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Save up to 40% your first year@lifelocked.com podcast terms apply. It's around 300,000 years ago, during the Middle Paleolithic era, and we're in Kenya. More specifically, southern Kenya, a region known as the Ologasaili Basin. Out here, the land is dry and barren. A few trees dot the landscape, their thin trunks bent by the prevailing wind. They're surrounded by low, scrubby bushes. The grass and plants have been bleached a yellowy brown by the relentless sun and are surrounded by sharp, jagged rocks. For now, there's little sign of any life, but that's about to change. The patter of footsteps alerts you to the fact that your fellow tribesmen have returned. As they jog towards you, their bare torsos glisten with sweat, their eyes screwed up against the blinding sunlight. In their arms, they carry the treasure you've been waiting for, the precious black stone obsidian. They've obtained it from a nearby tribe who live near the source of this stone. You hurry over to greet the men and relieve them of their goods. It's your job to fashion this valuable stone into a collection of tools that can be used for cutting and slicing. Once you're seated on a rock, the leaves of a nearby tree providing much needed shade, it's time to get to work. The minutes stretch into hours as you deftly sharpen the ends of the obsidian into finite points. Then you smooth their edges into sharp blades before wrapping vine and bark around the bases, forming a kind of handle. Once the first tool has been created, you hold it up with pride, admiring the rays of sun that dance on its shiny black coat. You hold it out to a fellow tribesman, who snatches it from your grasp and plunges it into an antelope carcass. While you've been making tools, another group has returned from a hunt carrying a number of mammals, both large and small. You watch as the obsidian tool you've made slices through the raw meat with ease, before returning to your work with a satisfied smile. More time passes in this way, you napping the obsidian into sharp tools and your partner using them to butcher the antelope and slice plants. Eventually, your leader rises to his feet and signals that it's time to leave. You've got a punishing journey ahead, a 10 kilometer trek through this unforgiving land. It's a journey which will no doubt be made harder by the hefty sacks of freshly carved meat and vegetables that you're bringing home. But at least you're bringing food home. Not something to take for granted at a time of climatic uncertainty. And you have your neighbours to thank for the obsidian that allowed you to prepare this harvest. The discovery of obsidian tools at the Ologisaili basin in Southern Kenya in 2018 was groundbreaking. Tests showed that the volcanic obsidian was not local. Much of it came from as far away as 30 miles. Why is this important? Important? Well, it suggests that neighboring groups were trading with each other for materials and potentially food as well. It shows that complex social behavior among humans has existed for as long as we have been on this planet. But this sense of community wasn't unique to the tribes that wandered through prehistory. In fact, for as long as humans have existed, there has been goodwill between neighbours, an intrinsic need to socialise, as well as, at times, conflict. So let's take a look at how relations between neighbours evolved over time and what impact the people next door still have on our lives. I'm Ruth Goodman. I've spent my life exploring the extraordinary history of everyday items, the little things we often take for granted. You see, every object in your home has a fascinating hidden history, a story that's just waiting to be told. This week, we're opening the door to the neighbors of the past. So come with me and together we'll explore the curious history of your home. The word neighbour has two Old English root words. The first is ne, meaning near, and the second is geber, which translates to dweller. We can see the amalgamation of both words in the Lindisfarne Gospels, an early medieval manuscript which provides a wealth of evidence of contemporary art, religion and culture. Inserted between the lines of Latin a 10th century author added an old English translation. And here we find the phrase alla neighbour, usually translated in modern editions as all their neighbours. But while the etymology of the word neighbour may be fairly recent in the span of human history, the concept is as old as our species. Approximately 45,000 years ago, Homo sapiens, that's us by the way, reached Europe after migrating out of Africa. When they arrived, they found a continent populated by a cousin species, Neanderthals. Previously, it was believed that modern humans wiped out Neanderthals, but that isn't totally true. Far from driving them to extinction, human groups lived as neighbors to Neanderthals for several thousand years. Homo sapiens and Neanderthals even interbred. Scientists have found that between 1 and 4% of the genomes of non African modern humans come from Neanderthals. And this wasn't just happening in Europe. A paper published in 2016 shows that the two species were interbreeding in Asia as far back as 100,000 years ago. As the centuries passed and Homo sapiens evolved into the dominant species worldwide, the concept of neighbours, or neighbourliness, continued to flourish. Within individual tribes, there was a symbiotic relationship between neighbours. Whilst some went out to hunt, others remained at home, protecting the settlement, keeping guard against predators and taking care of children. This neighbourly trust enabled Homo sapiens evolution. With community support, individuals could forage for longer and bring back more food, perhaps food traded with neighbouring groups. They could also travel further on voyages and explore the boundaries of their environment. But let's go back