This edited article about protecting and conserving Britain’s heritage originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

Londinium as the Romans built it, by Ralph Bruce

The occupant of an earth-satellite poised in space over Britain at the right altitude, would be able to see almost at a glance, if he knew what to look out for, evidence of man’s existence here during more than 5,000 years. This would be the record of his way of life, at first agricultural and then industrial, from the time when he originally established himself and laid his ‘signature’ upon the land. From Muckle Flugga at the tip of Shetland to the granite crags of Land’s End, history and prehistory would be spread out beneath his gaze. This is what we call our heritage.

His eye would be caught by the greatest prehistoric monument within our shores, Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain, the masterpiece of Stone Age Man which may have taken 1,000 years to build and was completed perhaps 3,500 years ago. Its true purpose is still not known. Not far from it, he would see the Avebury Stone Circle, the largest of its kind in all Europe, and the avenue of giant stones leading to Silbury Hill, the largest man-made mound in Europe. He would see, too, the hundreds of round and oval burial-mounds, especially in Wiltshire, marking the last resting-places of chieftains who died over 3,000 years ago.

All these are impressive relics of Stone Age and Bronze Age Man, the earliest inhabitants of Britain. The hills and ridges of Berkshire, Dorset, Derbyshire and elsewhere carry the relics of their successors. These are the great earth ramparts and ditches of the hill-forts established by Iron Age Man. They may be seen from the air, but you can see and explore them on foot. All are prehistoric sites. All were there when, in the last years B.C., the Romans arrived in Britain.

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This edited article about espionage originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 705 published on 19 July 1975.

The famous World War Two spy, Violette Szabo, was trapped by an advance guard of the German army

The cinema and the spy thriller have given us a highly coloured picture of the secret agent at work. Armed with a veritable arsenal of fancy equipment, ranging from cameras in cigarette lighters to seemingly innocuous items which turn out to be something capable of blowing up a building, the secret agent of fiction wanders around the world, gaily taking everything in his stride. The truth is something rather different.

The secret agent, which is really a more polite term for a spy, has been with us for a long, long time, and for most of that time his work has been lonely and boring. But, of course, it was still not without its dangers, as we will show you in this new series.

Espionage, in war and in peace, is almost as old as man himself. Certainly it began much earlier than the times of the Old Testament in which it is recorded that Moses sent 12 spies into the land of Canaan. Four thousand years ago, the Egypt of the Pharaohs had a highly sophisticated espionage network in its conquered territories. And espionage has never lacked for its practitioners at any time in history, even though, when caught, the spy can always be certain of two things – that he will be disowned by his masters and that he will be imprisoned or executed.

Probably the most illustrious of all ancient spies was Mithridates, who became king of Pontus in Asia Minor when he was, only 11 years old. Later, he fled from his tempestuous mother and in his wanderings he was said to have learned 25 languages and made a special study of poisons. These attributes Mithridates turned to good account as a spy, a career he pursued while disguised as a caravan boy. He soon learned so much about the strength of tribes in Asia Minor that he was able to vanquish his mother and get back his throne, where he ruled as one of the greatest tyrants of all time.

The ancient Romans had a highly developed espionage service, although their methods were sometimes strangely crude. When a Roman delegation went to the camp of Syphax, king of Numidia, to arrange a peace treaty, the whole delegation were high ranking military spies. Only their leader, Lelius, wore uniform; all the rest were disguised as slaves.

To get information about the strength of the Numidian army, Lelius simply contrived to make one of the Roman horses break away from the delegation’s camp. The slaves then chased the animal through the Numidian army lines, making careful mental note of all they saw.

But one day, a Numidian army officer stopped one of the Roman “slaves” and declared that he had seen him before, in an officers’ training school in Greece, and that he was sure the slave was in fact a Roman officer.

At this, Lelius stepped forward and viciously slashed the “slave” with his horsewhip. The Numidian officer knew that, according to Roman law, it was forbidden under pain of death to strike a Roman officer. What would the “slave” do? Time and time again, Lelius lashed the man until, like a cringing animal, the “slave” crept away. The Numidian was then satisfied: the man could not be an officer or Lelius would never have struck him.

