History

“Make no mistake, you are in some danger here; all adventurers ultimately are,” wrote an American diplomat stationed in Kabul, Afghanistan, in a 1972 letter to brothers David and John Kunst. “You can be killed by people who want your possessions or resent your presence or both.” Despite the envoy’s warning about this “fascinating, difficult and dangerous” land, he expressed “considerable envy” of the letter recipients’ ongoing journey: an on-foot circumnavigation of the globe.

Nearly 50 years ago, on October 5, 1974, one of the Kunst brothers made history, crossing into Waseca, Minnesota, more than 4 years, 13 countries and 14,450 miles after he’d first walked out of the town.

The ambitious endeavor started in the projection room of a movie theater, in the enduring tradition of colleagues wishing they were elsewhere. David (nicknamed Dave) told Rick Ebensteiner, the theater’s manager, that he dreamed of driving a Jeep across South America. Ebensteiner shared his vision of something bigger: walking around the world. “You’ve got to do something nobody has ever done before and won’t probably ever be done again,” Ebensteiner said.

The idea animated 30-year-old David and his 23-year-old brother, John, who was about to graduate from college. “Knowing that I’d be just crazy enough to go along with such a venture, Dave asked me what I thought of the idea,” John wrote. “That was it. Just hearing the idea was enough to sell us both.”

The siblings set off on June 20, 1970. They decided to walk 1,500 miles from Minnesota to New York City, then fly across the Atlantic Ocean to Portugal. From there, they would traverse Spain, France, Italy, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey, Iran, the Soviet Union, Japan and Hawaii before navigating back to Minnesota by way of the United States’ West Coast—that is, of course, if everything went according to plan.

“Lots of people get ideas. Some people even come up with great ideas,” David later recalled. “But most people, they just say, ‘Someday, someday, someday.’ They never do it. That wasn’t going to happen to us.”

From Minnesota to New York City

Much of David and John’s quest centered around escaping the ordinary: the “modern, concrete, push-button world,” as the brothers wrote to a Minnesota newspaper. “We want to demonstrate man’s control over his own destiny and to reaffirm his strength and vitality.” The duo rejected the stifling of freedom in the “unending struggle for security.”

Still, some pragmatism was required before embarking on the journey. The Kunsts secured financial backing from banker Hal Greenwood and letters of introduction from former Vice President Hubert Humphrey and Minnesota Senator Walter Mondale. In his missive, Humphrey, also a former Minnesota senator who was then running to retake his seat, asked recipients to “extend … all possible hospitality and assistance” to the brothers, who were both “men of good character.” Having such imprimaturs opened doors to embassies and in cities and towns around the world. Buoyed by the initial outpouring of support, David and John decided to use their walk to fundraise for UNICEF, a United Nations agency that provides humanitarian aid to children. (Ultimately, the venture raised just a few thousand dollars.)

One woman suggested the brothers bring a mule, as the animal could carry their travel accoutrements and “eliminate any thoughts that we might be hitchhiking,” John wrote. Thus, the first of four mules, Willie Make It, was conscripted for their journey, to be followed by replacements at different stops along their route: Willie Make It II, Will Willie Make It and Willie Will Make It.

When David and John walked out of Waseca on a drizzly day in June 1970, to the tune of Roger Miller’s “King of the Road,” they carried the weight of great expectations. “We should be aware that this is something that has never been attempted before in the history of man,” Mayor Carl Swanson told the assembled crowd, “and we will be able to say we were there when it started.”

Some questioned how David could leave behind his wife, Jan Kunst, and their three children “while he takes off on some crazy scheme,” as one Waseca woman summarized it. But the brothers also encountered plenty of enthusiasm—and some wistful envy from those reminded of their own unrealized yearning for exploration. As John wrote, they found “this dream of adventure and escape in the minds of many people, from Waseca to New York City.”

Among the inspired was Polly Letofsky, who was 12 years old when she read about the brothers in 1974. Speaking with Smithsonian magazine, Letofsky, who later chronicled her own circumnavigation of the globe in 3MPH: The Adventures of One Woman’s Walk Around the World, said, “When I [saw] this story of a man walking around the word, and he’s from Minnesota … that opened my eyes to the possibilities.”

Meeting a princess and an explorer in Europe

During the first leg of the trip, David and John’s sleeping accommodations varied from strangers’ homes to camping in parks to a free night in an Ohio jail. In late August, a third Kunst brother, Pete, hitchhiked across the country to walk with his siblings for three days. As David recalled in his 1979 memoir, The Man Who Walked Around the World: A True Story, Pete bid an emotional farewell to his brothers, vowing to step in if something happened to either one of them.

On October 8, 1970, David and John reached New York, where they were photographed walking down 42nd Street with Willie. They flew to Portugal (courtesy of Greenwood) that December, resuming their walk in Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of mainland Europe. Locals gifted the brothers a new mule, as they’d had to leave the first Willie behind in the U.S. Mayors along the route offered signatures as proof that the Kunsts had walked through their towns.

David and John kicked off 1971 in Spain, moving on to the “very picturesque” French Riviera that spring. In St. Tropez, they happened upon the church where Mick Jagger, lead singer of the Rolling Stones, got married on May 12, 1971.

The brothers followed up their brush with rock ’n’ roll royalty with the real thing, meeting Princess Grace of Monaco, formerly the American film actress Grace Kelly, in a palace courtyard. Descending the staircase, the princess asked with amusement if the mule kicked. The brothers gave her a polished lucky mule shoe worn by the second Willie to remember the moment.

David was also enthralled to meet the famed Norwegian adventurer Thor Heyerdahl in Italy. He had read Heyerdahl’s book about crossing the Pacific Ocean in a raft in 1947. Willie, too, was welcomed by jovial patrons in the restaurant where Heyerdahl was dining. (That July, the mule became the first member of his species to enter Venice in more than a century.)

In a subsequent letter to David and John’s parents, Heyerdahl commended the pair as “young men capable of carrying out such a hard task,” despite “our modern world where the common ideal is comfort”—words that echoed the brothers’ own distaste for security.

Meeting the princess and Heyerdahl “were definitely highlights” of the walk, David, who is now 85 years old, tells Smithsonian.

From Eastern Europe to Afghanistan

The Kunsts made their way east as summer turned to fall in 1971, passing through Yugoslavia (specifically modern-day Slovenia, Croatia and Serbia) and Bulgaria (then a communist satellite state of the Soviet Union), where they encountered a public leery of engaging them. “They seemed too scared to do much of anything,” David wrote in his memoir.

Humphrey, the siblings’ steadfast supporter—and by that point back in the Senate—made diplomatic overtures to gain permission for them to “extend their route through the Soviet Union,” as he wrote in an August 1971 letter. “I feel it would be most indicative of world support for peace if such a route could be arranged.” But such gestures of goodwill proved elusive during the Cold War, and Humphrey’s efforts were in vain.

In Turkey, the Kunsts were frequently surrounded by onlookers, including children who threw rocks at them. They waited out the harsh winter at an apartment in Ankara furnished by the American Embassy, then crossed into Iran in 1972, at one point declining a camel driver’s request to trade his animal for their mule.

