When the Women’s Rugby World Cup kicks off this weekend, spectators will witness more than the usual thrills, skills and physical brilliance the code delivers – they’ll also see something completely novel: flashing mouthguards.

Designed to help keep professional players safer, these smart mouthguards flash when a player experiences a collision big enough to potentially result in a concussion. This is an advance on existing instrumented mouthguards, used in the professional game since the 2023 men’s Rugby World Cup.

The mouthguards contain accelerometers and a gyroscope to measure the size of collisions. If a collision exceeds the threshold for a head injury assessment, a light-emitting diode (LED) will flash red, alerting the player and officials.

The smart mouthguards can measure collision impact forces, the direction of the impact and the number of collisions for any player during a game.

Collision impact is measured in “peak linear acceleration” (the g-force) and “peak rotational acceleration”. Based on the data, a decision can be made to pull a player from the game for a head injury assessment.

The threshold for male players is a g-force of 75 and for female players 65. But problems with Bluetooth capability meant there could be delays between a player receiving a head knock and the data being downloaded. The new flashing mouthguards are designed to overcome this delay.

A head injury assessment is done off-field by a trained medical professional. Background is collected about the collision and the player’s symptoms. The player then completes memory and balance tests. If they fail the assessment they’re out for the rest of the game.

World Rugby is using the women’s World Cup tournament to introduce the new LED mouthguards, ahead of using them at the top level of the men’s and women’s game in general. In time, we may see them become more common in non-professional and youth grades, too.

What about amateur and junior rugby?

The primary purpose of the new mouthguards is to improve surveillance of likely concussions by reducing the time between a sizeable impact being detected and then reported to officials.

In turn, this may reduce the likelihood of a player experiencing a second large collision – and therefore keep them safer. Like other smart mouthguards, these new ones will also record all collisions in a game for longer-term monitoring.

The high cost of these innovative safety technologies has so far been prohibitive for lower and non-professional leagues. Aside from professional franchises, really only researchers have had access, given the nature of the hardware, software and 3D-printing process involved.

But that might be changing, with recent innovations by mouthguard companies bringing their products into a more viable price range for community rugby.

High quality “boil and bite” instrumented mouthguards currently retail for A$350, which is only about $100 more than a dentist-fitted custom unit. As the technology evolves, the price will no doubt reduce more.

The advantage of smart mouthguards is the objectivity they can bring to collision assessment in community rugby, something not available in the past.

Using a phone app linked to the product, parents, coaches or referees can see the size of impact a player has received in a collision. That then allows them to make a more informed choice about removing a player from the field.

It would also be harder for a player to hide a concussion and therefore likely reduce under-reporting. As well, our research shows concussions for junior players can occur well below the adult thresholds, so this type of technology and information could be very helpful.

Benefits for brain health

While these safety developments are potentially beneficial, junior and community rugby still relies largely on non-medically trained staff to identify possible concussions.

Despite greater awareness and concern about concussions, research indicates there are still many youth athletes and parents who don’t know how to recognise the symptoms. There also appears to be a stigma about concussion reporting.

We know that in New Zealand, Māori and Pasifika players appear to suffer from higher rates of sport-related concussion, but are less aware of and less willing to report symptoms.

Under-diagnosis and under-reporting can have significant repercussions for the future brain health of players – particularly children whose developing brains are more susceptible to the effects of concussion.

An early return to play following an unreported concussion can lead to a player suffering a second and worse concussion, which could have longer-term recovery implications for a young person.

Improved coach awareness is one area that would make a big difference, and there are already concussion recognition courses available such as RugbySmart in New Zealand and BokSmart in South Africa.

The flashing mouthguards on show at the Women’s Rugby World Cup can’t prevent concussions. But they represent another step towards better managing the risks and effects of concussions over a player’s season and career.

As prices drop and these technologies become more accessible, we will likely see greater uptake in community rugby, further improving player safety at the grassroots level.

The authors thank George Stilwell, Natalia Kabaliuk and Keith Alexander from the University of Canterbury for their contribution to this article.

Nick Draper, Professor of Sport and Exercise Science, University of Canterbury and Kevin Mangan, PhD Candidate in Exercise Science, University of Canterbury

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Some of the most enduring ancient myths in the Persian world were centred around gardens of almost unimaginable beauty and opulence.

The biblical Garden of Eden and the Epic of Gilgamesh’s Garden of the Gods are prominent examples. In these myths, paradise was an opulent garden of tranquillity and abundance.

But how did this concept of paradise originate? And what did these beautiful gardens look and feel like in antiquity?

Pairi-daēza is where we get the word ‘paradise’

The English word “paradise” derives from an old Persian word pairidaeza or pairi-daēza, which translates as “enclosed garden”.

The origins of paradise gardens lie in Mesopotamia and Persia (modern Iraq and Iran).

The Garden of the Gods from the Epic of Gilgamesh from about 2000 BCE is one of the earliest attested in literature.

Some argue it was also the inspiration for the legend of the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis. In both of these stories, paradise gardens functioned as a type of utopia.

When the Achaemenid kings ruled ancient Persia (550–330 BCE), the development of royal paradise gardens grew significantly. The paradise garden of the Persian king, Cyrus the Great, who ruled around 550 BCE, is the earliest physical example yet discovered.

During his reign, Cyrus built a palace complex at Pasargadae in Persia. The entire complex was adorned with gardens which included canals, bridges, pathways and a large pool.

One of the gardens measured 150 metres by 120 metres (1.8 hectares). Archaeologists found evidence for the garden’s division into four parts, symbolising the four quarters of Cyrus’s vast empire.

Technological wonders

A feature of paradise gardens in Persia was their defiance of often harsh, dry landscapes.

This required ingenuity in supplying large volumes of water required for the gardens. Pasargadae was supplied by a sophisticated hydraulic system, which diverted water from the nearby Pulvar River.

The tradition continued throughout the Achaemenid period. Cyrus the Younger, probably a descendant of Cyrus the Great, had a palace at Sardis (in modern Turkey), which included a paradise garden.

According to the ancient Greek writer, Xenophon, the Spartan general Lysander visited Cyrus at the palace around 407 BCE.

When he walked in the garden, astounded by its intricate design and beauty, Lysander asked who planned it. Cyrus replied that he had designed the garden himself and planted its trees.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

In one tradition, the gardens were built by the neo-Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE).

The gardens were so magnificent and technologically advanced they were later counted among the Seven Wonders of the World.

In a later Roman account, the Hanging Gardens consisted of vaulted terraces resting on cube-shaped pillars.

Flowing water was a key feature, with elaborate machines raising water from the Euphrates river. Fully grown trees with vast root systems were supported by the terraces.

In another account, the Hanging Gardens were built by a Syrian king for his Persian wife to remind her of her homeland.

When the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) came to power in Persia, its kings also built paradise gardens. The 147-hectare palace of Khosrow II (590–628 CE) at Qasr-e Shirin was almost entirely set in a paradise garden.

The paradise gardens were rich in symbolic significance. Their division into four parts symbolised imperial power, the cardinal directions and the four elements in Zoroastrian lore: air, earth, water and fire.

The gardens also played a religious role, offering a glimpse of what eternity might look like in the afterlife.

