This article examines a controversy over a nuclear-energy gallery at the Science Museum, London, in the early 1980s. It uses this case to explore the wider politicization of museums at this time, and thus the politicization of the display of science and technology. It argues that cultural changes in train since the 1960s, coupled with a museological turn towards ‘social history’ as the proper vehicle for exhibiting science and technology, led to the museum becoming newly subject to widespread critical scrutiny. That scrutiny had contradictory effects. On the one hand, it reinforced the image of the museum as a bastion of official culture and knowledge. On the other, it undermined this image, by exposing the ideological nature of the museum’s authority. This double movement laid the groundwork for the crisis of confidence that culminated in the ‘New Museology’ of the later part of the decade. Attending to this controversy thus suggests a need to revise prevailing scholarship on the ‘politics of display’, which often takes for granted an overly straightforward connection between museums and power.

This article examines the practice of post-mortem examination in the Royal Navy during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars (1793–1815). The professional medical logbooks kept by ship’s surgeons as part of their mandated practice reveal that they turned to pathological anatomy to diagnose their patients – a technique typically associated with French anatomy during this period. I show that these post-mortem dissections blended medicine and surgery together by correlating clinical signs and symptoms of disease with pathological manifestations of disease in the bodies after death. This article also considers the medical culture that existed on these ships that enabled this research, specifically how captains, officers and crew responded to, and interpreted, such medical enquiry on board. By resituating the naval ship as a site of medical experimentation and enquiry, I explore how naval surgeons participated in medical research within the Royal Navy and used the ship space to engage in pathological anatomy before their British civilian counterparts flocked to French hospitals after the wars.

This paper shows how the Greater Manchester Museum of Science and Industry (GMMSI) was shaped by actors’ experiences with the history of science and technology. The museum began under the leadership of scientist–historians at the University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology (UMIST) in the 1960s, where it was uniquely positioned to reflect contemporary histories of science, particularly framed around the concept of revolutions. This academic framing converged with long-held civic aspirations for a science museum in the city and cemented Manchester’s historiographic position as the ‘first industrial city’. Vivian Bowden, UMIST’s principal, also explicitly aimed to educate future scientists whom he believed were key to overcoming the region’s economic challenges. What is striking in this process is how perceptions of the past and contemporary views were integrated with vehement northern independence and determination to form a ‘museum to rival South Kensington’. This paper concludes with the GMMSI’s early 1980s relocation to Liverpool Road Station, where the museum became a wholly civic affair, beyond academia. Despite these changes, the belief that the past had a place in the education of future scientists laid the foundations for the later integration of an interactive science centre gallery in the 1980s.

During the forty-thousand-mile voyage of HMS Beagle (1831–6) Charles Darwin compiled an extensive corpus of manuscript materials, containing a highly specialized chromatic vocabulary. Darwin’s dedicated use of binomial colour terms, such as ‘aurora red’, ‘orpiment orange’ and ‘gamboge yellow’, was the result of his regular consultation of a work popular among British naturalists: Werner’s Nomenclature of Colours (1821) by Patrick Syme. A copy of this compact colour manual was among Darwin’s ‘most useful’ possessions on the Beagle. Now held in Cambridge University Library (DAR LIB T.620), Darwin’s copy of Syme’s book evidences both the difficulties of capturing accurate colour in exploratory natural history and the mechanisms by which this was attempted. Mining the Beagle archive for representations of coloured phenomena, this article reveals for the first time the extent of Darwin’s reliance on Werner’s Nomenclature for collecting and communicating chromatic data, across distance and against the fugitive, subjective and shifting nature of natural hues.

In the 1950s, Alan Durrant of the University College Wales began a series of experiments to investigate the inheritance of environmental effects in plants, forging an unexpected connection to the controversial hereditary theories of Trofim Denisovich Lysenko. Durrant’s work relied heavily on a specific fibre flax variety, Stormont Cirrus, developed in the interwar period in the UK for linen production. I investigate how the exigencies of the UK linen industry, along with Durrant’s training and institutional setting, formed the milieu that generated an unexpected outlier in British genetic scholarship during the Cold War. I supplement my text-based historical analysis by conducting experiments to re-examine the genetic constitution of the original Stormont Cirrus cultivar. These findings suggest that Durrant’s creation of alternative ‘genotroph’ derivatives by treating Stormont Cirrus plants with different soil nutrient regimes likely resulted from selection of pre-existing genetic variation present in the incompletely inbred parental strain, rather than being an example of inherited environmental effects. Inverting Durrant’s intention to interpret his results in the context of Lysenko’s work, my historical analysis of Durrant’s flax genotroph findings informs a reappraisal of one of the key experimental claims supporting Lysenko’s environmentalist concepts of inheritance.

Between 1814 and 1826 four members of the family of Jane Talbot and her cousin William Henry Fox Talbot had an active and varied interest in the study of mosses, which included the collecting, drawing and naming of specimens. This article explores the textures of their developing practice of learning natural history, and considers their activities within the framework of the circulation of knowledge, their reading and skill development, and the networks that supported them. Their social status and connections provided access to the expertise of numerous British botanists, including Lewis Weston Dillwyn, William Jackson Hooker, and James Dalton, placing the family as a locus of knowledge (re)production and transmission. This work illustrates the pedagogical practices of an elite group as they engaged with botany in a domestic setting, and makes suggestions as to their motivations and stimulations, as well as the conditions that maintained or diminished their interest. At a time when mosses were little-studied even by professed botanists, it demonstrates how a family group including many young women filled their leisure pursuits with these small plants, and reveals how an extended family with no previous expertise in formal botany could be actors in early nineteenth-century knowledge exchange.

