Pushkin. Trust is at the center of so many cautionary tales. I've told you about the people who trusted a man in uniform and allowed him to steal from the city coffers, and the woman who drove into the desert because she trusted the sat now ahead of her instincts. Then there was the celebrity author who trusted photographs of fairies as
proof of their existence. We've had people who trusted in technology when they shouldn't, and those who didn't trust it when they should and that's before we get to the doctors, business leaders, and scammers who abuse the trust put in them. I'm fascinated by questions of trust, and given that you're a loyal listener to cautionary tales, I'm guessing you're quite interested in them too, And that's why I've invited Rachel Botsman to join me for a special edition of Cautionary Questions.
Rachel is the author of the new audiobook How to Trust and Be Trusted, So do better to answer your trust questions. Maybe you'd like to know why we naturally trust some people but recoil from others. Maybe you're curious about why so many people are taken in by particular historical figures, there might be an episode of cautionary tales that makes you tear your hair out at the gullibility of those involved. Are we right to be suspicious whenever
a politician says, trust me? Can being too distrustful be as dangerous as being too trusting? Whatever your query, you can trust Rachel to have the answers, So send them two tales at Pushkin dot FM. That's t a l e s at Pushkin dot FM. To Soviet officials, it was simply height one zero seventy nine. But the indigenous people of the Urals knew the peak by a different name. The Manse called it holat Seakle Dead Mountain. There's an equally bleak mancy name for a ridge just to the
north mount or Tauton. Or Tauton means don't go there. But engineering student igord Yatlov was going there, and in the freezing depths of winter no less, he was cheerfully planning to ski across two hundred miles of Mansei territory, taking a route that even in January nineteen fifty nine, no Russian had likely traversed before. He wouldn't be going alone of course to accompany him on the sixteen day trek, Dyatlov recruited friends from the Ural Polytechnic Institute, both current
students and recent graduates. They were a gleeful bunch. The joker of the pack was Georgi Krivonishenko, newly employed at a top secret nuclear facility. His real love was to sing and play his mandolin. En route to the mountains, his exuberance nearly landed him in a police cell. He had burst into raucous song at a train station. Street performers, it turns out, were not welcome. Senaida Kolmogorova might have been glad of a cheery song, for she was nursing
a broken heart. We're not even talking, she explained, not saying hello to each other. He's already going everywhere with another girl. The object of her spurned affection was Yuri Doroshenko, and he had signed up for the trek too. Her plan was to stay as far from her former lover as possible, no small feat in the cramped train carriages, remote cabins, and the single tent that would be their
home for the duration of the trip. Zinaida was resigned to arguments flaring, though not necessarily stemming from affairs of the heart. We will quarrel, she predicted. After all, Kleevatov is with us quarrelsome Alexander Kolevatov was a nuclear physicist who just landed a plum job in far away Moscow. Maybe it was this good fortune that caused him to
laud it over his university friends. He'd have found it hard to pick a fight with Rustem Slobodin, of course, them was a long distance runner and perhaps the epitome of that lonely pursuit. He was a man of so few words that he had even forgotten to bid farewell to his family before heading off to the wilderness. Nikolai t beau Brugnol was more outgoing in nature, often adopting
the role of mentor. On previous trips, he had taken younger adventurers under his wing, teaching them to light fires and allowing them glimpses of his copy of a titillating but educational tome the sexual Question. The expedition members were all achingly young, but at twenty Yurdmilla Dumina was the baby of the group, and while she may have looked
like a child she certainly had an inner steel. She had been accidentally shot on a recent hike, and yet had hobbled home and undeterred, signed up to go out again. I say they were all young, but just before they departed their university, the Ural Polytechnic Institute insisted on a late addition. At thirty seven, Semyon Zola Tariov was far older than Igor Yatlov and the rest, and for many
years had served in the Soviet Army. Now a civilian, he was odd man out in the fresh Faced party, a mustachioed interloper who threatened group cohesion and might challenge Yatlov's leadership. At first, no one wanted him in the group, because he's a complete stranger, wrote Yudmiller in her diary. But then we got over it, and he's coming. We couldn't just refuse to take him. So the party set off with this stranger in tow. After the sleeper train, they took a bus, then a truck, and finally piled