They were also a refuge in the midst of a harsh world and unforgiving environments. Gilgamesh sought solace and immortality in the Garden of the Gods following the death of his friend Enkidu.

According to the Bible, God himself walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening.

But in both cases, disappointment and distress followed.

Gilgamesh discovered the non-existence of immortality. God discovered the sin of Adam and Eve.

Paradise on Earth

The tradition of paradise gardens continued after the Islamic conquest of Persia in the 7th century CE.

The four-part gardens (known as chahar-bagh) of the Persian kingdoms were also a key feature of the Islamic period.

The Garden of Paradise described in the Quran comprised four gardens divided into two pairs. The four-part garden became symbolic of paradise on Earth.

The tradition of paradise gardens has continued in Iran to the present day.

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The Eram garden, built in about the 12th century CE, and the 19th-century Bagh-e Shahzadeh are among the most splendid.

Today, the word “paradise” evokes a broader range of images and experiences. It can foster many different images of idyllic physical and spiritual settings.

But the magnificent enclosed gardens of the ancient Persian world still inspire us to imagine what paradise on Earth might look and feel like.

Peter Edwell, Associate Professor in Ancient History, Macquarie University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

New research conducted at Walufeni Cave, an important archaeological site in Papua New Guinea, reveals new evidence of long-distance interactions between Oceania’s Indigenous societies, as far back as 3,200 years ago.

Our new study, published in the journal Australian Archaeology, is the first archaeological research undertaken on the Great Papuan Plateau. The findings continue to undermine the historical Eurocentric idea that early Indigenous societies in this region were static and unchanging.

Instead, we find further evidence for what Monash Professor of Indigenous Archaeology Ian J. McNiven calls the Coral Sea Cultural Interaction Sphere: a dynamic interchange of trade, ideas and movement over a vast region encompassing New Guinea, the Torres Strait, and north-eastern Australia.

Tracking movement across Sahul

The goal of the Great Papuan Plateau project was to determine whether the plateau may have been an eastern pathway for the movement of early people into north-eastern Australia, at a time when New Guinea and Australia were joined in the continent of Sahul.

The two countries as we know them separated about 8,000 years ago due to sea levels rising after the last glacial period.

Our research in Walufeni Cave, located near Mount Bosavi in New Guinea’s southern highlands province, identified occupation dating back more than 10,000 years. We also found a unique and as yet undated petroglyph rock art style.

Our analyses of cave deposits reveals significant changes in how the site was used starting from just over 3,000 years ago. This includes changes to the frequency of occupation, to plant and animal use, as well as the sudden appearance of coastal marine shell.

Specifically, we found 3,200-year-old evidence for the transport of marine shell 200km inland, which has previously been recorded as coming from the southern coast of the Gulf of Papua, and from as far away as Torres Strait.

This suggests the long-distance maritime trade and interaction networks between the societies of coastal southern New Guinea, Torres Strait and northern Australia extended far inland – and much further than previously known.

The significance of marine shells

Archaeologists and ethnographers have widely documented the use of culturally modified marine shells as important items of trade and prestige in New Guinea.

These shells were used as markers of status and prestige, for ritual purposes, as currency and wealth, as tools, and to facilitate long-distance social ties between groups.

Despite the coastal availability of a large variety of shellfish, only a relatively small selection are recorded as being commonly used in New Guinea.

The most prominent of these are dog whelks (Nassaridae), cowrie shells (Cypraeidae), cone shells (Conidae), baler shell (Volutidae), and pearl/kina shell (Pteriidae). Many of these are significant for ritual and symbolic functions across the Indo-Pacific and indeed, globally.

Dog whelks were the predominant species we found in Walufeni Cave, along with olive shells and cowrie shells. These come from very small “sea snails”, or gastropods.

All of the shells we found had been culturally modified, such as to allow stitching onto garments, or threading onto strings.

Gastropod shells continue to be used by today’s plateau societies. They may be sewn onto elaborate ceremonial costumes, or offered in long strings as trade items, or as bridal dowry.

Pottery and oral tradition

Further evidence for long-distance voyaging between the southern coast of Papua New Guinea and the Torres Strait and Northern Australia comes in the form of pottery.

Researchers have found Lapita pottery at two archaeological sites on the south coast of New Guinea (Caution Bay and Hopo). These have been dated to 2,900 and 2,600 years ago, respectively.

Lapita pottery is a distinctive feature of Austronesian long-distance voyagers with origins in modern-day Taiwan and the Philippines. Lapita peoples bought the first pottery to New Guinea about 3,300 years ago, providing the template for later localised pottery production.

In a separate finding, Aboriginal pottery dating back to 2,950 years ago was reported from Jiigurru (Lizard Island), off the coast of the Cape York Peninsula. While this pottery isn’t stylistically Lapita, the technology used to make it is.

Similar pottery dating back 2,600 years ago has been reported on the eastern Murray Islands of Torres Strait, and in the Mask Cave on Pulu Island, western Torres Strait. Analysis of the Murray Island pottery indicates the clay was derived from southern Papua New Guinea.

These studies suggest the Lapita peoples’ knowledge of how to make pottery spread to Torres Strait and northern Australia via the interaction sphere.

Furthermore, the cultural hero Sido/Souw, who is present in oral tradition on the Great Papuan Plateau, is also present in oral tradition from the Torres Strait and southern New Guinea. This demonstrates sociocultural connections across a vast area.

Our research builds on the continuing reevaluation of the capabilities of Indigenous societies, which were often characterised by early anthropologists as static and unchanging.

Bryce Barker, Professor in Archaeology, University of Southern Queensland and Tiina Manne, Associate professor, The University of Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

There’s been a lot of buzz online about the August “black moon”, happening later this week.

While you’ve probably heard of a “blue moon” before, this might be the first time you’ve encountered its ominous-sounding counterpart.

You’re not alone. In fact, neither “blue moon” nor “black moon” are astronomical terms. They describe the moments when the lunar calendar and our calendar year fall out of alignment.

So what is a black moon? The current definition has nothing to do with the actual colour of the Moon.

Full moon, half moon, new moon

Let’s start by defining some key lunar terms. The Moon is “full” when its whole face or disc is illuminated by the Sun. We typically get treated to a nice, bright, full moon at night when the Sun and Moon are opposite each other with Earth in-between.

A “new” moon is when none of the Moon’s face is illuminated and the far side is illuminated instead. This happens when the Moon is up during the day, because the “far side” of the Moon is illuminated when the Moon is in-between Earth and the Sun.

A lunar cycle – the time it takes for the Moon to go from new, to full, to new again – is approximately 29.5 days long. Most years there are twelve full moons and twelve new moons.

But the 29.5 day cycle doesn’t fit perfectly into a calendar year, so every now and then there are thirteen full or new moons in a calendar year. Seven years out of every nineteen years will have thirteen full or new moons instead of twelve.

Blue moon, black moon

A blue moon is when we get a thirteenth full moon in one calendar year. Conversely, a black moon is when we get a thirteenth new moon in one calendar year.

Because these terms are entirely colloquial, there are a couple of definitions used for these extra moons. One is based on seasons and the other on simple calendar months.

