities, then he could also have addressed
some of the following ‗lost opportunities‘.
Firstly, Morehouse chose not to follow up
his University of California (Berkeley) PhD re-
search, which his thesis supervisor Professor
Armin O. Leuschner (1868‒1953; Herget,
1978), described as unfinished. Here was the
perfect opportunity to carry out research that did
not require observing time, and that Morehouse
could have pursued at Drake University had
he wished to do so.
Although the research that Morehouse
carried out for his PhD was unfinished, Leusch-
ner did point out that
… the first two objects: the proof of the ad-
vantages of Leuschner‘s closed expressions
for correcting satellite orbits and of the ac-
curacy of the directions for taking full ac-
count of the aberration, had been achieved
…
Thus, there was a body of research that could
have been shared with colleagues worldwide,
and it is telling that Morehouse never wrote up
this work in full (although see Morehouse and
Meyer, 1912). Here, it would seem, was an-
other ‗lost opportunity‘.
Yet another such project also comes to
mind. It is clear from his all-too-brief accounts
of Comets C/1908 R1 (Morehouse), 1P/Halley
and 23P/Brorsen-Metcalf that Morehouse had
a more than passing interest in comets, and
he also had the mathematical acumen to
compute their orbital elements. Given the
wealth of published material available about
his own 1908 comet, it is strange that More-
house never chose to investigate its orbit.
Instead, we had to wait 35 years for its definitive
orbital elements to be published by Van Bies-
broeck (1943).
However, we should not let the foregoing
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
comments cloud our judgement. As Wilson,
(1942: 342) reminds us,
Though he was not primarily a research
astronomer, Dr. Morehouse served astron-
omy well by creating among his students
and friends a deep and abiding interest in
the subject.
Furthermore, had Professor Morehouse
… been able to devote his life entirely to
astronomy, the products of his research
would have been much more extensive.
(Wilson, 1942: 346).
We wholeheartedly agree with this assessment.
9 CONCLUDING REMARKS
Although George T. Carpenter and Francis
Marion Drake were largely responsible for
founding Drake University‘s original observa-
tory and stocking it with instruments, Daniel
Walter Morehouse soon emerged as the single
most important factor in its continuation and
survival. Drawing on the fame that he acquir-
ed through discovering the remarkable comet
in 1908 that now bears his name, Professor
Morehouse understood that an Observatory
was not just a telescope or a building—or
even a famous astronomer. It was also about
a community, and his dream was to bring
astronomy to the people of Des Moines and
the surrounding region. Morehouse finally
achieved this in November 1921 when Drake
University Municipal Observatory opened at
Waveland Park at what was then the outskirts
of Des Moines, two miles west of the University
campus, and the instruments in the original
observatory were transferred there. Then, for
the next twenty years he was the driving force
behind the Municipal Observatory, despite a
heavy administrative load at Drake University
and continuing teaching commitment. Under-
standably, these conspired to impact negatively
on his research, and consequently his list of
astronomy publications was modest.
After Morehouse‘s passing in 1941 Drake
University Municipal Observatory went into de-
cline, and it was only rescued from obscurity in
2000 when a benefactor and the city of Des
Moines and Drake University teamed up to
attend to its restoration. Some Iowans felt that
the restoration funds could have been better
spent on a new facility away from city lights,
but the current location keeps the refurbished
(and renamed) Drake Municipal Observatory
within easy access of the people, just as
Morehouse wanted. Thus, it remains in the
middle of a golf course near the middle of the
city, and is home to an historic refracting
telescope that now has a 125-year pedigree.
Some believe that it is also home to the
spirits of Daniel Morehouse and his wife Myrtle,
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A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
whose ashes were buried in the wall of the
rotunda. Since the restoration occurred there
have been reports of strange sounds and
experiences that suggest to some that the
Observatory is haunted. Rather, we would like
to think that the spirit of Daniel Morehouse‘s
dream is very much alive in the eyes of a new
generation of Drake University Astronomy stu-
dents and fascinated members of the general
public when they sit on the old wooden chairs
in the lecture hall at Drake Municipal Obser-
vatory, surrounded by beautiful photographs of
famous observatories, nebula and comets—
including images of Comet C/1908 R1 (More-
house), which is surely one of the most re-
markable comets in the annals of astronomy.
10 NOTES
1. Janis Winter (1951‒ 2018) is a posthumous
author of this paper. Wayne Orchiston
supervised her graduate work in 2001 and
then in 2019 connected with Deborah
Kent, who had recently supervised Kaley
Wresch‘s research about Drake Observa-
tory. With the permission of Winter‘s sur-
viving sons, William Loos and Anthony
Loos, Kent, Wresch and Orchiston merged
these two streams of research and con-
ducted additional research to produce this
paper.
2. After Drake University was founded, Oska-
loosa College struggled to survive, and it
finally closed in 1900 (James, 2011: 86).
3. Professor Leuschner (1914: 214‒215) des-
cribed Morehouse‘s thesis project:
The original determination of the elements of
the orbit of the seventh satellite of Jupiter
presented an unusually difficult problem—
designated almost impossible by some in-
vestigators—on account of the large and
irregular solar perturbations during the time
from January 3 to March 6, 1905, over which
the discovery observations extended. Solu-
tions, which took account of the perturba-
tions, were accomplished by Dr. F.E. Ross
by a general satellite theory and by Dr. R.T.
Crawford and Mr. A.J. Champreux by Leusch-
ner‘s method of direct solution of the orbits
of disturbed bodies.
Both solutions require improvement …
[and Daniel Morehouse] undertook the task
of deriving an accurate set of osculating
elements by a further application of Leusch-
ner‘s method, partly for the purpose of test-
ing the advantages of certain closed expres-
sions, partly in order to test the accuracy of
certain directions for taking full account of
the aberration, and, finally, in order to pro-
vide a set of osculating elements of sufficient
accuracy to serve as the basis of any future
rigid satellite theory.
4. Unfortunately, blurry microfilm renders il-
legible the benefactors‘ names. $500 in
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
1909 is equivalent to about $315,000 in
2018 dollars, based on the following web
site: www. measuringworth.com (accessed
4 June, 2019).
5. Indiana Limestone was a quality building
product. It was used extensively for univer-
sity and major public buildings across the
USA, and for such landmarks as the Empire
State Building in New York (Indiana Lime-
stone).
6. Photographic doublets used short-focus
wide-field portrait lenses, which were ex-
cellent for detecting comets, minor planets
and variable stars. Construction of the
Bruce Photographic Telescope was funded
by astronomy philanthropist, Miss Cather-
ine Wolfe Bruce (1816‒1900). The mount-
ing was manufactured by Warner & Swas-
ey, and John Brashear was responsible for
the 10-in portrait lens (Barnard, 1905).
+
7. We now know that CO ions were largely
responsible for these unidentified lines.
The spatial distribution of these ions is
… elongated in the antisolar direction …
The ion tail structure becomes more and
more diffuse at larger and larger distances
from the nucleus … (Ip, 2004: 606).
8. Jordan D. Marche II has written a fascinat-
ing research paper about the three ast-
ronomical journals published by Carleton
College‘s William W. Payne. Popular Ast-
ronomy, launched in 1893, was the most
prominent of these, and although it was
designed ―… for amateur astronomers,
teachers, students and popular readers.‖
(Marché, 2005: 53), it quickly appealed
also to professional astronomers, especial-
ly those, like Daniel Morehouse, who were
not involved in astrophysical research.
11 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The authors appreciate first-hand accounts
from Herb Schwartz and Greg Woolever. Drake
University Library personnel, especially Hope
Bibens, helped with archival materials and
microfilm, and we are grateful to the Library for
providing Figures 8, 11, 13, 14, 17, 23 and 24.
Shari Stelling and the staff at the Iowa State
Historical Library provided access to local news-
papers. Drake Municipal Observatory supplied
Figure 26, and we thank Dr Scott Kardell
(Palomar College) for permission to publish
Figure 25. Finally, special thanks go to William
Loos and Anthony Loos for supporting this
project.
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Satellite of Jupiter. PhD thesis, University of Cali-
fornia (Berkeley).
Morehouse, D.W., 1915. Longitude of the Drake Ob-
servatory, by wireless. Popular Astronomy, 23, 65 ‒
74.
Morehouse, D.W., 1918a. The aurora of March 7.
Popular Astronomy, 26, 279.
Morehouse, D.W., 1918b. The meteor of January 22.
Popular Astronomy, 26, 276 ‒277.
Morehouse, D.W., 1918c. Observations of the total
solar eclipse of June 8, 1918, at Matheson, Color-
ado. Popular Astronomy, 26, 551‒ 557.
Morehouse, D.W., 1919. Photographs of Comet b
1919 (Brorsen-Metcalf). Popular Astronomy, 27, 627.
Morehouse, D.W., 1921. The Drake University Mun-
icipal Observatory. Publications of the Astronomical
Society of the Pacific, 33, 327‒ 328.
Morehouse, D.W., 1922a. The Drake University Mun-
icipal Observatory. Journal of the Royal Astronomi-
cal Society of Canada, 16, 169 ‒174.
Morehouse, D.W., 1922b. The Drake University Mun-
icipal Observatory. Popular Astronomy 30, 223 ‒
224.
Morehouse, D.W., 1922c. The Drake University Mun-
icipal Observatory. Publications of the American
Astronomical Society, 4, 222‒ 223.
Morehouse, D.W., 1922d. Drawings of Mars and
Jupiter. Popular Astronomy, 30, 461‒ 463.
Morehouse, D.W., 1925. The aurora of August 22.
Popular Astronomy, 33, 567‒ 568.
K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston A History of Drake Municipal Observatory

Morehouse, D.W., 1927. A ring nebula (dark) in Cyg- vatory. Drake Delphic, 1 December.
nus. Popular Astronomy, 35, 67‒ 68. Warner, D.J., and Ariail, R.B., 1995. Alvan Clark &
Morehouse, D.W., 1930. Trans-Neptunian planet. Sons: Artists in Optics. Richmond, Willmann-Bell.
Harvard College Observatory Announcement Card, Whitford, A.E., 1978. Joel Stebbins. Biographical Mem-
117, 1 April 1930. oirs, National Academy of Sciences, 49, 293 ‒316.
Morehouse, D.W., 1932. Astronomy‘s contribution to Wilson, B.H., 1942. Daniel Walter Morehouse. The
the stream of human thought. Science, 75, 27‒ 32. Palimpsest, 23, 337‒ 350.
Morehouse, D.W., and Fox, P., 1933. The depth of Wilson, H.C., 1908. Comet c 1908 (Morehouse). Pop-
the chromosphere. Publications of the American ular Astronomy, 16, 563 ‒566.
Astronomical Society, 7, 183.
Morehouse, D.W., 1936. Review of Through the Tele- Kaley Wresch is an undergrad-
scope by Edward Arthur Fath. Popular Astronomy, uate student at Drake University,
44, 228 ‒230. studying History and Mathemat-
Motherwell, R.M., 1909. Comet 1908c, (Morehouse). ics. Her interests focus on
Journal of the Royal Astronomical Society of Can- the Soviet era and mathemati-
ada, 3, 28 ‒ 30. cal theory. After completing her
Myers, F.D., 2011. Tallest tombstone in Centerville. Bachelor‘s degree, in 2020,
―Lucas Countyan‖ blog, 8 February (lucascountyan. Wresch plans to pursue a PhD.
blogspot.com/2011/02/tallest-tombstone-in-
centerville.html ; accessed 15 July 2019). Deborah Kent is an Associate
Names of the marble in the vestibule of Drake Professor of Mathematics at
Observatory and the countries they came from. Drake University. Her primary
Drake University Archives, Des Moines. research focuses on the history
Obituaries: Philip S. Riggs, 1906 ‒1994. Bulletin of the of mathematics in the US during
American Astronomical Society, 28, 1463 (1996). the nineteenth and early twent-
Open House brochure, 2009. Drake Municipal Ob- ieth centuries. She also co-
servatory, 4 May. authored a game theory book
Osterbrock, D.E., 1999. Yerkes Observatory, 1892 ‒ (AMS 2017) and has contributed
1950: The Birth, Near Death, and Resurrection of a to international research collaborations on the cir-
Scientific Research Institution. Chicago, University culation and transmission of mathematics in period-
of Chicago Press. ical publications. Most recently, she has written about
Pasachoff, J.M., 1998. Williams College‘s Hopkins expeditions to observe the total solar eclipse in 1869.
Observatory: the oldest extant observatory in the
United States. Journal of Astronomical History and Janis Winter (1951‒ 2018)
Heritage, 1, 61‒ 78. earned a Master of Astronomy
Peterson, K., 1983. Observatory gets boost from city degree from the Western
for repairs. Drake Delphic, 4 November. Sydney University. She went on
Public Lecture Series. President‘s Papers, Drake to become a member of the Des
University Archives, Des Moines (1970). Moines Astronomical Society
Public Nights Schedule. President‘s Papers, Drake (DMAS) in 2006, and worked as
University Archives, Des Moines (1969). an instructor at Des Moines Area
Repairs made on telescope at Municipal Observatory. Community College (DMACC).
Drake Delphic, 25 September (1930). She was elected DMAS Presi-
Riggs, P., 1970. Letter to D. Johnson, dated 15 April. dent first in 2011 and was re-elected through 2016,
Drake University Archives, Des Moines. when health concerns prevented her continuance.
Sheehan, W., 1995. The Immortal Fire Within: The Life Winter retired from DMACC in 2014. She was elected
and Work of Edward Emerson Barnard. Cambridge, again to the DMAS Board of Directors in 2018 and
Cambridge University Press. served until her death in August of that year. Greg
Woolever, DMAS Ashton Observatory Director
Stebbins, J., 1911. The measurement of the light of
described Jan as ―… durable and heroic in her pursuit
stars with a selenium photometer with an applica-
tion to the variations of Algol. Popular Astronomy, of her passion for astronomy.‖ while Herb Schwartz,
Professor of Astronomy at Drake University, re-
19, 65 ‒ 80.
membered her as a ―…gentle soul with a sharp mind,
Suk, T., 1999. Drake Observatory in shambles. Des
an insatiable curiosity, and a can-do attitude.‖
Moines Register. 27 October.
Telescopes stolen from Observatory. Drake Delphic,
Professor Wayne Orchiston
11 November (1980).
was born in Auckland (New
Turner, S., 2014. Bond, William Cranch. In Hockey et Zealand) in 1943, and has BA
al., 266 ‒ 268. Honours and PhD degrees from
University of Illinois, Proceedings of the Board of the University of Sydney. He
Trustees. Meeting of June 13, 1911 (https:// formerly worked in optical and
archives.library.illinois.edu/erec/University%20Arch radio astronomy in Australia and
ives/0101802/02_volume_sections/1910-1912/14_ New Zealand. He is now at the
meeting_1911-06-13.pdf ; accessed 15 July). National Astronomical Research
Van Biesbroeck, G., 1943. The definitive orbit of Com- Institute of Thailand in Chiang
et Morehouse 1908 III. Publications of the Yerkes Ob- Mai, and is an Adjunct Professor of Astronomy in the
servatory, VIII(V), 139 ‒157. Centre for Astrophysics at the University of Southern
Waldman, H., 2000. $150,000 gift supports obser- Queensland in Australia. Wayne has supervised a

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K. Wresch, D. Kent, J. Winter & W. Orchiston
large pool of graduate students in history of
astronomy, including the late Janis Winter. He has
wide-ranging research interests, and has published
on aspects of Australian, Chinese, English, French,
German, Georgian, Indian, Indonesian, Iraqi, Italian,
Japanese, Korean, New Zealand, South African, Thai,
Turkish and US astronomy.
Wayne‘s recent books include Eclipses, Transits,
and Comets of the Nineteenth Century: How Ameri-
ca’s Perception of the Skies Changed (2015, Spring-
er, co-authored by Stella Cottam); New Insights from
Recent Studies in Historical Astronomy: Following in
the Footsteps of F. Richard Stephenson … (2015,
Springer, co-edited by David A. Green and Richard
Strom); Exploring the History of New Zealand Ast-
ronomy: Trials, Tribulations, Telescopes and Transits
(2016, Springer); John Tebbutt: Rebuilding and
Strengthening the Foundations Australian Astronomy
of (2017, Springer), The Emergence of Astrophysics
Page 327
A History of Drake Municipal Observatory
in Asia: Opening a New Window on the Universe (2017,
Springer, co-edited by Tsuko Nakamura); The History
of World Calendars and Calendar-making ... (2017,
Yonsei University Press, co-edited by Nha Il-Seong
and Richard Stephenson); and Growth and Develop-
ment of Astronomy and Astrophysics in India and the
Asia-Pacific Region. (2019, Springer, co-edited by
Aniket Sule and Mayank Vahia).
Wayne has been very active in the IAU for several
decades, and was responsible for founding the Trans-
its of Venus and Historic Radio Astronomy Working
Groups. In August 2018 he became President of
Commission C3 (History of Astronomy). He co-
founded the Journal of Astronomical History and Her-
itage in 1998, and is the current Editor. He also
serves as an Editor of Springer‘s Series on Historical
and Cultural Astronomy. In 2013 the IAU named
minor planet 48471 ‗Orchiston‘ after him.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 328‒ 338 (2019).

