Aftermath.

How does a man get squashed, melted Brie out of his trousers?  This is a question that has plagued mankind for centuries. The answer is boiling water and a butter knife.

Those tasks at the end of each re-enactment event, washing my whites, stripping down and cleaning my musket, emptying my backback and breadbag of uneaten items and leftovers and crumbs and rubbish. All need to be done extra thoughourly after the final event of year. You don't want to find an onion in your pack from last September, it may have evolved.

Dear Henriette was actually quite clean and rust free when I got her out. Something I have learnt this year is not to spare the gun oil and to take it with me to events, a quick spray before putting her in the bag each night prevents those waking up to rust moments. I have also gone from using sandpaper to a sanding block to remove rust as this is gentler on the metalwork. My bayonette needs more cleaning however as it has become a great tool to cook food in the fire with.

The end of the season is also when you think about repairs and replacements, ripped seams and missing buttons, I find it a bit sad to think of any of my 'first steps' gear being retired, I still have my first trousers with the patch and new rips after Waterloo.. but have given them indefinite leave..
I might need a new shako as the top keeps getting a bit knocked in and should really be one piece on the top and I'm beginning to think the life expectancy of a pom pom is short. I got a new one this year and already it's faded, with tufty patches and has seemingly grown slightly of its own accord.

                                                              Captain Bim does not approve.

My greatcoat does not get put away in the great re-enactment cupboard for the winter as it my main winter coat, I gave it a good sniff this morning, it has captured a fantastic air of camp life, a bit like smoked Austrian cheese.

I think this weekend I didn't make any mistakes in drill, if you don't include a moment when the order to go left was accompanied by a motion to go right and everyone shuffled in different directions like befuddled penguins. Things may have sunk into my brain after three years.
I think I only have a couple of regrets from the year.

Next event is the Annual General meeting early in 2016, followed by dinner and a piss up. One item set to be on the agenda is what foreign event(s) to do. I think the idea of an early 'Bicorne' era event is appealing to many as is a trip to Italy so Marengo may be, although it is the 2010th anniversary of Jena in Germany. There is also an event in Ireland to commenmorate the French landing/uprising of 1798. There is also a yearly campaign (roughing it) weekend near Paris each year.

I am a bit worried about time off, my company assigns each person a week off in spring, summer and winter (I missed this last year), so you don't get to choose all your holidays unless you can swap with someone in the same role, which is unlikely. So I'm hoping my long weekends fall on the right weekends!  but who knows, maybe I'll be doing something different by then. It is six months away after all.

                We shall look to the future and be inspired by the past!  Forwards to victory!

Bovington!

Bovington!  Everyone's favourite tank museum, was having a 'Warfare through the ages' weekend and what a weekend it was. Instead of going through it all I'm going to use the gift of pictures and some favourite moments for this, which was our last event of the season.

Dawn on the first day. Except for slightly cold feet I'd been quite comfy in my coat and blanket but got up to find mist and a bit of frost, the mist was just being burnt off by the sun. There was a real moment where a number of vehicles and a tank suddenly began to take shape, you could almost imagine being a German observer in the next field going 'Die Amerikaners sind hier!'

 

Getting ready time! due to the timetable we did public drill and the battle quite early, leaving plenty of time to watch other events and the tanks.. and visit the beer tent. 

 

                                 Yes, it is that tank, but no Brad Pitt, I think I stood in just as well. When the tanks are rolled out in the morning and the staff/stewards come out there is a marvelous soundtrack of 633 Squadron, where Eagles dare, Battle of Britain theme, Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Wagner and other epic tunes heard all around even over the sound of tank engines (just).

