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A Medieval Earl Left a Fragment of the True Cross

Modern wills often distribute family heirlooms, but medieval nobles sometimes possessed treasures that seem almost unbelievable today (possibly for good reason).

In 1296, William de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, carefully divided up his possessions before his death. Along with silver vessels, jeweled rings, and money for soldiers in the Holy Land, he bequeathed to his wife a lavish cross that supposedly contained a fragment of the wood from Christ’s crucifixion.

To modern readers, the idea of inheriting a piece of the True Cross may sound fantastical. But during the Middle Ages it was quite plausible. Crusaders had brought many True Cross relics back to Europe, and the items were among the most prized possessions a noble family could own. They were believed to possess profound spiritual significance and were often housed inside elaborate gold and jeweled reliquaries.

One Philosopher Turned Himself Into a Statue

English philosopher Jeremy Bentham spent his life arguing that society should be guided by reason and utility, and he extended that philosophy even after death.

When Bentham died in 1832, he left detailed instructions that his body first be dissected for the benefit of medical science. (This was a nearly unheard-of request at the time — in fact, Bentham is thought to be the first person to leave his body to science.) Afterward, he directed that his skeleton be reassembled, dressed in his own clothes, seated in his favorite chair with his walking stick, and displayed in a cabinet as what he called an “auto-icon.” He even suggested that, should his friends gather annually to remember him, his preserved figure be wheeled into the room to join the festivities.

The plan was only partly successful. Attempts to preserve Bentham’s actual head went badly, so a wax replacement was made for the display. Today, his auto-icon still resides at University College London, where it remains one of the world’s most unusual memorials.

A Countess Wanted Her Right Hand Buried Separately

Some of history’s strangest wills remain mysterious because they never explain why. When the Countess of Loudoun died in 1874, for instance, she left a startling instruction: After her death, her right hand was to be cut off and buried separately in Donington Park, marked only with the family motto: “I byde my tyme.”

Contemporary accounts suggested that the order was carried out, although later sources disagreed over whether her unusual request was ultimately fulfilled. The countess never explained the reasoning behind her wish, and historians have never uncovered a definitive answer. It may have reflected a private family tradition, a personal symbol, or something else entirely.

An Animal Lover Dreamed of a Palace for Cats

Not every unusual bequest was aimed at humans. When Ohio animal lover Jonathan Jackson died in 1880, he directed that his fortune be used to establish what was essentially an upscale retirement home for cats. The facility was to include bedrooms, a dining hall, climbing areas, exercise space, and even an auditorium where feline residents could enjoy accordion concerts. Jackson explained his reasoning simply: “It is man’s duty, as lord of animals, to watch over and protect the lesser and feebler.”

While many of Jackson’s human heirs reportedly found the idea absurd, his unusual vision anticipated the modern movement toward leaving money for the care and welfare of beloved pets.

One Prankster Sparked the “Great Stork Derby”

Toronto lawyer Charles Vance Millar had a reputation as a prankster during his lifetime, and he managed one last practical joke after his death in 1926.

Millar’s will scattered dozens of mischievous bequests among people whose principles he delighted in testing. Temperance-minded Protestant ministers inherited brewery stock, anti-gambling reformers received shares in horse-racing clubs, and three feuding lawyers were jointly left a vacation property. But his most famous clause directed that the remainder of his fortune go to whichever Toronto mother gave birth to the most children during the decade following his death.

What sounded like a joke became an international sensation as the Great Depression took hold. Newspapers closely followed the leading contenders, while courts spent years deciding which births counted under the will. The contest ultimately ended in a four-way tie, with four mothers dividing a fortune that had grown dramatically in value. (Two other women were given smaller settlements.) Each family got the equivalent of about $2.1 million in today’s Canadian dollars. Nearly a century later, the bizarre “Great Stork Derby” remains one of the strangest inheritance disputes ever recorded.

“Uncle Billy” Left His Fortune to Local Children

Not every unusual will was eccentric for eccentricity’s sake. When Frederick William Williamson — affectionately known as “Uncle Billy” around the English town of Chesterfield — died in 1943, he left the remainder of his substantial estate to provide local children between 4 and 12 years old with an annual day of fun, along with clothing. Rather than enriching distant relatives, Williamson chose to invest in generations of children he had come to know and care about.

Compared with severed hands, preserved philosophers, and baby-making contests, Uncle Billy’s final request may seem almost ordinary. Yet it illustrates something many of these remarkable wills have in common: a desire to be remembered. Some people sought immortality through pranks, others through literature or philosophy, and still others through simple acts of generosity. Long after the estates were settled, each succeeded in leaving behind a story that continues to be told.

From Roman Offerings to the Trevi Fountain

The Romans had a well-documented habit of throwing coins into natural and human-made bodies of water as offerings to their own gods. For example, at the archaeological site of Minturnae, founded in 296 BCE, archaeologists uncovered various artifacts deliberately tossed into the nearby river, including 4,918 coins. And in 2022, archaeologists recovered around 3,000 ancient coins that had been thrown into hot springs in the village of San Casciano dei Bagni in Tuscany during the second century CE. 

