On 18 November 1870, a crowd gathered outside the Surgeons’ Hall in Edinburgh. Inside, seven young women sat for an anatomy examination alongside male medical students. Outside, hundreds of men jeered, shouted insults, and attempted to force the gates. Mud, rubbish, and abuse rained down on the women as they tried to enter the building. Some of the male students reportedly released a sheep into the hall as a mockery of the female candidates. Others, more sympathetic ones, tried to shield the women and escorted them out of the college in safety once the examination was over.
Surgeons’ Hall, the site of the 1870 riots. Credit: Billy Wilson
In the summer of 1774, a team of British astronomers working under the patronage of the Royal Society established camp at the foot of a lonely mountain in the Scottish Highlands to conduct one of the most ingenious scientific experiments of the 18th century. Armed with telescopes, pendulums, quadrants, barometers, and delicate measuring rods, these men were attempting to weigh the Earth.
The mountain they chose was Schiehallion, an isolated peak in Perthshire whose smooth, symmetrical shape made it ideal for the audacious experiment. The project became known as the Schiehallion experiment, and it represented one of the first serious attempts to determine the planet’s mass using Newtonian physics.
On the borderlands between modern-day Slovakia and Hungary stands one of the strangest waterfalls in Europe. The formation at Šomoška Stone Waterfall appears frozen in motion, as though a cascade of dark basalt had suddenly solidified while tumbling down a hillside. Unlike ordinary waterfalls shaped by flowing water, this “stone waterfall” was created by volcanic fire millions of years ago.
Every spring, just before the arrival of the better-known Qingming Festival, parts of China once observed a strange and austere tradition where all fires were extinguished, even in the kitchen, and people ate cold food. Families shivered through the lingering chill of early spring while honouring a man who, according to legend, died in flames rather than betray his principles.
This was the Cold Food Festival, or Hanshi Jie, one of China’s oldest traditional observances. Though now largely absorbed into the Qingming Festival, the Cold Food Festival endured for centuries as a solemn commemoration of loyalty, sacrifice, and remembrance. Its customs ranged from ancestor worship and tomb sweeping to the peculiar requirement that all food be consumed cold.
Rice cakes known as “Bánh trôi nước” are staple during the Cold Food Festival. Credit: Việt Hùng Cao
In fiction as well as in real life, counterfeiters have always been portrayed as master forgers and artists who reproduced banknotes with astonishing precision. They were often shown as vast criminal enterprises and gangsters who destabilized economies with fake currency. Then there was Emerich Juettner, a frail old immigrant living alone in a shabby New York apartment, quietly printing one-dollar bills on a cheap hand press. He was, by almost every conventional standard, terrible at counterfeiting.
And yet he succeeded for nearly a decade. By the time the United States Secret Service finally caught Juettner in 1948, he had become kind of folk hero. The press adored him and the public sympathized with him. A Hollywood film would soon immortalize him under the nickname “Mister 880,” a reference to his Secret Service case number.
In the spring of 1006, people across Asia and Europe looked up into the night sky and saw something astonishing: a brilliant new star blazing in the southern heavens. It appeared suddenly, shone with extraordinary intensity for months, and then slowly faded away. Today astronomers know this object as SN 1006, the brightest stellar explosion ever recorded in human history.
Modern estimates suggest the supernova reached a visual magnitude of about −7.5, making it far brighter than Venus and possibly bright enough to be seen during daylight. Yet as bright as it appeared in the 11th century, the remains of the supernova are all but invisible today.
On 6 December 1917, in the harbour of Halifax, in Nova Scotia, Canada, two ships collided. One of them was a munitions ship loaded with explosives bound for the battlefields of the First World War. The result was one of the largest human-made explosions prior to the detonation of the first atomic bombs in 1945. Nearly 2,000 people died, another 9,000 were maimed, and more than 25,000 were left without shelter.
Cloud of smoke from the Halifax Explosion. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
During the American Civil War, naval warfare underwent rapid transformation. The famous ironclads such as the USS Monitor and CSS Virginia showed their might, but a less glamorous but highly practical class of vessels known as the “cottonclads” played a significant role, particularly in the western rivers.
Cottonclad warships were essentially civilian steamboats converted for military use and protected by bales of compressed cotton stacked along their sides. This expedient armour was not intended to stop heavy artillery, but it did provide a measure of protection against small arms fire and light cannon shot.
