20 Historical Tips That Helped People Survive Epidemics, Famine, and War

Port cities learned the hard way that allowing every ship to unload immediately was practically the same as inviting disease to dinner. They therefore began isolating crews and cargo for set periods of time, notably by instituting the famous “forty-day” practice, which helped give rise to the term “quarantine.”

Some places went a step further and established specific quarantine zones, including islands used to isolate the sick from the rest of the population and to hold goods until they were deemed safe. It was a severe measure, but it helped limit contact, which was essential even before we understood why.

When an epidemic broke out, communities would sometimes draw a literal line and enforce it using guards, checkpoints, and strict travel restrictions. In practice, this resulted in a reduction in the number of outsiders, gatherings, and the movement of potentially infected people and goods.

Even without a modern vocabulary to describe this practice, people found ways to exchange supplies while limiting direct contact. During plague epidemics, some communities used designated drop-off points and even went so far as to sprinkle vinegar or water on money before handling it.

Posting warnings on doors and separating households was a rather blunt measure, but it prevented people from being put in immediate danger. It also gave rise to a rudimentary, rapid information system in densely populated neighborhoods, where rumors spread faster than any official notice.

For a long time, illnesses were attributed to poor air quality, but some of the habits that stemmed from this belief turned out to be useful nonetheless. Ventilating rooms, burning fires that produced smoke, and ensuring that rooms were not too crowded could reduce the intensity of common indoor exposures, even though people justified these practices with erroneous scientific explanations.

People made do with what they had: vinegar, alcohol, boiling water, and abrasive cleaners. These weren’t miracle cures, but they helped ensure basic hygiene, especially when the alternative was to do nothing at all. The real benefit was getting into the habit of cleaning surfaces, fabrics, and hands more often than usual.

During sieges, life in encampments, and urban epidemics, boiling water and food was a discreet way to improve one’s chances of survival. It reduced certain water-related risks and made questionable ingredients easier to digest. When fuel was scarce, boiling became a form of triage: determining what was worth cooking.

At a time when the supply of fresh produce was unreliable, fermentation served as a rudimentary preservation method that also added variety to staple foods. Sauerkraut, pickles, yogurt, and sourdough weren’t trendy, but they provided a safety net. They allowed households to preserve their calorie reserves for longer and avoid relying entirely on daily markets.

Salting and drying meat and fish made it possible to turn a day’s worth of food into a week’s—or even a month’s—supply. Smokehouses, salting barrels, and sun-drying racks were, in a sense, pre-industrial survival techniques. The flavor was just a bonus; the main thing was to avoid starving later on.

Before refrigerators were invented, people used the ground as a way to regulate temperature. Vegetable cellars made it possible to store potatoes, turnips, apples, and canned foods for much longer periods, which proved crucial when roads were impassable or harvests were poor. It was this infrastructure—though often overlooked—that saved families.

Armies and travelers relied on hardy, dry staples because they could be stored for long periods without going moldy. Ship’s biscuits and other similar rations weren’t very appetizing, but they were reliable, and that reliability is a source of comfort when everything else is uncertain. The trick was to soak them, crumble them into soup, or fry them when fat was available.

When trade collapsed or rations became scarce, people resorted to whatever was available: acorn meal, barley, chicory, turnips, and any other food that resembled their usual staples. Some substitutes were unappetizing, but they allowed households to continue consuming calories. The psychological aspect also played an important role: meals that seemed normal made the hard times feel less endless.

When individuals could no longer keep up, communities pooled their warmth, labor, and provisions. Soup kitchens and communal cooking helped reduce fuel consumption, stretch limited resources, and provide people with regular meals. It was, in fact, a survival strategy disguised as an act of charity.

Ration books and strict quotas were no picnic, but they helped prevent total chaos in the markets and hoarding. They also forced people to plan their meals based on reality rather than on their hopes. Often, the trick wasn’t in the rationing itself, but in learning how to cook well despite everything.

When the war put food systems under severe strain, people planted crops wherever they could: in their gardens, on school grounds, on vacant lots, and even on small plots in the city. This was not merely a hobby, but a practical way to provide a concrete source of calories and ease the strain on limited resources; it became a major strategy on the home front during World War II.

In wartime, survival sometimes meant staying out of sight and keeping a low profile. Blackout curtains, covered windows, and strict nighttime routines reduced visibility from the air and made neighborhoods safer. It was a practice of darkness that extended throughout the city and that people had come to regard as normal.

The cold kills slowly, then suddenly, especially when people are wet, exhausted, and stranded outdoors. Soldiers and civilians learned to view dry socks, layered clothing, and makeshift insulation as means of survival, not as luxuries. In harsh conditions, preventing minor problems like blisters could help them stay mobile, and mobility meant survival.

When bombs were falling or violence was ravaging cities, people took refuge in basements, cellars, trenches, and reinforced interior rooms. What mattered most was not the structure itself, but knowing where to go without hesitation and getting there quickly. A plan put into practice was better than a perfect plan that was never used.

Long before the advent of modern vaccines, some societies practiced variolation, a risky but sometimes effective method that involved exposing people to smallpox pathogens in order to reduce their risk of developing a severe form of the disease later on. This practice spread to various regions and emerged in Western Europe in the early 18th century, illustrating how desperate circumstances can drive medical innovation.