The Chronicles of the Chronicle Flask: 2019

Happy New Year, everyone! Usually, I write this post in December but somehow things have got away from me this year, and I find myself in January. Oops. It’s still early enough in the month to get away with a 2019 round-up, isn’t it? I’m sure it is.

It was a fun year, actually. I wrote several posts with International Year of the Periodic table themes, managed to highlight the tragically-overlooked Elizabeth Fulhame, squeezed in something light-hearted about the U.K.’s weird use of metric and imperial units and discovered the recipe for synthetic poo. Enjoy!

Newland’s early table of the elements

January started with a reminder that 2019 had been officially declared The Year of the Periodic Table, marking 150 years since Dmitri Mendeleev discovered the “Periodic System”. The post included a quick summary of his work, and of course mentioned the last four elements to be officially named: nihonium (113), moscovium (115), tennessine (117) and oganesson (118). Yes, despite what oh-so-many periodic tables still in widespread use suggest (sort it out in 2020, exam boards, please), period 7 is complete, all the elements have been confirmed, and they all have ‘proper’ names.

February featured a post about ruthenium. Its atomic number being not at all significant (there might be a post about rhodium in 2020 😉). Ruthenium and its compounds have lots of uses, including cancer treatments, catalysis, and exposing latent fingerprints in forensic investigations.

March‘s entry was all about a little-known female chemist called Elisabeth Fulhame. She only discovered catalysis. Hardly a significant contribution to the subject. You can’t really blame all those (cough, largely male, cough) chemists for entirely ignoring her work and giving the credit to Berzelius. Ridiculous to even suggest it.

An atom of Mendeleevium, atomic number 101

April summarised the results of the Element Tales Twitter game started by Mark Lorch, in which chemists all over Twitter tried to connect all the elements in one, long chain. It was great fun, and threw up some fascinating element facts and stories. One of my favourites was Mark telling us that when he cleared out his Grandpa’s flat he discovered half a kilogram of sodium metal as well as potassium cyanide and concentrated hydrochloric acid. Fortunately, he managed to stop his family throwing it all down the sink (phew).

May‘s post was written with the help of the lovely Kit Chapman, and was a little trot through the discoveries of five elements: carbon, zinc, helium, francium and tennessine, making the point that elements are never truly discovered by a single person, no matter what the internet (and indeed, books) might tell you.

In June I wrote about something that had been bothering me a while: the concept of describing processes as “chemical” and “physical” changes. It still bothers me. The arguments continue…

In July I came across a linden tree in a local park, and it smelled absolutely delightful. So I wrote about it. Turns out, the flowers contain one of my all-time favourite chemicals (at least in terms of smell): benzaldehyde. As always, natural substances are stuffed full of chemicals, and anyone suggesting otherwise is at best misinformed, at worst outright lying.

Britain loves inches.

In August I wrote about the UK’s unlikely system of units, explaining (for a given value of “explaining”) our weird mishmash of metric and imperial units. As I said to a confused American just the other day, the UK is not on the metric system. The UK occasionally brushes fingers with the metric system, and then immediately denies that it wants anything to do with that sort of thing, thank you very much. This was my favourite post of the year and was in no way inspired by my obsession with the TV adaptation of Good Omens (it was).

In September I returned to one of my favourite targets: quackery. This time it was amber teething necklaces. These are supposed to work (hmm) by releasing succinic acid from the amber beads into the baby’s skin where it… soothes the baby by… some unexplained mechanism. They don’t work and they’re a genuine choking hazard. Don’t waste your money.

October featured a post explaining why refilling plastic bottles might not be quite as simple as you thought. Sure, we all need to cut down on plastic use, but there are good reasons why shops have rules about what you can, and can’t, refill and they’re not to do with selling more bottles.

November continued the environmental theme with a post was all about some new research into super-slippery coatings that might be applied to all sorts of surfaces, not least ceramic toilet bowls, with the goal of saving some of the water that’s currently used to rinse and clean such surfaces. The best bit about this was that I discovered that synthetic poo is a thing, and that the recipe includes miso. Yummy.

Which brings us to… December, in which I described some simple, minimal-equipment electrolysis experiments that Louise Herbert from STEM Learning had tested out during some teaching training exercises. Got a tic tac box, some drawing pins and a 9V battery? Give it a go!

Well, there we have it. That’s 2019 done and dusted. It’s been fun! I wonder what sort of health scares will turn up for “guilty January”? Won’t be long now…


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Let’s speed up the rate at which we recognise our female chemists

A little while back now I was researching my post on water when I came across a scientist which I hadn’t heard of before. And that was odd, because this person was one of the first to propose the idea of catalysis, which is a pretty important concept in chemistry, in fact, in science in general. Surely the name should be at least a bit familiar. Shouldn’t it?