During a demonstration of drill on the Sunday we stood as a big unit on one side whilst the British did their piece and one guy from the 60th rifles, Micheal, was clearly having trouble getting a shot off. leading to a growing murmur of 'OhhhhhHHH' with each non-event, until he fired and got a 'YeaaaaaAAHH!' before falling back to a 'ohhhhhhhh'. Poor guy, though he took it well. At the end he ran on, knelt and fired! to a great applause from us all, only to have his Sergeant shouting across the field 'You orrible littleman, get over here now!' and he dashed off, holding his hat on, to great merriment from our side. Later on the battlefield he got another cheer. 

 A interesting change from the usual fairly flat field with a few trees was a redoubt for our guns, barricades and trenches. Also having MORE FRENCH than British, so how we could lose on the Sunday defending a redoubt against inferior numbers was beyond both sides!  It was suggested we could attack and lose but the script was written before they knew the numbers, or more likely it wasn't really important to the organisers as long as things went bang!

Like Spetchley it was good to see different groups and different time periods, which lead to several discussions on what makes people choose a particular one.. or what faction.. having often been asked 'So why did you choose the French?' I wonder if Confederates have awkward questions about slavery and a FAQ type response about the right to succesion/Union invasion... Do English civil war reenactors tend to be politically left or right of centre depending on whether they choose Royalist or Parliment or is it all just playing a part for fun?
The royalist side on the battlefield had a great preacher with them, hollowing insults and damnation across the field. It was also a spectacle to see men with fire pikes (pikes with the heads on fire) attacking the barricades at the end.

Saturday night saw a bit of a sing along and a great deal of various bottles going round and round, our own bard, Eric, gave us some great tunes, and I gave a rendition of Free spirit by 'The men that will not be blamed for nothing' which I'm sure was magnificent and Soldat Davide got up and gave a fantastic animated story of his early life as a soldier with many, many '.. through the wind, and the rain, and the snow!' punctuating the epic tale to a chorus of 'En avant! en avant! en avant!' 

Russian tank making it's own smoke screen, fighting a battle on a muddy field that tanks had been raced round was also an experience.

At four o'clock on Sunday there was a parade with all participants, although I don't think they all turned up.. and then the end was looming, a couple of times at the weekend I'd felt a bit sentimental about it being the end of a great year, the year of Waterloo 2015 as well, and the loss of our friend, Barry. Wollaton, Dover, the little museum in Horsham, the fanfare of Horseguards, the awesomeness of Waterloo, Painshill, Bovington... These people I had marched and fought and camped out and drank and ate and sang along with.. we were taking the camp apart for the last time until next spring and going our separate ways. There were many hugs, hand shakes and promises to catch up.

Au revoir and not Adieu! (or is it the other way around) until the AGM.

Balls and Turnips.

Back in the early days of summer a notice went up for a Georgian dinner in London, at what is a traditional day time chop house dating back to 1757, an event run by Miss B and Miss Kitty Pridden.. I decided it would be an experience and an opportunity to wear a big hat.

On a related note there was a big dinner and ball held in Brighton just under two weeks ago, right on my doorstep, that I was completely oblivious of! I felt a little miffed at first but when some splendid pictures emerged from Alan Balding I wondered if I would have been comfortable, dancing is not compulsory nor would be an extensive knowledge of ettiquette.. yet still.. it looked suitably reserved that I felt my usual reenacting role as a French soldier out in the fields might kick in and I might have to give a hearty BOOO as the 'Victory of Waterloo!' was cheered and then kick the Prince Regent (Below) up his sizable arse, before fleeing to take Lydia Bennett up the servant's quarters.

 Maybe next time.

My outfit was a bit of a thrown together officer and a gentlemen guise, revolving largely around a green Schwarzburg-Sonderhausen (German) jacket which is sadly awaiting the arrival of it's epaulettes and appropriate grey trousers, but no matter, there would be plenty of generic Georgians in attendence. I considered wearing a sword but was hesitant incase an overzealous Bobby decided I should not be wearing it around London town, not that likely but it would marr the evening if it did happen. The internet didn't help much as it is obsessed with knives, knives, knives and guns. Not a whit on whether a Gentlemen can wear a sword to dinner. So a swagger stick would suffice for dash and thrashing any street urchins.

