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.'
                                                                     

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

Another six o'clock start and musket cleaning from yesterday which I got down to quite quickly after our breakfast of Crepes and black coffee.
More drill.. turned out that the Scots Greys had attacked the wrong unit yesterday and today we, or rather our battalion, would be on the receiving end of a lot of cavalry so time was spent on a hopefully simple maneauver to form a mass that was four ranks deep by having the two leading groups turn, take three paces and hurry back to double up besides that behind, all presenting 'bayonet' outwards.
Apparently the Scots Greys had a plan to bring an Eagle over and then capture it from us as they historically did, however no attempt to organise anything either before or during the event had been received yet we were not sure if they might try and take the one we had without asking, so practice was good, and an attempt would have been bad form and potentially dangerous, people can be injured punching cavalrymen in the face.

We had some spare time in the afternoon and I fancied going to see Hougoumont but I also fancied a nap and not being late back. After lunch and a short lie down I decided to stay in camp but it was very busy with visitors, being the weekend now, and only Rob was in full kit, I thought I'd kit up from whites into most of what I would take on the field and also help with talking to people.
A lot of people stopped by to chat and ask questions, and an amateur film making company wanted to interview people, and I also volunteered. It was meant to be first person as a French soldier, as if in character.. 'In character' is a concept some people seem to have that reenactors have specific names/roles/personalities different to their own, a bit more like a Live action role play character, but nearly everyone is just themselves, in Napoleonic kit. They wanted me to shout a war cry and Duncan reminded me that Vive L'Emporeur is pronounced 'Vive L-umprur' not 'Vive Le'Emporeur' hopefully I got it right but then as a first person I found myself doing a cod-French accent and hoping to give a good impresion as questions were sprung on me.

Seems a lot of people had not had a fabulous experience seeing the battle yesterday, not because of us but all the smoke.. being sat too far from any action.. not understanding what was going on.. or all three. Apparently the narrator, who spoke only in French, had been sacked half way through due to a poor delivery and possibly being a bit pissed. 

Muster the same as yesterday, us joined with the Sappeurs and the Norwegians to our right. bit less faff..  Whilst formed up on those heights again the Emporer rode by followed by his staff and chasseurs a'Cheval.. Everyone cheered and presented arms. Then he came back two minutes later, prompting Duncan to mutter 'Bloody hell, I wish he'd stop dropping by unannounced.'

Things kicked off as before but it seemed now we were to follow a bigger unit down the slope, support them from the rear and then retreat as the attack failed. Once more stomping into the wheat. However we did not stay in retreat and marched closer to the enemy, fending off several cavalry attacks and using the threat of fire to halt any silly ideas.
We then traded rounds with the British and one of them went down injured, this causes a worry as no one can hear what the problem is, and is signified by someone in the group holding a musket up with both arms so they are left alone. French cavalry attacked just as our Colonel was crossing the open ground to see what the problem was, apparently deafness or black out caused by percusion too close to his ear.
More shooting but my flint had lost its edge and every time I went to get a flint out we seemed to up and move, I had loaded a generous cartridge and cleaned out the frizzen, going through firing motions.. when I seemed to have a minute or two to change it. I loaded a generous cartridge (special 45eme Waterloo paper) and fired with the next volley. BADOOOM! (farkin'ell). Yes, I had double shotted, except it was closer to triple shotted with those cartridges. It certainly cleared any blockages.

 Falling back.. and take some water. It was going to be a few minutes and our officer said if anyone wanted to grab a picture do so now, and I did, although everyone missed the sparkling vollies from across the valley. Someone shouted for us to 'Hold those cameras down! the public are watching!'
yes. normally I would never stand with a phone/camera up, but the public had no video screens and were never going to seen an individual going anything at that distance in poor light. Still I felt a bit conflicted about it, maybe phones were his crisps.

Back into action and we outflanked a battery of allied artillery, wheeling to give fire. in a real battle we could have rolled over the entire gun line, but no, we were meant to lose, and whilst Duncan had used his initiative to get us more engaged we were not allowed to win the battle on our own.
Back up the slope, people tiring a bit, and I had, for the first time at an event taken my glasses off because they were steaming up.

Just when we thought it was the end, with men retreating everywhere under fire, orders came for us to support the Imperial guard in the final attack and we marched down again. Facing a unit of redcoats who were genuinely surprised and disconbobulated by us coming in again for a renewed assault.. were the French going to win after all? 
No, we fell back, the Guard were faltering and we didn't want to get left behind. One last trudge up the slope and trying to avoid being dragged off anywhere else, twice forming up as roving cavalry came near.  Today we wanted to try and stay in formation to march back.
We were cheered again, and I gave them a 'Vive L'Belgic!' back, 'Creep!' someone japed but I pointed out we had just lost a battle in a foreign country, I didn't intend to get turned over to the Prussians!

The battles were done. No more drill. No 6 o/c reveille. The event a success. Tomorrow the last day for most. What to do you think happened? Mostly people got drunk.  In the beer tent singing escalated up to 'The Marseillaise' with people standing on tables, waving bottles and stamping Feet, and barely an actual French person between them.
Those of us there went back to the Sappeurs tent (it had started raining almost as the battle ended) and carried on, with a few songs here and there until it was time to hit the straw.

Packing up camp is always sad, mainly sad, unless the event was a wash out and this certainly wasn't, John Flapjaques proclaimed it the best Waterloo ever for him. We went and looked at some stalls and got a couple more souvenirs, and had some very good ravioli. and so, away. The event that had been spoken of for the last ten years had come and gone. Biggish events would still happen.. but where? Marengo? Austerlitz? Talevera? Wagram?  Nothing needs to be overshadowed by that years 'big draw'. I am left with many memories of those six days in a usually quiet three mile stretch of Belgium, the big cheese of Waterloo, long in ferment, had been devoured.

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.