As old as the spy’s profession is his bag of tricks, repeated and permutated down all the centuries, but never losing its fascination. In the Franco-German War of 1870-1, spies disguised as priests walked out of Paris while it was under siege and found their way unmolested into the German lines. In the war between France and Austria in 1813, cryptic writing, which aims at disguising important information with harmless phrases, was widely used. Thus, “Your brother has recovered from his illness and is now in good health” meant, “The Austrian army is mobilised and ready to march.”

One of the papers found in the Austrian army headquarters after that war was the following “business” letter written by a spy from Trieste. Although the “business” seems harmless, the recipient’s knowledge of what the code meant gave the letter a new and vital significance:

“Dear Sir,

“I hope that you are already in receipt of my last letter. I arrived at 5 a.m. today in Trieste to look for the goods that you are particularly anxious to obtain here.

“I have secured the following.

1 cwt, of cinnamon (a fortress)

2 cases of lemons, average size (guns)

60 ditto, smaller size

“These are being stored meantime not far from the shore.

Within the next few days you may expect to receive the following:

4 cases of bitter oranges (earthworks)

2 casks of eels (magazines)

400 sacks of rice (hundredweights of powder)

450 sacks of almonds (light infantry)

1 small cask of figs (brigadier)

1 small cask of pure oil (lieutenant-general)

“For all these articles I have paid a deposit of 1,700 lire (infantry), debiting the amount to your account. Trusting this meets with your entire satisfaction and may prove extremely profitable to you . . .”

Sending such information by post was nothing new. In ancient times, when the “post” was simply a slave courier, the Persians inscribed their secret messages on clay tablets, then covered the tablets with wax, so that the words could not be seen. Then, if the courier was caught, he appeared to be carrying only a blank tablet.

Another favourite spy trick, used as late as the Second World War, was to insert cipher information in the personal advertisement columns of newspapers. When the Germans bombed Paris in the First World War, for instance, their intelligence service in Switzerland eagerly scanned the columns of a well-known French newspaper for days afterwards, until they saw an advertisement that read something like:

“19-22. Bien arrivee avec nos trois amis, mere malade. 3,160.”

The advertisement, placed by a spy, meant:

“Nineteenth district of Paris, Square No. 22 on the military map, bomb hit, three victims, tremendous effect on the population. Sent by agent number 3,160.”

On the French and Belgian battlefields in the First World War, windmills were a favourite means of communication for spies. Once, a Russian spy decided to make use of a windmill just in front of the Russian lines.

For an hour he pleaded with the miller and his wife, with a bribe of fifty roubles, to help the Allied cause by turning the arms of the windmill in a clockwise direction as a signal to the Russians if the Germans should arrive.

When the miller adamantly refused to have anything to do with such an idea, the spy stripped three of the sails, bound the miller’s wife hand and foot; then tied the helpless miller to the remaining sail of the windmill, which he turned upwards.

The spy’s plan, of course, was that if the Germans did arrive they would certainly release the miller by bringing him down to earth. As soon as they did that, one of the stripped sails would go upwards, signalling to the Russians that they were there. That, in fact, was exactly what did happen. As soon as the Germans made to release the miller, the Russians raked the mill with artillery fire, wiping out the enemy.

Today, with most of the world in an uneasy state of peace, there is still plenty of work for spies. The peacetime spy is an industrial spy, whose job is to steal one company’s secrets and sell them to others – or to use them for himself. During the years of the industrial revolution a British ironmaster and industrial spy named Foley played the part of a wandering minstrel by tramping from town to town in Europe with his violin. His real aim was to find out how the Continental method of treating iron and producing steel worked, for it was considered superior to the British method. Returning to England with his secret, “Fiddler” Foley developed his factory at Stourbridge in Worcestershire and became a millionaire.

“Bugs”, or listening devices, are the chief tools of the modern industrial spy. A bug invented by Emanuel Mittleman, of New York, can be planted in the base of the victim’s telephone, and the spy can then eavesdrop from anywhere.

