The sands of time.

The chances are you have either never heard of Jaywick Sands or you have had the misfortune of seeing 'Benefits by the sea' in which it was featured as the seaside town that never closed down, except its not really a town, more of an appendage of Clacton-on-sea.

Yet here was where the French invasion was to begin! One small problem was that owing to other commitments, geography, randomness and time allocation (There are 45eme events on for the next three weekends..) there was only one Frenchmen. Moi.
So the Kings German legion/Polish artillery, Prussian landwehr and a portion of the rifles were ordered to French up for the weekend.. but who would lead them? Who was a dedicated Frenchmen with a big hat in his wardrobe?  Moi.

There was an officer's meeting just after I arrived setting out the plan for the day and then a walk up to the ridge by the beach to have a run through of the battle plan and address any questions, point out pyros and where units would be starting. Sounded like a good scenario, naval bombardment, surprise attack from the right hand beach and push the British back into the tower before storming it and raising the tricolor!  Day two would go the other way.

There was a public tour of the camp with short talks, accompanied by the Mayor, and a volunteer from the 11eme was shot, several times before he would shut up.

Battle!  The sun came out and we waited on the beach for the last pyro (on top of the tower) to go off as our signal to advance. It didn't go off.  Instead a small group of redcoats appeared at the top of the beach and we took that as a cue to advance in two groups of infantry and the artillery, dragging the guns up to the ridge and beginning an exchange of cannon fire. The two units marched down the slope, I actually remembered all the French commands quite well but sadly the men didn't speak the lingo so each was followed by a quieter subtitle-esque translation for their English sensibilities. 

One of my favourite moments was being between the two units and ordering a big volley, swishing down the sword 'FEU!' and every musket going off.  I then took the 11eme off to drive away a couple of skirmishers before wheeling on the remaining gun crew. It was funny looking to the experienced Rifles sergeant and realising he was waiting for me to tell him what to do next.

One of the cannons was brought down now that the remaining British had locked themselves in the tower and were firing from the roof.  Boom!  no more door, and we all raced in to deliver the coup d'gras.  

                                           The 11eme take a moment to enjoy victory! 

 Form up to address the crowd and give a cheer.

The crowds dwindled away although throughout the weekend bemused locals would turn up and ask 'What's going on?' some came out because they heard the artillery demonstration or the battle going on.. next day the cannons were fired particularly to attract people.

Filming!  The Napoleonic association were making a short film/advert for the Hole park event in Kent and wanted to suggest the French had landed and the invasion had begun. First scene to be filmed was a fusilier throwing a grenade into the tower and blowing the (bloody) doors off. I was amongst those who went in afterwards (and after a couple of takes) and I have never been in such a smokey atmosphere, everyone was coughing and trying to get upstairs as soon as possible. 

That night there was a sortie for fish and chips and a slightly different sing along to usual as it involved a stereo in the British camp playing tunes, I mostly remember Queen and lots of squeaky voices. 

During the filming I'd learnt that a few people were staying in the Martello tower and decided to join them, finding a nice tucked away spot by the tea shop, although sadly there was no tea at that time. 

Breakfast was bread and sausages but I had forgotten to pack any cutlery bar a wooden spoon and no bayonet or skillet! I discovered a metal tent pin is handy, you can skew two sausages and the hook at one end stops them falling off. 

Despite the egalitarian fare it was off to the officer's meeting again and suddenly redcoats and greenjackets were nodding and saluting 'Morning Sir!'  My response was a sort of half salute.. half wave.. and a well meaning nod. Maybe it's something you get used to.

More filming took up a large chunk of the morning, over running the tower with some Errol flynn moves, running up a beach and peering over an embarkment at the tower then giving the wave for about twenty soldiers to go over the top.. except the grass was slippery and it took three takes before no one slipped over and sprawled on the top. Second time may have been me. Then next take.. BooMTishBoomTishBoomTish.. the nearest caravan started blaring out music.. not quite the soundtrack we wanted... and Tony had the unenviable task of getting the guy to turn it down, it went quiet except for a vaguely feminine voice that shrieked 'HAA Am I MEANT TO DO ME FECKIN' DANCIN' NAAA!' 

    

Lastly came the beginning.. Napoleon landing on the beach! both film and still shots, which came out rather well.

Before the battle I was asked to accompany John aka Napoleon around and along the line of the public, calling on them to cheer the French and accept the benefits of civilization.  It didn't go down well. They were worse than 'Dover".

So we awaited the coming of the enemy whilst the announcer regaled the crowd with fascinating facts. Then we waited a bit longer and the announcer had to delve deeper and deeper into her repertoire.. and then the colours appeared on the far ridge. Napoleon found he was needed somewhere else and I went to join the men falling back into the tower and barring the door.

There was no way on earth that Frenchmen in a 'Castle' looking down on a party of English was not going to rapidly descend into Monty Python. 

Finally the (bloody) doors were blown off and on came the rush of redcoats to end our gallant resistance. The union flag was raised once more ending the mock tearful complaints of the ex-army NCO who had been given the job of keep running the French one up all weekend. 

And so the weekend drew to a close, a good experience and despite our jokes Jaywick was okay and the people were welcoming enough. The council had been much behind the backing and if happy then the tower might see more action next year.  (Good pictures in this piece by Alan Balding)

Next stop, a long cannon shot from last years spectacular Waterloo,  Ligny! 