HIGHLIGHTING THE HISTORY OF JAPANESE

RADIO ASTRONOMY. 6: EARLY SOLAR MONITORING AT THE
RADIO RESEARCH LABORATORIES OF THE MINISTRY
OF POSTS AND TELECOMMUNICATIONS, HIRAISO
Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand, 260 Moo 4, T. Donkaew,
A. Maerim, Chiang Mai 50180, Thailand, and Centre for Astrophysics, University
of Southern Queensland, Toowoomba, Queensland 4350, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
and
Masato Ishiguro
National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, 2-21-1, Osawa, Mitaka,
Tokyo, 181-8588, Japan.
Email: masato.ishiguro@nao.ac.jp
Abstract: During the 1950s a small group of scientists and technicians involved in telecommunications research also
monitored solar radio emission at 200 MHz from their field station at Hiraiso, near Tokyo. In this short paper, we
review the Hiraiso instrumentation and observations, and how the latter were used to further our knowledge of metre
wave emission from the Sun.
Keywords: Japanese solar radio astronomy, Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications, Radio Research Laboratories,
Hiraiso, Obayashi

1 INTRODUCTION Later a fourth Japanese solar radio astronomy

group was formed at Hiraiso on the east coast of
Japan has a long history of radio astronomy (see
Ishiguro et al., 2012; Orchiston and Ishiguro, 2017; Honshu, about 150 km northeast of Tokyo. In
1949 the Radio Division of the Government‘s
Tanaka, 1984), but
Radio Agency joined with the Radio Department of
… the path of progress … [in] post-war Japan the Telecommunications Research Institute, and
was a slow and arduous one. Unlike in the established the Ohi Radio Observatory. One year
Allied countries, there were no military radar
later this research facility was transferred to
sites available for research. The struggle with
small budgets and ill-equipped facilities (al- Hiraiso, and in August 1952 it officially became a
though staffed by dedicated astronomers!) branch office of the Radio Research Laboratories
continued into the 1960s … (Takahashi et al., of the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunication.
2000: 2). This paper examines the solar research program
1
pursued at Hiraiso up until 1968 and is based
The first deliberate attempt by a Japanese
largely on a research paper written by Takahashi et
scientist to detect radio emission from an extra-
al. (1954) and reminiscences published by Wakai
terrestrial object can be traced back to the Tokyo 2
(1988). Wakai explains:
observations at 3 GHz by Koichi Shimoda (b.
1920) of the partial solar eclipse on 9 May 1948
(Shimoda et al., 2013) and observations of solar
noise at 3.3 GHz by Minoru Oda (1923 – 2001) and
Tatsuo Takakura (1925– 2001) in November 1949
from Osaka. However, these observations were
experimental and the Osaka initiative was short-
lived because Oda‘s interest shifted to X-ray
astronomy (Orchiston et al., 2017).
More enduring were the radio astronomy
groups founded in 1949 by Takeo Hatanaka
(1914 –1963) and Haruo Tanaka from Tokyo
Astronomical Observatory (TAO) and the Research
Institute of Atmospherics at Nagoya University.
The TAO established a radio astronomy precinct at
their Mitaka headquarters near Tokyo, while the
Nagoya University group set up their Toyokawa
Observatory at a radio-quiet site 60 km south-
southeast of Nagoya. Throughout the 1950s and
1960s the dynamic Tokyo and Toyokawa groups
were the mainstays of Japanese radio astronomy Figure 1: Japanese localities mentioned in the text. Key: 1 =
(see Deguchi, 1995; Tanaka, 1984). For Japan- Hiraiso; 2 = Tokyo; 3 = Mitaka; 4 = Toyokawa; 5 = Nagoya; 6 =
ese localities mentioned in this paper see Figure 1. Osaka; 7 = Ohi (map: Wayne Orchiston).

Page 328
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
… I decided to introduce mainly the unknown
stories and the unpublished photos. Although
it was not intended, the content was biased
towards topics related to Communication Re-
search Laboratories.
The reason is that it was easy to collect old
materials and photos and the footprint of the
solar radio research on the same place is an
indication that there was not much announce-
ment so far compared with other research instit-
3
utions.
2 SOLAR RADIO ASTRONOMY AND THE
RADIO RESEARCH LABORATORIES OF
THE MINISTRY OF POSTS AND
TELECOMMUNICATIONS
2.1 Introduction
The Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications
(MPT) was responsible for Japan‘s international
telecommunications network, and its involvement
in monitoring solar noise was a by-product of this:
… comprehensive data of ionospheric condi-
tions and related astronomical and geophysical
phenomena are collected promptly to evaluate
the latest radio propagation condition. The
visually recording magnetograph … and con-
tinuous data of short wave reception conditions
over various routes are the most important aid
to noticing the onset of a magnetic or iono-
spheric storm and its development. On the
other hand the observations of solar radio
emission and sunspots are also useful for the
prediction of the active period a few days in
advance. (Obayashi, 1954: 55‒ 56; our italics).
By the end of WWII staff at the MPT were
already expert in antenna design and construction,
and it was this fact that led them to construct a
broadside array for the fledgling solar radio ast-
ronomy group at Tokyo Astronomical Observa-
tory (TAO). Since the design and construction of
this antenna foreshadowed the emergence of solar
radio astronomy at Hiraiso and was not detailed in
our earlier paper in this series by Nakajima et al.
(2016), let us pursue this further here.
At the time, Noboru Wakai (1927‒ 2009; Smith,
2009) worked at the what would soon become the
MPT‘s Radio Research Laboratory and he, re-
ported that around 1947 Takeo Hatanaka and
others at TAO
… who were interested from the standpoint of
astronomy, asked Kin-nosuke Kawakami of the
Central Radio Observatory (the predecessor of
the Radio Research Laboratory) who was in-
terested from the standpoint of radio engin-
eering to construct a 200 MHz solar radio
telescope … 1949. (Wakai, 1988).
Wakai (ibid.) reveals that he and Hatanaka
(from TAO) built the receiver. First Wakai survey-
ed the available literature on the subject, and had
discussions with TAO people about radio reception
technology. Then
I collected vacuum tubes and parts for the
receiver at my institute.
Page 329
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
I also designed the antenna, but one
company that was asked for an estimate
requested an extraordinary price because that
company had never made an equatorial mount-
ing before.
At that time the Observatory had a bud-
get of only 60,000 yen, but Mr. Saburo Matsuo
from the [Electrical Communication Research]
Institute found a further one million yen to add
to the Observatory‘s budget, and a company
introduced by Mr. Takeo Kawahara (who was
actively involved with the Ministry (of Posts and
Telecommunications) agreed to construct the
antenna for 1.05 million yen. (ibid.).
The antenna was made of wood, with an iron
equatorial mounting (see Figure 2), and was com-
pleted in September 1949. It was installed at TAO
in Mitaka, where Hatanaka, Shigemasa Suzuki
and Fumio Moriyama soon began making solar
observations. However,
Figure 2: The broadside array that the Ministry of Posts and
Telecommunications constructed for the Tokyo Astronomical
Observatory in 1949. The receiver was housed in the hut
behind the antenna (after Suzuki and Shibuya, 1952).
… it would have been very difficult for the
observer because of manual tracking every 30
minutes. [Fortunately,] At that time it happened
to be a period of high solar activity and there
were frequent solar bursts.
2.2 The Ohi Radio Telescope
This exercise by the MPT obviously inspired them,
because in November 1949 the Radio Division of
the Radio Agency and the Radio Department of
the Telecommunications Research Institute began
building their own radio telescope (Wakai, 1988)
and this was installed at Ohi Radio Observatory, a
radio-quiet location 45 km north-west of down-
4
town Tokyo. This would be used to monitor solar
noise in connection with Japan‘s international tele-
communications network (Obayashi, 1954).
The Ohi radio telescope comprised an 8 × 8
element broadside array (see Figure 3), which was
attached to a receiver that operated at 61.2 MHz.
Wakai (1988) recalls that
Unfortunately this antenna had structural de-
fects and it soon collapsed, but although it only
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
Figure 3: The wooden 8 × 8 broadside array at Ohi
Radio Observatory (after Wakai, 1988).
functioned for a short time, during February
and March 1950, it succeeded in detecting
radio emission from an active region on the
Sun.
This solar detection is not mentioned in Tanaka‘s
(1984) classic paper on early Japanese radio
astronomy, or in our own overview papers (Ish-
iguro et al., 2012; Orchiston and Ishiguro, 2017),
and it deserves to be recognized and applauded.
Figure 4: The equatorially-mounted 6 × 4 broadside
array at Ohi Radio Observatory (after Wakai, 1988).
So, after Shimoda‘s 1948 eclipse observations,
and solar monitoring in 1949 by the fledgling TAO,
Toyokawa and Osaka groups, the MPT group was
the next group to detect solar radio emission, and
Ohi Radio Observatory must be added to the map
of successful early Japanese radio astronomy
sites.
2.3 The Hiraiso Radio Wave Observatory
Learning from their abortive Ohi Radio Observa-
tory exploits, the Radio Wave Supervision Com-
mittee (the successor of the Radio Agency) then
Figure 5: The coupling between the antenna and receiver (after
Takahashi et al., 1954: 42).
Page 330
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
built a new 200 MHz broadside array with an
equatorial mounting (Figure 4), and in March 1952
installed this on a coastal terrace at Hiraiso Radio
Wave Observatory 125 km east-northeast of
Tokyo.
The antenna comprised an array of 6 × 4
half-wave dipoles backed by a reflecting screen.
Furthermore,
Parallel feeders of 218 ohms are used
between the feeding point and the spheltoph
through a matching trap; the power output from
the spheltoph is fed to the receiver through 75
ohm [12 m long] coaxial cable. (Takahashi et al.,
1954: 41).
This is shown in Figure 5.
The receiving system (Figure 6) was a
… double-superheterodyne on 200 Mc. F (noise figure)
is approximately 4, or 5 including the switching circuit.
Bandwidth is approximately 80 K; gain approximately
130 db. (Takahashi et al., 1954: 42).
The output went to a meter and a chart recorder
A signal generator was used to calibrate the
system, and since
… the solar noise intensity is extremely small
and an observational error is caused by the
slightest difference in gain on the part of the
receiving set, it is not only proper to secure the
stability of the receiver but also necessary to
increase the accuracy of measurement by
repeating calibration as often as possible.
Therefore, calibrations were made every 8
minutes. (Takahashi et al., 1954: 41).
The antenna was mounted equatorially so that
it could track the Sun
… from sunrise to sunset—not continuously,
but by advancing 2 degrees every 8 minutes.
The plane of polarization is parallel to the
declination which is manually regulated day-
5
by-day according to its variation. (ibid,).
The Hiraiso radio telescope was used as a
total power radiometer, and solar monitoring be-
gan in March 1952. The objective was to record
the mean quiet Sun 200 MHz flux level on a daily
basis. Allowance was made for loss due to the
co-axial cable from the antenna, while variations in
receiver noise were found to be negligible (Tak-
ahashi et al., 1954: 44 ‒45). Details of how the
readings made during the observations were con-
verted into daily flux densities are outlined on
pages 45 ‒48 in Takahashi et al. (1954).
The next major instrumentation development
at Hiraiso is reported by Wakai (1988): in order to
identify the positions of radio sources in the corona
a two-element interferometer was installed. This
comprised two 8 × 8 element broadside arrays,
which were completed in 1955 and 1956 respec-
tively. They were separated by 30 m, giving an
angular resolution of about 20 arcminutes. Figure
7 shows the 1956 antenna, and also reveals that
their mountings were a major shortcoming, in that
The antennas could be moved only in elevation
angle so that daily observation was done only
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso

Figure 6: The receiver block diagram (after Takahashi et al., 1954: 46).

just before and just after the transit time of the Sun.
(ibid.). Apparently, the original plan was to im-
prove the resolution by increasing the number of
antennas in the array, but this never happened.
Wakai (1988) also reports that in the lead-up to
the International Geophysical Year (1957‒1958)
the various Japanese research groups involved in
solar radio astronomy agreed to rationalize their
observing frequencies:
The purpose of the coordination was that due
to a limited budget for science and technology
in Japan, each organization made an effort to
minimize the overlap in the observing fre-
quency and make their contribution as unique
as possible.
As a result, Hiraiso ―… decided to place an em-
phasis on the metric wave band (200 MHz and 500
MHz), which is related to the occurrence of geo-
magnetic storms.‖ (ibid.). Consequently,
A 5-m parabolic antenna for 500 MHz … and a
10-m parabolic antenna for 200 MHz … were
installed in 1961 and 1967, respectively. In
1968, observing capability at 100 MHz was
added to the 10-m antenna, and polarization
observations became possible during the IASY
[1969 ‒1971]. (ibid.).
The 5-m and 10-m parabolic antennas are shown
in Figures 8 and 9 respectively.

2.4 Publications on Solar Radio Astronomy Figure 7: The 8 × 8 element broadside array that was installed
at Hiraiso in 1956. This was part of a 2-element interferometer
Despite the growth in instrumentation at Hiraiso designed to pinpoint the location of 200 MHz radio sources in
during 1952‒1968, we have only been able to trace the corona (after Wakai, 1988).

Page 331
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
Figure 8: The 5-m parabolic antenna installed at Hiraiso in 1961
and used at 500 MHz (after Wakai, 1988).
two research papers on solar radio astronomy that
were written by Hiraiso staff. The first of these
appeared in 1954 and the second in 1966.
Although the Hiraiso Radio Wave Observatory
was basically set up to contribute solar data that
could be used in providing shortwave radio dis-
turbance warnings, between January and Sep-
tember 1954 Takahashi, Onoue and Kawamaki
(1954) carried out a comparison of the 200 MHz
flux densities observed at Hiraiso with those ob-
tained at Mitaka (TAO), Nera (in the Netherlands)
and Sydney (Australia). They found the daily
mean flux densities were similar at the four dif-
ferent sites (e.g. see Figure 10) and that
… increases in solar noise intensity for two or three
days centring on September 11 and October 16,
1953, and March 15, 1954, were the common
phenomena of the various places. However, the
rates of increase and their absolute values differed
much from one to another. (Takahashi et al., 1954:
52).
Figure 9: The 10-m parabolic antenna installed
at Hiraiso in 1967 and used at 100 and 200 MHz
(after Wakai, 1988).
Page 332
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
By way of illustration, Takahashi et al. (ibid.) com-
pared flux values for outbursts that were observed
at Hiraiso and Nera on 15 July 1954—see Table 1,
below.
The only other Hiraiso solar radio astronomy
paper was co-authored by T. Goh and is titled ― A
collection of spectral diagrams of solar Type IV
events‖ (Fokker et al., 1966). In this paper Goh
assembles two different spectra for the Type IV
events of 13 May 1960 and 26 September 1963 by
combining single frequency observations made
between 200 MHz and 9.4 GHz and 15 MHz and
9.5 GHz respectively. These are reproduced here
in Figures 11 and 12. One of the points that Goh
makes is that spectra can change markedly
through the inclusion of more frequency ‗data
points‘, and he illustrates this in Figure 11 by com-
paring the spectrum assembled earlier by Taka-
kura and Kai (1961) that lacks Hiraiso observa-
tions, with one that includes many more obser-
vations, including 200 MHz data from Hiraiso. As
we have noted, by 1963 facilities had expanded at
the Hiraiso Radio Wave Observatory, and so we
see that Hiraiso observations made at 200 and
500 MHz and 9.5 GHz were used in assembling
the 16 September 1963 spectrum. This Hiraiso
focus on solar Type IV events is interesting in light
of the afore-mentioned paper by Takakura and Kai
(1961) that is discussed in Section 3.2 below.
Table 1: Flux densities of outbursts observed at Nera and
Hiraiso on 15 July 1954.
Radio Time (UT) Duration Flux Reading
Observatory h m m s 10 ‒22 W m ‒2 (c/s) ‒1
Nera 07 16 1 51 81 ‒ 100
Hiraiso 07 16 1 40 139
3 DISCUSSION
3.1 The Hiraiso Observations Viewed in
Context
It is easy to be critical of the minimal astronomical
research output of the Hiraiso radio telescopes,
but it is important to see this in context because the
Hiraiso Radio Wave Observatory was never set up
to research the Sun per se.
By the early 1950s, radio astronomers in
Australia had identified a slowly-varying compon-
ent of solar radio emission that mimicked sunspot
activity and three different types of energetic bursts,
dubbed ‗isolated bursts‘, outbursts‘ and ‗noise
storms‘ (see Orchiston et al., 2006). New techno-
logical advances then made it possible to invest-
igate these in detail, which meant that it be-
came increasingly more difficult to conduct cutting-
edge solar radio astronomy by carrying out total
power observations at a single frequency—as was
occurring at Hiraiso.
Even if they were content to work at just a
single frequency, solar radio astronomers wanted
to investigate the positions in the corona and
motions of the sources of the solar radio emission.
They could do this by using a position interfer-
ometer or a solar grating array, both of which would
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso

Figure 10: Daily variations in mean solar noise intensity at different sites and at different frequencies during
March 1954 (adapted from Takahashi et al., 1954: 51).

Figure 11: Spectra of the Type IV burst of 13 May 1960 constructed by T. Goh from the Hiraiso Radio Wave
Observatory (top) and Takakura and Kai, 1961 (bottom), based on single frequency observations. The
contributing radio observatories and associated frequencies are listed in the right-hand column, where ‗200
Hir‘ represents 200 MHz data from Hiraiso. Note the very different spectra (after Fokker et al., 1966: 316).