Seasonal moons

A calendar year has four seasons, divided by equinoxes and solstices (see above).

Each season is roughly three months long and typically has three full moons. Some cultures give each of those seasonal full moons a special name – you’ve likely heard of “wolf moon”, “strawberry moon”, “harvest moon” and others from American folklore, for example.

Every two or three years, however, we get an extra full moon in a season. When that happens, the first, second and fourth full moons keep their usual names while the third one becomes a “blue moon”.

You’d think the idiom “once in a blue moon” comes from this name, but the folklore name is actually relatively recent. In the 16th century, saying the “moon is blue” was more likely a way to refer to something being false or absurd.

Meanwhile, the third new moon in a season with four new moons is a “black moon” – a term than can only be traced to around 2016.

Calendar moons

The other definition for blue and black moons is related to calendar months.

A blue moon is the second of two full moons in one calendar month, while a black moon is the second new moon in a calendar month.

The black moon this month is a seasonal black moon and it’s happening on August 23. The next calendar-month black moon will happen on August 31 2027.

The next seasonal blue moon will be on May 20 2027 and the next calendar-month blue moon will be on May 31 2026.

You can’t see a black moon, but look at the sky anyway

We can’t actually see the black moon. The Moon will be up during the day and the far side of it will be illuminated.

But new moons in general bode well for keen stargazers. The full moon outshines a lot of the night sky, because it’s about 33,000 times brighter than the brightest star in the sky, Sirius. When there’s a new moon, the night sky is nice and dark, giving you more opportunities to see stars and constellations.

During the black moon on August 23 this weekend, the celestial emu or Gugurmin will be beautifully positioned overhead soon after dusk in the southern hemisphere.

If you’re in the southern hemisphere somewhere very dark and free from light pollution, you’ll be able to spot the Magellanic Clouds, two small galaxies that are interacting with our Milky Way galaxy. Saturn will be visible all night, and Venus and Jupiter will be low on the northeastern horizon just before dawn.

Even though the black moon isn’t a significant astronomical event, it gives us the chance to take in the night sky on a dark, Moon-free night.

Laura Nicole Driessen, Postdoctoral Researcher in Radio Astronomy, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Astronomers have glimpsed the inner structure of a dying star in a rare kind of cosmic explosion called an “extremely stripped supernova”.

In a paper published today in Nature, Steve Schulze of Northwestern University in the United States and colleagues describe the supernova 2021yfj and a thick shell of gas surrounding it.

Their findings support our existing theories of what happens inside massive stars at the end of their lives – and how they have shaped the building blocks of the universe we see today.

How stars make the elements

Stars are powered by nuclear fusion – a process in which lighter atoms are squished together into heavier ones, releasing energy.

Fusion happens in stages over the star’s life. In a series of cycles, first hydrogen (the lightest element) is fused into helium, followed by the formation of heavier elements such as carbon. The most massive stars continue on to neon, oxygen, silicon and finally iron.

Each burning cycle is faster than the previous one. The hydrogen cycle can last for millions of years, while the silicon cycle is over in a matter of days.

As the core of a massive star keeps burning, the gas outside the core acquires a layered structure, where successive layers record the composition of the progression of burning cycles.

While all this is playing out in the star’s core, the star is also shedding gas from its surface, carried out into space by the stellar wind. Each fusion cycle creates an expanding shell of gas containing a different mix of elements.

Core collapse

What happens to a massive star when its core is full of iron? The great pressure and temperature will make the iron fuse, but unlike the fusion of lighter elements, this process absorbs energy instead of releasing it.

The release of energy from fusion is what has been holding the star up against the force of gravity – so now the iron core will collapse. Depending on how big it is to start with, the collapsed core will become a neutron star or a black hole.

The process of collapse creates a “bounce”, which sends energy and matter flying outwards. This is called a core-collapse supernova explosion.

The explosion lights up the layers of gas shed from the star earlier, allowing us to see what they are made of. In all known supernovae until now, this material was either the hydrogen, the helium or the carbon layer, produced in the first two nuclear burning cycles.

The inner layers (the neon, oxygen and silicon layers) are all produced in a mere few hundred years before the star explodes, which means they don’t have time to travel out far from the star.

An explosive mystery

But that’s what makes the new supernova SN2021yfj so interesting. Schulze and colleagues found the material outside the star came from the silicon layer, the last layer just above the iron core, which forms on a timescale of a few months.

The stellar wind must have expelled all the layers right down to the silicon one before the explosion occurred. Astronomers don’t understand how a stellar wind could be powerful enough to do this.

The most plausible scenario is a second star was involved. If another star were orbiting the one that exploded, its gravity might have rapidly pulled out the deep silicon layer.

Exploding stars made the universe what it is today

Whatever the explanation, this view deep inside the star has confirmed our theories of the cycles of nuclear fusion inside massive stars.

Why is this important? Because stars are where all the elements come from.

Carbon and nitrogen are manufactured primarily by lower mass stars, similar to our own Sun. Some heavy elements such as gold are manufactured in the exotic environments of colliding and merging neutron stars.

However, oxygen and other elements such as neon, magnesium and sulfur mainly come from core-collapse supernovae.

We are what we are because of the inner workings of stars. The constant production of elements in stars causes the universe to change continuously. Stars and planets formed later are very different from those formed in earlier times.

When the universe was younger it had much less in the way of “interesting” elements. Everything worked somewhat differently: stars burned hotter and faster and planets may have formed less, differently, or not at all.

How much supernovae explode and just what they eject into interstellar space is a critical question in figuring out why our Universe and our world are the way they are.

Orsola De Marco, Professor of Astrophysics, Macquarie University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In the archaeology galleries of the Yorkshire Museum, an incredible Viking silver neck-ring takes centre stage. The ring is made of four ropes of twisted rods hammer-welded together at each end, its terminals tapering into scrolled S-shaped hooks for fastening behind the neck. Weighing over half a kilo, it makes a less-than-subtle statement about the wealth and status of its Viking owner some 1,100 years ago.

The neck-ring was part of a large silver and gold hoard found in 2012 by metal detectorists Stuart Campbell and Steve Caswell near Bedale in North Yorkshire. As the first precious object out of the ground, it was initially mistaken by Campbell for a discarded power cable.

Six years later, I got the chance to analyse the Bedale hoard, as it is now known, for its isotopes and trace elements. Alongside the neck-ring and a gold Anglo-Saxon sword pommel (probably acquired in England by these Viking raiders), the hoard contained a spectrum of cast-silver artefacts spanning the Viking age: Irish-Scandinavian artefacts from Dublin, rings from southern Scandinavia, and many cigar-shaped bars or ingots that could have been cast anywhere.

As an archaeologist investigating the historical secrets held by jewellery such as this, picking up these heavy objects and turning them over in my hands was a visceral experience. I felt connected with the desires, ambition and sheer force of these invaders from the north who had wreaked havoc on communities in northern England around AD900.

Indeed, the entire Viking age (circa 750-1050) is often described as an “age of silver”. This form of wealth was so desired that its acquisition was a primary driver of the expansion out of Scandinavia that the Vikings are most famed for. To acquire it, they were prepared to risk their own lives – and take those of many others.

