For the first time, I’ve also included some footage of my hunt around antique shops, showing the variety of items commonly found, including a very unusual vase.

Watch to see:

• The Lewes hunt: Navigating the local antique centers for hidden radioactive gems.

• Blue glass: How early 20th-century glassmakers used cobalt to turn yellow uranium glass into a stunning “Blueberry” or “Azure” shade.

• Bohemian luxury: A look at the Moser ashtray - dark green uranium glass and the iconic gold band.

Enjoy!

By the 1930s, the world had decided that if a little bit of radiation could shrink a tumor, then a lot of it could surely fix everything else. We look back now from our vantage point of lead-lined caution and find it easy (perhaps too easy) to scoff at the sheer, unadulterated madness of the time. But to the public of the Depression-era West, radium was a bottled miracle that promised to “rejuvenate” a weary civilization.

It was used, quite literally, in everything.

There was Radithor, the “certified radioactive water” that promised to cure everything from impotence to “general malaise.” Its most famous advocate, the steel tycoon and socialite Eben Byers, reportedly drank nearly 1,400 bottles before his jaw - quite literally and inconveniently - fell off.

The craze didn’t stop at quack medicine. There was Tho-Radia, the French cosmetic line that promised a “radiant” complexion (a claim that was, for once, scientifically accurate, if biologically catastrophic). There was radium-infused bread, radium-brand butter, and even - God help us - radium-treated chocolate. The “Spicy Treasures” of the time weren’t just collectibles; they were the breakfast of champions and the doom of the middle class.

Then, of course, there were the “Radium Girls.” The dial painters of the U.S. Radium Corporation who, instructed to “lip, dip, and paint” with camel-hair brushes, became so impregnated with the stuff that they would glow in the dark on their way home from the factory. They were the first to learn that the “miracle” was, in fact, a slow-motion execution.

It is this precise intersection of human ingenuity and unforgivable ignorance that birthed this Substack, Radium Quest.

People often ask me why I spend my weekends prowling through dusty antique fairs with a Geiger counter in hand, listening for that frantic, staccato click-click-click that signals a “hot” find. They see a piece of red/orange-glazed Fiestaware or a luminous WW2 aircraft gauge and see a hazard. I see a relic of a time when radioactivity still wasn’t understood, or we were just brave enough to be stupid.

My Substack is not merely a catalogue of uranium glass and “spicy” relics. It is a chronicle of our species’ desperate, often hilarious, and occasionally tragic desire to touch the sun. When I find a 1930s clock dial that makes my Radiacode scream, I am holding a tangible piece of history, a physical manifestation of a time when progress felt like a literal light in the dark.

We live in an age of sterilized safety, of “precautionary principles” and bubble-wrapped government advice. And while I have no desire to see my own jaw detach itself at dinner, I do find myself yearning for the audacity of that era. RadiumQuest.com is my way of keeping that glow alive, whilst respecting the science to remain safe.

It is an intellectual and physical hunt for the remains of a beautiful, terrifying mistake. It is a reminder that even the most “scientific” of certainties can turn out to be a lethal joke. So, here’s to the 1930s: a decade that was, in every sense of the word, absolutely glowing.

Join me on the quest. But for heaven’s sake, don’t lick the brushes.

It’s why I started Radium Quest, as the thrill of the hunt tends to begin with uranium glass, and then opens up to a vast world of other radioactive antiquities. But for the uninitiated, the world of uranium glass can be a little daunting. Is it dangerous? Why does it glow? And most importantly, how do I find more of it?

I’ve written this article for newcomers to uranium glass hunting to act as your field guide. This doesn’t focus on the science – as others are best placed for that – but instead everything a collector needs to know to start their own radioactive journey.

Why does Uranium Glass glow?

Uranium glass, as the name suggests, contains uranium, typically in the form of oxide diuranate, added to a glass mix before melting for coloration. This technique dates back over 200 years, long before the discovery of radioactivity and the development of atomic bombs. Quite simply, glassmakers discovered that adding uranium oxide to their batch created yellow and green colours.