Page 333
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
Figure 12: The spectrum of the Type IV burst of 26 September 1963 constructed by T. Goh from the Hiraiso
Radio Wave Observatory (top), based on single frequency observations. The contributing radio
observatories and associated frequencies are listed in the right-hand column, where we can see that Hiraiso
(‗Hir‘) contributed 200 and 500 MHz and 9.5 GHz data (after Fokker et al., 1966: 322).
later be used with considerable success by Jap-
anese radio astronomers at Mitaka and Toyokawa,
respectively (Ishiguro et al., 2012; Orchiston and
Ishiguro, 2017).
The world‘s first position interferometer was
perfected by Ruby Payne-Scott (1912 ‒1981; Goss
and McGee, 2009) and Alex Little (1925‒1985;
Mills, 1985), and was used very effectively at Potts
Hill field station in Sydney (Australia)—e.g. see
Payne-Scott and Little (1951; 1952). This was a
swept-lobe interferometer that operated at 97.5
MHz (Little and Payne-Scott, 1951), and ―… had
good enough angular and time resolution to track
the location of a burst from second to second.‖
Sullivan, 2009: 300).
Meanwhile, a Potts Hill colleague of Payne-
Scott and Little, Wilber N. (Chris) Christiansen
(1913 ‒ 2007; Frater et al.; 2017; Wendt et al.,
2011) built the world‘s first solar grating array in
1951 (Wendt et al., 2008), although the Osaka
radio astronomy group in Japan independently and
concurrently came up with the same basic design
(see Wendt et al., 2017)—though this was never
built. The Sydney grating array (Christiansen,
1953; Christiansen and Warburton, 1953a) provid-
ed the east-west positions of the sources of 1.42
GHz radio emission in the solar corona (Christ-
iansen and Warburton, 1953b).
But there was a serious problem in trying to in-
terpret single frequency observations, even if sev-
eral different radio telescopes tuned to different
frequencies were used simultaneously. This prob-
lem first emerged in Sydney on 12 August 1946
when Lindsay McCready (1946b) reported that
Two large sunspots have been on the sun
lately. Almost continuous observations have
been made from 22nd July to 12th August,
dawn to sunset on 200, 75 and 60 Mc/s …
Sometimes there appears to be a lag at lower
frequencies in individual bursts.
This possibility of a time delay between burst onset
Page 334
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
at different frequencies
… was confirmed in a remarkable fashion on 8
March 1947 when a very large bipolar sunspot
appeared on the limb of the sun. Bolton,
Payne-Scott and Stanley observed an intense
‗outburst‘ at all three frequencies, which lasted
for about 15 minutes. Although the 200 MHz
receiver at Dover Heights was not working at
the time, a record of the outburst was obtained
at the Commonwealth Solar Observatory and
was used in their analysis. The outburst
showed a systematic delay of several minutes
between its commencement at 200, 100 and 60
MHz … suggesting the possibility that the
source moved outwards through the corona.
(Stewart et al., 2010: 4).
Takakura (1954) also reported similar results from
Japan.
The relationship between the various types of
bursts and the mystery of the time-lag in burst
onset at different frequencies would be solved
when J. Paul Wild (1923‒ 2008; Frater et al., 2017;
Stewart et al., 2011b)—also from the Division of
Radiophysics in Sydney—developed the world‘s
first solar radio spectrograph at Penrith field station
near Sydney in 1948 (Wild and McCready, 1950).
This was attached to a rhombic aerial, and
… solar radio emission was received by
sweeping over the frequency range 70 –130
MHz, and was displayed on a cathode ray tube
where it was photographed. Successive photo-
graphs could be taken at intervals of one-third
of a second, which allowed the radio astron-
omers to investigate the ways in which burst
intensity changed with frequency and with time
… (Orchiston and Slee, 2017: 540).
The results were outstanding, and after only a few
months observing Wild was able to identify three
spectrally-discrete types of solar bursts that he
named Type I, Type II and Type III (see Wild and
McCready, 1950; Wild, 1950a; 1950b; 1951).
Later Wild and his Solar Group would establish a
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
new field station at Dapto to the south of Sydney
and install three radio spectrographs there that
(initially) spanned the frequency range 40‒ 240
MHz (for details, see Stewart et al., 2011a).
Once solar radio spectrographs became the
norm worldwide (one was soon installed at Mitaka),
single frequency radiometer observations became
unpopular.
Even so, if the instrumentation at Hiraiso con-
strained the type of solar research that could be
successfully carried out, were there still projects
—other than the comparison of data with other
radio observatories—that could have been pursu-
ed? Given that sunspot, geomagnetic, iono-
spheric and radio propagation data were all reg-
ularly supplied to Hiraiso, one particular project
that immediately comes to mind would be to
investigate the relationship between 200 MHz
solar emission and (a) optical solar activity, and (b)
the terrestrial effects of any bursts that were re-
corded. Although both topics had been the sub-
ject of earlier studies (e.g. see Allen, 1947; Hat-
anaka, 1950; McCready et al., 1947) there was still
potential for a detailed investigation, especially of
the terrestrial effects (as indeed was published by
Davies in Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomi-
cal Society in 1954—the very same year that the
Hiraiso paper by Takahashi, Onoue and Kawamaki
appeared).
3.2 Hiraiso and the Tokyo Astronomical
Observatory Type IV Study
In 1957 the French solar radio astronomer André
Boischot was the first to recognize the existence of
a new type of non-storm, flare-related continuum
emission at 169 MHz, which he dubbed Type IV
emission (following Types I, II and III that were
identified earlier by Paul Wild).
Soon afterwards, Tatsuo Takakura and Masaki
Morimoto at TAO and Keizo Kai at Gakugei Uni-
versity in Tokyo began an intensive research pro-
gram on the Type IV event, and during the 1960s
published a succession of research papers in
Japanese and international journals. Early in
their studies, Takakura and Kai (1961) wanted to
try and unravel the complex nature of the typical
Type IV event, which seemed to exhibit several
different components that were chronologically
discrete and/or separated by frequency. They
therefore analysed a sample of 14 Type IV events
using observations that spanned from 67 MHz to
9.4 GHz and mainly derived from TAO and Nagoya
University‘s Toyokawa Observatory. But (Taka-
kura and Kai, 1961: 95) also mention that
Recent records at 500 Mc and a few records at
200 Mc were available courtesy of Messrs.
Hakura and Go [sic] of Hiraiso Radio Wave
Observatory, Radio Research Laboratories.
But because TAO also contributed 200 MHz
observations and the 500 MHz Hiraiso observa-
tions are not distinguished in the constructed
spectra, we cannot assess the value of the Hiraiso
Page 335
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
data. However, Takakura and Kai do present a
schematic diagram of a typical Type IV event,
where 500 MHz observations inform on their A-B
subgroup (see Figure 13).
3.3 ‘Anomalous Scintillations’
In the course of researching TAO solar obser-
vations, Atsushi Tsuchiya and Masaki Morimoto
(1961) noted that at frequencies below I GHz often
there were sudden changes in the level of solar
emission, and at times it would even oscillate.
They mentioned that various overseas solar radio
astronomers had also noted this characteristic, but
no-one had subjected it to detailed analysis. They
therefore proposed to do so, and to start by naming
this feature ‗Anomalous Scintillations'.
For their analysis, Tsuchiya and Morimoto us-
ed TAO 201 MHz polarimeter and position inter-
ferometer data, and compared these to simul-
taneous 200 MHz observations supplied by Drs F.
Yamashita and Yukio Hakura from Hiraiso. They
found that
Figure 13: Schematic diagram of a typical Type IV
event (after Takakura and Kai, 1961: 102).
… no definite correlations between the records
observed at [the] two stations can be found.
Sometimes a scintillation appears at only one
station, and no trace is found on the records of
the other station. Even when the scintillations
are observed at both stations, the time of
occurrence, the duration and the shape of the
scintillations are exceedingly different. (Tsu-
chiya and Morimoto, 1961: 305).
They concluded that anomalous scintillations orig-
inate in the Earth‘s troposphere.
What we find a little surprising about this paper
is that there were only two authors, and both from
TAO. Drs Yamashita and Hakura supplied critical
observations that made the TAO-Hiraiso compari-
son possible, and they also provided ionospheric
information that assisted Tsuchiya and Morimoto in
isolating the region of the Earth‘s atmosphere
responsible for this phenomenon. Although the
TAO radio astronomers carefully defended their
own ‗research territory‘, they were happy to write
joint papers with their Toyokawa colleagues when
pooled data were required. We suspect that had
a paper on the anomalous scintillation been co-
authored by Tsuchiya, Morimoto, Yamashita and
Hakura, this would have served as a catalyst to
encourage the Hiraiso group to conduct more solar
W. Orchiston and M. Ishiguro
6
research and publish it.
4 CONCLUDING REMARKS
From 1952 the Radio Research Laboratories of the
Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications main-
tained a modest research facility at Hiraiso that
could have been used for solar research at 200
MHz (and later at higher frequencies), but the
focus was on ionospheric research with a special
emphasis on shortwave disturbance warnings and
only two radio astronomy papers were published
(but see Sinno and Hakura, 1958). So the RRL
made little contribution to international radio ast-
ronomy.
However, all this was to change. On 29 Nov-
ember 1965 the Canadian ionospheric research
satellite Alouette II was launched, and it remained
in orbit for the next decade. During this period the
Hiraiso group analysed solar bursts recorded by
the satellite and published several papers on this
work (e.g. see Hakura et al., 1970)—but details of
this interesting research lie outside the time-frame
of our present study.
But even more importantly,
The Communications Research Laboratory
(CRL; formerly Radio Research Laboratories,
RRL) started to develop a VLBI system in-
dependently in 1975. At that time, CRL was
the only Japanese national organization hav-
ing the necessary technologies such as space
communications, radio propagation and stand-
ard for frequency and time. RRL completed
the first VLBI system … in 1976 … (Kunimori et
al., 1993: 65).
The CRL went on to become Japan‘s leading
‗player‘ in VLBI, but with the initial focus on plate
tectonics rather than astrophysics. Nonetheless,
its future in radio astronomy was assured.
5 NOTES
1. Previous papers in this series began with a
chronological overview (Ishiguro et al., 2012),
followed by Shimoda‘s 1948 solar eclipse ob-
servations (Shimoda et al., 2013), early solar
research at Tokyo Astronomical Observatory,
Mitaka (Nakajima et al., 2014); early solar re-
search in Osaka (Orchiston et al., 2016); and
the solar grating array proposed by the Osaka
group in 1950 (Wendt et al., 2017).
2. Note that as with the papers mentioned in Note
1, above, we were unable to trace any archival
records pertaining to the pioneering endeav-
ours at Hiraiso. But at least during our study
of the early radio astronomical work at Tokyo
Astronomical Observatory (Nakajima et al.,
2014) we could draw on the reminiscences
and personal records of radio astronomers
and technicians who once worked at Mitaka,
and data they provided complemented infor-
mation derived from publications. Unfortun-
ately, during the present study we could not
trace any scientists or technicians who worked
Page 336
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
on the solar research carried out at Hiraiso and
were able to assist us.
3. We use the Japan-language paper by Waikai
(1988) extensively in this paper, and all quo-
tations given here are based on our Japanese-
to-English translations.
4. The town on Ohi was also known as Ōi, and on
1 October 2005 it merged with the city of
Kamifukuoka to create the new city of Fujimino.
This is now part of the greater Tokyo metro-
politan area.
5. Curiously, Wakai (1988) claims that the Hiraiso
radio telescope was used as a cliff inter-
ferometer:
This antenna was built on a plateau about
30 m above sea level facing the Pacific
Ocean and was used as a cliff interfero-
meter … at the time of sunrise.
The cliff (or sea) interferometer technique, was
extensively used by the early Australian radio
astronomers (see Orchiston and Slee, 2017),
and had many inherent problems (e.g. see
Bolton and Slee, 1953). It is apparent from
the detailed account by Takahashi et al. (1954)
that the Hiraiso radio telescope did not func-
tion as a cliff interferometer, but was used to
track the Sun from sunrise to sunset on a daily
basis. This avoided the short-comings assoc-
iated with cliff interferometers, and exploited
the full potential of the equatorial mounting.
6. It is unfortunate that both Tsuchiya and Mori-
moto died before we began the Hiraiso phase
of the Early Japanese Radio Astronomy Pro-
ject, so we did not have a chance to ask them
about the authorship of the 1961 research
paper.
6 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The first author wishes to thank the National Ast-
ronomical Observatory of Japan for funding his
visit to Mitaka to research this project, and Prof-
essor Philippa Browning, and Drs Ken Kellerman,
Richard Schillizi and Harry Wendt for helpful
comments. Meanwhile, we wish to thank Drs
Nobuyuki Kawano and Yuuki Kubo for supplying
information about the Hiraiso solar monitoring
program, and Ms Junko Oguri at the NAOJ Library
for providing copies of old research papers and
documents.
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Professor Wayne Orchiston works at the National
Astronomical Research Institute of Thailand in Chiang
Mai and is an Adjunct Professor in the Centre for Astro-
physics at the University of Southern Queensland in
Toowoomba, Australia. In his earlier years Wayne
worked at the CSIRO‘s Division of Radiophysics in
Page 338
Early Solar Radio Astronomy at Hiraiso
Sydney and later at its successor,
the Australia Telescope National
Facility. In 2003, Wayne founded
the IAU Working Group on Historic
Radio Astronomy, and continues to
serve on the Organising Committee.
He has published on the history of
radio astronomy in Australia, France,
India, Japan, New Zealand and the
USA, and he and Masato Ishiguro
lead the IAU Project on the History of Early Japanese
Radio Astronomy. Through James Cook University and
the University of Southern Queensland, Wayne has
supervised five PhD theses and one Master thesis on
the history of radio astronomy. Apart from the history of
radio astronomy, Wayne has published on the history of
asteroidal, cometary and meteor studies; the history of
meteoritics; historic telescopes and observatories; the
amateur-professional nexus in astronomy; astronomical
archives; historic transits of Venus and solar eclipses;
the development of astrophysics; seventeenth century
Jesuit astronomical activities in Asia; and Maori and
Indian ethnoastronomy. His recent books include Ex-
ploring the History of New Zealand Astronomy: Trials,
Tribulations, Telescopes and Transits (2016, Springer);
John Tebbutt: Rebuilding and Strengthening the Found-
ations of Australian Astronomy (2017, Springer); The
Emergence of Astrophysics in Asia: Opening a New
Window on the Universe (2017, Springer, co-edited by
Tsuko Nakamura) and several conference proceedings.
Wayne is the co-founder, and current Editor, of the
Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, and he is
also a co-editor of Springer‘s Series on Historical and
Cultural Astronomy. He is a long-standing member of
the IAU and is currently President of Commission C3
(History of Astronomy). In 2013 the IAU named minor
planet 48471 Orchiston after him.
Dr Masato Ishiguro is a Professor
Emeritus of the National Astronom-
ical Observatory of Japan (NAOJ).
He started his research in radio
astronomy at Nagoya University in
1970 where he investigated radio
interferometry techniques. In 1980,
he moved to the Tokyo Astronom-
ical Observatory of the University of
Tokyo to join the project to construct
large millimeter-wave telescopes at the Nobeyama
Radio Observatory (NRO) where he was in charge of
constructing the Nobeyama Millimeter Array. He was the
Director of the NRO from 1990 to 1996 and contributed
to the open use of the telescopes. While doing research
at the NRO, he worked on a plan for a large array at
millimeter and submillimeter wavelengths. From 1998,
he led the Japanese involvement in the international
project to construct the Atacama Large Millimeter/
submillimeter Array (ALMA) in Chile. He was a Professor
at the NAOJ from 1988 until he retired in 2009. In 1995
the IAU named minor planet 7354 Ishiguro after him.
Masato is now the Japanese representative on the
Committee of the IAU Working Group on Historic Radio
Astronomy.
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2): 339‒341 (2019).

A HYPOTHETICAL ROMAKASIDDHĀNTA CALENDAR

Lars Gislén
Dala 7163, 24297 Hörby, Sweden.
Email: larsg@vasterstad.se
Abstract: The Romakasiddhānta is a quite special Hindu luni-solar canon being the only one using Metonic
intercalation and implementing a tropical solar year. As the name suggests it has a Hellenistic origin. The known
facts about the canon are scanty but in spite of this it is possible to draw some conclusions from them. A hypothetical
calendar based on its known characteristics is investigated below.
Keywords: Romakasiddhānta, calendar, lunisolar, intercalation

1 INTRODUCTION (7) In mathematical language the complete rule

The Romakasiddhānta calendar (Neugebauer, I:
29, II.8, Sastry, 7) was one of the five astronom-
ical canons popular in India in the fifth century
CE mentioned in Varahamihira’s Pañchasiddhān-
tika (van der Waerden, 1988). It represents a
lunisolar calendar where the lunar calendar is
synchronized with the solar year by intercalating
months and days. It uses the relation that 703
th
lunar days or tithis, a tithi being exactly 1/30 of
a synodic month, correspond to 692 solar days.
This relation is also used in the Thai and Bur-
mese traditional calendars in Southeast Asia.
The calendar uses a Metonic intercalation
scheme of lunar months; each 19-year cycle
having seven years with an intercalary thirteenth
lunar month. This kind of intercalation gener-
ates an average year length that is not sidereal
as for the other Hindu canons but instead results
in a tropical year. In fact, a 19-year cycle will
contain 19·12 + 7 = 235 lunar months or 235·30
= 7050 tithis. This is equal to 7050·692/703 =
6939.687055 solar days giving a mean solar
year length of 6939.687055 / 19 = 365.246687
days, almost exactly equal to Hipparchus’ tropi-
cal year 365 + ¼ – 1/300 days. The epoch of
the Romakasiddhānta canon is 21 March 505
CE, Śaka 427 (van der Waerden).
2 THE CALCULATIONS
is:
T = ((y · 12+m) + (y · 12+m) · 7 / 228) · 30 + t =
T(y, m, t). (1)
The canon also gives a formula for
converting elapsed tithis to elapsed solar days,
the ahargana, H, by
H = T – (T · 11 + 514) / 703 = H(y, m, t). (2)
The number 514 is an era constant, specific
for the Romakasiddhānta. The first term of the
formula increases the ahargana in complete syn-
chronisation with the tithis. The second term
takes into account that a tithi is 692/703 of a
solar day and that sometimes a tithi will not be in
force at the sunrise of a solar day and will end
before sunrise of the next day and will then be
suppressed. This occurs whenever the second
term increases by one unit or on average every
703/11 ≈ 63.91 tithi or 62.91 solar day or very
nearly every ninth week. There will then be two
tithis with the same ahargana.
Using formula (2) we can now calculate the
length in solar days of a given year, y, by the
difference
H(y + 1, 0, 0) – H(y, 0, 0). (3)
For a given year, y, we can calculate the
length of a given month, m, by the difference

The Romakasiddānta has a rule for calculating H(y, m + 1, 0) – H(y, m, 0). (4)
the number of elapsed tithis since the epoch: Also, the condition that in a given month, m,
(1) Multiply the elapsed number of Śaka years in a given year, y, there will be two tithis with the
diminished by 427, y, with 12 to convert them to same ahargana is
lunar months. H(y, m, t + 1) = H(y, m, t). (5)
(2) Add the number of elapsed months, m, of
the year to get the total number m0 of normal 3 THE CALENDAR
elapsed months: m0 = y · 12 + m. Using the above relations (1)–(4), Table 1 shows
(3) Find the number of intercalary months, m1, the generated number of days in each month
by m1 = m0 · 7 / (12·19). This implements the and the length of the year for the first two 19-
rule of seven intercalary months in each 19-year year cycles in the calendar. The cycle year is
cycle. the year modulus 19.
(4) The total number of elapsed months is then
m0 + m1. It is possible to draw some general
(5) Convert the total number of lunar months to conclusions:
elapsed tithis by multiplying by 30. (1) There are four kinds of years:
(6) Add the number of elapse tithis, t, of the (a) Normal years with 354 days. These
month to get the total number of elapsed tithis, T. years will have a sequence of months with al-

Page 339
Lars Gislén The Romakasiddhānta Calendar

ternating 29 and 30 days. 13357 years.