onto a horse drawn sleigh. Each leg of the journey past grim prison goulags, abandoned mines, and remote logging camps took them further from civilization and closer to Dead Mountain. They promised the Polytechnic Institute they'd send a telegram the moment they completed their trek and reached safety on the other side. Of course, no telegram ever arrived. I'm Tim Harford, and you're listening to another cautionary tale. When search parties reached holat Seakle, tracks in the snow led them to
a tent just short of the summit. Mikhail Charavin was among the student volunteers who had been sent to find the Yatlov expedition. Part of the canvas was poking out, Mikaiele said, but the rest was covered in snow. They used an ice pit lying nearby to uncover the entrance. Everything inside was neat and orderly. The skier's boots were lined up, wood was stacked for the stove, and Mikail saw that a plate of pork fat, a calorific treat, had been prepared. It was sliced up, as if they
were getting ready to have supper. He said, but what are the diners? Worryingly, there was a great slash in the canvas shelter outside. Footprints stretched out, then disappeared. The prince showed that one of Dyatlov's party had pulled on a single boot, but the others had fled in just their socks or, more horrifyingly, barefoot. Frostbite in such temperatures would have taken hold in mere minutes. It dawned on the student volunteers that they were unlikely to find their
comrades alive. The first bodies spotted belonged to mandolin playing joker Georgi and Zeneida's ex boyfriend Yuri. They lay in their underwear under a cedar tree on the edge of a forest. Beside them was a burned out campfire. The trunk of the tree told a piteous story. Branches a dozen or so feet from the ground had been torn away, and the bark was dotted with shreds of clothing and human skin. The dead bodies bore the marks of multiple injuries and burns. A hunk of flesh was discovered in
Georgi's mouth. It was part of his own hand. The expedition leader, igord Yatlov, was found next, struck down, making his way from the cedar tree back up towards their tent. With him on this climb was Yuri's jilted girlfriends in ida. These bodies were semi clad and pocked with injuries. Rescuer Mikhail Sharavin later told the BBC he thought the bruises resembled the results of a beating. The long distance runner Rustam had made it closer to the tent before he'd died.
He was more warmly dressed than his compatriots, wearing a sweater, two pairs of pants, and several layers of socks. But another detail was more striking to the volunteers. Rustem had a fractured skull. Of the remaining four skiers, there was no trace. Though young, the adventurers were no novices in the mountains, no strangers to the hazards, they would have known that venturing out of their tent, especially barefoot and
in their underwear, would prove fatal. So what could have prompted them to flee warmth and safety for the dark, sub zero hell outside? And did they flee by choice? Or were they driven from the shelter? Had a violent internal dispute broken out amongst the group, or were intruders to blame? Such foul play could not be ruled out, so the corpses were gathered up and their belongings were packed into a helicopter and flown to a police station
for careful examination. In spring, Hollat Searcle gave up the last of its dead. A man sea hunter and his dog made the grizzly find. Receding snow revealed scraps of clothing, torn pants and half a sweater. It was the entrance to a den, dug into a snow drift. Inside with the four missing skiers. Nikolai, the owner of the risque sex guide, had had his head stoved in. Bits of were driven into his brain. The others, too, were smashed
and battered. There were broken ribs and awful internal injuries. Semyon, the army veteran and last minute addition to the party, was there, and so was lud Miller, the young woman who had been so opposed to his inclusion on the trip. Chillingly, the eye sockets of Semyon's corpse were empty. Lud Miller's eyes were missing too, as was her tongue. Something had removed them, something or someone. Cautionary tales will return in a moment. How had the Dyatlov expedition gone so disastrously wrong?
How had such a joyous, lusty band of explorers ended up naked, burned, and broken in the snow. No simple explanation was forthcoming, so to some Russians the Yatlov saga became as rich a seam of speculation as the assassination of JFK was in the West. In fact, the conspiracy theories are far weirder and far wilder than those surrounding JFK. How they sprang up and multiplied is instructive. It has echoes of the conspiratorial thinking that seems increasingly common today.
