Ada Lovelace and Note G
Ada Lovelace and Note G — a biography. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People.
Page 1
The wind on Primrose Hill was strong enough to lean into, and Ada's kite climbed fast, its long tail of numbered punched cards snapping and fluttering behind it like a paper serpent. Posy clutched the string spool, laughing, while Biscuit leapt circles round her ankles. Then a sudden gust yanked hard, the string gave a sharp twang, and snapped clean through. The kite lurched sideways and the whole tail of cards broke loose, tumbling end over end down the long grassy slope toward the smoky city below. Posy dropped the useless spool and threw herself after them, scrambling downhill with her clogs slipping, grabbing at cards as they cartwheeled past her fingers. Biscuit bounded ahead, snapping at a card with his teeth, pouncing, missing, rolling right over in the grass. Ada hiked up her green skirts and ran too, shouting directions, snatching up stragglers before they blew toward the hedge. Card after card was hauled back, grass-stained but whole, clutched tight against the wind until the last one was finally caught.
Page 2
The wooden tray, long as a man's arm and stacked with brass wheels no bigger than biscuits, teetered on the edge of the workbench. Nobody caught it in time. It tipped, and the wheels went rattling and spinning across the brick floor in every direction, bright little discs skittering under racks and chair legs. One spun fastest of all, wobbled, and vanished clean through a gap between two floorboards. Tom Stride dropped to his knees with a groan, pressing his eye to the crack. "Gone down into the dark, that one has." Babbage came hurrying, clamping his top hat with both hands though nobody had asked him to run, and snatched up a crowbar leaning by the door. He wedged it under the plank and heaved, grunting, until the board creaked up with a shower of dust. Posy scrambled flat on her stomach to peer into the gap, waving a candle stub. But it was Biscuit who dived in first, snout down, tail thrashing, snorting and pawing until he backed out triumphantly with the wheel stuck to his wet black nose.
Page 3
A sudden jolt from the thundering iron press sent the whole wooden type-case crashing from its stand, and a silver flood of little lead letters and numbers spilled across the floorboards. Ink-boys scattered, shouting, as Biscuit went skidding through the tiny metal rain, sniffing and pawing at the glinting pile. Ada clutched her shawl and gasped at the chaos, while Tom Stride dropped to his knees, sweeping handfuls of type back into the case with his long bony fingers. Posy did not waste a breath. She scrambled straight up the press frame, which loomed twice her own height, hand over hand on the iron struts, until she reached the drying rack where the proof sheet of Note G hung pinned and flapping. She snatched it down and slid to the floor, boots skidding in loose type, only to freeze. Right where the great formula should have stood marched a gaping blank hole, as if the numbers had simply vanished off the page. Babbage clapped his top hat down hard and hurried over, peering through his spectacles at the ruined sheet with his mouth open in dismay.
Page 4
The little wherry rocked at the stone stairs, its wooden hull barely longer than three tall men laid end to end, and the boatman shoved off hard with his oar just as Posy scrambled aboard with one clog still half on the step. Her satchel, bulging with punched cards, slid off her knee and slapped into the brown water with a splash. "My cards!" she shrieked, lunging over the gunwale until Ada seized the back of her apron to stop her tumbling in too. Tom Stride, unfolding his long body across the width of the boat, snatched the boatman's pole and stabbed it down, fishing the strap up dripping on the second try. Babbage clapped both hands on his top hat as the boat tipped, bellowing encouragement rather than help. Once hauled aboard, the cards were peeled apart, soggy and limp, and pegged one by one along the long wooden oars laid across the benches, flapping like little flags in the river wind while Biscuit barked at every drip.
Page 5
Deep under the river, the gas lamps hissed in their glass globes, throwing long wobbling shadows along the twin brick arches, taller than three men stacked head to toe. A barrel organ wheezed a crooked tune near a stall of oranges. Ada knelt to count the cards against her knee, but a sudden draught came whistling up from the shaft stairs and plucked card number seven clean from her fingers. It skated away over the stone floor, spinning past stalls and startled shoppers. "Catch it, catch it!" cried Posy, scrambling after it with clogs clattering. Babbage lunged and only grabbed his own hat as it slipped forward. Tom Stride's long legs pounded the arcade, calipers clinking wildly at his belt, but the card slid on toward the dark stairwell. Then Biscuit shot past them all like an arrow, ears flat, and pounced flat on the card with both front paws just at the top step. He trotted back proudly, tail wagging, the card damp and slobbered but whole, and dropped it at Ada's boots with a small triumphant bark.
