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Ruth Goodman
23,000 years ago in a part of the world that is now northern Ukraine, a family is on the move. A family of woolly mammoths. A huge female, standing nearly 3 meters at the shoulder and weighing around 4 tons, leads the way. She moves with a slow, ponderous motion, rolling her massive shoulders, kicking her tree trunk sized legs through the long grass. Her magnificent tusks swish through the air as her head turns majestically from side to side. A line of slightly smaller beasts, the other adult females, follow in her wake. In the middle of them are two young calves, wide eyed and playful on their much shorter legs. They have to trot to keep up with the adult's long stride. A lumbering grandmother brings up the rear, her head bowed under the weight of her enormous tusks. They come to a river, a rare point of interest in a vast, almost featureless landscape. The water is icy cold, but the leading mammoth barely feels it through her thick brown fur. The old timer at the back drops further and further behind. By the time she enters the water, the lead animal has already emerged on the far side. Suddenly, the grass begins to stir. Men rise from it. Camouflaged by the clumps of vegetation they have attached their bodies. In their hands are spears. Yelling excitedly, the men surround the lagging animal. They let their weapons fly. At last, the once mighty beast is overwhelmed. She topples over, crashing into the river. With a great splash, the men descend on her, beginning the process of butchering the carcass using flint knives. The flesh will provide meat to sustain the tribe. The hide will be turned into clothing. Even the bones will be put to good use. The hunters take their haul back to the spot where their tribe has settled for the coming winter. They clean the bones and Add them to others gathered by their fellows. Some of the bones are then laid in a large circle on the ground, and the humans slowly build up a structure over it. The natural curve of the bones creates a circular shape, which they fill with smaller bones and flat plates, such as the animal's massive shoulder blades. The entire building uses the bones of over 60 animals, including 51 jaw bones and 64 skulls. The pieces fit together like a giant 3D jigsaw puzzle, and the structure that emerges is surprisingly sturdy. It used to be thought that mammoth huts like this were dwellings, but archaeologists are now questioning this assumption. There's little evidence of prolonged occupation, you see. So what were they? Possibly they were used for storage. Of course, with objects so far back in time, it's difficult to be certain about what use they were put to. All we can do is take an educated guess. The current thinking among archaeologists is that these huts may have been humanity's first sheds. I'm Ruth Goodman. I've spent my life exploring the extraordinary history of everyday items, the little things that 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'll be shedding some light on the garden sheds of a past. So come with me and together we'll explore the curious history of your. I love sheds. If I were in charge, I'd make sure everyone had at least one. My own is very small and full of garden tools. My husband's. Yes, we have his and hers sheds is more of a workshop. We also have what we call our stuff shed, which is filled with, well, stuff. And we're actually planning on building another one. In my opinion, you can never have too many sheds. But what exactly is a shed? Well, they can be all things to all people. Tool shed, bike shed, potting shed, home office, summer house, music studio, gym. A place to create, a place to store, a place to work on a pet project, or simply somewhere to relax with a cup of tea and some old copies of Gardener's World. Whatever use you put it to, the defining feature of a shed is that they are an outbuilding of some kind, a room outside the house, if you like. As our opening scene illustrates, sheds have been with us for a long time. In ancient Egypt, for example, there are pictures and plans of gardens with structures of some kind in them. Now, these were not necessarily classic garden sheds. They were more a kind of thing you would find in a pleasure garden. Pavilions or arbours, somewhat a shelter from the fierce Egyptian Heat. But in our all inclusive definition, I think we can count them moving forward to Roman times, they had gardening tools remarkably similar to our own. The Romans also had terracotta planting pots like the ones we use today. Examples have been found in the grounds of the Roman villa of Fishbourne, near Chichester. And of course, all these tools and pots would have been kept in a shed of some kind. At Fishbourne, there is in fact a reconstruction of a Roman potting shed, complete with a Roman gardener. Well, a model of one. He would have been enslaved, of course. This is ancient Rome we're talking about, after all. The largest country villas were basically working farms with an army of slaves to work them. Enslaved people would have been housed in one of several outbuildings on the land, as in the Egyptian period. There were also some outbuildings that were purely for pleasure, the pavilions and summer houses we see represented in Roman art. Some were simple wooden structures with trellis sides and trailing vines. More grandiose examples were made of stone with elaborate architectural features, such as columns and niches for statues. Many were mini temples dedicated to one God or another. These kinds of neoclassical structures were revived in the gardens of English country houses in the 18th and 19th centuries. Although follies, as they are known, had no religious significance, they were purely there to please the eye. Now let's turn to some sheds that had a rather more practical purpose. We're in Japan, in the city of Kamakura on the island of Honshu. The year is 1293, the date, the 27th of May. At 6am, the inhabitants are woken by an earthquake. Judging by the depth of the tremors, a big one. As people rush outside, their houses, made with timber frames and paper walls, crumple and collapse in seconds. The tightly packed streets are reduced to a wasteland filled with shattered debris. These houses are purposefully designed not to withstand environmental disasters. The idea is that you rebuild them after they have been destroyed, as they inevitably will be. That doesn't mean that an earthquake like this is something the inhabitants of Kamakura take