 I'd peered at maps of how to get there but wasnt sure of scale, as it happened I arrived early and quite thirtsy from hurrying so that I took to the Jamaica wine house for a pint and stood amongst a horde of besuited men, Thursday night drinks is apparently the done thing in London business circles, indeed every pub I saw was spilling out onto the street.

Arriving back at Simpson's tavern I was ushered inside by a bearded waiter and introduced myself, being given a playing card and a glass of gin punch and chatted to some other guests and the charming hostesses as I awaited my friends.

 Upstairs at the tables my first course was spicy turnip soup and the banter was already flowing, punctuated by tales of local characters and dinner trivia, and a guest giving us a rather operatic song.

Each table setting also had a stack of (chocolate) coins and a dice and the gambling begun, Poor James was cleared out, and I quit whilst ahead. Coins were also good for tipping the lovely waiters, which paid off as I ended up with an extra pudding, always get the staff on side!

My main course was a big pie followed by a cinnamon Jelly, that was not actually jelly as we know it but rather a spiced boozy drink with fruit in it, which was good because I had half expected it to be a dollop of animal jelly. not so. and of course where there is cheese and puddings their is port.

                                                                   Presenting the cheese.

It was a great night all round and more like a party than 'going to a restaurant' and all being paid for in advance their was no menial and petty business about money at the end, also you didn't just get a drink with each course, when a bottle was empty another would just magically appear.
 Although not strictly a reenactment event I felt it was very much the full experience of the time, the jollity, the indulgence, the decour. The original idea was more early Georgian, 1750s stylee, when there was a lot more lace, big frocks and Wiggery but those who dress up tend to include the Napoleonic sort and no distinction is made, indeed you don't even have to dress up, although WHY WOULDN"T YOU?

Tootling back to Blackfriars I felt people were making way for me, a couple even apologised for almost nearly being in the way, aaah it's good to be an officer and a gentlemen out on the town and having a fine old time of it, just have to watch out for the debtors gaol. Damn bailiffs.

Maybe going again in December, but now it is time to start getting stuff out for Bovington which won't be quite such salubrious surroundings. Back in the ranks, back in the mud! 






                                                                     

Rainstill park

Painshill! in Cobham, Surrey, was once again to be a venue for a bank holiday shindig. Being a bank holiday it would be rain and shine.  I arrived with John Flapjaques about four-thirty and many folk were already there and set up and the beer was on the go. A chap called Sam Reid was with us to research his next book 'The Daughter of the regiment' and he was soon well enough at home, hopefully the 45eme will get a cameo in his story.

Senting up my little camp I elected to be our piquet against any incursions from the 60th rifles in their bivouac/palisade just across the way.  I would pay them several friendly visits, the traditional bon accord between piquets.. except one where I threatened to shoot them for being half asleep under canvas whilst the 'sentry' had wondered off to get something from the car.

Next morning after breakfast I took a stroll around the area and found some sites I missed last time like this mock-ruin down by the lake, still in the morning shadows.

At about ten was some drill, including a bit of individual instruction, just to see if people get basic orders without being able to copy their neighbour.  At the end of the drill we formed up with the British for a minutes silence, one of our long standing members, Barry, had recently passed away, and we remembered him as we always will.

Then came the first battle (two were planned each day) with us starting on top of a slope down to the road. Which would become a French victory.
Marching up for the second battle I noticed a big wet patch around the pan on my musket, spillage? unlucky splop of rain water? and I worried it might not fire well if powder immediately turned to gunk.. I then had the honour of being sent out with Rob to skirmish at the head of the army, great! unless I couldn't get a shot off in front of everyone, in which case awful.  Bang! Henriette was fine and I was relieved and enjoyed popping off half a dozen rounds at the rifles and redcoats emerging from the trees, then fell back to the ranks.

             Please note that all the battle pictures in this post are by the excellent Alan Balding.

