Italian Odyssey

Nine people, one minibus and over 800 miles each way! Off to Marengo on the 45eme road trip of 2017. I was pleased to see everyone had generally gone along with traveling light and a good job too as the big boot was pretty full up. 

We had a stop over in the south of France and then through Mount Blanc and into Italy. Saw fort Bard on the way, which was besieged during the French advance. also drank coffee and went to worst service station of the trip. Most services on route were good quality and distinctly lacking in the crowds, fruit machines and Burger kings that UK services all seem to have. 

It seemed a real trek in a bus, what must it have been like for thousands of men on foot, with wagons and horses and heavy artillery pieces to shift over crude mountain roads in the snow? 

            The Eurotunnel, then the plains of northern France, the Jura mountains, then the alps.. Before Mount Blanc we saw three eagles wheeling overhead, a good omen.

Fort Bard (largely rebuilt)

We arrived early Friday afternoon. Our one tent and awning was put up. orientated selves. Saw statue of Napoleon and monument to Desaix who was mortally wounded at the moment of victory.  Met some of the others and went into town, which was basically one street. A couple of drinks, free snacks, some going on for a pizza. At camp I thought it would be fun to have a saunter around the Austrian camp and count their tents and big guns, military intelligence!  Then it was crash out in the straw.

   Statue of First consul Bonaparte, would probably have thought becoming Emperor was absurd!

An Austria landwehr being punished with a wooden spoon! As far as I know all the 'Austrians' were Croatians, Poles and Czechs.

                                                   
                                                        

The itininery for the weekend changed from hour to hour yet everything seemed to work out well once it kicked off. After some drill the Saturday skirmish became an event for Officers and NCOs only yet no one knew exactly what it was until it turned out to be a small battle on the road down to the museum. Myself and Nigel, not being 'involved' as such decided to do crowd control and spectate a bit. a couple of light cannons duelled, at one point firing over some close by skirmishers who were simply told to 'Duck down a bit' when they fired. Then infantry fired a couple of vollies and rotated. The Austrians were pushed off the road into town.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the skirmish and I felt one more push would be the end so decided to sod standing on the side lines, I'm going in!  and found myself crossing muskets with a young Hungarian before his officer whiskered him away, the last to retreat down the road passed the famous tower of Marengo.

                   
                                                    Hmmmm, that tower looks familiar?

                                                                                                      

             

Sunday morning saw a memorial ceremony in the square around the Napoleon statue, with some inevitable local dignitaries, including a mayor in pink sunglasses and a gucci handbag, then something of a wait to go straight into battle. an artillery and skirmishing duel kicked off until the Austrians started pushing us back, and cavalry forced us into square before our own dragoons drove them away.. but the day was going the Austrian way and we left the field.

Only to come back to the rescue as Desaix' troops and forming one long line for a crashing volley then advance, a couple of 'dead' Hungarians split the line up and a few of us found us capturing the last enemy troops around their standard, which we motioned was quite safe despite our enthusiasm. And that was that. it was very hot and when bottles of water were dished out some of it went over our heads and down our necks!

 

Job done we retired to the park/garden for a couple of drinks in the dappled shade. this was a popular idea and the shack soon ran out of beer, fortunately we had wine and I used it to revive some stale bread.

As one of the last things to do I resolved to go over to the Austrian camp and thank them for their efforts, standing in the camp centre by their main flag 'Soldaten von Ostereich! Dankershon von alles der Franzolen. Prost!" and after raising my drink I turned and kissed the corner of their flag. It seemed to go down very well. I should be in the diplomatic corp me. 

The night of the mozzies followed by the magnificent morning of dawn over the mountains.

It was a great event, friendly people, and the journey back and forth was an experience too. 1800 is the earliest event many of us had done and we enjoyed the scuffier, and stripier, look with bicornes instead of shakoes, which are both comfier and easier to transport. I bought a nice red 'Liberty bonnet' which would be good for revolutionary stuff too. This was definitely the 45eme adventure of the year. I'd do it again but there are so many other places to go.. Arcole, Austerlitz, Wagram, Valmy, Castlebar.. who knows, so many battles, so little time!

Invasion Kent, the Eagle has landed!

Hole park lies in the heart of Kent, where moss lichened church spires rise over sleepy villages, the local yoeman always has a drop of Watney's red barrel on tap, and folk keep olive oil and white wine in the pantry, just next to the shotgun.

