Einstein spent quite a lot of time demonstrating that time is relative to where you happen to be … at the time.
He put two men on a train, one at the front and the other at the rear, and another on a station platform. Each armed with a clock to record how long it took the train to pass through. And each clock showing a different rate.
Or would have done if clocks that accurate had been available to him at the time.
He also pondered weightily on why the town hall clock showed the same time to him whether the tram he was on was travelling away from it or towards it.
Concluding thereby that light travelled at a constant speed. Or it was time the clock was rewound?
And being quite often late for work on account he kept forgetting to get off in time.
Any of us silver surfers could have saved him the bother.
We’ve always known time changed pace whenever it wanted to. The school summer holidays of my youth, for example took months to pass, each day a slow golden glow of trees and grass and water, filled with bikes, roller skates, balls and bats.
And that dreadful period between August and Christmas, crammed with colds and maths, gales and detention, lasted even longer.
Yet now I’m lucky if summer stays around for more than a few days at a time – and not all of them with sun.
My only consolation is that the winter too is brief. In fact as I grow older, all of my years insist on accelerating into a forgetful blur.
Much faster than Einstein’s train.
Relatively speaking.
Image: Tábata – Happy Artes under CC BY-SA 2.0