                                En avant! Drive off the few surviving rifles from the crest of the hill.

                                Will Squeaky re-load before that Scotsman with the sword gets him?
                         

                                     Second skirmish, me being bundled to death in the centre.

 Another evening under the awning, bit reduced in numbers, cooked myself a red onion flomlette (flour and water) and some Crabbe's ginger ale, Mr Crabbe himself was around in the 1800s sourcing ingredients from around the world to make new drinks, apparently including ginger beer. So there.
 The rain had come now and the Riflemen in the piquet decided the flood warnings were not a good sign and we bid them adieu.

I got to sleep quite well and awoke to the sound of rain on the canvas cover a couple of times, but then dawn was upon us and someone was asking if I wanted a coffee. Yes I would, I have really come to like black coffee in camp although I don't drink it anywhere else.

Another glorious morning.

  With the prospect of a day of rain Duncan went off to see if the plans had changed and sure enough there would be no morning drill and probably only one battle instead of two, depending on visitors, if people were here there would be but as ten o'clock came and went only a couple of brave souls with umbrellas had ventured out. It was pleasant just sitting under the awning and passing the time.

Come one o'clock more folk had appeared and the second battle from yesterday was re-fought, which meant a British victory. The rain actually stopped about ten minutes before hand. Everyone was still worried about whether the rain would cause misfires and there were whole vollies where the 'fire!' order was met with a dozen miserable 'Clicks'. No fire at all.  In one exchange about four Riflemen were killed by only two muskets going off. That's good shooting.

 The Birthday biscuit. A year ago to the day Sergeant Gower traded me a biscuit for a bit of cake, this is a bit of that biscuit, still entirely edible and possibly more so with damp conditions to soften it up.

                                       These people declined my biscuits. Poor biscuits.

The battle being wrapped up and weather seemingly on the mend another battle might have been on the cards but no, more rain was forecaste and we were told we could pack up once the public had dissipated from the battle area. One of the organisers came to thank us for coming and that they were pleased. At first we had worried that far fewer reenactors had turned up than promised, due to other events on that weekend and what was coined 'Waterloo fatigue'.. people who did the run up to, and battle of, Waterloo then decided they were done for the year. Coming back next year was spoken of so they must have been happy, though perhaps on another date as it always rains on the bank holiday.

Packing away the wet awning and tents was not a pleasant prospect but everyone pitched in and the camp began to disappear, leaving brighter green patchs here and there. Goodbyes were said and next meet ups mentioned but it felt like the year was closing.. still not done quite yet! 

Unexpectedly Spetchley.

Was this the end of days? I wondered on Thursday morning as the rain drummed off the roof for hours and thunder and lightning rent the sky? or was it because I had planned to go camping out in a field the next day?

Spetchley is one of those country estate events that are 'tricky' to get to if you don't have your own wheels, like Ickworth it may actually exist in a slightly different dimension to our own, fortunately John Flapjaques offerred me a lift most of the way and I decided I'd go along, I had not yet done a multi-period event, unless you include three Germans and a dog at Dover. Which I don't.

Five hours, 181 miles and a ghastly motorway services stop later we arrived just before dark and got unloaded, said hello to people, and went for a drink. There were two 'beer tents'.. one selling 'Dwarven Ales' and 'The 1940s pub'.. the latter is a small building that literally gets put on the back of a lorry and driven round to different events with all profits going to charity.. the former had such beers as 'Grunhild', 'Frost Hammer' and 'King Korvacs saga'.
On the way back I got talking to a young man who'd been around the camp (anyone younger than me counts as a young man) and he was one of our new recruits, Darren, and we chatted about events we'd done and stuff he'd need and his own experience doing English civil war stuff.

It was a mild night, even a bit humid, so I just put my great coat on and settled down to sleep, sadly there were no sign of any meteor showers, which was a shame as such tend to be portents of British doom.

                                                                       Don't ask.

