Did a medieval flying monk spot Halley’s comet, twice? It’s complicated

University of Leicester historian thinks Eilmer of Malmesbury saw two different comets: in 1018 and 1066

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The materials used in the construction of those wings reminds me of the time when my brother was nine and I was five when he decided to make a hang glider. He came up with a rectangular framework of sapling wood with cloth from an old sheet between them. There was absolutely no airfoil shape, but when he tried jumping off the low edge of the garage roof, about four feet off the ground, he discovered it was a passable parachute.

Some of his friends came over and we all took turns jumping off the roof, working our way farther and farther up the gable end until we were eventually jumping from the very top, a full two stories above the driveway.

It was all great fun until our mom looked out the living room and yelled "What the hell are you doing?!?" She may have prevented one of us sharing Eilmer's fate, but it was disappointing at the time.


^{ETA: Thinking about it, I'm pretty sure Dad must have had a hand in building that thing. He was really good at stuff like knots and lashing, while my brother is hopeless. Then he would have left us to our own devices without oversight, which was totally in character for him.}

GI Joe's and handkerchief parachutes for us.

And model airplanes, meticulously assembled, then packed with firecrackers for their simultaneously maiden and final "flights."

 

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If you think a little thing like a couple of broken legs is going to stop a researcher, then you haven't met many researchers!

"No, Eilmer. I am NOT carrying you and that thing up the tower again."

 

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Purex bottle napalm for little green army men? I can still hear the bewww...bewww...bewww sound it made dripping off the end of the burning bleach jug. Oh and hairspray flame throwers!!! We also made little rockets fueled with phosphorus carefully scraped from matches.

The punchline to the scraped-match story for us was that, after days of collecting our fuel, Johnny (last name withheld) decided one summer afternoon he couldn't wait anymore, and his exuberance ended in burning down his parents' garage and singeing the neighbor's siding.

I was not allowed to play with Johnny anymore.

 

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Offhand remarks are reserved for stories of Leopold's moral transgressions in the Congo.

Was that where his school had Band Camp?

 

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Perhaps. But were they screams of terror or delight/wonder, that is the question?

How does one say "Holy, shit!" in Latin?