W a t e r l o o, part Two.

                                                 Another night with some time round the fire.

Then Friday. Reveille at six, which means the poor musicians have to get up even earlier. Bleary eyed people get the breakfast fires going, trickier today after the rain but some wood is always stored where it will stay dry.
Drill is pretty much the same as yesterday except for a break as each unit sent a couple of men to que with paperwork at the black powder tent which was guarded by troops with fixed bayonets to turn anyone with no business there away. Later there was a brief march in full kit for the benefit of our newer members so that they could get an idea of how much they would be carrying and whether to ditch any unnecarsaries. Water of course was essential.

5.30 was muster. We had a reporter with us from the Telegraph who had drilled and been at a couple of events but was balled out for being late 'I haven't been shouted at like that since I was ten!' he said but understood why, only not that 5.30 really means fully ready about 5.15. You hurry up and wait.

                                         Part of the epic 360 degree panorama, the red lancers!

The next hour was march a bit. Stop. March a bit. stop, but finally we were on the main road down to the field, both ahead and behind seemed an endless stream of soldiers. Camera phones all along the march were clicking away, even the police were stopping to take the odd snap.

Then arriving on the field. Wow. Once marshalled onto our position we all stood and looked down over the regiment in front at the gathering army across from us on the opposite slope. Lines of red and green, skirmishers in the front. knots of horsemen. Gun batteries. and still they came. It must have been a terrible prospect to see a full army arrayed before you and know the only way to win was to do great massed violence unto them, more than they can dish out to you, or break through and force them to retreat or be outflanked.  If I was a General I would never want to order a head on slugging fest unless there was no option.

                                    

After some wait the French artillery suddenly roared into life and everyone cheered! The British guns returned fire. Soon after we marched. En Avant! Going through the wheatfield was real Waterloo ground (I felt a sudden conviction that I had to snatch an ear of corn and pocket it away as if some sort of talisman) and we were about the same place as the real 45eme had advanced that bloody day. It was not easy going wading through and on previously ploughed ground, plus swarms of horseflies were disturbed and here and there patches of waist high nettles rose up that being shoulder to shoulder you could not avoid. It was the only time I wished I had thicker trousers.

Cavalry charged for the brigade ahead and we got a great view of them wheeling around the big French square before galloping off in the hope of finding an easier target. I saw a Belgian carabineer (?) get thrown off his mount and vanish into the wheat, rising and then falling again, his horse ran wild and disappeared somewhere to our left. The rider reappeared and didn't seem injured.

  A volley or two was fired at some lurking British then we were marching left toward Le Haie Saint, then passed it, and on towards Hougonmont (A painted knock up), for a few moments the whole building disappeared into a thick bank of smoke, then as the wind changed was suddenly there before us. Redcoats could be seen behind the walls and began firing as we lined up and loaded whilst another French unit attacked the side wall, one man bodily throwing himself into the barricade and a redcoat overblanced and was dragged over the wall.
En Avant! our turn, I was in the front rank, and crossed muskets, then saw a break in the wooden wall and heaved to push it back, a piece broke away, others joined in, British braced themselves against the otherside to stop us. A tolerable crush began and a British Sergeant was trying to push my arm out but it ended up more pushed down, someone trod on my ankle, making the back of my shoe slip loose.
Fallback Fallback! but I couldn't immediately due to the Brit against my arm, and wiggled my shoe back on as I broke away. Reforming was a bit of a mess, ranks completely mixed up. Everyone was saying 'I was by Mark, weren't you behing Colin?' etc and the Officer and NCOs were quite miffed. The man besides me wasn't feeling great.
Three times we gave them a volley and then took a turn at charging, I scopped up a piece of broken wall as a souvenir.. Each charge became more cordial than the last until we were pretty much just trading banter with the defenders.

                                        These two fantastic pictures are from La Libre (Belgium).

We left Hougonmont (with our Norwegian comrades and the doughty Sappeurs) and marched east, I am not entirely sure about the next twenty minutes, a couple of shots were fired and a march up the slope now crowned by a few blazing fires, some magnificent rolling vollies were seen through the smoke and gathering dusk. The French had captured Le Haie Saint. A cavalry charge went up the slope but too far away to see if they were ours or theres, and so they might as well have been a mile away. Actually, they probably were.