Next moring I wandered about and chatted to some Confederates cooking breakfast and an ancient Greek pirate Captain, some Americans played a gramophone whilst further off came bugle calls and drums. Tins of spam were opened whilst others ate porridge. This was a good part of my first multi-period event, the mish mash of styles and the way people cook/eat/sleep/dress. The slightly disconcerting feeling of seeing someone you know as a British rifleman dressed as a confederate, but.. who.. eh.. that's not your hat!

I had tested my flint was sparking well but it was hard to see in the sunlight, it didn't seem to be, even with a new flint so I went away and fired off a test shot, which worked, but when I drew the hammer back afterwards it failed to click into place, just slid into half cock. I couldn't really take poor Henriette on the field if she wasn't feeling well. Apparently a spring had gone but it could be fixed in only a little time, Derbyshire arms were on site with the traders but a musket was kindly leant to me by Garth and I was putting a new flint in as I rushed back to form up for battle.

We marched on to the right flank by the regimental gun, and waited for the British to show up. Skirmishers and a unit of redcoats advanced towards us and the order came to fire. PFFFFF! Flash in the pan. I cleared the pan and shook out the powder to reload from scratch but realised that as it had been the first rammed down shot the wadding from the first shot may have prevented the powder from coming out. I would have had no worries with Henriette and fired away but this was a strange gun and I didn't trust it or know how well it would take a double shot (if that is what it was, it would probably have been less) and I wouldn't have worried if it was just me but I was closely surrounded by my friends and comrades and it was better to be safe than sorry. I just went through the motions of loading and firing henceforth.

something happened then that I'm still not sure about, at the exact moment I looked up at a cannon it was engulfed in a sudden flare of red tinted light and the crew went down. I thought there had been an accident, but the crew lay like they were playing dead and no one seemed to have noticed or were giving signals for aid. I took a sigh of relief and concluded a pyro had gone off in front of the gun and it was just the angle I was at that made it appear that it had been on the cannon itself.
Sadly there was an accident with a gun that day and one of the crew was taken to hospital but I still am not sure if that is what I saw.

It was to be a French victory and the British began to fall, we took a lot of vollies and I began to feel we should be having more men down and thought of falling in the next exchange but no one had mentioned casualties (that I heard) and before I knew it we were standing over the remains of the British and their German allies. I felt a bit bad for not being shot.

I took my musket over to have it looked at by Derbyshire arms and lo and behold it was perfectly alright now, clicking into place, the chap (Gary) even took the lock off and had a poke about but said everything was fine.. maybe moisture in the air or something coming loose when I fired had stopped it latching but everything looked sound. Oh well.

                                           Pint of porter > Trousers accident. Drying over the fire.

Most nights people end up round the fire but that night was a particularly good one, joined by the Sappeurs and miners, and we had our own Eric who is a wealth of songs. Many people suggested or contributed a song, I even did an imprompu rendition (I put the rend into rendition) of 'Wooden leg', complete with a wooden leg prop.
As a few people started to drift off I felt the need for sleep myself and must have been tired as I soon got to sleep only about five metres from where the sing along was still going on.

A special mention must go to 'The ragged Victorians'. A collection of Dickensian characters who were out and about amongst the general public and never drop the act, a rag and bone man, boy chimney sweep, a navie/ruffian, Fish seller, a bawdy prostitute whom literally bumped into me a couple of times and her younger colleague who I suspect had consumption.. and a couple of Peelers to try and keep them in order, and usually failing.  There was also a solitary six foot Elizabethan pirate who spent most of Sunday 'being drunk' and calling people out and hurling colourful abuse.

Everything was about an hour earlier next day and we marched on facing down the field this time. Several vollies were exchanged and the Brunswick cavalry attacked us but we rallied together and they later attacked the Sappeurs when we were falling back.. the Sappers always attract cavalry attacks!  When our own few horsemen attacked the British ahead, wheeling and hacking, a Sergeant of the 85eme had to shout at them..  'Oi! can you clear off now, your holding the battle up!' 

