This edited article about Ferdinand and Isabella originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 701 published on 21 June 1975.

The reception of Columbus by Ferdinand and Isabella

Famous for uniting the whole of Spain under one ruling family, and for helping to make it a strong and powerful country, Ferdinand and Isabella started their reign as King and Queen of Aragon and Castile.

For centuries Spain had been divided into several separate kingdoms, each with its own rulers and by the 1400s the three main ones were Aragon, Castile and Granada.

In 1469 Ferdinand of Aragon married Isabella of Castile, the two countries being united under their joint rule. As King and Queen they proved to be strong and able rulers, who succeeded in suppressing the powerful and rebellious nobles of Spain by defeating them in several battles and destroying many of their castles.

In 1492 Ferdinand conquered Granada, the last remaining Moorish part of Spain, and with this conquest, the whole of Spain was united.

It was during the rule of Ferdinand and Isabella that the Spanish Inquisition was set up. This was a court of law that sentenced to torture and death people who refused to obey the teaching of the Roman Catholic Church. Ferdinand and Isabella were determined to make all their subjects Christian. This meant that many Jews and Moors were expelled and persecuted.

It was also at this time that Spain began to build up a great new empire in the New World. In 1492 Christopher Columbus discovered the continent of America. Because he had sailed from Spain with the help of Ferdinand and Isabella he returned there and Spain became the first European country to conquer territory in the New World.

Isabella died in 1504 and her husband died twelve years later.

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

Cavers or pot-holers discover a subterranean world of beauty among the stalactites and stalagmites

Man has been to the moon, climbed the highest mountains, visited the sea’s depths and flown faster than sound. What else is there for an adventurous individual to do? One answer is to scramble deep below the surface of the Earth, to explore the tunnels and caverns that ancient rivers fashioned into a strange and beautiful wonderland.

Not content with exploring these, men have tested their ability to endure long periods in this cold and awe-inspiring world. Milutin Veljkovic of Yugoslavia set the world record for this when he spent 463 days between 1969 and 1970 in a cavern in the Svrljig mountains of northern Yugoslavia. But he was not entirely alone, for he took a cat, a dog and some hens and ducks for company.

Time means little to people when there are no days and nights but the perpetual glimmer of an oil lamp. When David Lafferty went into Gough’s Cave, Cheddar Gorge, Somerset, he tried to keep a check on the passing of time. Companions joined him towards the end of his stay and told him that August had arrived. A surprised Mr. Lafferty had thought that it was only July. Since he had been in the cave from 27th March, this was not unexpected. By remaining in the cave until 4th August in 1966, Mr. Lafferty set up a British record of 130 days underground.

He achieved this in a cave found in 1867 by a Mr. Gough and his sons. They came across it after exploring fantastically beautiful tunnels spiked with stalactites and stalagmites. Behind some rubble, they discovered not only a new series of caves but something else which set their imaginations reeling. Among the rocks lay the skeleton of a man which was estimated to be at least twelve thousand years old. When this man was alive, people had ceased to live in caves. They had learned to build huts and defend themselves with weapons. And they hunted the reindeer, cave-lion and brown bear which, with the mammoth, roamed the Somerset hills.

So why had this early man gone into the Cheddar caves? Perhaps he, too, had gone in search of adventure, like the underground explorers of today, as a pioneer pot-holer of ancient times.

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

The execution of Sir Walter Raleigh by Oliver Frey

A grey-headed man in his middle sixties climbed on to the scaffold, where the executioner waited with his axe. The victim limped from an old leg injury, sustained in fighting for his country. Far from jeering, the watching crowd pitied the man who had been a soldier and sailor for England, a poet, and explorer, a queen’s favourite, but also regrettably a king’s enemy. The man in question was Sir Walter Raleigh. For twelve years he had been in the Tower, under sentence of death for plotting against James I. Although released to command a fruitless expedition to America, he had returned in disgrace, to suffer the fate which had hung over him for so long.

As he stood there, perhaps his last thoughts were not of courts or battles, but of the Devon lanes where he had spent his boyhood, and the village church where he had knelt beside his father so long ago.

Walter Raleigh’s father married three times, and had two daughters and four sons by different wives. The youngest son he named Walter, after himself. The boy could claim kin with some famous names through his relations – the Drakes, for instance, the Grenvilles, and the Gilberts, all Devon men. These uncles, cousins, and half-brothers became the young Walter’s boyhood heroes, and he often met them in his family circle.

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This edited article about Alexandra David-Neel originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 691 published on 12 April 1975.

Alexandra David-Neel sees Lhasa for the first time

The travellers who were making the slow, painful journey into the heart of the Himalayas were now at the most difficult and spectacular part of their task. The path clung to the sheer face of towering canyon walls as it wound its way up the slopes and soon it had narrowed to a ledge only nine inches wide.