The Union Queen of the West, converted into a cottonclad via the placement of cotton bales as artillery-resistant armor, ramming the Confederate Vicksburg. Credit: Wikimedia
In the year 1692, an 86-year-old man who lived in the town of Mālpils in Latvia stood before a judge and calmly proclaimed that he was a werewolf working for the benefit of the community. The man, known as Thiess of Kaltenbrun, made a series of curious statements during his testimony, describing not only the habits of werewolves but also offering a vivid account of Hell.
Thiess’s confession, preserved in the transcripts of the court proceedings, has long struck researchers as highly unusual. Bruce Lincoln, who translated the trial record from German into English, has described it as “one of the best surviving pieces of evidence for a werewolf’s self-understanding.”
Many medical therapies, from cancer treatments to the management of infertility, are now so routine that their origins are easily overlooked. Yet each rests on years of painstaking research and discovery to ensure that such treatments are both safe and effective for clinical use. In some cases, scientific breakthroughs required unusual collaborations, not only across scientific disciplines but even with the church, as in the development of the fertility drug Pergonal.
Saint peter's square, Rome, Vatican. Credit: mariananistor35
In the mid-17th century, the French colony of New France faced a crisis that threatened its very survival. Despite fertile land and a steady trickle of settlers, the colony remained overwhelmingly male. Soldiers, fur traders, and labourers vastly outnumbered women, making stable family life and therefore long-term growth nearly impossible. To address this imbalance, the French Crown shipped hundreds of young marriageable women to build new lives across the ocean. They were called Filles du Roi, or “King’s Daughters.”
Arrival of the King's Daughters to Quebec. Painting by Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
During the years the Berlin Wall stood, roughly 5,000 people managed to escape across it into West Berlin. Before the wall was constructed, around 2.7 million East Germans had already fled to the West, many passing through Berlin while the border there remained open. Once the wall rose and security tightened, escape became far more perilous, driving would-be defectors to increasingly desperate measures, such as leaping from buildings that bordered the wall, tunnelling beneath it, or concealing themselves in vehicles. Winfried Freudenberg went further still. He attempted to cross the divide by taking to the air in a homemade balloon.
In the early 1960s, a Soviet mathematician and cyberneticist named Viktor Glushkov floated a remarkable idea. He proposed that the Soviet Union build a nationwide computer network that would manage and automate the entire economy in real time. Known as OGAS, obshche-gosudarstvennaya avtomatizirovannaya sistema (National Automated System for Computation and Information Processing), it was one of the most ambitious cybernetic projects ever conceived, several years ahead of competing networks like the ARPANET and what would later become the internet.
On the evening of 16 October 1834, the ancient Palace of Westminster, the seat of the British Parliament for centuries, was consumed by one of the most spectacular fires in London’s history. What began as a somewhat less-than-routine act of housekeeping ended in catastrophe, destroying most of the medieval complex and clearing the way for the grand Gothic Revival building that stands today.
The cause of the disaster was almost absurdly mundane: the disposal of old tally sticks.
The Palace of Westminster on Fire, 1834, by an unknown artist. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
While most athletes competing at the Olympic Games are remembered for their triumphs, victory is not always the reason they endure. At the 1908 London Olympics marathon, one Italian runner became a legend not for winning, but for losing in the most unforgettable way imaginable.
Every four years, couples from all over the United Kingdom, and sometimes beyond, come to the little Essex village of Great Dunmow to take part in a 900-year old ceremony called the Dunmow Flitch Trials. In this curious tradition, married couples attempt to prove before a public jury that they have lived together in perfect harmony for a year and a day. If successful, they are ceremonially rewarded with a “flitch” of bacon, i.e. half a pig, in recognition of their conjugal bliss.
In the mid-19th century, the river Senne, which was once the lifeblood of Brussels, had become its greatest liability. It had become polluted and it flooded frequently becoming a health hazard to the working class neighbourhoods that surrounded it. By the 1860s, the decision was made to bury much of the river beneath the city itself, transforming both the urban landscape and the health of its inhabitants. The covering of the Senne stands as one of the most dramatic examples of 19th-century urban intervention and a defining moment in the history of Brussels.
