Isaac Newton and Gravity

The

Eureka

Moment!

TM

Scientist profile ewton Name: Isaac N December 1642 Date of birth: 25 March 1727 Date of death: 31 idge ity College, Cambr in Tr n: io at uc Ed hievements: .Major ac ion three laws of mot • Discovering the iversal gravitation, and the law of un dations of which are the foun

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modern physics e white light is mad • Discovering that up of colours flecting telescope • Inventing the re atics w type of mathem • Discovering a ne called calculus eed of sound • Calculating the sp

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Published in Great Britain in MMXIX by Book House, an imprint of The Salariya Book Company Ltd 25 Marlborough Place, Brighton BN1 1UB www.salariya.com ISBN: 978-1-912904-05-1

© The Salariya Book Company Ltd MMXIX All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

135798642 A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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Author: Alex Woolf Illustrator: Annaliese Stoney Editor: Nick Pierce

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The

Eureka

! t n e m Mo

TM

Isaac

Newton and Gr avity Written by

Illustrated by

Alex Woolf

Annaliese Stoney

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n o i t c u d o r Int 15TH APRIL, 17 26

‘W

alk with me, William,’ said Sir Isaac Newton, reaching for his stick. ‘It is a glorious evening, and I need the exercise.’

‘Of course, Sir Isaac, I’d be delighted.’

So out they went into the garden of Sir Isaac’s home, Woolsthorpe Manor. The evening was indeed glorious. They walked past beds of irises, marigolds and meadowsweet, their colours vivid in the glow of the dying Sun.

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Sir Isaac puffed as he walked. He kept a tight grip on William’s arm as they progressed slowly along the path that led to the orchard.

‘So you wish to write the story of my life?’ Sir Isaac said.

‘That is my intention, sir.’

‘Then I don’t envy you. It is a long story, and not an altogether happy one. I can tell you about the early times. For some reason, I remember those years the best. As for the rest of it, you will have to get that from my writings, and from others who have known me.’

‘I would be grateful for anything you can tell me, Sir Isaac.’

‘Very well. Where would you like me to begin?’

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‘Why, at the beginning, sir.’

Sir Isaac stopped at the entrance to the orchard and leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

‘I know little about the very beginning,’ he said.

‘Only what I’ve been told by my mother, God rest her soul. I was born here at Woolsthorpe Manor eighty-three years ago on Christmas Day. A tiny baby, my mother said she could have fitted me in a quart mug. She did not hold out much hope of my survival.’

‘But survive you did, sir, thank the Lord! And what of your father? Who was he?’

‘I know nothing of my father except that he was a farmer. He died two months before I was born. When I was three, my mother married another man, a reverend by the name of Barnabas Smith. She went to live with him at his house in

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the nearby village of North Witham, leaving me in the care of my grandmother. I cannot tell you how that felt, William, to be rejected at such a young age by my own mother. But it may explain why, throughout my life, I have always found it hard to trust people...’

Sir Isaac stared for a long moment at a patch of moss on the wall. Then he said: ‘I remember once when I was eight, I walked from this house to North Witham — a journey of less than two miles, though it seemed a lot further at the time.

My plan was simple. I was going to rescue my mother from Reverend Barnabas Smith and bring her home with me...

‘My feet were aching by the time I reached North Witham. I found my way to the rectory near the church, where the reverend lived with my mother. When I arrived there, I reached up

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and knocked on the door. I waited a long time.

Eventually, the door opened and the reverend stood there looking down at me. He was an old man, much older than my mother, with fine grey hair, watery eyes and a tight little mouth.

‘Why are you here, boy?’ he demanded.

‘I’m here for my mother,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to bring her home.’

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