Utterly interesting

In 2016, a research project led by Yale developed a groundbreaking dataset that documented the evolution of urban settlements over a period of 6,000 years. Beginning in 3700 BC with the emergence of the first urban dwellings in Sumer, the project tracked the locations and sizes of cities worldwide up to 2000 AD. According to Yale's Meredith Reba, comprehending the historical growth and transformation of cities could provide insights into their current changes and help in creating sustainable modern cities. The dataset from Yale was first released in Scientific Data in 2016. Subsequently, a resourceful YouTuber animated the data, showcasing the unfolding history of urban life in a captivating visual representation that starts off slowly but gains momentum as it progresses. You can read more about the mapping of urban settlements at this Yale website . And see the animated map in a larger format here .

The tragic tale of the Collyer brothers stands as one of the most bewildering and distressing accounts of compulsive hoarding in history. Known for their obsessive collection of an unimaginable array of objects and their lives reclusive in squalor, Homer and Langley Collyer have become synonymous with the dark, isolating nature of extreme hoarding. Their story is a cautionary reflection on how obsession and mental illness can lead to an insurmountable downfall. The Early Years of the Collyer Brothers Homer and Langley Collyer were born into a prosperous and well-respected family in New York City during the late 19th century. Their father, Dr. Herman Collyer, was a distinguished gynaecologist, while their mother, Susie, hailed from an established and affluent family. The brothers grew up in a large brownstone mansion in Harlem, situated at 2078 Fifth Avenue, a location that would later become infamous for its horrifying state. Homer, the elder of the two, was born in 1881, followed by Langley in 1885. Both brothers were highly educated. Homer pursued a degree in law, while Langley showed a keen interest in engineering and later studied music at Columbia University. The family was well-off and enjoyed the privileges of high society during their earlier years. However, their lives took a darker turn following a series of events that would thrust them into isolation and, ultimately, lead to their tragic demise. The Decline into Isolation The downfall of the Collyer brothers began with the dissolution of their family unit. In 1909, their father abandoned the family, choosing to live a life of solitude, eventually passing away in 1923. Following his death, their mother’s health began to decline, and the brothers, particularly Homer, became increasingly reclusive. In 1929, Susie Collyer passed away, leaving the brothers alone in the family home, which they inherited in its entirety. Their withdrawal from society intensified after this point. By the early 1930s, the once respectable home had become an impenetrable fortress. The brothers began hoarding obsessively, bringing an extraordinary array of items into their home, including old newspapers, broken furniture, musical instruments, and a myriad of other seemingly useless objects. Langley, especially, had a bizarre belief that he could restore Homer’s health, after Homer went blind in the early 1930s, by feeding him a diet of oranges and untreated tap water. Langley would spend days gathering these items, even dragging back refuse from the streets of New York to stockpile within their walls. Homer’s blindness and later paralysis only deepened their dependence on each other, with Langley becoming his sole carer. The mansion became their prison, with the windows and doors sealed shut, barricaded by piles of junk. The brothers refused to let anyone into their home, even turning away repairmen and utility workers, and as a result, they lived without heat, electricity, water, or phone service. A Maze of Squalor and Madness By the late 1930s, the Collyer brothers had become the subject of urban legend in New York. Rumours of their strange behaviour, their barricaded home, and the vast quantities of hoarded items spread through the neighbourhood. The brothers’ peculiar lifestyle attracted the attention of both curious onlookers and local authorities. There were occasional attempts to inspect the home, often resulting in Langley’s angry refusals. Despite their secluded existence, they could not escape the interest of law enforcement and city officials. On several occasions, neighbours reported strange odours or vermin coming from the house, prompting health department inspectors to visit. The property had become a nightmarish maze of clutter, and the inside was described as resembling a hoarder’s labyrinth. Piles of boxes, newspapers, and other objects reached ceiling height, creating tunnels and passageways that Langley would crawl through to navigate the house. In Langley’s increasingly paranoid mind, he feared intruders would attempt to break into their home and steal their possessions. To prevent this, he set up a series of traps made from the hoarded items. Some were as crude as piles of rubbish rigged to collapse if disturbed, while others were more elaborate, designed to catch potential thieves. This paranoia only served to further isolate the brothers from the outside world. The Grisly Discovery On the 21st of March, 1947, the police received an anonymous call claiming there was a dead body in the Collyer mansion. Officers arrived at the home but found themselves unable to gain entry. The doors and windows were completely blocked by walls of junk. It took several hours of labour to make an opening through a window on the second floor. Inside, they were met with a horrific sight. After an extensive search, the police finally discovered Homer’s body. He was found slumped in a sitting position, emaciated and covered in filth, having died from starvation and dehydration. Langley was nowhere to be found, and at first, authorities suspected he had fled the scene. However, the search continued for days, with over 100 tons of rubbish being removed from the house. Weeks later, on the 8th of April 1947, Langley’s decomposing body was found just 10 feet away from Homer’s corpse. In a grim twist of fate, Langley had been killed by one of his own booby traps. He had been crushed under a pile of debris while attempting to bring food to his incapacitated brother. Unable to escape or call for help, Homer had starved to death, unaware that Langley lay dead just a few feet away. A Legacy of Tragedy and Infamy The story of the Collyer brothers shocked the nation. The brothers’ obsessive hoarding and isolation, along with their tragic deaths, became the subject of intense media scrutiny. Newspapers across the country carried lurid headlines about the bizarre lives and deaths of “history’s worst hoarders.” In the aftermath of their deaths, it took months to clear the mansion of the immense amount of rubbish that had accumulated over the decades. Among the items found were 14 pianos, a Model T Ford, a collection of firearms, and thousands upon thousands of newspapers. The brothers had even hoarded medical supplies, despite refusing medical help for their ailments. Ultimately, the mansion was deemed uninhabitable and was demolished shortly after the clean-up was completed. The Collyer brothers’ tale remains a tragic testament to the devastating effects of hoarding and untreated mental illness. Today, their story continues to be referenced in discussions of compulsive hoarding, and they have even been immortalised in popular culture, appearing in books, films, and television shows. The name “Collyer brothers” has become shorthand for extreme hoarding, and their legacy remains one of caution and deep sadness. The tragic saga of Homer and Langley Collyer illustrates how lives can spiral into ruin through obsessive behaviour and isolation. What began as a promising future for two intelligent and well-educated men ended in filth and tragedy. Their story serves as a stark reminder of the importance of mental health awareness and the potential dangers of unchecked hoarding. Although the Collyer brothers may have become infamous for their eccentricity and the ghastly condition of their home, beneath the sensational headlines lies the story of two men trapped by their compulsions, forever remembered as history’s worst hoarders. #hoarding #nyc

