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This is an iHeart podcast. Guaranteed Human. Welcome to Erin Menke's Cabinet of Curiosities, a production of iHeartRadio and Grim and mild.

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Our world is full of the unexplainable.

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And if history is an open book.

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All of these amazing tales are right there on display, just waiting for us to explore. Welcome to the Cabinet of Curiosities.

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It's a word that many of us have probably heard, but often don't know the meaning of. Syncope is the medical term for the temporary loss of consciousness that comes from a sudden drop in blood flow to the brain. So for laymen, it's fainting, and most of the time it's easily explainable and no cause for concern. Low blood sugar or dehydration can often cause it. There are, of course, times to worry. For instance, regular fainting spells could be caused by heart troubles that need to be addressed by a doctor. But what would be the best course of action if hundreds of people experience syncope all at once? It was a sunny morning in Nottinghamshire, England, in the heart of Robin Hood country. It wasn't just any day, though. Children from all over the area were headed to the fairgrounds for the Hollinwall show. The show was a gathering of children's marching bands, and it was taken very seriously by competitors. Attendants would be judged on their performance in a street parade, and then they would move to the field, where they'd be judged on their playing as well as their marching formations. And the event started at 9am and hundreds of children in their crisp uniforms and polished buttons awaited the chance to wow the judges, hoping to take home medals and bragging rights. But before the competition could get underway, something strange began to occur. Participants all over the fairgrounds began to experience a cavalcade of troubling symptoms. There were reports of sore throats, dizziness, nausea and burning eyes, with some others experiencing chest pains and weakness in the limbs. But the most troubling symptom, and the one that caused panic in attendees and organizers, was the sudden onset of a mass fainting spell. Children began to collapse left and right. Those who could leave on foot did so, but many left in ambulances, which arrived in droves. Meanwhile, organizers themselves were in a state of utter confusion, making conflicting announcements about the possible causes. Was it the food? Something in the water? Maybe it was the pesticide sprayed on nearby fields. Participants were told to stop eating the ice cream, as many of the fainting children had partaken. Local hospitals were overrun by the victims of the incident. With a sudden rush of nearly 300 out of the 500 present at the event needing to be admitted for their symptoms. The Hollinwell show was a massive, traumatizing bust. In the weeks that followed, there was a joint inquiry into the cause by the Ashfield District Council and the Knott's police, which strangely ruled out environmental caus or food poisoning, concluding that it was simply mass hysteria, or, as the report officially called it, a mass psychogenic illness, and that, so far as the authorities were concerned, was that. But as you'd imagine, the families weren't so convinced, as many of the children who fell ill did so hours after leaving the fairgrounds, and believe that the council's investigation was not nearly as thorough as it could have been before making their conclusions. Although other investigations of the incident were made in subsequent years, many contradict each other and those that came before them. The University of Nottingham School of Biomedical Sciences seconded the original report, declaring it mass hysteria, possibly triggered by the smell of a pesticide used in surrounding fields, which could have been kicked back up into the air by the marching bands. Scientists at Nottingham Trent University, however, believe that other chemicals may have been the culprits. But according to John Wright of the university's Forensic Science Department, it may have been a noxious combination of chemicals used to clean the toilets. It turns out many of the people affected by the event reported strong smells of both bleach and ammonia coming from the portable toilets a mere 20 yards from where the band members were standing. And for those who don't know, those are two chemicals that probably shouldn't be mixed together, because when you do, ammonia and bleach form chlorine gas, a a dangerous chemical agent that in small doses causes irritation of the eyes, nose, throat and lungs, and in higher doses, causes death by asphyxiation. In fact, the gas is so noxious that it was banned in 1925 by Geneva Protocol after its use in the First World War. In the years since, the case has come to be known as the Hollinwell Incident, or, more ominously, all fall down. Nearly 40 years later, the it's still a