This edited article about David Low originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 704 published on 12 July 1975.

King Street, Covent Garden

Before he turned to curing corns, David Low had been a hairdresser and a hotelier. Not just a hotelier let it be stressed but the very first hotelier. His historic invention happened in 1774, and before readers reach for their pens and ask: “What about inns?”, they should remember that the grand old British inn/tavern is a place for drinking first and sleeping in overnight second. Mr. Low reversed the process.

He selected a house in Covent Garden, London, that had been occupied by a peer of the realm. Lord Russell, whose idea of interior decoration was to have a home looking like below decks in a man-of-war. The exact spot where this odd aristocrat lived was 43, King Street and it was here that David Low opened his Grand Hotel in January 1774.

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This edited article about the great Railway Derby of 1895 originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 703 published on 5 July 1975.

A GNR express drawn by one of the famous Sterling “singles” which took part in the 1895  railway derby, as did the a Precendnt Class locomotive (top left inset) on the East Coast line. Pictures by Harry Green

Two trains thundered through the night from London to see which could reach Scotland first. It was towards the end of the last century and Britain was gripped almost in a Derby Day fever by the great rail race to the north.

Rivalry between the companies operating competing routes, one along the east coast and the other along the west, first came to a head in 1888.

The east coast route opened the battle by admitting third class passengers to the 10 a.m. train which took nine hours to do the run from King’s Cross to Edinburgh. The rival west coast route, operating from Euston, already took third class passengers, but its journey was one hour longer.

Naturally, the third class passengers began to crowd the east coast trains and the west coast lost revenue.

Then the west coast cut an hour off their time, so it was a dead heat. The east coast replied by knocking half-an-hour off their time and reducing the journey to eight-and-a-half hours.

The war was on. West coast again went into the attack and announced that they, too, would do the eight-and-a-half hour run. But on the very day they achieved it, they received a severe shock from the east coast, who cut the time to eight hours.

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This edited article about Wimbledon originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 702 published on 28 June 1975.

The Centre Court at Wimbledon

Over the years, the leading events on the sporting calendar have undergone many changes. Some have declined as attractions to the paying public while a few have had to enlist the aid of commercial sponsorship to stay in business. The one big exception is Wimbledon’s lawn tennis fortnight.

Twice in the last three years, Wimbledon’s appeal was put to the test when disputes with some of the professional groups, meant many of the leading players did not compete. But the turnstiles still clicked, fans still slept on the pavement waiting for the gates to open for finals day, and some 300,000 spectators watched the 12 days of action.

Wimbledon has a unique place in sport for both spectator and player, perhaps because it is so typically British, clinging to much of its past like the ivy on its walls. While most of the world’s major open championships are played on clay or hard courts. Wimbledon retains its grass; players are frowned upon if they consider adding a spot of colour to their regulation all-white dress.

Officially, the major titles are still the “gentlemen’s and ladies’ singles.” And at tea-time, strawberries and cream continue to be sold by the thousands. But while Wimbledon treasures its traditions and past, it has never been afraid to accept changes. Indeed, it helped to introduce open tennis in 1968 when more and more of the leading players were becoming professionals.

The world’s leading lawn tennis championship would never have started at all, if the founders of the club had not been prepared to accept some changes in the early days. The club was first formed by croquet enthusiasts in 1868 and named the All England Croquet Club.

To help funds, a section of the original Worple Road ground was set aside for lawn tennis and badminton in the mid-1870′s and it was not long before tennis became the stronger partner and even took over the leading role in the new title: All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

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This edited article about the Lombards originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 702 published on 28 June 1975.

Alboin, King of the Lombards,  makes Rosamund drink from her father’s skull by Tancredi Scarpelli

A modern bank with its air of calmness and efficiency seems to owe little to the far distances of history where murder, brutality and intrigue were rife.

Yet, banking has its origins with the Lombards, a Germanic tribe which emigrated south 1,400 years ago from the rule of Attila the Hun, plundering, warring and gathering fortunes to establish a new home in the north of Italy.

Rightly, they are remembered in the City of London, hub of the financial world, where one thoroughfare is named after them – Lombard Street.

Although the strange race, which took its title from their long beards – or “Lango Bardi” – vanished as an independent nation in the 8th century, their traditions, achievements and administrations lived on to produce the principles of commerce and banking that remain to the present day.

The groundwork of finance and trade was carried down the ages by Lombard crusaders, knights and financial agents of the Popes, who set up money-lending businesses in London in the 13th century.