“The American Embassy in Tehran had warned us it might be dangerous to camp in tiny villages that were off the main road,” David later recalled. “For that reason, we decided to make it to the border [with Afghanistan], where we had been told there was a military contingent.”

When the brothers arrived in Afghanistan in late August 1972, marking the approximate halfway point of their journey, they received an official welcome and a police escort. But the terrain of the Central Asian country wasn’t nearly as welcoming.

“We walked through vast, empty and hostile stretches, where the road was paved but there was no water, no pasture for Willie, no food for us, no relief from the 130-degree sun, and little or no security from nomadic bands,” wrote David and John in an October 19, 1972, letter to a radio station back home in Minnesota.

The Kunsts watched buzkashi, the no-holds-barred national sport involving a headless goat, and lauded it as “the most exciting event we have seen yet.” A few days later, the brothers left Kabul, expecting to make it to Pakistan in just over two weeks. They parted ways with their police escorts, believing the most dangerous stretches to be behind them.

“The possible dangers are a little scary … but we’ve committed ourselves, and we have to keep moving,” John wrote in his diary. “It’s this going on in the face of almost overwhelming advice against it that bothers me.”

A fatal encounter in Afghanistan

On the night of October 21, 1972, a group of bandits approached the brothers’ wagon, likely because they mistakenly believed the Kunsts were carrying the money they’d raised for UNICEF. “Etched in the moonlight, the shadowy, turbaned figures [seemed] to glide toward us,” David recalled in his book. He attempted to scare them off with a warning shot, leading the men to fade back into the darkness.

Then David heard a shot ring out. A bullet struck him in the chest, and he called out to John to take up arms in his place. John yelled, “This is stupid, you dummies. Please.” More shots followed. David played dead as the attackers removed his watch, lying on the ground in silence until they were gone. When he checked John’s body, he failed to find a pulse. “I want to cry for John. But it’s too late,” David wrote of that wrenching moment. “More alone than I have ever been in my life,” he focused on saving himself. Caravans passed by, their owners too afraid to stop, until finally a Land Rover filled with soldiers found David and brought him to safety in Kabul.

Medical records from the city’s American clinic testify to David’s extraordinary luck: “The bullet traversed the chest,” hitting part of his left lung but missing his spine and heart. David remained hospitalized while his brother was laid to rest just outside of Waseca. Humphrey attended the funeral, and Princess Grace wrote a letter expressing her “heartfelt sympathy” at the tragic news, which she called a “heartbreaking end to your wonderful ambition.”

In truth, the end of the brothers’ ambition was still two years away. David returned to Minnesota to recover, soon finding himself “itchy to get going again”—and making plans to resume the journey with his surviving brother, Pete.

Dave Kunst World Walk

David and Pete resume the around-the-world journey

In March 1973, David and Pete traveled to the same mountain pass in Afghanistan where the previous walk had ended. There, the pair were feted by Afghan officials, with Pete now walking in John’s stead, fulfilling his earlier promise to replace one of the brothers if anything happened to them during their journey. Authorities told the brothers that several of the men responsible for the October 1972 ambush had been captured, but three others had vanished into Pakistan’s rugged Northwest Frontier Province.

From Afghanistan, David and Pete crossed the Khyber Pass into Pakistan, this time with armed escorts. Their hopes of hiking through China—a route that would “save us over 1,000 miles,” David told the Associated Press—failed to come to fruition. Henry Kissinger, then serving as the U.S.’s national security adviser, called the brothers’ story “fascinating” but was skeptical that Chinese authorities could be persuaded to allow the siblings passage. “Past efforts lead me to doubt that an intervention on our part would be effective,” Kissinger wrote to Humphrey. “Indeed, it might raise questions in Chinese minds about the independent efforts of these American boys.”

Denied permission to walk through China, the Kunsts instead traveled to India, where they faced an arduous stretch in the summer of 1973. Pete was afflicted with a severe kidney infection, leaving David to fend off robbers on his own. Bound for Calcutta, today Kolkata, they braced for monsoons and “a walk of 900 miles through very poor, highly populated country,” David wrote to an Associated Press reporter in a July 5 letter. “People, people, people, we just couldn’t get away from people,” he wrote wearily in a follow-up missive.

Unable to gain permission to cross through Burma (now Myanmar), the brothers found themselves languishing in Calcutta. Barred from taking the most direct route around the world, they decided to walk through Australia instead—a decision that would change the course of David’s personal life.

The Kunsts flew to Perth, planning to walk east to Sydney before flying across the Pacific Ocean. It was there that the peripatetic Minnesotan, who was still married to his first wife, had a chance meeting with an Australian schoolteacher at a party.

“In December of 1973, Dave Kunst literally walked into my life,” Jenni Samuel, who later became David’s second wife, tells Smithsonian. “I was totally fascinated by him and the walk.”

David and Pete ushered in 1974 with vast stretches of the Australian Outback ahead. Entries in the brothers’ daily log of where they slept underscore the isolated nature of the journey; the phrases “middle of nowhere” and “open country” appear frequently. In March, when they were about halfway through Australia, Pete flew back to the U.S. to be with his family. The next month, Will Willie Make It, the mule the Kunsts had acquired in Perth, died by the side of the road.

David was essentially stranded with his wagon. “And then I get my big idea,” he wrote in his book. “How would [Samuel] like to drive here and tow the wagon for me the rest of the way to Sydney? I’d walk next to her, and we could talk.” The two did just that.

Wrapping up the walk around the world

In July 1974, David flew from Sydney to Los Angeles to finish the trip, making his way on foot through the California desert, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska and Iowa. He completed the final leg of the journey solo, as his fourth and final mule, Willie Will Make It, refused to follow in the grueling footsteps of her predecessors.

A few weeks before David was due to arrive in his hometown, the largely positive press he’d enjoyed on his walk hit a snag. In Nebraska, a reporter joined the loquacious wanderer for a piece that ran on September 22. Speaking with characteristic candor, David said, “I was tired of Waseca, tired of my job, tired of a lot of little people who don’t want to think and tired of my wife. The walk was a perfect way to change all that: I just walked out of town.”

David’s raft of unfiltered musings touched a nerve. “I think Kunst is going through his adolescence a bit late,” one Minnesotan wrote in a letter to the editor, capturing the sentiments of many town stalwarts.

In a follow-up article published three days later, as the controversy peaked, David claimed his comments had been “sensationalized.” As he told a columnist who accompanied him on 14 miles of his walk, “I just hate playing games when it comes to who I am or what I am.” Why should he act “like a knight or somebody out of a fairy tale?” David asked. “That’s dishonest.”

Some agreed with David’s notion of honesty as the pre-eminent virtue. “At least Kunst isn’t running for office, or he would have mastered the art of civilized deception,” a Minneapolis man wrote in a letter to the editor. “I’ll be in Waseca on October 5 to welcome him.”

In the final miles of his walk, David was joined by Pete, who came in from California; Ebensteiner, whose idea had sparked this epic journey; and Ebensteiner’s wife. It was a poignant moment for the thousands of well-wishers gathered in Waseca to witness his return. But some former supporters, including financial backer Greenwood and Waseca’s mayor, Swanson, decided not to attend the ceremony. David’s then-wife, Jan, who had taken a job to support their three children during what turned into the four-year demise of their marriage, was “absent or inconspicuous,” a local newspaper reported. “I always knew you’d do something crazy like this someday,” Jan had told her husband at the outset of the venture.