In natural light, the glass ranges from a translucent yellow to a milky white or an opaque pale green. The real magic happens when you introduce ultraviolet (UV) light. When you shine your UV torch (usually 365nm or 395nm) at the glass, you are bombarding it with high-energy ultraviolet photons. The uranium catches this energy, gets “excited” for a split second, and then immediately drops it. In the process of catching and dropping, the energy loses a tiny bit of speed. It slows down just enough to change from invisible ultraviolet light into visible green light.

If you have a piece of uranium glass with a high uranium content out in the sun, then you may notice it subtly shines back. This is because sunlight also emits high levels of UV radiation, especially during the summer months. It’s quite an effect to witness!

It’s this dual personality, old looking glass but neon glow party at night, that makes collecting it so addictive.

A brief history of the glow

While there are examples of uranium usage in glass dating back to Roman times, the story really begins in the 1800s. Josef Riedel, a Bohemian glassmaker, is often credited with popularising it, naming the colours Annagelb (Anna Yellow) and Annagrün (Anna Green) after his wife.

By the Victorian era, uranium glass had taken Europe and the UK by storm. Factories like Davidson and Bagley here in England were churning out pressed glass that ended up on dinner tables across the country. It was the ultimate status symbol of the time; novel, beautiful, and vibrant.

The popularity continued into the 20th century, exploding during the Depression era in the US. However, the party came to an abrupt halt in the 1940s. With the onset of World War II and the Cold War, the government confiscated uranium supplies for the Manhattan Project and nuclear energy development. For a long time, “spicy” glass was off the menu.

Production did resume in the late 1950s, but by then, the golden age was over, and radioactivity was better understood. Today, antiques and vintage items from the 1850s to the 1940s are the prime targets for our quest.

Naming rights: vaseline vs. uranium

You will often hear the terms “Vaseline Glass” and “Uranium Glass” used interchangeably, but there is a distinction that purists love to argue about.

• Uranium Glass: This is the umbrella term for any glass containing uranium. If it glows green under UV light due to uranium content, it is uranium glass.

• Vaseline Glass: This refers specifically to the transparent, yellow-green glass that looks like the old petroleum jelly (Vaseline).

Vaseline Glass came onto the scene in the late 1800s; the most popular style was a transparent, bright yellow-green. At the time, the manufacturers didn’t call it “Vaseline glass.” They called it Canary Glass or Canary Yellow because of its intense yellow hue. This Victorian “Canary” glass is what we now call Vaseline Glass.

So, if you find a true piece of Vaseline glass (that oily, yellow-green transparent stuff), there is a very high chance it is Victorian (1880s–1900s) or early 20th century. It predates the mass-produced stuff that came later.

So, all Vaseline glass is uranium glass, but not all uranium glass is Vaseline glass.

Identifying the treasure: the holy trinity

When I’m out hunting at an IACF fair or rummaging through a car boot sale in Sussex, I rely on three things to identify a find.

1. The look

Before you even pull out your gadgets, learn to spot the colour. In natural light, uranium glass often has a slightly “greasy” or oily sheen. The yellow pieces look like frozen lemonade; the green pieces often have an art deco design and manufacture style that modern glass lacks. Once you get your “eye” in, you’ll be able to spot a potential piece without needing any gadgets.

2. The light

This is the fun part. Always carry a pocket UV torch (395nm is the standard frequency). When you shine it on genuine uranium glass, there is no ambiguity. It doesn’t just reflect purple light; it fluoresces a vivid, unmistakable neon green.

Note of Caution: Be careful of Manganese. Glass made with manganese can also glow, but it’s usually a fainter, more “soda-lime” green or sometimes orange-ish. If the glow is weak, it might not be the spicy prize you think it is.

3. The click

If you want the full Radium Quest experience, you need a Geiger counter. There is nothing quite as satisfying as holding your probe next to a delicate Victorian vase and hearing it click away. However, not all pieces of uranium glass will register as they’re just above background radiation.

It’s the final stamp of authenticity. However, not necessarily required unless you wish to branch out to collect other radioactive antiques.

Is it safe?

This is the question I get asked more than any other. The short answer is: Yes.

The amount of radiation emitted by a typical piece of uranium glass is very low. It is mostly alpha radiation, which cannot penetrate human skin. You would get a higher dose of radiation flying on a commercial aeroplane than you would from having a display cabinet of uranium glass.