Finally we halted near the top, one of my comrades collapsed and our in-house medic went to help. Two more had gone down from the rear ranks without me knowing, to exhaustion and a leg injury. We were all blessed by the weather though.. if it had been proper summer heat it would have been more.
It all ended in fire, the gathering darkess made each blast of cannon fire and musket volley stand out, battle was still sounding but it wasn't our battle anymore, we were marching away. It was over.

There were cheers as we came off the field which we tried to rise to but the people giving out water were a Godsend. After a bit of a bottleneck units seemed to disolve, it was like a real retreat in the dark as clumps of men banded together or walked alone, it seemed like a long walk as every-which-way I carried my musket it seemed heavier than usual. This was the most demanding event I had been to, a combination of action, encumberance, ground conditions and warm weather.

I felt like I was mildly stunned by the whirlwind of noise and sights that I had witnessed when back at the camp, but getting kit away and opening a beer sorted everyone out. Our dear chap who'd been with the medics rolled in and broke out special brandy for his birthday!

We would sleep well tonight.

W a t e r l o o, part one!

Where to start? narrative or vignettes?  Bit of each, so back to the beginning..

Le voyage!  naturally it was a warm day as I set off with everything packed into just my pack and a breadbag, although this did mean wearing the biggest item of clothing, the greatcoat, over which I had my bayonet crossbelt, giberne, canteen and breadbag, and of course musket bag to carry. I would be marching at a slow pace in the warm weather, but would still arrive on time. I needed to book somewhere to stay in Dover at quite short notice and did so at 'Dover packpackers' which is actually in a pub that Arthur Wellesley used as an office when overseeing troop embarkations in 1793. Nice little connection there for the start of my own voyage. Adequate but no thrills accomodation to be sure.

Met John Flapjaques and Bob next morning. no trouble on the ferry, they must have constantly had people taking guns over for a few days. Only hic-up was missing the ring road and driving through centre of Brussels, where any form of road sign is few and far between, or occasionally just blank.

Registration was easy, tents went up, straw collected, stuff done. It was nearly mid-summer and I didn't know how busy we would be with drilling and 'official' engagments over the next few days so wandered up the road towards the battlefield, after all 'A summer's evening is as long as a winter's day.'

                                                                     Waterloo sunset.

In England Waterloo is the most famous Napoleonic battlefield and to look across it in the evening light and pick out features like the reverse slope and see Le Belle alliance and Le Haye sainte was quite poignant. I have always felt that some trace of events yet echoes in places like this. Below is the wounded eagle monument where the Imperial Guard made their last stand as the army was retreating. This is all Napoleonic hallowed ground.

However sight seeing was to continue next day as nothing 'official' was happening until Thursday and only the first wave of the regiment was here. First though was unit shopping at Carrefore.. I was put in charge of getting cheese, cold sausages, apples and biscuits for 24 people for two days, crisps were also mentioned but I might have accidently-on-purpose overlooked them because I knew what would happen..
I have a thing about crisps in normal life.. so the thought of people in our camp or even on the battlefield waiting for the off to be eating crisps, unthinkable!  Sure enough though the organisers gave us some food as well.. including crisps (and bizarrely tinned fish) and when the packlunchs were given out there was immediately a couple of people who started grazing and just plonking the packets on their plates with all these people who had come to see an authentic camp, I lightly suggested covering them over but those concerned were too busy chewing to do much more than shrug.
The shopping was halted several times by questions and locals wanting to pose for photos. Additional supplies for myself were purchased, not including the offical big cheese of Waterloo, but did include some lovely Normandie Calvados.

Supplies delivered, some of us went to the visitors centre, newly redesigned for 2015, a great place and just 2e for reenactors. There was a gallery of painting where smoke, snow, or sand moved across or the painting itself scrolled across the scene. Lots of uniforms and a set up of the Marshals at the battlefield HQ, relics and interactive maps.. and a giftshop, might as well get the T-shirt if your going to fight the battle.
Then we climbed the Lion mound for a panoramic view and I had my first of several interviews with a French news team, just next to some (proper) Belgian soldiers who were quite friendly and looking out for Prince Charles, Putin, and half the Belgian royal family who were dropping in that day, kicking many of the allies out of their own camp until they had gone.
This day was the 17th and I decided it would be appropriate to sleep outside for this one, as so many thousands had on that night, fortunately it did not rain.. quite so much.

