What Was It?

If austerity is (almost) over, what was it anyway?

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Cruising at Mach 2 -- or 1, mph -- at 60, feet, Concorde flew five miles above and mph faster than the subsonic s plodding across the Atlantic. The radio chatter between aircraft could get interesting, according to Tye. Passengers and crew on Concorde's final flight left their mark on the airplane.

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By , social pressure over concerns with the plane's noise and sonic boom led to the cancellation of virtually all orders for Concorde, leaving British Airways and Air France as the only airlines to fly the SST. The plane suffered its only accident in July when an Air France Concorde crashed just after takeoff from Paris, killing all people on board and four on the ground.

Concorde returned to service in November , but age, and increasing operating and overhaul costs, caught up with the planes after almost 30 years in the air. Of that flight, Quest says: While Concorde no longer takes to the skies, it can be visited at a number of aviation museums around the world.

What was it like to live in an ancient Greek family?

Here are some of the best: The museum, close to the aircraft factory where Concorde was developed, explores the UK's aviation industry. Museum Air and Space Paris Le Bourget France -- Stellar aeronautical museum near Paris that covers the history of manned flight from wooden planes to space rockets and contains two Concordes, including the first ever to take flight.

The Concorde takes pride of place with one of the other pinnacles of recent transport history -- a Delorean DMC The Museum of Flight Seattle -- Billing itself as the largest independent, non-profit air and space museum in the world, the Museum of Flight is home to British Airways Concorde Alpha Golf, as well as the first ever Boeing Marginal Way, Seattle, WA ; A year of the world's Best Beaches There's a perfect beach for every week of the year. Join us on a month journey to see them all Go to the best beaches.

The portion of Twenty-sixth Street where our house is situated — between Seventh and Eighth Avenues — is one of the pleasantest localities in New York. The gardens back of the houses, running down nearly to the Hudson, form, in the summer time, a perfect avenue of verdure. The air is pure and invigorating, sweeping, as it does, straight across the river from the Weehawken heights, and even the ragged garden which surrounded the house on two sides, although displaying on washing days rather too much clothesline, still gave us a piece of greensward to look at, and a cool retreat in the summer evenings, where we smoked our cigars in the dusk, and watched the fireflies flashing their dark-lanterns in the long grass.

Of course we had no sooner established ourselves at No. We absolutely awaited their advent with eagerness. Our dinner conversation was supernatural. One of the boarders, who had purchased Mrs. The man led a life of supreme wretchedness while he was reading this volume. A system of espionage was established, of which he was the victim. If he incautiously laid the book down for an instant and left the room, it was immediately seized and read aloud in secret places to a select few.

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If a table or a wainscot panel happened to warp when we were assembled in the large drawing-room, there was an instant silence, and every one was prepared for an immediate clanking of chains and a spectral form. After a month of psychological excitement, it was with the utmost dissatisfaction that we were forced to acknowledge that nothing in the remotest degree approaching the supernatural had manifested itself. Once the black butler asseverated that his candle had been blown out by some invisible agency while he was undressing himself for the night; but as I had more than once discovered this colored gentleman in a condition when one candle must have appeared to him like two, I thought it possible that, by going a step farther in his potations, he might have reversed his phenomenon, and seen no candle at all where he ought to have beheld one.

Things were in this state when an incident took place so awful and inexplicable in its character that my reason fairly reels at the bare memory of the occurrence.

It was the tenth of July. After dinner was over I repaired with my friend, Dr. Hammond, to the garden to smoke my evening pipe. The Doctor and myself found ourselves in an unusually metaphysical mood. We lit our large meerschaums, filled with fine Turkish tobacco; we paced to and fro, conversing. A strange perversity dominated the currents of our thought. They would not flow through the sun-lit channels into which we strove to divert them. For some unaccountable reason they constantly diverged into dark and lonesome beds, where a continual gloom brooded.

It was in vain that, after our old fashion, we flung ourselves on the shores of the East, and talked of its gay bazaars, of the splendors of the time of Haroun, of harems and golden palaces. Black afreets continually arose from the depths of our talk, and expanded, like the one the fisherman released from the copper vessel, until they blotted everything bright from our vision. Insensibly, we yielded to the occult force that swayed us, and indulged in gloomy speculation.

The question, I own, puzzled me. That many things were terrible, I knew. A shattered wreck, with no life visible, encountered floating listlessly on the ocean, is a terrible object, for it suggests a huge terror, the proportions of which are veiled. But it now struck me for the first time that there must be one great and ruling embodiment of fear, a King of Terrors to which all others must succumb.

What might it be? To what train of circumstances would it owe its existence? That there must be one Something more terrible than any other thing, I feel. I cannot attempt, however, even the most vague definition.

