John Harrison-inventor of the sea clock

A plaque to John Harrison was opened by Prince Philip at Westminster today. Prince Philip is like the Queen's back-up and so it shows that he was quite interesting.
http://www.thisisscunthorpe.co.uk

John Harrison was born in 1693 which is alot before the Victorians and alot after the Romans-we've done the Romans at school and the Victorians just invented one thing after another so they are quite interesting too. John Harrison was brilliant and invented the sea clock. This was a way of tracking time and speed at sea, so sailors knew where they were. Before that, they had no way of knowing exactly where they were-they were actually 'all at sea', at sea.

Being disappointed

This is the Christmas my unspeakable parents are celebrating-the one with well behaved children having lots of jolly fun all dressed up in scratchy clothes and definitely not being arrested by the police. Mum and Dad do not like 'being disappointed' especially when police are involved. Dad points to the painting of this old bloke we used to keep in the downstairs loo until Mum took it to the antiques roadshow and found it was worth lots of money. He looks like he has spent one hundred and fifty seven years waiting for a decent Christmas and has always been disappointed. 'He's not happy,' says Dad ' and neither are we.'

The next morning it's Christmas Eve day. It's ten o'clock and Grandpa Jack has telephoned three times already but I do not want to speak to him. I do not know why he said he was miserable in the 'Pit of Despair', when he was definitely not. I think the police should have arrested him for being a liar but they didn't and then they didn't even handcuff me which was a bit of a disappointment. Mum and Dad have got over me being brought home by a vanload of police and after a load of telling off and talk of being 'disappointed', they have returned to being beamy and cheerful about Father Christmas.
I am sick of it.
I can't tell you how disappointed I am with Grandpa Jack. And it's still, still not snowing. Mum is right about one thing-this is a very difficult time of year.

I Want to Confess

Dexter has a pair of handcuffs with a real key. He wanted to be the policeman first because they were his handcuffs and he put the cuffs on me and locked me in the rabbit hutch. Then he ran off. Alan the rabbit was not very happy especially when I tried his food-how do they eat that stuff?
I watch the police car swirl around on the gravel in front of the house, its blue lights flashing and the siren wailing. I've been rumbled. I'm not the only one I think, as I look around the luxurious room again-Granpa Jack has a bit of explaining to do. Thunderous footsteps are even now pounding along the corridor. I wonder if I can safely jump from the second story window. Maybe not. Then I think about hiding in Grandpa Jack's vast wardrobe but it's stuffed full of tweed jackets. I can't even crawl under his bed because it has a beneath that goes right down to the thick carpet. Just as I decide, 'it's a fair cop', Grandpa Jack bursts into the room. His face is very red and he has a party hat falling off his head.
'Wilfred!' he cries. 'What...what!'
'I came to rescue you from, 'The Pit of Despair',' I say 'but I think you don't need to be rescued.'
Five police people push passed him.
'Where is he then?' shouts the first one. 'Whoah!' he trips over me.
The one behind trips over him. Now I'll be done for a salt and smashing the place down.
'Wilfred?' Grandpa Jack is swaying a little.
I turn back to the police people. They are shouting a bit and trying to look as though they meant to fall on the ground.
'I want to confess,' I say and stick my hands out ready for the cuffs.

Not a Cockroach in Sight

Grandpa Jack has made several studies of the cockroach. he told me that he had at least two different species infesting his bedroom alone and BELIEVE ME you don't want to live with either of them. The only good cockroach, according to Grandpa Jack, is a dead cockroach.


I take my chance and slip into the hall closing the door quickly behind me. Not a guard in sight. I turn the key in the lock-that should give me some more time. I turn round and gasp. The hall has a a ceiling twice the height of the giant twinkling, Christmas tree. Mounds of bright presents spill over the foot of a marble staircase. This is worse than I thought-the evil workers must buy themselves very nice presents as well. The sooner I rescue Grandpa Jack the better. There is a lot of noise and music coming from a room down the hallway but I run up the wide sweeping stairs. It is gone teatime and Grandpa Jack says that all the inhabitants are forced into their cockroach infested rooms by six o'clock. Upstairs, I creep silently along the thickly carpetted hall way. There are doors all along the hall. Each door has a little brass plaque with a name on it. I come to Jack Bagshot-that's Grandpa Jack's name. I knock. Nothing. I try the handle and psuh at the door. It opens onto a huge room with a cream carpet and a double bed and table lamps and piles of books and magazines and a wide-screen TV. He's even got a fridge.
And not a cockroach in sight.