Outlandish theories seem to thrive at times of unsettling change, for instance, following assassinations or terrorist attacks. The distrust deepens when governments have been found to have misled or failed citizens, and conspiracy theories could be supercharged by those seeking to benefit from the suspicion and the cynicism they spread. There's money to be made by media personalities, influencers, even podcasters
who trade in wild stories. But as we'll see, it can be the politicians themselves, sometimes at the fringe and sometimes at the center of power, who use conspiracy thinking to bolster their position. This isn't just a story about the destruction of the Diatlov expedition in nineteen fifty nine. It's a story about the world we live in right now. So to unpick the many conspiracies about the deaths on Dead Mountain, let's start with one root cause, the politics
of the time. While the temperatures dropped far below freezing on hollat Siakle in the winter of nineteen fifty nine, metaphorically, the Soviet Union was enjoying us thor. The prison camps that Dyatlov's party passed on the way to the mountains were being emptied of dissidents and other politically inconvenient citizens. Under Stalin's rule, the Gulag population had swelled. He saw traitors everywhere and ordered them rounded up, along with their families, friends,
friends of friends, neighbours. Cold malnutrition and the executioner's bullet carried off millions. But then Stalin suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, lay for three days on a sofa, and died, with his iron grip loosened. A reckoning took place. Stalin was a very distrustful man, sickly suspicious, so said Nikita Khrushchev, an underling of the Soviet dictator, now angling to replace him. Everywhere and in everything, he saw enemies, two faces and spies.
Khrushchev was addressing a closed meeting of the elite of the Communist Party when Stalin said that one or another should be arrested. It was necessary to accept on faith that he was an enemy of the people. Khrushchev now said this faith was misplaced and that evidence had been largely falsified. He painted a picture of Stalin as a ruler as deluded as he was cruel. Stalin was reluctant
to consider life's realities, complained Khrushchev. Did Stalin's position rest on data of any sort whatever, of course, not facts and figures did not interest him. If Stalin said anything, it meant it was so to our modern ears, leader, peddling in conspiracies, blaming their own failings on plotters, and making up alternative facts doesn't sound that far fetched. But to delegates listening to Comrad Khrushchev, the revelations about Stalin's
rule came with thunderclap surprise. Some audience members were taken ill, others just held their head in their hands. Distraught, it said, two delegates went home and killed themselves. Soviet citizens suddenly had to make sense of a past very different to the one they'd believed in, where the innocent had been found guilty, where Stalin had been an abuser rather than a protector, Where the clocks could indeed be made to
strike thirteen. A top seed turvy world where nothing was as it seemed, a world where the strange deaths of nine experienced adventurers just couldn't have an innocent explanation, could it? To call Holat seacle dead mountain probably misses The mark Holat can also be translated as quiet or barren in Mancy. For these hunting people, height one zero seventy nine wasn't worth the climb because there was too little game to
be caught there. Not for any more sinister reason, but the Manci were the only people in the vicinity of the mountain in the depths of winter nineteen fifty nine, so suspicion for the hiker's deaths fell on them, and maybe they had a motive. Stalin's terror hadn't spared these semi nomadic tribes. Their lands had been taken by miners and loggers, their religious rights had been suppressed, and their children were gathered up and confined in Russian speaking boarding
schools in a few decades. A proud way of life honed over centuries had been ignominiously disrupted. Had the Diatlov expedition been a humiliation too far for the Nanci? Had the Soviet students entered sacred land or stumbled across some illegal ceremony and paid with their lives. The Soviet interrogators descended on the local tribespeople to find out. Many people
around here were arrested. Valerie an Yamov told the BBC reporter Lucy Ash Valerie's father had joined the search effort back in nineteen fifty nine, only to find himself amongst those treated not as rescuers murder suspects. They said that the secret police tortured them. They were certainly interrogated for weeks, but eventually the investigators were satisfied, and other evidence emerged, also pointing suspicion away from the Manci. The ragged clothes
found in the snow den had been examined. They seemed to have been torn or cut off the bodies of the other skiers, but further analysis of the fabric revealed something else. These rags were radio active. For all that Nikita Krushchev mocked Stalin's obsession with spies and foreign plots. The Cold War with the West ramped up under his rule. In nineteen fifty seven, the launch of the Revolutionary Next satellite delighted Soviet citizens but struck fear into the hearts
of citizens in the free world. The twenty one inch metal sphere did little but transmit a bleeping signal back to Earth. But what if it could rain down something more deadly? Khrushchev couldn't help boasting about his country's lead in rocket and missile technology, prompting the Americans to hurriedly increase their spending to close the gap. The result a fevered arms race, and a key center of Soviet military
research was in the Urals. The closed city of Chelyabinsk forty contained a plant making plutonium for atomic bombs, and it was there that Mandolin playing Geyorgi Criminalshenko worked. Could this top secret job have had anything to do with his death? Was the radioactive residue evidence that Georgi had smuggled something out of his workplace, something secret, something that
