Utterly interesting

In 1961, Jimi Hendrix faced a big decision following a legal entanglement related to his involvement with stolen vehicles: either two years of incarceration or enlistment in the Army. He opted for military service and was subsequently assigned to the 101st Airborne Division in May of that year.  Thus began his tenure in the Army, a period often overshadowed by his subsequent rise to fame but nevertheless significant in understanding the man behind the music. Despite the demands of military service, Hendrix's musical aspirations remained undimmed. During his downtime, he continued to hone his craft, strumming his guitar in the barracks and local clubs whenever opportunities arose. It was during this time that the seeds of his future greatness were sown, as he experimented with new sounds and techniques, laying the groundwork for the revolutionary style that would later define his iconic sound. After completin g eight weeks of basic training at Fort Ord, California, arrived at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, and soon afterward he wrote to his father: "There's nothing but physical training and harassment here for two weeks, then when you go to jump school ... you get hell. They work you to death, fussing and fighting." In his next letter home, Hendrix, who had left his guitar in Seattle at the home of his girlfriend Betty Jean Morgan, asked his father to send it to him as soon as possible, stating: "I really need it now." His father obliged and sent the red Silvertone Danelectro on which Hendrix had hand-painted the words "Betty Jean" to Fort Campbell. His apparent obsession with the instrument contributed to his neglect of his duties, which led to taunting and physical abuse from his peers, who at least once hid the guitar from him until he had begged for its return. In November 1961, fellow serviceman Billy Cox walked past an army club and heard Hendrix playing. Impressed by Hendrix's technique, which Cox described as a combination of "John Lee Hooker and Beethoven", Cox borrowed a bass guitar and the two jammed. Within weeks, they began performing at base clubs on the weekends with other musicians in a loosely organized band, the Casuals. Hendrix completed his paratrooper training and, on January 11, 1962, Major General Charles W. G. Rich awarded him the prestigious Screaming Eagles patch. By February, his personal conduct had begun to draw criticism from his superiors. They labelled him an unqualified marksman and often caught him napping while on duty and failing to report for bed checks. On May 24, Hendrix's platoon sergeant, James C. Spears, filed a report in which he stated: "He has no interest whatsoever in the Army ... It is my opinion that Private Hendrix will never come up to the standards required of a soldier. I feel that the military service will benefit if he is discharged as soon as possible." On June 29, 1962, Hendrix was granted a general discharge under honourable conditions. Hendrix later spoke of his dislike of the army and that he had received a medical discharge after breaking his ankle during his 26th parachute jump, but no Army records have been produced that indicate that he received or was discharged for any injuries However, in the document below, you can make out the reasons for his discharge. “Behaviour problems, required excessive supervision while on duty, little regard for regulations, apprehended masturbating in platoon area while supposed to be on detail."

There’s a peculiar stillness to the island of Jersey after dark. Even now, with its polished marinas and quiet lanes, the air holds a kind of weight — a memory that never quite fades. Between 1957 and 1971, the island’s calm was shattered by a string of horrific attacks that left residents terrified to sleep with their windows open. The man behind them became known as The Beast of Jersey , a figure who haunted both the island’s nightmares and its headlines for more than a decade. His real name was Edward Paisnel, a local builder, husband, and father who hid a monstrous double life behind a mask that looked like melted skin. But for years before his arrest, the people of Jersey lived in fear, and worse, turned their suspicion upon one of their own. This is the story of how one small island was torn apart by fear, betrayal, and one man’s unfathomable cruelty. Jersey in the 1950s An Island that Slept with the Lights On In the 1950s, Jersey felt like the picture of safety. It was a place where farmers left their tractors by the roadside, children cycled through parishes without helmets or fear, and the loudest noise after dark was the sea. Many islanders still bore memories of German occupation during the Second World War, years of scarcity, hunger, and control, but those memories were fading into routine island life again. That changed on a November night in 1957. A twenty-nine-year-old nurse stood waiting for a bus in the Mont à l’Abbé area when a man appeared out of the dark. He wore something over his face, and spoke softly, with what she described as an “Irish” accent. Before she could move, he looped a rope around her neck and dragged her into a nearby field. When she was found, she was bleeding badly and needed more than a dozen stitches. Her attacker had vanished. It was brutal, shocking, but still, police thought, an isolated crime. But in March 1958, a twenty-year-old woman was walking home from a bus stop in the parish of Trinity when she, too, was dragged into a field and raped. That July, a thirty-one-year-old woman was attacked in almost identical fashion. In August 1959, a young girl walking home in Grouville was seized, bound, and assaulted. By the autumn of that year, Jersey police had a problem they couldn’t explain, a predator who struck seemingly at random, in parishes miles apart, and vanished again into the hedgerows. The Beast Emerges When detectives compared the cases, they began to notice patterns. The man was described as about five feet six, middle-aged, with a stocky build and a soft Irish accent. He often wore gloves and a raincoat that smelled strongly, “musty,” said every victim. The Beasts clothes on a Mannequin He struck only on bright, moonlit nights, the kind islanders called “fine nights for a walk.” And always on weekends, between ten at night and three in the morning. Each woman or girl had been seized by the neck with a rope or cord, then dragged into a field. Some described his voice as calm, even conversational. He seemed to enjoy talking. He mentioned a wife, a dead mother, and sometimes claimed to have killed before. As the attacks grew, so did the fear. By 1960, Jersey’s quiet roads emptied early. Fathers met the last bus with lanterns. Children were no longer allowed to walk alone. And the Beast, whoever he was, seemed to be watching. The Children In the early hours of Valentine’s Day 1960, twelve-year-old Peter (a pseudonym, as he was a minor) woke in his bed in Grands Vaux to see a torch beam shining across his face. The man ordered him out of bed, tied a rope around his neck, and led him silently out into the night. He was taken to a nearby field, assaulted, and returned home before dawn. The boy’s trembling voice described the same things police already knew, the musty smell, the rope, the Irish accent. A month later, a twenty-five-year-old woman waiting at a bus stop was offered a lift by a man in a Rover car. He said he was a doctor collecting his wife. She never saw his face clearly, but she noticed the cap, the gloves, and the air of false gentleness. He drove her into a field, beat her, tied her hands behind her head, and raped her. When she tried to escape, he told her calmly, “I’ve killed before.” She fled barefoot across the field. Then, in March, came an attack that shook Jersey to its core. In an isolated cottage in St Martin, a forty-three-year-old mother woke at half past midnight to a telephone ringing downstairs. When she answered, there was only a click. Later, she heard a noise. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the lights went out. The phone line had been torn out. A man grabbed her in the dark and demanded money. He threatened to kill her. When her fourteen-year-old daughter came down the stairs, he let the mother go. She ran to a nearby farmhouse for help. When she returned, she found her daughter in her bedroom, assaulted and bound. The pattern had escalated. The Beast was now entering homes. Edward and Joan Paisnel Panic on the Island By 1961, the Beast had assaulted three more children, a twelve-year-old boy in Mont Cochon, an eleven-year-old in St Saviour, and an eleven-year-old girl in St Martin. The island’s police were overwhelmed. Jersey was only forty-six square miles across. Where could such a man hide? Scotland Yard sent Detective Superintendent Jack Mannings to help. He told islanders bluntly, “Someone on this island knows this man. You all must turn detective.” He described the attacker as about forty-five, of medium build, with a moustache, gloves, and a raincoat. He struck on moonlit nights, between ten and three. He used rope, tied hands, and blindfolded victims. He spoke softly. He carried a torch. For a while, the publicity worked. There were no attacks for nearly two years. But then came one of Jersey’s darkest chapters. The Witch Hunt: The Case of Alphonse Le Gastelois In 1960, during the peak of the panic, police grew desperate. One name rose through rumours: Alphonse Le Gastelois, a forty-two-year-old fisherman and farmer from St Martin. Le Gastelois lived a solitary life. He was eccentric, known for his long walks, his odd clothes, and his sharp tongue. He had been accused once of “being seen near” a girl — though no charges were ever brought. That was enough for the frightened public. Alphonse Le Gastelois When another child was attacked, suspicion turned violent. Newspapers printed his photo. People whispered that the police “had their man.” A vigilante mob burned down his house. His goats and chickens were killed. Le Gastelois fled to the tiny, uninhabited Écréhous islets off Jersey’s coast, living there in exile for fourteen years. Only later did it become clear that he had been innocent all along, when the Beast’s attacks continued after he was driven away. The real killer had simply watched, unseen, while an innocent man was persecuted. The Letter In 1966, after another lull, a letter arrived at Jersey Police Headquarters. The handwriting was uneven and littered with mistakes. The tone was mocking. “I think that it is just the time to tell you that you are just wasting your time… I have always wanted to do the perfect crime… Let the moon shine very bright in September because this time it must be perfect. Not one but two. I am not a maniac by a long shot but I like to play with you people.” In August that year, as promised, a fifteen-year-old girl in Trinity was attacked. She was raped and left with strange, evenly spaced scratches on her torso, as though clawed by a machine. Then, for four years, silence. 1970: The Return On a warm August night in 1970, a thirteen-year-old boy in Vallee des Vaux woke to see a light in his face. The man who stood over him had black spiky hair and wore a grotesque mask. He tied a rope around the boy’s neck and led him outside, where he was assaulted. He warned the boy to stay silent or “someone will hurt your mother and father.”When police examined the boy, they saw the same long, parallel scratches found on the girl four years earlier. Jersey held its breath. The Beast was back. Police interviewed nearly thirty thousand people on the island, but no leads emerged.The fear became something unspoken — not discussed in cafés or churches, but heavy in every home. What finally ended it was not forensics, nor luck, but a simple traffic stop. The Night the Beast Was Caught On 10 July 1971, just before midnight, police officers John Riseborough and Tom McGinn were patrolling St Helier when a Morris 1100 sped through a red light. They gave chase. The car swerved, clipped other vehicles, and careered through a hedge into a tomato field. The driver fled. Riseborough tackled him in the dark. At the station, they began to notice details that chilled them. The man’s raincoat reeked of mildew. One-inch nails jutted from the shoulders and lapels. More nails lined the cloth wristbands he wore beneath his sleeves. In his pockets were cords, adhesive tape, a torch with a slit of light covered by black tape, and a spiky black wig. Then came the mask, home-made, terrifying, like the face of something burned and inhuman. His name was Edward John Louis Paisnel, a forty-six-year-old building contractor from St Martin. He was married to Joan Paisnel, who ran a foster home called La Preference  with her mother. The children there knew him as “Uncle Ted.” Every Christmas he dressed as Santa Claus and handed out gifts. His only known brush with the law had been in the 1940s, when he was jailed for stealing food during the German occupation, to feed hungry families. Now, the kindly handyman stood revealed as one of Britain’s most depraved predators. When asked what he was doing that night, he calmly replied that he was “on his way to an orgy.” The nails, he said, were “for protection against martial arts.” Police searched his home. In a locked room, they found a blue tracksuit, wigs, false eyebrows, photographs of houses and bedrooms, books on black magic, and a crude altar. On one wall hung a curved wooden sword. The room smelled unmistakably — musty. The Beast of Jersey had been caught. The Trial Paisnel was charged with thirteen counts of rape, indecent assault, and sodomy against six victims — five of them children. In court, prosecutors painted a picture of a man obsessed with planning. He would photograph homes, learn the layout, and return months later to attack sleeping children. He wore the mask not just to hide but to terrify. The torch slit blinded his victims but left him able to see. He enjoyed the game, the taunting, the letter, the fear. He told police he was a student of the occult and a descendant of Gilles de Rais, the fifteenth-century French nobleman executed for child murders. His wife confirmed that the 1966 taunting letter was in his handwriting. The jury took just thirty-eight minutes to find him guilty on all counts.The judge called him “a cunning man, but not a mad one.”He was sentenced to thirty years in prison. Paisnel appealed and lost. He served twenty years as a “model prisoner.” When released in 1991, he returned briefly to Jersey but was driven off by angry crowds. He settled on the Isle of Wight, where he died of a heart attack in 1994. Shadows That Remain After his death, new rumours emerged. During the Independent Jersey Care Inquiry  into historic abuse at Haut de la Garenne, documents suggested Paisnel had been a visitor there, and that he may have prowled La Preference at night wearing his mask. One former resident, known only as Mr D , described those nights in haunting terms: “One night I was asleep and felt a presence. It was Paisnel, standing there with a mask. That house was eerie. You’d see cats strung up, and once I saw him strangling one. I always knew something evil was going on there.” Police later stated there was “no firm evidence” linking Paisnel directly to the Haut de la Garenne offences under Operation Rectangle. But survivors who lived through that period often said his shadow still hung over the island’s darker history. A close up of the Beasts mask The Victims and the Fear For the women and children he attacked, the damage lasted a lifetime.Many never spoke of it again. Some emigrated. Others stayed but couldn’t sleep through a windy night. The sounds,a creak on the stairs, the wind against a latch, brought everything back. For families, the shame and silence of the time made recovery harder. The 1950s and 60s were not decades of open discussion about sexual trauma. Victims were often told not to talk, not to make a scene. Yet they were the ones who had the courage to describe the mask, the nails, the rope, the smell, and those details helped catch him. Their bravery ended the nightmare. Justice and Injustice The story of Edward Paisnel is not just about one predator. It’s also about fear, hysteria, and what happens when a community turns against itself.While the true Beast roamed free, an innocent man, Alphonse Le Gastelois, lost his home, his reputation, and his peace.The attacks he was blamed for continued even as he lived alone on a barren rock in the sea. When Paisnel was finally unmasked, the island felt both relief and shame. Relief that the nightmare was over; shame that fear had made them cruel. Legacy Today, the mask still exists, held in police archives, a grotesque relic of a man who terrorised a whole island. Jersey has changed since then, but older residents still recall the long years of moonlit fear. For them, it isn’t just the story of a monster caught. It’s a reminder that evil can wear an ordinary face — and that true courage sometimes belongs to those who refuse to stay silent. Sources The Beast of Jersey: The True Story of Edward Paisnel, Jersey’s Notorious Masked Attacker  – Historic UK https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/The-Beast-of-Jersey/ Independent Jersey Care Inquiry: Final Report (2017)  – States of Jersey https://www.gov.je/SiteCollectionDocuments/Government%20and%20administration/R%20Independent%20Jersey%20Care%20Inquiry%20-%20Final%20Report%202017.pdf Operation Rectangle: Historic Child Abuse Investigation, Jersey Police Reports (2008–2010)  – States of Jersey Police https://jersey.police.uk/news-appeals/2010/operation-rectangle-historic-abuse-investigation-summary/ Press Coverage of the Trial of Edward Paisnel, Jersey Evening Post Archives (1971–1972)  – Jersey Evening Post Digital Archive https://www.jerseyeveningpost.com/