Fascinating Invention No.3-The Earmuff

You may not think they are fascinating but Dexter likes them. He likes wearing stuff on his head and he's quite keen on his dog, Dave wearing them as well.
The earmuff was invented by a child-an actual child called Chester Greenwood. He came from a place called, Farmington Maine in America and when he was 15 he wanted to stop his ears getting cold. He made two ear shaped loops from wire and asked his granny to sew fur on them. Farmington Maine is now the Earmuff Capital of the World which is pretty amazing but even more amazing is the fact that there is a parade every year when police cars dress up as giant earmuffs.

I Shall Set Them Free

Grandpa Jack calls his fellow prisoners, the great unwashed. This is because they cannot have running water in the 'Pit of Despair' except for the walls where the damp runs in little green rivers down the peeling plaster.


So, I drop down into a dark, damp space. It can only be a cellar. It's probably filled with tiny cells and their miserable inhabitants-I shall set them free. When my eyes have adjusted to the gloom, I realise that the cells are actually racks and racks of bottles. So this is where all the money goes, I think, into expensive drink for all the evil workers. I spot the stairs in the corner and charge towards them. Unfortunately, my coat catches on the end of a sticky-out-rack and before I know it, a tall shelf of wine is tottering towards me. I save my own life by leaping up the stairs just as the bottles crash to the floor. I put my hands over my ears and my back against the wall. The cellar door flies open and three people fly in.
'Who's there?'
'What's going on?'
'The wine!'
The evil workers have arrived.

The Black Hole

I doubt that even Buzz would want to fly his spacecraft near a real black hole. These are like lurking monsters in space waiting to gobble up anything that comes near them- spaceships, really big trees, even planets. And once you're sucked in, there's no turning back. Not even Dexter could run away from this. Nobody knows what's on the other side or even if there is another side. It's a big mystery. Like the inside of the, 'Pit of Despair'.

'Round here!' Dexter is skulking in the shadows of the tall bushes at tthe side of the house. 'I've found something!'
As I crouch down next to Dexter, I hear the front door open.
'Who's there?' calls a voice.
I hesitate. Should I go back? I am on the verge when the voice says. 'Anymore nonsense and I'll call the police! You hear me?!'
The door slams shut.
Bother. It's really cold now. My nose feels as though it has left my body and my fingers are stinging. It's all Dexter's fault. He points at a small window at ground level. It is a black hole.
'It's open,' he whispers. 'I pushed it.'
I nod wisely. I look at the uninviting black hole. I think about Grandpa Jack and his sufferings.
'I'm going in,' I say.
'Good luck,' says Dexter. 'It's my teatime.'
'It's my Grandpa,' I say.
'Exactly,' he says, 'see you.'
And Dexter the ratfink runs off-again.

Fascinating Invention-No. 2 Lobbing machines-The Trebuchet and The Catapult

The trebuchet was an Italian invention of the fifteenth century (see right). It was made of wood and iron and stood fifteen metres high. What's really brilliant is that this fantastic weapon could chuck rocks and animals and probably dead bodies quite a long way. Imagine a cow landing on top of you! That would hurt. Of course, the best use for it I can think of is lobbing snowballs, just like the catapult. I'd love to see Dexter's face if I wheeled either of these out. Need some snow first.http://www.smith.edu/hsc/museum/ancient_inventions/

Dexter Runs Off-Again

OK, so the Pit of Despair is not quite so despairish close up. In fact it's not at all like the dark prison, Granpa Jack described and more like a really grand house with electricity and running water and probably food. Hmmm...