in their stride, especially since this earthquake has triggered a much worse disaster. The terrified residents look out to sea. A mountainous wall of deep ultramarine crested with foaming spume of white, fills the horizon. It seems to be standing still, its malevolent intent focused on the ruined city. But then they realize it's moving slowly, inexorably, towards them. As the tsunami strikes, any houses that were not destroyed by the earthquake are washed away. Around 23,000 people lose their lives in the double disaster. Despite the widespread devastation here and there. One type of building remains standing. Kura. A kura is an external storehouse or a shed if you like. Some were built out of stone or timber. Others, commonly called earthen cura, used a lath and plaster technique finished with tiles more substantial than the paper houses people lived in. They were designed to withstand natural disasters such as fire and earthquake. So what did people put in their kura? Well, not bits of old junk and rusty garden tools. No. They used them to store the things that were most valuable to them. For example, many kura contained religious items kept in beautifully crafted wooden chests called tanzu. These would be placed on a raised floor in case of flooding. Some kura were also used to store rice, a valuable commodity during the Kamakura Shogunate.
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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.
Ruth Goodman
I saw that ship sink and I saw that ship break in half.
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Ruth Goodman
The earliest Kira date from around 300 BC. Some are pretty fancy, called takakura or tall Kura. They were raised up off the ground on columns so you had to climb a ladder to get into them. Kuro were just one type of external storehouse used by the Japanese. Others included Naya and Koya, which were used to store more mundane items, a bit more like today's typical garden shed. Why were the Japanese so fond of their outbuildings? Well, storage space in traditional Japanese houses is pretty limited. And if you couldn't fit your possessions in your house, you built something outside to contain it all. It was a bit like having your own self storage unit in your garden. Those sturdy earthen cura I mentioned earlier were evidently something of a status symbol. The more you had, the more important you were. Which led to cases of cura envy. Wealthy merchants would try to outdo their neighbours building towering three storey examples. If you've ever peered over the garden fence and gazed enviously at your neighbour's shed, you can probably relate. For the west, in modern day Germany, outbuildings grander than any kurer were under construction. Marlboron Monastery was completed by around 1200, although it was added to over the years until it became the sprawling complex you can see today it's called a monastery. But it wasn't just the home of a religious community. It was also a thriving centre of industry. Like many other abbeys and manor houses of the period, a contingent of lay brothers worked the land while the monastery courtyard was filled with agricultural and industrial outbuildings. These are bigger, more ornate and more permanent than anything we think of as sheds. But really they are just posh sheds. There's a cold store, a smithy, a winepress, wine cellar, an oat bin and, and the most shed like of all of them, a workshop. More humble examples of outbuildings could be found in medieval Iceland. A typical Icelandic farm might consist of one main building where the family lived, plus one or two smaller buildings such as a stable and a storehouse. In some cases, the stable was located beneath the living space. This was so that the family would benefit from the warmth that the animals gave off, a sort of natural form of central heating. You might also have a couple of pit houses, small bunker like structures partially sunk in the ground, used mainly as workshops. These really were the sheds of pre modern Iceland. We've seen the people had sheds of one form or another throughout history. The question that fascinates me is what did they do in them? Just like we do today, Our ancestors had hobbies. They also did jobs around the house, what we would call DIY or home improvement. We know this from early handbooks such as Joseph Moxon's Mechanic Exercises published in the 1680s. Moxon's book taught 17th century readers how to build a sundial, lay bricks, work metal and create a perfect dovetail joint in wood. It also gave instructions for drawing, engraving, making maps and even printing books. But this was not a manual for professional craftsmen. Many gentlemen in this nation of good rank and high quality are conversant in handiworks. Moxon wrote, how pleasant and healthy this their diversion is their minds and bodies find. In other words, it's a how to book for upper class hobbyists, many of whom would have pursued their hobbies in a workshop in the garden. But it wasn't just men who took up hobbies. In 1842, a well to do woman called Mary Gascoigne published a handbook of turning, explaining the art of woodturning Using a lathe, she commented, why should not our fair countrywomen participate in this amusement? Do they fear it is too masculine and laborious for a female hand? If so, that anxiety is easily removed. At the time, woodturning was in favour as a hobby and many people with some cash to spare had lathes in their sheds. But Mary published her handbook anonymously, as it wouldn't do for a lady to be the author of such a work. Even so, I like to think of her dispelling the myth that sheds are the exclusive domain of men. For many, a shed is not just somewhere to store tools, but a place of refuge and creativity. Writers in particular have always been drawn to them. Charles Dickens daughter Mary, known as Mammy, describes the moment her father and friends assembled his shed one very severe Christmas when the snow was so deep as to make outdoor amusement or entertainment for our guests impossible. The shed had been sent to Dickens by a gentleman called Mr. Fletcher, and was delivered to the local railway station in a large number of packing cases. With typical Victorian understatement, Mary observes, unpacking these and fitting the pieces together gave them interesting employment and some topics of conversation for our luncheon party. Anyone who has put together a self assembly shed will be able to read between the lines there. Other notable literary shed