matter of heated debate. Numerous causes are pushed by Internet sleuths to this day, which include both the official lines and more creative theories, ranging from radio waves from nearby transmitters to alien activity. But as public officials consider the case closed, we may never know the true cause of the chaos that rocked that music event on that bright July morning. And that. Well, I think that's curious. Kenneth Moore hurtled through the skies over Nazi occupied France. It was the morning of June 6th, 1944, just before dawn. He was a combat medic, one of the first of many American troops that would soon be invading the country. As the air whipped past his face and the ground rose up to meet him, Kenneth pulled the cord for his parachute, gliding quickly to the ground. He landed with the Huff in a grassy field outside a nearby village. He looked around, anxious to spot enemy troops. He didn't see any Nazis, and he had a Red Cross armband that was supposed to keep them from shooting at him if any did show up. You see, Kenneth's job was to find a nearby building to use as a field hospital and then start treating the wounded once the fighting started. Then he dug around in his pack until he found a round, bumpy grenade that one of his fellow soldiers had given him. He wasn't supposed to carry any weapons as a medic, but he wasn't taking any chances. There was a sudden rustling in the bushes next to him. He jumped immediately, pulling the pin on the grenade and getting ready to throw it. But then he heard a growl and saw a bear emerge from the forest. And then it turned right back the way it came. His service was already off to a rough start. He now had a live grenade in his hand and nothing to throw it at, and he didn't want to just toss it and run. The sound might attract the enemy. Kenneth made his way toward the village, where he soon spotted a stone well leading deep underground. It was as good a place as any for the grenade, so he dropped it in and ran away, hoping the villagers didn't notice the muffled boom from the ground shaking a few seconds later. Soon enough, he came across a small, ancient church with a short steeple and stained glass windows. To his surprise, there was already a banner with a Red cross draped over the entrance. His fellow medic had arrived ahead of him. Inside, Kenneth found his friend Robert Wright, already busy rearranging the pews and laying out supplies. They didn't have much, just what they brought with them in their packs. Their job was to make the most of it, and soon enough, troops were swarming the countryside, and there was the constant sound of bombs and gunfire. The doors of the church flew open, and wounded soldier after soldier began limping in. They treated those they could with bandages, stitches, or splints. Those they couldn't, they said a prayer for and moved on. They treated Americans and Germans alike. Whoever came to their door was allowed to enter. Their only rule was that no one could bring a weapon inside the church. Outside, the fighting reached a fever pitch. The bombs and bullets were flying over the top of the church. And then suddenly the wooden beams overhead split open and a large shell crashed into the stone floor between the patients. Some of the splintered wood fell on Kenneth and left him with a cut on his scalp. He was stunned. And then he saw Robert look from him to the shell. Before he could react, Robert. Robert ran toward the shell, picking it up and flinging it out of the church. It never detonated, though it was inert. They had been lucky. As the fighting continued, control of the town changed from the Allies to the Nazis. The fleeing Allies suggested that Kenneth and Robert evacuate with them, but they refused. At this point, they were treating dozens of American and German soldiers. They just couldn't leave them. They continued their work until the Nazis rolled into the small village. Suddenly the doors were thrown open and an intimidating Nazi commander walked in, his eyes darting between the two medics and their patients. Kenneth watched him stroll down the aisle between the pews, surveying each patient without a word. Then his gaze fell on some of the German soldiers they were treating. He nodded to them with approval. It was the only sign they would get that they could continue to do their work. Kenneth and Robert continued to treat patients for three whole days without sleep. The church floor became absolutely soaked with blood. But the Allies won the battle and soon pressed further into France. Kenneth and Robert were assigned to new battlefields, but this one would always remember them. Today, if a curious tourist makes their way to Angoville au Plain in Normandy, they will find a small medieval church. But the stained glass windows don't feature Christian iconography. No, they show a paratrooper and an eagle and the names Kenneth Moore and Robert Wright. Appropriately, these two men were awarded Silver Stars and Purple Hearts vicariously without ever firing or receiving a shot. But if anything, that made them even greater heroes.