We stand in the yellow pool of the porch light. I can hear the sounds quite clearly now. Music, happy voices. I was expecting rattling chains and low groans. We give them a blast of, 'Once in Royal David's City'. Our voices rise into the winter air in puffy white clouds. We finish. Nobody comes. Dexter starts making the antlers flash in time with the music and I am becoming peeved.
'You're shouting,' I say. 'That's why they won't come to the door!'
'I'm not shouting, I'm singing-Gran says I have a lovely voice.'
'Your Gran is deaf!'
I can barely knock on the door because the gaint gold door knocker in the shape of a fox is so heavy.
'Just 'cos you can't sing!' says Dexter and he begins shouting, 'Silent Night'.
He only stops when I punch him. 'You're going to make them angry!'
'What are they going to do then? Come and kidnap us?' shouts Dexter.
'Shut up! Maybe they will. Maybe they'll cut the rations for the old people! This is the, 'Pit of Despair' you know!'
I begin hammering on the door. 'Help me, Dexter!'
I look round. Dexter has run off-again.

Listen Out for the Hounds!

Do not be alarmed-this is NOT an actual picture of the hound patrolling the 'Pit of Despair'. However it does look a bit mean and unlikely to be happy with a bowl of Doggy Crunchies. Probably drools as well.

I've never been to 'The Pit of Despair' before. It's near to our house but Granpa Jack won't let anyone come-in case they catch some nasty disease.
'Must be gone tea-time now,' says Dexter, 'I'm starving.'
'You're always starving,' I say. 'I think you've got worms. Anyway, we're here now.'
We stare up at the big posh house. It is lighting up the cold night with lamps from the olden days and twinkling fairy lights. It looks like a royal Christmas grotto.
'Are you sure about this?' asks Dexter. 'I mean it looks alright, really.'
I look again at the address on the piece of paper.
'Yes, this is it-maybe it's scabby inside,' I say. 'You know, so it fools all those people who think they're sending their relatives to somewhere really nice, so they pay their money and then it's too late!'
'Maybe,' says Dexter and he's fiddling with his reindeer antlers.
'Let's listen out for the hounds-they'll try and kill you,' I remind him.
'Cool.'
We listen hard. We hear something but it's not the hounds, more like hyenas.
'Hmm,' says Dexter, 'and maybe that noise we can hear is actually the evil cackling of the workers as they lock the old people in for the night.'
I nod but the music and laughter doesn't sound evil at all to my mind.
'Come on!' I say 'we'd better put our plan into action!'

Operation Christmas Rescue

Granpa Jack says that he doesn't like to make a fuss which is why he won't call in the police to sort out, 'The Pit of Despair'. I would like to call the police because I've never done it before, except when I was a baby-child and I used to call them at least once a week until mum got into trouble.

The first part of Operation Christmas Rescue (OCR) goes smoothly. All day, I keep out of mum and dad's way. Dexter comes by and we work very hard. Dexter thinks the attic would make a brilliant clubhouse but we already have one of those in the garden. By the end of the afternoon, Granpa Jack's bedroom is ready. He has:
A carpet-I couldn't find any lying around, so we cut a nice big square from under my bed, where no-one will miss it.
A bed-two old sleeping bags zipped together and a pillow Serena doesn't use anymore.
A light-all the candles I could find and my miner's lamp.
Reading stuff-a few copies of my magazine, 'The Way Things Work'.
Dexter even found a tin of paint in the garage. So we painted half a wall before giving up because painting things is actually quite boring.

Now to part two of OCR-the tricky part.
'Mum? Can I go round to Dexter's for tea?'
She looks up from reading the paper at the kitchen table. Dad is taking mince pies out of the oven.
'Well, I suppose so. Be back by seven thirty, Wilfred. It's Christmas. You don't want to be over excited.'
As if.
I grab my coat and scoot. Dexter has legged it already and is half way down the front garden. I catch him up and we run down the road towards, 'The Pit of Despair'.
Now this is what I call, doing something interesting.

The Invention Show!