owners include Mark Twain, Dylan Thomas and Roald Dahl, who liked to draw the curtains so that he could retreat into the world of his imagination. Virginia Woolf wrote a number of her books in a shed in the garden of her East Sussex home, Monk's House. Woolf famously wrote about the benefits of having a room of one's own. Even better if that room is a shed. But perhaps the ultimate writer's retreat belonged to the playwright George Bernard Shaw. Located in the grounds of his house at Ayot St Lawrence in Hertfordshire, his shed was built on a rotating base so that it could be turned to follow the position of the sun. It also contained a daybed for those all important afternoon naps. What is it about sheds that appeals to writers? As Shaw put it, people bother me. I come here to hide from them. In fact, Shaw named his London so that if anyone called for him, his servants could legitimately say he was in London and therefore he couldn't be disturbed. But sheds are first and foremost the preserve of gardeners. One of the greatest landscape gardeners of the late 19th and early 20th century was Gertrude Jel. She was commissioned to design the garden at Lindisfarne Castle together with her friend, the architect Edwin Lutyens. The garden included an archetypal shed designed by Lutyens himself. I like the idea of the great architect applying his talents to a humble garden shed. The results look like something that could have come out of a Beatrix Potter book. Lutyens also created some very cool storage sheds in the grounds of the castle by recycling the upturned hulls of retired herringboats, a traditional form of fisherman's hut in the Northeast. Now I have shed envy. We see sheds as places to store things, hobby workshops and even creative retreats. But now it's time to turn to the most unusual and dangerous use a shed was a ever put to.
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Ruth Goodman
It's August 1994. We're in commerce Township, Michigan, in the United States. David Hahn, a 17 year old boy Scout, is busy in the shed in his mother's backyard. Ever since his father gave him a chemistry book, David has become something of a science geek. He lives with his father and stepmother, but they have banned him from conducting his scientific experiments at home ever since he blew up some phosphorus in the basement and had to be rushed to hospital. So he comes to his mother's house and hides himself away in her shed to get on with his latest project. He's hoping it will be enough to earn him a merit badge in the Scouts. Right now, he's chipping luminous paint off the face of a dismantled clock. He puts all the scrapings together and heats them over a Bunsen burner, wearing a gas mask and a homemade lead poncho for protection. You see the luminous paint he's harvesting from the clock face contains Radium 226. David has collected hundreds of luminous clocks and watches, and he is methodically extracting the Radium 226 from all of them. He's also managed to source a large collection of smoke detectors which contain another radioactive material, americium 241. In addition, he's extracted thorium from camping lanterns and tritium from gun sights. And he spent $1,000 on batteries which he stripped for their lithium. He watches the luminous paint bubble as it heats up, then adds a quantity of base sulfate, which he got from the X ray ward at his local hospital. He just told them he needed it for a Boy Scout project and they gave it to him. As the materials combine under the heat, David holds a Geiger counter close to the substance he has created. It's highly radioactive. As well as working on his Atomic Energy merit badge, David also hopes to solve the energy crisis that America is facing from his mother's shed. His plan is to build a working nuclear reactor, specifically a breeder reactor, which produces more nuclear fuel than it consumes. He's already created a nuclear gun out of a lead pipe filled with radioactive material. He uses that to fire radioactive particles out of a small hole bored in one side. David hears his mum cull him in for dinner, reluctantly takes off his lead poncho and goes in, leaving the Radium 226 where it is. A few days later, David starts to worry about the levels of radiation his experiment is emitting. He begins to disassemble his reactor and drives off with several components in the boot of his car, trying to find a safe place to dispose of the dangerous material. He must have seemed suspicious because the police pull him over. The officers search his trunk and find a strange gray powder. David warns them it's radioactive. The discovery triggers a full scale cleanup operation. Men in hazmat suits descend on his mother's garden and dismantle the shed. As multiple Geiger counters register alarming levels of radioactivity, the neighbors look on in horror. I've Never left Radium 226 lying about in my shed. Although like most people, I have been known to let the clutter build. Every so often it gets too much and we have a good old sort out. But sometimes it's hard to throw anything away, even that odd shaped piece of wood you've been saving for some reason you can't remember. Of course, these days. Sheds aren't just for gardeners and home improvers or even writers. With the rise of the Home Office pod, they're as likely to contain computers as compost. Sheds are extremely appealing places, small refuges where you can go to be by yourself. There's even a movement of people living in sheds, or at least in small houses that are no bigger than sheds. The tiny house movement it's called. The American philosopher Henry Thoreau started the whole thing off when he lived alone for two years and two months in a cabin in the woods. Thoreau was completely self sufficient except for a weekly visit from his mum to pick up his washing. In Britain especially, we love our sheds. Every year we celebrate the best and the beautiful as well as the weird and wonderful in the Shed of the Year awards. I can't help thinking that a shed made from mammoth bones would be a strong contender. Thank you for listening to the curious history of your home. I've loved taking you with me as we've rummaged through the garden sheds, bathroom cabinets and kitchen drawers of the past, uncovering the hidden histories of the little things we often take for granted. So if you've enjoyed the podcast, why not dig into more true stories from the Noiser Network? Head to www.noiser.com to find out more. And remember to stay curious about the history of your home.