to childcare for a moment. Now, you might associate this with modern nurseries or Victorian nannies, but evidence suggests that it's a concept that goes all the way back to Neanderthals. In 1989, archaeologists uncovered the remains of an ear bone, likely belonging to a six year old Neanderthal child. What's interesting is that the shape of the ear canal is teeth, typical of a person with down syndrome. Archaeologists believe the child would have had highly disabling symptoms, including complete deafness, severe vertigo attacks and poor balance. These conditions would have made it almost impossible for the mother to care for the child on her own. Yet this little boy or girl survived for six years, suggesting that other members of the community cared for them and their mothers. Perhaps the need for neighbors is a universal human trait. When you think about super successful businesses that are selling through the roof, like Heinz or Mattel, you think about a great product, a cool brand and brilliant marketing. But there's a secret. The business behind the business making selling simple for them and buying simple for their customers. For millions of businesses, that business is Shopify. Upgrade your business and get the same checkout as Heinz and Mattel. Sign up for your $1 per month trial period at shopify.com promo all lowercase go to shopify.com promo to upgrade your selling today. Shopify.com promo Titanic Ship of Dreams the new podcast from the award winning Noiser Network join me, Paul McGann as we explore life and death on Titanic. I'll delve into my own family story following my great uncle Jimmy as he tries to escape the engine room. We'll hear the harrowing tales of the victims and the testimonies of the lucky survivors. I saw that ship sink and I saw that ship break in half. Titanic Ship of Dreams Listen wherever you get your podcasts. Skipping forward a few tens of thousands of years to the medieval period, we can see that neighbourly relations remained an integral part of the societies that later Homo sapiens built it's the year 1290 and we're in a rural hamlet just outside the town of Winchester in southwest England. So far, the morning is peaceful as men and women go about their usual business. A gentleman on his way to the city trots through on a sleek horse. An elderly woman scolds a mischievous child. Young men load up a wagon with an assortment of goods ready to sell at the market in Winchester. A girl feeds the chickens and collects their egg. A small group of men and women walk by, all dressed in coarse woolen clothes in a variety of drab colours. The women have coifs wrapped loosely around their heads. Judging by their clothing, they're off to work in the fields. The group reaches a large field abundant with golden wheat that shines in the pale August sun. Most of this is ready to be harvested and stored for the long winter ahead. The workers split into groups of five. Using a sickle and long handed scythe. They snip just below the ear of the wheat so that it falls into their basket, while the remainder of the crops stay standing. Within minutes they're in an easy rhythm, working harmoniously in the late summer's air. But then suddenly, an ear splitting cry shatters the piece. The farmers pause their work and look around for the source of the distress. It comes again, this time louder and more urgent. It's a woman standing outside a house on the edge of the fields. The words are clearly decipherable. Thief. Thief. Not missing a beat, the men drop their sickles, scythes and baskets and tear across the field in the direction of the cry. The woman stands on the doorstep, cheeks stained with tears and face reddened from shouting. She hurriedly explains that moments ago a man broke into her home. He made off with her best knives and spoons, as well as some coins she had made selling eggs at the market last week, one of the farmers asks where the thief went. In reply, the woman holds up a shaking arm and points west. She pleads with the men to catch him and they obediently break into a run, blindly chasing down the criminal. In medieval Europe, many communities relied on what was known as a hue and cry system to fight crime. This was a very simple system whereby the victim would shout for help during or after an attack and neighbours would hopefully rush to their defence. In England, the system was formalised in the Statute of Winchester in 1285, passed by King Edward I. This law stated that anyone witnessing a crime must raise the alarm. All able bodied men were then supposed to assist in catching the criminal. Not only that, but the whole community was held responsible for robberies that were committed, incentivising them to find the real thief. Essentially, helping your neighbours and keeping the community safe became a legal obligation. But that didn't mean that peace and harmony reigned in medieval European towns. During the Middle Ages, a document known as the Londoner Sighs of Nuisance detailed grievances and disputes between neighbours. One entry from 1333 documents a terrible row between the d'aubrys and their neighbours. According to husband and wife Joan and Andrid, at Aubrey, their next door neighbours had removed some of the boarding around the shared privy. This meant that when anyone used it, their extremities, as they politely put it, were on display. In their words, the situation was altogether intolerable. But the d'aubreys weren't alone in their toilet troubles. The size of nuisance retell several stories of problematic privies. Some were too close to another's house, others caused sewage problems, while many leaked into their neighbour's property. Valid reasons for complaints, I'd say. Another cause of fallout between medieval neighbours that's documented in the Assize was windows. When a window from one house overlooked another next door neighbors complained it threatened their privacy. It seems like