Darlington sundial is a reminder of William Emerson's genius

An extraordinary mathematician of great repute and fame in his own lifetime, Hurworth’s most famous son reckoned to have made at least 30 sundials which he put all over the village to test his theories.

The only authentic sundial of his that is said to remain is that on the Bay Horse pub.

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A close look at the date printed on it appears to read 1739, which means it was almost certainly an early Emerson effort.

That’s because it it is said that Emerson’s transformation from drunken idle to mathematical genius only came about after his wedding in 1735.

Other surviving dials with possible connections to our man include one at Neasham, where there is an Emerson House which has an elderly-looking sundial on it.

The dial on Emerson House, Neasham

Could someone have rescued an Emerson dial and carried it to Neasham? Possibly, but there doesn’t appear to be any real evidence that it is a genuine Emerson.

Back into Hurworth, up to West End, there is a fine sundial, dated 1772, with the maker’s name: “C:Hunter”.

John Hunter was Emerson’s friend and pupil and this is obviously his dial. But what does the letter “C:” represent?

John Hunter's dial at West End, Hurworth

Sundials aside, Emerson was a remarkable man, of remarkable habits – and not just for his prodigious consumption of beer.

Born in Hurworth where his father, Dudley, was the schoolmaster, at first, he was said to be “cloddish”, and was sent away to schools in Newcastle and York.

He returned in 1730 and, aged 42, he published his first book, The Doctrine of Fluxions – what today we call calculus – and it immediately became a bestseller.

“I stepped forth, like a giant in all his might.,” said Emerson, modesty not being his thing.

He followed it up with The Projection of the Sphere, Orthographic, Stereographic and Gnomical, although the work that really sealed his reputation was The Principles of Mechanics of 1754.

As well as his books, Emerson was known for his vulgar language and the coarseness of his dress.

He always buttoned the top and bottom of his coat but left the middle open and billowing. To keep his chest warm, he wore his shirt back to front.

He was also renowned for inventing shin-covers: pieces of sacking tied above the knee with string.

This allowed him to sit in his favourite chair as close to the fire as possible without his lower legs getting burnt.

The Victorian historian William Longstaffe wrote: “His wigs were made of brown or a dirty flaxen coloured hair, which at first appeared bushy and tortuous behind, but which grew pendulous through age, till at length it became quite straight, having probably never undergone the operation of the comb.”

However, because Emerson habitually slid his hand beneath his wig at the rear of his head, it distinctively sagged at the back.

He walked everywhere - even down to London, carrying his manuscripts.

Most weeks he walked into Darlington to buy his provisions on the Monday market, leading a horse which would carry them home.

Only Monday turned into Tuesday which turned into Wednesday as Emerson fell into idle conversation in the pubs around the market place.

“It is remarkable that his ale didn’t injure his appetite, and that he never felt a headache or any ill effects afterwards, “ marvelled Longstaffe.

In later life, it caught up with him. He would stand for hours in the Tees, indulging in his hobby of fishing and hoping that the water would wash the gout out of him.

Towards the end of his life, he was greatly troubled by gallstones, shouting out his wish that “my soul might have shaken off its rags of mortality without such a clitter-my-clatter”.

This extraordinary man died on May 21, 1782, aged 81, and left specific instructions for the wording on his headstone.

This stone was damaged during rebuilding of the church in 1832, and in 1860 the villagers clubbed together to replace it with the impressive chest which is just about visible from the physio’s door.

They copied the words from the old to the new - although the new is now so old that its weathered words are once more hard to make out.

The top line is in Hebrew, which Emerson chose because it used his favourite insult – to him, everybody was a “damned fule” - and because it spoke of the universality of death: “Then said I in my heart, as it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me.”

The inscription beneath is in Latin which the ol’ big head must have written himself: “Underneath are interred the mortal remains of William Emerson, whose merit and science remained long unnoticed, although in him were united the virtues of simplicity and perfect integrity, with uncommon genius. That he was a great mathematician, if you have read his works, this stone need not inform you; if not, read them and learn.”

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