people would kill to possess or kill to reclaim. A young Soviet prosecutor lev Ivanov had so far diligently chased all lines of inquiry in the mysterious deaths of the skiers. He'd gathered witness statements, ordered toxicology reports, and examined the tent, But all of a sudden, Ivanov halted his investigations, saying that homicide was no longer suspected. His report ended, thus it should be concluded that the cause of the hiker's demise was an overwhelming force which they were not able
to overcome. Ivanov's file then locked up, and the exhibits he had gathered were allowed to molder away. The families of the dead, fearing a cover up, protested exactly what overwhelming force had killed their children. They wrote to Nikita Krushchev asking that he reopened the case, but Khrushchev faced far bigger problems. Within a few short years, he was swept from power and replaced by a regime that was
less tolerant of dissent. Details of what happened on Dead Mountain would not be forthcoming, and public speculation about the fate of the expedition was definitely not welcome. It wasn't until nineteen ninety that lev Ivanov then retired as a prosecutor revealed why it shelved the investigation. His superiors had warned him off and then transferred him to Kazakhstan. Had Ivanov come too close to naming the overwhelming force that
had killed the trekkers. He certainly had an unnerving theory to explain the deaths, which he expounded in an article entitled The Enigma of the Fireballs. We found that some young pine trees at the edge of the forest had burnmarks. To Ivanov, these scorch marks seemed peculiar. He imagined that they could only have been made by some heat ray. Whoever was directing this deadly beam had eventually got the
unfortunate skiers in their sights and fired. Ivanov was comfortable publishing The Enigma of the Fireballs in nineteen ninety because by then the Soviet system that had stifled debate for so long was itself all but dead, and as the Iron Curtain rusted away, the doors to the secret state archives began to unlock. Serious historians rejoiced, but so too did amateur salutes titillated by Ivanov's stories of mysterious mountaintop death rays. The fireballs cited by Ivanov had emanated from
a UFO. Some claimed or were part of a new Soviet weapons system being tested away from prying eyes. Other theories pointed to murder. The skiers had witnessed a secret military operation and been silenced. Others suggested that one or more of the party were spies, and that the whole group had been executed by the Soviet KGB or the American CIA. If I were being charitable, I might just say that there are holes in many of these theories. The unifying theme to them all is that the truth
is known to the authorities, but is being suppressed. If only we could somehow reconstruct the expedition's final hours, well in a way we can. The trekkers carried cameras, and in two thousand and nine researchers gained access to the roles of film they'd shot. In black and white, we can see mustachioed semons Ala Tardiov, jugged Georgi Krivonishenko, beaming, Ludmilla Domina, photograph after photograph after photograph, but then in one an eerie, distant figure, blurry and out of focus.
It's perhaps too tall and too broad to be any of the skiers, who could it be had their killer unwittingly been caught on camera. Cautionary tales will be right back. The Yatlov party filled seventeen reels of film with photographs. There are action shots of skiing and fun group portraits for the youngsters posing cheerfully for the camera, but the reel attributed to Nikolai tbau Brignol, is a series of
rather dull long shots of trees and snow. Shot thirteen appears to be a selfie done the old fashioned way with a timer. Nikolay goofs surround in a snow drift. It's not brilliantly framed. Shot fourteen isn't much better. In the next image, Nikolay is at least in the middle of the frame playfully munching on a ball of snow. In frame sixteen he's now standing, But then comes the very final image on the reel. Only the trees and the foreground are in focus, their lower branches weighed down
with snow. Most everything else is white. But then in the middle distance drawing the eye from behind a pine lurches a hunched, black, almost inhuman figure. The Yetti lives in the urals, wrote one of the party soon after the photo was taken a yetti. The arrival of a towering eight foot beast, all fangs and claws might well have encouraged the skiers to dash out of their shelter and run pale mele down the mountain, and had it caught up with them, such a creature could have inflicted
those terrible injuries smashed skulls, crushed torsos, torn flesh. In twenty thirteen, the respected American explorer Mike Lebecki retraced the expedition route in the hopes of unraveling the mystery. I know if I went missing, he said, I'd want my family to know what happened to me. He was making a documentary for the Discovery Channel, with the working assumption being that a forest dwelling monster slaughtered the Diatlov group. Lebecky ventured out onto Hollat Siakle in the dead of
night in his search for this Russian yetti. I did hear something strange, the explorer said, I do believe it's possible that he YETI exists. The Discovery Channel film makes much of the supposed blurry image of a monster captured by Nikolai Tibau Buignol when I saw this photo, this was it. It was like bam Lebecky told viewers, I can't tell how big it is, but it could be eight feet tall. Someone not padding out a ninety minute documentary might look at the photo and tell you exactly
how the figure is. It's man sized. The supposed Russian Yeti in the photo is almost certainly Nikolai messing around with the time of feature on his camera. And as for the scribbled note the Yeti lives in the urals, well, it was part of a jokey pamphlet the skiers compiled to keep their spirits up. It also reported that two of the highly educated scientists in the group had set a new world record for getting the camp stove burning one hour, two minutes and twenty seven point four seconds.