This was a fantastic show, held in London and dedicated to inventors and inventions!My particular favourites were 'The Delightable', a table for scribbling on, then watch it disappear! And the 'Bath Buoy' which was a float to read your book on in the bath.

A Plan for Granpa Jack

This penguin is probably the actual size you need to be to be comfortable in the attic room. Granpa Jack is tall and thin so he'll have to bend alot. He doesn't like fish which is a bonus because he tends to forget about the washing up and cleaning stuff. He's also not keen on the cold which is good because all the heat ends up in the attic room.

Granpa Jack definitely needs cheering up. He is miserable in the Pit of Despair and I know Mum and Dad would really LIKE him to come back here. They keep saying they don't have the room. So I sit on the stairs and think about what room we do have.
There is:
1. My inventroom-but there's hardly enough room for me and Dexter, let alone Granpa Jack.
2. Mum and Dad's room-but there's no room for another bed in there and Dad wouldn't want another person in their bed, even though it's quite wide.
3. The Box room. This is full of boxes.
4. The attic. This is full...of nothing!

So, I run up the small flight of stairs and up to the gnome-sized, attic door. It's a bit stiff but one good heave and I'm in. On Planet Parent they are always making plans and one of their big plans is about clearing out the attic so they can do something with it. But they never do anything, so I'm doing them a favour actually. A quick description. The attic is a long, thin room. I can see the thick dust caught in the light coming in through a small square window at the far end. I step forwards so I can just stand up and peer into the gloom. There is a definite draught coming from somewhere which should blow away the dust and Granpa Jack prefers sitting down to standing up, so all in all it should be great for him. I'll just have to find some candles, a bed, a piece of carpet and a few copies of, 'The Racing Post'. This will do nicely.

Fascinating Invention no.1-An Occasional Look at my Favourite Inventions

Snowman were actually invented!
Can you believe it? Here are a couple of the diagrams showing how they could be put together. All we need is some snow now.

My Unspeakable Parents

Here are my Unspeakable Parents. They are very set in their ways and quite keen on warm milk last thing at night. Granpa Jack often talks about them despite them being Unspeakable. I'd better not tell you what he says, sometimes its untellable.

After Mum left I knew what Granpa Jack was going to say next.
'Are those wretched cats still crawling all over the back garden?'
'Yes. And Serena but she's nice, she's mine.'
'You want to get a dog, my boy, or a couple of horses-you know where you are with those animals.'
I wonder what Mum and Dad would think to horses and dogs churning up the vegetables and the grass. 'I don't think Mr Edwin Beard Budding would like it,' I say, 'he was very fond of lawns.'
'What's that?!' Granpa Jack's voice goes up until it's just a squeak, 'Have you got a lodger in all ready? My bed's hardly empty before your Unspeakable Parents let this Pear-Pudding fella in?'
'No! Granpa Jack! We don't have anyone else!' I try to explain but he's just not listening.
'Have you still got that water gun I gave you for your birthday?' he asks.
'Well, yes but...' I begin to say. I can't tell him that Mum and Dad took it away because it wasn't very nice.
'Good. We'll use it on this Pudding fella and those cats while we're about it. That'll cheer me up.' Granpa Jack snorts. 'Mind you. It's so blessed miserable here, I'll probably have died by Christmas! Mind you tell your Unspeakable Parents that! '
'It's only two more days, Granpa Jack! I could come and visit you,' I hate it when he talks about dying-he does that alot. Dad says, he'll never die but he doesn't really think about what a damp and draughty bedroom together with a diet of breadcrusts and stinky fish can do to an old person like Granpa Jack.
'NO! No, dear boy-you'll be set upon by the hounds. No, just chat to your old Granpa Jack.'
So I tell him about our visit to Santa's Tent-Grotto and he laughs and tells me I'm a tonic. 'You take my mind off The Pit of Despair, my boy. Ta-ra for now!'
I put the phone down and start to think.
Wilf

Granpa Jack

Three things Granpa Jack does that he shouldn't:

1. Smokes a pipe 2. Wears a smelly hat. 3. Bets on the horses.

He's great. And one really great fact about Granpa Jack is,

HE MET BUZZ ALDRIN! Awtastic.