Page 6
The library ladder reached twice as high as Tom Stride's own tall head, its brass wheels rumbling along the top rail of shelving stuffed with ledgers. Posy scrambled up rung after rung, her clogs clattering, until she could hook her scarlet-mittened fingers round the fat spine of Bernoulli's old leather volume. She tugged. The book did not come alone. A whole tower of ledgers toppled off the shelf above, thumping and sliding, and Posy came down the last few rungs in a scramble with the avalanche chasing her, landing in a soft heap of books and reading cushions. Ada dropped her pencil and hauled Posy upright by both arms, checking her over, while Babbage clamped his top hat on and hurried over flapping his coat-tails. Tom Stride gathered the scattered ledgers into a neat stack with his long arms, and Biscuit burrowed happily into the cushion pile, sending feathers puffing. But when Ada smoothed open the ancient printed table beside their own figures, her brow furrowed — the old numbers simply did not match.
Page 7
Inside the great hissing hall, a demonstration model stood taller than a man, its brass gears waist-high to Ada and bristling with hooks for the card chain. Posy fed the long paper ribbon into the slot, clogs scraping as she hauled on the frame to keep it steady. The engine chugged, hissed, and then clattered horribly, a card crumpling with a puff of steam that made the whole crowd gasp and step back. Biscuit barked and ran in a tight circle, nearly tangling his lead round a model diving bell. Tom Stride came striding over, unhooking his calipers from his belt loop, and crouched to pry the jammed card free with careful tugs. Babbage clamped both hands on his grey top hat, hurrying closer, watchful of the sparking valves. Ada knelt beside the spat-out cards, smoothing them flat across her knee, and suddenly understood: the sequence must not run straight through but loop back round and repeat. She snatched her pencil on its blue ribbon and began sketching the new order right there on the floor.
Page 8
The wind up on the Stone Gallery pushed hard enough to flatten skirts against legs, and Ada knelt with both hands splayed across the cards to keep the whole chain from flying off over London. Posy ran the row along the parapet, stone waist-high and broad as a table, weighting each card with a pebble as she went. Babbage clamped his tall hat down with one hand and held the far end steady with the other. Then a fat grey pigeon dropped onto the stone, cocked its head, and snatched card twenty-three straight up in its beak before anyone could grab it. 'Stop it! Stop that bird!' shouted Posy, scrambling after it along the narrow ledge. The pigeon hopped to a lower lead gutter, just out of reach, and sat there proudly with the card dangling. Posy dug a crust from her apron pocket and held it out flat on her palm. 'Trade you,' she said, and crept close. The pigeon dropped the card for the crust, and Posy snatched it up, waving it high while Biscuit barked triumphantly below.
Page 9
They raced up the grassy slope below the Observatory, the tall brick house with its clock-face and little dome watching over them, the mast rising higher than three men with its great red ball waiting at the top. Ada spread the last card flat against her knee, counting the empty hole by eye. Posy dropped to a crouch beside her, hand-punch gripped in both mittened fists, ready. Babbage hauled his pocket watch from his plum waistcoat, thumb trembling on the stem. "Ten seconds!" he cried. Biscuit, catching the excitement, flung himself at the turf and began digging a hole of his own, clods flying past his black ear. Then the ball above them slammed down the mast with a boom they felt in their boots, and in the same heartbeat Posy squeezed the punch, driving the final hole clean through the card. Ada snatched it up, waving it like a flag. "Done — on the very stroke!" Babbage laughed and clapped his hat with both hands to keep it from toppling, while Biscuit, unaware of history, kept digging happily beside them.
Page 10
The crate stood taller than Posy, roped in thick brown cord, stencilled with black letters: NOTE G — TURIN. The crane groaned, its great iron hook swinging down on a creaking chain as two dock men hauled on ropes. Ada grabbed the dangling chain to steady it while Babbage clamped both hands on his top hat and shouted up at the operator to mind the swing. Slowly, slowly, the crate lifted off the cobbles, swaying out over the brown water toward the waiting ship, whose deck sat two storeys below the quay wall. Biscuit barked and chased his own shadow along the planking as the crate dropped neatly into the dark hold with a thump. Posy, meanwhile, had let the mended kite go, and it climbed fast above the masts, its tail of punched cards fluttering like a ribbon of tiny flags against the pink morning sky. She ran along the quay paying out string as Ada laughed and caught her by the apron strings before she tumbled off the edge.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People
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