“Two Kunst brothers started this trip,” David told the crowd, with Pete in tears behind him. “And we said two Kunst brothers would finish it.”

The Kunst brothers’ legacy

David earned a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records as “the first person recorded to have ‘walked around the world.’” Perhaps unsurprisingly, others have made claims of this ilk, both before and after David. Konstantin Konstantinovich Rengarten, a Russian journalist, lectured in the United States during his late-19th-century walk. In 1987, Guinness editors informed David that Steven M. Newman’s 22,500-mile solo trek around the world would supplant him in their 1988 edition. Letofsky became the first woman to complete the feat in 2004. Journalist Paul Salopek has spent more than a decade retracing the steps of “our ancestors’ global migration” and is currently making his way through South Korea and Japan. But on October 5, 1974, David became the first modern traveler verified to have completed an on-foot circumnavigation of the globe.

David walked from Waseca to Waseca, but he never truly returned to his hometown. In 1977, a reporter found him in Southern California, where he was working as a caretaker for an apartment building and delivering newspapers while nurturing his dream of writing a book about the walk. (His memoir, co-written by Clinton Trowbridge, was published two years later.) “I don’t feel any different now than I did when I was 20,” David, then 37, told the journalist. “I haven’t grown up yet, and I like that.”

By then, David had divorced Jan and married Samuel, whom he was living with in California. Over the years, the couple have visited every state and road-tripped around Europe, building a life “full of love [and] wondrous adventures,” Samuel says.

Early in the brothers’ journey, John wrote that the walk “was an opportunity to rise above the normal trivialities of life and do something unique, one of those chance-of-a-lifetime things.”

Proving their mettle and pursuing their goal was a shared aspiration that came to define both John’s and David’s lives—one cut short and one long and happy.

As David reflects today, “How fast time flies when you’re healthy and having fun.”

Built at the dawn of the Ancient Egyptian civilization, the great Pyramids continue to inspire awe, millennia after their construction. The fact that the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra lived closer in time to the launch of the first iPhone in 2007 AD than the creation of the Great Pyramids in 2600 BC is the clear insight into their incredible age. And all that is so old is rightfully full of mystery as well. This means that the true nature of the Egyptian pyramids is still subject to debate, after these thousands of years. Many theories arose over the centuries, often ascribing a greater role to these structures, or connecting them to extraterrestrial beings. Could there be truth in this? Could the pyramids be much more than just elaborate tombs of long forgotten pharaohs?

The Mysteries of the Distant Past

Traditionally, the great pyramids have always been seen as tombs, funerary structures belonging to the most powerful rulers of Egypt’s history. The elite, the royals, and the most powerful nobles of the Old Kingdom of Egypt (known also as the Era of the Pyramid Builders) were all deserving of lavish burials.

The pyramids, such as those found in Giza, were meant to highlight the power and the importance of the deceased person, not only by their incredible size, but also by the manpower required to build them. Of these, the most notable and the most famous is the Great Pyramid of Giza. It was commissioned by the pharaoh Khufu (known to the Greeks as Cheops), roughly around 2650 BC. According to the sources, the building took 27 years of constant work and roughly 40,000 workers at all times. This means that the pyramid was completed during Khufu’s lifetime.

Pyramid in the sand. (Givaga /Adobe Stock)

This “tomb” is so lavish and grandiose, that it was the tallest man-made structure for over 3,800 years, until more modern skyscrapers took this title. Now, the Egyptians had a strong belief in life after death, and the pharaoh – being so powerful during his life – had to have an equally lavish resting place where he could dwell in eternity. This is why no expense was spared in its construction. But was this more than just a tomb?

There are significant gaps in the modern understanding of the pyramids. This is particularly true for the methods of constructing these massive stone structures, with many still claiming that it cannot have been done by men in 2600 BC. What is more, the incredible accuracy with which they were built, as well as their alignment with celestial bodies still continue to baffle scholars. Add to this the incredible size and weight of some of the stone blocks used in the building, and you have a whole lot of questions that still need accurate and believable answers.

So, could there be more to these pyramids than first meets the eye? Or is this simply labeling the ancient Egyptians in what was a seemingly advanced era as still too primitive to conduct huge building campaigns? Whatever the case, believers still think that although highly capable, the Ancient Egyptians erected these structures for totally unique reasons, some of which are hard to believe. And that’s where constant and often heated debate in scholarly circles began.

Are These More Than Tombs?

One of the most popular alternative theories states that the pyramids, especially the Great Pyramid of Giza, were ancient “power plants.” Writers such as Christopher Dunn suggested that the pyramids were not simply tombs, but very advanced ancient “machines”, designed to harness natural energy sources. Dunn suggested that the internal layout of the pyramid, including its granite chambers, ventilation shafts, and steep passages, indicated a mechanism for generating power.

The Giza Pyramid Complex map. (MesserWoland/CC BY-SA 3.0)

He has proposed a theory that the pyramid was a ‘resonating energy generator,’ using a combination of piezoelectric properties of the stone and the earth’s natural electromagnetic fields to produce energy. Piezoelectricity is the natural phenomenon where some materials, like quartz or crystals or limestone, can generate electrical charges under mechanical stress.

Dunn further states that the “Queen’s Chamber” within the pyramid was used to generate hydrogen gas, which then “interacted with the other materials within the pyramid” in order to create a plasma discharge. This was a form of energy that could have been harnessed and used for various purposes, even though its exact use remains speculative. Those who adhere to this unique theory believe that the complete absence of soot from torches and oil lamps within the pyramid’s passages suggest that the ancient Egyptians used some form of alternative light or energy.

This theory met with a lot of disapproval from the scholarly ranks, and its critics argue that there is no direct archaeological evidence that could support this idea. But even so, the theory brought a lot of intrigue, and some alternative researchers still strongly support it. It could be an indicator that the Ancient Egyptians possessed knowledge that went far beyond their time.

The Star Maps of Ancient Cosmographers

There is no doubt that the ancient civilizations, Egyptians included, possessed advanced knowledge of the heavens, the celestial bodies, and the constellations. This gave birth to another very popular theory about the true nature of the pyramids. It states that they were built as astronomical tools or star maps – a direct continuation of the advanced knowledge of the cosmos that the Egyptians had.

The theory is closely linked to the work of Robert Bauval and Graham Hancock, popular pseudo historians who suggest that the layout of the pyramids, particularly those at Giza, mirror the alignment of the stars in the Orion constellation. And truly, when the two are compared, the resemblance is striking.

Orion’s Belt superimposed on the Giza pyramid complex, illustrating the Orion Correlation Theory. From left to right: Alnitak on the Great Pyramid of Giza. Alnilam on the pyramid of Khafre. Mintaka on the pyramid of Menkaure. (NASA, Rogelio Bernal Andreo/CC BY-SA 4.0)

Bauval’s Orion Correlation Theory states that the three main pyramids at Giza were constructed to align with the three stars in the Orion’s Belt constellation – Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka. The author states that the alignment is too precise to be coincidental and demonstrates that the ancient Egyptians built the pyramids to reflect their beliefs in the afterlife and the heavens above. After all, the Egyptians believed that Orion was connected to the God of afterlife and rebirth, Osiris. This makes the alignment a symbolic journey to the stars and the eternal life beyond them.