Granpa Jack lives in, 'The Pit of Despair' (see above), that's what he calls it. This makes him quite grumpy. Mum and Dad call it, 'St Agnus' Home for the Elderly'. And this also makes him quite grumpy.
He used to live in our house until Dad chucked him out and that made me quite grumpy.

The next day it is still not snowing-even though it is the day before Christmas Eve Day! I am expecting a return call from the speaking clock. This clock is accurate to within five thousandths of a second, which is a very interesting and useful fact. So when the telephone rings, I rush into the hall to answer it.

'Yes?'
'Don't ever get old, Wilf my boy!' bellows Granpa Jack.
I shake my head. 'All right, Granpa Jack.'
'You'll end up parcelled off and shoved into the 'Pit of Despair', like this one! With cockroaches and lice in your bedroom and unspeakable food!'

Mum is standing next to me. 'Granpa Jack?' she mouths and I nod. 'Remind him about Christmas.'
'Nobody will remember your birthday, nobody will come and visit you. And did I tell you, dear boy, I lost my last two horse races?'
'Yes, you did. Mum says to remind you that you're coming for Christmas.'
'She wouldn't have to remind me if I was still living there, in my real home, instead of an old folks home! I'd rather live in an outside lavvy than here. Be a sight more comfortable I can tell you!'

Mum is still watching me carefully.
'I wish you were still living here too, Granpa Jack,' I say, watching Mum's lips go taut before she walks away. That was a mean thing to do but I do want him here. He's fun. Tell you more tomorrow.
Wilf

More interesting food for Serena

This our cat, she doesn't do much except for sleeping and bringing in birds and mice to eat in front of us.

I'd better finish this bit of my story as you're probably wondering what happens next. I left you (well me actually) in the kitchen searching for my Christmas presents...
So, downstairs the moon is shining through the kitchen window, making everything sparkly. I flash my head-torch over by the washing machine and startle Serena the cat out of her basket. She miaows loudly.
'Sorry, Serena-let me just look in here,' and I pull the blanket off her suspiciously high bed and-BINGO! 'Got them!'
The presents are wrapped but I can tell what they are. They are always the same; books and an educational game. I put them back with a note:

"Dear Father Christmas
I would like a motorised toboggan
Thankyou
From Wilfred"

Course, I don't believe in Father Christmas but I hope that on Planet-Parents, they take the hint. I am about to go back to bed and think about snow, when I trip over Serena's food bowl. She is still complaining and pawing at my leg.
'Do you want some food, Serena?'
'Miaow!' This means, yes but I can't find the catfood.
'Do you want something intersting to eat?'
'Miaow!!'
I take half a tin of baked beans out of the fridge and mash them up with some potatoe and trifle. Then I add some brown sauce for luck. Serena sniffs at it and then gobbles it down. I eat the rest of the trifle and go back to bed. Job done. Just needs to snow now.
Wilf

Still Not Snowing

I don't know why all Christmas's can't look like this one. Snow is on every single Christmas card we have , even the one from Granpa Jack and he KNOWS about global warming. Dexter, of course, sent one with a giant robin on it-he said it was a job lot for charity.

'Where do you think the presents will be hidden this year?' I ask Dexter the computer.
It is later on after our visit to Father Christmas. Outside it is still not snowing. My alarm clock is flashing 10.26. It is dark and the house is quiet; only Dexter is humming away in the corner.
'Does not com-pute,' says Dexter, 'I want a ham-ster.'
I sigh and reach inside my bedside drawer for my miner's head torch. It's not a real one, I had to make it. I had a small torch for Christmas last year and then I took the elastic out of a pair of Granpa Jack's enormous pants. Then I tied it the elastic to the torch. I could strap this round my head so that it didn't fall down, unlike Granpa Jack's pants, which did fall down. He thought it was really funny. Mum and Dad did not. They just don't understand science like me and Granpa Jack. Actually Dexter and his hamster has given me an idea. Every year Mum and Dad try to hide the presents from me. This is so they can pretend they come from Father Christmas. Last year they were inside Mum's desk-that was so easy. But this year, I think they've asked an animal to help out and that can only be Serena, the cat. Mainly because when I came into the kitchen the other morning, Mum began talking about computers and how useful they were (HA!) whilst trying to shove Serena into her suspiciously well padded basket. She looked like the cat-princess and the pea. Hmmm.
Wilf