What happens is that the spy dials the number of the bugged telephone and the moment before the telephone rings he blows a single special note with a tiny mouth organ that comes with the bug. The mouth organ note activates the microphone in the base of the telephone at the other end. Two things then happen – the telephone does not ring and the spy is able to hear every word in the room, even though the bugged telephone is still on the hook.

Followers of James Bond and other modern espionage heroes know how important is the miniature camera in the spy’s toolkit. The one most used is, strange to say, one that is on sale to the public – the German Minox miniature camera.

The Minox is only three inches long by an inch wide and weighs only four ounces when fully loaded. It can take sharp pictures down to a range of eight-inches, and with 36 pictures on a single film, it is the perfect instrument for photographing the enemy’s secret documents at close range.

The twelve spies who went into the land of Canaan for Moses had only their eyes with which to record information. Three and a half thousand years later the tools are different – but the basic job is still the same.

This edited article about  long distance running originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 704 published on 12 July 1975.

Pheidippides was the original long distance runner with the news of the Greek victory over the Persians at Marathon, by Alberto Salinas

The art of long distance running is not only a matter of simple endurance. It is also a question of the runner having an economical running style, and the ability to judge pace. Nurmi, the Finnish athlete, who always ran with effortless ease, exemplified this style. His feats, however, were part of a sporting event in which he had the crowds to spur him on. The solitary long distance runner, out to create some personal record, has no such aids to sustain him as he runs along his lonely route.

Loneliness, though, has never seemed to be a problem for the long distance runner, who, for centuries, has been happily travelling along deserted routes with only his thoughts for company. The best runners in the Middle Ages, were the ones who travelled alone, and were generally found among the couriers of the Turkish sultans, who often ran from Constantinople to Adrianople and back, a distance of about 220 miles (352 km), in two days and nights.

Today, the record for the greatest non-stop run belongs to Jared R. Beads, who at the age of 41, covered a distance of 121 miles, 440 yards (195,132 km) in 22 hours, 27 minutes. More spectacular though, in its way, was the feat of the Norwegian, Mensen Ehrnst, who, in 1936, ran from Istanbul to Calcutta and back in 59 days, averaging 92.4 miles (151,6 km) per day. Considering the endless miles of dusty, unmade roads he had to cover, mostly in sweltering heat, it was an incredible feat, which still stands as a monument to man’s endurance.

This edited article about Pompeii originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 702 published on 28 June 1975.

The last days of Pompeii by Graham Coton

In Pompeii, the morning of August 24th, in the year A.D. 79, had dawned as bright and clear as it normally did at that time of the year. Peasants were now working busily among the vines and olive groves on the slopes beneath the shadow of slumbering Mount Vesuvius, which had not spewed lava from its volcanic depths for centuries. The farmers who had risen particularly early, were already wheeling their two-wheeled carts piled with fruits and vegetables towards the market. There they would find more than enough buyers from among the wealthy Romans who used the fashionable resort of Pompeii as a pleasant refuge from the sultry heat of the Roman summers. In the streets, people were discussing the forthcoming elections and laying wagers on the gladiators who were due to fight in the amphitheatre before an audience of some ten thousand people. At the bottom of the steep street that led down to the harbour, men were busily unloading a cargo of wine and oil.

As the morning progressed, the city became more busy than ever. Slaves scurried among the crowds, shopping for their mistresses and masters, and as usual, the public baths were full of wealthy men of all ages who used them as a club where they could discuss the latest tit-bits of gossip that had been brought from Rome by some of the more recent arrivals. For the children, it was a particularly happy time because they were not at school. Noisily, they ran around the rooms and courtyards of their villas, playing hide-and-seek with their friends, or else they trundled their hoops through the streets, keeping a wary eye out for the charioteers who frequently came clattering along the rough roadways. In short, that August morning was very much like any other summer morning for the carefree population of Pompeii.

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This edited article about the Lombards originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 702 published on 28 June 1975.

Alboin, King of the Lombards,  makes Rosamund drink from her father’s skull by Tancredi Scarpelli

A modern bank with its air of calmness and efficiency seems to owe little to the far distances of history where murder, brutality and intrigue were rife.

