Not so long ago, I took a walk through some favourite haunts in my home city of Glasgow. I love the Victorian sandstone villas and tenements of the west end. Leafy Hyndland merged into Dowanhill – where I went to school – and I strolled through the peaceful gardens of Observatory Road towards Hillhead. “Stravagin’” is what Wee-gies (Glaswegians) call it when you wander a bit aimlessly. The buildings on my route were so familiar, even though the shops are changed, and the vibrant bistro culture is new.
I made my way up University Avenue to the neo-Gothic cloisters and towers of Gilmorehill – my Alma mater – and stood for a while, just reflecting, outside the Physiology building. I spent many a happy hour there as a student in the 1970s. The practical skills I gained while wrangling with concepts and formulae for Gas Laws, membrane dynamics, blood flow and healthy organ function served me well throughout my career. Behind me stood the Natural Philosophy (physics) building, where we did laboratory sessions in biomechanics. Today, it is named after one of the world’s great classical physicists.
William Thomson was born in Belfast in 1824 but moved to Glasgow as a child: in their time he, his father and his brother all held chairs at the University. William was professor of natural philosophy for 53 years from 1846 and is best known for his contributions to the Laws of Thermodynamics and the global scale of measurement of absolute temperature. The Kelvin scale is independent of any physical properties of substances, and the zero of the scale is -2730C, at which point all particles are stationary. Many technological innovations including the navigation compass followed, and William (with his engineer brother and others) helped to lay the foundations for modern telecommunications through development of transatlantic cable telegraphy. A stickler for accuracy and precision in scientific measurement, one of Thomson’s experiments on diffusion is on-going and can be viewed on campus; he predicted it would last 10,000 years. Even before motor cars, he, and other Victorian scientists, postulated about atmospheric changes from industrial chimney emissions. I wonder what he would have to say about global warming?
When he was ennobled in 1892, William became Lord Kelvin, his title inspired by Glasgow’s second river – the River Kelvin – which flows past the campus. It’s name continues to be hugely influential for this part of the city. Today, the Kelvin walkway passes several iconic buildings and iron bridges. – testament to the wealth, power and industrial heritage of this amazing city. I continued down to the Kelvin Hall, before meandering through the Kelvingrove, which even has its own song that always “earworms” in my head. Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum houses and amazing collection of art and models of many of the Clyde-built ships that sailed across the world. Kelvingrove Park – where my grandfather taught me how to putt and my brother learned to skateboard (at one of the first skateparks in the UK) – was still noisy with children freed after school and students heading to heavens knows where. Eventually I reached the Great Western Road and Kelvinbridge, where I was born and lived for the early years of my life. Another mindful moment, standing outside the tenement where there’s still a wee plaque with my grandfather’s name.
Although I moved away from Glasgow to work in English universities, Lord Kelvin refused offers from other great institutions and stayed at the university he loved, so my route and its sights would speak of home to the great scientist just as they did to me that day. Tucked away under the bridge and in sight of the river is Kelvinbridge underground station. The third oldest metropolitan underground system in the world, the “clockwork orange” opened in 1896. I couldn’t help but wonder to what extent William would have been involved in the inauguration of the new invention? It still “shoogles” and shakes its way through all the tunnels!