My one piece of advice is don’t drink or eat from it. While the glass is stable, acidic foods (like orange juice or vinegar) can leach small amounts of uranium out of the glass. If you ingest it, that alpha radiation is now inside your body, where it can do damage. Keep the glass for display, not for dinner.

The thrill of the hunt

Collecting uranium glass is more than just hoarding shiny things; it’s about preserving a piece of scientific and industrial history. Whether it’s a Moser ashtray or a simple pressed-glass juicer, each piece tells a story.

You can find these pieces almost anywhere. I’ve found treasures for £1 at flea markets and junk shops. I’ve also occasionally paid a premium at antique fairs for rare Victorian pieces.

The market is rising as more people discover the glow (I’m probably not helping things…), but there are still bargains out there.

Join the quest

Uranium glass is the perfect entry point into the world of radioactive antiques. It’s visually stunning, historically fascinating, and safe.

If you want to see what I’m digging up next or read about my latest mistakes (like impulse-buying uranium ore after a beer), please consider subscribing and joining this website and community.

Subscribe now

Happy hunting!

I love these objects because each tells a story about how different cultures embraced colour, design, and yes… a little radioactivity.

1. America’s loud and proud Fiestaware

Let’s start across the Atlantic with the classic: Fiestaware. If you’ve ever looked up “Radioactive Red,” you’ve probably seen something very similar to the little breakfast bowl in my collection. The colour is stunning, somewhere between red, orange, and burnt ember, and it owes that glow to uranium oxide in the glaze.

This stuff is one of the most recognisable uranium-glazed items in the world. It’s also surprisingly spicy.

2. Europe’s colourful vase

Next up is a recent local find: an absolutely wild vase with an “exploded watermelon” pattern. It sits somewhere in the 1960s and is either Belgian or German, depending on who you ask (and trust me, I’ve asked).

Unlike the mass-produced Fiestaware, this one feels more like a studio piece; earthy, artistic, and unapologetically bold.

3. Britain’s polite chinaware

Finally, back home in the UK, we did things the British way: refined tea sets with a quiet little radioactive secret.

Crown Staffordshire produced some lovely pieces in the 1930s that used a pale uranium glaze, soft enough to look innocent, yet bright green under UV light. These weren’t rare at the time, and honestly, they still aren’t. Half the antique shops in the country have at least one example hiding on a shelf.

But they’re charming, quietly glowing reminders of a time when radiation wasn’t seen as something to avoid, but as a way to make your Sunday best a little more stylish.

If you haven’t seen the full comparison yet, check out the video—it’s a relaxed little tour through three glowing corners of history.

And if you’ve got your own uranium-glazed discoveries, I’d love to hear about them!

To enter, follow these two simple steps:

1. Subscribe to my Substack by clicking the button below.

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2. Comment on this post to confirm or message me.

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If you are already a subscriber to this Substack, thank you! Just do step 2.

The winner will be randomly selected on Saturday 29th November and contacted via email. I will pay for postage (which I may live to regret!) and the gauge will be packaged safely.

I’m running this competition as I need to downsize my collection, thought this would be a fun test to convince you lovely people to subscribe, and to give this to someone who enjoys spicy vintage items. If this is successful and fun, then I will run more competitions in the future. If you have any questions, just comment on this post and I will reply.

Giveaway – Terms and Conditions

1. Eligibility

• The competition is open to individuals aged 18 years or older at the time of entry.

• By entering, you confirm that you meet this age requirement and that you are legally permitted to receive items containing radioactive material in your country.

2. How to Enter

• Subscribe to the RadiumQuest Substack at https://radiumquest.com.

• Leave a comment on this blog post or send a direct message (DM) to confirm your entry.

• No purchase is necessary to enter or win.

• Only one entry per person is permitted.

3. Prize Details

• The prize is a genuine WW2 air pressure gauge that contains radioactive material (radium).

• The item will be shipped free of charge to the winner.

• Any import duties, taxes, or customs fees in the recipient’s country are not covered and are the responsibility of the winner.

4. Important Safety Notice

• The gauge contains radioactive material. By entering, you acknowledge:

  • You understand the potential health risks associated with radium.

  • The competition holder accepts no liability for any health issues, injuries, or damages resulting from possession or use of the item.

