Transcript
Ann (0:00)
I was never really a runner. The way I see running is a gift, especially when you have stage four cancer. I'm Ann. I'm running the Boston Marathon presented by bank of America. I run for Dana Farber Cancer Institute to give people like me a chance to thrive in life even with cancer. Join bank of America in helping Anne's cause. Give if you can at B of a dot com SUPPORTANN what would you like the power to do? References to charitable organizations is not endorsement by bank of America Corporation.
Lowe's Advertisement (0:29)
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Minecraft Advertisement (1:00)
McDonald's meets the Minecraft universe with one.
Ann (1:03)
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McDonald's Advertisement (1:12)
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Ruth Goodman (1:15)
It's AD 79. An afternoon in mid October. We're in Herculaneum, a small town in the southwest of Italy. Despite its distance from the capital, Herculaneum is a favorite resort for super rich Romans, many of whom have second homes here. As we take in the spectacular view of the Bay of Naples, it's easy to see the attraction. Our vantage point is the grandest and most luxurious villa of them all. It sits right on the coastline with an unimpeded prospect of the sea. The surf breaks over the beach a few meters below. The autumn sun illuminates the turbulent surface of the ocean, which seems unusually agitated, as if a storm or something worse is coming. Beneath a portico facing out to sea, a man sits on a marble bench reading from a papyrus scroll. He's dressed in a tunic belted at the waist. The simplicity of his clothing belies his status as a high born Roman noble. The scroll he's reading comes from his vast library of mainly philosophical works. Every now and again he takes a moment to bask in the pleasure of his existence. The magnificent scenery, the gentle sunlight, the luxurious villa, a jug of vintage Falernum wine on the table beside him. They all combine to add extra Meaning to the words of his favorite philosopher, Epicurus. Epicurus taught that the purpose of philosophy was to live a life of pleasure, happiness and tranquility. According to him, pleasure is perfect within each instant of existence. In other words, there's no point wishing for immortality. The man takes comfort from this, which he interprets as a call to live in the moment. True pleasure comes from simple things, like the company of friends. That reminds him he has a dinner engagement that evening. He reaches into a pouch hanging from his belt and removes a strange looking object made of silvered bronze, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. It's shaped like a leg of ham with a bent's pigtail still attached. A grid of vertical and horizontal lines is etched on the surface of the leg. The man smiles. The object always appeals to his sense of humour. He steps out of the portico into the sun and holds up the hock shaped lump of metal. The light strikes it from the left. The little tail casts a shadow across the grid. He adjusts the position of the object until the tip of the Shadow touches the 10th vertical line representing the month of October. He then counts down the horizontal lines to read the time. You see, the strange little object is in fact a portable sundial, the ancient equivalent of a wristwatch. It tells him that it's an hour until sunset, time to put his toga on. Suddenly the ground shakes. He hears screams of panic coming from inside the the man walks a few steps away from the portico, then looks behind him to see Mount Vesuvius looming over his villa, smoke rising ominously from its crater. As an epicurean, the man accepts that the soul does not survive the death of the body. He also does his best to believe that dying is not something to be frightened of. But when the very ground beneath your feet trembles, it's hard not to give into fear. He rushes inside, dropping the sundial in his panic. The following day, at around 1pm, Vesuvius erupts. An immense column of volcanic material shoots up, reaching a height of around 20 miles. A mushroom cloud of hot ash and toxic gas blocks out the sun, making it impossible to read any sundial at first. The wind blows the debris away from Herculaneum towards the neighbouring town of Pompeii. Only a light scattering of ash falls on the smaller town, but it's enough to cause the philosopher and his household to flee the villa, though not before he has made sure his precious scrolls are safely packed up. Then the eruption enters a second, even more deadly phase. A cloud of scalding Ash and poisonous gas rolls down the mountainside and engulfs Herculaneum. The town, including our philosopher's villa, is buried beneath an unstoppable flood of volcanic. It will remain undiscovered until the 18th century, when the treasures of Herculaneum and Pompeii finally come to light. One of the most curious finds is a small lump of metal shaped like a joint of ham. I'm Ruth Goodman. I've spent my life exploring the extraordinary history of items, the little things that we often take for granted. You see, every object in your home has a fascinating hidden history, a story that's just waiting to be told. This week, we're telling the story of clocks through time. So come with me and together we'll explore the curious history of your home. To me, clocks are fascinating objects because they tell us a lot about ourselves. The need to know the time strikes me as very human. I think it's because we're basically social animals. We're also highly organized. We've worked out a way of living that requires us to come together and cooperate with each other. If you're going to take part in a communal activity, such as manning the city watch, performing a religious ceremony, or buying and selling at a market, you need some way of making sure that everyone involved turns up at more or less the right time. In this episode, we're focusing on clocks in the home, but we'll also touch upon more public ways of timekeeping. After all, when it comes to clocks, the private and public are interconnected, as anyone who lives within earshot of a church bell will know. One of our earliest methods of telling the time was just by looking at the sky. When it's light out, you can tell by the position of the sun roughly where you are in the day. An extension of that was to look at the shadow cast by the sun. It's a short step from a basic shadow clock to a more sophisticated sundial with a gauge marked out to help you read the time. The first sundials we know of were used in Egypt and Babylon as far back as 3500 BC. During the Roman era, sundials increasingly made their way into private homes. As we've heard, 36 sundials have been discovered in domestic settings. In the ruins of Pompeii, always in the houses of the wealthy. A sundial was as much a status symbol as a way of telling the time, the equivalent of a Rolex watch today. Obviously, these solar powered clocks had one disadvantage. They worked better in bright sunlight and they didn't work at all at night. We don't know who it was who first noticed that candles burn at a fixed rate. It seems to have happened in various places around the world, but once the observation had been made, the next step was to cut regular marks on a candle or place it against a calibrated stand. It then became a basic clock which could be used to count the hours of night. These were used all over the pre modern world, from China and Japan to Western Europe. Muslim polymath Al Jazari invented a particularly complicated example. At some point someone even had the bright idea of attaching weights to nails which were then stuck into the candle. When the wax burnt down to the nail, the weight would drop with a clatter into a metal bowl, forming a rudimentary alarm clock. Another basic way to tell a time is by measuring water as it drains from one vessel to another through a small hole. For a simple water clock, all you need to do is scratch regular marks on the inside of one of the bowls so that you can count the hours as the water level drops or rises.