Tens of thousands of silver objects and coins are known from hoards and settlements across the Scandinavian homelands of Norway, Denmark and Sweden, as well as far overseas – from England to Russia and beyond. The study of this silver’s origins opens a window on the vast web of connections these warrior-traders established – a study invigorated in recent years by scientific techniques drawn from geochemistry.

Now, our analysis of the Bedale hoard and other Viking valuables promises to change the story of when their fellow-Scandinavians began travelling thousands of miles to the east to secure the silver that so captivated them.

The origins of these ‘violent chancers’

The word “Viking” comes from the Old Norse víkingr, meaning someone who participated in a sea raid or military expedition. The seeds of the outburst of piracy and overseas expansion that characterised the Viking age were sown in the 5th and 6th centuries, following the demise of the Roman empire.

While Scandinavia was never actually part of the Roman empire, its fall severed important trade links and led to factional fighting. In addition, volcanic eruptions in the mid-6th century induced prolonged climatic cooling, leading to crop failure and famine. Together, these events fractured Scandinavian society: archaeologists can point to abandoned settlements and cultivation fields as evidence for community displacement and decline.

The Insights section is committed to high-quality longform journalism. Our editors work with academics from many different backgrounds who are tackling a wide range of societal and scientific challenges.

There was also a striking absence of silver in the region at this time, despite Scandinavia possessing native silver ores. While Roman silver plate and coin had previously reached Scandinavia and been melted down to make huge, stunning “relief” brooches worn by women, this flow of silver had declined sharply by the 6th century. In the following century, most jewellery was made of copper alloy – silver wasn’t being mined, and in this overwhelmingly agrarian society, precious metal was an unnecessary luxury.

In Scandinavia, where farming was challenging due to short summers and long harsh winters, wealth and power lay in good farming land and cattle – with payments typically made in butter, cloth, horses, sheep, hides and iron. As archaeologist Dagfinn Skre explains:

In an economy in which the supply of necessities was threatened, a man who had his moveable wealth in cows … would survive, but one who had it invested in metal would die. His metal would be close to worthless – for who would exchange their cows, butter or grain for metal in times of famine?

Yet out of this period of domestic struggle, a new and ambitious elite emerged in Scandinavia, particularly around the fjords of Norway and in the central Mälaren valley in Sweden – fertile regions which afforded access to both inland resources and coastal waterways.

Dubbed “violent chancers” by historian Guy Halsall, they seized abandoned land and valuable resources such as tar, furs and iron for weapons. They developed multiple, competing chiefdoms which they defended through a martial culture propped up by lavish consumption, trade and violence.

Archaeologists can point to tangible survivals of this culture: luxury imports such as glass claw beakers, elaborately furnished burials under huge mounds, monumental halls and full-on military kits. These warriors had shields decorated with bird-of-prey figures, crested helmets covered with silver foils, and swords with pommels covered in gold and garnets. They were not to be messed with.

Their success, coupled with these coastal people’s refined tradition of boat-building, enabled them to build and kit out fleets of ships. Surviving examples indicate these were long and narrow, with hulls made of overlapping (clinker) planking and shallow keels suitable for use in creeks, estuaries and beach landings. At first propelled by oar, the later adoption of sails enabled these ships to undertake long sea crossings.

In the late-8th century, Scandinavians began launching violent seaborne attacks on centres of wealth in neighbouring countries – first the coastal towns, monasteries and churches of modern-day Britain, Ireland and France, then later expanding their raids into Germany and Spain, and as far south as the north coast of Morocco. These centres of population provided human capital for the Viking slave trade, while enriching the invaders with portable wealth in the form of liturgical plates and reliquaries (from monasteries), silver coin and other high-status artefacts.

A raid on the north-east England island monastery of Lindisfarne in 793 – the first documented attack in the west – was probably launched from Norway. Its precise targeting suggests the raiders were well-informed about their destination, and no doubt attracted by stories of the riches held there. Writing afterwards, York cleric Alcuin described how the church had been “spattered with the blood of the priests of God, stripped of all its furnishing, exposed to the plundering of pagans”.

Alcuin blamed the attacks on his community’s “fornications, adulteries and incest” which have “poured over the land … even against the handmaids dedicated to God” – that is, nuns. The Vikings had made off not just with church treasure, but had also led away youths “into captivity”.

The capture of slaves was a common tactic. Some, like the boys from Lindisfarne, might have ended their days in Scandinavia or have been sold on at slave markets. But often, they were ransomed back to their communities for cash. After Vikings captured the abbot of St Denis in 858, for example, church treasuries “were drained dry” in order to meet their ransom demands of nearly 700lb of gold and 3,250lb of silver. “But even all this was far from being enough,” lamented the period’s chronicler Prudentius, bishop of Troyes.

The Viking pattern of raiding, looting and slaving is a dominant theme of 9th-century annals from Ireland, England and the Carolingian continent (spanning much of modern-day western Europe). In 842, Vikings made a surprise early-morning attack on the trading port of Quentovic in modern-day France. “They plundered it and laid waste,” recorded Prudentius, leaving “nothing in it except those buildings which they had been paid to spare”.

Accounts such as these record massive sums of silver extracted by the Vikings or offered as protection money. The extent of Viking accumulation of silver is staggering: the annals suggest that over the 9th century, the total loot in Viking hands amounted to 30,000lb of silver – or 7 million Carolingian pennies.

This stock is likely to have provided a stimulus to the economic development of nascent towns such as York and Lincoln in Scandinavian-settled areas of England, which are thought to have been more economically buoyant than their counterparts in “English” England.

Why did the Vikings come to value silver so highly? While the ownership of land and livestock was determined by strict laws of inheritance, silver could be obtained independently and with little resource investment, bypassing these normal routes of advancement. In this sense, silver embodied a new kind of dynamism coinciding with a different mode of behaviour.

These “nouveau rich” Vikings could not necessarily buy land with silver, but it gave them status – enabling people without inherited assets to acquire, and pass on, wealth. While the division of farmland and cattle upon marriage or death could be tricky, silver was ideally suited to such payments.

To these new generations of Scandinavians, silver became a standard of value that could guarantee investments, settle disputes and underwrite inheritance claims. It could be used to cement relationships – acting, as archaeologist Soren Sindbaek puts it, as a “virtual social glue”.

Silver analysis leads to a staggering result

But as well as value, silver stores information in its chemical composition that can reveal where it came from – something I have investigated as head of a research team over the last five years. We have analysed hundreds of silver Viking-age objects including from the Bedale hoard, with its rich mixture of rings and ingots cast by Scandinavians.

To make the hoard’s massive twisted silver neck-ring, for example, Viking metalcasters would have melted down numerous silver coins or small pieces of deliberately cut “hacksilver”. Once melted, the silver was cast into ingots, then gently hammered into long rods which were heated and twisted together to form the neck-ring.

However, this process masked the original sources of that silver. The only way to tell where it came from would require techniques from geochemistry – so I took the objects to the British Geological Survey’s laboratory in the suburbs of Nottingham, where isotope scientist Jane Evans drilled tiny samples from each silver object to measure them for lead isotopes.