5. Shipping and Liability

• The prize will be shipped using a standard postal service.

• The competition holder is not responsible for:

  • Loss, theft, or damage during transit.

  • Any delays or issues caused by postal services or customs.

6. Legal Compliance

• This competition is intended to comply with applicable laws worldwide.

• Entrants are responsible for ensuring that participation and receipt of the prize are lawful in their jurisdiction.

• The competition holder reserves the right to disqualify entries from jurisdictions where this giveaway would be unlawful.

7. Winner Selection

• The winner will be chosen at random from eligible entries.

• The winner will be notified via email or DM within 7 days of the competition closing date.

• If the winner does not respond within 14 days, a new winner may be selected.

8. Data Protection

• Personal information provided for entry will only be used for administering the competition and shipping the prize.

• No data will be shared with third parties except as required for delivery.

9. Acceptance of Terms

• By entering, you agree to these Terms and Conditions in full.

• Discovered: eBay (an unloved, quiet listing!)

• Age: 1942 - 1944

• Radioactivity: 7.50 uSv/hr (roughly 30x background radiation)

• Maker: Record Watch Company

• History of the maker: The Record Watch Company was a highly respected Swiss manufacturer that created reliable precision pocket watches. During World War 2, the UK Government contracted them – among other Swiss suppliers – to equip armed forces. They were one of the largest producers known as the “workhorses of wartime timekeeping” featuring shock-resistant movements and accuracy in tough environmental conditions.

Unlike most of my items, this was discovered on eBay and I purchased it for around £20. In reality, this pocket watch is worth closer to £200 due to the quality of its still-working Swiss movement, genuine GS/TP (General Service / Time Piece) proving military issue, and the serial number being traceable to military records.

This was a period of time when quality movements were being made that weren’t overpriced to a big brand, and each was built to be serviced forever. I’ve not been able to match up the issue number of my watch to military records yet, but it’s highly likely to have seen service via general troops, artillery, or engineers.

Of course, this pocket watch is intensely radioactive, owing to the use of radium on the dial. When new, this pocket watch would have glowed continuously as the radium paint emitted energy via alpha particles and gamma, which excites a phosphor in radioluminescent paint, usually zinc sulfide. And no, the eBay listing didn’t know about this!

Over many years, the glow of the paint burns out and disappears, although it can sometimes be excited by a UV light. However, my pocket watch is so radioactive that the paint has long been burnt out, and there are even signs of radiation damage on the glass (murky brown burn).

War is dangerous, but so is this pocket watch if left in your trousers or jacket pocket over many months and years. The gamma rays can cause ionizing radiation that damages tissue and DNA. At the time, radiation was still in its infancy of being widely understood, and radium paint was an industrial necessity to keep troops safe through luminous devices.

• Discovered: At an antiques fair in Lingfield, UK

• Age: Circa 1960s

• Radioactivity: 2.74 uSv/hr (roughly 11x background radiation)

• Maker: Eric Leaper (Leaper Pottery, Newlyn)

• History of the maker: Eric Leaper’s work is best known for his establishment of a pottery in Cornwall, Newlyn. His work is distinctive due to its bright and bold colours, as well as the ‘splash’ glazes used. Very little information is available about him online, other than his use of dangerous chemicals to achieve some of his bold colours - he clearly experimented with uranium glazes at an unusually late time in history.

Uranium wasn’t just used in glass to colour it green, but also as a glaze to achieve bold red and orange colours. In the U.S., uranium-glazed ceramics are very common, but they’re rare to come across in the UK. So imagine my surprise to find a uranium-glazed item that was made in the UK, at a UK antiques fair, and created in the 1960s.

The date is significant because the vast majority of uranium-glazed ceramics were made between 1850 - 1948. Eric Leaper was using uranium during the 1960s to enhance the colours of his work, during a time when radioactivity was well understood, with uranium having industrial applications. Despite this, the glazing isn’t that dangerous… just don’t eat food from it as uranium is chemically toxic.

Today, his work is quite collectible with a cult following, potentially from enthusiasts like me who find ‘spicy’ objects. However, unfortunately - again for me - not all of his work uses uranium. I recently purchased a red/orange splash glaze vase as a clear Leaper piece of art, but there was no radioactivity.

