Pendulum — the series
-
The pendulum, and the small lie that makes it simple
A pendulum's period does not depend on how far it swings. This is one of the most useful false statements in physics, and it is worth knowing exactly how false.
-
The period that depends on the swing, computed exactly
A pendulum's period is not independent of amplitude. The exact answer is an elliptic integral, it has no elementary form, and plotting it shows precisely where the famous approximation earns its keep and where it collapses.
-
The three ways of coming to rest
An oscillator with friction in it can swing and fade, arrive and stop, or crawl back so slowly it looks stuck. One equation and one number decide which. The number is not what most people would guess, and neither is the value that returns fastest.
-
The length nobody has to measure
A pendulum's period depends on its length, so a pendulum will measure gravity — except that a real swinging bar has no single length, and finding where its mass effectively sits is far harder than timing it. Kater's answer was to build the instrument so that the awkward quantity cancels, leaving a distance between two knife edges that a rule can read to five figures.
-
Held up by a force that averages to nothing
Shake a pendulum's pivot up and down fast enough and the pendulum will stand upside down, balanced, and push back if it is nudged. The shaking supplies no average force at all — it is up as often as it is down — and the reason it nevertheless holds is that the pendulum's position and the phase of the shake are not independent.
-
The curve that does not ask where it started
A pendulum's period depends on how far it swings, and the dependence is small but never zero. There is exactly one curve for which it is zero, and the reason has nothing to do with pendulums: on that curve the height above the bottom is proportional to the square of the distance travelled along it, which makes the motion harmonic by construction rather than by approximation.
-
The ellipse a pendulum turns by itself
Let a pendulum swing in any direction and give it a small sideways push, and its bob traces an ellipse. For a small swing the ellipse closes. For a larger one it turns, steadily, in the sense the bob is going round — with nothing outside the pendulum turning it. Airy worked out the rate in 1851, the same year Foucault hung his pendulum in the Panthéon, and the two effects are the same size for a pendulum a metre long whose ellipse is a twentieth of a millimetre wide.
-
The point that takes the blow without a jolt
Hit a stick held at one end and the hand feels a jolt — forwards if the blow lands near the hand, backwards if it lands near the tip, and nothing at all if it lands two-thirds of the way along. That point is the centre of percussion, and it is exactly where a simple pendulum with the same period would end: two different questions about a swinging body with one answer.
-
The kick that does not change the beat
A pendulum clock has to push its pendulum, or friction would stop it within minutes, and every push risks disturbing the very period the clock exists to keep. In 1826 George Airy worked out exactly when a push does no harm: at the bottom of the swing, where the pendulum is moving fastest, an impulse changes how far it swings and leaves the timing untouched. A push before the bottom makes the clock gain; after it, lose. Three centuries of escapement design are a search for a mechanism that pushes where Airy said — or that pushes in the wrong place in a way that cancels some other error.
-
The pendulum that must not grow when it warms
A pendulum clock keeps time by the length of its pendulum, and every material grows when it is warmed. A steel rod a metre long lengthens by a hundredth of a millimetre for each degree, and the clock loses half a second a day — a minute a fortnight between a cold winter and a warm summer, far worse than anything the clockmaker's escapement could cause. The cure, found in the 1720s, was to let the pendulum grow in two directions at once: one part downward, another upward, in exactly the proportion that leaves the bob where it was. The same trick, with different metals, kept the best clocks to a hundredth of a second a day for two centuries, and its limits are set by heat that does not spread evenly or quickly.