In an English country Garden. A F%^&ing Huge English country garden.

Painshill! Long anticipated by many due to the number of the unit coming as well as a joint birthday party in the evening sun, except for the pounding rain which people woke up to on the Saturday morning.

I'd packed most of my stuff the night before and this one did not require an early start so I sat on the train to Clapham Junction and then Leatherhead, perfecting the art of sitting (reasonably) comfortably whilst wearing a full pack. I met dear John Flapejacque at the station for the last leg of the trip. The rain returned as we started to try and put up the camp so there was a brief repose in the Offices tent (with biscuits) for those already on site as we waited for it to pass, and the sun indeed came out.

Tents and awnings up I had to chose a spot for my own canvas.. literally a sheet of tent canvas but (hopefully) enough to cover a recumbrent self and gear during inclement weather, other than a short sharp shower at Eastbourne I had been pretty lucky with the weather so far. This would be a fine test.

More familiar faces were arriving and some new ones (Hello Ian!). I wandered over to a big, low tree which I had considered as a Bivouac site to find a piquet of riflemen setting up, to keep an eye on the French! I had promised one of them some lovely brack bread that my wife had made in exchange for some hardtack biscuits. This might seem a one sided exchange but I wanted to try them. Gosh, they are tough, to snap one in half you have to put some oomph into it and chewing one is labourious, they taste abit like someone had condensed five rivita into one.I plan to keep the one I've got left to see how long it remains edible.. or weevils emerge.

That night was party night as two of our unit had 100 years of birthday between them to celebrate and soon the barbeque was smoking and the beer barrels were staved in, just to be cliche there were also frogs legs and snails going round. A great time was had, but nothing silly, really.

I certainly slept well that night. Painshill park is a large landscape garden and another great thing about renactment is you get invited to stay in these places and you can go for a wander before the place is even open to the public, I went for a walk in the morning sun and saw some lovely views.

After breakfast; drill and accreditation. The latter is basically making sure you know enough drill and firing procedures, especially in relation to health and safety, with firing you should be fine unless you either point the musket at someone or put your hand over the barrel when loading. Some units are a lot more formal than others, Ive seen one group giving out test papers, again each to their own.

By now there were more public around and we headed for lunch and to make up cartridges. Then it was form up for battle!
The battle area was long but looked fairly narrow being a roadway down a valley, opening up before a lake. We were turned instead up a track and onto the top of the hillside/ridge overlooking the roadway, behind some trees, and just besides the light artillery. It was going to be an Ambush!

The artillery opening the fire and the Voltigeurs of the 69th going forward firing, we soon advanced down the hill (apparently a bit late but the trees prevented us from seeing what was going on) and wheeled to give some volley fire before closing to melee and jeer at some redcoats 'You woudn't hit a man with glasses would you?' I asked my opposite number as we locked muskets 'No, would you?' 'oh No' 'Okay, lets just tusssle on the spot, raaaaagh!'

Being pushed back we wheeled and faced a formed up unit of riflemen who gave some excellent vollies that should really have swept a lot of us from the field but our lives had to be conserved, later it was agreed we should at least have a couple of blokes (probably non firers) fall out wounded, if only to stagger up again. My section went into open order and firing at will until we dropped back and were promptly charged by the Rifles.. we were to take some casulaties, so faced by two of the Green devils I went down. All I could see from then on was grass but apparently we won!

Back at camp it was time to clean muskets, the full monty. It was nice to be able to help people who had not done this before, even though I was in that very camp myself at Hoogstraten. Another pleasant evening drew in with food and drink and games and sing songs. It is great that everyone comes together and whilst the 21st century does make an appearance after joe public has gone home it is still camp activities that would not have been out fo place in the day (except the water ballooons maybe) that go on, people don't slope off to watch TV on an ipad or make long phonecalls or even read books and most of us ended up sitting round the fire chatting, singing and playing word games.

Earlier in the evening  it had been proposed that a small patrol go out at the crack of dawn to infiltrate the British camp and give the Riflemen on piquet duty something to do.. James and I even did a recce up a track through the woods that came out at the back of the British camp so that we could infiltrate, it felt like a real espionage operation and as we were in our whites we might not even be recognised as French.. although Im sure this was only in our minds.. we even took our hats off... Ideally we would be able to fire a few shots and I loved the idea of sleepy British in their tents going 'What the..? are we under attack or something? sound the muster!' but sadly the Rifles Sergeant asked his guys and they were not up for another night of piquet duty. Maybe another time.