(b) Extended years with 355 days with an
intercalary day. These years always have
two 30-day months in sequence and always
start and end with a 30-day month.
(c) Short intercalary years with 383 days.
All these years are flanked by 355-day years.
Years with 383 days always start and end
with a 29-day month and have a long month
with 59 days.
(d) Intercalary years with 384 days. Adja-
cent to some of these years there is one
355-day.
(2) The year pattern for the intercalary days is
not very evident, it repeats only after 19·703 =
(3) The seven years in the 19-year cycle with
number, 2, 5, 8, 10, 13, 16, and 18 have an
intercalary month. This shows up in the table as
a long month with 59 or 60 days, marked in red.
(4) The locations of the long month in the
intercalary years follow a fixed repeating cycle
being month 9, 6, 2, 11, 7, 4, and 12 for cycle
years 2, 5, 8, 10, 13, 16, and 18 respectively.
(5) There are four patterns of days with months
preceding and following a long month: 29 59 30,
30 59 29, 29 60 29, and 30 59 30. These
patterns occur in 41%, 41%, 6%, and 12% of the
cases respectively.

Table 1: Calendar years, months, and days.

Year Cycle Month Year

Year Length
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
0 0 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 354
1 1 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 355
2 2 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 59 29 30 29 383
3 3 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 355
4 4 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 354
5 5 30 29 30 29 30 59 29 30 29 30 30 29 384
6 6 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
7 7 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 355
8 8 29 59 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 384
9 9 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 354
10 10 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 59 30 384
11 11 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
12 12 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 355
13 13 29 30 29 30 29 30 59 29 30 29 30 30 384
14 14 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 354
15 15 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
16 16 30 29 30 59 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 384
17 17 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 355
18 18 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 59 383
19 0 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 355
20 1 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
21 2 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 59 30 30 29 384
22 3 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
23 4 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 355
24 5 29 30 29 30 29 60 29 30 29 30 29 30 384
25 6 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 354
26 7 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
27 8 30 59 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 384
28 9 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 355
29 10 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 59 30 384
30 11 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 354
31 12 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
32 13 30 29 30 29 30 30 59 29 30 29 30 29 384
33 14 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 355
34 15 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 354
35 16 30 29 30 59 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 384
36 17 29 30 29 30 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 354
37 18 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 29 30 30 29 59 384

Page 340
Lars Gislén
In the first pattern the suppressed tithi will
always occur in the second half of the 59 days
of the long month which is split into two months
according to 29 59 30 → 29 30 29 30. In the
second pattern the suppressed tithi always
occurs in the first half of the long month and the
split is accordingly 30 59 29 → 30 29 30 29. In
the third pattern there is no suppressed tithi in
the long month and consequently it is split in two
equal parts, each with 30 days. In the last pat-
tern the way to split the long month will be de-
termined by the half in which the suppressed
tithi occurs. In general, the split prevents having
two 29-day months days following each other.
(6) Years with 384 days either start with a 29-
day month and end with a 30-day month or vice
versa. Years with a long month of 59 days al-
ways have two consecutive 30-day months or
have the long month flanked by two 30-day
months, for those years with a long month of 60
days these two consecutive months arise from
the split long month, 60 → 30 + 30.
4 CONCLUDING REMARKS
This calendar, generated by the rules given in
the Romakasiddhānta, has similarities to the com-
mon Hindu calendars in that it tries to synchro-
nise the length of the months with the mean
Moon using a system of suppressed tithis and
days inserted when needed. It also synchronis-
es the lunar year with the Sun with intercalary
months, but in contrast with the Hindu calendars
it uses a tropical solar year and not a sidereal
year. The calculations required to set up the
calendar are quite simple and only require inte-
ger arithmetic. It would be quite accurate rela-
Page 341
The Romakasiddhānta Calendar
tive to the true tropical year, the error being only
about one day in 220 years. The resulting cal-
endar has some similarities with the original Bur-
mese Arakanese and Makaranta calendars in
using a Metonic intercalation scheme. With small
changes in the day intercalation to achieve year
lengths of 354, 384, and 385 days it would be
even more similar and raises the question of the
influence of this canon on the calendars in South-
east Asia.
5 REFERENCES
Neugebauer, O., and Pingree, D., 1970‒1971. The
Pañcasiddhāntika of Varāhamihira, I-II. Kopen-
hagen, DEt Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes
Selskab (Historisk-Fikosofiske Skrifter 6, 1).
Sastry, A.K., 1993. Pañcasiddhāntika of Varāhamihira.
Madras, Adyar (P.P.S.T Science Series No. 1).
van der Waerden, B.L., 1988. On the Romakasidd-
hānta. Archive for History of Exact Sciences, 38, 1‒
11.
Dr Lars Gislén is a former lector
in the Department of Theoretical
Physics at the University of Lund,
Swe-den, and retired in 2003. In
1970 and 1971 he studied for a
Ph.D. in the Faculté des
Sciences, at Orsay, France. He
has been doing research in ele-
mentary particle physics, complex
systems and applications of
physics in biology and with at-mospheric physics.
During the past twenty years he has devel-oped
several computer programs and Excel spreadsheets
imple-menting calendars and medieval astronomical
models from Europe, India and South-East Asia (see
http://home.thep.lu.se/~larsg/).
 Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22(2), 342 ‒362 (2019).

BOOK REVIEWS
Cosmos and Community in Early Medieval Art, Chapter 1, ―Tyranny and Splendor‖ encom-
by Benjamin Anderson. (New Haven, Yale passes the tale of the Throne of Khosrow which
University Press, 2017). Pp. 204. ISBN 978-0- is not depicted for it survives only in literature.
300-21916-6 (hardback), 203 × 254 mm, This section also includes examples of how
US$65:00. rulers evoked cosmological imagery to reinforce
their authority and divine right to rule. Chapter
Cosmos and Community in Early Medieval Art 2, ―Declaration and Transaction‖, expounds
presents a thorough study of a selection of further on the theme of medieval rulers claiming
celestially-focused artworks from three distinct universal rule; proof of that assertion was
cultures created at the time each diverged from strengthened by images, medals and clothing
their shared legacy of Greco-Roman astronomy. that adopted images of stars, planets and
The distinct religious backgrounds of Frankish, heavenly constellations. Among his diverse
(mainly Carolingian), Islamic (mainly Umayyad), subjects are Charlemagne‘s silver table, zodiac-
and Byzantine cultures maintained the imple- cal diagrams from astronomical compendia, and
mentation of cosmological iconography to re- the frescoed ceiling of the bathhouse at Qusayr‘
inforce the supreme position and authority of the Amra, a Umayyad desert castle. The castle
ruler, but this examination focuses on the aspect was strategically located on the important trade
of ‗community‘. Anderson conveys a new view-
point to the study of these artworks by in-
vestigating their significance outside the royal or
religious innermost circles to include courts,
ambassadors, ecclesiastics and the community
at large. His approach seems debatable for how
many members of these early societies actually
had close access to these regal treasures or
valued astronomical manuscripts that are dis-
cussed. I would suggest only a privileged few in
each of these varied communities had more
than a quick glance from a distance, if that.
The examples of early medieval artworks
discussed in the book concern mainly items
decorated with zodiacal constellations, their
positions and motions through the heavens.
These astronomical images all derive from
classical antiquity and have been utilized as
symbols of power and authority. Anderson
states that the objects studied display a version
of the heavens that venerate ―… a more neutral
universe not involved with human lives or daily
activities.‖ (p. 15). The constellations and signs
of the zodiac bear no astrological implications route between Damascus and Mecca, a ―… site
as this study concentrates mostly on objects where networks of political authority were
made in the early ninth century, well before the formed and confirmed …‖ (p. 68), under a ref-
surge of astrological treatises translated from erence to Umayyad regal power and authority.
Arabic in the twelfth century. The inclusion of
the signs of the zodiac in most medieval art- Chapter 3, ―Carolingian Consensus‖, con-
works (church façade sculpture, books of hours centrates mainly on medieval manuscripts pro-
and illustrated calendars) matches each zodiac- duced in the first quarter of the ninth century.
cal sign with its appropriate labor of the month During that brief period the Carolingian script-
but the labors are not included in these repre- oria of cathedrals, monasteries, and royal courts
sentative artworks. His examples include sur- created and copied a huge number of manu-
viving cosmological artworks that are well- scripts including small monastic handbooks and
known, such as the Carolingian Cathedra Petri various astronomical texts.
now in the Vatican, the silver table of Charle- Collections of available astronomical texts
magne, not extant, and the Star Mantle of Henry were bound together as compendia which
II in the Diȍzesanmuseum Bamberg, along with usually contained celestial maps, cosmological
little-known decorated textiles, such as Mantle diagrams, computus charts with techniques
of Kunigunde and the Cloth of the Ewaldi. needed for computations, and the cycle of
The book‘s text consists of an introduction, constellation images passed down from Late
four extensive chapters, and a brief conclusion. Antique exemplars. Many of the 41 to 46 con-

Page 342
 Book Reviews
stellation illustrations include brief descriptions
of the stars‘ number and their location within the
formations. They also have texts of Isidore of
Seville (CE 560‒ 636) in the earlier manuscripts
and of Bede (CE 672‒735) on heavenly mo-
tions and computus in the later copies.
The texts and images range in quality from
sketchy, amateurish productions to outstanding
royal treasures like the Leiden Aratea of CE 814
credited to ‗The Astronomer‘. An aspect of
these cosmological compendia that still sur-
prises is that, despite their creation by scribal
monks, priests and religious figures, the illumin-
ations retain their ‗pagan‘ planetary gods, myths
and iconography. The only concession to
Christianity can be found in one miniature of the
Leiden Aratea, Gemini, who display small
Christian crosses on their caps.
The theme of Chapter 4, ―Byzantine Dis-
sensus‖, centers on Greek astronomical man-
uscripts in the Byzantine world where very few
surviving manuscripts with cosmological texts
are illustrated. The Vatican Ptolemy, eighth or
ninth century, survives along with three other
early copies of the Handy Tables and is the only
copy with illustrations. It contains five colorful
full-page diagrams and painted lunettes over
the tables. Anderson claims the miniatures give
the impression of a well-ordered cosmos ruled
by a well-ruled empire. The study presents
evidence that shows Byzantium‘s Emperor held
abundant astronomical knowledge that enabled
him to rule his Empire wisely and confidently.
While in the Frankish and early Islamic Empires,
the rulers were sufficiently educated in astro-
nomical knowledge but proficiency in exact de-
tails was left to experts in the field. The cos-
mological imagery in Byzantine manuscripts
established and promoted the idea that the ruler
alone had the necessary skills and authority to
rule. In contrast the Frankish and Islamic rulers
were promoted as using the stellar imagery to
establish a more communal sharing of know-
ledge with the audience who observed these
artworks.
The book brings to the forefront some re-
ligious and secular manuscripts and regal par-
aphernalia that has had little previous expos-
ure in Western research. The book and its
sixty-seven color illustrations are of high-quality
and well produced. There is one minor error on
page 55 where Anderson names Charlemagne
as the son of Charles Martel; of course, he was
his grandson. In this study he does not discuss
extensive details of the art historical aspects
or the astronomical meanings, or techniques.
Rather than discussing an item‘s contempor-
ary acceptance or usefulness, he presents the
social functions, the intentions and significance
of each for the patrons, artists and viewers.
Page 343
Anderson‘s original approach of invoking
the concept of community is appealing for the
social functions and significance of these cos-
mological illustrations and decorated artifacts.
My main difficulty stands with the outreaching
concept of ‗community‘. How many individu-
als in a Frankish, Byzantine or Islamic commu-
nity would have had visual access to Charle-
magne‘s Silver Table, Charles the Bald‘s Ivory
Throne, Henry II‘s Star Mantle (some doubt he
ever wore it), or the frescoed dome of a caliph‘s
bathhouse at Qusayr‘ Amra, or Ptolemy‘s Handy
Tables? Manuscripts in monastic, cathedral or
regal libraries too could be accessed by very
limited audiences as only the elite and clergy
were literate. How many would ever see the
miniatures or could understand the Vatican Ptol-
emy? That these luxury items illustrated with
cosmological images had the ability ―… to med-
iate between an individual and a community …‖
(p. 147) seems quite limited, exceedingly rare,
or even doubtful.
Dr Marion Dolan
Independent scholar, Deerfield Beach,
Florida, USA.
Email: mdolan79@hotmail.com
Selene’s Two Faces: From 17
th
Century
Drawings to Spacecraft Imaging, edited by
Carmen Pérez González. (Leiden, Brill, 2018).
Pp. xvi + 310. ISBN 978-90-04-29886-6
(hardback), 160 × 240 mm, US$132.00.
This is an interesting book that mixes art and
science, and as such it has authors from
professional and amateur astronomy, from
academia and from museums, inspired by editor
Carmen Pérez González who has a Masters
degree in astrophysics and a PhD in Art History.
Carmen sets the scene for the whole book
in the first chapter:
If any scientific object has over the course of
human history aroused the fascination of
both scientists and artists worldwide, it is
beyond doubt the moon. (p. 1).
This book spans the time-range from the
seventeenth century to the astronaut era of the
twentieth century, and is
… intermedial, intercultural and interdisci-
plinary … [bringing] together various media
(photography, maps, engravings, lithographs,
globes, texts), cultures and theoretical per-
spectives … (p. 2).
This catholic approach is reflected in the eight
following chapters, which discuss the history of
selenography; the Moon in Persian and Jap-
anese astronomy; nineteenth century lunar
photography; ―The Digital Sky of Hamburg
Observatory: Bringing Astro-photographic Plates
th st
from the 20 into the 21 Century‖, and finally a
chapter with the subtitle ―Close-up Detailed
 Book Reviews

Observations Performed by Spacecraft and very same issue of JAHH!

Manned Exploration of the Moon‖. With the
In Chapter 3 Japan‘s leading astronomical
advent of lander, orbiter and fly-by missions,
historian, Dr Tsuko Nakamura reviews Japan‘s
technology in the second half of the twentieth
love affair with the Moon, through drawings,
century opened a new window not just on our
maps and photographs, but he also discusses
Moon, but especially on the Solar System.
the mandatory topics of (a) the introduction of
As someone with a special interest in Asian the telescope to Japan, and (b) the first tele-
astronomical history, I was pleased to read scope made in Japan. Tsuko had previously
Carmen‘s summary on pages 17‒24, with many published much on early Japanese astronomy,
familiar references and images, not to mention but he strengthens his chapter by including new
Tsuko Nakamura‘s chapter about ―Japanese material (including previously-unpublished draw-
Lunar Drawings, Maps and Photographs Before ings).
the 1870s‖. Among the images Carmen pre-
Charlotte Bigg provides a tour-de-force on
sents is Figure 0.5, an old favourite of mine that
the early development of lunar photography in
appears to show Siam‘s King Narai and a
Chapter 4 by
contingent of French Jesuit astronomers obser-
ving the total lunar eclipse of 11 December 1685 Rather than studying how photography was
from near Lop Buri. However, we should note applied to astronomy … we then need to
that this drawing was made in Paris (not SE understand how photography and astronomy
Asia) by an artist who had never been to Siam mutually made each other: in the elaboration
of what came to be known as astrophysics,
(let alone seen the eclipse), and that it exhibits
considerable artistic license (for details see
Orchiston et al., 2016). Nonetheless, what
makes this eclipse observation even more in-
teresting is that Cassini‘s 1679 map of the Moon
was used for reference purposes (see Gislén et
al., 2018).
Then comes a chapter by Adler Planet-
arium‘s Pedro Raposo that briefly reviews the
history of selenography, mentions all the key
early maps of the Moon and reproduces copies
of some of them, before moving on to lunar
globes, and includes what surely must be the
most remarkable globe made in the nineteenth
century. Inspired by Julius Schmidt, the curator
Thomas Dickert crafted an impressive 19-feet
diameter globe of the Moon for the National
History Museum in Bonn, and this is shown in
Figure 1.8.
Carmen Gonzalez‘s second chapter in this
book is about the Moon and Persian astronomy
during the second half of the nineteenth century.
This is an important contribution to the literature
on Middle Eastern historical astronomy, bringing
as it does, into the public domain new archival for instance; or in establishing the idea of
sources and historical photographs (many of photography as a reliable witness and scien-
which have not been published previously). But tific instrument. (p. 118).
Carmen sets the scene by reviewing earlier
She discusses photographic maps and atlases
Persian astronomers, including al-Şūfī and his
of the Moon, and because of the convenience of
famous Book of the Fixed Stars (which was the
her Paris domicile she draws extensively on
research topic of one of my former graduate
French sources for her examples. C’est trez
students, Ihsan Hafez; I was pleased to see that
bon! However, on page 137 she discusses
Carmen references his PhD Thesis).
attempts by John Herschel and Warren de la
An important element in Carmen‘s 34-page Rue to launch an on-going solar photography
chapter is the introduction of the telescope to program at Kew Observatory. For the very
Iran, and the manufacture of the first telescope latest on this topic, readers should refer to the
in Iran by the Frenchman Raphaël du Mans. By review of Lee Macdonald‘s book, Kew Obser-
a remarkable coincidence, Ramesh Kapoor vatory …, on pages 373‒374 in this issue of
(2019) discusses du Mans‘ telescope-making JAHH. Charlotte Bigg ends her chapter with an
activities (among other topics) in a paper in this exposé on the important role that amateurs