Before the advent of the Internet and Google, the primary method of seeking answers to urgent inquiries was by visiting the local library and consulting the knowledgeable librarian. In recent years, a collection of cards with queries directed to the librarian by patrons of the New York Public Library was unearthed by the staff. These queries were submitted either in person or via telephone. The telephone "ask a librarian" service was established in 1967 and remains operational today. Surprisingly, despite the accessibility of information at our fingertips, the New York Public Library still receives around 30,000 calls annually. “People have been reaching out to librarians for as long as there have been libraries,” Rosa Caballero-Li, the manager of Ask-NYPL, told Great Big Story. “Often time people do not have access to the technology at home,” she explains, “and I honestly think some just want somebody to talk to.” From Monday to Saturday, between 9 AM and 6 PM, individuals have the opportunity to call 917-275-6975 and engage in a conversation with one of the ten staff members on duty. There are always at least five staff members ready to answer calls at any given time. The majority of callers inquire about library services, while some seek to verify information they have heard in the news. Questions related to news, science, and history are received approximately once per hour. Additionally, individuals contact the service for assistance with basic grammar queries. Over the decades the library has received some of the most bizarre questions: Why do 18th Century English paintings have so many squirrels in them, and how did they tame them so that they wouldn't bite the painter? What is the life cycle of an eyebrow hair? How many neurotic people were in the United States? What does it mean when you dream you’re being chased by an elephant? One person just wanted to know how to put up a wallpaper. “I have the paper; I have the paste. What do I do next? Does the paste go on the wall or the paper? I've tried both and it doesn't seem to work.” "There are no stupid questions," Caballero-Li admits. "Everything is a teachable moment. We don't embarrass people; we try to answer any questions they have with honesty and we try to refer them to appropriate resources that they might find useful." The library keeps records of the most absurd and memorable questions asked to them. Some of these date as far back as the 1940s. Here, we have reposted a few from their Instagram account.

During the period spanning from the 13th to the 19th centuries, the northern hemisphere experienced a period known as the “Little Ice Age”. This era was characterised by a global drop in temperatures, leading to cold and wet summers, as well as colder, longer, and harsher winters. The Swiss Alps witnessed encroaching glaciers that destroyed farmlands and villages. Navigation in Great Britain and the Netherlands was hindered by frequent freezing of canals and rivers. Greenland remained largely inaccessible due to sea ice for three centuries, resulting in the starvation and disappearance of many Norse colonies due to failing crops. While Europe faced widespread famine and death, people also found ways to make the most of the cold weather. Frozen ponds and rivers served as impromptu ice skating rinks, and outdoor winter sports gained popularity as recreational activities. In London, even the mighty River Thames froze. According to historical data, between the 17th and the early 19th centuries, the River Thames froze for nearly two dozen times. During Britain’s worst recorded frost, in the winter of 1683–84, the Thames was completely frozen for two months, with ice up to a foot thick. For Londoners, the freezing of the river was an event to be celebrated. As soon as the ice was thick enough to bear weight, peddlers would hastily construct tents out of sail cloth and oars to sell everything from souvenirs, to food and drinks, to haircuts. One person even setup a printing press on the ice and published a 124-page book. Activities and entertainment at frost fairs ranged from bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays, sledging, nine-pin bowling and more. An eyewitness for the 1683–84 frost fair reported revellers roasting a whole ox on top of a roaring fire. Even the Royal family took part in the fairs. The same eyewitness reported King Charles and the Queen partaking the aforementioned roasted ox. The frost fair that occurred in the winter of 1683–84 was the most celebrated, and there are many written accounts of the event. The famous English diarist John Evelyn described the fair in extensive details: Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other staires to and fro, as in the streetes, sliding with skeetes, a bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays and interludes, cookes, tipling and other lewd places, so that it seemed a bacchanalian triumph or carnival on the water, whilst it was a severe judgement on the land, the trees not onely splitting as if lightning-struck, but men and cattle perishing in divers[e] places, and the very seas so lock’d up with ice, that no vessels could stir out or come in. The frost fairs on River Thames were typically short-lived, lasting only a few days at most. These fairs tended to occur towards the end of winter, just before the ice started to melt. In 1739, a large section of ice collapsed during the fair, engulfing tents and people. Similarly, in January 1789, the ice melted rapidly, causing a ship anchored to a riverside pub to be dragged down, resulting in the collapse of the building and the tragic deaths of five individuals. In the 19th century, temperatures began to rise, leading to milder winters. The Thames ceased to freeze sufficiently for fairs to be organized. The final frost fair occurred in 1814, attracting crowds who witnessed a spectacle as a fully-grown elephant crossed the unfrozen river. The removal of the old London Bridge in 1831 and the subsequent construction of a new one played a role in preventing the Thames from freezing over. The medieval London Bridge and its closely spaced piers used to trap ice during winter, creating blockages that facilitated freezing. With the completion of the new embankment along the Thames, the river could flow more smoothly, marking the end of the era when the Thames would freeze over. Most souvenirs sold at the fairs were just regular trinkets and toys labeled “bought on the Thames” and sold at double or treble the original price. This piece of gingerbread was bought on the Thames. The frost fair of 1684. The Frost Fair of 1683.