Another key feature of this theory is the incredibly precise alignment of the Great Pyramid with the four cardinal points, north, south, east, and west. The level of accuracy in the orientation of the pyramids with the true north is unbelievable, deviating only by a fraction of a degree.

Beside this, the shafts within the Great Pyramid, for long considered to be simply ventilation shafts, have been suggested to serve as celestial sightlines, pointing to specific stars, namely Orion and Sirius.

Ancient Energy

John Cadman, a noted researcher, is a proponent of yet another popular theory regarding the secrets of the pyramids. His work suggests that the pyramids were in fact a part of an ancient hydraulic system designed to harness the power of water. His view is that the internal chambers and passages within the pyramids, in particular the subterranean chamber, were created as a way to interact with underground water sources and thus generate energy through water pressure.

Cadman speculated that the floodwaters of the Nile River could have been diverted into the internal systems of the pyramids. Within them, the water’s movements could create sound waves and vibrations, and thus generate energy. His theory is closely connected to the power plant hypothesis and emphasizes the role of water as a key component in the energy-generating capabilities of the pyramids.

And even though there is no direct archaeological evidence to support such a theory, certain researchers nevertheless pointed out the proximity of the pyramids to the Nile River, and the existence of water erosion marks around the base of the great Sphinx. All this indicates that the Ancient Egyptians could have used water in the pyramid construction or something similar.

The Sphinx at Giza (Denise Chan/ CC BY-SA 2.0)

Another fascinating theory holds that the pyramids were much more than mere tombs, but rather centers for spiritual transformation and healing. The theory suggests that the unique geometric shape of the pyramids, their alignment, and orientation allowed them to act as spiritual antennas. That way they channeled cosmic energy or Earth’s natural forces to aid in healing or spiritual transformation.

To Build the Impossible

Of course, one of the biggest secrets and an enduring enigma is the creation of the pyramids. After all these centuries and countless research, we still do not know exactly how they were created. There are countless guesses and theories, but nothing is a definitive answer. The sheer size and the precision with which they were built is stunning. And the fact that they were created in 2650 BC, with fairly crude tools and rudimentary equipment, aids to the enigma.

The first question everyone asks is how? How did they transport these massive stone blocks, many weighing several tons, across great distances and fit them into place, to increasingly high positions. For example, the granite stones used in the pyramid of Khufu were quarried from Aswan, some 900 kilometers away (560 mi). Considering that the largest granite blocks weigh between 25 and 80 tons,  moving and raising them must have been a mind-boggling feat in 2650 BC.

Besides this, it is estimated that there are around 2.3 million stone blocks in the Great Pyramid of Giza alone, as well as roughly 5.5 million tons of limestone, 8,000 tons of granite, and 500,000 tons of mortar. Additionally, modern estimates suggest that the construction, which took around 27 years, required 3,500 stonemasons working constantly (for almost three decades) to create 250 massive stone blocks per day that were needed for the pyramid to be complete in that time. Also, it is calculated that the peak workforce employed in the construction numbered 40,000 laborers.

All this, however, does not explain how they were built. This gave rise to many explanations, including the intervention of extraterrestrial beings, lost ancient technologies, unknown chemical processes that could soften stone, and even acoustic levitation. And still – we simply do not know for sure.

A casing stone used in the construction of the Egyptian pyramids, British Museum. (British Museum/CC BY-SA 3.0)

The Great Minds of the Distant Past

In the end, could it be that we simply underestimate the Ancient Egyptians of the Old Kingdom? Sure, they did not have access to lasting and complex tools, but they had great minds amongst them – thinkers and observers who could have been in tune with the world around them. Besides this, there is no doubt that the powerful pharaohs had access to a mind-boggling workforce, consisting of both paid laborers and slaves. Could it be that with all this combined, they set upon a grand construction project and completed it?

Either way, the pyramids remain a mystery. Their true purpose, the building methods, and the secrets that they are yet to uncover all point to some greater meaning, some inexplicable goal that was greater than life itself. All we can do is hope to understand the ways of the ancients.                

Top image: The three main Egyptian pyramids at Giza, together with subsidiary pyramids and the remains of other ancient structures.  Source: KennyOMG/CC BY-SA

By Aleksa Vučković

References
Davidovits, J. 2008. They Built the Pyramids. Geopolymer Institute.
Henzel, C. K. 2011. Pyramids of Egypt. ABDO Publishing Company.
Well, A. 2013. The World’s Most Amazing Pyramids. Raintree.

Over two centuries ago, Dhaka muslin was the most coveted and expensive fabric in the world, gracing the wardrobes of royalty and the elite. Made in Bengal, now part of Bangladesh, this fabric was renowned for its ethereal beauty, with a thread count of 1,200—far higher than today’s best cotton fabrics.

The secret to Dhaka muslin’s finesse lay in its production process. It required cotton from a specific plant, Phuti karpas, which grew only along the Meghna River. Unlike the longer fibers used in modern cotton, these fibers were short and delicate, making them hard to work with but essential to the fabric’s unique qualities. Crafting Dhaka muslin involved a painstaking 16-step process, each carried out by artisans in separate villages.

By the mid-1700s, the British East India Company, which controlled much of India’s trade, recognized the demand for this fine fabric and exploited Bengal’s artisans. They forced them into factories, paying them less while demanding higher production. Meanwhile, Britain’s textile industry, based on wool and silk, saw muslin as a threat. To protect their interests, the British government enacted the Calico Acts, banning cotton fabrics in the UK. However, demand for muslin persisted, leading Britain to mass-produce lower-quality versions.

In Bengal, the exploitation became unsustainable. Artisans, earning next to nothing, abandoned their craft, and the Phuti karpas plant eventually went extinct. By the early 19th century, authentic Dhaka muslin disappeared.

In 2013, Saiful Islam, a British-Bangladeshi heritage enthusiast, sought to revive this lost fabric. After years of searching, he found a preserved Phuti karpas leaf and used modern technology to locate a genetic match. Though his team managed to recreate a version of the muslin, they struggled to replicate its legendary thread count.

Dhaka muslin’s story is a reminder of the cultural treasures lost to exploitation and industrialization. While the fabric may never fully return, its revival calls attention to the importance of craftsmanship and the cost of our relentless pursuit of cheaper, faster fashion.

Top image: ‘Lady in Muslin’, painted by Francesco Renaldi, Dhaka, 1789.            Source: Faizul Latif Chowdhury/CC BY-SA 4.0

By Ancient Origins

Recovery operations on the ancient Greek shipwreck “Gela II,” dating back to the 5th century BC, have officially commenced near the port of Gela, Sicily. The wreck is where in 2015 and 2017, rare orichalcum metal said to be from the legendary Atlantis was recovered. Due to this, details of the shipwreck have been keen sought by both Atlantis enthusiasts and the archaeological world.

The project, led by the Superintendence of the Sea of the Sicilian Region, involves the collaboration of specialized companies Atlantis and Cosiam, with a budget of €500,000 under the Pact for the South 2014-2020.