Up early for drill, first by pelaton (platoon), then division then battalion.. I'm not sure why a smaller grouping is called a division and the larger a battalion.. we were brigaded with a Norwegian regiment in red coats and either bearskins or Corsican hats and their Captain (Erich) had to quickly interpret what an Englishman was saying in French into Norwegian and pass the order on. There were some difficulties as they have a faster marching pace than us.. with orders of 'Mush!' for slow pace, 'Mush Mush!' for regular pace and 'Mush Mush Mush!' for charge. There grand chaps who we were camped with at Leipzig and have to line up for cod liver oil at medical inspection and have sentry duty run all through the night.
As at Wollaton people made jokes and rolled eyes at some of the big maneuvers we had to practice which made it worse if it went awry and we had to hope the Colonel didn't make us all do it again.

After a lovely lunch of vegtable soup I decided to visit Placenoit which was about a fifteen minute walk, as long as I could home in on the Church steeple. Here was some of the hardest fighting on the right flank as the Prussians arrived and there are a couple of monuments and damage caused by the battle can still be seen. A man in a grey suit seemed to be marching all around waving a big French standard and I was asked to be in a photo with it. The Church can be seen in the background, and a Prussian, many of whom come to visit Placenoit. I then had some food in the cafe opposite when the man in the suit marched in, seems he was the mayor, and started waving the flag and singing French songs. I guess we know what side he's on!

I don't know what the experience of the allies was but I got a real sense that the local people were much more pro-French in sympathy than with the British or Prussians, we had cheers and 'Vive L'Empeuers' and saw more French flags than any other, despite the Belgians being officially part of the allies. I would like to know what the soldiers felt at the time, the British distrust of them is well recorded and maybe that colours modern attitudes as well. In the shops there was Napoleon slippers, Napoleon cutlery, Napoleon chocolates, etc etc etc but not a Blucher coffee mug to be had for love nor money.

That night was a big fireworks display with music and pageantry called 'The inferno'. (we weren't there) Sadly some of the reenactors involved were injured by pyrotechnics and that day the man who represents Marshal Ney was thrown from his horse and injured which would have repercusions in the battle next day.

This was the 18th June. At various times I stopped to think of what was probably happening on the very spot I stood and as the sun set I thought of how the world had changed by nightfall and how the whole world was waiting to hear the outcome from one day in the wheatfields between two Belgian slopes..

Yet tomorrow we would march in those fields.

Beating the retreat.

'Beating the retreat' is a yearly parade at Horseguards and given it being 200 years since Waterloo it was decided to have that as the theme. The Napoleonic Association was invited to take part although exactly what we would be doing would not be revealed until rehearsal day in a briefing that reminded me of the armoured division one from 'A bridge too far' with Arnhem replaced by the royal box.

So we had our directions and a Guards NCO to help co-ordinate and having marched round from Wellington Barracks to Horseguards everyone went on for a run through. It didn't go great. The music meant commands could not be heard, the 'road' on the map that marked our stopping point was only where some small flagstones under the gravel were, and one man's 'A short distance' is quite different to anothers. It was run through again. Then there were sandwichs. then it was run through again. and again. but it worked, it was much improved and with it came confidence. Everyone was happy. 'It'll be alright on the night.'

My favourite bit was when we as premiere section march to the far end in column behind a band then turn to line and in spaced pairs run between the open files of the band as the music plays and they stamp there feet. It was one of those moments that stays with you and must have looked pretty good, one unit passing through another to reform as a firing line in front.

Those of us staying were bussed back to a cadet training centre in Blackheath with dorms and comfy beds, and with most of the next day free a bunch of us wondered down to Greenwich which seemed a nice place, remind me to buy a house there one day, there or Richmond. We looked at the Cutty Sark and had brunch and bought some drink for that night after the show.

Bussed back. Wait about. Ate vege chow mein for £1.57 curtesy of the barracks canteen. form up on the front parade ground (and wait) and away! Everyone was in full fig uniforms now, shiny breastplates and bearskins. infact shiny everything! the bands played us down birdcage walk and around into the park as the Napoleonic invasion was meant to be a surprise. Waiting and watching. Played spot the snipers. Failed. Half a point for observers.