Located in the garden of Windsor's Royal Lodge in Berkshire, England, there is a small thatched cottage with white-washed walls, hidden from public sight. Known as the Little House or Y Bwthyn Bach, this charming structure has served as a playhouse for the Queen and royal children for over 90 years The playhouse was gifted to Princess Elizabeth and her sister Margaret in March 1932 by 'the people of Wales' for Elizabeth's sixth birthday. At that time, Elizabeth's parents were the Duke and Duchess of York, who were not in line for the throne. However, when Prince Albert's older brother gave up the throne, the Duke reluctantly accepted the crown as the King of England, determining the future of young Elizabeth. Architect Edmund Willmott designed the house to be fully functional, featuring a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom equipped with modern amenities for that era, such as hot and cold running water, electricity, and a heated towel rail. However, everything was scaled down to two-thirds of the usual size. The living room contained couches, an oak dresser, a small radio, a miniature blue and gold china set, a bookcase filled with Beatrix Potter's books, as well as custom-made small curtains and blue carpets. The kitchen was equipped with a functional gas cooker, a compact fridge, and tiny pots and pans. Even the miniature telephone was operational. Additionally, the house boasted a front garden with scaled-down hedges and flower borders. The little Princess Elizabeth and her sister spent hours cleaning and tidying their tiny home. Elizabeth, in particular, reportedly developed a reputation for being exceptionally neat. Later, her children and then her grandchildren enjoyed playing in the house too. Some years ago, the house underwent a refurbishing under the guidance of one of Queen Elizabeth’s grandchildren, Princess Beatrice, the daughter of Prince Andrew, when he along with his family moved into the Royal Lodge in 2004.

At the heart of London’s luxury, nestled by the Thames, stands the renowned Savoy Hotel—a place rich with history, grandeur, and fascinating traditions. Amongst the opulent fixtures, gleaming chandeliers, and fine dining experiences, there exists an unusual, yet much-loved figure: Kaspar the Cat. This black, life-sized feline, carved from wood, is not a typical hotel mascot. Instead, Kaspar represents a longstanding custom steeped in mystery, superstition, and the traditions of high society. The Origins of Kaspar The story of Kasper the Savoy Cat begins in 1898. During an elegant dinner at the Savoy, tragedy struck when one of the guests, a South African diamond magnate named Woolf Joel, was murdered shortly after hosting a dinner with 13 guests. This fatal misfortune caused many to attribute his death to the bad luck associated with the number 13, a superstition that has lingered for centuries. The incident alarmed the upper classes and the Savoy’s esteemed clientele, who believed strongly in omens and bad luck. The superstition surrounding the number 13 led to a peculiar dilemma: whenever an event at the hotel had precisely 13 guests, it left an awkward vacancy at the table. High society’s elites would not tolerate dining with such an unlucky number, and thus, the hotel needed a solution. The Birth of Kaspar In the early 20th century, the Savoy introduced its first response to the “unlucky 13” issue—a human butler dressed as a phantom 14th guest, who would join the dinner parties to offset the superstitious count. While this practice solved the problem, it felt somewhat impractical and odd for a hotel of such refined elegance. The introduction of Kaspar the Cat provided a much more charming and sophisticated alternative. In 1926, the sculptor Basil Ionides carved Kaspar, a sleek black cat with sharp features, an aloof demeanour, and a regal air that befitted the Savoy’s status. From that moment on, whenever a dinner party at the hotel had 13 attendees, Kaspar would be placed at the table, seated on a high-backed chair with a napkin tied around his neck and silverware in front of him. This elegant solution allowed for peace of mind for the superstitious diners, as the number of guests officially became 14 with Kasper’s presence. Kaspar’s Role in High Society Over the decades, Kaspar’s role at the Savoy grew into a charming tradition that resonated with both London’s elite and international visitors. The cat was more than just a superstition buffer—he became a beloved character in his own right. Whether it was a royal banquet, a famous actor’s soirée, or a corporate dinner, Kaspar took his place amongst the guests, silently presiding over the table as an honorary participant. Winston Churchill, who was known to frequent the Savoy, was a particularly fond admirer of Kaspar. Even when he wasn’t worried about the number 13, he sometimes requested that Kaspar join him for dinner, enjoying the curious tradition. Numerous dignitaries, from politicians to aristocrats, found the story of Kasper a delightful quirk in a city often defined by its propriety. A Symbol of Elegance and Mystique Kaspar the Cat has endured over the years as a symbol of the Savoy’s timeless elegance and commitment to tradition. In a hotel that has welcomed figures like Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, and Queen Elizabeth II, it is a testament to the cat’s mystique that he holds such a cherished place in the hotel’s lore. Despite the changing times and the inevitable modernisation of the hospitality industry, Kaspar remains a vital part of the Savoy’s unique charm. For more than a century, Kaspar has observed countless conversations, witnessed many deals being made over dinner, and perhaps even overheard a few secrets amongst London’s most famous residents. Today, Kasper continues his duties, ensuring that no unlucky number disrupts the festivities. Guests of the Savoy who find themselves in the company of 13 other diners can rest assured that the presence of Kaspar the Cat will keep misfortune at bay. The Legacy of Kaspar Kasper’s story represents more