people have always wanted to be free from the prying eyes of nosy neighbours. Fortunately though, disputes over toilets and windows were pretty insubstantial in the grand scheme of things. On the rare occasion that any sort of authority got involved, they simply instructed the offender to block out the window in question or rebuild the privy. Moving Forwards into the 16th and 17th centuries, neighbourly relations all Over Europe took a sinister turn thanks to the infamous witch trials. As you might already know, witchcraft was illegal in many countries up until the 20th century. But it was in early modern Europe that an irrational fear of witchcraft reached a fever pitch. Thousands of men and women were accused of being in league with the devil and many suffered horribly as a result. And who were the people behind the damning accusations? Well, in many instances, people's neighbours. Early modern Europe was filled with stories about neighbours turning on each other and spreading salacious gossip about suspected sorcerers. One such unfortunate individual was a woman by the name of Joan Guppy, who was ambushed by neighbours who were convinced she was a witch. According to court documents, as Joan rode from South Perrow to a market in Crewkern, Somerset, her neighbours took hold of the bridle of the beast whereon she rode and assaulted your said subject, Joan Guppy, and did with pins prick your said subject and thrust them into the body and legs and drew them about the face and did therewith rent and tear the flesh. Joan and her husband later took the case to court, claiming she was not a witch and accusing her attackers of spreading lies about her in order to bring your said subject, Joan, into contempt and disgrace amongst her honest neighbours. It's not clear that the local community at large was convinced of Joan's guilt. In fact, as the case wound its way through the courts, another group of her neighbours signed a document stating that she wasn't a witch. These sort of witchcraft accusations weren't uncommon in this period and many were simply opportunities to enact petty revenge or find scapegoats for bad luck. If someone quarreled with their neighbour and then fell ill a few days later, well, maybe they'd been bewitched in revenge. Similarly, if someone fell off their horse or picked up an injury in the garden, it could be the fault of a supernatural neighbour. There's the case of a farmer in 17th century Sweden who endured a series of misfortunes. His cow died, then another got injured. A wild dog attacked his geese and his children fell ill. Refusing to put these travesties down to bad luck, the man blamed his neighbour, alleging she was a witch. Some historians have suggested that these witchcraft accusations were part of a wider decline in neighbourliness in Europe from the 17th century. One reason for the change? Urbanisation. No, urbanization wasn't a new concept. In fact, it had been going on for thousands of years when the first cities appeared in Mesopotamia, modern day Iraq, probably thanks to the fertility of the river valleys around the Tigris and Euphrates. As well as the volatility of the rivers, which required collective management. Cities such as Eridu, Uruk and Ur sprung up from around 4000 BC. These were followed by the Indus River Valley cities in the 26th century BC and settlements in the Huanghe Valley in China around the same time. By the first century ad, the city of Rome had undergone such significant urbanization that its population topped 1 million by some estimates, making it the most populous city in the world. Urbanization has tended to run on a cycle. After the fall of Rome, large towns across Europe were abandoned. As trade picked up from the 12th century and New industries flourished, people flocked to towns once more. So with the beginning of the Industrial Revolution in 18th century Europe, history repeated itself. Individuals left their rural villages and moved to bustling cities, tempted by new employment opportunities. But with such a large influx of people from every corner of the country, some historians argue that neighbourliness took a hit. Cities became populated with strangers who didn't necessarily know anything about the people who lived next door. Perhaps inevitably, this led to separation. One of the world's first gated communities were the Parc de Montretout in the suburbs of Paris. Consisting of some of the grandest mansions in all of France, it drew the wealthiest clientele like a magnet. During the 1850s, when France was under the Second Empire, Emperor Napoleon III became an owner of a portion of the park. He gifted houses to the most valued of his entourage, as well as his wife's court. Oh, and he also gave a house there to Marguerite, his last mistress. After the fall of the Second Empire in 1870, gated communities found new life overseas. In 1886, American millionaire Pierre Laurard transformed a vast area of woodland north of New York City into one of the most prestigious gated neighbourhoods of the Gilded Age, Tuxedo Park. Not only did Tuxedo park boast an 18 hole golf course, country club, tennis courts, bespoke stores and even a private school, it had a list of residents. The banker JP Morgan, author Mark Twain, etiquette expert Emily Post and famous interior designer Dorothy Draper were all Tuxedo park neighbors. However, there was a darker side to gated communities. Because they were only affordable to the fabulously wealthy, they reinforced social divisions, often intentionally. During the Jim Crow era, many states across America excluded black Americans from living in certain neighborhoods. Even in states without legal segregation, property owners claimed their presence would drive down the reputation of the neighborhood, and thus the price of homes. Rules in a Seattle suburb from this era stated that no lot shall be sold to or occupied by any person other than of the Caucasian