Then on, I felt a bit nervous as we rounded the corner onto the parade ground, most of us did. The bright lights. The open ground. The music. The crowds. The fear of tripping over your own feet and knocking a bandsman flying!
Through the band and into line, once loading and firing all nerves are gone, it's the same old battlefield miscocosm. Before we know it we are falling back and forming up to stand to attention at the front left.
There followed several musical pieces, including a choir singing 'Amazing Grace' that merges into the same tune from the pipes and drums and was another moment to remember, fireworks went off, The German and British national anthems go by after a bugle was played that had been found next to a dead bugler at Waterloo. The German ambassador was whisked away in a car.
Then everyone was marching off the parade ground.

March back to Wellington barracks, a bit of singing, people are in good spirits. Back on the bus. A few beers and chatting and before you know it it's half two. Time for bed.
Next morning get up a bit later, relaxed morning, clean musket out in the garden with other folks sewing and mending and cleaning.
Pack everything together and get kitted up. Back on the bus.

Things run pretty much the same as yesterday. The Queen had been anticipated but for whatever reason didn't appear.. but the Duchess of Cornwall and the current Duke of Wellington were in attendence.

It was great to be part of this. I never would of imagined four years ago that one day I would be marching and firing on a famous parade ground with the British household divsion in front of Generals, ambassadors and royals, and being quartered and fed and getting a bandstand view of some of it.

I got to see all the behind the scenes preparation and rehearsals and a working army barracks, there were some aching feet and backs involved by the end, especially on last day as I was going to get the train after and had everything I'd taken in/on my pack, in fact the forty minutes or so of standing to attention, eyes forward, was probably more demanding than the short span of running about before it, but it was all part of a wonderful experience.

Fantastic few days, and this time next week I'll be in Belgium at the actual Waterloo, it's all suddenly upon us all!

Western Heights, Slippery slopes.

Fouth trip to Dover! I wondered if I'd have much new to recount but there certainly was! It was quite a warm day but I elected to pack my habit (jacket) and wear the greatcoat so as to best spread the load without wearing both. I would just go at a steady pace..

It was the usual long train trip along the coast and I ended up at last change over at Ashford international where there is a bit of a wait.. the platform supervisor I met before invited me into the office so that he could get his colleagues to see a musket and gear, something I am glad to do.. and maybe it was all for the good as once back on the platform a conductor asked me about it, I didn't like the cut of his jib, him quoting regulations about no firearms being allowed on trains, fortunately the platform staff guy was there and took my side saying 'He's got no ammunition and it's been deactivated' (not the correct term which I expect he knew as he used to work with the marines).. and the guard shrugged and went away but without this intervention I wonder if he might have refused me travel.
As I work on/with trains I have asked about this before, even to British transport police and they don't mind if you have a licence, a reason to carry it and it's all kept in a bag. If you enforced every railway byelaw to the hilt there would be a serious cut in passengers but you always get a few 'by the book' people.

I arrived at the camp site in fairly good, non sweaty form, though was glad to shed the coat and pack. The Highlanders and Guards were about to march up to the fort at the top for drill and I tagged along shortly after.. and was shot twice and stabbed with a spontoon to add a bit of comedy action to the British drill, and spoke to a few people about the French point of view.

A chap who used to be in Sharpe was there, Jason Salkey, who is well know on the circuit.. I said hello and half expected him to be a bit 'Galaxy quest' (the film where some jaded actors from a cult TV series keep doing conventions etc to pay the bills) but he seemed a really nice guy and was interested in what was going on, and remembered my name a bit later.



As evening drew in the temperature began to drop a bit and I was glad to have the coat, it was time for a Napoleonic bayonet kebab and drop of wine.

The lights of France appeared across the water but soon faded as rain arrived and killed the off the fire (most of the wood was already damp) and those of us left retreated into the biggest tent where most stayed but come sleepy time I took to my canvas cover and slept quite well, once waking up with cramp that despite resistance made me get up and hop about for a few minutes. I next woke at dawn with a sound of the rain and dawn chorus, which gave a lovely impression as I usually wake up to the sound of downstairs washing machine...  but drifted off again. When I got up more of the 45eme were just arriving.

Wind and rain would be on and off throughout the day and awning up and everyone dressed we marched up to the top to do some drill and a firing display and have coffee and cake... and march back down again.