than just a quirky tradition—it speaks to the importance of ritual and superstition within the social fabric of certain circles. In many ways, Kaspar the Cat is a reminder of how even the grandest, most sophisticated settings have their own tales of mystery and intrigue, often cloaked in customs passed down through generations. For those lucky enough to encounter Kaspar during their stay at the Savoy, they join a lineage of guests who have dined with an iconic and silent observer of history. Kaspar’s legacy, carved from wood but enriched by tradition, continues to enchant and fascinate visitors, ensuring that the Savoy Hotel remains a place where elegance and eccentricity blend seamlessly. In a city filled with ancient landmarks and historic tales, Kaspar the Savoy Cat stands as a peculiar yet charming testament to the enduring power of superstition and the whimsy that defines London’s luxury. Sources: • “The Savoy’s Black Cat Kasper,” The Savoy Hotel Archive • “Superstitions in High Society: The History of Kasper,” London Historical Journal • “Kasper and the Curse of 13: London’s Oddest Traditions,” The Heritage Times #Thesavoy #kasparthecat #superstition #unlucky13

Henri Charrière, a man whose life story blurs the lines between fact and legend, etched his name into history through a series of audacious prison escapes and his subsequent fight for freedom. Born in 1906 in southern France, Charrière’s life became the embodiment of adventure and resilience, immortalised in his autobiography Papillon. Even if only half of his exploits were true, Charrière’s tale still stands as one of the most daring in modern history. From his criminal roots in the underbelly of Paris to his notorious escape from the French penal colonies of South America, Henri Charrière’s life was one that any thrill-seeker would envy. His fight for survival, which spanned years of imprisonment, jungle hideouts, and shark-infested waters, eventually led to his exoneration and return to France. Henri Charrière’s Early Life Henri Charrière was born to modest beginnings. His parents, both schoolteachers, raised him in the Ardèche region of southern France. However, Charrière sought something more than the stable life his upbringing had offered. At the age of 17, he joined the French Navy, only to soon become disenchanted with military life. His discontent eventually led him to Paris, where he dove headfirst into the city’s criminal underworld. Paris in the 1920s and 30s was a cauldron of illicit activities, from gang warfare to organised crime syndicates. Charrière quickly established himself as a small-time crook, known for his talents in safecracking and theft. His nickname, “Papillon” (meaning butterfly in French), came from the butterfly tattoo emblazoned across his chest. Some accounts suggest he also had ties to prostitution rings, further cementing his place among Paris’s gangsters. Despite his criminal activities, Charrière claimed he had never been violent—at least, until the incident that would lead to his downfall. In 1931, Charrière was implicated in the murder of Roland Legrand, a fellow gangster and pimp. Charrière insisted upon his innocence, claiming he had been framed by corrupt informants and scapegoated by a justice system eager for a swift conviction. However, the courts were unrelenting, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment at the penal colony of Cayenne in French Guiana—a place that would become infamous for its inhumane conditions and deadly environment. Breaking Out of Cayenne The penal colony at Cayenne was a harsh and brutal environment, surrounded by impenetrable jungle, treacherous rivers, and the Atlantic Ocean, which stretched for thousands of miles. But for Henri Charrière, captivity was not an option. After three years in Cayenne, he made his first escape attempt. Ingenious and fearless, he fashioned a crude raft and set sail with two fellow inmates. The journey led him first to a leper colony, a surreal detour in his escape. At the time, leprosy was a misunderstood and feared disease, but the lepers offered Charrière a kind of refuge, seeing in him a fellow outcast. Despite their debilitating illness, they provided him with food and supplies, aiding him on his continued journey toward freedom. His luck, however, did not hold out. His makeshift boat eventually wrecked in the Gulf of Maracaibo, forcing him to flee into the dense South American jungle. Charrière’s time living with a native tribe deep in the jungle added another chapter to his remarkable story. He spent years among the indigenous people, learning their ways and adapting to the harsh conditions of the wild. It was a chapter of relative peace in his otherwise chaotic life, but Charrière’s thirst for freedom pulled him away from this temporary sanctuary. In the end, the French authorities caught up with him again, and this time, they sentenced him to Devil’s Island. Life on Devil’s Island Devil’s Island was perhaps the most feared prison within the French penal system. Located off the coast of French Guiana, the island’s isolation, shark-infested waters, and unforgiving terrain made escape almost impossible. The commandants of the prison used both the jungle and the sea as their weapons against prisoners’ escape attempts. One famously remarked, “If you don’t get eaten by sharks or your bones picked clean by ants, you will soon beg to return.” Henri Charrière would have none of it. Despite the odds and the torment of solitary confinement, he continued to plan his escape. Over the course of his imprisonment, he made seven attempts to break free, each one more daring than the last. He never lost hope, even as he endured punishment after punishment for his failed attempts. For Charrière, imprisonment only strengthened his resolve. Finally, on his eighth attempt, Charrière achieved the impossible. He and a small group of prisoners built a raft using nothing but coconuts strung together with makeshift ropes. In one of the most incredible feats of survival, the group navigated through shark-infested waters and