This article examines Redcliffe N. Salaman’s (1874–1955) efforts to establish a national system for producing virus-free seed potatoes in 1930s Britain. It explores how scientific authority was mobilized to reshape agricultural practices and assert regulatory control over seed production. Although Salaman’s proposals were never fully realized, they laid the groundwork for enduring strategies to improve potato crop health by protecting seed from infectious agents and their insect vectors. Salaman’s work drew on both traditional horticultural knowledge and emerging microbiological techniques, spanning field and laboratory settings. He exemplifies how diverse modes of science making shaped a period of increasing professionalization and institutionalization in the biological sciences. By tracing interactions between scientists and other actors – including growers, seedsmen and government officials – the article shows how plant virus control was gradually redefined from a craft-based practice to a scientific domain. This article contributes to the early history of virology from an agricultural perspective, as well as to broader historiographical debates on the role of science in agriculture, the professionalization of expertise and the construction of regulatory authority in twentieth-century Britain.

In the latter half of the eighteenth century, British civil engineers strove to enhance their status and assert the identity of their developing profession. Alongside associational and visual cultures, one means of achieving a sense of community was through the formation of a shared literary culture. As a profession notorious for what Torrens described as ‘papyrophobia’, it is perhaps surprising that many engineers, in this period, read widely and wrote extensively. John Smeaton (1724–92), for example, valued good authorship and experimented widely with literary form. James Brindley (1716–72), his contemporary, wrote sparingly, but nevertheless generated a literary strategy in support of his projects. Other engineers, such as John Phillips (fl. 1785–1813), made use of their engineering background and of engineering literature to create alternative careers. By exploring how mid- to late eighteenth-century engineers wrote, in order to persuade and to educate others as well as to publicize, record and defend their professional decisions, this paper will show how their reputations were dependent on literary constructions as much as on physical ones.

This paper explores the complex role penicillin played in the relations between Britain, the USA and the USSR between the Second World War and the beginning of the Cold War through the lens of science diplomacy and the category of negotiation. In the post-war years the Soviets tried to acquire know-how on large-scale penicillin production from Britain and the USA. While the USA refused to collaborate, the British strategy was more complex. The British government allowed the Oxford team, which had discovered the antibacterial properties of penicillin, to disclose all the technology and know-how concerning large-scale penicillin production of which they were aware to the Soviets, while simultaneously trying to slow down penicillin research and production in the Soviet Union by controlling the export of certain industrial machinery, Podbielniak extractors, to Eastern Europe. By contrast, the USA put a stop to scientific and technological collaboration with the Soviets, but were less strict about the export of industrial machinery. The different strategies generated tensions between Britain and the USA, and ultimately mirrored both the British fear of an American disengagement from Europe and the American will to protect the interests of their national industry.

Prognosis is an important aspect of any scientific culture. Speculation and imagination about future knowledge, social organization and technology pervade the practice of science and lend it aim and direction (or at least the appearance of direction). This article is about the development of prognosis in the fiction and popular-scientific writing of Jane Webb Loudon (1800–58), a writer familiar within the history of science for her publications in botany and gardening, if not for her romantic novel The Mummy!, one of the earliest examples of the genre later known as science fiction. I argue that Webb Loudon viewed scientific activity as declining and flourishing throughout human history, and that she anticipated the science of her time would ‘resuscitate’ knowledge and even political structures of past eras (like ancient Egypt). Following the work of Jim Endersby and other historians of science who have worked to reintegrate the role of fiction in our understanding of science culture, I argue that Webb Loudon’s efforts to promote and diffuse her understanding of science and its relation to the future (and past) ought be viewed as informing the cultural meaning of science in the nineteenth century.

In 1934 C.V. Raman, Nobel Prize laureate in physics, founded the Indian Academy of Sciences in an attempt to create a single unified national scientific society for India. Instead, due to actions of Raman, the Royal Society and other British and Indian scientists, three distinct Indian science academies emerged and have persisted to the present day. Taking place against a background of British imperialism, Indian nationalism and scientific internationalism, Raman’s actions provide a fascinating case study of scientific production and the shaping of scientific networks in (British) India. This paper scrutinizes this hitherto unexplored late imperial stage of the Indian scientific landscape and highlights the versatile role of British imperialism in influencing the founding and functioning of the Indian Academy of Sciences under Raman. The latter’s national and international career and leadership testify to a complex relationship where the personal and the political became intertwined with science in (British) India.

In this paper, I argue that Johann Christoph Sturm’s eclectic scientific method reveals an unexpected indebtedness to Francis Bacon’s thought. Sturm’s reception of Bacon is particularly surprising given that the German academic context in the second half of the seventeenth century was still largely Aristotelian. Sturm is indebted to Bacon in the following respects: (1) the critique of the current state of knowledge, (2) eclecticism, (3) a fluid transition from natural history to natural philosophy, (4) the conception of science as hypothetical and dynamic and (5) experimental philosophy and the use of instruments. Given that Sturm mentions Francis Bacon in important places in his work, these respects should not easily be dismissed as commonplace. Bacon is one of Sturm’s salient sources and they are both deeply concerned with a thoroughgoing reform of existing scientific practices.