The skirmish was at 2.00 and it remained dry but my musket was already a bit rusty and the sandpaper I took to remove it had got wet and disintergrated! So I changed the flint and hoped to get a few shots off at least. It was the usual suprise attack and capture the fort scenario.. with the redcoats coming back to take it. I did a nice bit of scrabbling up and down embankments and after a couple of shots began to have misfires.. not getting the sparks.. but it wasn't too bad, about half my shots still went off before I was captured and pitched to the ground as Duncan, our Officer was last to be caught.. as they planned to shoot him I managed to sneak off from my guards with a pantomime SHHHHHhh! to the crowd, I almost got away before a Highland light infantryman spotted me and I was chased right round the back of the main mound only to briefly appear at the far side before stopping when just out of sight.. running in a full pack is not good for you.

Back at camp there seemed to be a flurry of photographers about, one of our unit, Carolyn was firing for the first time as 'Soldat Rene'.. which seems a tradition at Dover, as I and a few others had burnt our first black powder there, and one photographer got a great shot of the first round going off. A chap from the Footguards (Micheal Hastings) took a lot of portrait pictures of us, such as the fantastic one below.

Then it was about packing up time. Any hopes that my load would be a bit lighter by wearing habit under my coat and having eaten/drunk provisions were quashed by the fact some of my stuff was fairly wet, which was an illustration of how much difference rain would have made to being on the march.
I heard that the British used to sleep top-and-tail with one blanket beneath and one on top of two men, if it rained in the night the soldier whose blanket was on top would have to carry a heavier load and most likely complain about it. This gave rise to calling someone who moans about something 'A wet blanket.'

Got back last night and I'm off today, writing this is a good way of putting off sorting out my gear (particularly hard on the trousers this weekend), really going to town on cleaning and de-rusting my musket and attempting repairs to my shako which has suddenly decided to have multiple bits fall off it. Sigh. See you all Soon! 

A long way from Paris..

Horsham is about as close to the picture of a traditional market town as you can get whilst remaining afloat due to being in the commuter belt, so for every Greggs there is still an Italian delicatessen and Iceland is balanced out by a Waitrose... but what would these middle-Englanders think of a French incusion?

                                                       Horsham museum and Art gallery.

We arrived about 8.30 although those driving may have circled for some time trying to find the elsusive free car park but the punch and Judy and display areas were soon put out and arrayed with a miniature museum of our own.

Horsham museum was hosting a Waterloo themed exhibition and we were helping to bring people in, not long after everyone was assembled we formed up and marched into town, first to the market square where bemused or intrigued shoppers and cafe patrons were treated to us going through the twelve firing steps and abit of question and answers.. then another march and a similar display where ever a crowd seemed likely to pause.
this was repeated in the afternoon.

In the meantime there were visitors to chat to, or coerce into the museum.. including a Corsican man putting on a Waterloo exhibition back home who could hardly believe that English people would dress up as Frenchmen, a latino shop owner gave us cheap coffee for being 'French' and for every glib comment about bloody Frogs there was a 'Vive le France! which quite surprsed me. I also chatted with a young chap who does medieval reenactment whom I tried to recruit, who knows maybe we will see him again!

                          "When I was in the army anyone turning up on parade without the exact kit would have got it from the Sergeant, oh yes! They'd be put on a charge. I don't see why reenactment is any different.. Crushing is too good for people with non-regulation facial hair".

As well as Professeur flapjaques Punch and Judy and some drumming lessons for kids Paul had a simple wargame set up in the museum to re-fight the battle of Waterloo that people could drop in and out of, this time ending in something of a draw with the British confined to the strongpoints but holding out, and no sign of the Prussians.. 

It was a good, fairly relaxed day, the opposite of a Wollaton where numerous groups must collude and organise and drill, just a dozen of us loosely following a plan sketched out with the Museum people.

  The 45eme has been in Horsham several times before, usually as part of the French market they regularly have but this year it was for the exhibition and because we are at Dover again next week...

Wrong Footed.

Brogans. These are shoes called Brogans...  I assumed they were good for Napoleonic reenactment because of the number of stores that have them in the 'Napoleonic' section and because I'd never seen anything to contradict this, they existed and were worn before and after the period. The other day someone advertised selling them on a Napoleonic facebook page.. quite a discussion blew up, because they were not officially issued at the time.