treacherous currents. Days passed, their bodies weakened by exposure and lack of food, but finally, in 1945, they reached the coast of Venezuela. Charrière had won his freedom. A New Life in Venezuela After his successful escape, Henri Charrière settled in Venezuela, where he sought to rebuild his life. He married a Venezuelan woman and was granted citizenship, officially severing ties with the penal system that had sought to break him. For the first time in years, Charrière could breathe easy, living a relatively normal life. He worked as a gas station attendant, tried his hand at gold prospecting, and eventually opened a nightclub. Though his life was now stable, Charrière felt the weight of his story. At the age of 62, after reading a book by former prostitute Albertine Sarrazin, Charrière was inspired to pen his own experiences. He wrote with an urgency, capturing his memories of the Paris underworld, his time in French Guiana, and his remarkable escapes. He sent the manuscript to a French publisher, and in 1969, his autobiography Papillon  was released to the world. The Legend of Papillon Charrière’s Papillon  became an instant bestseller, selling 700,000 copies in its first ten weeks of release. Charrière claimed that 75 percent of the book was true, though many questioned the veracity of his tale. Nevertheless, it captivated readers and became a sensation across the globe. The mixture of action, survival, and Charrière’s indomitable spirit of defiance resonated deeply with audiences. In 1973, Charrière’s story was immortalised on the silver screen in the film Papillon , starring Steve McQueen as Charrière and Dustin Hoffman as his friend and fellow prisoner Louis Dega. The movie, like the book, became a cultural phenomenon, further cementing Charrière’s place in history as one of the greatest escape artists of all time. Freedom, Fame, and Final Days With the success of his book and movie, Henri Charrière found himself back in the public eye. The French government, perhaps recognising the incredible nature of his story or feeling the passage of time, pardoned him in 1970, officially allowing him to return to France. After years of exile, Charrière could once again walk the streets of Paris, the city where his journey had begun. Despite his new-found fame and fortune, Charrière’s life came to a close all too soon. He died of throat cancer on July 29, 1973, at the age of 66. By the time of his death, Papillon  had sold more than five million copies worldwide. His legend lived on, a story of adventure, survival, and unbreakable spirit that continues to captivate readers and viewers alike. Though questions about the authenticity of his exploits persist, Henri Charrière remains an enduring symbol of resilience. Whether he was an innocent man wrongly imprisoned or a guilty criminal who refused to be broken, his story serves as a testament to the power of the human will in the face of overwhelming adversity. #papillon #devilsisland #thetruestory

Above: July 1917 - West Indian men serving in the British Navy, in the Fleet Auxillary. Although Lord Kitchener objected to the idea of black men serving in the British armed forces, many black men still volunteered and were recruited during the First World War. More than 120,000 Black African men were recruited from Britain's African colonies, such as Gambia, the Gold Coast, Nigeria, and Sierra Leone. Additionally, over 15,000 black men from the Caribbean volunteered to join the British Army. Initially integrated into regular units, a new regiment called the British West Indies Regiment (BWIR) was established specifically for them in 1915. Caribbean volunteers had to cover their own expenses to travel to England. Due to unexpected course diversions via Canada, many suffered severe frostbite. Consequently, those affected were deemed unfit for service and had to return home without receiving any benefits or compensation. All officers in the BWIR were white, and black soldiers were not allowed to attain a rank higher than Sergeant. While white soldiers engaged in combat, the BWIR primarily performed support tasks like loading ammunition, laying cables, and digging trenches. Moreover, most of them were unarmed during their deployment. "Stripped to the waist and sweated chest, midday's reprieve brings much-needed rest; From trenches deep toward the sky, non-fighting troops and yet we die." - "Black Soldier's Lament", by an anonymous trooper The BWIR played a significant part in the conflict, especially in battling the Turkish Army in Palestine and Jordan. Out of the Regiment's eleven battalions, the 1st and 2nd were primarily stationed in Palestine and Egypt; the 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 7th were stationed in France and Flanders; the 5th served as reserves; the 8th and 9th were stationed in France and Flanders before moving to Italy; and the 10th and 11th were also stationed in France and Italy. Above: 1917 - Egyptian Labour Corps and British West Indies Regiment building dug outs for the XXth Corps Headquarters on the cliffs near the shore of the Mediterranean near Deir el Belah. The old headquarters camp at Deir el Belah had been shelled from Gaza by a Naval gun and also bombed by aeroplanes on four successive nights. "I have great pleasure in informing you of the gallant conduct of the machine-gun section of the 1st British West Indies Regiment during two successful raids on the Turkish trenches. All ranks behaved with great gallantry under heavy rifle and shell fire and contributed in no small measure to the success of the operations" - Palestine Campaign General Allenby to the then Governor of Jamaica William Henry Manning Following the conclusion of the War in November 1918, the BWIR was mainly stationed in and around the Southern Italian coastal town of Taranto. While white soldiers were being prepared for demobilization and received a pay increase, the BWIR soldiers were still required to work, including the construction of latrines for white soldiers. On December 6th, the 9th Battalion of the BWIR disobeyed