race, except in the capacity of servant. These racist laws were known as racially restrictive covenants and kept America socially segregated for decades, until the Fair housing Act of 1968 outlawed such discrimination, although gated communities still exist to this day and continue to attract criticism for their elitism. But not all neighbourhoods are built to keep people out. It's a mild January evening in San Francisco and you're in the north of the city in a neighbourhood known as Portsmouth Square. Though you're not far from the ocean, it's not the sounds of squawking gulls or crashing waves that fill your ears, or even the noisy ships coming into harbour. Rather, you can hear a cacophony of celebratory music. High pitched cymbals contrasting with deep wooden drums and complex melodies from exotic string instruments. You can smell sweet spices and fried meats. What's more, every few minutes, the darkening sky lights up with glittering fireworks. The sights, sounds and smells transport you out of America and into the heart of China. Spherical red and yellow lanterns hang from every building, bobbing up and down in the gentle wind. Many of the houses have peaked roofs, their tiles neatly upturned on each other. Silk pennants dangle from windows decorated with beautiful calipers, calligraphy and intricate symbols. Turning your gaze onto the streets ahead, you see that they're filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of people. Neighbors call to each other across the packed roads. Old friends warmly embrace and children play games on the sidewalks. Front doors are left swinging open as steady streams of neighbours pour in and out, trying food, presenting gifts and catching up. In this neighborhood, the people are like one giant family, especially on a day like today, because you're in San Francisco's Chinatown and it just so happens to be Chinese New Year. First populated by Chinese immigrants during the 19th century California Gold rush, the area around Portsmouth Square blossomed into a thriving Chinese neighbourhood. Thousands of immigrants created a home away from home, coming together to share Chinese food, festivals, art and music. Even in a sometimes hostile new country, recent arrivals could find community and familiarity. Immigrant neighborhoods like San Francisco's Chinatown have deep historical roots. In ancient Rome, for instance, Trans Tiberum, on the west bank of the Tiber river, was the beating heart of the city's Jewish and Syrian communities. Hundreds of immigrant families and their descendants populated the city for generations, maintaining distinct customs, languages and traditions. Of course, we mustn't ignore the fact that that many immigrant neighborhoods have been formed not by choice, but by necessity. Racist ideologies, authoritarian regimes, or social and financial hardships have all too often been the motives behind immigrant neighborhoods. Despite this, people throughout history have also taken comfort in having neighbours who share their culture, especially when they've moved far from the place of their birth. But despite the relative safety of gated communities and the camaraderie of immigrant neighbourhoods, cities could still feel like dangerous places. On a March evening in 1964, 28 year old Kitty Genovese was walking back to her New York apartment when she was attacked by a man. He stabbed her repeatedly until her neighbor shouted, causing him to flee. But when the coast was clear, the man returned and killed Genovese. Weeks later, the New York Times reported that 38 of her neighbors witnessed Genovese's murder, but chose not to respond when questioned. One man shrugged that he didn't want to get involved. This apathy was dubbed the bystander effect, which theorized that the more people who see a crime, the less incentive there is to act. In the end, the New York Times article was found to have grossly exaggerated the presence of so called bystanders. But the murder did cause widespread alarm within city neighbourhoods. And so the Neighbourhood Watch was born. Neighbourhood Watch was and still is a volunteer led crime prevention organisation. After getting it started in America, the idea spread to the UK and Australia. By the 80s. By addressing suspicious or antisocial behavior and reporting local crimes, the volunteers hope to make the streets safer. If you think about it, it's not that far from the hue and cry system of medieval times. Today, as towns and cities continue to expand and people move away from their homes to study, work or travel, it's common to say that there's been a decline in neighbourliness. Of course, many of us still see our neighbours every now and then, perhaps for a quick chat over the garden fence, away from the window, or we might pop round to borrow something. But especially in cities, many of us don't even know the names of the people who live next door to us. Having said that, a recent study by UCL found that there was a recession resurgence in neighbourliness. During the COVID 19 pandemic, 35% of people claimed that neighbourhood support had improved and that they felt a greater sense of cohesion. So whether the person who lives next door is your best friend or just someone to say a quick hello to when your paths cross, I think it's fair to say that the world wouldn't feel the same without our neighbors. After all, we've been social creatures from the very beginning. In the next episode, we rummage through the history of household rubbish. A prehistoric pot from Japan inspires a modern forensic technique. The Maya celebrate the new year by throwing out everything associated with the old one. And an army of scavengers eek out a precarious living on a mountain of dust. That's next time on the Curious History of your Home. Listen to the next episode today without waiting a week by subscribing to Noiza plus head to www.noiza.comscriptions for more information.