The shoes below are a surviving pair of soldiers shoes. If you also imagine the whole laces-area is covered up by wearing gaiters.. One set are black, square toed and rough-side out, the other are black, square toed and rough-side out. Still you can still really see the difference. Can't you?

I am afraid if people wear brogans at the battle of Waterloo thousands of spectators will be up in arms, rioting and demanding their money back, 'We came to see an authentic battle from 1815, and some of those men are wearing Brogans! Down with this sort of thing!'

As another example of actual practicality in the real world of 1809 there are so many accounts of forced marches and retreats that broken shoes, cloth swathed feet, and taking shoes/boots of any available body are commonly mentioned. In the memoirs of Rifleman Harris he makes many remarks about being called on to make or repair shoes on the march, himself being a cobbler by trade, that parade ground uniformity in shoes would be rare once on campaign.

When I remarked that I couldn't really see any difference between brogans and the square toed shoes I was informed Brogans were 'Too high'. Too high.. at the top? at the heel? Because either way that part is obscurred by the gaiters or the grass/ground/angle of the person wearing them.. unless you really, really try to get close and to one side, slightly behind the wearer, in a good light.

                         Spot the ever-so-slightly-not-100%-accurate footwear in that one!

and this guy? illustrating how much his white gaiters cover, what is he wearing? in most pictures and on wargames models shoes are basically just a blob, they are basically a vaguely foot sized black shape.

Some of the worst moaners are ex-army types who seem to think the same levels of military discipline and exacting standards should apply in the hobby (a hobby as in something done for enjoyment) and also apply to peoples hair and beards, if they have them, you might only be at events 3 weekends a year but the beard you like having in the real world for the other 359 days must go! King's regulations, or you are simply not taking things seriously.

Most reenactors don't care, don't worry, if you are a would be recruit to the hobby don't be put off by the minority, even they would probably fail to notice in the field but like to flaunt their level of uniform detail knowledge online, probably with a hefty book besides them. You would be welcomed with whatever you can bring... Reenactors care about appearence and accuracy but there is a limit, and no one will ever say 'I don't care' about the kit they spend a lot of time and effort and money on getting together but if someone ever said anything about my shoes I'd have to say;

I DON'T CARE (and maybe throw my shoes at them).

Two years on.

Wollaton park was my first event two years ago, though it feels like longer than that. I arrived in slightly overcast spring weather to a group of strangers putting up tents in the early afternoon, one of the first was Duncan, our officer who I had only been in contact with by e-mail, and I introduced myself. This time the only difference was those people are friends instead of strangers. How would this weekend compare?

But first we travel back to the day before.. packing.

I decided to pack my havesack as close to what would have been carried and in the order prescribed in T.E. Crowdy's 'Napoleon's infantry handbook'.. except that I don't quite have everything, no selection of brushes, a martinette.. or a button stick.. infact I don't know what a button stick is? but no matter, my phone charger, a medicines bag and a bottle of cognac would probably sustitute quite well in filling in. The idea grew whilst reading to take the rations listed.. or a close approximation.. so it was two small artisan loaves, a large onion, a meat ration.. quorn in this case but the protein is still there! a small amount of cheese and a bag of flour.  I vowed to eat nothing else for three days. I was also now the proud owner of a small iron frying pan which I was keen to try out, I never thought owning a frying pan would make me happy.

According to the book and general sources only one loaf went in the havesack so the second had to be transported by other means, one method was to pass a string through the bread and wear it as a bandolier but this was not popular as dirt, dust, rain and general damage could foul the bread.. so? this to me is another reason why 'bread bag haters' are mistaken, on top of the reasons stated in a previous post here was another common sense reason why a real person would aquire one for the march. Obviously those who cry over the authenticity of carrying a bread bag keep theres in the back of the volvo and pop back to the car park for it when required or on the way back from the chip shop.

So when I arrived the weather was overcast and this soon became rain. Being a bank holiday a particularly doom filled weather forecast had been made and it was looking set to prove true. I had brought my canvas bivouac/sheet and quickly stowed anything I wanted kept dry under it and put on my great coat.  By three o'clock the British were drilling. The French were drinking.

