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Kenya, 1952. Beneath the surface of the colonial order, something was stirring—something ancient, defiant, and dangerous to the British Empire.

This is the story of the Mau Mau: a secretive and feared movement, bound by a powerful oath of loyalty, land, and blood. An oath whispered in the forests, taken in darkness, and sworn to reclaim stolen soil. For Britain, it was branded as savagery. But for the Kikuyu people, it was a desperate fight for survival.

In this episode, we follow historian Caroline Elkins as she digs into the origins of the rebellion. She uncovers the truth behind the British land grab that dispossessed entire communities. She exposes the empire’s network of detention camps, the calculated use of violence, and the system that turned colonial subjects into suspects—tortured, broken, and silenced.

And then, just as Elkins begins to unearth the full scale of the horror, the files begin to disappear. Archives once promised to researchers are suddenly missing.

Part Two is coming—and with it, the story of a cover-up so vast it reached into the heart of the British state.

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Virginia Woolf didn’t just write novels—she cracked open the mind and bled onto the page. Time, memory, madness, sex, death—nothing was too sacred. Nothing was off limits.

In the heart of Bloomsbury, she found her tribe—artists, rebels, lovers who believed in truth over convention. They questioned everything: war, empire, gender, even sanity itself. 

She defied the norms of literature—and of love. Her affair with the dazzling Vita Sackville-West lit a fire in her, one that would burn through Orlando, one of the most radical love letters ever written. She challenged the novel. She challenged men. She challenged herself—until the pressure nearly consumed her.

But her voice never broke. And today, it still echoes—sharp, strange, necessary.
Because the world she feared—of silence, of erasure—is still here. And her words still cut through it.

Virginia Woolf

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In the 1660s, Isaac Newton sat alone in the dark—and drove a needle behind his eye. Not out of madness, but to understand light.

Centuries earlier, Homer described the sea not as blue, but wine-dark. In the Iliad and the Odyssey, the colour blue is never mentioned. Not once.

This absence haunted William Gladstone. Scholar. Statesman. Obsessive. He scoured ancient texts, The Bible. The Vedas. The Koran. Still no blue. Only silence. Except in Egypt, where the dead were painted in lapis and gods crossed sapphire skies. Why them, and no one else?

Because colour isn’t in the world. It’s in the mind. Filtered through flesh. Warped by biology. Shaped by time. You see three cones. A dog sees two. A mantis shrimp sees sixteen. Who sees reality?

This isn’t just about colour. It’s about perception. Control. Evolution. This is the story of a colour that didn’t exist—until we taught ourselves to see it.

And what else might be out there, hidden in plain sight?

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High above the world, where the wind screams and the air itself turns hostile, two men vanished into legend.

In June 1924, George Mallory and Andrew Irvine ascended into the death zone of Mount Everest—draped not in modern gear, but in wool, hope, and obsession. They were last seen climbing toward the summit, swallowed by mist… and then, nothing.

No cry. No descent. No proof.

For nearly a century, the mountain has kept its secret. Did they stand atop the world before disappearing into its icy silence? Or did Everest take their lives before it gave them glory?

What remains are fragments: a torn sleeve, a pickaxe, a frozen body found decades too late. Whispers of a lost camera. A photo meant for the summit. And a question that haunts every climber who dares follow: Did they make it?

This is not just a story of exploration. It is a requiem. A riddle carved in ice. A slow echo from the Roof of the World—where history, ambition, and the cold devour everything.

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Mallory and Irvine

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He had the jawline of a movie star, the charm of a matinee idol, and the pedigree of American royalty. But John Fitzgerald Kennedy was more than just a handsome face — he was a war hero, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, and the youngest man ever elected President of the United States.

He was the golden boy — but behind the perfect smile and polished speeches, he lived a life built on contradictions. He saved lives in the Pacific, but couldn't rescue the Bay of Pigs. He stared down the Soviets in the Cuban Missile Crisis, yet couldn’t control the chaos at home — or in his private life. There were whispers of affairs with starlets and spies, and shadows that followed him to the Oval Office.

This is the story of JFK: the myth, the man, and the secrets he took to the grave.