Underneath this wide Boulevard Anspach flows River Senne. Credit: Dave Ciskowski
In the summer of 1817, a mysterious creature was seen swimming in the harbor of Gloucester and along the coast of Cape Ann. Eyewitnesses described it as a gigantic, serpent-like animal, its long body marked by a series of humps rising and falling above the water. Throughout that summer and into the following year, numerous fishermen and other credible locals reported sightings of the creature, capturing the imagination of scientists, newspapers, and the public alike. The Gloucester Sea Serpent quickly became a legend and remains one of the most well-documented cryptid sightings ever recorded.
A contemporary illustration of the Gloucester Sea Serpent.
In the rugged hills of north western Spain, amid green forests of chestnut and oak, rises an otherworldly landscape of jagged red cliffs, hollowed hills, and labyrinthine cavities. This surreal terrain called Las Médulas is not the work of natural erosion but the result of a complex hydraulic engineering works used by the Romans to extract gold from the bowels of the mountain.
Many violent riots have begun over matters that seem almost absurd. In 1325, the rival cities of Modena and Bologna went to war over a wooden bucket, an episode remembered as the War of the Bucket. In 1355, tensions between townspeople and scholars at the University of Oxford erupted into bloodshed after a quarrel over bad wine, in what became the St Scholastica Day riot. The Mutiny of the Trout, as its name suggests, belongs to this curious tradition—an outbreak of violence sparked, improbably enough, by a single fish.
A dish of baked trout is tempting enough to start an argument, if not a mutiny. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Among the countless local celebrations held across Japan each year, one of the most unusual is the Enrei Onodachi Memorial Festival, often described as Japan’s shortest festival. The festival commemorates visits made to the area by two Japanese emperors—Emperor Meiji and Emperor Shōwa. During their respective travels through the region, the emperors briefly stopped at the site. Just like these brief visits, the festival lasts for only a few seconds. Despite its brevity, the festival attracts spectators, historians, and curious travellers who gather to witness a ceremony that is over almost as soon as it begins.
The Enrei Onodachi Park where the festival is held. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
In the early 19th century, England produced an animal so enormous that it became a national curiosity. Named the Craven Heifer, this extraordinary cow achieved fame as the largest ever exhibited in England. For a brief period in the early 1800s, crowds gathered simply to marvel at her extraordinary bulk, and stories about the gigantic animal spread across the country.
The Craven Heifer was born in 1807 on the estate of Reverend William Carr near Bolton Abbey. Carr raised the animal with special attention to feeding and care, and within a few years she grew to astonishing proportions.
An 1811 portrait of Craven Heifer by an unknown artist. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Before the modern period, in Japan, certain colours were strictly regulated by law and custom, and wearing them without permission could be considered an act of social or even political defiance. These were called kinjiki, or “forbidden colours”, and were reserved for the emperor and for members of the court hierarchy.
The system developed during the classical court culture of the Heian period (794–1185), when the imperial court in Kyoto cultivated a highly refined aesthetic culture. Clothing, poetry, etiquette, and even colours were governed by strict codes. Colour, in particular, became a visible marker of rank.
"Plum Blossoms at Night" by Utagawa Kuniyoshi. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
On the evening of 17 September 1908, a young American officer named Thomas Selfridge climbed into a fragile wooden aircraft at Fort Myer, Virginia. Minutes later, he would become the first person in history to die in the crash of a powered airplane.
The machine was a Wright Flyer, designed and flown by Orville Wright, one half of the famous Wright brothers. The demonstration flights at Fort Myer were part of a U.S. Army evaluation. The military was considering purchasing an aircraft from the Wright Company, and Orville had already impressed observers with controlled turns and sustained flight.
Orville Wright and Thomas Selfridge in Wright flyer before the ill-fated flight. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
In 480 BC, Xerxes the Great, the fourth king of the Achaemenid Empire, launched the largest invasion the Greek world had yet faced. Xerxes’s father Darius I had already attempted to subdue Greece but was defeated at the Battle of Marathon in 490 BC. Xerxes inherited both the empire and the unfinished ambition.
After suppressing revolts in Egypt and Babylon, he spent years preparing a massive expedition. Bridges of boats were constructed across the Hellespont (modern Dardanelles), and a canal was dug through the Athos peninsula to prevent naval disasters like the one that had wrecked an earlier Persian fleet.
The Battle of Salamis by Wilhelm von Kaulbach (1804-1874).
,_National_Museum_of_Health_and_Medicine_(3323202385).jpg){kind=link}