I had a picture taken of my first time in uniform two years ago and I tried to get a similar shot this time (on the sunny second day).. except this time it is a real musket and all the kit is mine!

 That night after a day of bread nibbling I cooked my first.. pancake?  water, flour and onion fried up along with a ration of 'meat'. I enjoyed it very much. Most folk had gone to the pub to eat and I went down and joined them for a pint later, the same pub as two years ago. Amusingly the French had taken over one side and the British the other, although I was quite happy to cross the lines and chat with some riflemen I knew about World war one poetry.

Then it was back to camp, after scaling the wall around the deerpark, and I huddled under my cover trying mainly to keep my gear from poking out the edges, and soon fell asleep.  I woke up to pouring rain drumming above my ears and found my bonnet had slipped off and was now soggily outside. I feel like I got back to sleep quickly but suspect it wasn't quite that soon or that easy, and then woke up again when it was the top of my head that escaped and I found my pack/pillow also damp. it was about 4 o/c and I decided discretion was the better part of valor and should at least put the gear I wanted to keep dry in a tent. I had kindly had several offers, two of the tents were empty. Whilst moving gear I decided to have a lie down and deployed a special silk under-blanket which packs up to the size of a fist but made quite a difference and..   Zzzzzzzzzz.

Day two: When ducks march about your camp you know its going to be a wet start. Platoon drill began at nine and I still had my greatcoat on, with full pack as I considered field drill was best done in what you would have on the field. indeed if everyone had packs they would allow for it in their movements and of those around them, especially when turning about face.My shoulders were quite achey by the end.
There followed battalion drill with the other units, and a battalion commander who was not well received with his grand and seemingly convoluted plans. things like this cause a marked increase in funny comments and wisecracks in the ranks, not in ear shot of the man in the big hat but I wonder if he was at all aware of the sighing and tittering. We already have drill to cover the maneavers we had to try but apparently the organisers of Waterloo 200 have some quite specific ideas so it is not really the fault of Monsieur big hat.

Time for Battle! except not quite, the main battle was still over an hour away but the idea was that a prolonged skirmish would act as a built up, quite a big skirmish.. with a lot of line units being fed in.
The problem with this was keeping up momentum, and the public interest, and also not using up all our cartridges before the main battle.
I was not actually firing but had been given the honour of carrying our Eagle, The Emperor was present and gave a rousing speech on the steps of Wollaton hall with myself and the Eagle bearers of the 21st and 85th standing before him. Then into the fray. The sun had come out. Vive L'Empeurer!

There was a real see-saw of one side advancing and trading fire and falling back, we deployed two lines in skirmish order, the front rank took position, fire! 
Not a single shot went off, if this was a wargame it would have been like rolling for five shots and getting five 1s.  Misfire. Wry Embarrasment.
The battle was stalling at one point so that we decided to go down again and sting them into action. Immediately after whch Monsieur Big Hat arrived on the scene and decided that we should go down and sting them into action... but the main body of redcoats was finally coming onto the field, along with quite a few cavalry which caused us to form square, or rather, huddle. 

                                                   Form L'Uddle! picture by Paul Pearson.

An ominous black cloud had appeared and suddenly the sun was eclipsed and a smattering of sleet swept across the field as if it had been waiting for the main battle to make its own dramatic entry.

Carrying the Eagle gives you a different perspective, when firing you are very much caught up in your own work and what your own gun is doing but holding the Eagle when suddenly four muskets are arrayed around your head increases your sensibility to noise and flash. Also I could pick out what people were doing.. looking at the skirmish line I noticed who had their feet in the right positions and who had let it slip. I had a more peripheral view like being half spectator and half participant.
I also noted how when things get heated, the blood is up, and quick actions are needed that things slip a little, people get flustered and make mistakes, the Officer and NCOs are put under presure to keep an eye open and stamp out errors or slips in formation, but the general effect is those in the ranks hurry to do what they grasp as what they should be doing and do it in haste, only to go wrong. Feeding the cycle. What is needed is a command of 'Okay, everyone take three deep breaths, and relaaaax.'

The day was going our way, and we advanced. A small group of British lay ahead, already with casulaties from our fire, and we moved to sweep them from the field. About five of them were left and I had twelve soldiers around me, muskets extended, advance!  I was just thinking of where I should fall back to (as I had in the skirmish line) if the Brits didn't run, although I saw no danger when a sudden shouting in my ear ordered me back away from the brief fray, it was all a bit confused for a moment after that, but apparently we had won. The British had somewhat begrudgingly retreated, almost as if no one had told them they were losing today.