In this episode of Rearview Mirror Chronicles, we dive into the contradictions, the courage, and the chaos. This is the story of JFK: legend, leader, and the man who captured the world’s imagination… even as he struggled to hold onto his own.

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JFK

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They say he died in the fourteenth century. But his tomb was empty. No body. No bones. Just silence.

Nicholas Flamel—a name etched into dusty grimoires and whispered in secret circles. A medieval scribe who, legend claims, unlocked the secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone. Gold from lead. Life from death. Immortality.

For over six centuries, he’s been spotted across Europe—unchanged. Ageless. Watching. Join Keith as he opens the ancient doors and steps into the shadows, where fact and fable bleed together. Was Flamel just a clever man with a good story? Or did he truly conquer death… and vanish into alchemical darkness?

Light your candle. Hold your breath. The hunt for the undying alchemist begins.

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Nicholas Flamel

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How monstrous were Rome’s emperors? Was Caligula truly mad enough to declare war on the sea? Did Nero really watch Rome burn while playing his lyre? And were these men depraved by nature—or crafted that way by the sharpened pen of Suetonius?

In his Lives of the Caesars, written in 121 AD, Suetonius offers a series of intimate autopsies on power—twelve rulers, stripped bare. From Julius Caesar to the tyrant Domitian, we’re shown men unhinged by absolute control, consumed by paranoia, cruelty, lust, and madness. But how much of it was true? And how much was slander, myth, or a whisper campaign that never stopped echoing?

In this episode, Keith is joined by historian and podcaster Tom Holland, whose chilling new translation of Suetonius reopens the tombs of Rome’s most infamous emperors. Together, they ask: was this the birth of imperial biography—or the earliest, most enduring example of political character assassination?

Welcome to a Rome not of glory, but of rot.
 Where emperors die… but their madness lives on.

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Tom Holland  

Rome

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On a cold November night in 1974, blood was spilled in a Belgravia basement. Sandra Rivett, the nanny, was bludgeoned to death. The intended target, perhaps, was someone else. The killer vanished. So did Lord Lucan.

An aristocrat with a gambler’s charm and a predator’s instinct, Lucan stepped into the shadows and was never seen again. Did he die by his own hand? Or did the old world—the one of clubs, titles, and whispered loyalty—close ranks to protect its own?

For nearly fifty years, the mystery has festered. There were sightings in Africa, murmurs in South America, half-glimpses in the darkest corners of privilege and exile. But no answers. Only silence. Only theories. Only a ghost wearing a peerage.

In this episode, we descend into one of Britain’s most chilling unsolved cases—where blood, class, and conspiracy intertwine… and the question still echoes:

What happened to Lord Lucan?
 And more importantly—who made sure we’d never know?

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Lord Lucan

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Today’s journey takes us deep into the heart of Africa – a continent rich in culture, but ravaged by the forces of empire, greed… and the struggle for humanity.

Sir John Henderson – the nobleman who was a slave. Richard Oswald – Politician and slaver, and Dr. David Livingstone – the missionary, explorer, and abolitionist, whose footsteps carved both legend and controversy across the continent.

These men didn’t just witness history – they shaped it. Some with chains. Some with words. And one, perhaps, with a conscience too large for the age.

So buckle in, as we follow their stories across deserts and rivers, palaces and slave forts – uncovering how Scotland’s fingerprints were left on Africa’s darkest and most redemptive pages.

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Last time, we traced the scars of war across Tolkien’s early life. Now, we enter the shadow of The Lord of the Rings—a tale forged in the mud of the trenches and tempered by death, faith, and memory.

Middle-earth is not fantasy—it’s a reckoning. Its wars echo the shell-blasted fields of World War I. Its darkness mirrors the despair Tolkien watched consume friends and empires. Beneath the magic lies something older, heavier: the burden of power, the price of hope, and the slow, gnawing corruption of the soul.

And yet—somehow—light endures. The Lord of the Rings became a banner for peace in the 1960s, a refuge for the disillusioned, and a beacon for those still searching for meaning in a broken world.

This isn’t just myth. It’s warning. It’s memory. It’s a story that keeps speaking—because the darkness it knew is never far from our own. Let’s return to Middle-earth… where every step forward comes with a cost.

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Middle earth

Tolkien

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