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Some rare photographs from history (Pt 4).


GMballistic

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Whilst waiting for tea to cook earlier I was looking again online at "rare" & historical pictures from history so following on from my other threads I thought I'd post them here for all to see. ;)

 

Pt 1 here: http://www.350z-uk.c...s-from-history/

Pt 2 here: http://www.350z-uk.c...m-history-pt-2/

Pt 3 here: http://www.350z-uk.c...m-history-pt-3/

 

 

 

Steamboats on the Mississippi river in 1907

 

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Mountain made from Bison skulls taken in the 1870's showing just how many were killed at that time

 

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Gas resistant stroller, England,1938

 

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Two gents pose with a "Punt gun" which were usually mounted to a small boat called a "Punt" and used for hunting ducks (one shot could kill as many as 50 ducks) ~ They were banned in the 1860's

 

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Baby cages were apparently used by parents in the 1920's as a way of getting their young children fresh air when living in high rise apartments

 

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A Polar bear trapped in his enclosure during flooding in Paris 1910

 

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Race organisers attempt to stop Kathrine Switzer from competing in the Boston Marathon. Despite this she became the first woman to finish the race in 1967

 

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"Queenie" the water skiing Elephant, 1950 ~ although I suspect she was chained to a raft so not doing it through choice. :dry:

 

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Titanic in dry dock 1912

 

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Folsom Street in San Francisco, USA after the great earth quake of 1906

 

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Hoover dam penstock/outlet pipe ~ Fabricated from 45,000 tons of steel and welded into nearly 3 miles of pipe varying from 8.5ft to 30ft in diameter. Early 1930's

 

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Hope you enjoyed the pics. :thumbs:

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Love stuff like this. Dinorwigs penstocks are bigger but for the time, that was cutting edge!

Yep definitely plus you have to remember the equipment they were using back then to do this stuff. :scare:;)

 

Hoover can't reverse the flow either, but then why would you need to!

 

Severn Barrage is a project I'd like to see happen.

 

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The clarity of the Titanic picture is astonishing!!

 

I also want a punt gun. I also like how the man in the photo is stealthily stooping in his boat, trying to be incognito, with a gun as long as the barge pole that can kill 50 ducks. I wouldn't worry about it to be honest. With a gun that big how could you possibly miss? i'd imagine it'd probably take out 50 ducks and any other duck hunters in the area hiding behind the bull rushes. :scare:

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Great pics GM, as usual. Seems so wierd now that people could kick up a fuss because a woman wanted to compete in a race.

I know and it was only 50 years ago which isn't that long ago tbh. Incredible how some things change. ;)

 

Wonderful photos buddy. Thank you for sharing. :)B):)

Very interesting, thanks for posting :thumbs:

Interesting pal, thanx for sharing

No problem all. :thumbs:

 

This was just a very small selection though of the 150 odd pictures I actually spent time looking at across several different sites. When you've time take a look on Google images as there is some incredible images on the net.

 

 

The clarity of the Titanic picture is astonishing!!

I think that one's my favourite, ...well that and the steamboats on the Mississippi. B)

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For anyone interested I was just reading about Kathrine Switzer from the photo above. Here below is an extract from a book She wrote about the event...

 

A man with an overcoat and felt hat was then in the middle of the road shaking his finger at me; he said something to me as I passed and reached out for my hand, catching my glove in¬stead and pulling it off. I did a kind of stutter step, we all had to jostle around him. I thought he was a nutty spectator, but when I passed I caught a glimpse of a blue and gold BAA ribbon on his lapel. Where had he come from?

Moments later, I heard the scraping noise of leather shoes coming up fast behind me, an alien and alarming sound amid the muted thump thumping of rubber-soled running shoes. When a runner hears that kind of noise, it’s usually danger—like hearing a dog’s paws on the pavement. Instinctively I jerked my head around quickly and looked square into the most vicious face I’d ever seen. A big man, a huge man, with bared teeth was set to pounce, and before I could react he grabbed my shoulder and flung me back, screaming, “Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!†Then he swiped down my front, trying to rip off my bib number, just as I leapt backward from him. He missed the numbers, but I was so surprised and frightened that I slightly wet my pants and turned to run. But now the man had the back of my shirt and was swiping at the bib num¬ber on my back. I was making little cries of aa-uh, aa-uh, not thinking at all, just trying to get away, when I saw tiny brave Arnie bat at him and try to push him away, shouting, “Leave her alone, Jock. I’ve trained her, she’s okay, leave her alone!†And the man screamed, “Stay out of this, Arnie!†and swatted him away like a gnat.

Arnie knows this maniac, I thought wildly, as I tried to pull away. The air was filled only with the clicking whirr of motor-drive cameras, scuffling sounds, and faintly, one cameraman screeching something I couldn’t under¬stand. The bottom was dropping out of my stomach; I had never felt such embarrassment and fear. I’d never been manhandled, never even spanked as a child, and the physical power and swiftness of the attack stunned me. I felt unable to flee, like I was rooted there, and indeed I was, because the man, this Jock guy, had me by the shirt. Then a flash of orange flew past and hit Jock with a cross-body block. It was Big Tom, in the orange Syracuse sweatshirt. There was a thud—whoomph!—and Jock was air¬borne. He landed on the roadside like a pile of wrinkled clothes. Now I felt terror. We’ve killed this guy Jock. It’s my fault, even though hothead Tom did it. My God, we’re all going to jail. Then I saw Arnie’s face—it was full of fear, too; his eyes were goggled and he shouted, “Run like hell!†All the adrenaline kicked in and down the street we ran, flying past the press truck, running like kids out of a haunted house.

I was dazed and confused. I’d never been up close to physical violence; the power was terrifying and I was shocked at how helpless I, as a strong woman, felt against it. Tom’s precise execution, the way he took out Jock and only Jock, was sublime athleticism, but I was not grateful for the “save.†I felt sick at heart, it was awful; it had gone too far, I wished Tom was not there, I wished I was not there.

Everyone was shouting. I could hear the journalists on the truck behind us yelling, “Go after her, go after her!†to the driver. The driver accelerated, popped the clutch, and I heard the truck buck and what unfortunately sounded like photographers, tripods, and crank cameras crashing down in a cursing melee.

Everyone was cursing, most loudly Arnie, the mild-mannered sweetheart, who proclaimed he was going to Kill That Jock Semple Who Should Know Better Being a Runner Himself! Tom really looked as if steam was coming out of his ears; he was still in full bombastic mode, and each curse of his was accompanied by another jab or a challenging look over his shoulder. John looked bewildered. I felt puke-ish, afraid that we’d seriously hurt this guy Jock Semple, and maybe we should stop and get it sorted out. But it was clear Jock was some kind of official—in fact, he turned out to be the race manager—and he was out of control. Now he’s hurt, we’re in trouble, and we’re going to get arrested. That was how scared I felt, as well as deeply humiliated, and for just a tiny moment, I wondered if I should step off the course. I did not want to mess up this prestigious race. But the thought was only a flicker. I knew if I quit, nobody would ever believe that women had the capability to run 26-plus miles. If I quit, everybody would say it was a publicity stunt. If I quit, it would set women’s sports back, way back, instead of forward. If I quit, I’d never run Boston. If I quit, Jock Semple and all those like him would win. My fear and humiliation turned to anger.

Source: http://kathrineswitzer.com/about-kathrine/1967-boston-marathon-the-real-story/

 

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;)

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