I retired to my bed and at some point became aware of water on my face, I had wiggled out of the top of my canvas and it was just starting to rain.. then grew heavier. I struggled to pull everything under the waterproof cover, my pack was already my pillow but I grew in my breadbag and any of my coat that was poking out, and made sure my musket (behind me, in its bag, was all tucked in) and so got back to sleep with the sound of rain falling just by my ears ,though I discovered the top of my bonnet de police had escaped and got quite damp, oh and my pom pom was soggy.  But overall I was pleased.

 Drill on the second day was largely practicing conversions from line to column and back again and everything seemed to go smoothly, drill on the second day of an event always seems to go better and my theory is that on the first day you are a lot more individually minded and perhaps overthink responses.. by day two you are acting as a unit and reacting with less forethought, your memory of the French commands is also back in place too, recognising the command even if you don't know what the actual words are.

For me the second battle was also better, despite the rainy conditions I didn't have any problems firing off quite a few rounds, and there is a real satisfaction in getting to fire half a dozen rounds off in a stretch. Suddenly we were under attack by cavalry, we have never practiced forming square because for practical reasons unless you have atleast two ranks of four on each side (32 men) it just looks more like a 'A huddle' so instead we simply turn the rear rank about and present muskets, a Hussar attacked me and Duncan (the officer) and I crossed muskets with his sabre before he galloped off to try elsewhere.

                          The Corporal scouts ahead.. cavalry can be seen in the distance.

After this we were charged by redcoats, losing quite a few men but falling back before they came on again before I bought it.  I think I have died in every battle I've been in.. as a non-firer you are often asked to be amongst the casualties so the firing people can put on a show till the last (and pretending to fire is much more obvious when not camouflaged by the smoke of others). Now I think I've come to see it as a volunteering thing for the good of the event. You hear both sides grumble sometimes about how 'the other side refused to die' but I suspect it is more to do with confusion and keeping numbers up for a while than stubborness on most peoples part.

After the battle there were still quite a few public about but the weather and the main event being over they soon seemed to melt away and word came that we could pack up camp, everyone really pulled together and seemed to just get on with doing something and it wasn't long till cars were pulling up and damp canvas' stowed away with pots and pans and chairs and muskets and shakoes and blankets and everything else. Au revoir!

I really enjoyed this event and felt at the end I'd reached a bit of a plateau, that I wasn't a newbie anymore.. I think because I'd been able to help some of the new guys I realised how much I'd picked up myself and on both drill days I'd managed not to blunder into anyone or turn the wrong way and even when using the twiddly ramrod felt I was firing a little bit quicker.
On the way home I was felt almost oblivious to being in kit, having had it on for three days, often amongst the public, it just felt so normal. I just wanted to sit on the train and zone out however a chap asked if he could take a photo which I was more than happy to oblige, and he noted the train was the 18.12. He was an Elvis impersonator from East Croydon and we had a good chat, me going into my store of 'fascinating facts' about the hobby and the history.

Good days.

Going Dutch. Part 2.

More coffee and crepes and Drill.

I  went and did some sketching, I like to draw a quick scene or two at every event but also I like it as a camplife scene and members of public often stop and look, I had several chats with members of public. Then went and tested out musket. Yep, all was well.

Battle. Day 2.  Started much as yesterday, a cavalry charge down the field, then an artillery duel! Exept the heavy horsemen from the charge had formed up just a few feet infront of us and those horses were skittish and downright going-round-in-circles-ish about the big guns. An accident of one sort or another was expected, but not forthcoming.

We advanced over to the left side of the field where the British were coming up. As practiced in drill some of us went forward in skirmish order, and I immediately let loose at a rifles officer. There is a real change in mindset when skirmishing, released from the ranks, an individual aiming at an individual. However I had ballsed up as skirmishers work in pairs and the forward one is meant to wait for the rear one to have loaded up. D'oh!  I knew this from drill just this morning but battle is not a drill and things you should know or have practiced can just slip away under 'presure'. About two minutes later I did it again. Impetuous fool!

