Object 1: Mummy of Hornedjitef (third century BC). A wooden coffin from Thebes, Egypt

I want to tell you a story about a museum,

And of  how ghosts speak to the living,

And how, like a dying star they sometimes leave a message behind:

"We were here, we were here," they say -

"Look at the objects we crafted, the tools we used,

Our art, our culture, our language

Speaking to you through the things that made us human."

And the remnants of lives once lived are here in the museum,

A message from the past, from our ancestors... our family;

They are here so that we don't forget where we came from,

They are here to remind us that we are all walking the same uncertain path

Through history,

Together.

And in this museum there is a corpse of a priest,

The shell of a man, who once lived and walked upon the earth,

But now lies wrapped tightly in bandages,

Embalmed and blessed by the priests who were to follow him later:

His name was Hornedjitef,

For it is written on his sarcophagus, so that the gods would know him,

And welcome his soul to the eternal afterlife in the kingdom of the dead.

But the journey there was complex and full of danger,

So before he died Hornedjitef said:

"I. Hornedjitef am an important priest,

Therefore I will commission spells and amulets to make my journey sure,

And a star map to navigate the temple of the sky,

So that I can weave a path through the delicate weft of constellations;

Because Heaven is a long, long way from here and a soul might get lost on the way,

Even one as important as mine."

And so upon his spaceship sarcophagus, in meticulous detail,

His brother priests marked down the blueprint of the universe,

The firmament and all its mysteries, spelt out confidently in hieroglyphs,

To guide him safely to Ra and Nut, the great sky goddess,

Who were waiting, patiently

To welcome their worthy priest to his rightful place within their pantheon.

But in spite of his map and his amulets and spells,

And inscriptions from the holy book of the dead to guide him on his way,

Hornedjitef's mortal remains are now interred in Bloomsbury:

His golden mask gazes out of a glass case at the curious visitors,

Telling the story of how a man who planned to fly through space,

Somehow ended his journey in a museum.

And through the celestial void of time, a dying star pulses its signal to us:

A haunting magnetic voice -

The voice of a star that is no longer there:

A ghost in space saying, "I was here, I was here!"

But like a priest from ancient Egypt,

The star as big and impressive as it was, has long since passed away,

No map or chart will take us there, or reveal its presence in all its glittering glory -

The heavenly pantheon it seems is a mortal as a man:

As mortal as a man who was once a mighty priest,

Who tried to steer his way through a universe of stars,

So that he could live forever.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/ahistoryoftheworld/objects/sogITE3FSKStlk12qd2W3w