Volume 65 Issue 4 April 2015
Isabella Tree explores the Kumaris, young girls chosen to be worshipped in Nepal by both Hindus and Buddhists as symbols of purity and makers of kings.
The man who killed Abraham Lincoln was shot dead on April 26th, 1865.
Possibly the most destructive volcanic eruption of all time occurred on April 10th, 1815.
The founder of the eponymous cosmetics company died on April 1st, 1965.
Roger Hudson describes the bloody stalemate that followed the landing of Allied troops on the Turkish coast.
Robert Colls rises to the challenge of arguing the case for sports history as a serious academic subject, digging deep into its beginnings in the 1960s and winning with a wealth of scholarly works and skilled rhetoric.
Michael Everett takes issue with one of Mary C. Erler’s assumptions in her otherwise perceptive article from 2014 on Thomas Cromwell’s friendship with Abbess Margaret Vernon.
Hugh Gault charts the long-running debate over the privatisation of the Post Office amid rising competition and shifting political agendas.
Johann Weyer used his compassion and a pioneering approach to mental illness to oppose the witch-craze of early modern Europe.
In the precarious years that followed the Restoration of Charles II, the senior clergy of the Church of England navigated the country’s shifting politics at their peril. But high principles still had their place, as John Jolliffe explains.
Rhodesia’s white minority government declared unilateral independence from the UK in 1965, gaining covert support from France, Britain’s colonial rival in Africa, as Joanna Warson explains.
The painter Claude Monet spent his early twenties as a soldier in French North Africa, yet none of his works or writings from this period survive. Jeffrey Meyers pieces together a portrait of the artist as a young man.
James G. Clark investigates the destruction of western Europe's medieval heritage during the First World War, as churches and cathedrals became targets, and how it made people think anew about their nations's pasts.
A century ago, the Women’s Congress met with the aim of revolutionising a ravaged political landscape.
The increasing commercialisation of sites known for their gruesome and violent history raises troubling questions. But to ignore such events would be worse, argues Suzannah Lipscomb.