Here would be the second invasion Kent event after the success of last year.

I will provide some vignettes of the weekend as I am a bit pressed for time, back Monday evening, busy Tuesday, writing this now and off to Belgium not long after work tomorrow. Got to keep up!

 I arrived Sunday mid morning and was happy to go and stand sentry at the bridge between camps, Waterloo bridge to them, Austerlitz bridge to us. Because we had the country house, the traders and most importantly the ice cream van on our side there was a constant flow of British/allied types back and forth.

 Whilst we don't usually do saluting much in the 45eme it is good form to acknowledge the other sides officers and colours by presenting arms and I soon came to recognise all the officers and so smooth at presenting arms that my frizzen was just coasting snuggly into my naval each time.

                        

 Also I learnt that you don't have to salute an officer who isn't wearing a hat, he has already lowered himself so far by this act you can ignore him. 

Speaking of learning we had a new chap in the ranks and he came to take over. It was good to be able to pass on some simple drill and tips, and vocalising orders instead of just responding to them helps them stick in the head.

On the Monday I was near the bridge and a couple of comrades when our very own Napoleon-a-like John came over and we resolved to take it. He was quite deadpan as he told the surprised and wary British sentry where to go. The Emporer and myself on point we awaited the response. Sure enough a squad of redcoats lead by their commander in chief were soon assembled and marching on us so I withdrew at a suitably dignified pace. Still it caused a stir on both sides of the ditch.

                           

                          The Sunday night tug of war.

Both battles will be remembered, but for very different reasons. Sunday would be the French victory and in typical style the British marched on and were repulsed, ourselves helped by about seven cannons, and once repelled the British withdrew to the far side of the field.

And stayed there.

To encouraged them we fell back nearer the crowd line behind us. Still nothing.

Eventually the drums were heard, causing one of the loudest cheers they'd ever got from the French. They advanced up the long slope, but never reached us. Often in neatly unit-identifiable groups, they fell to the guns until it all ground to a halt as if against the wind and a few survivors wandered off the other way. Right. Okay.

Monday was a great battle, intense and visually impressive. As my ankle was playing up from overdoing it the day before I decided to die early and dramatically to a cannon shot. Soon after some friendly riflemen dragged myself and a dead comrade over to a barricade so we were not in the fire arc of a battery of guns. Propped up I could see the valiant French falling back, making the British pay for every foot. A skein of smoke veiled all, the ground shook from the guns and rockets shrieked overhead. It really was a sight to see as the French turned on an artillery battery then fought to the last behind a second redoubt. Sometimes everything just comes together and that was exactly what happened on the Monday. Quite remarkable.

Let us hope facing the Prussians at Ligny will be as satisfying, hopefully with a few more of them after last year's floods stymied a lot of travel. Our penny packet of soldats will go onwards, with the eagles to Belgium! 

Left foot sideways.

(Dover once more..)

The 45eme had decided at the AGM to look into making a promotional video, both for potential recruits and any organisation or historic venue or event that might benefit from a top troupe of French infantrymen being in tow.
Just after arriving at Dover Western heights for the first weekend when it didn't rain on one day or another... We were off to do some shooting, in both senses, in the woods nearby. (yes, I know you fire a musket ball and shoot an arrow, but if your going to be picky a gun is only really a gun if its on wheels!).

 

Through out the weekend we did about five brief scenes, one with some British who apparently refused to die. Nothing new there! And a couple with proper face planting falls or misfiring at a dramatic moment.  It will all be married up and hopefully treated to some cunning editing and an inspirational soundtrack.

                                         'Go on, you are a star, let me feed you a grape!'

Owing to traffic problems we didn't have all the set up for a camp scene including some music, and gambling, and food, and orders being written.. These would be done on the leisurely Sunday morning. There followed some drill though we instead did a brief talk and had a firing competition. I had no misfires but lost some seconds rummaging for cartridges as some unfilled tubes, and some spare flints,  were also in my giberne.

I confess I have alluded to Dover, as a town, being a bit grim previously and was pleased to see the Banksy EU painting and eat at a quite pleasant bar/restaurant right on the quays although a couple of us did have to charm a bunch of guys making 'French' comments.. the leader of which looked like the bloke from Bad manners in a suit and claimed to be the mayor of Dover. I had the seafood spagetti and a few German beers.