The project aims to uncover crucial historical artifacts from the seabed, adding to Gela’s rich maritime heritage. The sunken vessel has been dismantled and the timbers brough from the depths to the land, where they will undergo preservation.

“The sea of Gela has returned finds crucial for the reconstruction of its history,” said Francesco Paolo Scarpinato, Sicilian regional councilor for Cultural Heritage, according to a press release.

A marine archaeologist working at the Gela II site. (Soprintendenza del Mare)

Previous discoveries in the area include Corinthian helmets and orichalcum ingots, now displayed at the Archaeological Museum of Gela.

Some of the orichalcum ingots and the two Corinthian helmets previously found near the 2,600-year-old shipwreck off the coast of Sicily. (Superintendency of the Sea, Sicily)

Discovery of the Ship with Precious and Mythical Cargo

In 2015, a team of marine archaeologists recovered several dozen ingots scattered across the sea floor near the 2,600-year-old shipwreck off the coast of Sicily. The ingots were made from orichalcum, a rare cast metal which ancient Greek philosopher Plato wrote was from the legendary city of Atlantis. 

According to Inquisitr, a total of 39 ingots (metal cast into rectangular blocks) were found close to a shipwreck in 2015. In 2017, Seeker reported another cache of the same metal was found. There were 47 more ingots discovered, for a total of 86 metal pieces found to date.

Plato said only gold was a more precious substance than orichalcum. Here are two of the ingots discovered in 2017. (Sebastiano Tusa/ Superintendency of the Sea, Sicily)

The shipwreck itself was found in 1988 lying in shallow waters about 300 meters (1,000ft) off the coast of Gela in Sicily. Gela was a rich city at the time of the shipwreck, and it had many workshops that produced fine objects. Researchers believe the orichalcum pieces were destined for those workshops when the ship sank.

Sebastiano Tusa, Sicily’s superintendent of the Sea Office, noted that the precious ingots were probably being brought to Sicily from Greece or Asia Minor.

Tusa said that the discovery of orichalcum ingots, long considered a mysterious metal, is significant as “nothing similar has ever been found.” He added, “We knew orichalcum from ancient texts and a few ornamental objects.”

According to a Daily Telegraph report at the time of the recovery, the ingots were analyzed and found to be made of about 75-80 per cent copper, 14-20 per cent zinc and a scattering of nickel, lead and iron.

Metal From Plato’s Mythical Island

The name orichalucum derives from the Greek word oreikhalkos, meaning literally “mountain copper” or “copper mountain”. According to Plato’s 5th century BC Critias dialogue, orichalucum was considered second only to gold in value, and was found and mined in many parts of the legendary Atlantis in ancient times.

Plato wrote that the three outer walls of the Temple to Poseidon and Cleito on Atlantis were clad respectively with brass, tin, and the third, which encompassed the whole citadel, “flashed with the red light of orichalcum”.

The interior walls, pillars and floors of the temple were completely covered in orichalcum, and the roof was variegated with gold, silver, and orichalcum. In the center of the temple stood a pillar of orichalcum, on which the laws of Poseidon and records of the first son princes of Poseidon were inscribed. (Crit. 116–119)

For centuries, experts have hotly debated the metal’s composition and origin. According to the ancient Greeks, orichalcum was invented by Cadmus, a Greek-Phoenician mythological character. Cadmus was the founder and first king of Thebes, the acropolis of which was originally named Cadmeia in his honor.

Cadmus, the Greek mythological figure who is said to have created orichalcum (Louvre Museum/Public Domain)

Use of Orichalcum

Orichalcum has variously been held to be a gold-copper alloy, a copper-tin, or copper-zinc brass, or a metal no longer known. However, in Vergil’s  Aeneid it was mentioned that the breastplate of Turnus was “stiff with gold and white orachalc” and it has been theorized that it is an alloy of gold and silver, though it is not known for certain what orichalcum was.

The breast plate of Turnus was said to be made with gold and white ‘orachalc’ ‘The Fight between Aeneas and King Turnus’ by Giacomo del Po, Italy, Naples, 1652-1726. (Los Angeles County Museum of Art/Public Domain)

Orichalcum is also mentioned in the ‘Antiquities of the Jews’ (1st century AD) – Book VIII, sect. 88 by Josephus, who stated that the vessels in the Temple of Solomon were made of orichalcum (or a bronze that was like gold in beauty).

Today, some scholars suggest that orichalcum is a brass-like alloy, which was made in antiquity the process of cementation, which was achieved through the reaction of zinc ore, charcoal and copper metal in a crucible.

Top image: A marine archaeologist working at the Gela II site off Sicily.                 Source: Soprintendenza del Mare

By Joanna Gillan

A joint Egyptian-German archaeological mission has unearthed the funerary chamber of a woman named “Idi”, the sole daughter of Djefai-Hapy, the governor of Asyut during the reign of Pharaoh Senusret I (1961-1915 BC). Its historical significance lies in the fact that the governor’s tomb is the largest non-royal tomb of the era. The 3,900-year-old burial chamber contained two coffins, one nested inside the other, both imbued with texts that depict the journey to the afterlife.

The new burial chamber was found under Djefai-Hapy’s tomb, at the Western Mount of Asyut, Egypt. (Egyptian Ministry of Tourism & Antiquities)

Artistically Detailed, Immaculately Preserved

The discovery occurred during cleaning work inside Djefai-Hapy’s tomb led by the universities of Sohag and Berlin, as part of a joint Egyptian-German archaeological mission. Dr. Mohamed Ismail Khaled, Secretary-General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, further explained that Idi’s funerary chamber was discovered in the northern shaft of her father’s tomb, at a depth of roughly 15.25 meters (50 feet), according to a press statement on Facebook.

The outer coffin measured 2.62 meters (8.6 feet) in length, while the inner coffin was 2.30 meters (7.5 feet). Dr. Khaled emphasized that the coffins are among the most artistically detailed and well-preserved ever discovered in the region.

The coffin and its lid are highly decorated. (Egyptian Ministry of Tourism & Antiquities)

In addition to the coffins, the mission also unearthed the lid of the inner coffin, a box housing canopic jars intended to hold the deceased’s internal organs, and several wooden figurines. Although much of the tomb had been plundered and damaged in antiquity, these funerary objects still offer valuable insights into the burial practices and social status of Idi, the daughter of an influential provincial ruler.

Wooden figurines found in the burial chamber. (Egyptian Ministry of Tourism & Antiquities)

“Preliminary studies suggest that Idi died before reaching the age of 40 and suffered from a congenital foot defect,” explained Dr. Ismail.

The investigations have revealed that, in antiquity, looters had not only stolen many of the burial goods but had also desecrated Idi’s remains, removing her body and dismembering it. Despite this, analysis of her skeletal remains suggests that she passed away before the age of 40 and suffered from a congenital deformity in one of her feet, a condition that likely impacted her quality of life, reports LBV Magazine.

The mission plans to continue their work, which includes cleaning and analyzing Idi’s remains further to uncover more details about her health, lifestyle, and the circumstances of her death.