Alexandra David-Neel edged her way along these dangerous stretches, gripping protruding iron pegs or the rock itself where she could and trying not to look at the rushing, foaming river a thousand feet below. One slip would mean certain death but she coolly kept both her balance and her possessions until, at last, the path widened and they could walk safely once more.

Not that she ever wanted to turn back. She had already completed some spectacular travels in India, China and Japan but Lhasa, the forbidden city of Tibet, was the next target for her ambition. Now, at last, disguised as a begging pilgrim and accompanied only by a Lama, she had begun the great adventure.

The mystery of Tibet had been jealously guarded for centuries and by the end of the 19th century, only a handful of Europeans had ever succeeded in penetrating this remote and forbidding land. It is guarded by both the Himalayas, the Karakoram mountains and the vast deserts of central Asia but even those who reached this strange land, often failed to do more than pass the border before they were turned back. Both politics and religion played a part in ensuring that foreigners were kept out and soon Tibet became known as “The Forbidden Land”.

A few missionaries and a merchant or two, were the only Westerners to see a fraction of the country. Then the great East India Company sent an envoy to see whether Tibet could be used as the back door to the vast markets of China. Soon afterwards, however, the Tibetans closed their frontiers completely and a century of almost total isolation began. Those who tried to evade the border guards faced, at best, humiliation and an escort back to the frontier. Others just disappeared and we can only guess at their fate.

None of this could alter Alexandra David-Neel’s obsession with Tibet nor the fascination of its strange religion. But she certainly did not rush into an enterprise that might end in disaster.

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This edited article about Nikolai Prjevalsky originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 690 published on 5 April 1975.

In Kazakhstan traders and pedlars tried to warn Prjevalsky of the dangers

Nikolai Prjevalsky’s walk through the old town of Alma Ata did not follow the route one would expect of a Russian Army Officer. Instead of keeping to the broad streets near the barracks he seemed intent on threading his way through the maze of dark and dirty streets which led towards the old bazaar.

As the streets narrowed, so the press of people hurrying to and fro grew more difficult and Nikolai found himself pushing past Chinese peasants, Tibetan pedlars, Turkish merchants and a whole assortment of fierce and unfamiliar faces. For Alma Ata was the capital of Kazakhstan in the extreme south east of Tsarist Russia. China was only a short distance away and the camel tracks through the vast wilderness of central Asia brought traders from as far away as Tibet and Mongolia.

It was these traders whom Nikolai wished to meet, but not for the wares they sold. From the barracks he could see the glorious snowcapped peaks of the Tien Shan mountains, and beyond lay the uncharted wastes of the Gobi Desert. Three thousand six hundred miles of emptiness, inscrutable and unconquered, yet it was Nikolai’s ambition to cross it. And the only men who could help him plan such a dangerous journey were the traders who crossed the fringes of the desert on their way to towns such as Alma Ata.

At last, Nikolai found the house he sought. No one in the tea house paid much attention to him and he simply sat there for several minutes, listening to the babble of voices.

Then he turned to a group of bashis, or camel pullers, and asked if they would help him cross the desert. The effect was electric. All conversation stopped as first one, then another of the traders and pedlars tried to warn him of the dangers.

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

Rene Caillie in search of Timbuktu by Angus McBride

The young French boy read on, lost to his humdrum surroundings. His imagination, through the pages of the book, had already transported him to mysterious, far-off places. Little did he know that one day, he would actually be setting forth on a journey that other travellers had declared to be impossible.

The most comfortable place to curl up with a good book was the bakehouse. It was warm, the smells were inviting and the ten-year-old Rene had a secret hideout behind the sacks of flour where he could read undisturbed for hours. His father grumbled that he did not help more in the bakery but Rene knew the exact time to come out of hiding and work hard for half an hour in order to avoid a beating.

On this day, however, his usual good sense deserted him. He was so absorbed in his book that he quite forgot the time and even failed to hear the shouts of rage when he did not appear. Only when the sacks were suddenly shifted and his father’s angry face appeared, did he realise that he was in trouble.

“Give me that book!” roared his father. Rene reluctantly handed over his precious copy of Robinson Crusoe, only to watch, horrified, as his father muttered “Trash” and sent it spinning towards the ovens. Regardless of the consequences, Rene bounded over and rescued it, shaking with fear and anger. But the expected fight to keep his most valued book never came. He was saved by the urgent need to get on with the jobs he should have done over the last half hour.

Rene Caillie never forgot the incident because it was reading Robinson Crusoe, he said, which changed the course of his life. Although he was only the son of a poor family in Western France, he determined to find fame as a traveller and explorer. In an era when well organised parties, backed by learned societies and rich patrons were filling in the empty spaces on the maps of the world, Rene set off, alone and almost penniless, to tackle the dangers of the Sahara desert.

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This edited article about  Fridtjof Nansen originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 688 published on 22 March 1975.