The antique dealer at the fair I bought this from talked about Eric Leaper’s extravagant parties. He was apparently quite the character. If you know anything more about this potter, do let me know!

This video comes at a time when I’m actively reducing the size of my collection, having become rather large and difficult to store safely. So before a few of these get sold, I had to show them off.

To be clear, these items on display don’t pose any danger to visitors wishing to explore the museum. However, if I were a volunteer, I would be careful with how much time I spend around them. Not only are they highly radioactive, but one hopes the museum continually monitors radon gas to ensure the levels remain safe.

If you’re in the UK, then it’s worth visiting for an hour or two to admire the collection and, importantly, see how volunteers have worked so hard to keep the story of those who served alive.

WW2 aircraft gauges

Nothing gets the heart bumping more than seeing boxes of aircraft gauges. All shapes and sizes and years, but buried within several radioactive gauges waiting to be found. The search was on – despite the huge collection, I decided to settle on two gauges on this occasion. Mostly, as for the safety conscious, they’re a complete pain to store – emitting large amounts of radon gas and penetrating gamma radiation.

What a stunning two-some, especially as the radium hadn’t yet burnt off the zinc sulfide glow. To think these gauges would have seen active service in WW2, and the pilots would have seen the same glow. It’s like history has come alive.

Pocket watches

For a while, I’ve been keeping my eyes open for an Ingersoll Radiolite pocket watch, knowing that they’re more common in the U.S. than the UK. So I was delighted to unearth an Ingersoll Triumph pocket watch, produced after WW2, from a factory in Wales. It’s in perfect condition, partly due to its original case, and despite being dated post-WW2, it uses enough radium to be a very spicy addition to my growing clock collection.

Other catch and releases

There were plenty of other items found on the day, but they didn’t make it back on this occasion. This included uranium glass (far too expensive), military compasses (I’m satisfied with my current collection), and a curious mantlepiece ornament that mounted a Spitfire aircraft gauge.

I was hoping to find two specific items, but unfortunately, I had no luck on this occasion. Ideally, a uranium-glazed ceramic, but these are extremely difficult to find in the UK and uranium-glazed tiles.

This certainly won’t be my last IACF Antique Fair, so if you’re a fan of antiques, check out their rolling events calendar by clicking here.

• Discovered: At an antique shop in Dorking, UK

• Age: 1917

• Radioactivity: 95.6 uSv/hr (roughly 780x background radiation)

• Maker: Francis Barker & Son

• History of the maker: The company was founded by Francis Barker in Clerkenwell, London, in 1848. They were a major supplier of military-grade compasses to Allied forces during World War I.

More about this item

At one point, this was the most radioactive item I owned. It was found ‘in the wild’ sitting on a busy shelf in an antique shop in Dorking, UK. It clearly emits intense gamma rays, meaning I sadly have to keep this compass away from every living thing.

The prismatic compass had a patented design that allowed for simultaneous sightings of an object and the reading of a bearing. It has a foldable heads-up display with a thin hairline used for a target, with the compass viewable at the same time for the bearing. My particular WW1 prismatic compass is unusual as it is liquid-filled - a more premium and modern version that enabled faster movement - but apparently these were not standard issue.

What makes this compass so radioactive is the large amount of radium used mixed with zinc sulfide to make it glow - a crucial feature for nighttime operations. Sadly, only one part of my compass now glows, as the large amount of radium used has burnt out the zinc sulfide (a common occurrence). Based on my compass’s readings, I can only imagine that every inch of this beautiful device once glowed - potentially even in the murky kerosene liquid, given its brown radium colour.

Of course, I’m enjoying this item, so you don’t have to. More videos to come.

• Aren’t you afraid of radiation sickness? No, not possible from these items.

• Won’t you get cancer? I have the same chance as everyone else.

• Will you get uranium poisoning? No, I’m not eating my antiques.

The only question that gives me real pause for concern hasn’t been asked. That is ‘Aren’t you concerned about radon gas?’. Yes, especially since I accidentally built a radioactive gas chamber at home… but I’ll come onto this story shortly.

Let’s talk about radon gas.

What is radon gas?