Yet, banking has its origins with the Lombards, a Germanic tribe which emigrated south 1,400 years ago from the rule of Attila the Hun, plundering, warring and gathering fortunes to establish a new home in the north of Italy.

Rightly, they are remembered in the City of London, hub of the financial world, where one thoroughfare is named after them – Lombard Street.

Although the strange race, which took its title from their long beards – or “Lango Bardi” – vanished as an independent nation in the 8th century, their traditions, achievements and administrations lived on to produce the principles of commerce and banking that remain to the present day.

The groundwork of finance and trade was carried down the ages by Lombard crusaders, knights and financial agents of the Popes, who set up money-lending businesses in London in the 13th century.

But in the early centuries, Lombard kings with names like Alboin, Cleph, Authari and Luitprand carved the beginnings of the financial structure, finally clashing with Charlemagne the Great, who conquered them and proclaimed himself king of the Lombards.

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This edited article about Theseus originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 700 published on 14 June 1975.

Theseus slays the Minotaur by Lancelot Speed

Theseus, the son of Aegeus, the King of Athens, was one of the greatest of the many heroes in the legends of ancient Greece.

Theseus was born and grew up in a place called Troezene, and it was not until he had grown up that he set out on the long journey to his father’s palace in Athens.

When he arrived there, he found to his horror that his father had married an evil temptress named Medea. She tried to have Theseus poisoned as soon as he arrived, but fortunately Aegeus arrived on the scene in time to stop the murder.

It is as the conqueror of the Minotaur, however, that Theseus is famous in legend. The Minotaur, a terrible monster, half-man, half-bull, was the child of Pasiphae, wife of Minos, King of Crete. In order to hide the monster from his eyes, Minos shut it up in a maze called the Labyrinth. Every year he forced Aegeus, father of Theseus, to send him seven boys and seven girls to shut up in the Labyrinth with the monster. Every year their fate was the same: they were either killed and eaten by the Minotaur or they starved to death.

On hearing of this terrible ordeal, and resolving to kill the monster, Theseus set sail for Crete with the next 14 victims. The ship on which he sailed had black sails and Theseus promised his father that if he were successful he would hoist the white ones instead when they returned.

When the ship arrived at Crete, Minos’s daughter, Ariadne, saw Theseus and immediately fell in love with him. She gave him a long thread to unroll as he went to and fro in the Labyrinth in search of the monster. He was thus able to guide himself back out of the maze again after he had killed the monster.

On the way home to Athens Theseus forgot to change the sails on his ship. Aegeus, thinking his son dead, threw himself into the sea. That sea has been called the Aegean ever since.

After his father’s death, Theseus became King of Athens and married Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons.

For trying to capture the wife of Pluto, god of the underworld, Theseus was imprisoned. Though he was later rescued by Hercules, the Athenians refused to have him as their king again after being away for so long, and Theseus went to Scyros, where he later died.

This edited article about King Midas originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 698 published on 31 May 1975.

King Midas

It has been said that money is the root of all evil. The wealthy would probably challenge this claim, arguing that, properly used, riches create employment for millions of people, thus enabling worthwhile charities and foundations to function.

Men of money, however, would agree that it does not always bring happiness and contentment, but that it can arouse greed, ruthless behaviour and not a little cunning. Gathering and keeping a fortune also involves hard work; millionaires are seldom idle people. Many of them appreciate the pitfalls of prosperity.

One who did was King Midas, legendary king of Phrygia, founder of Ankara and pleasure-loving son of the Great Goddess of Ida. He learnt the facts of finance the hard way.

He is said to have been the discoverer of both black and white lead. But he is best known for his association with another metal . . . gold.

According to the Grecian myths, it all began about 1,000 BC when Bacchus, the god of wine, or Dionysus as the Greeks also knew him, was leading an expedition to the East. As usual, it was a rumbustious, merry-making adventure with a good deal of carousing and roistering along the way.