The horrific torture and murder of Sylvia Likens in 1965 stands as one of the darkest cases of abuse in American history. Sylvia, a 16-year-old girl left in the care of Gertrude Baniszewski, endured unspeakable torture and neglect that ultimately led to her death. This case exposed the failures of the community and judicial system, as well as the unimaginable cruelty inflicted by Baniszewski, her children, and several neighbourhood children. Sylvia with her mother, Betty Sylvia Likens and the Baniszewski Household: A Fragile Arrangement Sylvia Likens, born on January 3, 1949, was one of five children in a family of carnival workers. Her parents, Lester and Elizabeth Likens, left Sylvia and her sister Jenny in the care of Gertrude Baniszewski for $20 per week while they travelled with the carnival. Baniszewski, a single mother of seven, initially agreed to care for the Likens sisters as if they were her own children. However, when the payments became irregular, Baniszewski turned her frustration into brutal abuse, which escalated rapidly over the summer of 1965. Sylvia (left) and Jenny (right), pictured with three friends in Long Beach, California on Easter Sunday, 1965. Escalation of Abuse: Physical and Emotional Torment Baniszewski's initial annoyance with delayed payments escalated into a methodical pattern of mistreatment focused mainly on Sylvia. Baniszewski beat Sylvia with a heavy paddle, forced her to eat spoiled food from rubbish bins, and subjected her to humiliations. Accusations against Sylvia, often baseless, were used to justify further violence. At one point, Baniszewski branded Sylvia’s abdomen with the words “I’M A PROSTITUTE AND PROUD OF IT,” finishing the branding with the help of 14-year-old Richard Hobbs. Neighbourhood children, including Michael Monroe, Randy Lepper, Darlene McGuire, Judy Duke, and Anna Siscoe, were urged by Baniszewski to join in Sylvia’s beatings and humiliation. Coy Hubbard, Stephanie Baniszewski’s boyfriend, also assaulted Sylvia, beating her, slamming her into walls, and using her as a target for violent judo practice. Home of Gertrude where Sylvia Likens was murdered On another occasion, as the family ate supper, Gertrude, Paula, and a neighborhood boy named Randy Gordon Lepper force-fed Sylvia a hot dog overloaded with chilli sauce and mustard, Sylvia vomited as a result and was later forced to consume what she had vomited. To entertain Gertrude and her teenage accomplices, Sylvia was forced at one point to strip naked in the family living room and penetrate herself with a glass Pepsi bottle in their presence, with Gertrude stating to all present that this act of humiliation was for Sylvia to "prove what kind of a girl you are." In September, Sylvia and Jenny met their older sister Dianna Shoemaker in a local park and let her know about the abuse they were enduring, noting Sylvia was targeted specifically for things she hadn’t done. Without giving their address, they left Dianna skeptical, thinking they were exaggerating. A few weeks earlier, Dianna had given Sylvia a sandwich in the same park, a gesture later discovered by Gertrude, who accused Sylvia of gluttony and subjected her to a scalding bath to "cleanse her of her sin" Soon after, the father of a neighbourhood boy anonymously reported to Sylvia’s school that she had visible sores. When a school nurse visited, Gertrude falsely claimed Sylvia had run away and had poor hygiene, which had caused the sores. No further action was taken by the school. Raymond and Phyllis Vermillion, Baniszewski’s neighbours, had visited the household twice, witnessing Paula abuse Sylvia and boast about it, they noted Sylvia’s withdrawn demeanour, yet they decided against reporting the abuse. Around October 1, Dianna learned her sisters were staying with Baniszewski and attempted a visit, but Gertrude denied her entry, claiming parental permission. Two weeks later, Dianna encountered Jenny nearby and asked about Sylvia’s well-being, but Jenny responded, “I can’t tell you or I’ll get into trouble.” As a result of the escalating frequency and severity of the torture and abuse inflicted upon Sylvia, she gradually lost control of her bladder and bowel movements. She was prohibited from using the bathroom, leading her to involuntarily urinate. In retaliation for her incontinence, on October 6, Gertrude confined Sylvia to the basement, where she was restrained. In this grim setting, Sylvia was frequently naked, inadequately nourished, and deprived of water. At times, she was tethered to the basement staircase railing with her feet barely able to touch the ground. Gertrude, Paula and Stephanie Baniszewski at their trial Neighborhood children were also occasionally charged five cents apiece to see the "display" of Sylvia's body and to humiliate, beat, scald, burn, and—ultimately— mutilate her. Throughout Sylvia's captivity in the basement, Gertrude frequently, with the assistance of her children and neighborhood children, restrained and gagged Likens before placing her in a bathtub filled with scalding water and proceeding to rub salt into her wounds. And still the abuse continued, Gertrude and her twelve-year-old son, John Jr., rubbed urine and feces from Gertrude's one-year-old son's nappy into Sylvia's mouth before giving her a cup half-filled with water and stating the water was all she would receive for the remainder of the day. On October 22, John Baniszewski Jr. tormented Sylvia by offering to allow her to eat a bowl of soup with her fingers and then quickly taking away the bowl when Sylvia—by this stage suffering from extreme malnourishment —attempted to eat the food. Gertrude Baniszewski eventually allowed Sylvia to sleep upstairs, on the condition that she learned not to wet herself. The following morning, Gertrude discovered that Likens had urinated on herself. As a punishment, Sylvia was forced to insert an empty glass Coca-Cola bottle into her vagina in the presence of the Baniszewski children before Gertrude ordered her into the basement. The following day, Gertrude Baniszewski woke Sylvia, then forced her to write a letter as she dictated the contents, which were intended to mislead her parents into believing their daughter had run away from the Baniszewski residence. The content of this letter was intended to frame a group of anonymous local boys for extensively abusing and mutilating Sylvia after she had initially agreed to engage in sexual relations with them before they inflicted the extreme abuse and torture upon her body. John Baniszewski, Jr., (left) fourteen, during the trial, with fifteen-year-old Coy Hubbard, boyfriend of Stephanie Baniszewski. Coy practiced his judo moves on Sylvia, throwing her into walls and down the basement stairs. After Sylvia had written this letter, Gertrude finished formulating her plan to have John Jr. and Jenny blindfold Sylvia, then take her to a nearby wooded area known as Jimmy's Forest and leave her there to die. Sylvia was then again tied to the stair railing and offered crackers to eat, although she refused them, saying: "Give it to the dog, I don't want it." In response, Gertrude forced the crackers into Likens's mouth before she and John Baniszewski beat her—particularly around the stomach. That night, Sylvia confided to her sister: "Jenny, I know you don't want me to die, but I'm going to die. I can tell it." Sylvia’s Final Days and Desperate Attempts to Escape On October 25, Sylvia attempted to escape from the basement after overhearing a conversation between Gertrude and John Baniszewski Jr. where they were discussing the plan to abandon her to die. She attempted to flee to the front door; however, due to her extensive injuries and general weakness, Gertrude caught her before she could escape. Sylvia was then given crackers to eat but was unable to consume the food due to her extreme state of dehydration . Gertrude forced the crackers into her mouth before repeatedly striking her face with a curtain rod until sections of the instrument were bent into right angles. Coy Hubbard then took the curtain rod from Gertrude and struck Sylvia one further time, knocking her out. Gertrude then dragged Sylvia into the basement. That evening, Sylvia desperately attempted to alert neighbours by screaming for help and hitting the walls of the basement with a spade. One neighbour of the Baniszewskis would later inform police she had heard a commotion coming from the basement of Gertrude's house, but that as the noise had suddenly ceased at approximately 3:00 a.m., she decided not to inform police about the disturbance. Shirley Baniszewski. By the morning of October 26, Sylvia was unable to either speak intelligibly or correctly coordinate the movement of her limbs. Gertrude moved Sylvia into the kitchen and, having propped her back against a wall, attempted to feed her a doughnut and a glass of milk. She threw Sylvia to the floor in frustration when she was unable to drink from the glass. She was then returned to the basement. Shortly thereafter, Sylvia became delirious , repeatedly moaning and mumbling. When Paula asked her to recite the English alphabet, Likens was unable to recite anything beyond the first four letters or to raise herself off the ground. In response, Paula verbally threatened her to either stand up or she would inflict a long jump upon her. Gertrude then ordered Sylvia, who had defecated, to clean herself. That afternoon, several of the neighbourhood tormentors gathered in the basement. Sylvia jerkingly moved her arms in an apparent attempt to point at the faces of the tormentors she could recognise, making statements such as, "You're ... Ricky" and "You're Gertie" before Gertrude tersely shouted, "Shut up! You know who I am!" Minutes later, Sylvia unsuccessfully attempted to bite into a rotten pear she had been given to eat, stating she could feel the looseness in her teeth. In an attempt to wash Sylvia, a laughing John Baniszewski Jr. sprayed her with a garden hose brought to the house that afternoon by Randy Lepper at Gertrude's request. Sylvia again desperately attempted to exit the basement but collapsed before she could reach the stairs. In response to this effort, Gertrude stamped on her head before standing and staring at her for several moments. Shortly after 5:30 p.m., Richard Hobbs returned to the Baniszewski residence and immediately proceeded to the basement. He slipped on the wet basement stairs and fell heavily to the floor of the basement to be confronted with the sight of Stephanie crying and cuddling Sylvia's emaciated and lacerated body after she had been ordered by her mother to clean Sylvia. Stephanie and Richard then decided to give Sylvia a warm, soapy bath and dress her in new clothes. They then laid her upon a mattress in one of the bedrooms as Sylvia muttered her final wish that her "daddy was here" and that Stephanie would take her home. Stephanie then turned to her younger sister, Shirley, exclaiming, "Oh! She'll be alright!" When Stephanie realized that Sylvia wasn't breathing, she attempted first aid as Gertrude repeatedly shouted to the children in the house that Sylvia was faking her death. Sylvia was 16 years old when she finally succumbed to her injuries. Discovery of Sylvia’s Body and Immediate Arrests Gertrude initially beat Sylvia's corpse with a book, shouting "Faker! Faker!" in an attempt to rouse her. However, she soon panicked and instructed Richard Hobbs to call the police from a nearby payphone. When police arrived at her address at approximately 6:30 p.m., Gertrude led the officers to Sylvia's emaciated, extensively bludgeoned, and mutilated body lying upon a soiled mattress in the bedroom Stephanie Baniszewski, 15 years old at the time of Sylvia’s death Baniszewski then attempted to cover her tracks, presenting the fabricated letter she had forced Sylvia to write, framing the group of boys for the abuse. Jenny, Sylvia’s sister, took her chance and informed the police, saying, “You get me out of here and I’ll tell you everything.” This statement led to the arrests of Gertrude Baniszewski, her children Paula and John Jr., and neighbourhood participants Richard Hobbs and Coy Hubbard. An autopsy confirmed the extensive abuse Sylvia endured, revealing over 150 wounds, severe bruising, and muscle and nerve damage. Her vaginal cavity was nearly swollen shut, and her fingernails were broken backwards. Dr. Arthur Kebel listed her official cause of death as a subdural hematoma due to a severe blow to her temple, worsened by shock and malnutrition. The Trial of Gertrude Baniszewski and Her Accomplices On April 18, 1966, Gertrude Baniszewski, her children, and the neighbourhood boys were tried jointly for Sylvia’s murder. The prosecution sought the death penalty, describing the defendants’ “concerted” acts of cruelty toward Sylvia. The defence claimed that the other participants were coerced into the abuse by Baniszewski’s manipulation. John Baniszewski looks on during the trial for his part in the torture and murder of Sylvia Likens The trial brought chilling testimonies to light. Deputy coroner Charles Ellis described Sylvia’s injuries, stating she had likely been in acute pain for days before her death. Jenny Likens testified about her sister’s torture, confirming that Sylvia’s suffering began within weeks of moving into the Baniszewski household. Gertrude Baniszewski testified, denying responsibility and claiming she was too ill to control the children. Her statements failed to convince the jury, and on May 19, 1966, she was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. Paula was convicted of second-degree murder, and the others, including Richard Hobbs, Coy Hubbard, and John Jr., were convicted of manslaughter. Paula Baniszewski at the trial Retrial, Parole, and Legacy of the Sylvia Likens Case The Indiana Supreme Court later reversed the Baniszewskis’ convictions in 1970 due to media bias, resulting in a retrial. Paula Baniszewski pled guilty to voluntary manslaughter, receiving a reduced sentence, and Gertrude was again convicted and sentenced to life. Gertrude never accepted full responsibility for Sylvia's prolonged torment and death, insisting she was unable to precisely recall any of her actions. She blamed her actions upon the medication she had been prescribed to treat her asthma. Gertrude Baniszewski photographed in 1986, one year after her release Gertrude was ultimately paroled in 1985, despite public protest, and relocated to Iowa, where she lived until her death from lung cancer in 1990. After her 1972 parole, Paula Baniszewski assumed a new identity, working as an aide to a school counselor for 14 years, having changed her name to Paula Pace and concealing the truth regarding her criminal history when applying for the position. She was fired in 2012 when the school discovered her true identity. Paula married and had two children.The baby daughter to whom she had given birth while awaiting trial in 1966, and whom she named after her mother, was later adopted . Paula Baniszewski / Pace The murder charges initially filed against Gertrude Baniszewski's second-eldest daughter, 15-year-old Stephanie, were ultimately dropped after she agreed to turn state's evidence against the other defendants. Stephanie later assumed a new name and became a school teacher marrying and having several children. When questioned at trial as to her motive for turning state's evidence, Stephanie stated: "I'm just here in the hope I can help anybody!" In response, her mother's attorney, William Erbecker replied, "Including yourself?" Richard Hobbs, left, and Johnny Baniszewski Shortly after their mother's arrest, Marie, Shirley, and James Baniszewski were all put in the care of separate foster families . The surname of all three children was legally changed to Blake in the late 1960s after their father regained their custody. Marie later married. Marie