Ernest Laing and the meaning of things.

The only one of my lecturers at University who made any lasting impression was Dr Ernest Laing,a Highlander. There were a few Highlanders in the Glasgow University Dept of Natural Philosophy, mostly cold people. I didn't particularly warm to Laing, but I learnt from him, which is unusual at Uni.

     I first encountered him in person at the Staff-Student Committee. For some daft reason, I had volunteered to be First Year Rep. God knows why. I can recall only one meeting of this toothless committee. I tried to persuade the committee of some minor point, details long forgotten. Laing disagreed. I tried again, making the point a different way. Laing reiterated his counter-argument, using exactly the same words. I foolishly continued. Laing continued to repeat his refutation, calmly, logically, using exactly the same words. No matter what I said, he replied in exactly the same words over and over, like the speaking clock, until I fell silent. I have never forgotten this moment of humiliation, or his display of iron will.

     The second occasion he made an impression was at the Demonstrations Day. This was a light-hearted occasion, at which the staff and research students tried to entertain us with physics and a bit of jiggery-pokery. The research students seemed to have a thinly-veiled agenda of taking the mickey out of the staff. They had erected a huge pendulum, which is known as a Foucault pendulum after the French scientist who invented it to demonstrate the Earth's rotation. (Google is your friend). The students played a trick on the assembled profs. They asked them if they really believed in the Laws of Physics. Some poor sap said he did, and was ushered up front. The pendulum was drawn back a long way from the vertical, and the prof was stood with his nose against it. The pendulum was released. Now the laws of physics say that the pendulum can never rise quite so high again, it must progressively lose energy and amplitude of swing due to the effect of friction. So we all knew it could not touch the prof. Nevertheless, when he saw it hurtling toward his face, he leapt out of the way. How we laughed! The smart-arse graduate student then challenged the other staff members to prove they really believed in the Laws of Physics. Perhaps he didn't really want a Ph.D.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Then Ernie stepped up. We knew he was a hard man, but I admit to being awed. He took his place. Once the pendulum was in motion, he closed his eyes! Crafty old Ernie! He stood his ground with ease. Foolishly the student accused him of cheating. He couldn't stand being robbed of his prey. Ernie calmly explained that there was no need to keep his eyes open to demonstrate that he believed in the Law of Conservation of Energy, he merely had to stand there.

     The third occasion when Ernie impressed me was at a peculiar seminar which he organised. It was given by an odd man in scruffy clothes, who produced a strange telescope of his own devising, which he said allowed him to see creatures moving about on Mars. It was of modest size, and had far too many lenses in it, of very dubious quality. It was obviously a piece of junk. The calm way in which this eccentric fellow explained his mad 'scientific discoveries' made an eerie impression on me. He seemed completely out of touch with reality, yet he did not gibber or rave, but coolly explained his ideas just like other visiting scientists had done at the weekly seminars. We waited for Ernie to explain to this man what a nutter he was. He simply said that he had no way to refute this man's ideas, but that he didn't think his research had enough in common with the work of the department for a meaningful exchange of views to take place, and wished him the best of luck. He obviously had a soft spot for the guy, who was in his own way quite heroic. It was a powerful lesson on the true meaning of science.