orders and submitted a petition of grievances signed by 180 sergeants. Three days later, the 10th Battalion also refused to follow orders. Subsequently, 60 men were tried for mutiny and received sentences ranging from three to five years in prison. One soldier was imprisoned for twenty years, and another was executed. Throughout the period from 1914 to 1918, the British West Indies Regiment was honoured with over eighty bravery medals. Above: July 1917 - Men from Trinidad, Jamaica, and Barbados receive free refreshments at a buffet. A sign reads "Economy in Food - please do not take more than 1 sandwich" Above: 1916 - British West Indian troops undergo physical training at Kingston, Jamaica "Nothing we can do will alter the fact that the black man has begun to think and feel himself as good as the white." - Secret British Colonial Service memo, 1919 Above: July 30th 1918 - A royal visit to Roehampton Hospital, specialising in the treatment of soldiers who have lost limbs. The King speaks to Private Davis, a West Indian soldier who has two artificial legs

History buff Rusty of Rusty’s History Zone posted absolutely stunning drone footage flying over the ruins of ancient Pompeii. This quick clip offers an incredible view into the historical immensity of this particular site, which is, according to Rusty “becoming one of the largest archaeology sites in the world”.

London, a city steeped in history and mystery, has its share of well-known landmarks—the gleaming towers of the City, the majestic Buckingham Palace, and the famous West End theatres. Yet, hidden away from the bustling streets and modern attractions is a darker, almost forgotten chapter in the city’s history. Nestled within the vibrant South Bank, an area now synonymous with cultural regeneration and affluence, lies a small, rusted iron gate adorned with ribbons, feathers, and tokens. Behind that gate rests the Cross Bones Graveyard, a solemn reminder of a time when Southwark was not the glittering hub of art and commerce it is today, but London’s first red-light district—a place for the city’s outcasts. Southwark: London’s First Red-Light District To understand the significance of Cross Bones Graveyard, one must first take a step back into the past, to the Southwark of the Middle Ages. Located just south of the River Thames, this area was once marshland, a damp and undesirable place on the fringes of London proper. Yet, by virtue of its location, Southwark became a hub for those seeking entertainment and, often, illicit pleasures. Theatres, taverns, bear-baiting pits, and brothels flourished in this district—“amusements” that drew both locals and travelers alike. Southwark’s notoriety began as far back as Roman times when soldiers stationed in the area would frequent its taverns and brothels. This trend continued unabated for centuries, even through the Viking era and the Crusades. As London Bridge was established in the 12th century, connecting the southern bank of the Thames to the bustling city, Southwark became even more important as a center for commerce—and vice. Its red-light district became infamous, a place where visitors could indulge their desires, free from the restrictions and laws of the City of London, which ended at the river’s edge. Southwark, outside the city’s jurisdiction, allowed the flourishing of activities frowned upon by London’s more respectable citizens. The Winchester Geese and the Bishop’s Rule By the 12th century, Southwark had come under the control of one of the most powerful religious figures in England: the Bishop of Winchester. This arrangement may seem strange today, as the church is often perceived as a moral authority. Yet, in medieval England, the bishop wielded both religious and secular power. Among his many privileges was the right to license and tax Southwark’s brothels and prostitutes. The women who worked there were derisively called the “Winchester Geese,” perhaps because of their habit of baring their white breasts to attract customers. To be “bitten by a Winchester Goose” was to suffer a sexually transmitted disease, and prostitution in Southwark was fraught with such risks. Gonorrhea, syphilis, and other venereal diseases spread rampantly through the stews—the name given to Southwark’s brothels. These establishments, sometimes as few as five, sometimes as many as 18, depending on the year, became an indelible part of Southwark’s identity. The crown’s repeated attempts to control prostitution in Southwark were a testament to the area’s enduring notoriety. King Henry II attempted to regulate the stews through the “Ordinances Touching the Government of the Stewholders in Southwark,” a set of 39 rules implemented in 1161. These ordinances required the prostitutes to be registered, barred nuns and married women from joining their ranks, and placed various restrictions on their activities. Curiously, these regulations also sought to ensure the prostitutes’ autonomy, preventing them from being coerced into staying in the brothels and prohibiting them from taking their own lovers. Despite these attempts at regulation, Southwark’s red-light district persisted. The Bishop of Winchester continued to profit from the women who worked under his jurisdiction. Yet, for all the power the Bishop wielded over the lives of these women, one thing remained beyond his control: their deaths. According to Christian doctrine, prostitutes were not allowed to be buried in consecrated ground. The church denied them proper burial rites, and so, their bodies were laid to rest in a place far from the parish church—a plot of land that would later be known as Cross Bones Graveyard. Cross Bones: The Graveyard of the Outcasts The origins of Cross Bones Graveyard can be traced back to the Tudor period when Southwark’s red-light district was in full swing. Historian John Stow wrote in 1598 that “single women,” a euphemism for prostitutes, were forbidden the rites of the church so long as they continued their sinful lives. As a result, they were excluded from Christian burial and interred in a plot known as the “Single Woman’s churchyard.” Located far from the parish church, Cross Bones Graveyard became the final resting place for Southwark’s outcasts. It was a place for the poor, the diseased, and the unloved—those who lived their lives on the fringes of society. As Southwark evolved, so too did the use of Cross Bones. By the Victorian era, Southwark had become one of London’s most notorious slums, plagued by crime, poverty, and disease. Cross Bones was repurposed as a pauper’s graveyard, serving the parish of St. Saviour’s. The conditions in Cross Bones were as miserable as those who were buried there. In 1833, William Taylor, an antiquarian, wrote about the cemetery: “There is an unconsecrated burial ground known as the Cross Bones at the corner of Redcross Street, formerly called the Single Woman’s burial ground, which is said to have been used for this purpose.” As the decades passed, Cross Bones became increasingly overcrowded. Bodies were buried just two feet beneath the surface, and the stench of decomposition permeated the air. Residents complained that the cemetery was a public health hazard, particularly during the cholera epidemic that ravaged London. Although it was later discovered that contaminated water was the true cause of the outbreak, at the time, many believed the foul-smelling graves were to blame. By 1853, Cross Bones had become so overcrowded that the cemetery was officially closed. An 1832 letter from parish authorities described the situation in grim detail: “The ground is so very full of coffins that it is necessary to bury within two feet of the surface, and the effluviem is so very offensive that we fear the consequences may be very injurious to the surrounding neighbourhood.” The Forgotten Dead and the Resurrection of Cross Bones For many years after its closure, Cross Bones was largely forgotten, left to decay as Southwark transformed around it. The cemetery was briefly used as a fairground, but complaints from locals about the noise and disruption led to its abandonment. By the 20th century, the graveyard had faded into obscurity, overshadowed by Southwark’s ongoing redevelopment. That all changed in the 1990s when the London Underground embarked on a project to extend the Jubilee Line. The plan required the construction of an electricity substation on the site of Cross Bones Graveyard. Before the project could proceed, however, archeologists from the Museum of London were called in to investigate. They knew that the site contained an old burial ground, but the scale of what they found was shocking. Over the course of six weeks, archeologists excavated 148 skeletons from the top layers of the soil—an estimated one percent of the total number of bodies buried there. The skeletons told a tragic story of suffering and hardship. More than half of the remains belonged to children, a reflection of the high rates of infant mortality in 19th-century London. Many of the bones bore the scars of diseases such as rickets, scurvy, and syphilis. These were the bodies of the poor and the forgotten, buried in cheap coffins, their lives marked by illness and poverty. The discovery of these remains reignited public interest in Cross Bones. Local historian Patricia Dark described the cemetery as “a place where you can go and celebrate the people nobody remembers.” For many, Cross Bones became a symbol of the marginalised and the overlooked, a place where the dead could be honoured and remembered. The Southwark Mysteries and the Modern Revival of Cross Bones The revival of interest in Cross Bones was not solely driven by archeological discoveries. In 1996, local poet and playwright John Constable claimed to have been visited by the spirit of a medieval prostitute he called “The Goose.” According to Constable, the Goose began dictating poems to him, the first of which would later form the basis of his work The Southwark Mysteries . The verse Constable wrote down that night in 1996 reads: For tonight in Hell They are tolling the bell For the Whore that lay at the Tabard, And well we know How the carrion crow Doth feast in our Cross Bones Graveyard. Constable’s work breathed new life into the cemetery. In 1998, the first Halloween ritual at Cross Bones was performed, drawing attention to the site and its forgotten dead. For 13 years, until 2010, a community of people gathered annually to honour the memory of those buried in Cross Bones. They built altars, performed parts of The Southwark Mysteries , and carried out candle-lit processions to the cemetery gates. Today, these rituals continue on a smaller scale, with monthly vigils taking place at the site. Cross Bones has become a place of remembrance for many, not just for those connected to Southwark’s historical past but for those looking to remember their own dead. Constable and his supporters, known as the Friends of Cross Bones, have worked to transform the neglected graveyard into a wild garden, a sanctuary where visitors can reflect on the lives of those who were buried there. The Future of Cross Bones Graveyard As Southwark continues to evolve, the future of Cross Bones remains uncertain. In recent years, there have been plans to redevelop the site, raising concerns among the community that the graveyard could be lost forever. However, thanks to the efforts of Constable and the Friends of Cross Bones, there is hope that the site will be preserved. Transport for London, which now owns the land, has granted Constable and his volunteers access to the site, and Southwark Council has pledged £100,000 to create a permanent garden of remembrance at the cemetery. For those who gather at Cross Bones, the site represents more than just a historical curiosity—it is a place where the dead are honoured, where the forgotten are remembered. As Southwark continues to change, the graveyard stands as a reminder of the area’s darker past, a past that is often overlooked amidst the shiny new office towers and bustling tourist attractions. Yet, as Patricia Dark notes, Cross Bones is not just a place for the dead. It is also a place for the living, a place where people can come together to celebrate their shared humanity. In a city as vast and impersonal as London can sometimes feel, Cross Bones offers a space for reflection, connection, and healing. The graveyard that once housed the bodies of Southwark’s outcasts now serves as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, a place where the wounds of history are slowly being healed, one vigil at a time. #london