But in the early centuries, Lombard kings with names like Alboin, Cleph, Authari and Luitprand carved the beginnings of the financial structure, finally clashing with Charlemagne the Great, who conquered them and proclaimed himself king of the Lombards.

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This edited article about Emanuel Zacchini originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 702 published on 28 June 1975.

Zacchini was appearing half a century after the great Zazel had performed similar feats as a human cannon-ball for her audience at London’s Royal Aquarium in the 1880s

One Day in 1940, amid a thunderous roll of drums, the ring master stepped before the packed crowds in Madison Square Gardens, New York, U.S.A.

“Ringling Brothers and Barnum and ‘Bailey’s circus proudly presents the most amazing spectacle ever witnessed by human eyes,” he proclaimed proudly.

A lorry trundled into the arena with a great cannon mounted on its back, and the crowd gasped in excitement.

“Mister Emanuel Zacchini’s death-defying feat is about to begin,” he cried. “He is going to be shot from a cannon for the greatest distance ever recorded in the annals of history.”

To a fanfare of trumpets, Zacchini tripped into the ring, bowed to the audience and climbed into the barrel of the cannon.

There was a hushed silence as the audience clung to their seats in anticipation. Suddenly, there was a tremendous roar. Smoke poured from the cannon and in the midst of it was Zacchini, shooting through the air so fast that he looked like a streak of colour.

Before the crowd could recover their breath, he was scrambling to the edge of the net in which he had landed and jumping into the arena.

After consulting with officials who had carefully measured the distance, the ringmaster announced that Zacchini had been shot a distance of 175 feet (53.3 metres) and achieved a world record.

Wherever he appeared after this, crowds flocked to see the world’s greatest human cannon-ball who not only survived to enjoy a quiet retirement, but was succeeded by his daughter Florinda as a star in an exciting profession.

This edited article about the Great Fire of London originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 701 published on 21 June 1975.

The Great Fire of London by Peter Jackson

It was between one and two a.m. in the morning of September 2, 1666, when the fire broke out which was to lay London in ashes. It occurred in a baker’s shop in Pudding Lane, in the City, and at first it was not taken seriously, least of all by the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Thomas Bludworth. He was annoyed at being summoned from his bed on so slight a matter. “A woman might put it out,” he exclaimed scornfully. It was this “small” fire which was to destroy 13,200 houses in four days, and render some 200,000 citizens homeless.
When the fire began, a strong north-east wind was blowing, and before daybreak, the flames had spread to the adjacent streets, consuming the ancient buildings like paper. As street after street were engulfed, the panic of the population mounted to hysterical proportions. Rich people dug pits in their gardens to store their plate or jewels. Others went out into the streets to offer huge sums for the removal of their goods by horse and cart, before joining in the mad rush for the Thames which was soon covered with boats and barges laden with people and furniture. The booksellers who were then congregated in Paternoster Row rushed their volumes, valued at £150,000 in all, into the crypt of St. Paul’s, where in a few hours they were buried beneath thousands of tons of burning ashes.

By daybreak, the fire had reached the river quays, where the conflagration spread because of the large stocks of oil, tallow, timber, spirits and other highly inflammable goods. After this, the flames drove westward along the river bank. Thousands of people had now fled to the heights of Hampstead and Highgate, from where they watched the fire consume their city.

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This edited article about sailing barge races originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 699 published on 7 June 1975.

A sailing barge

As his tall-masted sailing barge, the Phoenician, skimmed over the water of the Thames, Captain Alfred Horlock knew that he had another winner. He saw the wind billowing the russet sails of his vessel, smelt the salt in the breeze from the estuary, and felt the waves beneath his feet as the ship rode them like a dream.

Behind him were the other competitors in this race, their blunt bows cleaving through the river.

Captain Horlock felt triumphant. He was a skipper who knew how to use the wind and the tide to beat all his rivals in the most graceful races of all time – the sailing barge races on the Thames and Medway, first held in 1863.

Captain Horlock was one of the most successful skippers to compete in these. He won his first race in 1905, and in the years that followed built up a tally of 19 wins out of the 21 races he entered.

He was one of the four generations of Horlocks who had won the barge races, beginning with his grandfather in 1868. The vessels they used were known as spritsail barges, which are among the most remarkable sailing vessels in the world. At one time they were a familiar sight in the Thames estuary and along the east coast of England, carrying their cargoes from one coastal port to another, or up the Thames to London docks.