Shelton died of natural causes on June 8, 2017, at the age of 62. Dennis Lee Wright Jr. was later adopted. His adoptive mother named him Denny Lee White. He died on February 5, 2012, at the age of 47. Richard Hobbs, Coy Hubbard, and John Baniszewski Jr. all served less than two years in the Indiana Reformatory before being granted parole on February 27, 1968. Richard Hobbs died of lung cancer on January 2, 1972, at the age of 21 — less than four years after his release from the Indiana Reformatory. Following his 1968 release from the Indiana Reformatory, Coy Hubbard remained in Indiana, and never attempted to change his name. Throughout his adult life, Hubbard was repeatedly imprisoned for various criminal offenses, on one occasion being charged with the 1977 murders of two young men, although, largely due to the fact that the chief witness to testify at his trial had been a convicted criminal acquaintance of Hubbard who admitted to having been in his company at the time of the murders, he was acquitted of this charge. He died of a heart attack on June 23 of that year at the age of 56 Paula Baniszewski in 1971 John Baniszewski Jr. lived in relative obscurity under the alias John Blake. He became a lay minister , frequently hosting counseling sessions for the children of divorced parents. Several decades after his release from the Indiana Reformatory, John Baniszewski Jr. issued a statement in which he acknowledged the fact he and his co-defendants should have been sentenced to a more severe term of punishment, adding that young criminals are not beyond rehabilitation and describing how he had become a productive citizen. He died of complications related to diabetes in 2005, at the age of 52. Before he died, he had occasionally spoken publicly about his past, r eadily admitting he had enjoyed the attention Likens's murder brought upon him and also claiming to have "only ever hit Sylvia once". The injury-to-person charges brought against the other juveniles known to have actively physically, mentally, and emotionally tormented Likens (Anna Ruth Siscoe, Judy Darlene Duke, Michael John Monroe, Darlene McGuire, and Randy Gordon Lepper), were later dropped. Siscoe died on October 23, 1996, at the age of 44, already a grandmother. Lepper—who had visibly smirked as he testified to having hit Likens on up to 40 separate occasions—died at the age of 56 on November 14, 2010. Monroe died on February 16, 2023, at the age of 68. Randy Lepper Jenny Likens later married an Indianapolis native named Leonard Rece Wade. The couple had two children, although she remained traumatized by the abuse she had been forced to watch her sister endure. For the remainder of her life, Jenny was dependent upon anxiety medication. She died of a heart attack on June 23, 2004, at the age of 54 Fourteen years before her own death, Jen ny Likens Wade had viewed Gertrude Baniszewski's obituary in a newspaper; she clipped the section from the newspaper, then mailed it to her mother with an accompanying note reading: "Some good news. Damn old Gertrude died. Ha ha ha! I am happy about that." Sylvia’s Child Advocacy Center is dedicated to her memory and the cause of protecting children from abuse in every corner of our community. Sources: The Torture and Murder of Sylvia Likens  — Indianapolis Star  archives (1965–1966 trial coverage). https://www.indystar.com/ The Basement: The True Story of the Horrifying Murder of Sylvia Likens  by Kate Millett (1979). Indianapolis News  trial records and articles from October–December 1965. Crime Library: The Murder of Sylvia Likens  (archived resource from Court TV). The Indianapolis Police Department case files  – accessible through Indiana State Archives. Baniszewski v. State of Indiana (1966)  – appeal records, Indiana Court of Appeals. The 2007 film “An American Crime”  and The Girl Next Door (2007)  – based on Sylvia Likens’s case. Indiana Historical Bureau  – “The Tragedy of Sylvia Likens: A Turning Point in Child Protection.” The Crime Museum  – “Sylvia Likens: America’s Most Horrific Child Murder Case.” https://www.crimemuseum.org/ Los Angeles Times Archives  – retrospective pieces on the 1965 murder and aftermath. https://www.latimes.com/

Carl Tanzler, often remembered for his eerie obsession with Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos, was a figure as strange as he was tragic. His peculiar story has become a tale of macabre fascination, blending fantasy, science, love, and death in a way that almost defies belief. Born on 8 February 1877 in Dresden, Germany , Carl Tanzler (also known as Count Carl von Cosel) eventually moved to Key West, Florida, where his bizarre and infamous chapter with Elena began. The Early Life and Fantasies of Carl Tanzler Tanzler’s life, even before meeting Elena, was imbued with fantastical notions and peculiar obsessions. Growing up in Germany, Tanzler claimed that his life was shaped by visions of a deceased ancestor, Countess Anna Constantia von Cosel. This spectral figure, according to Tanzler, revealed to him the face of his one true love—a dark-haired beauty with exotic features. This vision haunted him throughout his life, and he believed that fate would eventually lead him to the woman in his visions. Though much of Tanzler’s life before arriving in the United States remains somewhat clouded by his own fabrications, he purportedly held numerous degrees in diverse disciplines, many of which were likely fabricated or exaggerated. This did not prevent him from being employed as a radiologic technologist at the Marine Hospital in Key West , Florida, where he would encounter Elena. His charm, medical jargon, and grandiose claims about his expertise inspired confidence in his abilities to cure even the most hopeless of patients. Yet, it was not just medical treatment he had to offer—he was also a man lost in an obsessive quest to find his otherworldly true love. Meeting Elena de Hoyos On 22 April 1930, Tanzler's world changed forever when he met Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos. Elena, a Cuban -American beauty, was brought to the hospital by her mother for treatment. She had been diagnosed with tuberculosis, a disease that would claim many of her family members and, eventually, her own life. For Tanzler, the moment he laid eyes on Elena, he recognised her as the woman from his visions—the exotic dark-haired beauty he had been destined to love. Despite the reality that Elena was already married to Luis Mesa and showed no signs of romantic interest in him, Tanzler's obsession with her only deepened. Elena was the daughter of Francisco “Pancho” Hoyos and Aurora Milagro, a local Key West family. Her father worked as a cigar maker, while her mother cared for the family. Elena’s sister, Florinda “Nana” Hoyos, played a significant role in the events that would unfold after her death. Like many in her family, Elena was gravely ill with tuberculosis, which Tanzler, with his self-professed medical expertise, attempted to cure through a variety of unconventional methods. Obsession and Loss Tanzler devoted himself to Elena's treatment, even bringing X-ray and medical equipment to her family’s home. He attempted to cure her using bizarre, self-concocted remedies and devices, none of which had any real chance of success. Alongside his futile medical efforts, Tanzler showered Elena with gifts of jewellery, clothes, and other tokens of affection. He repeatedly professed his love for her, though by all accounts, Elena did not reciprocate his feelings. Elena's Mausoleum Despite his obsessive efforts, Elena succumbed to tuberculosis on 25 October 1931, at the age of 22. Devastated by her death, Tanzler was not ready to let go. He paid for her funeral and convinced her family to let him build an ornate above-ground mausoleum for her in the Key West Cemetery. Unbeknownst to her family, Tanzler had a key to this mausoleum and visited it almost every night. A Sinister Act of Love In April 1933, Tanzler made a fateful and disturbing decision. He claimed that Elena’s spirit visited him regularly at her grave and urged him to take her from the mausoleum. On a dark night, he removed Elena’s body, transporting it to his home on a toy wagon. There, he began the grotesque process of preserving her body, determined to bring her back to life in some form. As her corpse decomposed, Tanzler went to extreme lengths to preserve Elena’s appearance. He tied her bones together with piano wire, replaced her skin with a mixture of silk cloth, wax, and plaster of Paris, and used glass eyes to give her a semblance of life. As her hair fell out, Tanzler fashioned a wig from hair that he had earlier collected from Elena’s mother. He stuffed her chest and abdominal cavity with rags to maintain her shape and dressed her in fine clothing, jewellery, and gloves. For seven years, Tanzler kept Elena’s body in his bed, masking the odour of decomposition with disinfectants and perfumes. What perhaps elevates this already disturbing tale to new levels of horror is the fact Tanzler had inserted a paper tube into Elena’s pelvic area, allegedly to facilitate intercourse. Although this necrophilic detail did not surface until decades later, it casts a dark shadow over the romanticised portrayal that some of the public held of Tanzler at the time. Discovery and Public Sensation In 1940, after hearing rumours about Tanzler’s strange behaviour, Florinda Hoyos grew suspicious. Tanzler’s once-regular visits to the mausoleum had ceased, and Florinda decided to investigate. Upon entering Tanzler’s house, she was horrified to discover her sister’s body, dressed in a wedding gown and lying in Tanzler’s bed. What at first appeared to be a mannequin was, in fact, the preserved remains of Elena . (He had previously been seen by his neighbours, dancing at night with her corpse in front of an open window) Elena's body on display in the funeral home. Authorities were alerted, and Tanzler was arrested . His crime ? “Wantonly and maliciously destroying a grave and removing a body without authorization.” However, Tanzler was never tried for his gruesome acts. The statute of limitations had expired, and remarkably, the public response was not one of outrage but of fascination. Tanzler’s actions were framed by some as the ultimate expression of romantic love. Nearly 7,000 people visited Elena’s body when it was put on display at a local funeral home following its recovery. Tanzler’s Eccentric Vision and Controversial Legacy Tanzler’s macabre obsession did not stop after his release. He continued to claim that he had acted out of love and that he had plans to fly Elena’s body into the stratosphere on an airship, where radiation would bring her back to life. Even after being sent to live near his ex-wife, Tanzler remained unrepentant, still lost in his fantastical dream of resurrecting Elena. The 'airship' Tanzler made to fly Elena's body into space. Elena’s remains were reburied in a secret, unmarked grave to prevent further tampering. Yet, Tanzler’s obsession endured. He created a life-sized effigy of Elena, using her death mask as a model, and lived with this effigy until his death in 1952. Tanzler was apparently found in the arms of Elena's effigy upon discovery of his corpse, three weeks after his death. Still, his obituary reported that he died on the floor behind one of his organs. The obituary recounted: "a metal cylinder on a shelf above a table in it wrapped in silken cloth and a robe was a waxen image". It has been written (most notably by Tom Swicegood in his book, Von Cosel ) that Tanzler had the bodies switched (or that Elena's remains were secretly returned to him) and that he died with the real body of Elena Necrophilia Allegations and Modern Reflections In the 1970s, decades after the original events, two physicians who had attended the 1940 autopsy of Elena’s body revealed that a vaginal tube had been inserted into her corpse, providing evidence of Tanzler’s necrophilia. This revelation shocked those who had once viewed Tanzler as a tragic, if eccentric, romantic. Although this detail had not been presented at the time of Tanzler’s arrest, its later disclosure added a further layer of horror to an already grim tale. Tanzler’s story has been recounted in various pulp magazines, books, and media, each iteration adding new details and interpretations. One particularly chilling claim came in 1982, when an article suggested that Tanzler had left a note confessing to having poisoned Elena. While the veracity of this claim remains uncertain, it adds yet another macabre twist to the tale. Sources: “Carl Tanzler and the Corpse Bride of Key West” – Smithsonian Magazine https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/corpse-bride-key-west-180961046/ “The True Story of Carl Tanzler’s Morbid Obsession With Elena de Hoyos” – Miami Herald Archives https://www.miamiherald.com/entertainment/ “Love Beyond Death: The Carl Tanzler Case” – Journal of Forensic Sciences https://academic.oup.com/jfs “Carl Tanzler: The Strange Obsession That Shocked Key West” – FBI Case Archives & Local Florida Historical Society Records https://www.floridamemory.com “Elena de Hoyos and Carl Tanzler: A Key West Tragedy” – Florida Keys History Museum https://www.keywestmuseum.org

The above image is from a set housed in the National Photo Library of the National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) in Mexico, and they depict a group of Mexican men purportedly arrested for homosexuality in 1935. These photographs were taken in Lecumberri prison in Mexico City, a place notorious for its harsh conditions and the mistreatment of prisoners. Lecumberri prison, often referred to as "The Black Palace of Lecumberri," was a prominent penitentiary in Mexico City from 1900 until its closure in 1976. It was infamous for its severe overcrowding and the brutal treatment of inmates. Among those incarcerated were individuals arrested for their sexual orientation, a reflection of the harsh societal and legal attitudes towards homosexuality at the time. In the early 20th century, Mexican society, like much of the world, viewed homosexuality as a deviant behaviour. The legal system mirrored these prejudices, criminalizing homosexual acts and subjecting those accused to imprisonment and public shaming. The men in these photographs were likely arrested under such laws, their identities reduced to mere subjects of derision and punishment. The photographs from 1935 provide a rare and unsettling glimpse into the lives of these men. Despite the grim circumstances, the images capture a range of emotions and interactions among the detainees. Some appear defiant, others resigned, and a few even display a sense of camaraderie. Their clothing and hairstyles reflect the fashion of the era, grounding these images in a specific historical moment. Very little is known about the individuals themselves. Their names, stories, and ultimate fates remain largely undocumented, lost to history. However, the images serve as a testament to their existence and their suffering, preserving a moment of resistance and humanity in the face of systemic oppression. Lecumberri Prison and Ward J Lecumberri's history is marked by its reputation for harsh conditions and the strict segregation of inmates. Up until 1976, gay men were often imprisoned in a specific ward known as "J" or "Jota." The term "joto" (derived from the letter "J") is a derogatory slang still used as a homophobic slur in Mexico. This segregation was not only a form of control but also a means of further stigmatising and isolating homosexual individuals. The conditions in Ward J were notoriously inhumane. Inmates faced physical and psychological abuse, overcrowding, and a lack of basic necessities. Despite these conditions, the ward also became a space where a unique subculture could develop, providing some sense of community and solidarity among the detainees. Luis Arturo Salmerón, in his article ‘Pride Behind Bars’, covered the photos : “The detainees' smile, posed to scandalise the same people who took them prisoner; they look proud before the cameras of the society that represses them. “Why do they do it? I want to believe – and the images seem to confirm it – that it is their way of resisting, of challenging the society that oppresses them and encloses them, but, as their faces shout at us from the distance of the years, they can not change them. “They are shouting that there they are, that they can lock them up or kill them, but they will not leave, that they will fight so that society can finally be inclusive and that sexual diversity is not persecuted as a crime. “We do not know their names, but we can remember their challenging faces as a brief tribute to the thousands of victims of a struggle that in Mexico has made some progress, although it still has a long way to go.”