Just like the isotopes (of oxygen, strontium and sulphur) that are laid down in bone and teeth – from which we can trace people’s childhood origins – isotopes of lead can be used to trace silver back to its source. Most silver ores contain trace amounts of lead, the four stable isotopes of which vary according to the ore’s geological age and composition. These lead isotopes give each ore a “fingerprint”, which carries over into silver coins and other artefacts made from it.

Given the location of the Bedale hoard in North Yorkshire, I was confident that much of the silver would have come from local Anglo-Saxon and also Carolingian sources in mainland western Europe. In England, the Vikings started to settle from around 865. How they did so – whether by seizing land, purchasing it, or settling previously uninhabited areas – isn’t entirely clear, but the loot seized during their raids must have helped the process.

Plotting the ratios of the lead isotopes in the Bedale hoard for the first time, many of the results were as expected: several silver objects matched the ratios of Anglo-Saxon and Carolingian coinage, and other objects had been refined to raise their silver content prior to casting, using local lead in the process of cupellation.

Geochemical analysis of Bedale hoard items

But while many of the artefacts in the Bedale hoard yielded predictable results, a group of nine ingots stood out. Rather than matching western silver sources or local lead, they had the same isotope ratios as the Islamic currency of dirhams.

Dirhams minted between AD750 and 900 by the Umayyads and Abbasids, in what is today Iran and Iraq, were a particularly close match. Two of these ingots were marked with a cross, although whether this carried Christian meaning or was simply a way of marking out ownership is unclear. Either way, these massive ingots must have been cast in Scandinavia from Islamic silver dirhams and brought over to England in Viking hands, before being buried in North Yorkshire.

This result is staggering. The names of villages around Bedale like Snape and Newton-le-Willows sound very far from Mesopotamia – yet the Bedale hoard contained a substantial component of silver minted in Baghdad, Tehran and Isfahan.

These results have made us question the timing of the Viking age’s eastern expansion. While Islamic dirhams are plentiful in Scandinavia, they predominantly date to the 10th century. However, our analysis suggests that dirhams were already arriving in Scandinavia in the 9th century in much larger quantities than previously thought – with many being melted down as a raw material for casting.

To understand how this happened, we need to meet the Scandinavians who looked east rather than west in search of silver and other riches.

Who were the Scandinavians who went east?

While the Viking raids on western Europe are best-known thanks to the many surviving written accounts, some of their fellow-Scandinavians – largely drawn from modern-day Sweden – headed east, establishing riverine, trade-based settlements in what is now Russia and Ukraine.

The route led across the Baltic Sea and Gulf of Finland into northern Russia, transporting furs and slaves from northern Europe to the markets of the Islamic Caliphate. Finds of dirhams in Scandinavia represent the profit from this trade and show that it, too, had silver at its heart.

Over time, these Scandinavians adapted to life on the eastern waterways, adopting some cultural practices from local people such as the nomadic Khazars. The 10th-century diplomat, Ahmad ibn Fadlan, gave a frank description of this new community of traders – known as Rus rather than Vikings – who he met on the River Volga in northern Russia:

They are the filthiest of God’s creatures. They do not clean themselves after urinating or defecating, nor do they wash themselves after having sex …They are like wandering asses.

In 921, Ibn Fadlan had been sent by the Abbasid caliph, al-Muqtadir, as part of an embassy to the king of the Volga Bulgars, located near the modern town of Kazan in Tartastan, Russia. His travelogue-style account, or risāla, of that journey has become famous for the many eyewitness accounts of people he met along the way – including the Rus from northern Europe, whom he met as they traded with merchants from the Islamic empire at the market of Bulgar on the River Volga, roughly midway between Scandinavia and Baghdad.

The Rus people’s long and difficult journey from Scandinavia would have taken several months, involving multiple rivers and portages – when their boats had to be dragged across land. They traversed boreal forest and the Eurasia steppe, which was populated by various nomadic tribes. In this landscape, the only option was to travel by river – or, in winter, to use the river as an ice highway, substituting boats for sledges. But for the Rus, travelling this perilous eastern route, the Austrvegr, was worth the risk.

According to Ibn Fadlan, the Rus acted as middlemen, acquiring furs and slaves from hunter societies in forested areas and organising their shipment down river via trading posts that later developed into permanent settlements. The goods were sent to major markets such as Itil (on the Caspian Sea) and Bulgar, where they would be purchased by merchants from the caliphate.

What the Rus wanted in return for slaves and furs was dirhams: the fine silver coins, weighing roughly 3g each, which made up the currency of the Islamic Caliphate. The early 10th-century writer, Ahmad ibn Rustah, explained how the Rus “earn their living by trading in sable, grey squirrel and other furs. They sell them for silver coins which they set in belts and wear around their waist.”

Ibn Fadlan’s highly detailed travelogue explains that once a trader amassed 10,000 dirhams, he melted them down to create a neck-ring for his wife. After 20,000 dirhams, he made two. This was no doubt an exaggeration – such a neck-ring would weigh 65lb of silver – but the notion that a smallish group of traders acquired tens of thousands of silver dirhams is supported by archaeology.

For these Rus “traders”, just as important as the fur trade was the trade in enslaved people, who seem mainly to have been captured from the Slavic lands and what is now northern Russia, rather than western Europe. Scholars sometimes describe the Austrvegr as a trading route, but human trafficking can hardly be described as “trade” in the mercantile way that we understand it today. It was based on coercion and violence – the terrorising nature of Viking activity in the west was replicated in the east.

The Rus “treat their slaves well and dress them suitably”, Ibn Rusta wrote, “because for them they are an article of trade”. Yet it’s also clear that female slaves were exploited for sex. These reports underscore the grim reality of the Rus “trade” – that their insatiable quest for silver entailed human suffering.

Astonishingly, some 400,000 dirhams survive in Scandinavia and the Baltic, making the dirham the most common archaeological find type for the Viking age. However, most of these coins date to the first half of the 10th century.

Yet according to our analysis of the Bedale hoard, rather than the Viking age “starting” in the west, the eastern and western expansions may have happened in parallel from the end of the 8th century – with the wealth of the east a prime motivator of the Viking movement out of Scandinavia.

Today, in some of the place-names near Bedale in North Yorkshire, we see evidence of Scandinavian settlement: Aiskew is Old Norse for “Oak Wood”, and Firby means “Frith’s village”. But now we also have evidence of a connection between the Bedale hoard and Rus traders bringing silver back to Scandinavia from their exploits in the east – up to a century earlier than had been thought.

Laser analysis brings new discoveries

In our analysis of the Bedale hoard, lead isotopes alone weren’t enough to draw definitive conclusions. We needed additional data to confirm the Islamic origin of the nine ingots.

Not only do lead isotopes differ between source ores – so do trace elements. Gold and bismuth levels are especially helpful in evaluating the origin of silver, because, unlike other elements, they do not change when silver is melted down.

After digesting the results of the lead isotopes, I returned to the suburbs of Nottingham. With Simon Chenery, we put the Bedale hoard objects under an excimer laser (a type of ultraviolet laser), ablating tiny amounts of silver in order to record the levels of trace elements. This time, thrillingly, the results came through in real time.