Page 344
 Book Reviews
have played in lunar astronomy.
One of these very same amateurs, the
industrial James Nasmyth, is the subject of the
next chapter, by Omar W. Nasim, Professor of
History of Science at the University of Reg-
ensburg in Germany. While Nasmyth is prob-
ably best known to most astronomers for his
telescope-making prowess, and the ‗Nasmyth
focus‘ used with large reflecting telescopes, he
was also an accomplished observer and co-
author of a celebrated book about the Moon. In
1874 Nasmyth teamed with James Carpenter to
produce The Moon, Considered as a Planet, a
World, a Satellite. An early addition to my own
library, this still fascinates with its remarkable
photographs, many of which, as Nasim reminds
us,
… are actually prints of photographs of plas-
ter and wood models of the moon … [that]
have been appreciated for their realism as
well as their positivism, for their uncanny
resemblance to science fiction effects and
their relation to mechanical objectivity; and
for the ways in which they straddle science
and art. (p. 147).
Nasim‘s excellent chapter paints a picture of
Nasmyth as a telescope-maker, observer,
model- maker, map-maker, lecturer, author and
above all accomplished selenographer. It also
informs on Nasmyth‘s friendship with fellow-Scot
and Astronomer Royal of Scotland, Professor
Charles Piazzi Smyth who took a liking to sel-
enography. All in all, I found this a very re-
warding chapter to read.
The next chapter switches the focus to a
professional astronomer, Bonn Observatory‘s
Professor Karl Freidrich Küstner, and the lunar
photography that he carried out between 1901
and 1903 with a 30-cm astrograph and 36-cm
guide-scope. The author of this chapter, Uni-
versity of Bonn‘s Michael Geffert, suggests that
Küstner took these lunar photographs not for
research purposes but to test the quality of the
double telescope. Because of this, Geffert is
using Küstner‘s lunar photographs in exhibi-
tions, to interest the public in astronomy.
Chapter 7 continues the professional astron-
omer-German observatory theme by examining
the development of astronomical photography at
Hamburg Observatory using a variety of tele-
scopes and for a range of different research
projects. This resulted in a large plate collec-
tion, but only about 170 of these are of the
Moon. As the author of this chapter, Hamburg
Observatory‘s Dr Detlef Groote, points out,
The advantage of photographic plates as a
storage medium is their high density of
information … On the other hand, they are a
non-digital medium that suffers from ageing
and bad storage conditions, such a high
temperatures, humidity, and dust, scratches
Page 345
… Moreover, after a century some of the
photographic plates show damage such as
darkening and silvering, or dissolution and
rupture of the emulsion. (pp. 210 ‒ 211).
Groote then describes in detail the digitization of
the Hamburg Observatory plate collection. This
began in 2010 as a pilot project, and at the time
of writing (presumably 2017),
… more than 41,000 plates had been scan-
ned … plus the same number of plate enve-
lopes. Additionally, so far 175 observer
notebooks and logbooks have been scan-
ned, leading to an approximate total of more
than 190,000 image files. The disk space so
far needed amounts to roughly 43 TB. (p.
225).
This illuminating chapter highlights the enor-
mous potential that photographic plate collec-
tions around the world hold for certain types of
astrophysical research projects.
The final chapter in this book is co-authored
by Dr Pedro Ré, an amateur astronomer who
works as a zoologist at the University of Lisbon
(Portugal), and Carmen González. The primary
title of this chapter is ―From Astronomer-photo-
graphers to Astronaut-photographers‖, and it
shows how
Photographing from spacecraft changed the
concept of a human being behind a camera,
or more precisely, a human being behind a
telescope coupled with a camera … (p. 230).
But not all photographs from spacecraft were
taken by human beings, and this chapter dis-
cusses unmanned lunar missions of 1957‒
1967 and Soviet lunar probes, before focusing
on the U.S. Apollo Mission, and later the
unmanned Clementine Lunar Prospector Mis-
sions. An interesting aside is the account of
how Hasselblad cameras became the ‗official‘
U.S. space cameras on the manned lunar
missions, and the authors devote two pages
with tables summarising this, not to mention the
various lunar photographs that are scattered
throughout the text. The chapter ends with a
summary of Japanese, Chinese and Indian lun-
ar missions, and photographic opportunities that
the Moon now holds for amateur astronomers in
this age of high-resolution digital imaging and
image manipulation.
Rounding out this book are a 7-page
―History of Moon-photography: Timeline‖ (by Ré
and González), a 22-page Bibliography, and an
Index.
Selene’s Two Faces is an interesting book,
on a topic that has not been written on before
(well in book form, anyway). It is easy reading,
and chapters are well illustrated and all are
literally supported by footnotes, supplemented
by an excellent Bibliography. Carmen González
is to be congratulated on coming up with the
 Book Reviews

idea of this book and seeing it through to
publication. It will surely appeal to anyone with
an interest in the Moon or astronomical photo-
graphy.
References
Gislén, L., Launay, F., Orchiston, W., Orchiston, D.L.,
Débarbat, S., Husson, M., George, M., and Soon-
thornthum, B., 2018. Cassini‘s 1679 map of the
Moon and French Jesuit observations of the lunar
eclipse of 11 December 1685. Journal of Astronom-
ical History and Heritage, 21, 211‒ 225.
Kapoor, R., 2019. On two seventeenth century Per-
sian paintings depicting comets or fireballs. Journal
of Astronomical History and Heritage, 22, 301‒321.
Orchiston, W., Orchiston, D.L., George, M., and Soon-
thornthum, B., 2016. Exploring the first scientific
observations of lunar eclipses made in Siam. Jour-
nal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 19, 25 ‒
45.
Professor Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute
of Thailand, Chiang Mai, Thailand; and
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
Neither the daguerreotype nor the calo-
type were [sic] astronomy-friendly. In fact,
they were downright hostile ... Until expos-
ure times were shortened and telescope
drives improved, astronomers would remain
hostage to every flutter of the air and lurch of
the drive gear. (p. 69).
One of the eccentrics Hirshfeld mentions is
Richard Leach Maddox (1816 ‒1902), who en-
gaged in a ―… noxious hobby of wet-collodion
photomicroscopy. This he pursued in an un-
ventilated closet in his home.‖ His use of gel-
atin, ―… a true chemical advance over collodion
…‖, was the key breakthrough in the develop-
ment of dry plates: ―The hoary thirty-minute
daguerrotype had evolved into the dry-plate
snapshot.‖ (pp. 113‒114). That was in 1871,
but it was not until the 1890s that photography
proved its value:

Starlight Detectives: How Astronomers, Invent-

ors and Eccentrics, Discovered the Modern
Universe, by Alan Hirshfeld. (New York,
Bellevue Literary Press, 2014). Pp. 397. ISBN
978-1-934137-78-0 (paperback), 150 × 228 mm,
US$19.95.
The development of astrophotography in the
nineteenth century, to its employment by Hubble
in the 1920s and 1930s that revealed a Uni-
verse of galaxies, is the subject of this book.
The author is current President of the History of
Astronomy Division of the American Astronom-
ical Society, and Professor of Physics at the
University of Massachusetts, in Dartmouth.
One hesitates to pronounce any book de-
finitive, but this work by Hirshfeld has set a
standard that will not soon be equalled, much
less surpassed in just a single volume. In
addition to fleshing out the details which are
broadly known, he rescues from oblivion sev-
eral, eccentrics who contributed mightily to ast- It was pictures of the controversial spiral
rophotography. nebulae that were to cement the acceptance
The first astronomical image was taken by of photography by professional astronomers.
(p. 143).
New York University chemistry professor John
W. Draper in 1840. It was a 20-minute ex- The second part of the book focuses on
posure of the Moon, since lost in a fire of 1866. the rise of spectroscopy, pioneered by Robert
Draper used the only method available, a da- Bunsen ―… the amiable lord of the laboratory
guerrotype, invented by Louis Daguerre and …‖ (p. 156) and Gustav Kirchhoff, who was
inspired by his friend Joseph Niépce, who took plagued into adulthood by ‗neurotic demons‘
the first photograph from nature in 1826. By that had their root in angst about his slight
1841 there was a second way to take images— stature. Bunsen, by contrast, was a bearish
the calotype—developed in England by William man. Hirshfeld dubs them ―… the odd couple.‖
Henry Fox Talbot, but he patented the process, (p. 155). Going from the laboratory to the in-
hindering its widespread use: strumental perspective, the author describes

Page 346
 Book Reviews

how Joseph Fraunhofer developed a spectro- Making Stars Physical: The Astronomy of Sir
scopic device that enabled him to identify 574 John Herschel, by Stephen Case. (Pittsburgh,
spectral lines in the light from the Sun. University of Pittsburgh Press, 2018). Pp. viii +
319. ISBN 978-0-8229-4530-7 (hardcover), 155
The delicacy of this work is emphasised in
× 235 mm, US$39.95.
an anecdote about John Herschel, who invited
Charles Babbage to his home to view the Sir John Herschel (1792 ‒1871) remains an
Fraunhofer lines. Herschel warned Babbage enigmatic figure in the history of astronomy,
that even though he would look for the lines, he amazingly famous in his lifetime but rarely ref-
would not find them. ―I will instruct you how to erenced today. John‘s popular-level book
see them,‖ Herschel said, ―and you shall see Outlines in Astronomy was published in 1849,
them … [in such a way that] you shall find it ―… just prior to spectroscopic analysis.‖ (p. 209).
impossible to look at a spectrum without seeing While his text ―Offered the first avenue …‖ by
them.‖ Babbage writes: which a ―… new understanding of stars was
presented to an English reading public …‖, it
On looking as I was directed, notwithstand-
ing the previous warning, I did not see them;
ultimately suffered the same fate as books
and after some time I inquired how they about spacecraft published before 1957.
might be seen, when the prediction of Mr.
Herschel was completely fulfilled. (p. 169)
As these snippets from the book attest, the
author weaves a tale of personality with that of
laboratory and instrumental discovery, making
the story of astrophotography accessible to a
wide audience.
I found only one passage to contest. The
assertion (p. 137) that the Astrographic Con-
ference of 1887 in Paris was ―… the first-ever
international conference of astronomers …‖ is
incorrect. That honour goes to Baron Franz von
Zach, who held the first such conference in
Gotha in 1798.
The book concludes with 65 pages of ref-
erences, a time lime, glossary of names, bib-
liography and index. Some nineteenth-century
aspects of Hirshfeld‘s text, such as Herschel
and the Fraunhofer lines, overlaps with Steven
Case‘s book, Making Stars Physical, which is
also reviewed in this issue of the JAHH. Both
books form valuable companions to Stefan
Hughes‘ massive 2013 two-volume tome Catch-
ers of the Light … (that also has been reviewed
in JAHH).
Starlight Detectives: How Astronomers,
Inventors and Eccentrics Discovered the
Modern Universe is not only immensely inform- ―Herschel‘s goal was to make stars phys-
ative but written in fine prose that few history of ical …‖ (p. 126), but ―It was spectroscopy, and
astronomy books attain. not the double stars with their calculated
References masses or velocities …‖ that Herschel spent
much of his life studying, ―… that most firmly
Hughes, S., 2013. Catchers of the Light. The For- and definitively established the physical nature
gotten Lives of the Men and Women who First
Photographed the Heavens: Their True Tales of Ad-
of the stars.‖ (p. 224). By a cruel twist of fate,
venture, Adversity & Triumph. Paphos, ArtDeCiel he ―… remained unconvinced by the new
Publishing. chemical insights into the nature of stars that
spectroscopy purported to provide.‖ (p. 186).
Dr Clifford J. Cunningham While Herschel saw lines in the solar spectrum
Centre for Astrophysics, University (a delight he shared with his friend Charles
of Southern Queensland, Babbage), he apparently never saw them in
Toowoomba, Queensland, stellar spectra. Thus, Herschel rejected the
Australia. very scientific advance that made his goal
cliff.cunningham@usq.edu.au possible.

Page 347
 Book Reviews
Herschel‘s stellar work proved to be an
important stepping stone, bridging the work of
his father William before him and stellar spec-
troscopy afterwards. But stepping stones are
often forgotten: even though John was one of
the most famous scientist/astronomers of his
age, there is yet no definitive biography of him.
In the absence of such a work, this book by
Stephen Case of Olivet Nazarene University will
stand as the most thoroughly researched book
about the astronomical endeavours John Her-
schel.
―Witnessing the Great Eruption sharpened
Herschel‘s interest in variable stars,‖ writes
Case, referring to the outburst of Eta Carinae
that he observed from the Cape of Good Hope
in 1837. ―Herschel provided an extended ac-
count of this stellar outburst in his Cape Results,
…‖ writes Case, but that was a full decade after
the event! (p. 101). This highlights the entirely
different observing and reporting strategy he
employed nearly two centuries ago compared
with today. Upon his return to England from the
Cape in 1838, Herschel sided with Wilhelm Ol-
bers about the existence of cosmic clouds, in-
voking the movement of such obscuring clouds
to account for the variability of stars such as
Eta Carinae. John Herschel was an observer
par excellence, but this did not extend to de-
veloping accurate theories to explain those ob-
servations, another key reason that his work has
been neglected in the past 150 years.
Another example of this was the enormous
effort he expended on nebulae, but
His own theories regarding these objects re-
mained uncertain, as no measurable change
was ever linked to mathematical law or
physical cause. (p. 166).
By disdaining spectroscopy, what Case char-
acterises as ―… the goal and also the great
challenge …‖ of ascertaining real changes in
nebulae ended in frustration. (p. 157).
Case rightly identifies Herschel‘s primary
scientific legacy as his work ―… to standardize
observations of magnitude, organize these data,
and render them useful for other observers.‖ He
created great catalogues of variable and
double stars, and nebulae. He thus ―… set the
ground-work for the astrophysics of the final
quarter of the century.‖ (p. 122).
For all his scientific work, the legacy of John
Herschel resides as the greatest populariser
of astronomy of the early nineteenth century.
Case concludes the book by briefly looking at
how this influenced nine other popularises of the
subject in that century, including Agnes Clerke,
Thomas Webb and William Whewell.
As an example of the florid Victorian prose
that has long ago gone out of fashion, but which
Page 348
made him so admired to the public as their
window on the Universe, here he is describing
double stars with what Case characterises as
‗rhetorical grandeur‘:
We must admit that double stars must be
accomplishing ends in creation which will
remain forever unknown to man; and that we
have here attained a point in science where
the human intellect is compelled to acknow-
ledge its weakness, and to feel that no con-
ception the wildest imagination can form will
bear the least comparison with the intrinsic
greatness of the subject. (p. 203).
Case gives us a tremendous insight into a
life of supreme dedication to astronomy in all its
forms. With 67 pages of notes and bibliography,
his meticulous attention to detail has produced
the most valuable book ever published on Sir
John Herschel.
Dr Clifford J. Cunningham
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
cliff.cunningham@usq.edu.au
Kew Observatory & The Evolution of Victorian
Science 1840-1910, by Lee T. Macdonald.
(Pittsburgh, University of Pittsburgh Press,
2018). Pp. xii + 308. ISBN 978-0-8229-4526-0
(hardcover), 155 × 220 mm, US $45.00.
This institutional history of Kew Observatory by
Dr Lee T. Macdonald (Research Facilitator at
the University of Oxford‘s Museum of the History
of Science) celebrates the development of
British science before World War I.
Kew Observatory was built as a private
astronomical observatory for King George III so
that he could observe the transit of Venus in
1769, but the author dispenses with the pre-
1840 era in a few paragraphs.
Like two other books reviewed in this issue
of the JAHH, this one has much to say about the
role of Sir John Herschel in British science.
Macdonald identifies Herschel‘s approach to
research as one in which ―… data should be
gathered for the purpose of putting theory to the
test.‖ (p. 55). He tells us that
… between 1839 and 1843 Herschel super-
vised William Birt in a project ... to reduce
meteorological observations with a view of
verifying the existence …
of atmospheric waves (ibid.). In 1842 Birt ―…
sought a testimonial from Herschel in support of
his application for the ‗curatorship‘ of Kew
Observatory.‖ (ibid.). Herschel agreed and,
concerned that the observatory would be closed
by the British Association for the Advancement
of Science (BAAS), he wrote to the geophysicist
Edward Sabine that ―… the Association ought
not, except on very urgent grounds, throw up
 Book Reviews
the observatory.‖ Macdonald notes dryly that a
―… sign of the authority that Herschel com-
manded …‖ in this letter ―… reads almost like a
military order.‖ (p. 56).
It was just one of many instances where the
authority of Herschel was sought by various
people over three decades to shape the nature
of the research at Kew Observatory. By 1871
―Herschel had been the one dissenting voice
against the Royal Society taking over its
management …‖ (p. 132), but when he died that
same year Kew quickly passed from the control
of the BAAS to the Society. Perhaps Herschel
would ultimately have been pleased, however,
because Kew spent its last active years (1912 to
1980) as a meteorological observatory. Sadly
for historians of science, it is now just a private
dwelling.
Herschel maintained to the end that govern-
ment funds for science must be used to assist
―Private individual experimental research …‖
and secondarily data reduction (p. 66). This
reflects the Victorian view of science that mod-
ern science has entirely rejected. One of the
most important contributions of this book is to
show at the granular level how that transition
occurred in a very specific research environ-
ment.
Macdonald lovingly examines each decade
up to 1910 with meticulous care, delighting in
the on-going struggle for control of Kew be-
tween rivals Sabine and the Astronomer Royal
George Airy. The author delineates every
Page 349
relevant meeting, personnel change, and
behind-the-scenes machination that transform-
ed Kew into the premier site in Great Britain for
calibrating and certifying scientific instruments.
These included telescopes, which technicians
at Kew first began to test and verify in 1889.
This started with just 99 telescopes, but by 1900
some 1,345 of them were tested, rising to 4,288
in 1912. Most were used by the British Army
and the Admiralty.
Kew is best known in an astronomical con-
text for the solar photography it helped pioneer,
and ―Secondary sources suggest that Herschel
was the central driving force in initiating the Kew
sunspot photography program.‖ (p. 90). He was
the first, in 1839, to ―… advocate photography
as a means of recording sunspots.‖ (p. 91). It
has been widely believed that an 1854 letter he
published in the BAAS Annual Report was key
in getting such a program started at Kew, but
Macdonald digs deeper and suggests that
Sabine may have been ―… informally lobbying
Herschel for his support …‖ before that.
Macdonald identifies the original initiative as
originating in 1852 from Sabine and John
Welsh, the superintendent at Kew. The author
found a letter from Welsh to Sabine written in
April 1852 that ―… is the first recorded sug-
gestion that photography be used as the main
method in a regular ... patrol of solar activity.‖ (p.
91). Macdonald identifies the Kew photohelio-
graph as having ―… a great influence on solar
astronomy throughout the rest of the nineteenth
century.‖ (p. 99).
I would like to have seen a more thor-
ough explanation of the purpose of certain
scientific data collected at Kew. In the 1840s,
for example, we are told observations of at-
mospheric electricity were made at Kew, but
their purpose is not clear. Kew was also a ―…
magnetic observatory that could rival Greenwich
…‖ (p. 77), but the meat of the physics is
missing. This book is obviously not the place for
technicalities, but a little more detail about the
data and how they was used would have been
welcome.
Macdonald has used archival material never
before studied to write an important book on
British science. He rightly calls for more book-
length histories of scientific institutions for the
purpose of challenging ―… existing assumptions
about these institutions and about the history of
science.‖ (p. 248). The book concludes with 55
pages of notes and a bibliography.
Dr Clifford J. Cunningham
Centre for Astrophysics, University
of Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
cliff.cunningham@usq.edu.au
 Book Reviews