Detail of some of the hieroglyphic writing inside the sarcophagus. (Egyptian Ministry of Tourism & Antiquities)

Pharaoh Senusret I and Jefai-Hapy: 12th Dynasty Rule

Pharaoh Senusret I, also known as Sesostris I, was the second ruler of Egypt’s Twelfth Dynasty and one of the most powerful kings of the Middle Kingdom. He reigned from approximately 1961 to 1915 BC and is often credited with consolidating the political, military, and economic structures that characterized this era. Senusret I succeeded his father, Amenemhat I, who had established the Twelfth Dynasty after a period of instability, reports Ahram Online.

Djefai-Hapy, one of the most important governors in his reign, held a key administrative and political role, overseeing one of Egypt’s most significant provincial centers. Asyut, located in Middle Egypt, was strategically important due to its location along key trade routes and its proximity to Nubia, a region vital to Egypt for its resources like gold and other minerals.

The tomb of Djefai-Hapi, also known as Tomb 1, is renowned as the largest preserved rock-cut tomb belonging to a private individual from Egypt’s Middle Kingdom. This grand tomb is carved directly into a mountainside in the necropolis of Asyut, reports The Miami Herald. Measuring approximately 400 feet (122 meters) in length and rising over 30 feet (9 meters) high inside, the tomb exemplifies the architectural sophistication and scale reserved for elite figures outside the royal family.

The Minister of Tourism and Antiquities, Sherif Fathy, lauded the efforts of the mission, emphasizing the continued contribution of Egyptian archaeological teams in revealing new dimensions of Egypt’s ancient history. He reiterated the Ministry’s commitment to fully supporting these missions to ensure the preservation, protection, and study of Egypt’s cultural heritage.

Top image: Idi’s burial chamber with sarcophagus at the tomb of Djefai-Hapy Asyut, Egypt.      Source: Egyptian Ministry of Tourism & Antiquities

By Sahir Pandey

By Diego Javier Luis/The Conversation

Across the United States, the second Monday of October is increasingly becoming known as Indigenous Peoples Day. In the push to rename Columbus Day, Christopher Columbus himself has become a metaphor for the evils of early colonial empires, and rightly so.

The Italian explorer who set out across the Atlantic in search of Asia was a notorious advocate for enslaving the Indigenous Taínos of the Caribbean. In the words of historian Andrés Reséndez, he “intended to turn the Caribbean into another Guinea,” the region of West Africa that had become a European slave-trading hub.

By 1506, however, Columbus was dead. Most of the genocidal acts of violence that defined the colonial period were carried out by many, many others. In the long shadow of Columbus, we sometimes lose sight of the ideas, laws and ordinary people who enabled colonial violence on a large scale.

As a historian of colonial Latin America, I often begin such discussions by pointing to a peculiar document drafted several years after Columbus’ death that would have greater repercussions for Indigenous peoples than Columbus himself: the Requerimiento, or “Requirement.”

Catch-22

In 1494, the Treaty of Tordesillas infamously divided much of the world beyond Europe into two halves: one for the Spanish crown, the other for the Portuguese. Spaniards lay claim to almost the entirety of the Americas, though they knew almost nothing about this vast domain or the people who lived there.

A Portuguese map of the world from 1573, showing Portuguese and Spanish territories of the New World. (National Library of France/Public Domain)

In order to inform Indigenous people that they had suddenly become vassals of Spain, King Ferdinand and his councilors instructed colonizers to read the Requerimiento aloud upon first contact with all Indigenous groups.

The document presented them with a choice that was no choice at all. They could either become Christians and submit to the authority of the Catholic Church and the king, or else:

“With the help of God, we shall powerfully enter into your country, and shall make war against you in all ways and manners that we can … we shall take you and your wives and your children and shall make slaves of them … the deaths and losses which shall accrue from this are your fault.”

It was a catch-22. According to the document, Indigenous people could either voluntarily surrender their sovereignty and become vassals or bring war upon themselves – and perhaps lose their sovereignty anyway, after much bloodshed. No matter what they chose, the Requerimiento supplied the legal pretext for forcibly incorporating sovereign Indigenous peoples into the Spanish domain.

At its core, the Requerimiento was a legal ritual, a performance of possession – and it was unique to early Spanish imperialism.

‘As absurd as it is stupid’

But for all of its seeming authority, the reading of the Requerimiento was an absurd exercise. It first occurred at what is now Santa Marta, Colombia, during the expedition led by Pedrarias Dávila in 1513. An eyewitness, the chronicler Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, stated the obvious: “we have no one here who can help [the Indigenous people] understand it.”

Even with a translator, though, the document – with its lofty references to the Biblical creation of the world and papal authority – would hardly be intelligible to people unfamiliar with the Spaniards’ religion. Explaining the convoluted document would require nothing less than a long recitation of Catholic history.

Oviedo suggested that to deliver such a lecture, you’d have to first capture and cage an Indigenous person. Even then, it would be impossible to verify whether the document had been fully understood.

However, for the Requerimiento’s greatest critic, Bartolomé de las Casas, translation was merely one of many problems. A missionary from Spain, Las Casas criticized the spurious requirement itself: that a people should be expected to immediately convert to a religion they have only just learned exists, and

“swear allegiance to a king they have never heard of nor clapped eyes on, and whose subjects and ambassadors prove to be cruel, pitiless and bloodthirsty tyrants. … Such a notion is as absurd as it is stupid and should be treated with the disrespect, scorn and contempt it so amply deserves.”

Las Casas, who documented abuses against Indigenous people in multiple books and speeches, was one of the most outspoken denouncers of Spanish cruelty in the Americas. While he believed Spaniards had a right and even an obligation to convert Indigenous people to Catholicism, he did not believe that conversion should be done under the threat of violence.

Illustrations from a book written by Bartolomé de las Casas depicting Spanish torture of Indigenous peoples in the Americas. (Public Domain)

Wars and forced settlement

Indigenous people responded to the Requerimiento in numerous ways. When the Chontal Maya of Potonchan – a Maya capital now part of Mexico – heard the conquistador Hernando Cortés read the document three consecutive times, they answered with arrows. After Cortés captured the town, they agreed to become Christian vassals of Spain on the condition that the Spaniards “leave their land.” When Cortés’ men remained after three days, the Chontal Maya attacked again.

Farther north, Spanish expeditioners Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca and Melchior Díaz used the Requerimiento to forcibly relocate various Indigenous groups.

A bloodthirsty governor of the province, Nuño Beltrán de Guzmán – so violent that the Spanish themselves imprisoned him for abuses of power – had driven Indigenous residents out of the Valley of Culiacan in a series of brutal wars. But in 1536, Cabeza de Vaca and Díaz forced several groups, including the Tahue, to repopulate the valley after convincing them to accept the terms of the Requerimiento.

Resettlement would enable the collection of tribute and conversion to Catholicism. It was simply easier to assign missionaries and tribute collectors to established Hispanic townships than to mobile communities spread out across vast territories.

Cabeza de Vaca encouraged Indigenous leaders to accept the proposition by claiming that their god, Aguar, was the same as the Christians’, and so they should “serve him as we commanded.” In such cases, conversion to Catholicism was just as farcical as the Requerimiento itself.

Violence and colonial legacy

Even when Indigenous people accepted the Requerimiento, however, Las Casas wrote that “they are (still) harshly treated as common slaves, put to hard labor and subjected to all manner of abuse and to agonizing torments that ensure a slower and more painful death than would summary execution.” In most cases, the Requerimiento was simply a precursor to violence.

