LOOK UP EB

Our story with the stars

Sarah Cruddas

• Publisher: HQ
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN: 9780008358273
• eBook ISBN: 9780008358297
• Topic: Physical Sciences
• Subtopic: 20th Century History

'Sarah Cruddas is a gifted writer and Look Up is an inspired book. I am hopeful that we will never stop looking up.' Apollo 11 astronaut Michael Collins

Most of us have never been to space. To date, of the more than 100 billion humans that have ever existed, fewer than 600 humans have ever left Earth. But the exploration of space is the most significant thing we will ever do as a species.

Sarah Cruddas has been looking to the skies her entire life. Her childhood was spent staring at the Moon and hearing stories of the space race, and she worked in a fruit factory to fund her love of the subject. Her subsequent career studying astrophysics, and becoming a television host and space journalist has seen her report on space exploration and chase launches across the world. In Look Up Sarah explains why she has always been a passionate advocate for why space should matter – to everyone.

From our ancestors who first painted patterns of the stars in caves, to the US and Soviet pioneers who first forged a path beyond our planet, Sarah Cruddas explores the stories and sacrifices that humankind has made to understand more about our place in the universe. And even today, when Moon walking and people in space suits seem less relevant to us than climate change and conflicts here on Earth, she shows how everything from medicine to mobile phones is affected by space technology, and how a new generation of entrepreneurs have kick-started a new story with the stars.

This is an inspirational and enlightening introduction to the importance of space to everyone, and why we should all learn to Look Up.

Chapter One

The Space Race

‘Far better it is to dare mighty things.’

President Theodore Roosevelt

In 1969, more than 40 years on from its invention, television had become a mainstay of nearly every American household. Although there were only three main networks and the majority of people still only had access to black and white TV, this new way of communicating was now firmly entrenched. Families would gather round to watch everything from the news to political debates, soap operas and cartoons.

The decade had been a tumultuous one for the American people, and both the triumphs and the horrors had been broadcast into homes across the country. They had watched, many with hope, as a youthful and charismatic John F. Kennedy was sworn in to office as the thirty-fifth president of the United States, promising peace and progress in the midst of the Cold War. Less than three years later he was dead. Scheduled programmes were interrupted to broadcast news of his assassination, the footage from Dallas showing a stunned Jackie Kennedy still wearing her suit covered in her husband’s blood. Days later, viewers saw their young son, John Jr, saluting his father’s flag-draped casket during the televised public funeral that was held on his third birthday.

For the first time, TV coverage of the Vietnam War brought footage of combat into the home. And it showed the reality of the civil rights movement and Martin Luther King Jr’s impassioned call for equality as he stood in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, and uttered the words ‘I have a dream.’ Then, in April 1968, he too was shot dead.

The television that families gathered around had become the stage on which the jeopardy of the decade – under the persistent threat of all-out nuclear war with the Soviet Union – was played out. And famed news anchors such as Walter Cronkite became part of the family as they delivered news of both promise and heartbreak. Cronkite was the godfather of broadcast journalism, his authority and consistent presence with the CBS Evening News making him to many ‘the most trusted man in America’.

Thanks to advances in broadcasting, and for the first time communications satellites, stories from around the globe could be brought to living rooms faster. With the birth of the Space Age had come Telstar 1 in 1962, which meant live television could be transmitted between the US and Europe for the first time. Soon after, more communication satellites followed. While the act of going to space fascinated many, the ability to see live images from around the world thanks to satellites in space had a huge impact on the lives of many more. Space had started to show people the world.

On the afternoon of 20 July 1969, Americans were once again huddled around their television sets. ‘In just 50 minutes from now, well within the hour, the Moon is due to have visitors from another planet,’ began Cronkite, as he addressed the nation. As the minutes ticked down, coverage cut away to shots of people surrounding television screens across the country, from the arrivals lounges at airports to Disneyland in California. In the studio, alongside Cronkite sat Wally Schirra, one of the original Mercury Seven – America’s first group of astronauts. As the minutes turned to seconds, the two men joined viewers in holding their breath. Apollo 11’s Lunar Module was moments away from landing on the Moon.

Screens turned to a simulation of how the lunar landing would look, over which commentary between the astronauts – now a matter of metres away from the lunar surface – and Mission Control in Houston was relayed. And then the words ‘Contact Light’, followed by ‘OK, engines stop’, could be heard being spoken from the surface of the Moon. As cameras cut back to the two men in the studio, Schirra wiped a tear from his eye.

Later that evening, television broadcast the words ‘Live from the Moon’ as the landscape of this alien world was relayed back to Earth. For the last decade or so, TV had been making the world feel a lot smaller, but for those witnessing the first lunar landing, the universe suddenly felt within reach.

At 10.56pm Eastern Time, Neil Armstrong climbed out of the Lunar Module and became the first human being to set foot on the Moon, shortly followed by Buzz Aldrin. The third member of the crew – Michael Collins – waited in lunar orbit for their return. But as America paused to take in the rewards of their endeavours, they did not do so alone. Across the world, more than 600 million people – one-fifth of the world’s population at the time – were watching along.

