History Riddles: A Treasure Trove Book - Softcover

Conrad, Leon

 
9781782792949: History Riddles: A Treasure Trove Book

Inhaltsangabe

Enjoy stories? Enjoy history? You’ll love this book! How well do you know your history? Pit your wits against this collection of 30 cultural riddles featuring popular historical stories and legends. Engage with these riddles out of sheer fun and curiosity as a reader, or use them when facilitating an /Odyssey Dynamic Learning System/ journey (Liberalis Books, 2015). You’ll find they intrigue, tease, inform, educate, enlighten, and entertain. Still guessing? There are clues to help you. Think you’ve cracked them? Check out the background information for the answers and for suggestions on exploring topics further. How many riddles will you be able to solve?

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Leon Conrad is co-founder and lead trainer at The Academy of Oratory and teaches communication skills for negotiators for The Negotiation Lab. He lives in London, UK.

Leon Conrad is co-founder and lead trainer at The Academy of Oratory and teaches communication skills for negotiators for The Negotiation Lab. He lives in London, UK.

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History Riddles

A Treasure Trove Book

By Leon Conrad

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Copyright © 2014 Leon Conrad
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-78279-294-9

Contents

Acknowledgements,
How to use this book,
Introductory notes,
Riddles,
Clues,
Background information,
Indices,
Bibliography,
Resources for further exploration,


CHAPTER 1

Riddles


Bang!

Bang!

A list is nailed to a church door.

Bang!

The printing press spits out another copy of the list.

Bang!

The list lands in the hands of people in the marketplace and its contents hit their hearts.

Bang!

The list lands on the Pope's desk.

Bang!

We're still experiencing the effects today.

• What was so special about that bit of paper?

• Who's produced it and why?

• And what are the effects we're experiencing today?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


Vision

A man emerges exhausted from dancing for twenty-four hours in a state of fasting and self-denial, his arms punctured with wounds. Standing with difficulty; proud, strong, drawing on superhuman strength, he makes a supreme effort to address the other members of his tribe and other tribal allies. They listen in awed silence as he speaks of dangerous times ahead, a vision of hostile warriors, reduced to the size of insects, falling head down from the sky into their territory. They look at each other, knowing they are in the presence of someone who is in touch with the Great Spirit.

• Who is this man?

• What does his vision describe?

• What happens as a result?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


G

My face has been shaped with a metal file; my shoulder grooved; my foot nicked. My face has been covered in soot to see what I look like in mirror image. I've been thrust into red hot flames to harden me; plunged into a bucket of water to temper me. I've sired many offspring that form groups and families to make powerful marks wherever people use them. I'm small, but powerful. So powerful I've changed the world.

I started off in the Far East, but revolutionised European history when I was recreated by a German goldsmith, entrepreneur and inventor in Mainz.

• What am I?

• Who was this German goldsmith who recreated me?

• And what are we most famous for?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


Pine Tree

Rome, 104 CE. The superintendent for the banks of the Tiber, an intelligent man, in his early 40s; a man who's well-known as a writer and thinker, is finally writing a letter – something he's been putting off for a while, because of the memories it brings back, memories of his uncle's tragic death 25 years previously, of a column of smoke like a pine tree, around 20 miles high, of unbearable heat, of a grey cloud that settled over a huge area, how he watched from a distance, powerless to help, unable to resist the huge force of nature. He's been asked to write about his uncle's death by a colleague, who is a historian and wants to write a true account of what happened.

• Who is the writer?

• Who was his uncle?

• And what caused his uncle's death?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


Sealed

We're in an open field alongside the River Thames in Surrey, not far from Windsor Castle. We're here to stand up and say enough is enough. We've had enough of excessive taxation. We've had enough of oppression. We've had enough of injustice. We're here to stand up for justice. We're here to stand up for ideas which are more powerful than men. We're here to stand up for the freedom of our church and our country. We crowd round a tall man in purple robes as he reads from a document. He's addressing the king – a lean, seated figure, who is increasingly unhappy about what he's hearing. If he wants us to follow him, he will have to put his seal on this document. Blackmail? Perhaps. But enough is enough.

• Where are we?

• Why?

• And what will the king do?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


Asp

We're in a monumentally large, forbidding building, built like a palace. Huge rooms are supported by columns. The central colonnade which cuts through them is lit with oil lamps. The walls beyond are painted with life-sized figures in vivid colours – figures of strange animal-headed people in various poses. At the end of the colonnade, in the largest and furthest room, a group of women gather – they look sad, nervous, afraid. They are grouped around the central figure. This figure, a woman, is lying on a raised, bed-like structure decorated with pictograms of birds, feathers, lions, baskets, cartouches and other graphic symbols. Her face is incredibly beautiful. Her skin is clear and her complexion unblemished and yet she looks pale – deathly pale. She reaches her hand out towards a basket of figs beside her. She doesn't choose one, but extends her hand deeper into the basket, waiting for something to happen ...

• Who is she?

• What is she waiting for?

• And why?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


Revolution

Paris, 1793. A young woman is holding an older woman's head in her hands. The young woman trembles slightly – she's afraid. She's been asked to make a model of the older woman's face by the people who are now in power. Her life, literally, depends on it. As she shapes the plaster cast, she remembers how not long ago this woman ruled over millions; she'd had the prettiest farm in the country where she loved to play with her friends, looking after the animals and making them look beautiful. When she was younger, she'd played games with Mozart. Now ... she's gone. Her world no longer exists, and the young woman is left holding her severed head. As she waits for the plaster to harden on the death mask, she wonders what will happen when she finishes. Will it please the people who have asked her to make it? If she succeeds, they say she will live. If she fails, will they send her back to prison? Will they chop off her head? Will they kill her anyway?

• Who is the young woman?

• Whose head is she holding in her lap?

• And what do you think she might be best known for today?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]


A Photo Shoot?!

A young man and a young woman are sitting at a kitchen table in a house in the countryside. They're brother and sister. Visibly nervous and shocked, he's telling her the story of something that happened the day before in the big house on the nearby estate, where he had recently been appointed as a guard: of how at 2 o'clock that morning, the family, who were living under house arrest there, had been ordered to gather in a basement room to have a family photograph taken. The head of the family stood in the centre of the room; his 13-year-old son, only half-awake, sat on a chair to his right. Behind him, against the wall, stood his wife and their four daughters. A few of the household staff had been assembled as well. "And then ..." the young boy faltered, reaching out to touch his sister's arm, continuing in a low voice, "... they killed them. They killed them...

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