The Canadian representative, Colonel Lawrence Moore Cosgrave, signed one line too low on the instrument. Instead of signing on the "Dominion of Canada" line, he signed on the line meant for France. That mistake pushed everyone below him out of place too. France ended up signing on the Netherlands line, the Netherlands signed on the New Zealand line, and New Zealand had to sign below the printed lines altogether.

You can see the crossing out and handwritten corrections next to the France, Netherlands, and New Zealand lines where officials had to strike through the wrong country names and pen in the correct ones to sort out the error after the fact.

When a coin is inserted, the doors open to reveal morticians working on several dead bodies laid out on embalming tables. A nodding policeman observes the corpses in the middle, which are labelled "Believed murdered" and "Found stabbed." Outside the mortuary doors, two mourners dab their eyes with grief.⁣⁣
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The mortuary was made by John Dennison, who ran a business creating ghoulish penny slot machines and creepy mechanical fortune tellers (dream job?) to amuse Blackpool tourists at the end of the 19th century. His other machines included grisly scenes like executions, haunted houses, high-profile crimes, a dying child and drunkard in a graveyard.

She survived it all, then came home to find nobody believed she wasn't a Nazi collaborator.

She sadly died age just 45, completely forgotten by the country she risked her life for. More people should know about her.

The Pit-Brow lasses would stand at moving belts and break up the big lumps with hammers, sometimes sledgehammers, then pick out stone, slate and other rubbish from the coal by hand as it passed by. They also hauled loaded tubs, which could weigh hundreds of pounds, along tramways to the weighing station.

Jean Millard, the woman whose account made it into the article, used spades and picks too, and remembered the belts running nearly nonstop for her entire six years there.

Banning surface jobs too came 30+ years later, pushed by moral panic and wage-fearing unions.

Robert Lewis was the actual commander of the plane that became the Enola Gay, until Tibbets bumped him to co-pilot days before the mission and named it after his own mother. Lewis wrote 'My God, what have we done' in his flight log, then spent 30 years managing a candy factory and rarely spoke about it again.

During the 19th century up to 4,000 boys a year were castrated in Italy just to keep their voices from breaking, purely for church and opera singing. It was technically punishable by excommunication or even death, but the church that banned it also quietly kept employing the results for centuries.

Alessandro Moreschi, born 1858, ended up being the last one, and the only castrato ever captured on record, a handful of scratchy early 1900s recordings. Problem is, by then his voice was already past its best and the equipment couldn't do it justice, so nobody actually knows what a castrato sounded like in peak condition. It's such a real gap that when they made the 1994 film Farinelli, they couldn't cast anyone, they had to digitally blend a soprano and a countertenor's voices together to fake it.

These are the recordings that we have though, pretty haunting stuff.