And yet it wasn’t, and the more I read, the more surprised I was. Not only was this person clearly a brilliant thinker, they were also remarkably prescient.

Elizabeth Fulhame’s book was first published in 1794 (image by the Science History Institute, Public Domain)

So who was it? Her name was Elizabeth Fulhame, and we know very little about her, all things considered. Look her up and you won’t find any portraits, or even her exact dates of birth and death, despite the fact that her book, An Essay on
Combustion,
was published in more than one country and she, a Scottish woman, was made an honorary member of the Philadelphia Chemical Society in 1810 — remarkable achievements for the time.

As well as describing catalytic reactions for the first time, that book — first published in 1794 and surprisingly still available today — also contains a preface which includes the following:

But censure is perhaps inevitable; for some are so ignorant,
that they grow sullen and silent, and are chilled with horror
at the sight of any thing, that bears the semblance of learning,
in whatever shape it may appear; and should the spectre
appear in the shape of a woman, the pangs, which they suffer,
are truly dismal.

Obviously women are interested in physics. And also, apparently, in staring wistfully into open vacuum chambers whilst wearing unnecessary PPE (stock photos are great, aren’t they?)

Fulhame clearly did not suffer fools gladly (I think I would’ve liked her), and had also run across a number of people who felt that women were not capable of studying the sciences.

Tragically, 225 years later, this attitude still has not entirely gone away. Witness, for example, the recent article featuring an interview with Alessandro Strumia, in which he claimed that women simply don’t like physics. There were naturally a number of excellent rebuttals to this ludicrous claim, not least a brilliant annotated version of the article by Shannon Palus — which I recommend because, firstly, not behind a paywall and secondly, very funny.

Unfortunately, despite the acclaim she received at the time, Fulhame was later largely forgotten. One scientist who often gets the credit for “discovering” catalysis is Berzelius. There is no doubt that he was a remarkable chemist (you have him to thank for chemical notation, for starters), but he was a mere 15 years old when Fulhame published her book.

The RSC’s Breaking the Barriers report was published in 2018

In November last year, the Royal Society of Chemistry (RSC) launched its ‘Breaking the Barriers’ report, outlining issues surrounding women’s retention and progression in academia. As part of this project, they commissioned an interview with Professor Marina Resmini, Head of the Chemistry Department at Queen Mary University of London.

She pointed out that today there is an almost an equal gender split in students studying chemistry at undergraduate level in the United Kingdom, but admitted that there is still much to be done, saying:

“The two recent RSC reports ‘Diversity Landscape of the Chemical Sciences’ and ‘Breaking the Barriers’ have highlighted some of the key issues. Although nearly 50% of undergraduate students studying to become chemists are female, the numbers reaching positions of seniority are considerably less.”

Professor Resmini was keen to stress that there are many supportive men in academia, and that’s something we mustn’t forget. Indeed, this was true even in Fulhame’s time. Thomas P. Smith, a member of the Philadelphia Chemical Society’s organizing committee, applauded her work, saying “Mrs. Fulham has now laid such bold claims to chemistry that we can no longer deny the sex the privilege of participating in this science also.” Which may sound patronising to 21st century ears, but it was 1810 after all. Women wouldn’t even be trusted to vote for another century, let alone do tricky science.

I think I’ve found Strumia’s limousine; it’s bright red, very loud, and can only manage short distances.

Speaking of patronising comments, another thing that Strumia said in his interview was, “It is not as if they send limousines to pick up boys wanting to study physics and build walls to keep out the women.”

This is one of those statements that manages, at the same time, to be both true and also utterly absurd. Pupils, undergraduates, post-grads and post-docs do not exist in some sort of magical vacuum until, one day, they are presented with a Grand Choice to continue, or not, with their scientific career. Their decision to stop, if it comes, is influenced by a thousand, often tiny, things. Constant, subtle, nudges which oh-so-gently push them towards, or away, and which start in the earliest years of childhood. You only need to spend five minutes watching the adverts on children’s television to see that girls and boys are expected to have very different interests.

Textbooks may be studied by girls, but they rarely mention the work of female scientists.

So let’s end with another of Professor Resmini’s comments: that the work of past female scientists deserves greater recognition than it has received. This could not be more true, and this lack of representation is exactly one of those nudges I mentioned. Pick up a chemistry textbook and look for the pictures of female scientists: there might be a photo of Marie Curie, if you’re lucky. Kathleen Lonsdale usually gets a mention in the section on benzene in post-GCSE texts. But all too often, that’s about it. On the other hand, pictures of Haber, J. J. Thompson, Rutherford, Avogadro and Mendeleev are common enough that most chemistry students could pick them out of a lineup.

We should ask ourselves about the message this quietly suggests: that women simply haven’t done any “serious” chemistry (this is not the case, of course) and… perhaps never will?