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This edited article about Sir Robert Peel originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 697 published on 24 May 1975.

One of Robert Peel’s thief taker’s, known as peelers, by Peter Jackson

The Man who was to become the founder of the London police force was born in 1788, the grandson of a wealthy Lancashire cotton manufacturer.

Robert Peel was sent to Harrow School and Oxford University, where he showed a brilliant aptitude for both Latin, Greek and mathematics.

In 1809, Peel became a member of parliament and soon made a name for himself as an able and hardworking politician.

At the age of 24, he became Secretary for Ireland, a most responsible position at that time, for the country was in a very bad state of affairs. Peel would not support Catholic emancipation, which aimed at giving Irish Catholics the same rights as Protestants, and this made him unpopular in Ireland.

But Peel did better as Home Secretary in the Tory governments of Lord Liverpool and the Duke of Wellington.

In 1829 he founded the London Police Force and it is from Peel’s Christian name that policemen received their nickname of ‘bobbies’, although they were first known as ‘Peelers’.

Peel reformed the criminal law by reducing the number of crimes for which people could be hanged. He also sought to improve the conditions in the prisons.

It was during this time that he changed his policy about Ireland, and made a speech in the Commons in favour of Catholic emancipation. This made him unpopular in England, and also helped to break up the Tory party.

Peel built up a new party from the Tories which became the Conservative party and still exists today. He was Prime Minister for a short time in 1834, and may have been so again in 1839 if he had not upset Queen Victoria by suggesting that she gave up some of her ladies-in-waiting who belonged to the Whig party. This the queen refused to do.

When Peel became the Prime Minister again in 1841, he improved Britain’s financial affairs and repealed (cancelled) the Corn Laws which were preventing thousands of poor people from buying bread because of the high price of corn. This angered many Conservatives.

After the return of the Whigs to power in 1847, Peel gave them much support until his death on July 2nd, 1850, three days after falling from his horse on Constitution Hill in London.

This edited article about originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 696 published on 17 May 1975.

The young Handel is discovered in the attic playing the harpsichord by his father. Picture by Peter Jackson

Known to millions as the composer of the Hallelujah Chorus and the great oratorio, the Messiah, from which it comes, George Frederic Handel was British by choice, not by birth. Yet his music is part of the British heritage, and he lies buried in Westminster Abbey. What do we know about the little boy from Germany who achieved these things?

Many boys and girls dislike having to practise a musical instrument, even if they have a natural gift for playing it. Parents and teachers have to coax and push them along. With young Handel, however, it was just the opposite. From the time that he could sit on a stool, he loved to get close to a keyboard, and to pick out notes and make up little tunes. And from his earliest years he longed to become a real musician, begging his parents to let him have proper lessons on the harpsichord.

But his father had quite different ideas. A prosperous doctor in the north German town of Halle, he did not intend to let his youngest son lead the irregular and poorly paid life of a musician of those times. No, the boy was to be trained for one of the professions which his father thought respectable, such as that of a lawyer, or perhaps a doctor like himself.

So the small harpsichord in the home of the Handel family was banished to the attic, where George Frederic would not be tempted to waste his time on it. One night, however, his parents were awakened by the sound of soft music stealing down the stairs, long after they had gone to bed. Taking a candle, they went to investigate, and to their amazement found their young son, who was not more than six at the time, seated in his nightshirt in the chilly attic, playing away on the old harpsichord with a skill which was entirely self-taught, and which they had no idea he possessed.

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This edited article about fog originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 695 published on 10 May 1975.

A scene in London fog, once known as a pea-souper

With very little warning, fog will settle over land or sea. At sea, ships have to reduce speed and run the risk of collision, and on land, rail and road transport is reduced to a crawl.

It has been estimated that one day of heavy fog in a city like London costs over one million pounds. This huge bill is made up of delays to transport, working time lost through people being late for work, charges for extra lighting, and damage to goods.

If fog could be done away with, the gain to a country’s health and wealth would be enormous.

A great deal of Britain’s fog begins far out in the Atlantic. There currents of air warmed by the Gulf Stream take up water moisture from the sea.

The water is in the form of vapour, rather like the steam produced by water boiling in a kettle. But unlike steam from a kettle, the water vapour is invisible.

When the stream of warm air carrying the water vapour meets a cold layer of air or passes over cold ground, the water vapour in the air condenses. This means that it turns into water again.

The same thing happens when steam from a kettle strikes against the comparatively cold wall of the kitchen and trickles down as water.

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