We rejoined the main unit and began to fall back, just as we did so I looked down the field and saw a Red lancer charge up to a British square and make a deftly lunge that struck a redcoat in the stomach, pitching him forward as she raced away.. it was one of those moments that sticks in your mind.

Soon we all climbed into an almost waist high ditch between fields and started firing on the advancing foe, another novelty of the battle. When we fell back further still we were charged by the Black Brunswickers, however they had to clear said ditch to attack which somewhat through them into disarray and it was them that got bundled backwards.

However the end was nigh and we mostly went down in a rush of jeering redcoats. Forming up from the dead and wounded the crowds cheered everyone as we marched from the field.

Soon after I went to investiate the traders tents and bought a plate, some flints and a pocket watch (well, a battery powered one for 20 euros but looks good). I should mention I had my new glasses for this event, having had no joy from major chains being able to fit lenses to the olde spectacles I'd got on ebay I went to a small local optician (Rayner and Taylor) and they supplied and fitted prescription lenses for £50.

Another night of socialising around the campfires, after the cold of the night before I nipped into my tent (yes, you read correctly, John lent me a tent) and began to put some extra socks and undergarments on.. when from the heavens a voice called out 'They're giving away free beer at the beer tent!'
Sans one gaiter and holding a shoe I put my head out to ask everyone what was going on, but they had already gone! So I slipped the shoe back on and followed on. Naturally there was a great atmosphere at the beer tent whilst it lasted.  People seemed to have enjoyed the Sunday battle more, I don't know what makes one battle better than another, maybe today went smoother after a 'practice run' or folk got to do something a bit different like jump in and out of ditches or scrabble at Swiss guardsmen on a big wooden platform.. perhaps sometimes things just come together well. Everything about the event was friendly and well organised.

Next morning those who remained straggled together, John and I brought the tents down and packed and went into town in search of breakfast.

I was glad we did, there had not really been time to sample the area and we found an open cafe for coffee and a Croque Boer. Also in there was one of the organisers who showed us that the event was on the front of the local paper and that numbers of participants and spectators had exceeded all original plans. He also told us of a memorial event coming up for a British bomber that crashed in 1944, some of the crew survived and his uncle had hidden one of the airmen in a small house, not far from where we had camped. History is never far away.
Outside a local man came up and shook our hands and thanked us for coming. This was a touching way to end our time in Hoogstraten. I doubt it was a battle I would have got to if not for being a 200th anniversary thing, but who knows, maybe another year..

Going Dutch. Part 1.

.....Check I've got passport and all gun-related paperwork..... Check. Do other stuff. Divide between clothes and backpack stuff. Check I've got passport and all gun-related paperwork.... Check. Pack gadgets and medicinals. Go to bed. Get up early and get dressed. Check I've got passport and all gun related paperwork. Check. Repeat.... check. Leave house.

The plan was to get the train to Dover (changing at Eastborne and Ashford international). First thing I learnt was carrying a musket bag slung over your shoulder will keep undoing your gaiters. With each leg of the voyage completed in time the better I felt (and was invited into the platform office at Ashford as the manager, who used to be in the marines, wanted to have a look at the musket, again not out of any security concern just being interested)..

Met John Flapejaques and away. A gendame waved us through but we thought we should stop and do the whole security thing with the guns, which went fine, some of those behind us got quite a grilling apparently, despite quite a number of reenactors going through.
and yes, I still had my passport and gun-related paperwork, incase you were expecting disaster. We were away across the sea!

                        No one thought I was 'Nelson'.. perhaps it was the lack of a hat.

About five hours later we arrived at Hoogstraten! in Holland, I think, it all tends to blend together.
The battle of Hoogstraten is usually thought of as the 11th of January, that was when a largely Prussian force attacked the French and eventually pushed them back but the campaign to hold Antwerp lasted right up to Napoleon's abdication, and thus this weekend (2nd - 4th May).

The camp filled a good size field and was all together and only a pistol shot from the battlefield, and really well organised, water, straw, toilets, info tent, string laid out for tent positions by row.

That evening there was a torchlit parade, well it was a setting sun lit parade really, or at least almost. All forming up around the Townhall/Church. A unit of Netherlanders formed the troop of honour yet received a bit of joshing from the French for there shout of 'Vive Le Roi'. Splitters! Haven't these guys been pretty-much-Frenchmen since 1798?