If you travelled through the Icelandic Highlands in the mid-1960s, you might have stumbled upon a curious sight: men in silver NASA jackets trudging across a volcanic wasteland, stopping to hammer at rocks, crouching over maps, and scribbling in notebooks while local guides looked on bemused. These weren’t lost tourists. They were astronauts, future moonwalkers, preparing for humanity’s greatest leap. Between 1965 and 1967, Iceland became one of NASA’s most unlikely yet most important training grounds. The Apollo astronauts came not to test rockets, but to study rocks. And among those who wandered the lava fields of Askja and Mývatn were nine of the twelve men who would go on to set foot on the Moon. It’s an extraordinary, lesser-known chapter of the Space Age, a story where the alien landscapes of Iceland became a stand-in for the lunar surface, and where future moonwalkers learned how to think, move, and collect like geologists on another world. Why Iceland Looked Like the Moon When NASA prepared to send humans to the Moon, engineers weren’t the only ones in demand. Geologists were too. Once astronauts reached the lunar surface, they’d have to act as field scientists—selecting samples, describing terrain, and making split-second geological judgements that could inform decades of research back on Earth. But there was a problem: how do you train for the geology of a place no one has ever been? NASA’s answer was to find “Earth analogues”, landscapes on our planet that looked and behaved like those they might encounter on the Moon. The search led them to deserts, volcanic craters, and remote mountains. Yet few places on Earth could match Iceland. Situated at the meeting point of the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates, Iceland is a geologist’s dream—or a traveller’s moonscape. Black lava flows stretch for miles. Steam hisses from vents. Glacial rivers carve deep valleys through volcanic ash. The result is a bare, surreal land that one astronaut later described as “utterly unearthly”. According to NASA geologist Dr. Gene Shoemaker, who led much of the Apollo field training, Iceland “displayed volcanic geology with almost no vegetation cover—an ideal terrain to simulate the Moon.” The basaltic rocks found there were similar in composition to those scientists expected on the lunar surface. It wasn’t just about resemblance. Iceland’s isolation, unpredictable weather, and ruggedness also gave the astronauts a taste of what it might be like to operate in an environment where communication, navigation, and comfort couldn’t be taken for granted. I spent around ten days exploring the volcanically active regions of Iceland, a place so stark and barren I felt as if I were already on the moon. We were there in the summertime, and it seemed like the sun never set. You could be out at 3 a.m. and see people strolling the city streets, the stores still open” -Al Worden, Apollo 15 Astronaut Neil Armstrong Salmon finishing in Iceland The 1965 and 1967 Expeditions NASA’s first official geological training expedition to Iceland took place in July 1965, led by USGS geologists and Icelandic scientists from the University of Iceland. The group included ten astronauts: Bill Anders, Alan Bean, Eugene Cernan, Roger Chaffee, Walter Cunningham, Donn Eisele, Rusty Schweickart, David Scott, and Clifton Williams. They spent a week in the central highlands, examining the lava fields of the Reykjanes Peninsula and the volcanic formations near Lake Mývatn. They studied volcanic cones, basaltic lava flows, and fissures, learning to describe and sample them methodically—skills that would later prove critical on the lunar surface. Two years later, in July 1967, NASA returned for a second field trip. This one was larger and even more ambitious, taking astronauts deep into Iceland’s remote interior, particularly the Askja caldera in the Dyngjufjöll mountains. Among those present were Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Charles Duke, Edgar Mitchell, Harrison Schmitt, and David Scott—all future moonwalkers. For many, the Askja caldera was the closest they would ever get to the Moon before actually going there. The group camped in rugged conditions, living in tents beside the milky blue Víti crater lake. Each day they trekked across lava fields and ash plains, taking field notes and practising sample collection. “It was an incredibly barren place,” remembered Apollo 15 astronaut David Scott. “No trees, no grass, no birds. Just rock and silence. It was perfect.” Nine Moonwalkers in Iceland Of the twelve men who would ultimately walk on the Moon between 1969 and 1972, nine trained in Iceland. They were: Neil Armstrong (Apollo 11) – The first man on the Moon trained in Iceland in 1967, studying volcanic geology around Askja. Buzz Aldrin (Apollo 11) – Armstrong’s crewmate also took part in the 1967 training sessions, learning field mapping and rock sampling techniques. Alan Bean (Apollo 12) – A participant in the 1965 field trip, Bean later credited his geological training in Iceland with helping him recognise important features on the lunar surface. Eugene Cernan (Apollo 17) – The last man to walk on the Moon, Cernan attended the 1965 session, years before commanding Apollo 17. David Scott (Apollo 15) – A member of the 1965 expedition, Scott’s time in Iceland proved invaluable for the Moon’s first extended geological exploration. Charles Duke (Apollo 16) – Duke, who also served as CAPCOM during Apollo 11, joined the 1967 field team. Edgar Mitchell (Apollo 14) – Participated in 1967, where he learned to identify volcanic and impact features. Harrison Schmitt (Apollo 17) – A trained geologist himself, Schmitt joined the 1967 Iceland fieldwork as both student and peer to NASA’s instructors. Pete Conrad (Apollo 12) – Though not always listed, records suggest Conrad trained with NASA’s geology teams in Icelandic-like field conditions prior to his mission. The other three moonwalkers—Alan Shepard, John Young, and James Irwin—trained elsewhere, particularly in the volcanic landscapes of Hawaii, Arizona, and Nevada. We went to Hawaii, to Iceland, great places to focus on volcanic rocks. The assumption was that on the Moon we would encounter tectonic formations principally, or remnants of volcanic and tectonic lava flows, that sort of thing. I was very tempted to sneak a piece of limestone up there with us on Apollo 11 and bring it back as a sample.”– Neil Armstrong, Apollo 11 Astronaut Learning to Think Like Geologists In Iceland, the astronauts weren’t just sightseeing. Their schedule was rigorous, combining field instruction with long days of hiking and observation. NASA instructors taught them how to “read the rocks” and recognise geological formations. The astronauts learned to distinguish between different lava types, spot signs of past eruptions, and record detailed descriptions that would later help scientists interpret the Moon’s history. One Icelandic geologist, Sigurður Þórarinsson, played a major role in the 1967 training. His knowledge of the region’s volcanic systems impressed NASA. “He could look at a landscape and tell you the story of every eruption,” recalled one astronaut. “We wanted to be able to do the same thing on the Moon.” Field practice included: Sample collection:  Using hammers, chisels, and tongs, the astronauts learned how to extract small but representative samples without contaminating them—vital for lunar geology. Documentation:  They practised describing rock textures, layering, and colour variations, and taking photographs to record context. Traverse planning:  Since Moon missions involved time-limited surface walks, astronauts practised navigating terrain quickly but efficiently. Team coordination:  Each pair of astronauts trained to communicate clearly—one often acted as the observer while the other collected samples. Harrison Schmitt later said that fieldwork in Iceland gave astronauts “a sense of how to move and think as field geologists, not just pilots.” That distinction mattered. On the Moon, there would be no second chances, every sample collected had to count. Askja: The Closest Place on Earth to the Moon The crown jewel of NASA’s Icelandic training sites was the Askja caldera, a vast volcanic depression formed by a massive eruption in the 19th century. Within it lay a smaller crater called Víti (“Hell”), filled with a vivid turquoise lake. Around it, the ground was littered with black volcanic glass and coarse ash—eerily similar to what lunar regolith would later prove to be. It’s no exaggeration to say Askja became a proving ground for the Apollo program. The astronauts practised traversing slopes, collecting samples, and working as teams under the supervision of geologists. A photograph taken there shows Neil Armstrong kneeling in the dust, hammer in hand, surrounded by lava fragments. His white helmet gleams in the weak northern light. Another image shows Buzz Aldrin crouched beside a fissure, peering into the earth like a scientist rather than a soldier of the Cold War. The local Icelanders were fascinated. Some guides and scientists joined the excursions, while others watched from afar, not yet aware that the men before them would soon make history. In later years, Icelanders would fondly recall how their remote island had hosted the most famous explorers of the 20th century. “We didn’t know at the time how big it was,” one resident from Mývatn later said. “They were polite, quiet men who looked at rocks all day. Then they went to the Moon.” One of my most memorable trips was to the volcanically active and very remote region of central Askja, Iceland, in July 1967. Known for its volcanic craters called calderas, this region had a very rocky terrain with black volcanic sand, as well as a large lake and hot springs. It was a misty, surreal place unlike anything I’d ever seen in my travels. And because we were there during the summer it seemed like the sun never set.” -Edgar Mitchell, Apollo 14 Astronaut From Lava to Lunar Soil The practical value of this training became clear during the Apollo missions. When astronauts began describing and sampling lunar rocks, their Icelandic experience showed. David Scott, who commanded Apollo 15, the first mission devoted heavily to lunar geology, was praised for the precision and detail of his observations. “He knew how to describe a rock in a way that made sense to scientists back on Earth,” said one NASA geologist. “That came straight from the field training.” Likewise, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin’s efficiency on Apollo 11, collecting 21.5 kilograms of samples in just over two hours, was no accident. They had practised similar sampling techniques in Iceland, learning to work fast and think systematically under time pressure. Apollo 17’s Harrison Schmitt, the only professional geologist to walk on the Moon, later reflected that Iceland’s barren landscapes had been “as close as any place on Earth could get to the lunar experience.” Even decades later, NASA scientists note that Iceland’s terrain helped shape their understanding of what to expect on the Moon. The parallels were uncanny: both surfaces were basaltic, heavily fractured, and largely shaped by volcanic processes. The People Behind the Scenes While the astronauts became household names, the scientists who trained them deserve equal recognition. Figures like Dr. Gene Shoemaker, Dr. Gordon Swann, and Iceland’s Sigurður Þórarinsson made the field trips a blend of science and exploration. Shoemaker, one of the founders of planetary geology, insisted that astronauts become more than just test pilots. “The Moon isn’t just a destination,” he said. “It’s a field site.” Icelandic collaborators provided not only logistical help but also geological expertise. They taught the Americans how to read volcanic layers and recognise lava tube formations. Some Icelandic