Podcast: The Curious History of Your Home
Host: Ruth Goodman
Episode Title: Sheds
Release Date: October 21, 2024
In the "Sheds" episode of The Curious History of Your Home, domestic historian Ruth Goodman delves into the multifaceted history and cultural significance of sheds. From their ancient origins to modern-day applications, Goodman explores how these humble outbuildings have evolved and impacted societies across different eras and regions.
Goodman begins by tracing the history of sheds back to prehistoric times. She paints a vivid picture of a 23,000-year-old family of woolly mammoths in northern Ukraine, highlighting early human interactions with their environment. This segment serves as a metaphorical introduction to the concept of sheds as early human structures used for storage and survival.
Moving forward, Goodman discusses ancient Egypt, where structures resembling sheds were part of pleasure gardens. These included pavilions and arbours that provided shelter from the harsh Egyptian climate. She emphasizes that while these were not garden sheds in the modern sense, they laid the groundwork for the concept of outbuildings dedicated to specific functions.
In Roman times, the functionality of sheds became more pronounced. The Romans utilized terracotta planting pots and gardening tools similar to those used today, storing them in structures akin to potting sheds. Goodman references the reconstruction of a Roman potting shed at Fishbourne Villa, underscoring the continuity of shed usage from ancient to modern times.
Goodman transitions to Medieval Japan, explaining the significance of the kura—external storehouses designed to withstand natural disasters like earthquakes and fires. She narrates the impact of the 1293 Kamakura earthquake and tsunami, which devastated many wooden houses but left sturdy kura intact. These structures were not mere storage spaces but held valuable commodities such as religious items and rice, indicating their importance in societal resilience and economy.
In medieval Europe, particularly in Germany, outbuildings associated with monasteries served both religious and industrial purposes. Goodman describes Marlboron Monastery’s array of outbuildings, including cold stores and smithies, illustrating how sheds evolved into more specialized and ornate structures.
She also touches on medieval Iceland, where farms typically included stables and storehouses built beneath living spaces or as pit houses. These sheds provided essential services to farming communities, highlighting the practical necessity of outbuildings in different environmental contexts.
Goodman explores the romanticized view of sheds as havens for creativity and solitude. She cites examples of famous literary figures who used sheds as creative retreats:
These anecdotes illustrate sheds' role not just as storage spaces but as integral parts of personal and creative lives.
The episode also discusses the architectural significance of sheds in garden design. Goodman highlights the work of Gertrude Jel and Edwin Lutyens in designing aesthetically pleasing and functional sheds in English country gardens. These sheds, often built from repurposed materials like retired herringboat hulls, demonstrated the blend of utility and beauty in garden architecture.
Goodman traces the evolution of sheds into modern hobby spaces. She references historical figures like Joseph Moxon, who wrote about DIY projects suitable for upper-class hobbyists, and Mary Gascoigne, who advocated for women participating in woodturning. This segment underscores sheds' role in fostering creativity and personal projects.
A notable segment covers the David Hahn story, a teenage Boy Scout who transformed his shed into a makeshift nuclear lab. This cautionary tale illustrates the potential dangers of unregulated experimentation and highlights how sheds can be places of both innovation and risk.
Goodman concludes by discussing the shed's place in modern life:
Ruth Goodman wraps up the episode by reiterating sheds' versatility and enduring presence throughout history. From ancient storage solutions to modern creative retreats, sheds have continuously adapted to meet the needs of societies. Goodman invites listeners to appreciate the hidden histories of everyday objects, encouraging a deeper curiosity about the structures surrounding our homes.
This comprehensive summary encapsulates the key discussions and insights from the "Sheds" episode, providing a clear and engaging overview for those who haven't listened to the podcast.