Santa's Beard

Look at this picture-as if! I don't what Buzz's views are on Father Christmas and his impossible sleigh but I do know that Buzz holds the record for spending time in a vehicle outside his spacecraft-five and a half hours!

To continue.
After the parents had disappeared back into the tent-grotto together with my mince pie, I look around for something interesting to do. There aren't so many people in the market square now-not since the Christmas lights fused anyway. Some stalls have even packed up and gone. The candle stall is all right though. There's lots of light there, in fact they are the only people smiling at me. Even Santa had to get out his purse and buy a few candles to light the way to his tent-grotto which is flapping about a bit in the wind now. It's cold and I begin to wonder how long it takes to exchange action-man for something educational. I also begin to wonder if the the billowing tent-grotto will fall down on top of them. Just to be sure, I decide to do That Nice Mr Parkin a favour-even though he doesn't deserve it. I tighten up the ropes holding the tent in place. It's hard work but by the time I'v e finished they are good and straight. Not that he'll thank me of course, he's not that nice.

'We've found you something much better dear,' says mum coming back.
She is clutching a very small, blue toy rabbit.
'Ooh! Where did that come from?' says dad, tripping over the nearest tent rope.
Suddenly I have a bad feeling about the tent ropes. 'I'd like to go home now,' I say, pulling at dad's hand.
PING! SWOOSH! FLUMP!
The tent-grotto flies off into the cold night sky like a large clumsy bird. And now we can all see Father Christmas and his elf sitting down together, with their legs up on chairs. They are drinking something steamy from large mugs.
'Look! he's taken his beard off!' I say.
And then I see it, whizzing through the air, above our heads. Santa jumps up, spilling his hot drink, so that he leaps about quite alot while pointing at his flying beard. Now he looks very cross and he's coming towards us. Something's up, I can tell. Mum and dad look at each other and then at me.
'Let's get a taxi,' says dad and he's already running across the square, 'there's one!'

Action man

Here is the original action man. His name is Buzz Aldrin. He is a doctor, a Colonel and an astronaut. It is a little known fact that he spent 289 hours and 53 minutes in space which is a lot more than That Nice Mr Parkin-even though TNMP always tells us that Father Christmas flies round the world, 'just like an astronaut'. Personally I don't think he quite understands what it involves.

So, I try and explain about the other year and the beard thing.
'There was a fly in it,' I say, 'I was trying to get it out of your beard before it went up your nose-I was only 7 and 1/2.'
But Father Christmas, That Nice Mr Parkin, is reaching into his post office sack.
'Here's your gifty, little boy, now take it!' says Santa grabbing at his beard as though I'm going to rip it off again. 'Happy Christmas and GOODBYE!'
Santa's elf, That Nice Mrs Parkin, comes rushing through and pushes me out of the back tent-flap.

'Hello, dear,' says mum. 'Did you say sorry?'
She is sipping something hot and steamy. Dad comes over with three mince pies. They are looking happy again. I decide to keep it that way.
'Yes,' I say.
They beam at one another. 'What did Father Christmas give you, Wilfred?'
I unwrap the present. It is an action man.
'Oh really!' says mum. 'You cannot have that!'
'Why not?' I ask.
Dad snatches the toy out of my hands. 'We don't want you to play with army things, Wilfred-they're not very nice! We'll go and swap it for something nicer-STAY THERE!'
'But Dexter's got loads of action men and guns at home,' I begin to say.
But my mum and dad have gone back into the tent. Dad did not even leave me with a mince pie.
Gloom gloom.
Wilf.