It is believed that to become a strong and respected leader of the masses, one needs to possess compassion for humanity, love for their country, and a strong commitment to justice and mercy. However, there are occasions when politicians or generals choose to follow their own path. These ruthless dictators prioritise their selfish goals of domination, power, and immortality over the value of human life. This ranking displays dictators from around the world based on the number of fatalities they caused, with Mao leading the list, followed by Stalin and then Hitler. I sincerely wish that if hell exists, they are all enduring eternal torment there. Here is the List: 1. Yacubu Gowon: Nigeria (1966-1975), (Total killis: 1.1m) 2. Mengistu Hailem Mariam: Ethiopia (1974-1991), (Total killis: 1.5m) 3. Kim II Sung: North Korea (1948-1994), (Total killis: 1.6m) 4. Pol Pot: Cambodia (1963-1981), (Total killis: 1.7m) 5. Ismail Enver Pasha: Turkey (1913-1919), (Total killis: 2.5m) 6. Hideki Tojo: Japan (1941-1944), (Total killis: 5.0 m) 7. Leopold II Of Belgium: Belgium (1865-1909), (Total killis: 15.0m) 8. Adolf Hitler: Germany (1934-1945), (Total killis: 17.0m) 9. Jozef Stalin: Russia (1922-1953), (Total killis: 23.0m) 10.Mao Zedong: China (1943-1976), (Total killis: 78.0m)

In the 18th century, London was gripped by a peculiar and intense fascination with a clear, potent spirit known as gin. This period, often referred to as the “Gin Craze,” saw gin rise from relative obscurity to become the drink of choice for Londoners across the social spectrum. The craze left an indelible mark on the city’s culture, economy, and social fabric, and its impact is still felt today. The Rise of Gin Gin’s ascent in London began in the early 1700s. The drink, originally distilled from grain and flavoured with juniper berries, was brought to England from Holland, where it was known as jenever. By the early 18th century, gin had become immensely popular, largely due to its affordability and the ease with which it could be produced. A government policy designed to promote English spirits over French wine and brandy also played a crucial role. The 1690 Distilling Act allowed anyone to produce spirits without a license, leading to a boom in gin production. James IV of Scotland. We know that alcoholic spirits were drunk by the very rich since 1500, as the king is known to have purchased several barrels of whisky. By the 1720s, gin was everywhere. In a society plagued by poverty and hardship, gin offered an accessible escape. Daniel Defoe, in his 1726 work “The Complete English Tradesman,” observed, “The distillers call it a brisk trade, and the retailers a thriving trade, and the poor that drink it a comfort, a cure for the colic, and a help to the consumption” (Defoe, 1726). A print of an 18th-century liquor seller. Gin Lane: The Dark Side of the Craze Despite its popularity, gin had a dark side. The drink was potent, often adulterated with dangerous substances, and its widespread consumption led to severe social problems. The artist William Hogarth captured the destructive impact of gin in his famous 1751 engraving “Gin Lane,” which depicted scenes of debauchery and despair fuelled by gin consumption. In one corner, a mother, insensible from gin, lets her baby tumble from her arms. Hogarth’s grim portrayal was a stark warning of the consequences of unchecked gin consumption. The social costs were high. Crime rates soared, and public health deteriorated. London’s poorer neighbourhoods were particularly hard-hit, as gin was cheaper than beer and often consumed in large quantities. Dr. Thomas Bowrey’s account from the period starkly describes the scene: “The principal sustenance (if it may be so called) of more than one-half of the poorer sort of people is that diabolical liquor called gin” (Bowrey, 1736). Legislative Measures and Reform In response to the mounting crisis, the government introduced a series of legislative measures aimed at curbing gin consumption. The Gin Act of 1736 imposed heavy duties on gin and required distillers to obtain a license. However, this act was largely ineffective, as it led to the rise of illicit gin production and sales. It wasn’t until the Gin Act of 1751, which lowered the tax on gin but increased regulation and enforced stricter licensing laws, that the craze began to subside. This act was more successful, partly due to changing public attitudes and increasing awareness of gin’s detrimental effects. Gin’s Legacy By the end of the 18th century, the Gin Craze had largely subsided, but gin itself remained an integral part of British culture. The reforms helped pave the way for the development of more refined gin production methods, leading to the high-quality gins that would later become popular in the 19th and 20th centuries. Today, the legacy of the Gin Craze is evident in the resurgence of interest in gin, with countless distilleries producing a wide variety of gins and gin-based cocktails. London’s gin bars pay homage to the spirit’s turbulent history, reminding us of an era when gin was both a blessing and a curse. The Gin Craze was a classic example of a drug without social norms. Every society on earth has had its narcotics (and almost every society has chosen alcohol). But those narcotics have come with social rules about when, where, how and why you ‘get blasted’. Every age and every society is different. Today, young adults tend to get drunk on a Friday evening, while in medieval England, the preferred time was Sunday morning. In ancient Egypt, it was the Festival of Hathor and in ancient China, it was during the rites that honoured the family dead.