A Hairy question.

A hairy question, or to beard or not to beard. 

Last year I was advised that my impression of a french infantryman would be greatly improved if I just went with the moustache and forewent the accompanying small beard (as I had for Waterloo month). My response was that I liked having a beard in my real life the 340 days or so of the year I'm not being a Napoleonic Frenchmen.

Should people have all the correct hair? facial or otherwise? I have seen long haired chaps told that men didn't have long hair in the army at the time they portrayed so they should not either, but again you can't grow long hair back between gigs (of one sort or another).

What if you do two different periods that have different requirements?

This morning the above picture was put up on a Napoleonic facebook page and amongst the many compliments were many comments of 'What no moustaches?' myself amongst them. Does that make me a hypocrite?

I don't think so. These are the Old guard. The veteran veterans, famous for their facial hair. They have made a fantastic effort on their kit and invested much time and money on being an elite unit.. and I feel that is just it. If you don't want to commit to such an important feature of the look that is Le moustache.. don't join an 'elite' unit that is so well known for it. I have always got the impression that these guys are considered elite in terms of reenactment, with really high standards in what they do, so why make an exception with the face?

Not everyone wants to live with a big moustache. Sometimes including wives and girlfriends. but if you really wanted to do Old Guard and have spent maybe a thousand pounds on gear.. visit a theatrical shop and get a good looking false one.

There, that is that one sorted.

Ickworth

Ickworth! 

Ickworth house is often the first event of the year for the Napoleonic association although the 45eme were at the Siege of Whittington castle a couple of weeks ago (I was at work, Boo!) and I have not done this event before partly because of being at work (Boo!) and partly because it is a bit in the arse end of nowhere for public transport, this weekend would have been about four hours and four changes each way, including a replacement bus service and then getting from Bury St Edmunds to Ickworth house, fortunately a lift was kindly on offer.

We arrived late on Friday and got on with putting up tents and fire grates and anything that could be sat on. Firewood had been provided but in the form of large branches or whole tree trunks that required two people to carry so much chopping and sawing was done that weekend. We also leant that if you want to push a horse transporter out of the mud it is best to take the horses out first.

A fire ablaze, a few drinks were had and I elected to sleep near the fire whilst it was still going and use a convenient log for a pillow and it was surprisingly comfy, until the early hours when the rain returned and I scuttled under an awning. 

                                

The morning saw a parade and some drill and then form up in the afternoon for battle.. with a difference.. this one was loosely marshaled so tactics and positioning mattered to the outcome!  There seemed a general plan to go forward and engage then drop back and try to get the British to march into an artillery ambush from a concealed position. 

I was in the first group of skirmishers and told to go forward to a fallen tree and engage some rifles on the right, in my own personal head this meant me, my first command! although everyone knew what to do. I did get to point at some enemy soldiers just like a Sergeant in any given wargame.

                                                     'Look! enemy soldiers over there!'

I also got to shout 'l'arrière!' Fall back.. (Run away, run away!) as dozens of the enemy surged forwards, like a Frenchmen in any given wargame.
Some British dragoons, Prussians and Brunswickers had been put on our side to boost numbers but the red and green tide was too much and the artillery ambush was hemmed by friendly troops in the line of fire and then the big gun that was perfectly lined up did not go off! The rest fired but the enemy didn't even falter.
A couple of their units did suffer a death by being assailed from two sides at once. AHA! but it wasn't enough to save the day.
Another difference was the audience were not taped off behind a fence but could follow the battle and move around, which was a nice touch, rather reminiscent of golf, and no one got in the way either.

That night saw the usual jollity of food, drink and the odd song with a whole tree trunk on the fire, big enough to keep burning through a couple of outbreaks of rain. Dawn found everything coated with frost and ice but it afforded me a pleasant stroll around the country house and gardens when few get to see it so being so peaceful in the morning light.

More breakfast duties and much the same agenda as yesterday.. except for a photoshoot and artillery display and more people to talk to as the weather proved much sunnier than the day before. 

The battle was more of a set piece affair but each unit sent a few troopers to form a surprise rear attack, clambering over a wall and trying to stay tucked out of sight. We all awaited the battle to commence but apparently the British commander was having a cup of tea. 

Then it was off. A good back and forwards display after the initial surprise. My musket didn't get many shots off despite having changed the flint before the battle and kept clearing the touch hole which seemed to be the main problem, lots of flash in the pan, so I went down when a rifleman picked me off.. only for Corporal Dubonnet to haul me back to my feet 'You can't die yet your a shooter!'   'No corporale, I can't get much out of her now.'     'Oh, alright then.'

I was back up though and the five of us out on a wing to protect a cannon charged a dozen Brits and got snuffed out. Apparently we had been called back but no one heard the orders, you really can't communicate even on a small battlefield.

Run Emma, run!

Everyone had a good time and it was good to see folk I have not seen in a while, the weather certainly added to the event.. a conversation was had on whether new recruits might be put off by it, one new chap had never done a reenactment event before or ever been camping.. but people are usually forewarned about these early events and there is no reason you can't just come alone to summer ones, or bring a shed load of blankets/covers and thermal undergarments. 

                                                       Year four off with a bang!

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!