Fred Whipple’s Empire: The Smithsonian Astro- Geophysical Year (IGY) and beyond.
physical Observatory, 1955–1973, by David H. A similar pattern was followed in the SAO‘s
DeVorkin. (Washington, D.C., Smithsonian In- growing presence on Mount Hopkins in Ari-
stitution Scholarly Press, 2018). Pp. xvii + 401. zona. This site, whose skies rivaled those of
ISBN 978-1-944466-18-3 (paperback), 177 × Kitt Peak, was used to develop the Large
254 mm, US$79.95 (available as a free down- Optical Reflector (LOR) for conducting early
load). ground-based studies in gamma-ray astron-
The Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astro- omy. In succession, it became the locus for a
physics (CfA) is one of the largest and most state-of-the-art sixty-inch reflector employed
important institutions of its kind in the world. Yet, for photometric work and, ultimately, home to
its complex origin, arising from the merger of the daring Multiple Mirror Telescope (MMT)––
two largely autonomous entities, the former the first large-scale demonstration of combining
Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO) smaller reflecting surfaces into a single instru-
and the Harvard College Observatory (HCO), ment of considerable light-gathering power.
has never been told before in a work of such DeVorkin‘s account offers compelling insights
depth, clarity and understanding. But ironically, into the post-war development of large optical
the individual most responsible for creating the
CfA, SAO Director Fred Lawrence Whipple
(1906 – 2004), remained opposed to the merger
and was forced into retirement on its account.
DeVorkin shows how Whipple‘s experiences
gained during WWII, in operating within a gov-
ernment and military command structure, were
readily turned to his advantage with the advent
of the Space Age and the enormous opport-
unities it afforded to increase his infrastructure.
When Whipple was first appointed SAO Director
in 1955, there were less than twelve personnel;
under his leadership, this was expanded to
more than 300 by 1961, a majority of whom
were paid by the National Science Foundation
(NSF) through congressional allocations.
Much of what Whipple accomplished during
the early phases of his Directorship revealed a
broadly unified, interdisciplinary approach to
science, which ranged from his research on
meteors and the upper atmosphere (aeronomy)
to satellite tracking and geodesy. This inte-
gration was sketched out in a 1965 white paper,
―The Earth as a Planet,‖ with the Smithsonian
Standard Earth being one of its notable out-
comes. The progression was continued with the
chemical analysis of meteorites acquired by
Smithsonian scientists and the preparations reflectors and the complex negotiations (in this
made for receipt of the first returned lunar case, among four institutions) that were nec-
samples. DeVorkin convincingly shows how essary to create them. The MMT brought to
Whipple‘s approach repeatedly broke cognitive reality Arizona astronomer Aden Meinel‘s vision
barriers and opened up non-traditional areas for such devices and offers a valuable com-
of research within the astronomical community. plement to previous histories such as W.
Patrick McCray‘s Giant Telescopes (2004). The
DeVorkin has also identified two broad
MMT Observatory was later renamed the Fred
styles in Whipple‘s ambitious management
Lawrence Whipple Observatory.
strategies: (a) in the first case, he addressed
intellectual problems through fulfillment of Along the way, there are a number of sub-
institution-based service functions; and (b) in the narratives (like the LOR) that qualify as inter-
second case, he converted short-term infra- esting but little-told stories of American astron-
structures into permanent fixtures on the land- omy after 1950: for example, development of
scape (pp. 175 ‒176). Both tasks were first the Baker-Nunn cameras employed worldwide
accomplished on a large scale through his for satellite tracking operations; concurrent
establishment on the Harvard campus of the efforts to produce the SAO Star Atlas and
satellite-tracking facilities for the International Catalogue which met both military and scientific

Page 350
 Book Reviews
objectives, because the same database that
was applicable to space navigation would pro-
vide the internal guidance system of ICBMs—a
stark reminder of the Cold War implications that
lay behind ‗pure‘ science; creation of the
Smithsonian‘s Prairie Network that photograph-
ically aided the recovery of meteorites and
offered proofs of their asteroidal origins. We
are also reminded of the rise of large comput-
ing centers in the physical sciences, the likes of
which underwent a kind of competition analo-
gous to that of telescope apertures among
leading research institutions.
Chapter 10, ―Project Celescope,‖ presents
the most in-depth account of the difficult trials
attending the design, construction and opera-
tion of this component of the Orbiting Astro-
nomical Observatory (OAO-2). On more than
one occasion, NASA threatened to pull Cele-
scope away from the SAO and to turn the very
much-delayed project over to the Goddard
Space Flight Center (GSFC). Production of the
UV-vidicons not only proved to be almost im-
possible for existing manufacturers, but their
gradual degradation during the mission requir-
ed the best minds of the SAO‘s Research and
Analysis Division to salvage the Celescope data
that was returned.
Along with the optical initiatives begun on
Mount Hopkins, a somewhat parallel develop-
ment was undertaken (again, in incremental
stages) within the domain of radio astronomy.
Competing with the proposed Very Large Array
(VLA) was the Smithsonian‘s design of a 440-
foot diameter fully steerable radio telescope,
housed within a 550-foot diameter radome,
which was to be operated by the Northeast
Radio Observatory Corporation (NEROC).
Here, DeVorkin shows the levels of brinks-
manship that Whipple and Smithsonian Sec-
retary S. Dillon Ripley displayed that sought to
raise the SAO into a key, if not the key,
institution that would speak for American ast-
ronomy (in the period before the decadal sur-
veys grew to unchallenged status). Ripley
himself asserted the ―… right to secure direct
appropriations for national facilities available to
one and all.‖ (Ripley, quoted on p. 235). But in
the wake of post-Apollo governmental restruc-
turing and fiscal tightening, especially under
scrutiny from the Office of Management and
Budget (OMB), Whipple‘s team was forced to
withdraw their proposal in deference to pend-
ing allocations (stemming from the NSF) for
the VLA.
It was from the OMB‘s examination of SAO
that the first ‗seeds‘ were sown regarding the
possible merger of the Smithsonian and Har-
vard centers into a single, unified institution.
These stirrings also came about at the time of
Page 351
increasing tensions between Whipple and HCO
Director Leo Goldberg, whose personality and
management style contrasted significantly with
his predecessor, Donald H. Menzel. Goldberg
(and the Harvard Observatory Corporation,
HOC) voiced many complaints against Whipple,
including their total exclusion from engage-
ment with the MMT, along with the striking im-
balance in teaching loads maintained by Har-
vard faculty but not required of SAO employ-
ees. Whipple, DeVorkin argues, fundamentally
distrusted, and remained alienated from, Har-
vard‘s Astronomy Department. He felt that his
autonomy as SAO Director would be threaten-
ed by over-site stemming from HOC and as a
result, avoided direct involvement as much as
possible. Several high-level review panels
were convened to study the problem and
reached near-unanimous agreement that the
two institutions should be merged, with the CfA
becoming the final result. Whipple, however,
was not to be its leader and was thereby con-
vinced to step down.
These difficult and sensitive issues, involv-
ing Whipple‘s personality and strong ambitions,
are handled extremely well by DeVorkin, as
are virtually all aspects of the book. They
repeatedly showcase the work of a master
historian operating at the peak of his craft.
One of the foremost achievements of this vol-
ume is its construction of a coherent series of
sub-narratives, each of which details the large
number of individual projects and aspirations
pursued during this period, but without losing
sight of the overall ‗big picture‘. Indeed, no
better approach seems even remotely possible.
This is an important book: it highlights the
emergence of SAO as a major player within
postwar U.S. astronomy and space science
and its attempts ―… to reshape not only pat-
ronage patterns for astronomy but also the
profile of astronomical institutions …‖ during the
Cold War era (on p. 52). These endeavors
achieved tremendous success before the Smith-
sonian‘s role within the Federal structure itself
was seriously challenged––an action that ulti-
mately reined in the seemingly boundless op-
portunities sought by its leaders.
Professor Jordan D. Marché II
Department of Astronomy, University of
Wisconsin–Madison, Madison, USA.
jdmarcheii@gmail.com
Jupiter, by William Sheehan and Thomas
Hockey. (London, Reaktion Books, 2018). Pp.
191. ISBN 978-1-78023-908-8 (hardcover), 175
× 225 mm, US$40.00.
Jupiter is one of a series of books on Solar
System objects being published by Reaktion
Books. Two other titles in the series were
 Book Reviews

reviewed in the 2018 issue of the JAHH. A fifth due credit to the amateurs of the nineteenth and
book, on Saturn, has also been written by twentieth centuries who kept careful records of
William Sheehan and will be published later in the planet‘s cloud features. This ―… has proved
1
2019. The present volume is co-authored by indispensable to our understanding of its long-
William Sheehan and Professor Thomas Hock- term meteorology.‖ (p. 78). Among these were
ey, whose 1999 book Galileo’s Planet: Observ- Arthur Stanley Williams who, in 1896, made a
ing Jupiter Before Photography is a highly map of the wind currents, and Percy Moles-
regarded text on the giant planet. worth, who ―… made 6,578 timings of features
crossing the central meridian.‖ (p. 83). None-
The Prologue to the book and the first chap-
theless, these amateur efforts were dry as dust
ter unfortunately promote several discredited
to read, and ―It is only too tempting to turn away
narratives. It is attested that the Greeks first
in disgust, as from the lessons of a drab
learned of sidereal and synodic periods from the
schoolmaster.‖ (p. 79).
Babylonians ―... in the fourth century BCE,
following the conquest of Babylon by Alexander On p. 112 the authors state that ―… the
the Great.‖ (p.10). In reality, the Greeks were magnetic poles of Jupiter are 10° askew of the
aware of such periods from prehistoric times, at rotational poles; the reason is unknown.‖ The
least as far back as 2700 BCE (see Tsikritsis et answer likely lies in research published in 2018
al., 2015). The Prologue ends with a major but too late for the Sheehan and Hockey to use.
lacunae: on p. 14, the authors mention con- Millot et al. report the creation of a new form of
junctions of Jupiter, Saturn and Mars in certain
months BCE, while omitting the years in
question! The now-discredited Late Heavy
Bombardment hypothesis is promoted on p. 29.
The authors then launch a description of
planetary migration, based on the idea that
Jupiter was deflected from its stable orbit ―… by
gravitational disturbances produced by the belt
of icy material in the outer solar system.‖ (p. 31).
The latest research, published by Pirani et al.
(2019) after the Sheehan and Hockey book
appeared, indicates that it was in fact gravita-
tional forces from surrounding gas in the solar
nebula that pushed Jupiter inwards, and that it
formed four times further from the Sun than was
believed until now.
Fortunately the main text of the book is on
firm ground. The authors rightly describe Ju-
piter as ―… the undoubted royalty of the solar
system …‖ (p. 34), and as the most visually
dynamic planet it is a fan favourite of most
amateur astronomers. Even at its smallest
apparent size, Jupiter is larger than Mars, and
its dance of four satellites is a sight that never
gets old (the attribution of the photograph on p.
133 to Europa is incorrect; it is Io). ice known as superionic ice that exists at pres-
sures more than a million times that of the
What constituted the surface of Jupiter re- Earth‘s atmosphere. These conditions exist
mained a mystery for centuries. Giovanni inside Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune, all of which
Cassini spoke of having seen the ‗snow- have off-center magnetic fields. Hydrogen nu-
covered hills‘ of Jupiter, then clei flow through superionic ice like a liquid while
A century later, even William Herschel, for a the heavier oxygen atoms remain in a fixed
time, and Johann Schroeter made the same crystal alignment; thus, the ice becomes a
mistake in assuming that the white areas conductor of electricity. Sheehan and Hockey
were the actual surface and the dark areas do state that hydrogen at a depth of 15,000km
clouds. (p. 62).
in Jupiter is subject to a pressure of 2 million
Sheehan and Hockey detail nineteenth bars and is a conductor of electricity, but the link
century observations, including what appears to between that and Jupiter's magnetic pole is not
be the first record of the Great Red Spot in made. Future research will determine if ice is
1831. That was due to Heinrich Schwabe, ―… involved in this issue; the atmosphere studied
today best remembered as the discoverer of the by the Galileo probe indicated ―… the extreme
eleven-year sunspot cycle.‖ (p. 64). They give dryness of the Jovian atmosphere …‖ (p. 109),