                                            

                                                                        Run away!

I died once besides my comrades but was dragged up by the Corporal 'It's not your time yet!'. My cigarillo box must have saved me again but it was only a short reprieve before a bullet sent me spinning backwards.

After the battle it was time for a cold drink, I found it hard to believe the weekend was almost over. Having been at Waterloo for six days doing a two day event seemed so brief, I hard only just settled in. The weather had been great, dry, sunny, but not too hot.
I bought a pie for the voyage home and chatted to a very pro-French visitor who said he'd look up the 45eme as he was thinking of joining a group, it was us or American Civil war.  I must say there were a couple of groups I chatted to and thought 'Hmmm, I could give that a go...' 
There was a grand parade at the end with all the groups attending forming up into a prossesion and marching around the field, cheering each other, Then it was time to pack up and say our goodbyes, until Painshill...

PWCD

Yesterday a friend wrote;

'Is there a cure for the lethargy that I have acquired since returning from Waterloo?
listless and unenergetic, or indifferent and lazy; with apathetic or sluggish inactivity.'

Others have mirrored his sentiment, the post Waterloo come down.  The glorious event horizon had been crossed and beyond it.. work, mundane life amongst people doing everyday things. It was the big event and my main holiday of the year.  Where had the people I'd been living with for nearly a week gone? What was there to look forward to now?

 'But Bill, there is an event next week!'
'You mean the Hornchurch country fayre?'
'Yes, but there will be artillery and cavalry.'
'You mean a two pounder and an officer who can't get on the field without a donkey?'
'Erm, yes.'
*Sigh*

This is usually the busiest time for events but two I can't escape work for, one (Eastborne) is cancelled and one is the arse end of the country, especially for travelling back on a Sunday evening. So roll on end of August!

People are indeed talking of big events in future, I suppose for many this was their first one, and now they want more of the same! but no names come up that often for 2016, although it will be the 210 year anniversary of the battle of Jena.

            
I thought a lot about 'Command and control' at and after Waterloo, no one drills as much as the soldiers of the day and on the field with noise and smoke and bigger units it is more difficult, and more so in an epic battle where your are approaching sensory overload. I like to think I'm quite a steady hand now, wait for the word, never run, listen for orders.. but even some folk who have been at it for years still go left instead of right on occasion! The main problem was bowing in the middle or sections with no peripheral vision going forward of the line, it is easy to shrink into just being aware of your mates on either side. I have seen some pictures with me at the front and I was completely oblivious to the massed ranks behind me.
It's also good to feel as a regular soldier that you can call out for order and put things right.. until someone else does the same to you and you think 'yes, I was just doing that, who died and made you Napoleon?'

 

'I'll just see if they've gone....   shite.' 

There has been much in the media about Waterloo, and pictures are still springing up on facebook, those here from Deviouswolf photography and Thomasson photography. The BBC did a piece called 'Waterloo - a battle to remember.' which made it seem quite a serious affair and as if we had been practicing drill specifically for Waterloo for years, whilst Jeremy Paxman did an article for the Financial times that comments on reenactors being the most unfit, old bunch of Herberts ever to march into battle.. a bit harsh perhaps!

There have also been some very pro-Napoleon pieces in the press, especially the Guardian, and the Napoleon series on the BBC that was keen to put a good word in for the Emperor in his opposition to the Ancien Regime of Europe. Three people expressed interest in joining the regiment during our adventure, time will tell if they follow it up!

Waterloo beer, previously called 'The beer of Victory!' was re-branded for Waterloo as 'The beer of Bravery!' which was a good diplomatic gesture, and on reflection I can say no one really spoke of winners or losers, not even in jest, just all as friends, whom are now scattered back across the world and wishing they were back in Belgium to do it all again. *sigh*

                                                                'We'll always have Waterloo.'