students who assisted on the 1967 expedition went on to work in international geology themselves, inspired by the experience. The Legacy Lives On Fifty years after the Apollo missions, Iceland’s connection to space exploration hasn’t faded. In 2015, the town of Húsavík unveiled the Astronaut Monument outside its Exploration Museum, commemorating the 32 Apollo-era astronauts who trained in Iceland. Their names—including Armstrong, Aldrin, Bean, Cernan, and Schmitt—are engraved on polished stone. It’s a simple, powerful reminder that the path to the Moon once passed through a windswept volcanic island in the North Atlantic. In recent years, NASA has returned. The Artemis II crew—who will orbit the Moon in the coming years—completed geology training in Iceland, using many of the same locations the Apollo astronauts once did. The reasoning hasn’t changed: there is still no better analogue for lunar landscapes on Earth. Harrison Schmitt summed it up best when asked about Iceland’s role in space history: “It’s one of the few places where you can feel what it’s like to stand on another world without leaving this one.” Iceland’s Gift to the Space Age Iceland didn’t launch a rocket or build a spacecraft, yet it played an essential role in one of humanity’s greatest achievements. The lunar landings weren’t just triumphs of engineering—they were triumphs of training, observation, and curiosity. When Neil Armstrong stepped onto the Moon in July 1969 and described its surface as “fine and powdery,” he was speaking with the precision of a man who had studied volcanic ash in Iceland. When Buzz Aldrin picked up a rock, he did it with the careful hands of a field geologist who had learned to value every sample. The black deserts of Iceland prepared them for the grey deserts of the Moon. The lessons they learned there echo still, in every mission that seeks to understand other worlds by first understanding our own. Sources Exploration Museum, Húsavík – “Apollo Astronaut Training in Iceland”: https://www.explorationmuseum.com/astronaut-training NASA History Office – Apollo Geology Training Reports : https://ntrs.nasa.gov/api/citations/20190026783/downloads/20190026783.pdf “The Lunar and Other Extra-Terrestrial Landscapes of Iceland,” Hey Iceland Blog: https://www.heyiceland.is/blog/nanar/7292/the-lunar-and-other-extra-terrestrial-landscapes-of-iceland Stuck in Iceland Magazine – “Astronaut Training in Iceland: Discover New Worlds”: https://www.stuckiniceland.com/astronaut-training-in-iceland-get-ready-to-discover-new-worlds NASA Science – “Artemis II Crew Uses Iceland Terrain for Lunar Training”: https://science.nasa.gov/missions/artemis/nasas-artemis-ii-crew-uses-iceland-terrain-for-lunar-training Atlas Obscura – “Apollo Astronaut Training Memorial, Húsavík”: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/apollo-astronaut-training-memorial

Today, Halloween is often thought of as a very American affair, with trick-or-treating, supermarket costumes, and pumpkins on every doorstep. But if you look back to Europe in the early 20th century, you find a different picture. Between 1900 and 1930, Halloween on this side of the Atlantic was still closely tied to older folk customs, particularly in Ireland, Scotland, and parts of Britain, with echoes of Celtic and Christian traditions shaping the way people marked the night. This was a period when the holiday was less about commercial goods and more about bonfires, games, mischief, and superstition. In many communities, it was also a time to celebrate the harvest, court romance through fortune-telling, and honour old beliefs about the thin veil between the living and the dead. A Legacy of Samhain Halloween’s European roots lie in the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, which marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter. By the 20th century, the Christian church had long since overlaid this with All Saints’ and All Souls’ Days, but traces of Samhain lingered in folk practices. In rural Ireland and Scotland, people still lit bonfires on hillsides at the end of October, believing the flames offered protection against wandering spirits. In these areas, Halloween was not just an evening of fun but part of the yearly cycle of farming life. It was tied to the rhythms of harvest, the fear of the coming winter, and the hope for prosperity in the year ahead. Mischief in the Villages and Towns European Halloween was also associated with tricks and mischief. In Scotland, young people often went “guising,” dressing up in costumes and visiting neighbours to perform songs or rhymes in exchange for fruit, nuts, or small coins. Unlike modern trick-or-treating, the exchange required effort. A child had to sing, recite, or tell a joke to earn their reward. Pranks were also common. Knocking on doors and running away, rearranging gates, and covering windows with soot were favourite tricks among the young. Reports from Scottish and Irish villages in the early 1900s note that groups of boys sometimes took their antics too far, damaging property or causing sleepless nights for entire streets. This mirrors the complaints found in English towns, where “Mischief Night” activities often stretched across late October. Fortune-Telling and Courtship Games Perhaps the most distinctive part of European Halloween in the early 20th century was the persistence of fortune-telling games. These were especially popular among young women, who saw the holiday as a time to gain hints about future romance. In Ireland, barmbrack, a type of fruit loaf, was baked with small objects hidden inside. Each item had a symbolic meaning: a ring foretold marriage, a coin suggested wealth, a piece of cloth hinted at misfortune. Families would cut and share the loaf, each member discovering their “fortune” in the slice they received. Apple-based games were widespread too. Bobbing for apples was a familiar sight, but other variations existed. In some parts of Britain, apples were hung from strings and players had to try to bite them without using their hands. Another tradition involved placing apples in water and attempting to spear them with a fork held between the teeth. Success in these games was thought to promise good luck in love. Nuts also carried symbolic weight. In Scotland, two hazelnuts were placed side by side in the fire, each representing a potential couple. If the nuts burned steadily together, it meant a lasting bond. If they popped apart, the romance was doomed. These games added a playful, flirtatious element to gatherings and ensured that Halloween was remembered not only for mischief but also for courtship. Bonfires and Community Gatherings In rural parts of Ireland and Scotland, bonfires remained an important part of Halloween well into the early 20th century. These fires were not simply decorative. They were thought to protect against evil spirits and bad luck, echoing the ancient Samhain rituals where people lit great communal fires and carried embers home to relight their hearths. Children and adults alike gathered around these bonfires for singing, storytelling, and games. In some places, stones were placed in the fire to represent family members. If a stone was missing in the ashes the next morning, it was taken as a bad omen for the year ahead. These gatherings created a strong sense of community, particularly in rural villages where Halloween was one of the most anticipated events of the year. Costumes and Guising Costumes in early 20th-century Europe were simple and often homemade. Children disguised themselves with masks, old clothes, or sheets, and went door to door to perform for their neighbours. This practice, known as guising, was especially strong in Scotland and parts of Ireland. Unlike the American practice that developed later, guising was less about demanding treats and more about entertaining in exchange for tokens of appreciation. Masks were often crude, sometimes made of paper or cloth. They carried a sense of mystery, with the disguise adding to the atmosphere of the night. The purpose was not always to look frightening, but to conceal identity, play a role, or invoke figures from folklore. Food and Seasonal Fare Halloween in Europe was also tied closely to food traditions. Beyond barmbrack in Ireland, colcannon, a dish of mashed potatoes with kale or cabbage, was served at Halloween gatherings. Small charms might be hidden in the dish in the same way as in the fruit loaf, each carrying symbolic meaning. Roasted nuts, apples, and parkin (a type of gingerbread cake) were common in Britain. In Scotland, sowans, a kind of porridge made from oat husks, was a traditional Halloween dish. These foods reflected the season, making use of harvest ingredients while also adding an element of fun through hidden charms. The Influence of America By the 1920s, European Halloween was beginning to feel the pull of American influence. Immigrants from Ireland and Scotland had carried their traditions across the Atlantic, where they evolved into the more commercial Halloween that we recognise today. From the United States, postcards, decorations, and new ideas about costumes began filtering back to Europe. In Britain, Halloween parties in the 1920s and 1930s began to feature more decorative touches, often inspired by the American market. Shops sold paper lanterns, masks, and themed decorations. However, the holiday never became as commercially dominant in Europe as it did in the United States. Instead, it retained a balance of old folk practices and new influences, resulting in a holiday that looked slightly different depending on where you stood. A Holiday of Continuity and Change Between 1900 and 1930, Halloween in Europe remained deeply tied to tradition. Bonfires, fortune-telling, guising, and seasonal foods all kept their place in communities, particularly in Ireland and Scotland. At the same time, the holiday was slowly changing. American ideas about parties and decorations began to appear, and the first stirrings of commercial Halloween reached European shores. It was a period of continuity and change, where old customs lingered but new possibilities emerged. Today, when pumpkins and plastic costumes dominate, it is easy to forget that only a century ago Halloween in Europe was less about consumer goods and more about gathering around fires, peeling apples for omens, and reciting rhymes at neighbours’ doors. Sources Sir James George Frazer, The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion  (abridged edition, 1922) – covers Celtic seasonal rites, including Samhain. Ruth Edna Kelley, The Book of Hallowe’en  (1919) – one of the first books in English devoted entirely to Halloween traditions, with focus on Ireland, Scotland, and America. Alexander Montgomerie Bell, Folklore of Scotland  (1913) – includes accounts of guising, nut-burning games, and Halloween charms. The Scotsman  (Edinburgh), 1 November 1905 – reports of Halloween mischief and guising in Scottish towns. Irish Independent  (Dublin), 31 October 1927 – coverage of Halloween bonfires and barmbrack customs. Marie Trevelyan, Folk-Lore and Folk-Stories of Wales  (1909) – includes references to Halloween divination practices in rural Wales. T. F. Thiselton-Dyer, British Popular Customs: Present and Past  (1900 reprint) – catalogues traditional Halloween games and superstitions across Britain. Dennison Manufacturing Co., Bogie Book  (first issued 1912, annual editions through the 1920s) – though American, influential in shaping decorative Halloween traditions that began to reach Europe by the late 1920s. Steve Roud, The English Year  (2006) – modern folklorist’s overview, with references back to early 20th-century practices. Ronald Hutton, The Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britain  (Oxford University Press, 1996) – provides historical context on Halloween as celebrated in Britain and Ireland.