Page 352
 Book Reviews
but that was only at 22 bars.
The book includes a chapter on collisions
with Jupiter, which are now thought to number
on average about 6.5 observable events per
year. Among these was a ―… faint black spot
…‖ seen by Australian amateur astronomer
Anthony Wesley on 19 July 2009. The text
states it was an asteroid that caused the im-
pact feature, not an icy object, but the ac-
companying diagram is unfortunately titled ―A
comet dies.‖ (p. 150). There is also a chap-
ter on the Juno space probe that is orbiting
Jupiter until 2021, but only preliminary science
observations were available at the time of
writing.
This book is especially strong on a survey of
amateur observations of Jupiter, and for that
reason alone it is a useful addition to the lit-
erature. There is still work to be done for the
most dedicated amateurs who use planetary
cameras to capture 200 images per second
that can then be processed with advanced
software, as mentioned in the final chapter, but
whatever your motive for observing Jupiter it
will always inspire awe, as befitting the ―… king
of the gods of Mount Olympus.‖ (p. 13).
Notes
1. In the interests of full disclosure, I should
mention that I am writing the Asteroids
book for the series.
References
Millot, M., and 9 co-authors, 2018. Experimental
evidence for superionic water ice using shock
compression. Nature Physics, 14, 297‒302.
Pirani, S., Johansen, A., Bitsch, B., Mustill, A., and
Turrini, D., 2019. The consequences of planetary
migration on the minor bodies of the early Solar
System. Earth and Planetary Astrophysics. arXiv:
1902.04591
Tsikritsis, M., Moussas, X., and Tsikritsis, D., 2015.
Astronomical and mathematical knowledge and
calendars during the Early Helladic era in Aegean
―Frying Pan‖ Vessels. Mediterranean Archaeology
and Archaeometry, 15, 135 ‒149.
Dr Clifford J. Cunningham
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
cliff.cunnigham@usq.edu.au
American Eclipse: A Nation’s Epic Race to
Catch the Shadow of the Moon and Win the
Glory of the World, by David Baron (New York,
Liveright Publishing, 2017). Pp. [xviii] + 331.
ISBN 978-1-63149-016-3 (hardcover), 167 ×
246 mm, US$27:95.
On 21 August 2017 a total solar eclipse was
visible across the USA, and received tre-
mendous attention from the American public. It
also inspired an avalanche of new books on
Page 353
total solar eclipses. Some were written by
experienced astronomers or astronomy journal-
ists and published by leading astronomy pub-
lishing houses (e.g. Bakich, 2016; Littmann and
Espenak, 2017) but as an astronomical historian
I was particularly interested in any book that
focused on the solar eclipse of 29 July 1878—
especially if written by a professional astron-
omer or experienced science journalist. Fortun-
ately there was one such book, written by
award-winning science journalist David Baron.
It is clear from the outset that David Baron
knows his craft, for he has written a book with
19 chapters and more than 340 pages that
includes 44 pages of General Notes and notes
specific to each chapter; a 20-page ‗Select Bib-
liography‘; and 7 pages of Acknowledgements.
Accordingly, this is a very well-researched
book, and this is reflected in the chapters, where
Baron succeeds in writing an entertaining narra-
tive that weaves together scientific information,
biographical details of the ‗key players‘, and
historical, cultural, political and economic factors
that led to the success or otherwise of the
various eclipse expeditions.
The book begins with a double page map
that shows the path of totality, extending from
the Rockies in Washington State, across the
mid-west, and exiting the USA just west of the
Mississippi delta.
In the course of the ensuing chapters we
are introduced to a succession of well-known
astronomers (Cleveland Abbe, Henry Draper,
William Harkness, Samuel Pierpont Langley,
Joseph Norman Lockyer, Maria Mitchell, Simon
Newcomb, Christian Heinrich Friedrich Peters,
Arthur Cowper Ranyard, James Craig Watson,
and Charles A. Young), to telescopes, spectro-
scopes and Edison‘s revolutionary tasimeter
(which was a dismal failure), and even to the
1874 transit of Venus and the postulated intra-
Mercurial planet, Vulcan.
Of all those who ventured to the mid-West
to view the eclipse, the inventor Thomas Edison
was very much the celebrity, and for this reason
Baron weaves considerable text around this re-
markable character.
Although Edison possessed neither academ-
ic credentials nor experience with eclipses,
the young inventor attracted the lion‘s share
of press attention. (p. 101).
The other person to whom Baron devotes
considerable attention throughout his book is
Maria Mitchell, America‘s leading female astron-
omer, who also led an 1878 eclipse expedition
to the mid-West.
The destinations of the different eclipse par-
ties stretched like a ribbon across the mid-West,
some with familiar names like Denver, Pikes
 Book Reviews
Peak, Fort Worth and Dallas, while Virginia City,
Separation Point, Creston, Rawlins, Central
City, Cherry Creek, Idaho Springs, Las Animas
and La Junta were (almost) unheard of in the
East. Denver was by far the largest and best-
known population centre positioned in the path
of totality, and the town was inundated:
The visiting hordes included prominent citi-
zens—newspapermen, financiers, judges,
U.S. senators—and with them came a less
desirable lot: at least thirty assorted pick-
pockets, till tappers, and other petty thieves
… But the most notable visitors were the
astronomers, who grew as ―thick as black-
berries‖ in Colorado. (p. 121).
The actual eclipse itself is covered in two
separate chapters (15: First Contact and 16:
Totality). Clear weather prevailed, and so Baron
is able to discuss the successful observations
made by each of the ‗official‘ eclipse parties.
Meanwhile, Chapter 17 deals with the reactions
to the eclipse in the month following the eclipse:
Professor Watson claimed to have found Vulcan
during the eclipse; for Maria Mitchell and her all-
female eclipse team, the event produced no
important scientific discoveries; but gave her
further opportunities to promote women‘s rights;
while for Thomas Edison the eclipse was a great
success, even if his tasimeter did not perform
exactly as planned and measure the heat gen-
erated by the corona.
Chapter18 deals with the period September
1878 to December 1880 and is mainly about the
on-going careers and ideas of Cleveland Abbe,
Maria Mitchell and James Craig Watson, al-
though the U.S. Naval Observatory was able to
claim some glory, and
… preened over what its efforts had produc-
ed: an abundance of new photographs, draw-
ings, spectroscopic data, and other obser-
vations for scientists to ponder in the years
ahead. (p. 209).
Professor Watson and Dr Peters continued to
spar over Watson‘s reported discovery of Vul-
can. Most astronomers were happy to side with
Peters, but this sorry saga took an unexpected
turn in November 1889 when Watson died
suddenly. So, too, did the Vulcan concept.
The final chapter of this book is reserved for
our champion inventor, Thomas Edison, who is
followed by 8 pages of fine-quality historical
photographs that complement the many maps,
sketches and woodcuts that are sprinkled lib-
erally throughout the earlier pages of this inter-
esting book.
American Eclipse is a wonder read. It is a
mix of science and adventure, and above all it is
entertaining. It shows the talents of a master
science journal at the peak of his profession,
and—I am sad to admit—is in sharp contrast to
Page 354
the far less entertaining books that we astrono-
mers tend to write. Buy it and read it—you will
enjoy it!
References
Bakich, M.E., 2016. Your Guide to the 2017 Total
Solar Eclipse. Springer.
Littman, M., and Espenak, F., 2017. Totality: The
Great American Eclipses of 2017 and 2024. Oxford
University Press.
Professor Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute
of Thailand, Chiang Mai, Thailand; and
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
Imagining Other Worlds: Explorations in
Astronomy and Culture, edited by Nicholas
Campion and Chris Impey (Ceredigion, Sophia
Centre Press, 2018). Pp. 351. ISBN
9781907767111 (softcover), 155 × 235 mm, £29
(Studies in Cultural Astronomy and Astrology,
Volume 9).
The book presents 23 papers given in 2015 at
the Ninth Conference on the Inspiration of
Astronomical Phenomena, held in London‘s
Gresham College. In a book of this nature there
are papers of varying worth. I read one chapter
which did not pass peer review in a professional
journal because it was too speculative, but
overall the chapters are well written and in-
formative across a broad range of disciplines,
the most prominent being art and architecture.
An especially important paper in this regard
is about Galileo‘s Memorial Tomb, by Liana De
Girolami Cheney. While several scholars have
written about the edifice (done in 1737), Cheney
states ―… none have [sic] thoroughly addressed
the symbolism of the tomb.‖ (p. 102). She be-
lieves the designer, Vincenzo Foggini, employed
sculptural elements from Bernini‘s tomb of Pope
Urban VIII, thus vindicating ―Galileo with a
sculptural pun by appropriating papal alleged
virtues of charity and justice to represent
Galileo‘s scientific accomplishments.‖ (p. 106).
Galileo is also considered in a chapter (by
David L. Morgan) about the modern operas of
Philip Glass.
Sir Christopher Wren‘s design for St. Paul‘s
Cathedral, by Valerie Shrimplin, is explained in
astronomical terms. The South West Tower
was meant to be the site of a telescope, per-
haps to study stellar parallax, and ―… pendulum
experiments were also said to have been
carried out.‖ (p. 272). More importantly, she
explains why the cathedral was ―… rotated to lie
circa 6 degrees north of due east …‖ with
respect to the cathedral it replaced that was
oriented directly on an east-west axis (p. 268).
 Book Reviews
It was, she writes, to align the building with the
vernal equinox according to the old Julian
calendar, ―… implying perhaps an opposition
to.the new calendar.‖ (p. 272).
A chapter by Gary Wells on the transit of
Mercury paintings by Giacomo Balla, inspired by
his view of the 1914 transit, is a fine example of
art historical analysis (and one of the paintings
is on the book's cover). Wells puts these works
―… at the end of his initial Futurist exploration of
movement and dynamic forces.‖ (p. 319). Since
Mercury is just a very tiny black dot in Balla‘s
paintings and drawings (which are held by
Philadelphia, Yale, New York's Museum of
Modern Art and the Guggenheim in Venice), the
Sun takes prominence. Here it is shown as
14
… the modernist sun, and it represents a set
of ideas and observations about nature and
humanity infused by the enthusiasms of the
early twentieth century. (p. 326).
Artistic inspiration of another sort inspired
the depiction of Orion and Ursa Major on a 2D
glass sphere held in the hand of Christ, part of a
mosaic in Saint Isaac's Cathedral in St Peters-
burg, Russia. Authors Michael Mendillo and
Ethan Pollock compare this large depiction of
the Salvator Mundi motif with various paint-
ings, showing that the Cathedral version (likely
late nineteenth century) is unique in depicting
actual constellations, the others just being dot-
ted with random star images.
Page 355
In the non-artistic realm, editor Nicholas
Campion gives a 17-page chapter on how ast-
ronomy can provide a foundation for human
rights and sustainability, and his co-editor Chris
Impey pens an essay ranging from the Coper-
nican Revolution to the exoplanet era we live
in. Clive Davenhall shows us that spiritualism in
the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries
co-opted the planet Mars into its mystical em-
brace. In a specific séance held in 1894,
messages from the spirit world were being
delivered by two people ―… explicitly located as
resident on Mars.‖ This conveniently took place
just five days after the opposition of Mars!
There is a fascinating chapter by Duane
Hamacher and co-authors about the link be-
tween astronomy and music in the Torres Strait
of northeastern Australia, complete with illu-
strations of an eclipse mask and astronomical
dance machines. The astronomical paintings of
a contemporary native American artist are ex-
amined in a chapter by Annette S. Lee that fo-
cuses on the time-sensitive effort aimed at ―…
reclaiming the native star knowledge.‖ (p. 204).
There are a few minor typos in the book.
For example, on page 148, the word ‗with‘ is
missing: ―… sea rights (with) the Australian
government.‖ Generally the Index is excellent,
although the entry for monarchs is a little con-
fusing: the entry King Charles II is duplicated,
and King Friedrich Wilhelm IV of Prussia is list-
ed under both King and Wilhelm. A few names
are missing from the index, such as Farie Mac-
George and Sir William Peck, both on page 118.
Imagining Other Worlds has the imprimatur
of the Astronomer Royal, Lord Rees of Ludlow,
whose public lecture (ranging from alien life to
cosmology) and subsequent panel discussion
opens the volume. This is a valuable book in its
own right, but combined with the proceedings
of previous conferences extending back to
nd
1994 (with only the 2 conference, in 1999, un-
published) the series represents a significant
source of information on historical and cultural
astronomy.
Dr Clifford J. Cunningham
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
cliff.cunnigham@usq.edu.au
The Great Canoes in the Sky: Starlore and
Astronomy of the South Pacific, by Stephen
Robert Chadwick and Martin Paviour-Smith
(Cham (Switzerland), Springer, 2017). Pp. xviii +
233. ISBN 978-3-319-22622-4 (hardcover), 220
× 286 mm, €32:99.
As someone who was born and bred in the
South Pacific and with an innate curiosity about
the indigenous cultures and astronomical syst-
 Book Reviews

ems of Australia, New Zealand and the other Bibliography near the end of the book. Chad-
islands of Polynesia, this had every promise of wick is an accomplished astrophotographer (and
being a wonderful book for me to review. we applaud his beautiful images that adorn this
Its nine chapters began with the Solar book) while Paviour-Smith is primarily a lin-
System, and then progressed to the astronomy guist. So to assemble this book they had to rely
of our Galaxy; the Magellanic Clouds and the entirely on the research of others, and judici-
constellation of Centaurus; constellations, the ously select from the the corpus of existing
oceans and voyaging; navigation in the Pacific; publications.
stellar astronomy and birds in the night sky; star Therein lay another problem given that the
clusters and notable asterims (including the authors had no personal research involvement
ever-popular Pleiades); indigenous cosmolo- in this field: which papers (and books) should
gies; and finally ―Observing the Universe in the they use for their book? Their unfamilaritiy with
Modern Age‖. Then followed maps of the South the relevant literature is very apparent. In the
Pacific, Australia and New Zealand, a 7-page case of Aboriginal Australian astronomy they
Bibliography, and the Index. The title of the made extensive use of the publications of my
book derives from a sub-section within Chapter friend and Associate Editor of this journal,
4, ―The Sky is an Ocean‖. Associate-Professor Duane Hamacher, and his
I found that each chapter provided a mix of graduate students, but Dr Phillip Clarke also has
Western scientific information, and indigenous
knowledge presented in the form of case stud-
ies, usually a succession of short myths or
legends. Thus, in ―Star Lore of the Magellanic
Clouds‖ we are introduced to a number of nar-
ratives from Australia, one account from Tonga,
and another from Atuna (a Polynesian outlier in
Melanesia). Other chapters include legends
from New Guinea and other Melanesian islands
and even from the islands of Micronesia.
Most of these case studies are interesting—
indeed some are utterly titilating—but there is a
problem in that Aboriginal Australian, Melan-
esian, Micronesian and Polynesian astronomy
are all very different (see Orchiston, 1997), re-
flecting the different settlement dates and cult-
ural evolutionary paths experienced in these
four disparate regions of the Pacific. To lump
them all together is confusing.
From the start, we also needed to know
something about these cultures before embark-
ing on a ‗tour‘ of their astronomical systems.
For example, in the case of Polynesia, recent
data derived from prehistory, linguistics, genet-
ics and palaeoclimatology have totally revolu-
an impressive list of Australian ethnoastronomy
tionised our understanding of the dates and
papers, yet only one of these is listed by
processes involved in the intial settlement of
Chadwick and Paviour-Smith. Other papers of
Polynesia, and especially Hawaii, the Marques-
his that at very least warranted examination
as Islands, Easter Island and New Zealand (e.g.
were Clarke (1997; 2009a; 2009b; 2014; 2015).
see Anderson, 2017; Goodwin et al., 2014;
Wilmshurst et al., 2011). We now have mtDNA As might be expected given the authors‘
information about the genetic relationships be- New Zealand domicile, there is less of a prob-
tween different South Pacific populations, and lem with references on Māori astronomy, yet I
even the approximate size of the group of an- still noted that a number of key works were
cestral Polynesians that first settled Aotearoa/ missing from the Bilbiography (e.g. Hamacher
New Zealand (Penny et al,. 2002; Whyte et al., and Britton, 2014; Harris et al., 2013; Kingsley-
2005). Smith, 1967; Orchiston, 2000).
But there is an even more fundamental Their unfamiliarity with the literature is also
problem with this book that relates to the fact apparent from time to time when Chadwick and
that neither author has a research background Paviour-Smith discuss Pacific astronomical
in ethnoastronomy (as is quickly revealed by history. Thus, on pages 101‒102 they describe
their biodata entries and a review of the 7-page Cook‘s voyage to the Pacific to observe the

Page 356
 Book Reviews
June 1769 transit of Venus, but seem unaware
of the most comprehensive recent analysis of
this hallmark event (Orchiston, 2005; which
subsequently was superceded by Orchiston,
2015) or of the wide-ranging astronomical ob-
servations made during Cook‘s three voyages to
the Pacific (Orchiston, 1998a) and especially
during the various stop-overs in New Zealand
between 1769 and 1777 (see Orchiston, 1998b;
2016: 107‒ 203).
Again relating to Cook, on page 116 Chad-
wick and Paviour-Smith discuss the observa-
tions that Cook and Green made of the transit of
Mercury from Mercury Bay, New Zealand, on 9
November 1769. Mimicking Keir (2010), Chad-
wick and Paviour-Smith query whether the tran-
sit timings were used to determine the longitude
of Mercury Bay. This enigma has to do with the
disappearance of all of the official astronomi-
cal records from Cook‘s First Voyage, plus two
full sets of copies that were made, and is the
subject of on-going research (see Orchiston,
2015).
Chapter 7, ―The Heavenly Sisters‖, is about
star clusters, and we soon encounter an old
favourite, the Pleiades (or Matariki in Māori).
On pages 176 ‒180 Chadwick and Paviour-
Smith discuss the critical role of Matariki in
marking the start of the Māori New Year, and in
the planting and harvesting of kumara (the
indigenous New Zealand sweet potato). It
is important to realise, however, that Matariki
did not always have this agricultural associ-
ation. When the ancestral Polynesians settled
Aotearoa/New Zealand around AD 1250, the
dietary staples they brought with them from the
Cook Islands-Society Islands area were taro
and yams. But both failed to thrive in the harsh
temperature climate of this new land, and it took
considerable experimentation before the kumara
could be successfully grown (and stored over
winter). Therefore, the intimate association of
Matariki and kumara cultivation only dates from
about the fourteenth century. This interesting
topic is discussed in Orchiston and Orchiston
(2017), and reminds us that astronomical syst-
ems are part of culture, which is dynamic and
evolving not static and stagnating. When we
conduct ethnoastronomical fieldwork we merely
end up sampling one cultural segment drawn
from a long time-continuum. Part of our charter
as ethnoastronomers must be to try and identify
and reconstruct major earlier changes that oc-
curred in present-day indigenous astronomical
systems.
Chapter 8 on indigenous cosmologies is the
last of the ethnoastronomical chapters in this
book, before the final chapter introduces the
telescope and photography and discusses—
albeit briefly—how technology (and particularly
Page 357
colour photography) has introduced a new aes-
thetic element and completely altered the way
we go about ‗doing astronomy‘.
In this final chapter—as throughout the book
—Stephen Chadwick‘s beautiful astrophoto-
graphs are an added bonus, especially when
viewed alongside the many paintings, bark-
paintings, drawings, and photographs that grace
the pages of this book.
As an ethnoastronomer, and someone train-
ed in anthropology and prehistory I found this
book both entertaining and frustrating. In gen-
eral, I did not feel that mixing Aboriginal Aus-
tralian, Melanesian, Micronesian and Polynes-
ian case studies worked, and I am dismayed
that Springer did not ask an expert to review the
MS of this book prior to publication, given that
neither author is an ethnoastronomer. Had that
occurred, then many of the shortcomings men-
tioned above could have been avoided.
That said, The Great Canoes of the Sky ...
is nicely produced and on fine-quality paper.
The text is an easy read, and generally is en-
tertaining. Typos, fortunately, are rare, al-
though I note that Ragbir Bhathal‘s 2009 paper
on ―Pre-contact astronomy‖ published in the
Journal and Proceedings of the Royal Society of
New South Wales starts on page 25 and ends
on page 23. The thought of a ‒3-page research
paper is interesting!
References
Anderson, A.J., 2017. Changing perspective upon
Māori colonisation voyaging. Journal of the Royal
Society of New Zealand, DOI: 10.1080/03036758.
2017.1334674.
Clarke, P.A., 1997. The Aboriginal cosmic landscape
of southern South Australia. Records of the South
Australian Museum, 29, 125 –145.
Clarke, P.A., 2009a. An overview of Australian
Aboriginal ethnoastronomy. Archaeoastronomy. The
Journal of Astronomy in Culture, 21, 39 – 58.
Clarke, P.A., 2009b. Australian Aboriginal ethnomet-
eorology and seasonal calendars. History & Anthro-
pology, 20(2), 79 ‒106.
Clarke, P.A., 2014. The Aboriginal Australian cosmic
landscape. Part 1: The ethnobotany of the Sky-
world. Journal of Astronomical History and Heri-
tage, 17: 307– 325.
Clarke, P.A., 2015. The Aboriginal Australian cosmic
landscape. Part 2: Plant connections with the Sky-
world. Journal of Astronomical History and Heri-
tage, 18: 23 – 37.
Goodwin, I., Browning, S., and Anderson, A.J., 2014.
Climate windows for Polynesian voyaging to New
Zealand and Easter Island. Proceedings of the Na-
tional Academy of Sciences of the United States,
111, 14716‒14721.
Hamacher, D.W., and Britton, T., 2013. Meteors in
Māori astronomical traditions of New Zealand.
WGN: Journal of the International Meteor Organiza-
tion, 42, 31– 34.
Harris, P., Matamua, R., Smith, T., Kerr, H., and
Waaka, T., 2013. A review of Māori astronomy in
 Book Reviews

Aotearoa-New Zealand. Journal of Astronomical Queensland, Australia.