In London, although it was nearly 3am, huge crowds gathered in front of a TV screen in Trafalgar Square. Elsewhere in the country, children were allowed to stay up late to witness this historical event. Live images of the first steps on the surface of the Moon were beamed by satellites to televisions across the world. From Japan to Kuwait, Australia to Vatican City (where the Pope had stayed up to watch), for a brief moment much of the world stopped, united in awe at what they were witnessing. Even behind the Iron Curtain, Sergei Khrushchev – the son of the former Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev – went outside and used a telescope to look up at the Moon.

Although it was American astronauts on the surface, what had happened was bigger than any one nation. Humans were on the Moon and the world was watching. For those brief moments on 20 July 1969, for all the divisions that still existed on Earth, many were united in seeing those first images of people on another world.

To this day, the story of the Apollo 11 Moon landing continues to inspire, even for generations that were born long after. It was a defining moment of human achievement, witnessed by hundreds of millions back on Earth, that changed who we are. The Moon was no longer a companion in our sky but a tangible possibility – an extension of where we could go. And the advances of technology in the twentieth century had made possible not just the feat itself, but for so many to be part of this moment.

Some months after returning from space, the crew of Apollo 11 embarked on a goodwill tour around the world. There they heard cries of ‘We did it!’ Not, ‘America did it!’ – ‘We did it!’ For while the Moon landing was of course a definitive show of US technical supremacy in space, and it was an American flag planted on the lunar surface, what the mission and the crew represented was not just one nation, but instead one species – humans. News coverage had talked of ‘Man on the Moon’ and the plaque the astronauts left behind on the surface read, ‘Here men from the planet Earth first set foot on the Moon.’

But while seeing people on another world briefly united us and inspired so many to this day and most likely beyond, the story of how we got there is not steeped in unity nor wonder and awe, but instead in division. The space race owes its origins to the bloodiest conflict of all time, and it took place against a backdrop of the ongoing threat of all-out nuclear war between two superpowers with deeply conflicting ideologies.

The famously audacious challenge to send humans to the Moon (and return them safely to Earth) was laid down by President Kennedy just months after his inauguration. On 25 May 1961, when the president stood before a joint session of Congress and asked them to commit the funds, the US had just 15 minutes of human spaceflight experience, after astronaut Alan Shepard completed a short space mission, landing a matter of miles from where he had launched. Kennedy also called for new types of rockets, as well as weather and communication satellites. It was the dawn of a new era in exploration.

‘Now it is time to take longer strides,’ Kennedy told Congress, ‘time for a great new American enterprise – time for this nation to take a clearly leading role in space achievement, which in many ways may hold the key to our future on Earth.’ Kennedy had convinced them that ‘no single space project would be more impressive to mankind’ – Congress voted virtually unanimously in favour of America’s Moonshot. From that speech, the commitment was made: GO for the Moon.

The United States had by this time been locked in a ‘Space Race’ with its Cold War enemy the Soviet Union for some years, and when Kennedy made his speech they were losing. This race was not just about scientific achievement; it also represented two superpowers battling to showcase the supremacy of their own ideologies. But it was the Soviets, and not the United Stated as many had expected, who, on 4 October 1957, had launched the first human-made satellite and taken humanity into the Space Age. Named Sputnik (Russian for ‘travelling companion’), it was silver and beach-ball-sized, with four spidery antennas, and completed an orbit of our planet in a mere 96 minutes. Radio operators across the world picked up Sputnik’s sinister cry of ‘beep beep beep’. One reporter described the sound as becoming, in a matter of days, ‘as much a part of twentieth-century life as the whirl of your vacuum cleaner’.

While the US focused on plans to send the country’s own satellites to space, the reality was the nation had been beaten. Then, less than a month later, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik 2. On board was a passenger, a dog, nicknamed Laika. America hadn’t even got a satellite into orbit and the Soviets were sending an animal, a stray dog that they had found on the streets, on a mission where death was certain.

Laika’s final home was a padded and windowless space capsule, complete with air conditioning and a feeding system – a much larger and heavier object than Sputnik 1. Her mission was to provide information on the effects of weightlessness on a living creature, as we simply didn’t know what would happen to people in these conditions, and sending an animal was considered the only way to find out. The trip was always going to be one way. The technology or know-how to get her back simply didn’t exist yet. However, her death was still untimely. Laika died within hours of reaching orbit due to her compartment overheating, but the world was told by the Soviet propaganda machine that Laika was still alive and well for days after launch.

America was slipping further behind in the race, and tensions were rising. The US’s first attempt to launch a satellite – Vanguard TV3 – two months after Sputnik, in December 1957, ended in failure. It managed to lift only about four feet from the launchpad before crashing back down and bursting into flames. The American press swiftly christened it ‘Flopnik’ and ‘Kaputnik’. It wasn’t until the end of January 1958 that America finally got its first satellite, Explorer 1.