Few people had knowledge of the inner workings of Uganda during Idi Amin's brutal regime, one such person that navigated this dangerous world was 'Major' Bob Astles, a British-born confidant of Amin, held a position in close proximity to the epicentre of terror. As Amin's principal aide, Astles operated as a versatile figure, assuming roles spanning espionage, diplomacy, and even smuggling. Within the complex web of Amin's regime, he emerged as perhaps the most reviled Caucasian individual amidst the African populace. Despite his integral role, Astles retained a distinct persona, characterized by his Cockney accent and distinctive walrus moustache. Having resided in Uganda since the colonial era, he endeared himself to visiting journalists, facilitating access to Amin and serving as a conduit for information from Nairobi. However, Astles adamantly disavowed any knowledge of the massacres, pogroms, and executions perpetrated under Amin's regime. Instead, Astles painted a picture of Amin as a genial figure, radiating benevolence and an earnest desire for universal adoration. This portrayal starkly contrasts with the grim reality of Amin's regime, characterized by widespread human rights abuses and unspeakable atrocities. If we had managed to get Idi Amin, Bob Astles would be second on the list, If there were a coup or a revolution he would not have a chance - A Ugandan exile The rank of "Major" was awarded to Astles by Amin for being in charge of the anti-smuggling unit which ran fast armed boats on Lake Victoria. His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hajj Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of all the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular. Legend has it that during Obote's directive for Amin, then holding the position of second-in-command in the Army, to besiege the palace of the Kabaka of Baganda, Astles offered strategic counsel on orchestrating the assault and framing the Kabaka by planting weapons within the palace. Following Obote's ousting in a coup led by Amin in 1971, Astles purportedly aligned himself with Amin's cause. Assuming the role of security adviser, Astles entrenched himself in Amin's favor, providing counsel on matters ranging from diplomatic relations with Britain and the United States to security measures and economic policies, all while endeavouring to cultivate a favourable public image for Amin. Throughout the darkest era of repression, marked by the massacre of Christians and the unearthing of fabricated conspiracies, Astles remained discreetly in the shadows. Ugandan exiles maintain that his association with the State Research Bureau, which he is said to have established, implicates him significantly in these atrocities. The Bureau, reputed to be among the most ruthless intelligence agencies globally, is believed by many to have perpetrated these horrors under Astles' influence. Major Bob and Amin During the rupture with Britain, when James Callaghan, then serving as the British Foreign and Commonwealth Secretary, intervened to save the life of Dennis Hills—sentenced to death by Amin for critical remarks in his book "The White Pumpkin"—Bob Astles remained discreetly in the background. What did Astles gain from his allegiance to Amin? Undoubtedly, substantial wealth—he possessed a 100-acre pineapple plantation along the lakeside, a coffee estate, and a fleet of cars. He erected a lavish mansion near Amin's residence on the lakeshore, situated on his wife's property. However, what Astles could never attain was peace of mind or security. He lived at the mercy of Amin's caprices and faced the constant threat of "disappearance," akin to other Europeans in Uganda. As one journalist based in Nairobi remarked at the time, "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes if Amin were ousted." Nevertheless, the tide was turning. Following the Uganda–Tanzania War, Astles fled Uganda by traversing Lake Victoria in a canoe to reach Kenya on 10th April 1979. The subsequent day witnessed Amin's flight to Libya, Kampala's capture by the combined Tanzanian Army and the Uganda National Liberation Army, and the termination of Amin's rule over Uganda. Upon arriving in Kisumu, Astles surrendered to Kenyan authorities, who promptly detained him. During his detention in Kenya, Astles attempted suicide by leaping from a third-story window in Nairobi. After enduring several years in a Ugandan prison, Astles returned to Britain in 1985 with the intention of vindicating his reputation by conducting extensive interviews with Paul Valley of The Times. Read an extract of the article below - Bob Astles is a man of strange contradictions. ‘I never had the influence with Amin which people made out,’ Mr Astles said. ‘I saw him fairly infrequently.’ Moments later he was boasting of their intimacy. ‘I was the only person he could trust because I never asked him for anything – no fine house, no privileges, no Mercedes-Benz. I was the only one, perhaps because I was white, who he could be sure was not after his job and his life. If Idi Amin ever had a sincere friend, it was Bob Astles. ‘I was the only person who could cope with him. The other members of his Government would phone me and say: ‘Can you come quickly – he is out of control.’ ‘I would go and let him shout and rail at me and then I would try to calm him down. I was one of the few people he trusted,’ Mr Astles returned to Britain this week stateless, forced to renounce his adopted Ugandan citizenship as a condition of his release from the country’s top security Luzira jail. He believes he had plenty of evidence to clear himself of all the allegations made against him. The most notorious of these are complicity in the murder of Uganda’s Archbishop Luwoom, British-born businessman Robert Scanlon, four European journalists, and the Kenya businessman Bruce McKenzie, whose light aircraft was blown out of the air by a bomb after Amin had presented him with a parting gift of a stuffed animal head. He is also often accused of having an influential role in the State Research Bureau, the most ruthless of Amin’s death squads killed about 7,000 people, but human rights organizations put it as high as 200,000. ‘I have answers to all this,’ Mr Astles says. ‘I have been proved guilty of nothing. I will produce the evidence.’ The two men met in the Congo in 1964 when Mr Astles was asked to ferry arms for the secret service of the then President Milton Obote. ‘Amin was an impressive man,’ Mr Astles recall; ‘a dedicated soldier, teetotaller and an excellent leader of men. He was a considerate officer, concerned for the welfare of soldiers and civilians.’ Having joined Britain’s colonial civil service in 1952, Mr Astles was posted to Uganda where he was a supervisor of works for 11 years. When Uganda became independent in 1962 he used his British government gratuities to buy an old aircraft and founded Uganda Aviation, forerunner of the national airline. In 1963 he joined Uganda Television and was promoted to manager, a job he held until 1971 when Amin seized power from the Obote Government. Amin asked him to continue at Uganda Television but, as a supporter of Obote, Astle refused and was shortly jailed in Makindye prison. Twelve weeks later he was taken, shackled, to his old televison station for a public interrogation by the State Bureau. ‘They made one mistake,’ Mr Astles said. ‘They told me how long the programme was to last and let me glimpse the questions which Amin personally had drawn up. I was able to spin out the argument on the first two so that they ran out of time before they could get to the tricky ones.’ Amused, Amin released the Englishman to his farm on the shores of Lake Victoria, where Astles stayed for four years until 1975 when Amin asked him to put Uganda Aviation back on its feet. He claims that for the next four years he went continually in and out of favour with the quixotic dictator, occupying a variety of posts – leader of the anti-corruption squad, special advisor for British affairs, and finally manager of the Cape Town Villas Hotel. Life with Idi Amin Dada, according to Mr Astles was full of mad gestures. It was particularly chilling that, though they sprang from insanity, there was a cold calculation about them. ‘Amin was always, even in his early days, capable of controlling and exploiting this part of his personality,’ said Mr Astles. ‘It was a consistent tactic. When the phone rang, you never knew whether it was going to be: ‘How are you my old friend’ or, ‘You are a subversive, you are a spy plotting against Uganda.’ He pretended to be furious, but he had not lost his temper, it was part of a deliberate plan, as was his buffoonery. Amin once took Mr Astles and two girl friends for a jaunt in an amphibious car that was designed to be eased gently into the water from a beach. Amin, laughing, drove if off a 4ft-high rock ledge into Lake Victoria. It sank. Laughter turned to fury. ‘He said it was my fault because I hadn’t closed my door properly.’ Amin’s unpredictability was reflected, too, in his foreign policy, where Mr Astles ofted acted as an unofficial intermediary with foreign powers. ‘In 1978 Amin decided to go to war with Tanzania. It was utterly wrong and having got into a position he couldn’t get out of, he forced the Arabs to assist in the war. One of the countries most reluctant to help was Libya, but Amin told Colonel Gadaffi that if he didn’t send assistance then Uganda would turn to Israel for help. Gadaffi reluctantly sent troops. ‘There was always good and bad, some and insane in Idi Amin. He was both a ruthless killer. But the buffoonery which was at first a clever tactic, eventually slipped into a kind of wild irrationality which became highly dangerous. ‘The liquor was the first problem. He began drinking in the Congo. Brandy was his drink – he developed a real taste for it. Soon he was drinking brandy with his breakfast. As the years went by he became a maniac when he was drunk. The alcohol began to eat into his brain; it caused him great pain and he would swallow Aspros by the handful. He went for treatment over the years to Cairo, Moscow and eventually Israel.’ ‘The other corrupting influence was the power. In African politics everybody wants to be top man. When you get there you know that; everybody is out to kill you, so in defence of power you become more and more ruthless. That is what happened to Amin.’ He was, Mr Astles says, suspicious to the point of paranoia of everyone around him. ‘On several occasions he accused me of trying to kill him. In the end it became ridiculous.’ ‘Sometimes I was like a friend to Amin; other times he just wanted me around like a dog – I was a sort of court jester. Our relationship became increasingly strained.’ Mr Astles belives there were at least four attempts by Amin to kill him. The first was in 1976: ‘I was head of the anti-corruption office and 30 major cases were investigated with the aim of recovering money. But powerful emines were made and they fed Amin’s suspicion of me.’ Mr Astles was arrested and sent to the Nagura Public Safety Unit. The anti-corruption office was sealed and 12 volumes of investigation documents disappeared. His release three weeks later coincided with the attempt on Amin’s life. As the State Research Bureau men came to arrest him, he escaped to Kenya in a small boat. The secret police, fearing to report failure claimed he had drowned and Amin announced his death. He feld to England but in the meantime the Israelis staged their raid on Entebbe airport to rescue their hijacked nationals. Mr Astles returned to Uganda to find Amin accusing him of passing on useful information to the Israelis. Mr Astles believes a second attempt on his life was reconnoitred by Amin himself. The Ugandan leader arrived one day made a close inspection of Mr Astles’ bedroom and bathroom, muttering about the state of the paintwork. Mr Astles was subsequently trapped by armed men in the bathroom where Amin had ascertained the window did not open. Mr Astles had, however, taken the precaution of sawing through the hinges to make an escape route. Lying low until Amin’s mood had changed, Mr Astles reappeared with a story about being kidnapped by coffee-smugglers and ritually marked with their tribal scars. The third attempt, he says, came in 1978 when he was ambushed on the road from Entebbe in a large and well-planned attack. So sure was Amin of its success that he phone Mrs Astles to commiserate and tell her the body could be collected from the city mortuary. In fact Mr Astles had escaped into a military post whose commander turned away his pursuers. In a fourth attempt, also an ambushed, Mr Astles told of escaping by car after one of his bodyguards had been killed. When Amin finally fell in 1979, Astle was well-prepared and as the Tanzanian Army entered the country, fled once more to Kenya by motorboat. There he was promptly arrested by the Kenyan Special Branch and the new Ugandan government shortly began extradition proceedings. Astles spent six years in Uganda’s Luzira maximum security prison after his extradition. ‘Six years is a long time on a hard floor, with no bed and only two blankets’, he observed. Like the other inmates, he relied on a system of smuggling to survive. ‘We got letters in, food, newspapers, radios. We could get things out that way, too.’ Luzira Maximum Security Prison The inmates of Mr Astle’s block elected him their section leader. ‘My job was to keep the peace between the detainees and the staff, and to try to prevent escapes. I had five in my section; in one I had to slam the main door to prevent a mass escape.’ (As a result he was not well-liked among the prisoners, according to one fellow-inmate who is now a Uganda government soldier. ‘He was what the English call a nark. He informed upon other prisoners. He had his own network of informers. He was feared but it brought him many privileges. He virtually ran the place.’) Mr Astles says he used his time there to collect information on the crimes of the Amin regime. ‘I could not have been put in a better place to do it!’ He says he has smuggled out depositions from many of the prisoners to lawyers in London to be published in the event of his death. The worst moment in his six years came, he says, just after the coup in July this year which brought and end to Dr Milton Obote’s second period as president of Uganda. The new military leaders had announced and amnesty. ‘I had been cleared for release along with the other 2,600 and I packed ready to go. We assembled. Then at the last moment I was told: ‘You are a foreigner. You are not to be released now.’ I was devastated,’ Mr Astles said. His wife Mary Ssenkatuuka, a Ugandan national who is still in the country, obtained a writ of habeas corpus, but the Government ignored the summons from the Ugandan High Court because, according to Mr Astles, one of the new Military Council’s factions, consisting largely of Amin’s former men, feared the courtroom would give Mr Astles a forum in which to reveal their former activities. However three days after the court’s deadline expired a senior member of the Military Council offered Mr Astles his freedom if he revoked his Ugandan citizenship and agreed to leave the country without speaking to anyone – an opportunity he seized. Mr Astles realizes that the most insistent question he must now answer is why he chose to remain in Amin’s regime when he saw its hideous nature. His reply is that he was caught up in events, and it would have been dangerous to refuse the presidential diktat. ‘You just do not do that sort of thing in Africa. To run would have been cowardice, and that is something Africans never forgive. ‘It wasn’t me I was protecting but my wife and two children and the people who worked for me. They would have been imprisoned, tortured or murdered if I had stayed away for long’. ‘Besides, I genuinely felt that by being there I could moderate his excesses’. When Amin was once determined to humiliate the foreign diplomatic corps in Kampala, he summoned them all to a presidential rally which he insisted on holding in the remote north of the country, according to Mr Astles. He then contacted all the airlines and told them to make sure there were no seats on planes available to diplomats that day. They had to drive for six hours and the Chinese delegation even had to walk the last 10 miles because their Mercedes-Benz broke down. ‘Just before he was due to make his address, the Big Man summoned me and asked what I thought of his speech,’ says Mr Astles. ‘It was four sentences, written in Ki-Swahilli. They said: ‘Africans like chickens. Every African wants to own his own chicken. Africans will not allow Russians to come to their country and steal their chickens. Let the Russians remember that.’ That was all. He delivered it and went, laughing. The diplomats, especially the Russian delegation, were furious.’ ‘There was a lot of whining about the time when Amin made 14 white men kneel at his feed and swear allegiance – but what they were really annoyed about was the fact that he outwitted them.’ says Mr Astles in explaining the affair. ‘In Uganda at that time – around 1975 – there were a lot of white men without work because of problems between them and Immigration. The system was that they were allowed work permits for only two tours of duty; most of them had been in Uganda for years and were on their third. The only way they could work was to become Ugandan citizens. ‘Fourteen of them approached me. I said I would ask Amin. When I did he said: Yes, but I must have my piece of cake out of it’. I was not clear what he meant.’ Tongue-in-check, Amin told Mr Astles that the only way he could get so many naturalizations past his Defence Council (which actually lived in fear of him) was if the white men agreed to join the Ugandan Army Reserve; such loyalty would have to be rewarded with citizenship, he said. ‘All 14 agreed. Not one dropped out. After the next meeting of the Defence Council, Amin ordered the 14 to appeal on the veranda surrounded by all the brigadiers and colonels of the council. ‘He proclaimed their citizenship. Great brass ink-trays were brought out and the white men were finger-printed. ‘Now come the oath,’ said Amin. ‘Kneel and swear.’ ‘The whites were furious, but he had tricked them good and proper. They had got what they wanted. Now they had no option to give him what he wanted. That is what really galled them.’ Bob Astles tells how Kay, the most powerful of the five wives of Idi Amin, died under the knife of a doctor who was performing an illegal abortion. The man was so terrified that he chopped her body into pieces to dispose of it more easily. Amin with his wife, Kay He had double reason to be afraid- The doctor was the illicit lover of the President’s wife and, as Kay had been out of favour with Amin for some time, it was clear the despot would soon discover who had made the woman pregnant. The doctor put the dismembered pieces into a sack, went to the door of his surgery and found it surrounded by Amin’s State Research Bureau police, who had been tailing the woman. In a panic, the doctor administered poison to his wife, his five children and himself. He was dead by the time the secret policemen entered. Amin was furious, not at the murder, but at being cheated of revenge of the affrontery of a presidential cuckolding. He ordered her body to sewn back together and laid on a bed like a grotesque mummy. Amin summoned his remaining wives and their children, who numbered around 50, and made them view the ghastly cadaver. ‘See,’ he said with relish, ‘the judgement of Allah on a Christian woman.’ This interview was conducted in 1985, Major Bob lived in Wimbledon until his death in 2012. Those that are familiar with the film The Last King of Scotland will be familiar with a dramatised version of events. The doctor in the film, played by James McAvoy is loosely based on Astles. However, the film doesn't fully portray the true Amin (if there's such a thing) his rule was characterised by rampant human rights abuses, including political repression, ethnic persecution and extrajudicial killings, as well as nepotism, corruption, and gross economic mismanagement. International observers and human rights groups estimate that between 100,000] and 500,000 people were killed under his regime.

