Vivienne Smith reveals the fascinating story behind the Greenwich Time Signal pips and the local links of their creator.

Few people have heard of Sir Frank Dyson now, but in the early 20th century he was one of the country’s leading astronomers. His work was not generally the kind to bring him public notice.

Nevertheless, his so-called signature tune is still familiar to radio listeners around the world today, for it was he who introduced the six pips of the Greenwich Time Signal.

Frank Watson Dyson was born on January 8, 1868 at the Baptist manse in Measham, Derbyshire. (The town was in Derbyshire until the end of the 19th century when the county boundary was altered.)

He was the eldest of seven children of Nonconformist minister Watson Dyson and his wife, Fanny.

His father supplemented the family income by preaching in nearby Netherseal as well as in Measham. Unable to afford a horse and trap, he made the six-mile round trip each Sunday on foot.

When Frank was still a toddler, the Dysons moved north to Wirksworth where family life once again revolved around the local Baptist chapel.

Then, in 1871, his father was posted to Old Basford, near Nottingham, and they were on the move again.

Eventually, the family settled in Halifax from where young Frank won a scholarship to Bradford Grammar School. He went on to become a brilliant mathematics student at Cambridge University.

According to family tradition, the Rev Dyson had predicted a future in astronomy for his eldest son when he was born.

Sure enough, early in 1894 Frank was offered the post of chief assistant at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich.

The young man jumped at the chance, not least because it meant he could now afford to marry his sweetheart, Caroline Best. The couple went on to have two sons and six daughters.

Despite having little previous experience of practical astronomy, Frank launched into his new job with great enthusiasm.

His first assignment was to take responsibility for the observatory’s contribution to an international scheme for creating a star catalogue of the entire heavens.

He quickly realised that far more knowledge was needed of the positions and motions of the stars. The quest for the latter became Frank’s priority when he moved to Edinburgh in 1906 to take up the position of Astronomer Royal for Scotland.

Just four years later, he was back at Greenwich, having been appointed the ninth Astronomer Royal. To this day, he is the only person ever to have held both these posts successively.

Under Frank’s direction, the status of the Royal Observatory steadily grew and, in 1915, his efforts were rewarded with a knighthood.

However, the astronomer soon had a new role to play, in a major turning point in scientific thought.

It all started with his passion for solar eclipses.

Between 1900 and 1912, he had been on expeditions to Portugal, Sumatra, Tunis and Paris to observe total eclipses. The research he conducted contributed greatly to our knowledge of the sun’s outermost layers.

Yet Frank’s most memorable eclipse was one he did not actually witness himself.

The First World War was still raging when he first realised that the forthcoming eclipse, on May 29, 1919, would be ideal for testing out a newly propounded hypothesis.

The general theory of relativity was the brainchild of German scientist Albert Einstein.

This predicted that light was deflected by the sun’s gravitational field. If true, then stars observed close to the sun during an eclipse would appear to be shifted in position.

Sir Frank duly organised two expeditions, one to Brazil and the other to West Africa. In both countries, photographic plates were taken during the event.

The results were announced on November 6 the same year, at a joint meeting of the Royal Society and the Royal Astronomical Society.

It proved to be an historic day for science.

Using the equipment then available, the tiny deflections had been difficult to measure precisely and the readings were not exactly conclusive.

Nevertheless, Sir Frank boldly declared to the assembled experts: “After a careful study of the plates, I am prepared to say that there can be no doubt that they confirm Einstein’s prediction.”

The German’s revolutionary ideas about time and space had previously been viewed with great scepticism by the scientific community.

But Sir Frank’s announcement sparked tremendous interest among scientists and the public at large. Thanks largely to the Derbyshire man, Einstein’s general theory of relativity quickly gained widespread acceptance.

His actions also helped to put a stop to calls that German scientists be ostracised because of the war.

The project which brought Sir Frank the most public recognition, however, was the introduction of the pips.

Time measurement had long been carried out at Greenwich Observatory, and it was something in which he was particularly interested.

In the early 1920s, he arranged the installation of the first Shortt free-pendulum clock. Accurate to within a few hundredths of a second a day, it was a vast improvement on earlier timepieces.

Around this time, he was also approached by John Reith, general manager of the newly-created British Broadcasting Corporation.

Together, the two men discussed the idea of introducing the public broadcasting of time signals from Greenwich Observatory.

It was agreed that the BBC would meet the full cost of the venture, but no decision was made as to what form the signals should take.

The Astronomer Royal mulled over various suggestions. In the end, he decided on six dots at one second intervals, the sixth dot denoting the hour.

Sir Frank inaugurated the new service on February 5, 1924, and the pips were duly dubbed his signature tune.

Although no longer generated by the Royal Observatory, they remain a familiar feature of BBC radio broadcasts to this day.

A year after the introduction of the pips, the scientist was thrust into the limelight once again.

To mark the 250th anniversary of the founding of Greenwich Observatory, King George V and Queen Mary paid a visit on June 23, 1925.

Sir Frank personally conducted the royal couple on a tour of inspection, which included going out on the roof to enjoy the fine views of London.

The proceedings ended with tea at Flamsteed House, the Dyson family home.

This caused Sir Frank and his wife no little anxiety, as a few days earlier their youngest daughter, Ruth, had fallen ill with scarlet fever.

On their doctor’s advice, she had been secreted away from the guests in a separate wing of the house. Even so, the couple could not help worrying about the consequences should the King catch the disease during his visit.

The 1920s also brought the Astronomer Royal the opportunity to view his fifth eclipse.

On June 29, 1927, thousands of people rushed to the North of England to witness the first total eclipse of the sun visible in this country for 200 years.

In most areas, the skies were disappointingly overcast. But Sir Frank, who was renowned for his good luck with the weather on such occasions, picked the ideal location in the grounds of Giggleswick School, near Settle, in North Yorkshire.

The total eclipse was due to occur just after 6am, and the sun remained hidden behind clouds until almost the last minute. Then, suddenly, the skies cleared to give the perfect view.

The astronomer introduced a couple of innovations for recording the event. Not only was colour film used for the first time, but photographs were also taken from an aeroplane.

Sir Frank Dyson finally retired as Astronomer Royal in February 1933, aged 65.

Before he did so, a man he had never met made a handsome gift to the observatory in recognition of his services to astronomy.

William Johnson Yapp, a wealthy manufacturer, donated a new 36-inch reflecting telescope and dome at a cost of £15,000. Of all the honours heaped on Sir Frank during his career, this was perhaps the most fitting.

During his retirement, Sir Frank wrote a book on his favourite topic, in collaboration with fellow astronomer Richard van der Riet Woolley. Published in 1937, Eclipses of the Sun and Moon was considered an authoritative work on the subject.

Within the year, however, the health of the newly-widowed scientist had begun to deteriorate.

During a visit to the Midlands in September 1938, he jokingly commented to one of his daughters: “I should like to see Dovedale before I die.” She dutifully drove him there.

Then, early in 1939, while on a family visit to Australia, Sir Frank suffered a stroke. During the voyage home, he died on May 25 just a few days from Cape Town, and was buried at sea.

In an obituary to his colleague, astronomer Arthur Eddington wrote: “The name of Dyson must rank among the greatest of the makers of modern astronomy.”

And we also have the minister’s son from Measham to thank for the pips.

• Astronomer Royal was no pipsqueak

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