Radon gas is found everywhere on Earth, formed from the natural decay of uranium and radium found in nearly all rocks and soils. When it exists outside, it typically has a low diluted level. As some parts of the world have higher amounts of radioactive materials in the ground, it means radon levels differ.

For example, if you’re based in the UK, the West side of the country has higher radon levels. It’s no coincidence that Cornwall has the only - now abandoned - uranium mine in the UK, often called the most radioactive place in the UK.

The challenge with Radon is that it is colorless, odorless, and tasteless. The gas itself is chemically inert and largely harmless, but due to its short half-life of 3.8 days, it decays into a series of radioactive products that release alpha radiation. When this type of radiation is outside of the body, it’s easily blocked by skin, but inside the body these radioactive isotopes interact with internal tissue, causing damage, and can lead to the development of lung cancer.

Radium-containing antiques emit radon gas

Radium decays into radon, so this gas will leak out of old antiques. In my collection, I have old aircraft gauges, clocks, watches, compasses, etc, all of which will be emitting radon. The immediate danger isn’t the fact they’re radioactive, as I don’t have them in proximity long-term, but that radon will build up in the room they’re stored in unless well-ventilated.

So if you’re interested in collecting radium-containing antiques, it’s crucial to understand radon to stay safe.

How to measure it?

Radon is measured in becquerels (Bq) per cubic metre of air. One becquerel (Bq) is equal to one radioactive decay per second. When using an electronic reader, you will receive short-term readings that measure amounts within a week, and a longer reading that is a month or more. Radon fluctuates, hence the different readings.

If you’re in the UK, the Government recommends radon levels be reduced in homes where the annual average concentration is at or above 200 Bq/m³. Additionally, a "Target Level" of 100 Bq/m³ has been established as the ideal outcome for efforts to lower radon at home.

I built a gas chamber

That radioactive gas chamber I mentioned at the start? Well, that’s my office. My short-term average radon levels were 291 Bq/m³ - nearly three times the recommended target level - after moving my monitor to my office for 48 hours. I deliberately wasn’t in the office over this period and ventilated it afterwards.

These high readings were produced by just four antique desk clocks and a pocket watch. The room itself isn’t ventilated when shut, so this became a - safe - at home experiment for radon measurement. After 48 hours of returning to my home office, I was surprised by the high readings.

I’ve corrected the issue by sealing these antiques in airtight plastic bags, stopping the radon from accumulating in the room, whilst also being able to enjoy having the clocks on display.

It’s also possible to keep radium-containing antiques unsealed, but in well-ventilated places. Some of the serious radium collectors have purpose-built ventilation systems.

Whether you’re a collector, interested in collecting items, or think you may have radium-containing antiques at home, stay safe and think radon.

Don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answer to.

This is Uraninite, commonly known as pitchblende, and is the most important ore for mining uranium. The secondary material on my sample is Autunite, which fluoresces green under UV light.

For those interested in this sample’s radioactivity, it measures 2.90 μSv/h on my Radiacode, which is roughly 27 times background radiation. It’s not my most radioactive object, but for reasons below, it is the item I’m most safety-conscious around.

A short history

Its place in scientific discovery was established by Marie Curie, who famously isolated pure metallic radium from the rock. For a large part of history, Uraninite was more of a waste material as the rush for radium occurred. To find one gram of radium it was necessary to mine eight tonnes of uranium.

The uranium waste material was used from the 19^th Century in oxide form to primarily colour glass green, now popularly collected as Vaseline and uranium glass. It was also used in glazes, such that can be found in vintage orange (so-called ‘radioactive red’) Fiestaware. Meanwhile, radium was seen to provide health-giving properties, causing it to become one of the most expensive substances in the world by 1909.

It was not until the development of the world’s first nuclear bomb, made famous by Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer film, that uranium found its primary purpose. It’s likely my rock came from the same place where mass mining took place to secure enough uranium for the Manhattan Project. At the same time, companies such as Fiestaware had their uranium stockpiles seized by the US Government.

This is an extremely condensed history, but the full story is fascinating, inspiring the title of this Substack.

Safety first

When I purchased Uraninite it was completely impulsive and opportunistic. Long-term, I’m not interested in collecting radioactive rocks, and I will likely find an educational place to donate this. Without all the equipment of a seasoned hobbyist, I’m extra cautious about remaining safe.