Back at camp we had an excellent view of a fireworks display down over the harbour and then a couple of us went up to explore around the main fort.

Despite having a mini torch I stepped off a step into a earth worn area and didn't see a small border around it.. foot hits, foot turns, sprawl in undignified manner. Get up. Hmm, ankle little bit ouchy but never mind. Next day, still a bit tender. Go to St John's  and it was swollen up, they didn't like the look of it but my feeling was it wasn't that bad.

I would get by well enough by favouring the other foot, and using my musket as a prop on slopes. Something day after day of drill knocks out of people is initiative, but reenactors of course don't get drill day after day. At one point when Duncan was talking about uniforms to the crowd he alluded to having a volunteer from the ranks.. followed by a pause.. is he asking for a volunteer? silence. I step forward. oh no, he isn't asking for a volunteer. Steps back. Feels like an idiot. Vows never to do anything again without direct instruction. Probably.

The afternoon skirmish was shortly after this, and our modest numbers were greatly improved by the Romney marsh smugglers, some of whom were also in the British 16th but happier to join us. Smugglers on the coast were a power to themselves laying siege to excise houses even as boats were unloaded a hundred yards away, and often had dealings with the French to obtain the very goods for smuggling in and out. Some French prisoners are recorded as having escaped from England on Smuggler's boats.

It's always a good skirmish, and for us it was pretty much all individual action, small pockets and a line of the enemy being engaged. Despite having just changed my flint it wouldn't spark until I changed it again, then I got a few more shots off. A party of the smugglers died facing the redcoats, the last in a valiant charge.. and then the enemy numbers could, with enough fire, not fail to miss us and I fell casualty.. momentarily struggling with my last gasps to get the sun out of my face.

All done I had been asked to pop back to see the St. John's people.. alas still swollen and they wanted me to go to A & E, not just when back home, but now, on the way home. That didn't happen, as a post note it turned out to be two torn ligaments, swelling gone down a bit but bruised. Orders to not strain it for up to four weeks, next week I shall se how it feels..  for Hole park, probably the biggest Napoleonic gathering in the UK. See you then!

Ickworth 2017

I feel rather beaten up today and I haven't even been beaten up, cut down with a sword once and dragged along the ground on a rope, but not actually beaten up.

On a side note I am writing this on my tiny phone because my obsolete decaying computer apparently won't save pictures to put on the blog, and the cat wont give me any peace. So I apologise if the format goes a bit funny.

My first event of the year, was really hyped up for it. Quite a big event and sure to see a lot of familiar faces, weather forecast was good too, no dropping below zero business this year.

Three of us set off early. Then the car died.

A long story unfolded but we arrived in the afternoon.  Arriving in style literally minutes before marching off to the field...

 

The only way to go to war.

It all comes back to you pretty quick and I realised I'd loaded my musket without a thought. First volley off, good to be back in the ranks.

We can tell how well 'The plan' is going by the amount of profanity from the Captain and it was clear units had gone awry, some cavalry horses also decided to join the audience. It was one of those days. We beat some riflemen to death and advanced down the field. Getting quite a few rounds off. In another melee I found myself behind the first line, cludded one officer and came to blows with another..

'Hello Rhandolph, do you know whose supposed to win today? I haven't a clue.'

'No, I don't think it was decided. You can kill me if you want.'

'Ohh, okay.'

'Aàaaaaaaaagh.'

I say you rabble, stop there!

Back to camp, water, clean muskets. Get food on. I brought some turnips and a purple French carrot but had planned to boil the turnips earlier but late arrival stopped this, also I only had a shallow pan so it half boil, half baked sort of effort. Worked in the end though.

That evening there was a tug of war contest between camps, it was during this that I ended up hanging off a rope 'like a sloth' and being dragged along. Sadly the British had the best of it, although the artillery were best of all, all that time dragging and pushing cannons about pays off.

The evening got a bit cooler and it was sitting round the fire, a bit of singing, some strange concoctions being passed about. Then time for bed. When I woke up I found I was under a strange blanket, Alex had kindly come over and put an extra blanket over me. Aaah.

Sunday, what a busy day. Breakfast left overs and black coffee. Parade up to the house. Drill practice including a new formation change which I was pleased to pick up. Sentry duty. Then some filming for a promotion video.. about half a dozen of us and a borrowed redcoat, I didn't feel it really captured the experience, you need more bodies. Oh well, maybe part two of filming next month and editorial magic will deliver the goods.

