Screwed

Back in first half of the 19th century, there was a bit of a race on to find the best screw propeller. They were called ‘screws’ because early ones were modelled on the Archimedes Screw, a device which, in part, made water go uphill. ‘Propeller’ came about because these new devices propelled the vessels forwards. Engineers talked about screw propulsion.

Appropriately, one of the first, successful ships to be screw driven was the SS Archimedes, built by Wimshurst in 1840, with the propeller design by Francis Petit Smith. (Archimedes, himself, couldn’t take part, given he’d died some time around 200BC, but I reckon he’d have won.) Of course, there was also John Ericsson, who I’ve discussed before on the blog.

The competition for the best was, eventually, won following the amazing tug-a-war between the HMS Rattler and HMS Alecto, where the Rattler pulled the Alecto along backwards, her paddle wheels struggling at full power. The Royal Navy immediately adopted the screw for all their new steam ships and even fitted out some older ones. It was one of those paradigm shifts that comes around every now and then. The paddle wheel had changed the maritime world but was kicked to the kerb following the successes of the screw.

Now, when I say it was a bit of a screw mania, I’m not kidding. Everyone (and their dogs) wanted to get in on it. After Francis Petit Smith and Ericsson’s early efforts, engineers knew it would only take a few twists in the metal to gain speed. One of these engineers was a chap called James Lowe (1798–1866).

James was a bit of a loser…that maybe a bit harsh but he never seemed to get things going his way. It was like he was just behind everyone else’s achievements. He lived in Ewell, in Surrey and while there, had a daughter called Henrietta. His wife, Mary, was the daughter of a local (and successful) builder so she was pretty well off. At first, anyway.

James knew he had the answer to the perfect screw propeller, he just needed a bit of money to make it happen. After he’d spent all of Mary’s, he ended up in a pretty bad way, moving to Bermondsey (which was a slum) and basically living hand to mouth.

His daughter, Henrietta, was a completely different kettle of fish. As well as believing in her father and his propeller ideas, she also had a bit of an inventive streak herself. She was a rare Victorian woman in that she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and inventing things. Not that she’d had any training…well, apart from that learnt from her dad.

Eventually (and tragically) James died while out walking. He was run over by a horse and cart and died of his injuries. This spurred Henrietta on. She had to prove her father correct as some sort of lasting memory of his determination and self belief.

But first, she had to marry (of course). She married a lieutenant in the 14th dragoons, called Frederick Vansittart then, almost instantly, took a very wealthy Lord as her lover. This was Edward Bulwer Lytton, first Baron Lytton (1803–1873). There seems to have been a bit of a mutual agreement from all concerned because there’s nothing to say anyone had a problem with the arrangement. Maybe Fred was gay and Henrietta was a convenient beard. I don’t know. What I do know is that Eddy was more than happy to fund her screwing activities.

Henrietta and Eddy were quite infatuated with each other. It actually became a bit of a problem when the PM complained in the House that he hadn’t seen much of Lytton since he started seeing Henrietta.

Anyway, ignoring the salacious, Henrietta improved her father’s design and produced a wonderful propeller in 1868 which she called the Lowe-Vansittart propeller. She immediately patented it and the Admiralty fitted it to HMS Druid for extensive tests. She won awards all over the world for the design and it was used on a number of ships including the Lusitania.

She was the first woman to present a paper at the London Association of Foreman Engineers and Draughtsmen who described her as a lot of fun and, generally, a bit of a laugh.

In fact, the only sad thing about her was how she died; a mystery indeed.

She had gone up country to attend an exhibition at Tynemouth in 1882. She attended the first day but was then not seen again until she turned up in a lunatics asylum near Newcastle. She’d been found wandering around, clearly disorientated and demented. She was locked up and she died soon afterwards.

I reckon she looks a bit like Farelli here…

I researched old Happy Henrietta today and thoroughly enjoyed every bit of it. It’s a pity not more is known about her because I reckon her biography would be a rollicking good read.