For a start, Uraninite is incredibly dusty and flaky. It’s very easy to accidentally contaminate surfaces with radioactive particles, some of which glow under UV light. It remains within the container it arrived in, and I’m aware that as time goes on, this sample will likely continue to break down.

It’s also a high emitter of radon gas, an invisible radioactive gas that appears in nature, but long-term exposure can lead to lung cancer. Typically, alpha radiation isn’t of a concern, as it’s the least penetrating form of radiation, stopped by a few inches of air or the outer layer of skin. However, radon gas is an alpha emitter that finds itself into the airways, which then means alpha will irradiate internal tissue.

Uraninite emits alpha, beta, and gamma radiation – the latter being the greatest external threat. My sample is currently blocked by its box, the glass of a display cabinet, and distance, which means zero readings from a foot away. However, not all samples are the same.

Beautiful, but it will find a new home

My Radium Quest is focused on radioactive antiques, but this Uraninite sample is the exception to the rule. It’s eerily beautiful under UV light and is extremely difficult to find if you’re in the UK. From a long-term safety perspective, it will eventually find a new home, hopefully with a school. Until then, it will be safely locked away.

Oh, and never let me impulse buy stuff on the internet.

• Discovered: At an antique shop in Lewes, UK

• Age: Circa 1920s

• Radioactivity: 0.32 uSv/hr (roughly 3x background radiation)

• Maker: Moser

• History of the maker: The Moser glassworks was founded in 1857 by Ludwig Moser in Karlovy Vary, Bohemia (now the Czech Republic). They gained a reputation across Europe for luxury glass, with Moser items being purchased for palaces around the world, but equally found in many ordinary homes. Their focus on lead-free crystal was praised for its purity and hardness.

If you’re hunting for uranium glass, then the best antique shops in my experience look like a hoarder’s house – messy, disorganised, and with little curation. Even better are the ‘antique centres’, shops that host spaces to multiple antique dealers who regularly update their showcased items. So on the way back from a family holiday on England’s South Coast, I just had to stop in the beautiful historic market town of Lewes.

My quest for radioactive antiques in Lewes was very successful. Discoveries included a beautiful but expensive uranium glass vase (£235!) and an old compass (on a special offer of just £28) that had radium on the points. I must have identified a dozen objects, some labelled, but the piece I walked away with was my ‘holy grail’ find.

In one antique shop window, on the far-bottom corner close to the road and hidden behind a lamp post, was a vintage ashtray. Its light pale colour looked like many Vaseline glass (very pure uranium glass) objects that I own – shining my UV torch immediately revealed its radioactive glow. It’s a bucket list find, a radioactive ashtray!

It’s a unique find - proudly engraved with the maker’s mark, Art Deco gold relief on the top, and good radioactivity (for uranium glass) indicating a healthy amount of uranium oxide used for its colour. My Radiacode 102 measured 0.32 uSv/hr, which is roughly three times background radiation.

Unbelievably, this antique shop revealed a second ashtray by the same maker that was black and didn’t glow under UV but was still radioactive. Apparently, Moser did create a near black glass variant of uranium glass that is sometimes referred to as black amethyst. Its condition wasn’t as good, and at £45 per ashtray, I decided to go for the Vaseline glass variant. However, the black version is still out there waiting to be found…

As Moser didn’t keep records of production numbers, it’s difficult to tell how rare this item is. However, I’m grateful to have found it.

Unboxing these so you don’t have to!

This Substack tells the story of my quest for radioactive antiques. Join me here to see my latest radioactive finds, read the stories behind the objects, and discover collecting tips.

My own interest started with uranium glass after seeing cabinets on Reddit stuffed full of glowing green glass. Uranium oxide was used as a colouring agent in glass during the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, with little knowledge about its radioactivity. Similarly, the radium craze of the early 19^th century saw this highly radioactive material being added to watches, compasses, and other consumer products. Today, I have collected over 30 items that range from the years 1850 to 1946.

Expect to see new articles every other week, but you won’t find heavy science – there are far more qualified people who can cover this in academic detail. I collect, enjoy, and respect safety measures.

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