Rome, of course, is now home to the most famous wishing well in the world: the Trevi Fountain. Built in 1762 on the site of an earlier fountain, it reflects the much older Roman custom of treating flowing water as something worth paying tribute to. Today, people don’t throw coins into the Trevi Fountain to honor the gods. Instead, according to tradition, throwing one coin into the fountain ensures a return to Rome, two coins will grant a new romance, and three signify a future marriage. So, while the tourist throngs at Trevi may not pay much heed to the gods and spirits of the water, they do nonetheless continue a centuries-old tradition of tossing coins into fountains and wells.

Why Coins?

It’s impossible to say exactly why or when humans started tossing coins into wells, but we do know that our ancestors did just that — or at least something similar — for millennia. The tradition dates back to at least the Roman period, after which the custom of throwing a coin into a spring, fountain, or well seems to have been passed down through the generations. 

But why did coins, in particular, become the go-to object for tossing into wells? In purely practical terms, coins have long been something that people have carried on their person as a matter of course, making them a handy token for throwing into wells. But Bill Maurer, an anthropologist and the dean at the University of California, Irvine’s School of Social Sciences, points out that coins also have a further significance. Talking to CNN, he explained how it’s not so much about the payment or value of the money, “but how the coin itself has a quasi-magical property people think comes with it. … It has a connection of sovereignty and represents a token of authority.”

The actual value of the coin we throw into a wishing well is not, therefore, of utmost importance. And this is not just a sign of modern miserliness. Most of the coins found in Coventina’s Well, for example, were of low denominations — people who threw coins in the well chose coins that were worth very little or nothing at all, suggesting that the coin’s value had no real bearing on its potency as a gift to a greater power. As Maurer pointed out, the monetary amount doesn’t tend to make a difference when it comes to throwing a coin into a well: “It’s more about the idea of a sacrifice. The Gods are not capitalists.” So the next time you throw a coin into a wishing well, don’t worry if it’s a penny or a nickel — but maybe spare a thought for the ancient spirits of the water.

They Hired Garden Hermits as Living Lawn Ornaments

In 18th-century England, aristocrats began moving away from tidy, symmetrical gardens toward a more wild and unkempt style. One unusual feature was the rise of the ornamental hermit: men hired to live on estates as living garden decorations, often alone in huts or forts in the garden. At Painshill Park in Surrey, England, landowner Charles Hamilton reportedly offered a seven-year contract to a hermit who would live in a grotto, avoid speaking to visitors, and spend his days wandering and pondering. 

The practice was inspired by Romantic ideals that celebrated nature, solitude, and philosophy. The men were commonly expected to dress like ancient druids or medieval hermits, complete with long robes and bare feet. The years between 1727 and 1830 are believed to have been the peak era for ornamental hermits, after which the trend faded out.

They Built Fake Ruins on Their Estates

If hiring a hermit wasn’t enough, some wealthy landowners also built crumbling castles that had never actually existed. During the 18th and early 19th centuries, aristocrats across Europe embraced ornamental ruins, known as follies. They were especially popular in England, where architects deliberately designed towers, temples, abbeys, and castle walls to look weathered over time. In some other instances, such as in 1836 at Scotney Castle in Kent, already-existing buildings were purposefully and partially demolished for the aesthetic.

Ruin follies were not always just decorative oddities — they could also carry political messages. The 1820s Temple of Augustus at Virginia Water, for example, incorporated ancient Roman columns and stone fragments to evoke the grandeur of Rome and suggest that Britain had inherited its legacy.

They Wore Towering Shoes

Centuries before modern platform heels graced the pages of glossy fashion magazines, wealthy Venetian women in the Renaissance era wore towering platform shoes known as chopines. Some chopines reached nearly 20 inches high, elevating the wearer well above the people and streets below. Walking in them often required assistance from servants or companions, making the footwear extra impractical.

Although chopines helped keep expensive gowns out of the mud, the shoes’ excessive height also symbolized wealth and grandeur. The inability to move became part of the display, signaling that the woman wearing them belonged to a household with attendants and would not, indeed, be doing any work herself.

They Perfumed Themselves With Whale Secretion

Ambergris is a waxy substance formed inside a sperm whale’s intestinal tract, and it was highly sought after by Renaissance elites in Italy and throughout Europe. Eventually, after sitting in the digestive tract, the substance is expelled from the whale into the ocean; it washes up on shore, hardens, and develops a distinctive musky scent. 

Because genuine ambergris was so rare, it became known as “floating gold.” Wealthy Europeans used ambergris to scent perfumes, gloves, and clothing, while Arab societies valued ambergris as incense and a medicinal substance as early as the ninth century.

They Collected Exotic Animals

Long before modern zoos existed, wealthy rulers built private animal collections known as menageries to flaunt their power and access. Ancient Egyptian rulers around 3500 BCE were known to keep exotic animals such as hippos, elephants, and baboons, while European monarchs later collected lions, polar bears, and cheetahs. 

French King Louis XIV had one of Europe’s most famous menageries, built at Versailles in the 1660s. Animals such as gazelles, cassowaries (aggressive clawed birds), and even quaggas (an extinct relative of the zebra) became part of the grounds’ spectacle, proving not only wealth, but also the elite ability to wield connections and acquire goods of almost any kind from faraway lands just for the sake of it.