The next morning saw a somewhat longer parade, more through bemused locals backstreets, to a Church that had seen heavy fighting back in the day and is the planned site of a memorial to the fallen. Again, there was a short speech, I say short but when translated into a dozen languages it was not nearly so brief. Sadly my shako lining was coming loose and slipping over my eyes, I tried using my ears to prop it on but this merely bent my ears.. on the way back I put it on my musket to carry but was told this was a no-no as putting your shako/hat on the end of your musket apparently signifies you have been wounded.
This did make me think.. I presume they meant historically that was the case, so I should not do it as I am not wounded.. or it was disrespectful to those who were?..yet surely such a notion could apply to most things done by reenactors?

And so to the battle, day 1. We marched on to be met by some locals.. dressed as 1814 locals and trying to shoo us away with pitchforks and reproachful language. Then all formed up as the French cavalry charged down the field.. and soon returned as a cannonade started.. making me reflect on the old saying 'there are no athiests in a foxhole'. I was soon distracted however by the rough going underfoot, a field not ploughed too long ago, repleat with tall grass and old stalks.
Time to fire! FIRE!    Nothing. Something blocking the touch hole. Being proud of my still fairly new musket I had cleaned it after Felixstowe and then again a few days before the battle, however I was seemingly quite ignorant of how much powder gets caked down the barrel, I suppose I imagined the blast violently emptied it quite effectively. Not so. and it seemed the gun oil had made it co-agulate. Worse, my attempt to clean it had left a scrap of cloth down there too!  After the battle I learnt how to take the whole thing apart and what a wormer was as well as other handy things to have, like fine sandpaper for removing the inevitable rust.. I felt guilty finding rust on the barrel but it also turns out this is pretty much unavoidable unless you are out in the desert steppes.
Anyhoo, I pretended to give a few volleys but then got picked off by a stray shot behind a barricade having passed my cartridges on to my comrades, who still ran out.

After the above musket maintenance it was time for beer and lovely camp food, I'd once again been on my bread diet since leaving England. Hot Cassoulet!  The beer tent also sold 'Waterloo Beer' with a label marked 'Quite a strong beer.' which also amused me in a kind of mild English understatement kind of way.  As French of course we could not understand why it was called 'The Beer of victory.'

Later there was a show put on, all shadows and trumpets and parping. Went down well.

Having later fallen asleep and toppled liked a felled tree off my seat by the campfire I coincidently decided it was time for bed.
It was rather nippy by the early hours. Returning to English understatement. and I eventually got up to rebuild the camp fire, there was only one other fire going, besides which sat a chap from the Prussian Landwehr. I had already got into the habit of trying several greetings on people as you can never tell where someone is from, I had asked a full on Scots highlander earlier if the 79th were here only to discover he was not from Glasgow but Scharnhoff-Altenein-Regensbaad.  This chap, Markus, however was a German and I managed to cadge a light and soon had a lovely fire going.

I had a feeling it was going to be a grand day...

Sea and Sky.

URGENT CALL FOR FRENCH SOLDIERS!  said the e-mail (paraphrasing). The 95th Rifles were having a training day at Landguard fort and Sky TV were going to be there filming a documntary, the details of which were sketchy, and wanted people from other units to attend. It was all rather short notice, and quite a long way away (Felixstowe) and I did uhhhm and arrrh but felt the French had to be represented, especially if it might be on the telly!

I had plenty of time on the train to peer out the window and consider things I might say if interviewed. All the travel was painless, even the underground jaunt, which featured a surreal moment of an underground carriage containing a French fusilier as well as a clown and a unicorn, and lots of people 'not really looking'.