They showed, for the Islamic-looking ingots, the telltale pattern of low gold that is characteristic of Abbasid silver. Abbasid dirhams of this date typically have gold levels below 0.4%, reflecting the low-gold character of nearby silver mines in the Taurus mountains, whereas gold levels in coins from western Europe are higher – around 1% in the late 9th century.

We discovered, too, that other artefacts were probably made from a mix of both western and eastern silver sources. This was true of the massive silver neck-ring as well as a smaller neck-ring from the hoard. Indeed, these two items appear to have been made from the same silver stock, suggesting that they travelled from their source to Bedale together.

While both could have been made in Scandinavia, the contribution of western silver raises the possibility that they were produced locally in Yorkshire, by metal casters with access to both distant, Islamic dirhams and local, Anglo-Saxon silver.

Our analysis shows the Islamic contribution to the Bedale hoard is more significant than we would have expected for a Viking hoard from England. In all, the nine ingots weigh 715g, equivalent to around 240 dirhams. And taking into account the Islamic contribution to the “mixed” silver artefacts, Islamic silver comprises around a third of the total weight of silver from the hoard (weighing around 3,700g).

Clearly, the Vikings were not only extracting silver from areas they raided and conquered, they were also bringing it in via their long-distance trade networks in the east. This result reveals the unexpected connectedness of the Vikings’ eastern and western expansions. Far from being separate phenomena, the profits of one directly fed into the activities of the other. Gains made from the Austrvegr may have enabled a group of Scandinavians to launch raids to the west and acquire further wealth and land.

In the west, these raids lasted for around 70 years from the late 8th century, spanning two or three generations. But eventually, the Vikings decided to settle. In northern England, where Bedale is located, they proceeded “to plough and to support themselves”, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 876 AD. Finds of female Scandinavian dress items from England suggest that whole families, not just retired warriors, settled there.

Many questions remain about the nature of this settlement – including whether the raiders-turned-settlers lived separately from or with the native Anglo-Saxon population, and how the settlement process was brokered. But the former Vikings and their families appear to have integrated relatively quickly, adopting Christian forms of burial, developing craft industries in towns, and embracing coinage as a means of exchange. Among the settled Scandinavian population, the violence ceased.

Silver remained an important medium for displaying values and even identities. From around 900, new Anglo-Scandinavian rulers minted their own coinage – sometimes preserving traditional features familiar to Anglo-Saxons, but also adding new aspects that proclaimed a Scandinavian background. Coins minted by the new rulers of York, a focus of Scandinavian settlement in northern England, could have a Christian cross on one side and a Thor’s hammer – an overt pagan symbol – on the other.

These Anglo-Scandinavian coins were in use across Scandinavian-settled regions of England and are testimony to the continued importance of silver to the Viking economy – now channelled into a form that was more regulated and acceptable to the local Anglo-Saxon community. Geochemical analysis of the silver in these coins also reveals glimpses of this process of assimilation. Our investigation of a handful of examples, using the same techniques of lead isotope and trace element analysis, suggests they were made mainly with Anglo-Saxon silver – but again with a modest contribution from Islamic dirhams.

The end of the eastern adventure

The geochemical analysis of silver helps reveal the reasons for the extraordinary expansion of the Vikings and their fellow Scandinavians – including pointing to the wealth gained in eastern markets as a major (and hitherto neglected) “pull” factor. To a greater degree than has traditionally been acknowledged, eastern silver travelled across the Scandinavian world of the Viking age.

The huge number of Samanid dirhams found in Scandinavia point to the 930s-940s as the most fruitful decades for the Scandinavian travellers’ trade with the east. The Rus’s slave and fur trade continued until around 950 – and silver analysis again helps to explain why it came to a fairly sudden end. Analysis of the silver content of dirhams shows their fineness declined sharply from the 940s and 950s – a reflection, no doubt, of the drying up of silver mines in Central Asia.

It did not take long for Vikings to seek out silver sources closer to home. They turned to coins from the area of modern-day Germany, struck with silver from the newly-exploited Harz mountains, which they obtained mainly through trade. The decline in the silver content of dirhams thus led to a major reconfiguration of Scandinavian trade routes.

From this point on, long-distance trade with the east declined significantly. The Vikings instead turned again to the west, establishing trade links with England and Germany. In the late 10th century, increasingly powerful Scandinavian kings also launched new seaborne raids, exploiting the weakness of English kings such as Æthelred II “the Unready” (978–1016) and initiating what has become known as the “second Viking age” in England.

These raids, launched from around 980, were bigger, more centrally organised, and successful. The Vikings obtained significant quantities of “Danegeld”: protection payments made in coin. Ultimately, in 1016, the Danish king Cnut established himself on the English throne. The nature of the relationship between England and Scandinavia during this period is also being explored through silver, in a project on coinage from the recently-discovered Lenborough hoard.

If the pattern identified for the Bedale hoard plays out across other Viking hoards, it will prompt a major re-evaluation of the movements of the earliest Scandinavian warrior-traders. As part of the same project, we have been analysing Viking silver hoards of a similar 9th-century date from Sweden and Denmark, the Carolingian continent, southern Scotland and the west coast of England. Preliminary results suggest a regional pattern, but with Islamic silver appearing to be dominant in many cases.

What’s clear is that in the 9th century, the Vikings were already awash in Islamic silver. Meanwhile, more undiscovered treasures like that found in Bedale lie quietly underground, waiting to reveal their secrets.

For you: more from our Insights series:

• What 2,000 years of Chinese history reveals about today’s AI-driven technology panic – and the future of inequality

• Meet the forgotten enslaved and working-class labourers behind British exploration in Africa, Asia and Antarctica

• The Innu have lived in eastern Canada for thousands of years, yet their rights to this land are increasingly threatened by the question: who is Indigenous?

To hear about new Insights articles, join the hundreds of thousands of people who value The Conversation’s evidence-based news. Subscribe to our newsletter.

Jane Kershaw, Gad Rausing Associate Professor of Viking Age Archaeology, University of Oxford

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Astronomers are living in a golden age of bigger and better telescopes. But even our most advanced technology pales in comparison to the power of nature’s own “cosmic magnifying glasses” – strong gravitational lenses.

In less than 50 years we have gone from the first-ever discovery of a strong gravitational lens to now finding thousands. As new telescopes come online, we’re expecting to discover thousands more.

With these lenses, we can look deep into the universe, and catch glimpses into the most puzzling of contemporary cosmic mysteries: dark matter and dark energy.

So, what are gravitational lenses and how do they work?

A spectacular demonstration of gravity

Gravitational lenses are the most visually spectacular demonstration of Albert Einstein’s theories of gravity.

According to Einstein, mass bends and warps the very fabric of space, in much the same way that a heavy bowling bowl placed on a mattress will bend the mattress beneath it.

Everything with mass (you, me, a leaf, an atom) bends space-time in this way.

But it’s only when an object is really massive – such as entire galaxies and clusters of galaxies – that this effect becomes so apparent. As light travels from distant objects and passes these massive galaxies, the warped space-time around them bends and focuses this light, magnifying it for us to see.

We’re not always in the right place to see this effect. Just like how you need to align a magnifying glass in front of your eye, we only observe the gravitational lensing effect when there is a chance alignment of the background object, the foreground lens, and us.