I feel as if I could write a story like Hoffman to night, if I were only master of a literary style. How sultry it is!

We parted, and each sought his respective chamber. I undressed quickly and got into bed, taking with me, according to my usual custom, a book, over which I generally read myself to sleep. I opened the volume as soon as I had laid my head upon the pillow, and instantly flung it to the other side of the room. I resolved to go to sleep at once; so, turning down my gas until nothing but a little blue point of light glimmered on the top of the tube, I composed myself to rest.

The room was in total darkness. The atom of gas that still remained lighted did not illuminate a distance of three inches round the burner. I desperately drew my arm across my eyes, as if to shut out even the darkness, and tried to think of nothing. It was in vain. The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in the garden kept obtruding themselves on my brain.

I battled against them. I erected ramparts of would-be blankness of intellect to keep them out. They still crowded upon me. While I was lying still as a corpse, hoping that by a perfect physical inaction I should hasten mental repose, an awful incident occurred. A Something dropped, as it seemed, from the ceiling, plumb upon my chest, and the next instant I felt two bony hands encircling my throat, endeavoring to choke me. I am no coward, and am possessed of considerable physical strength.

What were Greek homes like?

The suddenness of the attack, instead of stunning me, strung every nerve to its highest tension. My body acted from instinct, before my brain had time to realize the terrors of my position. In an instant I wound two muscular arms around the creature, and squeezed it, with all the strength of despair, against my chest. In a few seconds the bony hands that had fastened on my throat loosened their hold, and I was free to breathe once more.

Then commenced a struggle of awful intensity. Immersed in the most profound darkness, totally ignorant of the nature of the Thing by which I was so suddenly attacked, finding my grasp slipping every moment, by reason, it seemed to me, of the entire nakedness of my assailant, bitten with sharp teeth in the shoulder, neck, and chest, having every moment to protect my throat against a pair of sinewy, agile hands, which my utmost efforts could not confine — these were a combination of circumstances to combat which required all the strength and skill and courage that I possessed.

At last, after a silent, deadly, exhausting struggle, I got my assailant under by a series of incredible efforts of strength. Once pinned, with my knee on what I made out to be its chest, I knew that I was victor. I rested for a moment to breathe. I heard the creature beneath me panting in the darkness, and felt the violent throbbing of a heart. It was apparently as exhausted as I was; that was one comfort.

At this moment I remembered that I usually placed under my pillow, before going to bed, a large yellow silk pocket handkerchief, for use during the night. I felt for it instantly; it was there. I now felt tolerably secure. There was nothing more to be done but to turn on the gas, and, having first seen what my midnight assailant was like, arouse the household. I will confess to being actuated by a certain pride in not giving the alarm before; I wished to make the capture alone and unaided.

Never losing my hold for an instant, I slipped from the bed to the floor, dragging my captive with me. I had but a few steps to make to reach the gas-burner; these I made with the greatest caution, holding the creature in a grip like a vice. Quick as lightning I released my grasp with one hand and let on the full flood of light.

Then I turned to look at my captive. I cannot even attempt to give any definition of my sensations the instant after I turned on the gas.

What were houses like?

I suppose I must have shrieked with terror, for in less than a minute afterward my room was crowded with the inmates of the house. I shudder now as I think of that awful moment. Yes; I had one arm firmly clasped round a breathing, panting, corporeal shape, my other hand gripped with all its strength a throat as warm, and apparently fleshly, as my own; and yet, with this living substance in my grasp, with its body pressed against my own, and all in the bright glare of a large jet of gas, I absolutely beheld nothing!

Not even an outline — a vapor! I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation in which I found myself. I cannot recall the astounding incident thoroughly. A game of flicking nuts into a hole or circle may be the ancient Greek version of marbles or tiddlywinks! Children also kept animals. There are pictures of children with pets, like dogs, geese and chickens.

Men and women usually ate separately in ancient Greece. Rich people always ate at home - only slaves and poor people would eat in public. Everyone ate with their fingers, so food was cut up in the kitchen first. So what was on the menu in ancient Greece? For breakfast, Greeks might eat fruit with bread dipped in wine. Lunch might be bread and cheese. For dinner, people ate porridge made from barley, with cheese, fish, vegetables, eggs and fruit. For pudding people ate nuts, figs and cakes sweetened with honey. Only rich people ate a lot of meat. They would eat hares, deer and wild boar killed by hunters.

Octopus was a favourite seafood. Who were the ancient Greek gods and heroes? More Key Stage 2 History guides and clips. Find more learner guides about the Ancient Greeks. Find more great guides and clips on Bitesize Highlights.

Who were the ancient Greeks? What was it like to live in an ancient Greek family?

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