Every so often a film comes along that changes the way you look at cinema and shocks the very foundations of the film industry. 'Who Killed Captain Alex' is just one of those films. Produced by Wakaliwood studios it was filmed in Wakaliga, a slum in Uganda's capital of Kampala by Its founder and director Nabwana I.G.G., Uganda's Quentin Tarantino. Nabwana's formative years were spent amidst the tumultuous era of Idi Amin's rule in the 1970s Uganda. While the nation grappled with violence and ethnic strife, the land owned by Nabwana's grandfather provided a haven of relative tranquility. His passion for filmmaking ignited from cherished memories of watching reruns of shows like Hawaii Five-O and Logan's Run, coupled with a deep-seated admiration for Hollywood action flicks and martial arts masterpieces from his youth. Despite never setting foot in a cinema, Nabwana eagerly absorbed accounts of newly released films described by his brothers and friends. It wasn't until 2005, following a stint in a computer course on video editing and a study of filmmaking tutorials, that Nabwana established Ramon Film Productions (later becoming Wakaliwood), named after his grandmothers Rachael and Monica. The studio makes pr ops and jibs out of DIY parts, which commentators have compared to the early days of Hollywood. Among the studio's props is a full sized helicopter frame that has become a staple in all Wakaliwood films. Nabwana shoots and edits his films using old computers that he assembles. Squibs and theatrical blood, used to simulate bloody gunshots, are made from condoms filled with red food colouring an d tied to fishing lines before being taped to the actors' chests. Nabwana had previously used cow blood, but was forced to discontinue its use after one of his actors developed brucellosis . Upon a film's completion, the actors sell DVD copies door-to-door in a one-week time window to ensure they make money before the film is bootlegged Who Killed Captain Alex? In 2010 Wakaliwood released 'Who Killed Captain Alex' which quickly gained viral notoriety for being a no-budget action film , produced on a reported budget of under $200 (the producer says the budget was actually $85). The original version of t he film was lost due to power outages and "strained conditions" according to Nabwana, while the surviving version of Who Killed Captain Alex? released online includes commentary from the first English-speaking "Video Joker" that includes running gags about the characters (see above). I'm going to give an outline of the plot now, so if you want to watch it and don't want spoilers, stop reading here! Captain Alex, one of the most decorated officers in the Uganda People's Defence Force, is sent out to capture the crime boss Richard and his Tiger Mafia, a criminal organisation that controls the drug trade of the city of Kampala. Alex sets up camp in the village of Wakaliga. After doing so, his soldiers go to a bar where a fight ensues between them and the villagers. Alex breaks it up and takes them out of the bar. Alex and his soldiers locate the Tiger Mafia during a drug deal and infiltrate it. In the following fight, Richard's brother is captured. Richard berates his men, shoots his wife Ritah in his fit of rage, and then swears revenge against Alex. He orders a spy to seduce Alex in his tent and sends the mafia to capture him later that night. However, Alex is killed by an unknown source, leaving the mafia and his soldiers in disarray. Captain Alex's brother, a Ugandan shaolin monk named Bruce U arrives at Kampala the next morning in search of the murderer and finds a Tiger Mafia card in Alex's tent. Elsewhere, the mafia tells Richard that Alex is dead; Richard becomes irate because he wanted Alex brought to him. Bruce goes to a shaolin temple where he fights the other martial artist until the master appears. Bruce asks the master for help on his quest for vengeance, but the latter declines. Bruce goes to the forest to train for his quest on his own. After sleeping in a tree, he discovers Ritah, who has amnesia after being shot by her husband. Bruce, unaware that she was part of the Tiger Mafia, comes to her aid. After training in a nearby lake, he discovers that Ritah was a member of the mafia due to a tattoo with the mafia's initials. Ritah regains her memory and agrees to take Bruce to the Tiger Mafia base. The UPDF hires a new military leader who formulates a plan to attack the mafia's base. However, his plan is overheard by Richard through the phone of a turncoat police officer. Richard gathers the mafia at the base to prepare and sends one of his men to steal an attack helicopter to bomb Kampala to serve as a distraction for the government. Bruce invades the mafia's base, but is captured and brought to Richard, who orders three of his men to fight him with combat skills. Bruce holds his own for some time but is eventually overwhelmed. The military bombs the base with a helicopter, forcing the mafia into a forest where they fight the UPDF. After the chaotic fighting, the entire mafia is dead and only Richard remains. He strips the gun off one of his deceased men, kills a number of soldiers, and takes down the military helicopter but is eventually shot and captured. The Ugandan government places Kampala under martial law, and the film abruptly ends as the Video Joker thanks the audience for watching. More recent Wakaliwood productions In March 2015, Wakaliwood initiated a Kickstarter campaign with a goal of raising US$160 for their movie Tebaatusasula: Ebola. Remarkably, the studio garnered over US$13,000 from 374 supporters by April 1st. Tebaatusasula: Ebola acts as both a direct sequel to Who Killed Captain Alex? and a reinterpretation of the 2010 film Tebaatusasula, which was unfortunately lost due to a significant power surge damaging the hard drive containing the film. Later that year, in September, the Wakaliwood team participated in the Nyege Nyege Festival in Jinja, where they spent two days filming Attack on Nyege Nyege, getting festival attendees as extras.

What do you get when you cross Hollywood, VHS tapes, and a bag of flour? If you were in Ghana in the late 1980s or 90s, the answer was pure, chaotic brilliance, hand-painted movie posters so wild, so bold, and so anatomically impossible, they’re now considered collectible art. Welcome to the world of Ghanaian movie posters. They’re gory. They’re vibrant. They’re often hilarious. And they’re unlike anything you’ve ever seen. The Birth of a Bizarre Art Form Back in the 1980s, Ghana was in the midst of a cinematic revolution. While most of the Western world had access to video rental shops and cable channels, in Ghana, things worked a little differently. Imported VHS tapes were shown at mobile cinemas — makeshift screenings often set up in open-air markets, community halls, or anywhere a crowd could gather. Enter the travelling cinema operators, armed with a television set, a generator, a VCR… and a bag of posters that didn’t actually exist. See, most of these movies came without any promotional materials. No glossy posters. No slick advertising. So what did they do? They hired local artists to paint them . Often working with nothing but word-of-mouth summaries or bootleg VHS covers as reference, these artists let their imaginations run completely wild — and the results were absolutely glorious. Painted on Flour Sacks, Fuelled by Imagination The posters were typically painted on used flour sacks, sewn together and primed for colour. These weren’t just any flour sacks either — they were durable, easy to roll up, and ready for reuse. And the designs? Let’s just say they didn’t rely too heavily on accuracy. Sylvester Stallone  often had twice the muscles. Freddy Krueger  was sometimes joined by snakes for no apparent reason. Terminator  had glowing eyes, extra arms, and sometimes a bazooka, just for good measure. It didn’t matter if the movie was a romantic comedy or a horror flick — there was always  blood. Always at least one exploding head. And if you were lucky, a helicopter bursting into flames somewhere in the background. So Bad They’re Good — and Then Some At first glance, these posters might just seem like bad art. But there’s a raw charm to them — a punk energy that doesn’t care about realism or proportions. A kind of outsider art that merges pop culture with folklore, action with absurdity, and makes every film feel like a blood-soaked fever dream. In some posters, you’d swear the artist hadn’t even seen the film (and truthfully, many hadn’t). They often worked from second-hand descriptions or low-quality VHS box art, with creative liberties taken liberally. What mattered most was grabbing attention. And it worked. “These posters were part of the marketing strategy,” said Ernie Wolfe, a collector and curator who helped bring these artworks to international galleries. “They were designed to get people to come to the screenings — and if that meant making the movie look crazier than it actually was, so be it.” Cult Status and Global Recognition While they started as practical tools for cinema promotion, the posters gradually became art objects in their own right. In the early 2000s, international art collectors began taking notice. Exhibitions of Ghanaian movie posters began appearing in galleries in New York, London, Berlin, and Tokyo. The very posters once stapled to market walls were now being framed and auctioned off for thousands of dollars. One of the most famous collectors, Wolfgang Held, even described them as “the African equivalent of underground comic book art.” Artists like Joe Mensah , Heavy J , and Stoger  have since become cult icons among poster enthusiasts. Their work is now appreciated not just for its aesthetic — but for what it represents: ingenuity, adaptation, and a fierce kind of visual storytelling. Highlights From the Genre Here are just a few favourites from the genre that perfectly capture the “so bad it’s good” energy: “Terminator 2”  – Arnie’s face is melting, he’s shirtless, and he’s riding a jet ski that doesn’t appear in the film. “Evil Dead”  – Picture Ash but with a massive machine gun, a six-pack, and a demon emerging from his chest. “Rocky IV”  – Stallone is in boxing gloves and  holding an Uzi, punching a guy who’s already on fire. “Predator”  – The alien creature is ten feet tall, has five heads, and breathes fire. It’s clear that accuracy wasn’t the point. The goal was excitement — and by that metric, they succeeded tenfold. Why They Matter Today These posters are more than just curiosities. They’re a glimpse into how global pop culture was interpreted and reimagined in West Africa. They show us what happens when traditional art practices collide with Hollywood cinema, in a setting with limited resources but unlimited creativity. They also stand as symbols of resilience. With minimal tools and even less information, Ghanaian artists created an unforgettable visual language — one that still fascinates designers, filmmakers, and collectors to this day. And let’s be honest: in an age of Photoshop perfection, there’s something deeply refreshing about artwork that dares to be weird, off-kilter, and full of personality. Final Thoughts Hand-painted Ghanaian movie posters may be low-budget, but they’re high-impact. They’re messy, macabre, and magnificently over-the-top. And that’s exactly why people can’t stop looking at them. So the next time you see a dull, corporate movie poster at your local cinema, just imagine what a Ghanaian artist might have done with it — and wish, for just a moment, that you were standing in a dusty market square with a cold Fanta, a plastic chair, and the promise of carnage on VHS. Sources: Deadly Prey Gallery – “Hand-Painted Movie Posters from Ghana” – https://www.deadlypreygallery.com CNN Style – “Why Ghana’s movie posters are among the world’s most striking” – https://edition.cnn.com/style/article/ghana-hand-painted-movie-posters/index.html BBC Culture – “The wild art of Ghana’s hand-painted movie posters” – https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20210811-the-wild-art-of-ghanas-hand-painted-movie-posters Hyperallergic – “Hand-Painted Ghanaian Movie Posters from the Golden Age of Video” – https://hyperallergic.com/691648/hand-painted-ghanaian-movie-posters/ The Guardian – “African movie posters that reinvent Hollywood” – https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2014/mar/19/ghanaian-hand-painted-movie-posters-in-pictures Artsy – “How Ghana’s Hand-Painted Movie Posters Became Global Collector’s Items” – https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-ghanas-hand-painted-movie-posters-became-global-collectors-items Atlas Obscura – “The Hand-Painted Movie Posters of Ghana” – https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/the-hand-painted-movie-posters-of-ghana

Walk down Camden High Street in 2007 and you might have caught a glimpse of her — black beehive, ballet flats, tattoos showing through her Fred Perry top, cigarette in hand. Amy Winehouse didn’t need security or a limo. She’d stroll past the kebab shops and market stalls like any local, waving at people she knew, ducking into The Hawley Arms  or The Good Mixer  where someone always had her favourite drink waiting. “She’d walk in and the whole pub would light up,” said barmaid Clare Caldwell. “She’d shout, ‘Alright, my love?’ and give you this grin that made you feel like the most important person in the world.” That was Camden Amy. Not the celebrity, not the headline. Just the girl who’d sing along to the jukebox, call the staff her “family,” and end up behind the bar pouring drinks for strangers. Camden: Her Kingdom Amy first moved to Camden around 2003, not long after Frank  came out. The area had a long history of attracting artists and eccentrics, it was where punk met soul, where goths and jazz musicians shared the same pubs. It was gritty, noisy, and perfect for someone like her. She rented a flat on Jeffrey’s Place, later moving to Camden Square, a short walk from Regent’s Canal. It was there, in that little North London corner, that she created the world of Back to Black . “Amy loved Camden because it didn’t judge her,” said her mother Janis Winehouse. “It let her be herself. She didn’t have to explain who she was.” In Camden she could be anonymous and adored at the same time. People looked out for her, not because she was famous, but because she was one of them. If she wandered into The Dublin Castle , the barman would tell the crowd, “Oi, let her have a drink in peace.” The Hawley Arms Stories Ask anyone who worked at The Hawley Arms  between 2004 and 2008 and they’ll tell you they have an Amy story. There was the night she jumped behind the bar and started pouring pints. “She wasn’t messing about,” one bartender laughed. “She’d serve customers properly, ring it up on the till, then shout, ‘Next!’ She loved it.” Another night, after a few drinks, she decided the pub needed music. Someone handed her a mic and she broke into an impromptu version of Monkey Man  by Toots and the Maytals. The entire bar joined in. “It was like watching lightning,” said a regular. “You couldn’t believe it was just happening in front of you.” She treated the staff like friends. If someone had a birthday, Amy would bring cupcakes. When the pub suffered a devastating fire in 2008, she turned up with a tray of homemade brownies for the clean-up crew and later donated money to help rebuild it. “She cried when she saw the damage,” said owner Ruth Powys. “She said, ‘We’ll get it back, babe. Don’t you worry.’” Even after she became an international star, Amy refused to drink anywhere else. She’d turn down VIP clubs and head straight to the Hawley, where her friends were. “She didn’t want velvet ropes or champagne service,” her friend Juliette Ashby recalled. “She wanted beer, music, and a good laugh.” Neighbours and Night Walks Amy’s neighbours on Camden Square remember her as both quiet and kind. She was known for leaving little notes through doors, thanking people if they looked after her cats while she was away. “She was lovely,” said one neighbour to The Telegraph . “She’d knock on the door, all polite, asking if she could borrow milk or sugar. You’d forget for a moment who she was.” She often walked the streets at night when she couldn’t sleep. Locals would see her wandering along the canal, headphones on, humming melodies under her breath. Sometimes she’d stop to chat with strangers sitting on the benches, asking them about their lives. “She was so curious,” said musician Zalon Thompson, who sang backing vocals for her. “She’d talk to anyone, buskers, shopkeepers, whoever was around. She loved real people.” Writing Back to Black Many of Amy’s songs were written in Camden pubs and cafés. She’d bring a notebook everywhere. “She’d sit in the corner of the Hawley, scribbling on napkins,” said one of the bar staff. “Sometimes she’d get up mid-conversation, grab a pen and go, ‘Hang on, that’s a lyric.’” Mark Ronson remembered walking through Camden with her before recording sessions. “We’d pop into shops or grab a coffee, and she’d start humming these melodies. She had it all in her head before we ever went into the studio.” Amy's Camden House Songs like Love Is a Losing Game  and You Know I’m No Good  came out of those days. They weren’t polished; they were lived. You can almost hear Camden’s pulse in the background of those tracks — the clink of pint glasses, the laughter, the rain on the pavement. Friends, Food and Felines Amy’s Camden home wasn’t glamorous, but it was full of life. There were always people coming and going — friends, musicians, neighbours dropping by for tea. She loved cooking for people, especially her famous jerk chicken. Her goddaughter Dionne Bromfield said, “She’d be in the kitchen with reggae blasting, dancing while she cooked. You couldn’t not join in.” Her cats were her pride and joy. She named one Monkey and another Bubbles, after her love of classic soul and Motown. They appeared in countless photos, often curled up on her lap while she strummed her guitar. And then there were the random acts of kindness. One local remembered how Amy once helped a man pick up his dropped groceries outside Sainsbury’s, chatting to him the whole time. Another time, she gave a homeless musician her spare guitar. “She had a massive heart,” her friend Remi said. “She’d give you her last ten quid if you needed it.” The Soundtrack of Her Streets Camden was more than her home — it was her soundtrack. The reggae from the record stalls, the buskers by the canal, the punk kids on the bridge. All of it seeped into her music. She was known to drop into The Dublin Castle  or Barfly  to catch unsigned acts. “She’d stand at the back, hoodie up, nursing a drink,” said one promoter. “Then she’d come over after the gig and say, ‘You lot are brilliant. Keep doing your thing.’” She also loved a singalong. Locals tell stories of her belting out Valerie  in a karaoke bar long before it became her hit with Mark Ronson. Another time, she joined a group of buskers on Camden High Street, harmonising to Ain’t No Sunshine  until a crowd gathered. “She wasn’t trying to show off,” one of the buskers said. “She just loved music. She couldn’t walk past it without getting involved.” The Dual Life of Amy Winehouse By 2007, Back to Black  had made Amy a global superstar. She was winning Grammys, performing in front of thousands, and being trailed by paparazzi everywhere she went. But her heart stayed in Camden. She’d fly to LA for award shows, then come home and walk straight into the Hawley, unannounced. “She’d turn up in her award-show dress, still wearing her heels,” said her friend. “She’d laugh and say, ‘Missed you lot more than the Americans.’” But the attention was getting harder to escape. Her home became surrounded by photographers. Strangers camped outside. The same people who once protected her couldn’t keep the world away. “She wanted to keep living the way she always had,” said Mark Ronson. “But fame changes everything. Camden was the last place she could feel normal.” Camden at Dawn There’s a story that one early morning, around 5 a.m., Amy was spotted sitting on a bench near the canal, sharing chips with a homeless man. When a passerby recognised her and asked why she wasn’t home asleep, she just smiled and said, “Can’t sleep. This is my spot.” That bench is still there, and fans sometimes leave flowers on it. It’s a small reminder of how deeply she belonged to this place. She once told a journalist, “I don’t want to move somewhere fancy. I like hearing music out the window and people shouting. It’s real.” The day after Amy was found A Camden Farewell When Amy died in 2011, Camden mourned like it had lost one of its own. The Hawley Arms became an impromptu memorial. People brought flowers, guitars, and handwritten notes. Her songs played from open windows. Even now, her presence lingers everywhere. There’s a bronze statue of her in Camden Market, slightly leaning, one hand on her hip, eyes full of mischief. Locals pass it and say, “Alright, Aims,” as if she might answer. There’s a mural of her near the Roundhouse, another by the canal, and endless street art that keeps her alive in the neighbourhood she loved most. “She’ll always be Camden’s girl,” said one local musician. “She didn’t just live here. She was  here. She soaked it up and turned it into songs.” The Spirit of Camden Lives On Amy Winehouse’s Camden years were a collision of joy, chaos, friendship, and creativity. They were full of late-night laughter, soulful songs, and moments of surprising tenderness. Yes, there was pain, but there was also warmth. She brought people together, made them sing, made them laugh. She had this rare ability to make ordinary moments feel electric. Her story isn’t just about fame or addiction. It’s about a woman who loved deeply, who found inspiration in everyday life, and who poured her soul into music that will outlast every scandal. Amy once said, “I just want to live a life worth writing songs about.” She did. Sources Winehouse, M. (2012). Amy, My Daughter . HarperCollins. Amy  (2015), directed by Asif Kapadia. The Guardian : “Amy Winehouse: The Camden Queen Who Never Stopped Believing.” Rolling Stone : “Amy Winehouse’s Final Days.” The Telegraph : “Inside the pubs and streets Amy Winehouse called home.” The Independent : “Camden and the Ghost of Amy Winehouse.” Interviews with Hawley Arms staff, 2007–2011 (BBC News archives). NME archives, Mark Ronson interviews (2008). Camden Market official website: “The Amy Winehouse Statue Story.”

To his friends and admirers, Robert John Graham Boothby, commonly known as Lord ‘Bob’ Boothby, was a charismatic figure—a gifted orator and bon vivant with an effortless charm. Yet, beneath this affable exterior lay a deeply flawed man whose life was steeped in scandal, corruption, and dangerous liaisons. Born in 1900 to a prominent Edinburgh banker, Boothby built a successful political career, but it was his hidden dealings with organized crime, sexual indiscretions, and association with the infamous Ronnie Kray that defined his legacy. His story is one of power, privilege, and a double life concealed behind the veneer of respectability. To his face, the writer, campaigner, and broadcaster Sir Ludovic Kennedy once called his mother’s cousin, Lord Boothby, “a shit of the highest order.” Boothby’s response was simply to laugh, rub his hands, and admit, “Well a bit. Not entirely.” This anecdote perfectly encapsulates the enigmatic Robert John Graham Boothby—charming, self-aware, and morally compromised. Born in 1900 to an Edinburgh banker, Boothby, known throughout his life as Bob, became a prominent British politician whose charisma, influential friends, and carefully constructed public image kept his indiscretions out of the headlines for decades. However, by 1964, following the explosive Profumo affair of the previous year, the British press had developed a taste for Establishment scandal. Boothby’s colourful private life would soon come under scrutiny, exposing his tangled web of corruption, illicit relationships, and association with underworld figures like the notorious Ronnie Kray. A Political Career Overshadowed by Personal Scandal Lord Boothby began his political career in 1924 as the Unionist MP for Aberdeen and Kincardine East, a seat he held for more than 30 years. While he never rose to high political office, Boothby became a household name, not through his parliamentary work, but through broadcasting. His wit and oratorical skills made him a frequent guest on television and radio, including an appearance on the popular BBC programme This Is Your Life  in 1964. Boothby had been a close ally of Winston Churchill, supporting him during his wilderness years and serving as Churchill’s parliamentary private secretary. During World War II, Boothby was appointed Parliamentary Secretary at the Ministry of Food, where his work on nutrition schemes like the distribution of free milk and “fortified” bread earned public praise. Yet even this success was tinged with controversy—Boothby had significant financial ties to the company producing Vitamin B1 used in the bread, raising eyebrows about his personal gain from government policy. Despite his affable public persona, Boothby’s personal life was rife with indiscretions. He was a compulsive gambler, frequently in debt, and had a reputation for consorting with both men and women, often from the lower rungs of society. Although he had an affair with Dorothy Macmillan, wife of the future Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, his sexual leanings were decidedly bisexual. His marriage to Diana Cavendish, a relative of Dorothy, was short-lived and unhappy, ending in divorce in 1937 after just two years. The Krays and Scandal Boothby’s carefully managed public image began to unravel in the 1960s when rumours of his association with the criminal underworld began to surface. The most damning of these was his relationship with Ronnie Kray, one half of the infamous Kray twins who ruled London’s East End through violence, extortion, and intimidation. On July 11, 1964, the Sunday Mirror  published a tantalizing front-page headline: “Peer and a Gangster: Yard Probe—Public Men at Seaside Parties.” The article suggested a homosexual relationship between a prominent peer and a leading figure in London’s underworld, hinting at wild Mayfair parties attended by both. A few days later, the Daily Mirror  followed with a claim that it had a photograph it could not print, showing a peer seated on a sofa with a gangster involved in a protection racket. The peer in question was Lord Boothby, and the gangster was Ronnie Kray. Alongside them in the infamous photograph was a young cat burglar named Leslie Holt. The photo had been taken at Boothby’s luxurious flat at 1 Eaton Square in Belgravia, and when the story broke, Boothby was holidaying in France. Despite his initial claims of ignorance about the matter, Boothby was soon forced to confront the accusations head-on. Lord Boothby, Ronnie Kray and Leslie Holt Boothby and Ronnie Kray had developed a peculiar friendship, cemented by their shared taste for young men and lavish parties. Kray, who was openly homosexual in an era when it was still illegal, used Boothby to gain access to London’s upper echelons, solidifying his reputation as more than just a gangster but a man with connections to the Establishment. Boothby, in turn, enjoyed the perks of Kray’s influence, particularly in the gambling clubs owned by the twins, including the infamous Esmeralda’s Barn in Knightsbridge. This gambling den attracted wealthy patrons and artists, including Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon, often drawn into the Krays’ web of power through debts and intimidation. Boothby’s presence at Kray parties became an open secret in elite circles. These gatherings, often fuelled by sexual excess and criminal activity, were held in various locations, including the Krays’ flat in Bethnal Green and at Boothby’s own residence. It was rumoured that young, working-class men, often referred to as “chickens,” were brought to these parties for the sexual gratification of Boothby, Kray, and their guests. The MI5 files, released in 2015, described these events as “gay sex parties” where Boothby and Kray “hunted” young men. Boothby and Kray and ‘Mad’ Teddy Smith at Boothby’s Eaton Square apartment The Press and the Cover-Up The scandal reached a boiling point when the Sunday Mirror  published its accusations, followed by an article in the German magazine Stern , which named Boothby directly. Faced with the possibility of a full-blown exposé, Boothby turned to his influential friends for help. One of these was the notorious Labour MP Tom Driberg, himself no stranger to scandal. Driberg, who had his own connections to the Krays and similar sexual proclivities, helped Boothby navigate the crisis. Bob Boothby and Ronnie Kray at the Society restaurant Boothby’s legal defence was handled by the solicitor Arnold Goodman, nicknamed “Mr Fixit” for his ability to quietly resolve high-profile scandals. Goodman advised Boothby to write a letter to The Times , in which Boothby denied all the allegations. In a masterstroke of legal wrangling, Goodman also negotiated a hefty out-of-court settlement of £40,000 from the Sunday Mirror , which was forced to issue a grovelling apology. The settlement was record-breaking for its time, but it also left Boothby vulnerable. Many believed the money went directly to Ronnie Kray, buying his silence and ensuring the gangster had a hold over Boothby for the rest of his life. The press, having been successfully cowed by the threat of legal action, largely avoided the Krays for years afterward, referring to them euphemistically as “well-known sporting brothers.” The police, too, were hesitant to move against the Krays, who seemed untouchable thanks to their connections with figures like Boothby. However, the Krays’ reign of terror would eventually come to an end in 1969 when they were arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment for the murders of George Cornell and Jack “The Hat” McVitie. A Legacy of Scandal Despite the legal victory and public apology, Boothby’s reputation never fully recovered. His involvement with Ronnie Kray and the sordid underworld of London was an open secret that tarnished his public image. Although he continued to appear on television and radio throughout the 1960s and 70s, the shadow of the scandal followed him to the end of his life. Boothby died in 1986, having lived through one of the most tumultuous and scandal-ridden political careers of the 20th century. His story remains a cautionary tale of the dangers of power, privilege, and the double lives that can be lived in the shadows of the Establishment. While his charm and eloquence allowed him to dodge accountability for decades, the truth about Boothby’s associations, corruption, and personal proclivities eventually came to light—leaving a lasting mark on British political history.