But the claim of being the first country to send a human into space, that was the ultimate prize. And soon, America was introduced to its first astronauts – the Mercury Seven, the team named after the capsule in which they would ride to space. On 9 April 1959, the newly formed space agency NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) introduced a group of seven suited, 30-something men with matching buzz cuts to journalists and television cameras during their first press conference. All were military test pilots, used to flying new and advanced aircraft. The seven men rose to their feet for a round of applause from the waiting media. Their mission would be Project Mercury, the NASA programme to put a person into space, and they would compete with each other for the accolade of being chosen to be the first.

Then, on 12 April 1961, Jules Bergman – a well-known TV science reporter of the era – began his ABC television special report by proclaiming the day as ‘one of the most unforgettable of our century’. But it was not an American astronaut, rather a Soviet cosmonaut called Yuri Gagarin who had become the first person to ever travel to space. A 27-year-old Russian had travelled higher, faster and further than any other human to date, and become the first to hold the title of ‘space explorer’, while America could only look on. The Mercury Seven were left to fight for second place.

News reports in America asked what was next for the Soviet Union; their victory in sending the first person to space was described as a ‘triumph of Soviet science over the West’. The smiling photograph of Yuri Gagarin, which had been released to the US media, quickly became as familiar as their country’s own soon-to-be astronauts. For many, the fear was that if their Cold War enemy, the Soviet Union, was to continue to dominate in space, what would this mean for their lives on Earth?

It was undeniable that when it came to the feat of leaving and orbiting around our planet, the Soviet Union was ahead. And so if America was to show dominance in space, it was not going to be able to do so close to Earth. Instead, President Kennedy was advised that if the US was to stand a chance in demonstrating its technological superiority, then the Moon would be a more ‘even playing field’. When Kennedy made his speech in 1961, NASA had not yet developed a rocket powerful enough to get humans that far, but intelligence had shown that neither had the Soviets. By changing the direction of the Space Race, America had a chance of winning.

But by making the commitment to a mission to the Moon, Congress had bound the American people to what would become the most expensive civilian project in the history of the country. If the Moonshot was to succeed, it was necessary not just to develop new technology, but also to convince the public that it was possible. So, on a bright and humid September day in Houston, Texas, on the campus of Rice University, President Kennedy stood before some 40,000 people. It had been more than a year since Congress had given the go-ahead, but it was now time to lay out the rallying cry for the nation. ‘We choose to go to the Moon,’ Kennedy told his rapt audience. ‘We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.’ It would become one of the most famous speeches ever given by a president.

For the audience in Texas, but also crucially for the TV audience at home, President Kennedy painted a picture of successful endeavours of human exploration and knowledge, and of just how much possibility lay before us. And perhaps most importantly, he made it clear to the American people that if they were willing to accept this challenge, then it would be ‘one we intend to win’. A nation cheered. Five days later, a second group of astronauts – dubbed the New Nine - were introduced on screen to the public, and the journey to the Moon began.

Even Kennedy’s assassination didn’t detract from the Moonshot. It could even be argued that his untimely demise at the age of 46 helped to fuel this ambition, a way for the nation to live out the slain president’s promise – his words no longer a rallying cry but a higher calling. For all of the turmoil of the sixties, the promise of the Moon provided hope for some.

In the year of President Kennedy’s death, the Soviet Union had become the first to send a woman – former textile worker Valentina Tereshkova – into space. And its cosmonaut Alexei Leonov would, on 18 March 1965, become the first person to perform a spacewalk – floating free of his spacecraft attached by a tether with just his spacesuit protecting him from the unwelcoming void of space. Meanwhile, America continued trying to play catch up – even though the challenge of the Moon had never been publicly accepted by those behind the thick veil of the Iron Curtain.

In fact, very little was known about the Soviet space efforts, but news reports still sometimes speculated as to what they might be doing next, which in turn would drive both fear and patriotism in America. NASA’s efforts – both success and failures – were continually played out in the media, with the country’s astronauts depicted as heroes, frequently gracing the covers of magazines, appearing on television and making public appearances. This was exactly what Americans needed – heroes and displays of what the country could achieve – as tensions with the Soviets and their allies grew.

But while the astronauts were by now celebrities and, most importantly, ‘all-American heroes’, one of the masterminds behind the US space programme was not: Wernher von Braun was in many ways the opposite. A German and a former member of the Nazi Party, von Braun was a very unlikely candidate for the spotlight during this time of intense national fervour in the USA. But his passion for space travel became almost as familiar to US audiences as the swagger of their space travellers.

Von Braun had come to America after the Second World War as part of Operation Paperclip – a secret programme that brought some 1,600 German scientists, engineers and technicians to the United States, following the collapse of Nazi Germany. In the affidavit that von Braun had to sign as part of his surrender, he stated that he had rejected the ideology of Hitler but had joined the Nazi Party because refusing to do so would have meant giving up his life’s work in rocket engineering. Working in Germany, he had masterminded the V-2, the world’s firs...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Note to Readers
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword by Michael Collins
• Introduction
• Prologue: Daring to Dream
• Chapter One: The Space Race
• Chapter Two: Dedication, Determination and Sacrifice
• Chapter Three: Space on Earth
• Chapter Four: Where Next?
• Chapter Five: Look Back
• Acknowledgements
• About the Publisher