That night after another water-flour-onion pancake.. except I was short of water so improvised with cognac... people gravitated to round the fires as night fell, and talk gave way to singing, including quite a few monty python songs. There was then a fantastic rendition of 'My bonny light horseman' by Issy with Mimi joining in on the choruses, two people who can sing properly, it was a memorable moment indeed and the whole camp seemed to have fallen silent but for these voices.

It was warmer (read as 'not as cold') and dryer than the previous night and I retired to bed under the stars, however I first decided to put my musket in one of the empty tents incase the rain came back, one of the ten commandments of German paratroopers used to be 'My weapon, then myself.' and I see no reason why it should be any different for a French soldier.

Monday morning proceeded much the same as the day before, I discovered the main use for a bayonet was to stick food on the end of so you can cook it.. John was enticing me with crepes but I resisted. Black gritty coffee and lightly toasted bread hunk it was.
My stomach did rumble alot that morning however, the diet and regime was getting to me, my stomach felt tight, as did my legs and I think a soldier of the time with that diet and that drill would have been a toughened up individual, certainly with less fat, if any.. although lacking in his 'five a day.'  If you were gluten intolerant you'd be dead in a fortnight.

A trooper from the 85th arrived and asked if we had an officer with us, a few British had advanced into no man's land between camps with a white flag. No officer's were available so as I was in full kit and armed I thought I should go forth and see what they wanted. Apparently it was quite an amusing sight from the top of the slope to see me marching alone into the field toward a gaggle of allied officers. They wanted a parley, the game plan had changed, but when I turned our Officers were already coming down the hill and I stood by on guard as they spoke together.

Nigel and I stood around during lunch and did some chatting and photo taking with the public, a Chinese girl kept telling me how cute my glasses were, I'm sure she meant sexy but it must have got lost in translation.
I definitely have my collection of 'interesting facts' for the public, grouped into weapons (including going through loading precedure), tents/camps, food and why the French are generally great and why you should join them.. you'd look fantastic in blue!

Battle 2. After yesterday the build up was reduced in time and troops, with just the piquet lines sniping at each other.  I was one of the initial piquets, when I informed our officer the rifles had come forwards I rather think he fancied I was going to go off back down the hill again.
After a while spent kneeling in the sun eyeing the enemy it did become time to fire, I really wanted to do the skirmish line properly, giving the word when loaded and ready, keeping my feet in the right firing positions. It is easy when 'let off the loose' to forget about foot positions when loading and firing. I was also pleased to get a couple of rounds off as I had not fired my dear musket since last year, but all was in order and soon the marching columns came up.

                                                  Here come the reds! photo by Alan Balding.

We formed up and I was on the front corner file, we traded shots with green and red coats down the slope and advanced. I had a misfire, no spark, cleaned frizzen and touchhole but no spark still, and I could see the edge of my flint had snapped and had to be replaced. I had just started when we were ordered to fall back up the hill, and I was quite proud that I managed to complete changing a flint whilst marching backwards in formation. My musket was back in action at the next order to fire, however we had been told to start taking casualties and I got hit soon after by a redcoat and fell forwards. Time to listen to the battle now. Our cantinere came forward to offer water to the wounded and dying and promptly poured water all over my head as the cork came out the bottle, I tried not to laugh too much although it could have been interpretted as my death rattle.

 I was rather surprised when the order for 'The dead shall rise' came over, it all seemed over so quickly, especially compared to yesterday, and so we formed up and gave some cheers for the audience and marched up the hill for the last time.

There was another hour until authorised packing up time so I put myself back by the road to chat with any curious passers by, including a woman carrying an owl, yesterday someone had a parrot, maybe taking your bird to the park is a done thing in Nottingham.  Several stags had also wondered through the camp at various times.

Ironically as the man with the least to pack I ended up being one of the last to get away, kindly in the van with a couple of the Sappeurs and miners and Marley the dog, heading south through heavy rain and folk ending their bank holiday away trips. At midnight I was sinking into the bath with a hot cup of tea. Aaaah.

Tonight I sleep like a General!