A Yeti didn't kill the Skiers any more than the death ray of a ufoded. But to understand why these deaths became such a focus for wild conspiracy theories, we might want to consider how the very notion of truth has been put in the deep freeze in Russia. Over the years. Khrushchev had forced Soviet citizens to open their eyes to the reality of Stalin's cruel and paranoid rule. But after Khrushchev came laying in Brezhnev. While not as
violent as Stalin, Brezhnev also favored repression and secrecy. Under him, Soviet citizens were told to rejoice in their communist system while watching it crumble before their very eyes. If their rulers were willing to lie so brazenly about shortages of food in the shops, what else were they hiding. When the Soviet Union finally did fall apart, yet another challenge to objective reality arose, this time in the form of Vladimir Putin. One feature of Putin's twenty five year rule
is his novel use of propaganda. Generations of propagandists have abused the truth by massaging facts and inventing lies to make the public believe their version of events. Under Putin, propaganda is deployed to make its audience start to doubt
that the truth exists at all. Researchers have called this modern Russian propaganda model the fire hose of falsehoods, and it sprays out partial, misleading, or downright made up stories in a vast torrent and in all directions government statements, TV broadcasts, online articles, tweets, reels, posts, and comment after comment after comment from bots all amplifier constant and confusing commentary on world events, from wars through vaccines to election results.
The fire hose of falsehoods is relentless, inconsistent, and confusing. But it's also visceral and entertaining. It's hard not to be drawn in. Evolution has honed the human brain to pay attention to deadly threats, and so we're suckers for vivid stories warning of shadowy figures out to get us. But the specific intention of the fire hose is not
to make us believe in one conspiracy. It's just to so doubt that any voice can be trusted, not elected officials, not established experts, not the mainstream media, not even your fellow citizens. If everyone is lying to you and every institution is untrustworthy, is it such a stretch to believe that officialdom is hiding the truth that d'yatlov and his fellow skiers were killed by a secret weapon, a UFO
or even a yetti. Solving the d'atlov mystery is an enormous task, which is far beyond the scope of this paper, so wrote two Swiss researchers in a twenty twenty one article in the journal Nature, but nevertheless they had an idea. Their area of expertise avalanches. The possibility that a mass of snow rushing down holl at Siakle had struck the skier's tent, prompting them to flee had long been discounted.