Online, things have begun to shift. Dr Jess Wade has famously spent many, many hours adding the scientific contributions of women to Wikipedia, for example. It’s time things changed in print, too. Perhaps we could begin by starting the rates of reaction chapter in chemistry texts with a mention of Fulhame’s groundbreaking work.


EDIT: After I posted this, I learned that the Breaking Chemical Bias project is currently taking suggestions on the missing women scientists in the chemistry curriculum. I filled in the form for Fulhame, naturally! If this post has made you think of any other good examples, do head on over and submit their names.


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Puking pumpkins: more hydrogen peroxide

It was Halloween yesterday and, unusually for the UK, it fell in school term time. As it turned out, I was teaching chemistry to a group of 12-13 year olds on that day which was too good an opportunity to miss.

Time for the puking pumpkin!

A side note: there’s loads of great chemistry here, and the pumpkin isn’t essential – you could easily do this same experiment during a less pumpkin-prolific month with something else. Puking watermelon, anyone?

Carve a large mouth, draw the eyes and nose with marker pen.

First things first, prepare your pumpkin! Choose a large one – you need room to put a conical flask inside and put the pumpkin’s “lid” securely back in place.

Carve the mouth in the any shape you like, but make it generous. Draw the eyes and nose (and any other decoration) in waterproof marker – unless you want your pumpkin to “puke” out of its nose and eyes as well!

Rest the pumpkin on something wipe-clean (it might leak from the bottom) and put a deep tray in front of it.

To make the “puke” you will need:

  • 35% hydrogen peroxide (corrosive)
  • a stock solution of KI, potassium iodide (low hazard)
  • washing up liquid

The puking pumpkin!

You can also add food colouring or dye, but be aware that the reaction can completely change or even destroy the colours you started with. If colour matters to you, test it first.

Method:

  1. Place about 50 ml (use more if it’s not so fresh) of the hydrogen peroxide into the conical flask, add a few drops of washing up liquid (and dye, if you’re using it).
  2. Add some KI solution and quickly put the pumpkin’s lid back in place.
  3. Enjoy the show!

Check out some video of all this here.

What’s happening? Hydrogen peroxide readily decomposes into oxygen and water, but at room temperature this reaction is slow. KI catalyses the reaction, i.e. speeds it up. (There are other catalysts you could also try if you want to experiment; potassium permanganate for example.) The washing up liquid traps the oxygen gas in foam to produce the “puke”.

The word and symbol equations are:

hydrogen peroxide –> water + oxygen
2H2O2 –> 2H2O + O2

There are several teaching points here:

  • Evidence for chemical change.
  • Compounds vs. elements.
  • Breaking the chemical bonds in a compound to form an element and another compound.
  • Balanced equations / conservation of mass.
  • The idea that when it comes to chemical processes, it’s not just whether a reaction happens that matters, but also how fast it happens…
  • … which of course leads to catalysis. A-level students can look at the relevant equations (see below).

Once the pumpkin has finished puking, demonstrate the test for oxygen gas.

Some health and safety points: the hydrogen peroxide is corrosive so avoid skin contact. Safety goggles are essential, gloves are a Good Idea(™). The reaction is exothermic and steam is produced. A heavy pumpkin lid will almost certainly stay in place but still, stand well back. 

But we’re not done, oh no! What you have at the end of this reaction is essentially a pumpkin full of oxygen gas. Time to crack out the splints and demonstrate/remind your students of the test for oxygen. It’s endlessly fun to put a glowing splint into the pumpkin’s mouth and watch it catch fire, and you’ll be able to do it several times.

And we’re still not done! Once the pumpkin has completely finished “puking”, open it up (carefully) and look inside. Check out that colour! Why is it bluish-black in there?

The inside of the pumpkin is blue-black: iodine is produced which complexes with starch.

It turns out that you also get some iodine produced, and there’s starch in pumpkins. It’s the classic, blue-black starch complex.

Finally, give the outside of the pumpkin a good wipe, take it home, carve out the eyes and nose and pop it outside for the trick or treaters – it’s completely safe to use.

Brace yourselves, more equations coming…

The KI catalyses the reaction because the iodide ions provide an alternative, lower-energy pathway for the decomposition reaction. The iodide reacts with the hydrogen peroxide to form hypoiodite ions (OI). These react with more hydrogen peroxide to form water, oxygen and more iodide ions – so the iodide is regenerated, and hence is acting as a catalyst.

H2O2 + I –> H2O + OI
H2O2 + OI –> H2O + O2 + I

The iodine I mentioned comes about because some of the iodide is oxidised to iodine by the oxygen. At this point we have both iodine and iodide ions – these combine to form triiodide, and this forms the familiar blue-black complex.

Phew. That’s enough tricky chemistry for one year. Enjoy your chocolate!

Trick or treat!

 


 

 


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