Once again we arrived at the field of Mars in time to wait about. Then on came the cavalry, who made a swirling melee before riflemen appeared and drove them away. A battery of light guns opened up at us, and we advanced close enough to trade shots with a huddle of Scots and the rifles, who fell back, but then came British reinforcements and we were pushed back and forward. Firing away, they were great cartridges, tightly rolled and full. One of my aches today is my right shoulder with a slight sore patch and I wondered if it could have been from the musket firing.. but to be honest I think it is more likely from the strap of my pack on that side. 

For the second time in the weekend some  riflemen were trounced, with Captain Miles fighting their officer.  Outnumbered we could not take casualties too soon but as the enemy loomed and we were near the crowdline the end was nigh. 'Start to take casualties with the next volley!' 

The volley thundered.

No one went down.

'Oh I thought you were doing it.'

Next one though was more lethal, an actual mound of dead started to form until told to best leave it before anyone got squashed. A few survivors may have made it from the field.

Lacking any photos I have substituted an artist's impression of the final scene.

One thing remarked upon was the number of British officers, Ickworth has a lot of British units, but not necessarily with a lot of men, but always an officer, and a couple of officers who didn't seem to have units.. so when formed up a small block of redcoats can have about three or four big hats, that or a very small units whom personally I think should either skirmish or attach themselves to another small unit. A unit with less than six does look a bit silly sometimes especially if it includes a colour bearer and an officer.

And so packing up time, I was feeling a bit drained by now. A good start to the season though. May and all of June look to be hectic, with five events in six weeks in four different countries, A reenactors life for me! 

Prussia falls!

Last event of the year. Jena, Germany, 210 years since the battles of Jena and Auerstadt! A battle that I didn't know that much about before heading up on it for this outing, and it all started with a car to the coach to the ferry and more coach with an airing of 'Pride and prejudice and zombies'. We arrived at five o'clock on a very cold, dark morning. The sun would soon rise over the great rolling landscape of Thuringia though.

This was my first 'early' event and we all swapped our shakos for bicornes, although mine was a bit of a sad old civilian style, I signed up late for Jena! I also decided on the stripey trousers to add to the effect although 1806 was already far from the days of the ragged armies of Italy... but which way to wear it? Sidelong? fore and aft? a jaunty angel?  I went for jaunty, partly as the back peak kept being knocked by my rolled up blanket when straight and the left side got knocked by shouldering the musket if straight across. you can't beat jaunty.

One of my favourite bits was that morning, just taking a walk with two of the other guys up to the long ridge, now lined by small trees and plaques bearing statements by Europeans about the mistakes of the past and hopes for the future, and the odd battle memorial. From the ridge you get a fantastic view of where the French would have come across from the south and south-east, including the Dornburg hill and Trafenburg, both of which are less pronounced than they appear in contemporary pictures. There is a windmill at one end of the ridge which was rebuilt by locals to replace the original a few years ago and makes a great reference point.

Having strolled into Vierzehnheiligen and having a bit of spare time I grabbed my sack and thought to look at how far it was to Isserstadt where there were supplies (the coach had been unable to stop for any, although there were apples everywhere!). No sign of it on the horizon, but I kept going. Soon after a car pulled up and (presumably) asked where I was going.. I explained and was told to hop in! Dropped off outside the shop I offered my thanks but was quietly concerned at how far away I might be from camp. However the walk back proved fairly straight forward, the church tower being visible from half way back and then being given another lift. German people always seem so helpful.

Later on it was wondered if there would be enough food for a dinner and lunch.. which made me ponder the French army of the day where food was theoretically provided from above.. but a soldier that couldn't secure food for themselves was likely to risk going hungry. I can think of at least one soldat who would have probably died without being fed and watered by his superiors!

We were meant to be marching out to the battlefield at Cospeda and doing an hour and a half of brigade drill before some food and then the hour and a half battle. In reality by the time we had done a pleasant(ish) route March there it was getting late and we went straight into the sausage-bread-beer lunch. It's funny that some events say no drink! whilst here they give it away, sure it is only one but it took so long to dish out the provisions I'm sure a few seconds were sneaked in.
Things went from askew to farcical in the next half hour as our brigade commander (whom I'd mentioned in a previous post for marching us up and down in specific and theoretical ways.) maneuvered us about. We literally marched down and back up and across the hill and waited (along with the audience) to get engaged as the cannons to our front fired across the gentle valley. There had been a rumour that not all units were going to get to do much.