On the rare occasions when this happens, through our telescopes we see multiple, distorted but magnified versions of an object that we wouldn’t otherwise be able to see because it’s too faint.

Revealing the invisible

Even Einstein couldn’t have predicted how important gravitational lenses would become to modern astronomy. In fact, he believed them impossible to observe at all.

This was because Einstein was thinking about gravitational lensing around individual stars, not galaxies. It wasn’t until decades later that astronomers came to realise just how massive galaxies are, and just how full of them our universe is.

Impressively, gravitational lenses can also reveal details about things we can’t see at all.

Theories predict about 85% of the matter that makes up the universe is invisible stuff called dark matter. The way a gravitational lens bends and warps light allows us to measure how much matter is in galaxies – not just the regular matter we can see, but dark matter as well.

Gravitational lenses can also help us map galaxy clusters across the universe, helping us to understand its shape. Is our universe perfectly flat like a sheet of paper? Or does it have curvature to it like a sphere, or flare outwards like a horse saddle?

That depends on how dense the universe is, and mapping galaxy clusters helps us measure the density of a hypothetical force known as dark energy.

Looking at the distant universe

Gravitational lenses typically make the background objects ten to 100 times brighter than they would be otherwise. This effect provides a high-definition view of the distant universe.

The James Webb Space Telescope has been taking advantage of this magnification boost to get a glimpse into what the universe was like in its infancy more than 13 billion years ago, shortly (300 million years) after the Big Bang.

Looking far into the past helps us piece together how our own celestial home, the Milky Way galaxy, formed and how it might change in the future.

We’re about to be spoilt for choice

The catch to all this is gravitational lenses are rare – akin to a needle in a cosmic-scale haystack. To find them, we need high quality images of large swaths of the night sky.

This year, two new skywatching projects are expected to revolutionise the field: the European Space Agency’s Euclid space telescope and the Vera Rubin Observatory in Chile.

Euclid, which launched in 2023 and released its first batch of data earlier this year, will image a monumental one-third of the entire sky, with a clarity that only comes from being in space.

Conversely, the Vera Rubin Observatory will be working from the ground, but will image the entire southern hemisphere sky. It will create the most detailed time-lapsed view of the cosmos ever seen.

Over their lifetimes Euclid and the Vera Rubin Observatory are predicted to unveil 100,000 new gravitational lenses, 100 times more than we currently know.

How do we find these 100,000 gravitational lenses among the billions of galaxies observed by these telescopes? It is not feasible for scientists to wade through that many images alone.

Instead, Euclid is relying on citizen scientists to help train AI models to know what to look for. By having people each look through a few images and classifying whether they are gravitational lenses or not, AI models can learn from these examples and can then search the entire dataset (if you want to get involved, check out their website).

From individual lenses providing unique new insights into distant galaxies, to studying the effect over large statistical samples to understand the very nature of the universe, gravitational lenses do it all. They are the Swiss Army knife in an astronomer’s toolkit, and we’re about to be spoilt for choice.

Tania Barone, Research Associate in Galaxy Evolution, Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

A year ago, French newspaper Le Monde and Radio France broke a scandal in big water – Perrier was filtering its product. The filtering began due to worries about water contamination linked to climate change and pollution of spring sources.

It was also revealed that executives at parent company Nestle and French government ministers tried to keep it all quiet. They allegedly covered up reports of contamination and changed the rules to allow micro-filtration.

Under EU law, for a brand to market their products as “natural mineral water” it has to remain unaltered. French mineral water companies are now awaiting a ruling on what level of filtration is considered illegal “treatment”. The result could mean that, after 160 years, Perrier will no longer be able to be call its product “natural mineral water”.

Strikingly, the same issue was debated extensively by scientists during the 18th-century European spring water boom. These men considered the effects of human intervention on the product and what was lost in the process.

A spa boom

In the 17th and 18th centuries, medical interest, in addition to factors like travel for leisure, resulted in the proliferation of new spa towns across Europe.

In England, Buxton and Tunbridge Wells developed in the 1620s and 1660s respectively, while Harrogate, Cheltenham and Leamington came in the 1710s, 1750s and 1790s. Historical survey’s place the number of spas and wells offering healing mineral waters at around 350 in the 18th-century heyday.

Spas like Bath, Buxton and the Bristol Hotwell were thermal, offering hot bathing. However, other spa sources in England were not heated. This meant that those who wished to bathe had to do so in the cold, which was both undesirable, and at that time, considered dangerous. This was due to fears that the English cold climate, when combined with bodily exposure to cold water, could disrupt bodily rhythms an cause illness.

As a result, many of the cold spas focused on offering health benefits through drinking their waters. When hailing the qualities of the newly discovered waters at Scarborough in 1660, Yorkshire doctor Robert Wittie declared they had “gained such credit” that people: “Come above an hundred miles to drink of it, preferring it to all other medicinal waters they had formerly frequented.”

He later described the health benefits he gained from drinking them:

I had lost two pound and a half of my weight… I found after it better agility of body, and alacrity of spirit then before.

In 1654, the doctor Edmund Deane had similarly described the effects of the waters of Knaresborough: “Those waters at the Spaw doe presently heal, and (as it were) miraculously cure diseases, which are without all hope of recovery.”

Testing the waters

As the number of spas grew, so did the options for consumers. As a result, the 18th century saw increasing attention and experimentation on mineral waters by scientists. Rather than questioning the health benefits, they instead compared waters to one another, experimenting on them to determine processes that produced and changed healing properties.

For example, British doctor George Turner, who translated and expanded upon a German work about the spa of Bad Pyrmont, in 1733. His work discussed experiments on the waters of the spa and the minerals that could be determined within. It noted that if left standing, the carbonated water lost its potency: “Whence it is, that so spiritous a liquid does so easily turn to a flat insipid water.”

He also suggested that boiling caused mineral waters to lose some invisible element important to its proper function. “Why so many globules of air arise out of mineral waters when it is warmed?” he asked, only to conclude that when “spirits fly out of any liquid” they go “incognito without any tumult”. As they “flew”, so too did whatever gave these waters healing properties, making chemical recreation in a lab impossible.

Historians of science have suggested that works like this foregrounded the concept of “gas”, which came more conclusively later in the century.

During experiments on the Scarborough waters, doctor Peter Shaw and natural scientist Stephen Hales each sought to determine the nature of the “subtle sulphurous spirit” in which they felt the “principal virtue of the Chalybeate (flavoured with iron) Waters resided”.

Similar experiments also involved extensive filtering, with physician John Nott in 1793 adding solutions to the waters of Italy’s Pisa and France’s Verdun before filtering them and performing further tests on “what remains in the filter”.

Scottish physician, Thomas Short, had concluded previously that filtering waters was both an important natural process. He described “the several strange alterations that water undergoes, by being strained through different strata of minerals”. But also that the body inherently filtered “raw” mineral waters through its skin when bathing, allowing only those smaller minerals in to provide the health effect, he claimed.

These scientists used their burgeoning chemical understanding to conclude that processes performed on waters fundamentally changed them, going from “spiritous” cures to “flat insipid water”. Even lacking the full knowledge or vocabulary to express why, they felt their processes and tools were incapable of recreating the waters of nature.