Dávila, the conquistador of present-day northern Colombia, once read it out of earshot of a village just before launching a surprise attack. Others read the Requerimiento “to trees and empty huts” before drawing their swords. The path to vassalage was paved in blood.

These are the truest indications of what the Requerimiento became on the ground. Soldiers and officials were content to violently deploy or discard royal prerogatives as they pleased in their pursuit of the spoils of war.

And yet, despite the viciousness, many Indigenous peoples survived by stringing their bows like the Chontal Maya, or negotiating a new relationship with Spain like the Tahue of Culiacan. Tactics varied greatly and changed over time.

Many Indigenous nations that exercised them survive today, long outliving the Spanish Empire – and the people who carried the Requerimiento on their crusade across the Americas.

Top image: Part of ‘The Baptism of Ixtlilxóchitl of Texcoco,’ painted by José Vivar y Valderrama in the 18th century.        Source: Museo Nacional de Historia / Public Domain

This article was originally published under the title ‘Accept our king, our god − or else: The senseless ‘requirement’ Spanish colonizers used to justify their bloodshed in the Americas’  by Diego Javier Luis on The Conversation, and has been republished under a Creative Commons License.

Who doesn’t love a good ghost story? Travel to any city in the world and you’re likely to find haunted landmarks and the ghost tours to go with them. Whether or not you’re a believer, the history behind the ghostly sightings at the following three castles may give you chills.

Château de Brissac, France. (Jonah Mucchiutti / Adobe Stock)

The Green Lady of Château de Brissac

Château de Brissac is a castle located in the commune of Brissac-Quincé, the department of Maine-et-Loire, France. The castle is recorded to have been built during the 11th century and has a long and interesting history. Like many castles around the world, the Château de Brissac is said to possess its own resident ghost. This is the ‘la Dame Verte’ or Green Lady, an unfaithful wife murdered by her husband during the 15th century.

The Green Lady is said to be the ghost of a woman by the name of Charlotte de Brézé, who was the illegitimate daughter of King Charles VII and his mistress, Agnes Sorel. The dukes of the château and their families are said to have grown accustomed to her presence, though it is claimed that guests have been frightened by her.

Her favorite haunt is the tower room of the chapel, where she can be found in her green dress, hence the name ‘Green Lady.’ Additionally, her face is said to have holes in place of her nose and eyes, perhaps a reflection of what was done to her when she was murdered. Her moans are heard throughout the château in the early hours of the morning.

Poppi Castle, Tuscany. (Lidia Pachetti / Adobe Stock)

Poppi Castle and the Phantom of the Murderous Madam Matilda

Poppi Castle was built around the second half of the 13th century AD. Today, it’s commonly considered one of Tuscany’s best preserved and haunted castles. One of Poppi Castle’s most infamous residents was a woman by the name of Matilda / Matelda. She was the wife of an elderly Count Guidi or a daughter in that ruling family.

In any case, Matilda was unhappy with her marriage and sought the company of young men from the town. After inviting one of them to the castle, she would spend the night with him. Before the sun rose, however, she would send the man “home” through the back door, to avoid being caught in adultery.

But to ensure that her reputation was not soiled, she would silence her lovers for good. Unbeknownst to them, the path contained a trapdoor, which sent the lovers falling to their deaths. The disappearance of the young men soon raised the suspicion of the townspeople. In the end, an angry mob stormed the castle, caught Matilda, had her walled up in the tower, and left her to die. It’s believed the ghost of Matilda still haunts the castle.

Hunyadi Castle, Romania. (Marcel Poncu / Adobe Stock)

Hunyadi Castle: One of the Most Haunted Castles in the World

Hunyadi Castle, also known as Corvin Castle, in Romania was built in the 15th century as a feudal residence and for strategic purposes. There are many legends surrounding the construction, such as the one about the Turkish prisoners who built the interior fountain.

The story says that they were promised freedom, but after 15 years of work, they remained slaves. For this reason, one of the prisoners added the following inscription to the fountain: “The one who wrote this inscription is Hasan who lives as a slave for the giaour in the fortress near the church”. Even today, Turkish tourists throw coins into the fountain in memory of their enslaved countrymen.

Vlad the Impaler was also a prisoner at Corvin Castle. Held in the cell below the Hall of Knights, he had to endure harsh conditions and eat rats to survive. Some even go as far as to claim that during this time he lost his mind.

But the most interesting aspect about Hunyadi Castle is the hauntings. This castle is one of the most haunted castles in the world. Ghostly silhouettes appear in photographs and violent ghosts are thought to wander the halls and chambers at night. When some tourists tricked the guards to remain in the castle at night, they came out the next day bruised, beaten, and terrified – they had supposedly suffered the wrath of an angry ghost. The ghost had tortured them until the early morning.

Discover the stories of haunted sites from around the world in the article ‘Unveiling the Eerie Echoes and Ghostly Past of 13 Historic Haunted Sites,’ available in the September – October 2023 issue of Ancient Origins Magazine. Get it here!

Featured Image: Representation of a haunted castle. Source: Zacarias da Mata / Adobe Stock

By Ancient Origins

In 1866 James Hole, a writer from Leeds, called for ‘a little wholesome despotism’ in tackling the problems of housing the urban working classes. He was not alone in favouring a no-nonsense, top-down approach. ‘You must have little short of a despotism with respect to the metropolis’, opined William Haywood, chief engineer of the Corporation of London in 1863, ‘if you want everything done in the way it should be done.’

Such sentiments reflected the mood of the 1860s, as anxieties about sanitation and public health evolved into deep unease about housing conditions for Britain’s workforce. Railway companies were pushing their tracks through overcrowded urban neighbourhoods, demolishing dwellings and displacing the helpless as they went. Overcrowded homes brought moral evils alongside rising death-rates. One MP thought the situation required not a wholesome but a ‘severe despotism’.

The need for mandatory intervention was obvious to many. Sanitary reform had already demonstrated that state-enforced regulations could improve common lodging houses, but what about non-institutional living? ‘Vagrants and tramps are better cared for than the labouring man living in ordinary lodgings under no regulations’, wrote Hole. There was no shortage of evidence that ‘ordinary lodgings’ often meant property unfit for human habitation.

But who was to exert any new despotic control and how far should interventions go? The Torrens Act of 1868, characterised at the time as the ‘pulling down act’, enabled local bodies to condemn, purchase and demolish houses deemed insanitary. Much altered in its passage through Parliament, amendments led eventually to the 1875 Artisans’ and Labourers’ Dwellings Improvement Act (the ‘Cross Act’). This was intended to enforce the building-up of decent dwellings that was supposed to follow the pulling-down, which the 1868 Act, despite amendments, had failed to achieve. The Torrens Act, it was said, ‘allowed local authorities to use the pick-axe but withheld the trowel’.

Together, these two acts are often cited as the start of municipal housing in Britain. But this was a beginning characterised by words rather than action as arguments about the principles, practicalities and wisdom of state intervention, whether at local or national level, rose and fell. Many opinions piled in, not least over what the primary aim of such intervention in housing might be. Was this about sanitary matters – clearing slum areas in the interests of public health; or was it about housing supply – increasing the availability of decent, well-regulated homes for workers? In both cases, should municipal bodies be agents of delivery as well as the regulating authority?