Finally we were on the march, closing with the enemy. A white coated Saxon battalion just ahead and across to our right presented themselves. We stood around a bit. Any of Napoleon's firebrands or any wargamer would have seen the picture and pushed us into the convenient gap in the line to start volley fire but it seemed to take some hints from the lesser mortals before this happened. Much better, we were firing vollies, niggles are forgotten when the shooting starts!   Some pretty fireworks went off and further up the field a startled deer was seen streaking across the field. Cannons were roaring at us from across the field.

Sadly the deer was not the only animal to be startled as a rider came off their horse and was injured just behind the Prussian line and an emergency vehicle rolled on to see to them. On the right a great cheer and rush went forward as the Prussian line gave and the French there went forward but on our part the troops surrendered with more of a sigh than a scream. That was it then. Historically we'd be pleased at our marginal involvement. Indeed there were few visible casualties, I had been told at a previous event everyone had been given a number and if it was called you died! good way of imposing a sense of fate on participants, will I get through this one or fall at the first volley?

So we we're marching back to camp, by a quicker route than we came in on, and there were plenty of people there until we got onto a track across the fields, marching at a keener rate than the poor motorists trying to get out along the country roads.

Second night was mild compared to the first, when I had armoured myself against the frost with long coat and hat on and double blankets and a (faux) furry shawl/poncho thing and it all worked very well. I think this would keep off all but a Russian winter, which is good to know. The straw is also a help but UK events don't have it.

For breakfast I cooked some butternut squash, I wasn't sure how peeling and halving it before spitting it on a bayonet was going to turn out, I feared it was going to be black on the outside and uncooked in the middle but on peeling away the skin of black it was lovely and well cooked, will make it a regular provision next year, is quite hardy too.  My bottle of Barwurz 'Traditional Bavarian root schnaps' was spurned by all. Poor Barwurz.

Sunday was a day of rest, there was a formal ceremony at the church in Vierzehnheiligen but due to space only a few regiments were in attendance, a few of us went to watch though. Amidst the dignitaries and generals, including the Emperor, there were quite a crowd of locals turning out, it was all very respectful yet friendly.

I wasn't sure what to do with the rest of the day (packing up about half three) and wandered back up to sit under a tree on the Europaweg and have a drink and look out over the landscape, occasionally passed by a strolling silver haired couple hand in hand or little groups of cyclists or horse riders, many of whom said hello. It was lovely, though I suddenly felt a bit maudlin about the whole Europe thing, so went to find cake. There must be cake.

All in all it was a good weekend, glad I signed up for it, and just being there was a top draw. The disorganisation around the battle and not really feeling like we did much on the field were a little bit of a down side.
I also felt mildly embarrassed that as there were no official duties on the Sunday the public were wandering through an 'Historical camp' heavy with plastic beer crates and bin bags and a motley mix of fully dressed grenadiers sitting next to blokes in t-shirts and combat trousers. I fully appreciate some folk had to get away early but with a lot of public around at lunchtime maybe ask units to stay in kit until one o'clock at least but over all a good time was had and saw the season draw to a suitable close.

Possibilities are already a foot for 2017, Marengo in Italy has been whispered about even though I"m not aware of an organisation going on for the event.. I've booked time off for Brettan (Landskneckt fest) and James and I are keen to do at least one campaign event in France. In the mean time like minded Generals of little men are keen to get together for some war games over the winter. So if you'd excuse me I have some Hungarians to paint.

VIVE L'EMPEREUR!

Pack life

"Somewhere in this rural French landscape, seemingly devoid of any living souls but ourselves, was a force of British and allied soldiers, marching into fair France after the rumoured defeat of the Emperor at some obscure place in Belgium..'
'I lifted the peak of my shako to ease the pressure on my forehead and a little drop of sweat escaped to slip down passed my eye, the sun was still an orange ball above the long clumps of trees on the horizon that were themselves shrouded in a hazy morning mist.

A jangling sound came from my right, at an opening in the trees and we paused and watched as mounted gunners appeared on two horses pulling a cannon and limber out of the shadows, which passed by the line of strung out soldiers who marched east with muskets slung or shouldered as each man pleased. Somewhere amidst the forests and farmland was the enemy..'

Frequieres 1815, sorry, 2016. 