Legacies of these ideas can be seen in our changing attitudes to food and drink. Modern branding and consumer value is placed on a lack of processing. We are increasingly concerned with capturing and consuming the natural as it is, before human intervention has muddied it.

In so doing, we continue the ideas of those concerned with mineral waters all that time ago. By filtering their waters, no matter how little Perrier claim it affected them, we feel as though some spirit of the natural has perhaps been lost.

Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.

Daniel Gettings, Sessional Tutor, Department of History, University of Warwick

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

John Rivers, John Bailey, David Middleton, Leroy Major and Buck Godfrey – all teammates from the 1955 Cannon Street YMCA Little League All-Star team – left Charleston, South Carolina, on a bus on Aug. 18, 2025.

After a stop at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, for a couple days – where their story is included in an exhibit on Black baseball that opened in 2024 – they’ll head to Williamsport, Pennsylvania.

There, they’ll be recognized before the Little League World Series championship game on August 24, 2025 – 70 years after the players, then 11 and 12 years old, watched the championship game from the bleachers, wondering why they weren’t on the field living out their own dreams instead of watching other boys live out theirs.

When the Cannon Street team registered for a baseball tournament in Charleston in July 1955, it put the team and the forces of integration on a collision course with segregation, bigotry and the Southern way of life.

White teams refused to take the field with the Cannon Street team, who represented the first Black Little League in South Carolina. The team won two tournaments by forfeit. They were supposed to then go to a regional tournament in Rome, Georgia, where, if they won, they’d advance to the Little League World Series.

But Little League officials ruled the team ineligible for the regional tournament because it had advanced by winning on forfeit and not on the field, as the rules stipulated.

A 4-team Black league is born

The Civil Rights Movement is often told in terms of court decisions, bus boycotts and racist demagogues. It’s rarely told from the point of view of children, who suffered in ways that left physical and emotional scars.

When I was a journalism professor at the College of Charleston, I learned how the presence of a single Black all-star team was enough to cause one of the biggest crises in Little League history. In 2022, I wrote the book “Stolen Dreams: The 1955 Cannon Street All-Stars and Little League Baseball’s Civil War.”

The team’s story begins in 1953. Robert Morrison, president of the Cannon Street YMCA, petitioned Little League Baseball to create a league for Black teams, and Little League Baseball granted the charter. Dozens of Black 11- and 12-year-old boys were selected for the four-team league before the 1954 season.

They played on a diamond of grass and gravel at Harmon Field in Charleston, a city with a long history of racial strife. In 1861, the Civil War began in Charleston harbor, where hundreds of thousands of slaves had been brought to the U.S. from the 1600s to the 1800s. The field also wasn’t far from Emanuel AME church, where nine Black parishioners were murdered during a prayer meeting in 2015.

Little League Baseball barred first-year leagues from the postseason tournaments. At some point during the 1955 season, the best players were selected for the league’s All-Star team. Cannon Street YMCA officials then registered the team for the Charleston city tournament, which included all-star teams from the city’s all-white leagues.

Little League Baseball officially prohibited racial discrimination. But in South Carolina, racial discrimination was still legal.

Dixie fights back

The U.S. Supreme Court had ruled a year earlier that segregation in schools was unconstitutional in the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision, paving the way for racial integration.

Few states resisted integration as fiercely as South Carolina, and no politician fought harder against racial equality than the state’s junior U.S. senator, Strom Thurmond.

So when the Cannon Street YMCA All-Stars registered for Charleston’s citywide tournament in July 1955, all the white teams withdrew. The Cannon Street team won by forfeit and advanced to the state tournament.

Danny Jones, the state’s director of Little League Baseball, petitioned the organization to create a segregated state tournament. Little League Baseball’s president, Peter McGovern, denied Jones’ request. He said that any team that refused to play the Cannon Street team would be banned from the organization.

Thurmond let it be known to Jones that an integrated tournament could not be permitted. In the end, Jones urged all the white teams to withdraw from the state tournament. He then resigned from Little League Baseball, created the Little Boys League and wrote the league’s charter, which prohibited Black players.

The Little Boys League – which was rebranded as Dixie Youth Baseball – soon replaced Little League in other Southern states; within six years, there were 390 such leagues spanning most of the former Confederacy. It would be decades before Little League Baseball returned to South Carolina.

Having won the South Carolina tournament by forfeit, the Cannon Street YMCA All-Stars prepared for the regional tournament in Rome, Georgia, where the state’s governor, Marvin Griffin, objected to integration. If youth baseball could be integrated, so, too, could schools, swimming pools and municipal parks, he said.

Let them play!

Little League rules said that teams could advance only by playing and winning, so the Cannon Street’s state championship was ruled invalid because it had come by forfeit.

McGovern decided against making an exception for the Cannon Street YMCA All-Stars.

Most white-owned newspapers, whether in the South or North, had long stayed silent on the topic of racial discrimination. But the story of the Cannon Street All-Stars broke through. Editors and reporters may have wanted to avoid the topic of racism, but boys being denied the opportunity to play in a baseball tournament was too objectionable to ignore.

On July 31, 1955, New York Daily News columnist Dick Young asked Brooklyn Dodgers star Jackie Robinson, who had broken Major League Baseball’s color barrier eight years earlier, about the white teams that had quit the tournament rather than play against a Black team.

“How stupid can they be?” Robinson said. “I had to laugh when I read the story.”

Perhaps pressured by criticism, McGovern, Little League’s president, invited the team to be Little League’s guests for the championship game. So the team boarded a bus for Williamsport. They arrived the night before the championship game, which pitted Morrisville, Pennsylvania, against Delaware Township, New Jersey, an integrated team.

The Cannon Street YMCA All-Stars and their coaches were introduced before the game, and the players recall hearing a loud voice from the bleachers.

“Let them play!” it boomed.

Others in the crowd joined in, the players said.

“Let them play! Let them play!”

John Rivers, who played second base for the team, told me he can still “hear it now.”

After their brief moment on the field, the Cannon Street All-Stars returned to their seats and watched other boys live out their dreams. A photograph of the team in the stands reveals the disappointment on their faces.

On the following day – Aug. 28, 1955 – the team boarded its bus to return to Charleston. It was the same date that Emmett Till, not much older than the players on the team, was brutally murdered in Money, Mississippi, for reportedly whistling at a white woman.

The boys and girls who play in the 2025 tournament will forever remember the experience. The surviving members of the Cannon Street All-Stars, who are all in their early 80s, never forgot what they were denied.

Rivers, who went on to become a successful architect, says this is the moral of their story.

“It’s a tragedy to take dreams away from a youngster,” Rivers told The Washington Post in 2022. “I knew it then. I know it now, and I’ve seen to it that no one takes dreams away from me again.”

Now there are some on the political right who want to bury America’s ugly racial history.

America has never fully reckoned with slavery or the decades of segregation, Rivers recently told me. “It just decided to move on from that ugly period in its history without any kind of therapy,” he said. “And now they are trying to sweep it all under the rug again.”

Portions of this article first appeared in an article published on Aug. 19, 2016.

Chris Lamb, Professor of Journalism, Indiana University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.