One of Bacchus’s pupils, a satyr named Silenus, wandered off from the main body and, it is said, collapsed in a drunken state in the rose garden of King Midas.

Peasants found Silenus sprawled unconscious amid the blooms. Before he was fully awake, they seized and bound him. Then they marched him off to the king’s court for judgement. Midas was extremely annoyed but before long the charming tongue of the satyr made him forget his anger.

For Silenus captivated the king with tales of adventure and voyages and Midas was so pleased with the stories told by his unexpected guest that he entertained him for several days in lavish style.

Finally, Midas provided a guide to lead Silenus back to Bacchus, who by now was becoming increasingly anxious about his missing student. But Bacchus was so grateful to see him again that he told Midas he could have anything he wished for.

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This edited article about karate originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 696 published on 17 May 1975.

You can spend months perfecting a Karate blow for a specially important competition and still be disqualified if you land it!

A waste of time? Not at all, for much of the Karate expert’s skill is far too deadly to use “for real”, and it is quite sufficient for him to show that he is familiar with a particular attack without actually following it through.

Karate is a Martial Art in which almost anything goes, but only when fighting for one’s life against an enemy. In the dojo or training centre it is considered an act of almost unforgivable incompetence if one injures an opponent, and one that brings immediate disgrace.

Karate is probably the oldest of the Martial Arts, and is traceable through ancient Chinese writing of 3000 years ago, although this does not mean that all Karate is necessarily Chinese. The word itself is Japanese and means “the empty hand”, a term that covers a number of techniques of fighting with only one’s natural weapons. There are Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Okinawan forms of this particularly deadly art of self defence. Of all of them, the best known is probably Okinawan, modified and improved by the Japanese.

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This edited article about Boadicea originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 695 published on 10 May 1975.

Boadicea faces the might of the Roman army by C L Doughty

Boadicea, the fearless and headstrong queen of the Iceni tribe, has gone down in history as the woman who defied the might of Rome after its legions had invaded Britain in A.D. 43.

Her husband, King Prasutagus, the tribe’s powerful and wealthy ruler, died during the winter of 60-61 A.D. and, having no son as heir, left his property and wealth to be shared between the Roman Emperor and his two daughters. However, the Romans ignored the King’s will, ill-treated his widow, Boadicea, and his daughters.

The enraged Iceni tribe, led by Boadicea, decided to rebel against the Romans in condemnation of their conquerors’ cruel deeds.

Since nearly all Britons hated Roman rule, the result was a wholesale revolt. The Iceni found themselves joined by half the people in the country and the uprising spread.

The conquered had chosen a most opportune moment to strike for the Roman governor General, Suetonius Paulinus and his army were away in the north of Wales.

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This edited article about Ancient Greece originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 689 published on 29 March 1975.

The city of Athens in Ancient Greece

The civilisation of Ancient Greece was one of the greatest ever known. Because of this, several books would be needed in which to describe every aspect of it. But here is a general outline of its history.

Two thousand years before the birth of Christ, there existed in Crete and Greece a civilisation called Aegean, which took its name from the Aegean Sea.

From about the 6th century B.C., the Greek peoples lived in a number of small, separate states each centred round a city; the most important of these were Athens, Sparta and Thebes.

In the 5th century B.C. Persia, which owned a mighty empire, invaded Greece after being defeated by the Greeks in the battle of Marathon in 490 B.C.

During the first part of the 5th century, the Athenians and Spartans won many victories over the Persians but in 431 B.C. a great war between Athens and Sparta broke out. A year later a great plague spread through the city of Athens which killed many of the inhabitants.

The war between Athens and Sparta ended in 404 B.C., by which time Sparta had built up a strong navy and with this, managed to win a final, crushing victory over Athens. From that date, the great days of Athens were over and Sparta retained its leading position for thirty years.

But the constant wars between the larger states of Greece greatly weakened the civilisation and this gave Philip of Macedon and his son, Alexander the Great, the chance to bring the whole of Greece under their control.

In the 2nd century B.C. the Romans conquered the Macedonians, and Greece then became part of the Roman Empire.

The independent civilisation of ancient Greece had come to an end.