Seventeen hours hours earlier at London Road station, Brighton.. all packed, approved foods correctly weighed and packed in brown paper and string, drink in suitable bottles, fifty cartridges rolled, blanket in pack with jacket rolled up on top, lighter material shirt and waistcoat selected, it was hot here and apparently hotter there. 

Getting there was two trains to a meeting point where Caporal James, soldat Rene and soldat Darren would gather and drive to the channel tunnel and under the sea, then an hour and a half, hopefully, to Frequieres. Which more or less happened.

The site did have some tents, which had been allowed, I suspect, to attract a wider range and one group had several camp followers not on the field/march so probably refused to come if the had to spend so much time in an empty field, it wasn't entirely empty, there was a rope to keep the herd of cows on their side, and a hastily knocked up latrine including a box with a hole in the top behind a blanket and a hole underneath. Which again was more than I expected.

A few mugs of wine were had as we met our comrades for the weekend, the Caporal called a curfew and then it was to sleep on a bed of straw with a hessian sheet pulled over it, the four of us all top and tail like sardines. The three guys next to us simply lay on the straw bundle, and occasionally snored.

Up for black coffee, bread and cheese and off, down a long lane and out into the fields, it was a marvelous sight to see the French countryside in the morning light, and think of the day a head. We marched in two sections in a strung out line until we came to a wood overlooking an open expanse where the British might come from, we hoved into the woods, spread about ten feet apart to watch the open ground, I half expected to see figures emerge from the mist. I couldn't see most of our own troops, even a blue and white uniform can disappear in the woods. I was glad they had no riflemen, you never really appreciate their camouflage potential at a normal event because its open and short distances, rifles here really would be like commandos. 

After a while no one appeared and we set off along the next woodline, mostly avoiding open spaces, I put a bit of cut straw in my mouth as I had heard it kept your mouth shut and moist, troops marching into Russia had been ordered to do it to help with the dry dust that was kicked up. I think it worked to a degree, if you don't mind looking like a yokel.

Then into a wood of small but close-to trees. I volunteered to go forward with Caporal Karl, trying to move quietly, the enemy could be close. walk, stop, look, pause, Ssshh! walk, look... Karl stared out, someone was moving down to the left! it was our own artillery set up on treeline. No contact. I was to tell the Captaine.

unfortunately he was in another wood with deuxieme section, across an open, ploughed, sunlit field. I couldn't just stroll across with the enemy close by.. a run.. message given I tried to understand, with the help of a map and a droite, a gauche and le rue.. where he wanted us to go.. just had to run back across.. pwerffff.. this was the only point I felt a bit sick, everyone was sweating gently under all there kit, but this was a real burst of energy and needed water and a brief collapse to get over once message was delivered. My hands were also quite scratched by getting through tangled vines.

Basically we didn't find anyone before lunch was called, a strange horseless wagon appeared bearing water and bread and boiled eggs for the other unit.. and they weren't even wrapped in brown paper! 

The British were missing.  We headed back the way we came, up a road to the open ground, and then contact! Three Hussars were seen out in the fields crossing from right to left. They didn't see us but a few minutes later and they might have. We expected them to be, like out own cavalry scout, the eyes and ears of the advance, but no infantry appeared behind them.  We marched along a vague path and unto a road where Rene and I had to watch out for the expected Brits, soon we resorted to eye spy instead.

Around another wood three of us were sent up to look across open ground with a stretch of dead ground before the opposite trees, James went forward to a clump of tall yellow grass around a post, he gestured he could see something. I joined him. There were three men, could I see? No, frankly, I don't wear my glasses at events often because you have no cause to see far, this weekend was proving different. Apparently these men in the dead ground were very tall and getting closer.. ? aaah, they are on horses. RUN.

Even as we hurried back with the warning our cannon up on a ridge fired, Highland infantry were coming the other way. The battle of the hay stacks had begun!  We worked in pairs, two to a haystack, then formed up to drive them off.. in a rock, paper, scissors kind of way skirmishers have to fall back from an advancing line.. they retreated but now the cavalry were coming.. I urged us into the trees as cavalry beats troops in open but sadly not everyone knew that so we stood in a formed block.. the hussar who came forward played the part excellently and said he would accept our surrender.. not everyone had read the rules of engagement and we threatened to shoot him instead.
The weather had made the muskets warm and after some firing they were notably hot, I put Henriette back up on my shoulder at one point and promptly burnt my ear!