History and Heritage, 16, 325– 336. Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
Keir, B., 2010. Captain Cook‘s longitude determina-
tions and the transit of Mercury – common as- Rocks, Radio and Radar: The Extraordinary
sumptions questioned. Journal of the Royal Society
of New Zealand, 40(2), 27– 38.
Scientific, Social and Military Life of Elizabeth
Kingsley-Smith C., 1967. Astronomers in puipuis - Alexander, by Mary Harris. (New Jersey, World
Maori star lore. Southern Stars, 22, 5 –10. Scientific, 2019). Pp. xiv + 587, ISBN 978-1-
Orchiston, W., 1996. Australian Aboriginal, Polynes- 78634-6640-3 (hardback), 155 × 230 mm,
ian and Maori astronomy. In Walker, C. (ed.), Ast- US$88:00.
ronomy Before the Telescope. London, British Mus-
eum. Pp. 318 –328. To say that this is a remarkable book about a
Orchiston, W., 1998a. From the South Seas to the remarkable woman is a gross understatement.
Sun: the astronomy of Cook‘s voyages. In Lincoln, This is the story of Dr Elizabeth Alexander, a
M. (ed.), Science and Exploration: European Voy- Cambridge-trained geologist who unwittingly
th
ages to the Southern Oceans in the 18 Century. became the world‘s first female radio astron-
Woodbridge, Boydell and Brewer. Pp. 55 – 72. omer. But it is much more than this. It is also
Orchiston, W., 1998b. Nautical Astronomy in New about life in England, in Singapore, in New Zea-
Zealand: The Voyages of James Cook. Wellington, land and in Nigeria. It is also a love story that
Carter Observatory.
began when Elizabeth was a young British
Orchiston, W., 2000. A Polynesian astronomical per-
spective: the Maori of New Zealand. In Selin, H., Geology graduate student at Cambridge and he
and Sun, X. (eds.). Astronomy Across Cultures: a New Zealander there to complet his PhD in
The History of Non-Western Astronomy. Dordrecht, Physics. It is about WWII, about academia in
Kluwer. Pp. 161–196. [Much later, an extensively the British Empire, and about expatriate children
revised and expanded version of this paper was —the so-called colonial orphans—who were
published: ―The skies over Aotearoa/New Zealand: sent ‗home‘ to England to endure a lonely par-
astronomy from a Maori perspective.‖ In Orchiston, entless existence while their parents enjoyed life
2016, 33 – 88.] in the colonies. All this, and more ...
Orchiston, W., 2005. James Cook‘s 1769 transit of
Venus expedition to Tahiti. In Kurtz, D.W. (ed.),
Transits of Venus: New Views of the Solar System
and Galaxy. Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press. Pp. 52– 66.
Orchiston, W., 2015. Cook, Green, Maskelyne and
the 1769 transit of Venus: the legacy of the Tahitian
observations. Journal of Astronomical History and
Heritage, 20, 35 – 68.
Orchiston, W., 2016. Exploring the History of New
Zealand Astronomy: Trials, Tribulations, Telescopes
and Transits. Cham (Switzerland), Springer.
Orchiston, W., and Orchiston, D.L., 2017. The Māori
calendar of New Zealand: a chronological perspect-
ive. In Nha, I.-S., Orchiston, W., and Stephenson,
F.R. (eds.), 2017. The History of World Calendars
and Calendar-making. Proceedings of the Internat-
th
ional Conference in Commemoration of the 600
Anniversary of the Birth of Kim Dam. Seoul, Yonsei
University Press. Pp. 57 – 78.
Penny, D., Murray-McIntosh, R., and Harrison, G.L.,
2002. Estimating the number of females in the
founding population of New Zealand: analysis of
mtDNA variation. Journal of the Polynesian So-
ciety, 111, 207‒ 221.
Whyte, A.L.H., Marshall, S.J., and Chambers, G.K.,
2005. Human evolution in Polynesia. Human Biol-
ogy, 77, 157–177.
Wilmshurst, J.M., Hunt, T.L., Lipo, C.P., and Ander-
son, A.J., 2011. High-precision radiocarbon dating
shows recent and rapid initial human colonization of
East Polynesia. Proceedings of the National Acad-
emy of Sciences of the United States of America,
108(5), 1815‒182. Francis Ellizabeth Somerville Caldwell was
Professor Wayne Orchiston born in England on ‗Black Friday‘, or to be
National Astronomical Research Institute precise, Friday 13 December 1908 (Chapter 1).
of Thailand, Chiang Mai, Thailand; and Her father, Dr Kenneth Caldwell, was in India
Centre for Astrophysics, University of working for the Colonial Education Service as
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba, Professor of Chemistry at Patna College, and

Page 358
 Book Reviews
Elizabeth (as she liked to call herself) and her
mother, Jane, joined him there in 1911. After
WWI Elizabeth returned to England to complete
her education, first at secondary school and
then at Cambridge. She studied physics and
geology and after completing her undergraduate
degree began a PhD in geology, with a thesis
on the Aymestry Limestone. She graduated in
1935, the same year she married Norman
Alexander (Chapter 2), and after he completed
his PhD they set off for Singapore where
Norman was to be the founding Professor of
Physics at Raffles College (Chapter 3).
WWII intervened and on 4 January 1942
Elizabeth escaped to New Zealand with their
three young children (Chapter 6a). Norman
stayed behind and was interned by the Jap-
anese in the infamous Changi and later Sime
Road prisoner-of-war camps (Chapter 7). In
New Zealand, Elizabeth began a diary—a com-
bined daily account of her life and an on-going
love letter to her husband so if and when they
eventually were reunited after the war he could
share those missing months and years of her
life.
The author of this book, Mary Harris (b.
1936), was one of those three young child-
ren evacuated to New Zealand in January 1942,
and although she used a wide range of pub-
lished and unpublished sources to thoroughly
reseach this book, she also drew freely on
1
her mother‘s diary.
Elizabeth Alexander and her three children
spent three happy years together in New Zea-
land (Chapters 6a and 6b), before reuniting with
their father. After the war Singapore was not
the same and it would take time, dedication and
lots of money to re-build. After a while, includ-
ing a period in England acquiring equip-ment,
Professor Alexander had the Physics Depart-
ment at Raffles College up and running, and
Elizabeth was once more immersed in her study
of Singapore geology. But she also had a new
task to attend to when Raffles College remorph-
ed itself into the University of Malaya, and she
served as Temporary Registrar. The unfortun-
ate losers in all this were the three Alexander
children who were destined to remain in Eng-
land with Elizabeth‘s relatives and become
colonial orphans (Chapter 8). History was re-
peating itself!
The final phase in Elizabeth Alexander‘s life
came in July 1952 when she and Norman left
for Nigeria, where he would be Professor of
Physics at University College Ibadan. Soon
Elizabeth had a position there too, teaching
elementary geology as a Temporary Lecturer in
the Faculty of Agriculture (later this would con-
vert to a permanent posiiton, a Junior Lecture-
ship). She also began research on tropical
Page 359
weathering in Nigeria. But all this was to
change on 15 October 1958 when she died after
suffering a stroke. She was two months shy of
her 60th birthday.
I purposely wanted to provide this resumé
of Dr Elizabeth Alexander‘s life before discus-
sing the reason for the appearance of this
review in a journal about astronomical history.
While she was primarily a geologist, she also
did pioneering research in solar radio astron-
omy. This occurred when she was in New Zea-
land during WWII (see Chapter 6a). She under-
stood that her husband had died (before later
hearing to the contrary), and with herself and
three young children to support she urgently
needed to find work. When the authorities
found she was living in New Zealand Dr Ernest
Marsden, the Secretary of the Department of
Scientific and Industrial Reserch, immediately
offered her a post as Head of the Operational
Research Secton within the Radio Development
Laboratory (in Wellington).
It was a happy coincidence that led to this
appointment. As Chapter 4 relates, back in
1940 Elizabeth and Norman spent six months
in New Zealand (he was on sabbatical leave)
and Marsden just happened to be a fellow-
passenger on the ship from Sydney to New
Zealand. He told Elizabeth and Norman Alex-
ander about New Zealand‘s radar research
program. They also had meetings with Fred
White in Sydney and Percy Burbidge in Auck-
land, who provided further details, so when they
returned to Singapore Elizabeth followed up on
this, gaining an appointment as Intelligence
Officer in the Royal Navy so that she could work
on radar at the Singapore Naval Base. So when
she arrived in New Zealand in 1942 needing a
job the Director of the Radio Development
Laboratory, Owen Pulley, quickly realised that
―... the right person had turned up in the right
place at the right time.‖ (p. 311).
Elizabeth Alexander‘s new job (Chapter 6b)
was primarily to monitor the performance of
existing New Zealand radars at stations within
New Zealand and in the Pacific, and design and
evaluate new types of radar sets, but she also
had to research the anomalous propagation of
radio waves (including a major international
radio-meteorology project, and phantom aircraft
echoes), and differentiate radar signals from
schools of whales, flocks of seagulls, submar-
ines and other surface craft.
She also had to investigate the ‗Norfolk
Island Effect‘ when on 1 April 1945 the Officer-
in-Charge of the Royal New Zaland Air Force
Radar Station on Norfolk Island (in the Tasman
Sea between Australia and New Zealand re-
ported that
... since March 27th 1945, an increase in
 Book Reviews
noise had been observed on the COL range
tube every morning and evening. The set,
turning gear, aerial connections, etc. had
been checked and it was shown that this
noise increase came from outside the set.
The effect was observed only as the sun
was rising or setting and lasted for about half
an hour. (p. 385).
Follow-up observations were made at Norfolk
Island and four radar stations in the northern
part of New Zealand, and there were further
detections. As a result of these observations
and more made in October 1945 Elizabeth Alex-
ander concluded that the Sun intermittently
emitted strong radio burts at 200 MHz, and this
emission was non-thermal in origin and was
associated with the presence of sunspots.
As Mary Harris points out, this research was
simply seen by her mother as a normal part of
her work routine, and as such it is not even men-
tioned in her diary. Yet the fact that she inter-
pretted these observations under the cloak of
wartime secrecy makes her yet another indepen-
dent discoverer of solar radio emission. Eliza-
beth Alexander‘s exploits as the first female in
the world to conduct successful solar radio ast-
ronomical research were first detailed for the in-
ternational radio astronomical community in Or-
chiston and Slee (2002) and Orchiston (2005),
with revised and more accessible versions pub-
lished later (Orchiston, 2016; 2017). Meanwhile,
several much earlier attempts were made to bring
these pioneering radio astronomical observa-
tions to the attention of the New Zealand public,
and particularly amateur astronomers and science
enthusiasts (Orchiston, 1994; 1995a;1995b). Re-
cently, Fraser (2017) and Harris (2017) has pub-
lished papers about this work, targetting New
Zealand amateur and professional astronomers.
Although radio astronomy and radio meteor-
ology only occupy a minuscule percentage of
this long book, I have to say that I found the en-
tire book immensely entertaining, and educa-
tional. I also found it addictive: like a novel that
once opened you cannot put down and must
read through to the end. Yet this was no novel,
and in places fact was stranger than fiction!
This book also filled me with nostalgia. I am
only slightly younger than Mary Harris, and have
vague memories of the last years of WWII, so
her accounts of Singapore in 1940 ‒1942 re-
minded me of Auckland (New Zealand) where I
spent my earliest days and endured the hard-
ships of the late-war and immediate post-war
years. And the details of war-time Singapore
touched another deep chord, bringing back a
great many fond post-war memories for me of
one of my favourite places (I have now visited
37 times).
But there were other crossed paths. One of
Page 360
Mary and Norman Alexander‘s friends while they
were in Cambridge was the Welshman Dr E.G.
(Taffy) Bowen (1911‒1991). Taffy later moved
to Australia, and was still Chief of the CSIRO‘s
Division of Radiophysics (RP) in Sydney when I
joined as an 18-year old, straight out of second-
ary school. At the time RP ranked as arguably
the leading radio astronomical institute in the
work, and I was privileged to work in the Solar
Group. Taffy was rightly proud of our achieve-
ments, and I still have an autographed copy of
his Old Radar Days that he gave me and my
father many years later (Bowen, 1987). I can
blame my experiences at RP for the abiding
interest that I now have in the early history of
radio astronomy.
Rocks, Radio and Radar ... is a wonder
book, a true adventure story, and one that I am
so thankful to Mary Harris for having written. In
her final chapter, titled ―Disappearance From
History‖, Mary talks about how women scientists
have been belittled or ignored for far too long. It
is good to finally see this changing, and that the
remarkable achievements of one more woman
of international distinction, Dr Elizabeth Alexan-
der, wife, mother, scientist, geologist and pio-
2
neering radio astronomer, are no longer hidden
and lost in the mists of time.
Notes
1. Mary Harris kindly sent me a copy of the
diary when I was investigating her mother‘s
war-time research in solar radio astronomy.
While I certainly found it useful for my pur-
poses, at times there were tender personal
moments when I felt like an intuder who had
no right to be reading her private thoughts.
2. Note that I use this term loosely, and with
respect, for it was only coined in 1948, three
years after Elizabeth Alexander carried out
her initial study of ‗solar noise‘. Meanwhile,
those with a non-solar interest at this time
studied ‗cosmic noise‘ (see Sullivan, 2009).
References
Bowen, E.G., 1987. Old Radar Days. Bristol, Adam
Hilger.
Fraser, G., 2017. The Norfolk Island Effect and the
Whangaroa report. Southern Stars, 56(2), 11‒ 17.
Harris, M., 2017. Rocks, radio and radar: Elizabeth
Alexander and the DSIR Radio Development
Laboratory, 1942-1945. Journal of the Royal
Society of New Zealand, dio: 10.1080/03036758.
2017.1291437.
Orchiston, W., 1994. Radio waves from the Sun: the
New Zealand connection. In Orchiston, W., Dodd,
R., and Hall, R. (eds.), Astronomical Handbook for
1995. Wellington, Carter Observatory. Pp. 65 ‒ 69.
Orchiston, W., 1995a. Pioneer science at Piha. New
Zealand Historic Places, May, 39 – 40.
Orchiston, W., 1995b. Pioneering radio astronomy.
New Zealand Science Monthly, 6(8), 6 – 7.
Orchiston, W., and Slee, B., 2002. The Australasian
 Book Reviews

discovery of solar radio emission. Anglo-Australian
Observatory Newsletter, November, 25 ‒ 27.
Orchiston, W., 2005. Dr Elizabeth Alexander: first fe-
male radio astronomer. In Orchiston, W. (ed.), The
New Astronomy: Opening the Electromagnetic Win-
dow and Expanding our View of Planet Earth. Dor-
drecht, Springer. Pp. 71‒ 92.
Orchiston, W., 2016. Dr Elizabeth Alexander and the
mysterious ‗Norfolk Island Effect‘. In Orchiston, W.,
Exploring the History of New Zealand Astronomy:
Trials, Tribulations, Telescopes and Transits. Cham
(Switzerland), Sprnger. Pp. 629 ‒ 651.
Orchiston, W., 2017. The early development of New
Zealand radio astronomy. In Nakamura, T., and Or-
chiston, W. (eds.), The Emergence of Astrophysics
in Asia: Opening a New Windown ion the Universe.
Cham (Switzerland), Springer. Pp. 675‒702.
Sullivan III, W.T., 2009. Cosmic Noise: A History of
Early Radio Astronomy. Cambridge, Cambridge Uni-
versity Press.
Professor Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute
of Thailand, Chiang Mai, Thailand; and
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com
plinary study of astronomical phenomena in art.‖
Furthermore,
We are grateful that our work seems to have
sparked much enthusiasm in many new
areas of exploration, including a highly
regarded international series of conferences
entitled ‗The Inspiration of Astronomical
Phenomena‘. (ibid.).
Olson and Pasachoff spent more than three
decades accumulating material for this book, ―...
resulting in an archive of thousands of can-
didates for its illustrations.‖ Three hundred and
six made the cut, and this visual extravaganza is
one of the highlights of the book, with each
chapter presenting an exciting mix of text and
art works. The latter include oil and watercolour
paintings, an Aboriginal Australian bark painting,
drawings, mixed media works, a fresco, wood
cuts, engravings, etchings, chromolithographs,
astronomical photographs, star maps, sculp-
tures, astronomical instruments (including or-
reries), museum exhibitions, archaeological arti-
facts and even clothing, jewellery and a unique
letter-opener.

Cosmos: The Art and Science of the Universe,

by Roberta J.M. Olson and Jay M. Pasachoff.
(London, Reaktion Books, 2019). Pp. 303,
ISBN 978-1-78914-054-5 (hardback), 225 × 286
mm, £35.
This is a beautiful book, both physically and
intellectually, and a fitting sequel to their earlier
classic, Fire in the Sky: Comets and Meteors,
the Decisive Centuries in British Art and Science
(Olson and Pasachoff, 1998). Their new book,
however, covers far more territory, its ten chap-
ters extending from ―Astronomy: The Person-
ification and the Practice‖, to Star Maps, Con-
stellations and Globes; the Sun; the Moon;
Comets; Meteors and Bolides; Novae, Nebulae
and Galaxies; the Planets; the Aurora Borealis;
―New Horizons in the Cosmos: Photographs of
Space‖ (some of them taken from space); and
finally a 1-page Conclusion. Then there are ref-
erences, Acknowledgements, Photo Acknow-
ledgements and an Index.
The authors explain the rationale for this
One well-known artist/astronomer represent-
book:
ed throughout the book is the French-born
This visually provocative volume charts the Étienne Léopold Trouvelot (1827‒1895), and it
human love affair with the heavens in art is interesting to compare and contrast his dif-
and astronomy, We have written the book ferent works. While some are beautiful and rea-
based on exciting science, art and cultural
history, for a general but intellectually acute
listic, other renditions lack credibility (as with his
audience interested in the compelling story drawing on page 182 of the 1868 Leonid met-
of the discovery of how the universe is eors and his drawings of Jupiter and Mars on
arranged and how it functions. (p. 7). pages 234 and 241).
Later on the same page Olson and Pasachoff For those wanting to explore astronomical
explain that they began working together in art further Olson and Pasachoff provide 10.5
1985, and have ―... pioneered the multidisci- pages of references, but two new references

Page 361
 Book Reviews
(chock-a-block with beautiful images) that they
may wish to include in the next edition of this
book are Gislén (2018) and Tobin (2013). The
first of these papers reviews all of the volvelles
in Peter Apian‘s famous book Astronomicum
Caesareum; Olson and Pasachoff show two
colourful volvelles, on pages 32 and 99. Tobin‘s
paper, meanwhile, presents an entertaining se-
lection of artistic creations that have been in-
spired by the historic transits of Venus and
Merciury, topics of special interest to Jay Pas-
achoff and discussed in Cosmos ... on pages
244 ‒247.
This is a lovely book to look at and to read,
with fine-quality images throughout that are
printed on art paper. It deserves to be in the
library of anyone interested in the art-astronomy
interface.
Page 362
References
Gislén, L., 2018. A commentary on the volvelles in
Petrus Apian‘s Astronomicum Caesareum. Journal
of Astronomical History and Heritage, 21, 135‒201.
Olson, R.J.M., and Pasachoff, J.M., 1998. Fire in the
Sky: Comets and Meteors, the Decisive Centuries
in British Art and Science. Cambridge, Cambridge
University Press.
Tobin, W., 2013. Transits of Venus and Mercury as
muses. Journal of Astronomical History and Heri-
tage, 16, 224 ‒ 249.
Professor Wayne Orchiston
National Astronomical Research Institute
of Thailand, Chiang Mai, Thailand; and
Centre for Astrophysics, University of
Southern Queensland, Toowoomba,
Queensland, Australia.
Email: wayne.orchiston@gmail.com