The slope on which d'atlov had supposedly camped was too gentle to be an avalanche zone, and the Mansi said they'd never witnessed a snow slip there before. But working on new information, the Swiss researchers Johann Golm and Alexander Puzrin concluded that the Datlov group could indeed have set off a so called slab avalanche. First, Dyatlov, perhaps buffeted
by high winds, was somewhat off his intended route. He was higher up Holatsiakle than had planned, and on a slope theoretically just steep enough to pose an avalanche risk, and crucially, to create a level floor for their tent and protect it from the wind, the team dug out a shelf in the snow. They packed down the ice beneath their feet laid out a carpet of skis and
turned in for the night. But their excavations had destabilized the snow uphill of them, and as they rested inside the tent, the wind outside relentlessly added the new snow to this wall above the flimsy canvas structure, until at last the drift collapsed. The avalanche might have been modest, but even that weight of snow could have inflicted injuries on those inside the tent, and encouraged them to cut themselves free and seek safety down the mountain, fearing that
a second, much larger avalanche was imminent. Dazed in a state of undress and whipped by a wicked, freezing wind, Benign stumbled away, first making a fire from tree branches and getting so close to the flames that their meager clothes and frozen flesh were scorched. Yury and Gyorgy succumbed to the cold first, with Georgy madly gnawing at his
own hand as frostbite took hold. The survivors then split up, with three stumbling back against the wind for the tent and four hoping to dig a shelter in the snow. The spot they picked for that shelter couldn't have been worse. Situated in a ravine above a still running stream, the diggers appeared to have caused a tunnel cut by the flowing water to collapse. Tons of snow then crushed four
hikerds against the stony riverbed. Decomposition or the feeding of animals accounts for the damage to the faces of young Jurdmiller and the old man of the group, Semyon, and as for the radio activity detected on their clothes. Though not openly discussed in nineteen fifty nine, the Soviet nuclear industry in the Urals did not have a stellar safety record. Georgi had probably been contaminated thanks to a recent explosion at his nuclear plant that rivaled the much more famous
Chernobyl disaster. It's no surprise that his clothes set off the chirping of a Geiger counter. This explanation of what happened on Holatsiakol in January nineteen fifty nine seems sane and sad. Sane because the avalanche experts supplied mathematical formulas combining things like sheer stress and snow dynamic friction values to prove that a slab avalanche could have happened that night.
You can't apply such scientific rigor to say the Russian YETI theory and sad because it was all such bad luck. Had Dyatlov kept closer to his planned route, they'd have avoided the avalanche prone slope, and ironically, even in that same spot, a less experienced team might not have feared a second avalanche and felt such an urgency to flee the tent. Staying inside the semi collapsed shelter might not
have been fun, but it wouldn't be fatal. After doing exactly the right thing to survive a big avalanche, d'atlov clearly realized his mistake, but lost his race against the cold to make it back to the tent. If you ever go to Hollat Siakle, and many do visit it as a spooky tourist attraction, you'll see that the path has been renamed in the team leader's honor. It's now
Dyatlov Pass. The memories of the dead are also kept alive by a foundation established by their friends and relatives and those simply intrigued by the events of that night. The foundation takes a dim view of the avalanche theory, believing instead that some still secret weapons test killed the hikers, and who can really blame them? The Soviet unions certainly tried to keep bigger secrets, and for all their formulas, What the two guys in Switzerland know about snow movements
on a mountain six decades ago. Nothing's ever that simple or straightforward, is it. Vladimir Putin's fire hose of falsehoods has been successfully exported around the world. Some of that torrent of content still comes from inside Russia, that much is now produced in America and the UK too. Its effect is not to make us favor one form of government over another, communism over capitalism, democracy over autocracy, but to render us impotent, indecisive, and distrustful in the face
of events. It wants us to believe only that everything is rigged, that no one is decent or trustworthy, and that all mysteries must be a conspiracy. We're becoming cynics. Authoritarian leaders love it, says the Stanford psychologist Jamiel Zaki. When people don't trust Sure, they might not trust the authoritarian leader, but they also don't trust each other enough
to get together and do anything about it. The nine deaths on Holatsiakle were very nearly ten student Yuri Yudin was part of the expedition until nerve pain prompted him to abandon the trek and head home. As an old man, he was asked what he thought had killed his friends. If they really were killed by a natural force, then there would be no secret, he said, And we wouldn't be talking about it all these years on. And logic
like that is music to the conspiracy peddler's ears. For a full list of our sources, see the show notes at Timharford dot com. Cautionary Tales is written by me Tim Harford with Andrew Wright, Alice Fines, and Ryan Dilly. It's produced by Alice Fines and Marilyn tr us The sound design and original music are the work of Pascal Wise. Additional sound design is by Carlos San Juan at Brain Audio.
Bend A Dafhaffrey edited the scripts. The show features the voice talents of Melanie Guttridge, Stella Harford, Oliver Hembrough, Sarah Jupp Messeiamnroe, Jamal Westman, and Rufus Wright. The show also wouldn't have been possible without the work of Jacob Weisberg, Greta Cohne, Sarah Nix, Eric Sandler, Carrie Brody, Christina Sullivan, Kira Posey and Owen Miller. Cautionary Tales is a production of Pushkin Industries. It's recorded at Wardoor Studios in London
by Tom Berry. If you like the show, please remember to share, rate and review. It really makes a difference to us and if you want to hear the show, add free sign up to Pushkin Plus on the show page on Apple Podcasts or at pushkin dot fm, slash plus do