Then we fell back to the trees, I had to help prop the soldier besides me up as we struggled for the treeline. Soon we were fighting the Highlanders in the trees, never really fought as a skirmisher in a wood before, it was great. 

Then they captured Karl. I suggested we form up and drive them off, en avant, en avant! but they did not flee.. instead the Scotsmen from Belgium traded whisky for brandy with the Frenchmen from England. Fratenisation had broken out and soon spread to the rest of the field. It turned out that the reason we had not bumped into the British sooner was they had been travelling as a small group and gone off the beaten track more.. because a third of them had become casualties from the heat and exertion even before mid morning, one chap collapsing after an hour.

The day was done, except the march back to camp, no one had any water left. Then there was a wrong turn, how much had we gone astray? fortunately not too far or plenty of us would have just demanded crashing out there and then for a bit. When we got as far as the water point the four of us 45emers just filled our mugs, ditched packs and lay on the grass in the shade. oh luxury and comfort, I couldn't stop smiling, even laughing quietly at the simple joy of it. 

     Original campaign picture by Albrecht Adam, but pretty much like some of the guys in our field.

We all pitched in meat and vegetables from our rations to help make a cassoulet (haricot beans left to soak yesterday) and we ate with a bunch of others and had a modest drop of brandy. Another difference between campaign and usual events is soldiers probably didn't stay up late drinking and singing because they were probably knackered and hadn't been able to carry four bottles of Speckled hen across the land only to drink them all at once, and repeat next day. 

Sunday, day of rest.. not, but it seemed all parties knew the extended marching of the day before was not going to be repeated and the event ended earlier to let people get off home. We followed the same path with the sun slightly higher in the sky and came to a wood. Someone went a head a little and said the British were in there just about to leave 'camp'. Premiere section (us) was sent off through the woods in a wide circle to come round near the road through it, Deuxieme section were to wait and attack. Soon musket fire banged off and we quickened our step, timing it perfectly to take up position in the shadows of the woods and watch the Scots withdrawing from the fight. We were loaded and ready as they came by, oblivious to their peril. Fire!

It was a magnificent moment, already withdrawing this ambush just sent them into full headlong retreat, joined by the Hussars. 

We regrouped and followed the way they had fled,  and about half an hour later exchanged skirmish fire across a valley and they disappeared beyond the low rise. Problem was if we chased further and further that way we would be late getting back at the end. So we went off back towards the end point, and waited a while, us in a second line behind hey bales.

We fell back and scrabbled up a short, steep path that moments later our cavalry scout climbed up with ease much to our surprise (and relief), this Chasseur a cheval had a marvelous horse who had been in plenty of action, he could even fire his carbine from horseback without it being too bothered. 

The last clash came when the British (spotted by said Chasseur) emerged and came up the path and were met by our fire, eventually catching them between two groups but then we were called off and marching away.

I had a small mutiny here when it was pointed out by the Captain (translated by Soldat Rene) that I should have waited three paces before joining in a 'route marche'. It is not something we have done in the 45eme, not a thing at usual events, and my French is poor but I found myself saying some very rude words in English probably loud enough for him to hear and get the gist of. It wasn't really about this though but him being non-receptive and even blanking me at one point at the table. It just came out! 

One more march and we were suddenly at a place with some of those building things, a last few instructions and clearing of muskets and we all joined together, all participants in a few drinks of Breton cidre and cheese and peaches and pate and bread. I didn't eat that much as I'd been nibbling a carrot and picking blackberries. I had met some lovely folk that weekend and now chatted with the British hussars, their chief being from Denmark, and an excellent fellow I commended on his charge. 

After saying our goodbyes we set off into the village.. and soon became lost.. with hardly anyone about. James flagged down a motorist and he gave him a lift down the road on recce, but came back without success, so went a second time. Darren and I waited at the other end of Frequieres by a closed garage we recognised and got regularly honked and waved at, time was running short for the tunnel crossing.. eventually the man returned and dropped us two off at camp, we could have been there hours without him!  Some hours later we were back in the UK and all on our final legs. 

It had been an experience, so different from the usual battles in a flat field where you march on, fight back and forth for half an hour and then one side loses and its a three minute march in formation back to camp. Most people also lost various detritus of war, a pom pom, half a set of chin scales, a bag of flints and wormer, brush and pricker, several buttons.. something falls off in the woods and you don't notice.. it's gone. 