Nansen devised an unusual plan when confronted by the worst of the freezing Arctic conditions, by James E McConnell

At the age of fourteen, Fridtjof Nansen went on a special “toughening-up” course of his own devising.

A keen admirer of such Arctic explorers as Sir John Franklin (who disappeared in 1845 when seeking the fabled North West Passage) Fridtjof was determined to become one of the great explorers of his day. To achieve this, he knew he would have to be in top physical shape, and so each day he trained among the forests and lakes surrounding his Norwegian home.

Two years later, he was an expert hunter and skier. He could survive for long periods in a small lakeside hut, living on fish which he had caught himself; and he could find his way blindfolded through the snow-covered pine forests.

Shortly after this, Fridtjof – who was born near Oslo in 1861 – started studying to become a marine biologist.

His first chance to show his worth came when he was 21. He joined the crew of the sealing vessel Viking, which was bound on a “study and observation” voyage to the Arctic.

Taking along all his sketch-pads and technical equipment, Nansen made notes about the gulls, whales, seals, and fish the sealer encountered.

Six months later, when Nansen returned home, he had left his inexperience behind him and had become a potential “leader of men”.

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This edited article about Devon originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 686 published on 8 March 1975.

Drake’s Drum by John Millar Watt

“If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven,
An’ drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.”

So wrote Henry Newbolt in Drake’s Drum, describing the greatest Devon sea-captain of all time.

Everyone knows the story of Drake’s famous game of bowls on the pleasant, green strip of Plymouth Hoe when the Spanish fleet was sighted off the West Country coast.

“We’ve plenty of time to finish the game and to beat the Spaniards, too,” said Drake. He and his friends went on playing. Then, when the tide was full, he sailed out of Plymouth Sound and utterly routed the Armada, putting an end to all fear of a Spanish invasion of England.

It is not surprising that the sea has made many Devon men famous throughout the world for their courage and daring, for the county stretches across the West of England from coast to coast. On the north lies the rugged Atlantic coastline; on the south, the softer bays of the English Channel.

The sixteenth century was the golden era of Devon seamen. From the ports and fishing towns of this beautiful, hilly county they set out to sail round the world, discover new lands and found an empire for England.

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This edited article about William Boyd originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 685 published on 1 March 1975.

Gold prospectors in the Australian wilderness recently opened up by William Boyd. Picture by Angus McBride

William Boyd was well aware of the dangers that he and his small party faced as they set out to cross the Great Stony Desert in 1875. The unconquered deserts of central Australia are still among the most inhospitable regions of the world. One hundred years ago, they offered an even grimmer prospect even to the most determined traveller.

It had been over thirty years since John Eyre had completed his nightmare crossing of Australia from east to west, a journey that took him a year and almost cost his life. But others had not been so lucky. Captain Charles Sturt had set out on a great exploration of the bone dry continent only to return, 14 months later, blind and unable to walk. He had been horrified at the heat which made screws fall out of boxes and nails out of shoes, and even stopped men’s hair and finger nails growing.

In 1861, Burke and Wills had managed to cross the continent from south to north, but both had died of starvation on the return journey. Central Australia was still a trackless, waterless wilderness, and it needed men like William Boyd to open up the great unknown for the hardy settlers who would, with their sheep, wrest a living from this vast territory.

The outback held a fatal fascination for Boyd who, for over twenty years, had completed an incredible series of journeys across the continent he loved. On several occasions, he had returned to civilisation months overdue, to read reports of his death in the newspapers. After this had happened for the fifth time he earned the nickname “The most-killed man alive”. The difficulties encountered on this, his first great journey, were a foretaste of things to come.

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This edited article about Will Adams originally appeared in Look and Learn issue number 684 published on 22 February 1975.

Will Adams had been fascinated by shipyards from his boyhood

Will Adams had always been fascinated by shipyards. The idea of setting sail and journeying to the far corners of the Earth was one he had cherished for as long as he could remember. Whenever possible, he had slipped away to the nearest quay to watch provisions being loaded or listen to snatches of tavern talk; and all the time he waited patiently for the day when he, too, could be a part of this strange and exciting world.

Now he was twelve years old and the time had come. The yard at Wapping in London was a riot of colour and noise and confusion on this, his first day at work, and the shipwright who came forward had to shout to make himself heard.

“Where are you from, boy?”

“Gillingham in Kent, sir. Only one mile from Chatham, where the king’s ships do lie.”

The shipwright grunted. “You’ll see plenty of his ships before you serve your time. You are bound apprentice to Master Nicholas Diggins, then? ‘Tis a small beginning, but welcome. We shall talk later, but now you have work to do.”

Dinner that night was a simple affair with broth and oatmeal and a penny piece of beef between four people. But Will remembered it more for the shipwright’s talk of voyages to the Baltic and the Barbary Coast. He promised himself that the journeys he made would be equally famous. It was a promise he more than fulfilled.

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