Reconciling intervention with ‘fairness’ was a constant refrain: fairness to property owners, whose buildings, however decayed, might be seized; fairness to ratepayers, who might have to bear the costs of compensating irresponsible property owners whose buildings had gone to rack and ruin; fairness to lodgers who faced displacement, however wretched their living conditions.

In its efforts to steer a course of fairness between all stakeholders, the Cross Act proposed a kind of public-private partnership whereby public authorities cleared unsanitary sites but then sold the land to private housing companies, who took on the risk of building and managing new model dwellings. In practice, this led to expensively cleared land standing empty as public and private bodies squabbled over land values and national government tried to micromanage the process through bureaucratic procedures – under the new legislation every step had 
to be approved by the secretary of state.

Debates over the housing acts also enflamed old arguments about localism and centralisation. The new legislation seemed to sidestep recent examples of municipal authorities acting for themselves, building and managing blocks of workers’ dwellings through powers embedded in local improvement acts. The City of London had built Corporation Buildings, a block of tenements in Finsbury, in 1865 using money juggled from various budgets including the sale of land near the Metropolitan Railway. The City had followed the business model established by philanthropic housing companies: the block housed 846 people and was said to achieve a four per cent return on investment.

Glasgow Corporation had also been entrepreneurial. The Glasgow Improvement Act of 1866 had enabled the Corporation to clear a large area, using only part of the site for municipal dwellings, the remainder being leased or sold ‘to the best advantage’. Liverpool Corporation had built St Martin’s Cottages in 1869 with a loan from the Public Works Loans Commissioners. The City of London’s second tenement block was realised through an improvement act associated with Holborn Viaduct. Viaduct Buildings opened in 1875, housing 565 brewery draymen, print workers and City policemen. It still stands today: England’s earliest surviving example of municipal housing.

In 1882 a Commons Select Committee investigated the 1875 legislation and found it wanting. Municipal authorities, it was said by one witness, needed ‘unfettered freedom’ rather than centralised control. Glasgow Corporation had adopted the Cross Act despite misgivings:

They were empowered to do things which they did not think it wise to do; for instance, to devote the land … exclusively to dwellings for the poorest classes; they have not followed that policy.

Whether new dwellings should house workers or the jobless poor was a matter where local and central views often differed.

The Select Committee’s report ushered in pragmatism on both sides. Central government relaxed the Cross Act’s red lines, such as forbidding new dwellings to be built with ground-floor shop units; municipal authorities became more active in the task of constructing new dwellings on land the Act had enabled them to clear. In 1885 two local projects that had got stuck were finally completed. Liverpool Corporation erected its flagship Victoria Buildings and the City of London erected five tenement blocks in Petticoat Square, Aldgate.

Arguments over the Petticoat Square site had been particularly fractious, trying the patience of all involved. Financial problems were only resolved when the City raised extra money through the issue of housing bonds, but the resulting tenements offered a lower standard of accommodation than the Corporation’s earlier blocks. William Haywood sounded a graceless note as he emphasised that, although the tenements had been built under national legislation, this was primarily a local improvement, devised for local conditions and realised by local effort through local funding:

The largest portion of the tenements and a few of the shops have been let, and to a large extent, to those whose occupations are in the City; the remainder to those poor persons whom it is hoped will appreciate the great advantage which has been bestowed upon them by the erection of these structures at the expense of the ratepayers of the City of London.

The housing acts of the 1860s and 1870s can be seen as wholesome despotism turning into a rather British make-do-and-muddle. But if they provided examples of what not to do, they also demonstrated the need for pragmatism when approaching this most complex of social problems.

Cathy Ross is a former Director of Collections at the Museum of London and the author of Dwell I Never: The City of London’s Lost Residents (Quickfry Books, 2024).

Hidden out of sight and forgotten for centuries in the Shoham Community Forest, near the heart of Israel, archaeologists have now uncovered the remains of an extraordinary 6th-century Byzantine church. The discovery, first made in 1986, offers important evidence of a little-known period of religious transformation. Among the most fascinating discoveries of those excavations is a unique marble medallion depicting the Greek goddess Tyche, a rare find in a Christian context.

This combination of pagan and Christian symbolism at one site shows the cultural complexity of the Byzantine period in the Land of Israel, illustrating how ancient beliefs persisted alongside the rise of Christianity.

Marble medallion depicting the Greek goddess Tyche. (IAA)

Unveiling Khirbet Tinshemet: An Ancient Settlement in Israel

The ancient village of Khirbet Tinshemet lies within the Shoham Community Forest, a scenic area full of archaeological treasures, explains a, Israel Antiquities Authority announcement. The site is believed to have been an active settlement from the 4th century AD, continuing through the Byzantine era and into the early Islamic period.

The church now unearthed there has previously been identified by some scholars with “Beto-Melgasis,” a settlement featured on the famous Madaba Map, a 6th-century mosaic that served as a detailed cartographic representation of the Holy Land.

Excavations at Khirbet Tinshemet, led by Prof. Yosef Porat in 1986 and later by Dr. Uzi Dahari in 1995, revealed the church’s charred remains. It was then the rare marble medallion carved with the image of Tyche, the Greek goddess of fortune and the patron of cities was found. Tyche’s presence at the entrance of a Christian church is an unusual find, offering insights into the cultural syncretism of the time.

The IAA report notes the medallion dates back to 582-3 AD, a time when Christian churches were flourishing across the Byzantine Empire. The inclusion of a pagan symbol like Tyche at a Christian site reflects the slow and complex process of religious transformation in the region.

The medallion is the only known example of its kind within Byzantine art, making it an exceptional discovery.

Current excavations at the Shoham Community Forest site. (IAA)

A Cultural and Religious Hub in Transition

In addition to the medallion, archaeologists uncovered other items that shed light on the life of this Iron Age settlement. The site yielded coins dating from the 4th to the 8th centuries AD, indicating that Khirbet Tinshemet was an active settlement for hundreds of years. These coins not only reflect economic activity but also the settlement’s long history of continuous occupation through both the Byzantine and early Islamic periods.

The church, dedicated to Bacchus the Holy, a Christian martyr, contained a mosaic inscription in the center of the main hall that reads: “This place belongs to the Lord and the One Son.”

Mosaic inscription “This place belongs to the Lord and the One Son.” (IAA)

Such inscriptions affirm the centrality of Christianity in the region during the Byzantine period, despite the continued influence of older traditions, as evidenced by the Tyche medallion.

Preservation Efforts and Historical Significance

Following the major excavations of the late 20th century, the site underwent significant preservation efforts led by the IAA’s Conservation Department. In 2011, a project involving local residents was launched to ensure the site’s survival for future generations. Today, Khirbet Tinshemet is an accessible and well-preserved site, offering visitors a unique glimpse into the religious and cultural transitions of ancient Israel.

Visitors to the site today can explore the ruins and imagine a time when the old and the new coexisted—when worshippers of the Christian God might have still held some reverence for the pagan goddess of fortune.

Top image: Mosaic inscription “This place belongs to the Lord and the One Son.”           Source: IAA

By Gary Manners