I ended the day in the bath, counting insect bites but glad I hadn't picked up any ticks!  It had been an adventure and one our little band of 'brothers' were all keen to repeat another time.  

Marche on!  

Tanks for the memories.

Back to Bovington for 'Warfare through the ages'.

 Kicking off with a train cancellation, nevermind, only one change and 30 minutes added to the plan... detraining at Wool at about eight thirty and then just a couple of miles to camp.

Shock and consternation of the evening was..  NO BEER TENT.. however as proper troopers we all pitched in and supplied more than enough between us even if it was a mix of brandy, rum, beer, wine and Napier's gun oil. We had a sing song but why was everyone else so quiet?  Next day we had a complaint about the evening and again when we got up.  45eme, last ones to bed and the first ones out of it! 

I was on sentry duty when the event opened at the side entrance, I quite enjoy this, it's difficult to go wrong! People seldom stand and ponder the world going by without looking at a phone or searching for pokemon but sentry duty feels like your doing something whilst.. not really doing something.. just keeping your eye on things and nodding good morning.

Our first official group activity of the day was the parade and we formed up at one in full kit and marched over in the sun to be told we were early, despite what our paperwork said. no matter. All the groups marched through the arena and we learnt that the English civil war started because Oliver Cromwell really, really didn't like Charles I being King. Wow. No one knew that, it was even a new one on the English civil war reenactors. Also the British, just the British, won the battle of Waterloo.. oh and here come the vanquished French! (and neither us nor the British were in Waterloo campaign kit). Who writes this stuff?

The first days battle saw the French with the artillery on the redoubt behind us and a few cavalry repel the British advance, they came forward, led by the 60th rifles, and were stopped at a breastwork and trench that we went forward to secure, driving them out.  It was fun leaping into the trench and scrambling up the other side.
The co-operation between us and the cavalry was really good, getting them to charge and force the men into square (Huddle) whilst we marched on them and opened fire. I actually got to fire off all my rounds.

I like multi-period events, always something more to see, and talk about.. the American civil war guys provoke conversation on 'Whose side are you on?'  I certainly lean towards the Union and everytime someone in the group shouted 'Vive L'Confederacy!'  I kept sturm and waited for the Union guys to come by and shouted for them instead. I've heard of ACW guys who carry on like the war isn't over yet! They seldom seem to mix in the bar.

Speaking of bars, there was one on the Saturday but it was sadly a mediocre affair of Fosters/John Smiths and strongbow which seldom got busy unlike last year when it was the social hub of the event.
Still that night at camp there was an outbreak of spontaneous morris dancing that will not be forgotten in a hurry. We won't let the newly re-named 'Maurice' forget.

On Sunday after the parade I got to try out my game of Gluckhaus that I'd made after Bretten, and it seemed to go down quite well despite it's game of chance simplicity. In the first game I was 'The house' instead of playing and when someone throws a total of four on two dice the house/landlord gets the coin, I never thought it would add up to much but I can see how a soldier running the game could pocket a fair bit without being out of purse, the house always wins! Although I believe it was John and then Tasha that cleared the table. 

Second battle and we had a bad feeling about this.. the cavalry were on the British side today and we began firing from the palisades, one of us got slightly deafened, you can forget that there is a cone of percusion/noise that goes outwards from the musket.. in ranks you don't notice but folk were twisting sideways to fire or being behind others. The blast from my own musket certainly varied as I had ended up with a mix of big and little cartridges from a PFfffft to a WHhuMp!
There was some confusion as we fell back, must form on the drummer! but it is easy to think 'I was next to Jim and stand by him only to find out that Jim is already in the wrong place.. or half the unit is reforming five feet from the other half.

We then got attacked by the cavalry, and intermittently shot at.. time to die with a scream!  Then lying on the ground I realised the cavalry were coming back round to attack, would they see me in time?  I shouted 'Man on the ground' but one of my comrades did the same and they galloped passed, still a new experience seeing horses pound by from between the grass stalks.

The weather had been lovely, bar a bit of overnight light rain, and some of us went for a last beer (even if it was Fosters) before the close of play and stowing of the camp, and folk talking of when and where they will be seeing each other next.
For a few of us it is the campaign weekend in France in a fortnight, must put some string and brown paper on the shopping list...

Vive L'45th!