Stories in History that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Ordinary Men: A Personal Encounter with a Dark Past
I just saw the Netflix documentary Ordinary Men — The “Forgotten Holocaust”, directed by Manfred Oldenburg. It was disconcerting to see — but essential to watch.
Rest In Peace Sweet Camelot
Stop and go traffic on route 28 heading to Cape Cod on a steamy and sticky August afternoon, would make most people hot under the collar. Not on this day because Eddie and his “with child” wife Brenda were windows open and radio blaring the Tyme’s song
A Whiff of Grapeshot
“What do we do next?” I said to my compatriot at the muzzle next to me. We looked toward him with confusion dotting our faces.
The town of Concord, Massachusetts was where the first gunshots were fired in the Revolutionary War. On April the 19th 1775, more than a year before the Declaration of Independence was signed, British troops marched on Concord to seize a cache of weapons hidden there. Local residents and farmers, alerted mere hours in advance by Paul Revere and William Dawes, organized into a militia now known as the Minutemen and met the British with armed resistance. In a firefight at Concord’s Old North Bridge, the advancing troops were turned back.
The Tower of London Zoo
Many of you will be familiar with The Tower of London, its fame as the world's largest jewellery box is well known. Some will also know that this was the site of two famous beheadings, both of them at the request of King Henry VIII when he asked for his wife's heads to be removed.
History of Chocolate
At the beginning of the article, you are going to read a short history of chocolate here. Move back to the past about 4000 years, where you can find the initial point of chocolate. It is obtained from a plant named cacao. These plants were initially found in Mesoamerica. From there, chocolate traveled to Spain and then to Europe. Afterward, it came back to America and the rest of the world.
The Mummy Sutra: Becoming the Stars
[Spread out in primordial ages over the yawning gape of chaos, the mat of reeds is coming apart, and no center remains stable]: BOOK OF THE DEAD
Voice Of A Mill Girl
Lawrence, Massachusetts, January 12th, 1912 I tried to quicken my pace up the wooden stairs of the Washington Mill that morning. My boots hit each step with vigor. The temperature was below freezing and the holes in my gloves let in raw cold causing my fingers to turn blue. I could hear several women in front of me racing before the toll clock struck seven. I kept my head low when passing the foreman who was looking for any sign among us as to who was an instigator of possible things to come. I walked swiftly past my station where I created wool for men’s high-end suits and women’s coats sold at places that I could not afford. I tucked my own coat filled with patches in the closet labeled for workers and headed back to my spot.
- Runner-Up in Past Life Challenge
Beneath the Hammer of Michelangelo
If I were being whimsical, I would be a block of marble waiting for the first blow of Michelangelo’s hammer as the thin blade of steel slowly freed me from within.
Frankly, I barely remember my own coronation--hardly surprising, given I was only a week old. Born a Queen: seems I was destined for greatness, doesn't it? Well, a week after my birth, my father the King, ill and bedridden, was said to have woefully bemoaned:
- First Place in Past Life Challenge
Finding a Name
As an illustrator, my job was methodical. Witnesses would give their mental reconstructions to the authorities, who would then relay to me the intricacies, the outlines, the prominence of the space between the eyebrows. Then, I’d infer the specifics. What type of head should it be: broad and brachycephalic? Stretched and dolichocephalic? Or somewhere in the middle? And how does one measure the depth of the palpebral ligament? You wouldn’t think there’d be an intimacy to the upper eyelid, but it predetermines the stroke of the lashes, which suggests the wakefulness of the eyes, the feature that a distraught brother or a bewildered neighbor may be most likely to recognize.
A Woman of the Plains
The year is 1750 and I am a Paskwaiwiyiniwak woman living on the banks of the Kisiskaciwani-sipi river in the area referred to as Alberta during the 21st century. They call us the Ndooheenou people, a nation of hunters, for we are a nomadic people, following the migration patterns of the wild animals and birds in this area. As nomads we do not have specific occupations. Survival dictates that everyone, in the tribe, is capable of doing whatever task is needed in the moment. We work as a team, not as individuals. The only division is that between men and women. The men are typically the hunters who supply us with meat and the warriors who keep us safe from predators as well as the other tribes who inhabit this area: the siksikartsitapi in particular, who would wipe us out in a moment, if ever given the chance. The men are also responsible for making the tools we use to survive, from stone, wood and bone. The white man, with the convenience of metal, has yet to arrive in our area.