Two things on the day also reinforced my earlier thoughts about bread bags and how I disagree with some folk who feel French should not have them, as they were not official issue.. firstly all the riflemen have bread bags, and when the enemy have something it won't be long until some filter into the other side via loot or trade and more importantly now that I have a proper backpack I appreciate how much I DO NOT want to keep taking it on and off.
Travelling in a greatcoat makes the pack fit even more tightly, you also have the blanket on top and maybe a tin cup attached, plus your cartridge box, bayonet, canteen etc to get in the way. It is an arse to take on and off.
The French when on the march stopped for five minutes in each hour, with five minutes to have a drink/smoke/bite to eat and a sit down you don't want to spend precious time awkwardly wiggling in and out of your backpack. you are tired and want to just flake out, grab whatever you need from a handy source.. like a bread bag. The argument that you don't need anything else to carry stuff in is abit like telling someone travelling on holiday that they don't need any hand luggage because they have a suitcase. I consider this valid experimental archeology.  Most renenactors seldom travel more than perhaps half a mile from the campsite and then can leave unnecarsary stuff behind. I even left the pack on when on the train, sitting slightly forward on the seat and resting my head on the blanket roll. Conservation of energy is a fundemental rule of the universe, it also applies to soldiers on the march.

Landguard was the scene of the last opposed seaborne invasion of England, by the Dutch in 1667, and is commemorated each year in 'Darell's day.'

I met Rob from the 45th outside, so was not the sole Frenchmen, and There was a warm welcome at the fort and it wasn't long before the Sky correspondent, Lucy, came over and asked to interview us. Which she did with the two of us, first question being who we represented and why French?  This was exactly the question I had been thinking about on the train and COMPLETELY FORGOT nearly everything once the camera was actually on, I even called Rob.. John.. although he didn't notice at the time. I think between us we got through it quite well. As well as ourselves and about 20 rifles there was a horse artillery crew (sans horses) and a single redcoat whom I was glad of as an example that not all Brits wear green.

The Greencoats were off to the beach for drilling and we tagged along.. chatted with the locals who were generally familiar with events at the fort and were keen to know what was going on. We fired off a few shots although my flint needed changing, having not sparked I then got the next shot off with a charge and a half in the barrel which made for an impressive bang and a proper bit of kickback. Then there was lunch and cups of tea amid more interviews. The possibility of a (hugely outnumbered) skirmish never came about so we found ourselves with seven or eight cartridges left to dispose of, up on the fort wall and the Lucy came with us to see how it was done and unlike the poor artillery crew who repeatedly had misfires infront of the camera we got off a good number of shots and chatted away, she seemed keen to make sure the French got a good look in on the show. though maybe she was telling that to everyone. Then it was back to Brighton.

At London bridge some young guys asked me what was in the (gun) bag and were keen to have a look, which I had to decline of course, waving a gun around at London transport hubs is not generally appreciated. On the way up I had been asked what was in the bag by a security guy on the underground and had to get the musket out, he was fine about it and I suspect was more interested in having a look-see for himself. I carry my papers with me and have asked British transport police at work whether they had any issues with people with guns and were fine with it, as long as kept in a bag and being taken somewhere for a good reason.

Sunday morning I gave the gun a good clean and was particularly pleased to discover my brushes screw on to the non business end of the ramrod to clean the barrel out. I really enjoyed this, yes cleaning something can be fun! and intend to make it a morning after ritual after events. I suppose I should think of a name for my dear musket. Suggestions on a postcard.

The upshot of the filming seemed to be that they would be deciding whom to follow in later episodes of a show called 'Weekend warriors' at events over the year, including maybe wearing a shakocam at events... and to be shown to tie in with Waterloo 2015.  Watch this space!

The off season.

Winter. The off season.

Camping out in mid-winter is generally not-so-fun, nor are the public so keen to stand around in wellies and anoraks watching soggy Napoleonic soldiers pitifully trying to fire a volley in the rain. Indeed as I write this most of the fields of England are probably under water.  For these reasons winter is generally a quiet time.

Of course in continental Europe there are still events because historical dates are re-enacted, but upon these shores there is no such incentive to break out the waterproof shako covers and wrap rags around flintlocks.

Boozing, eating and dancing safely inside seems infinately more acceptable. My own regiment had it's AGM and meal/social with a quiz and other civilised frivolities. The Napoleonic association has a grand ball, and I am sure most other reenactment eras have there own dinner and dance/ho-down/Saturnalia/virgin sacrifice.. each to their own taste.

                                                                     A drunken shambles.

                                                                   Dignity personified.

For many it is also a time to create or repair worn out kit, pick up more gear and prepare for the year ahead.  I am pleased to report I now have my own habit (jacket) and musket and accessories. The whole saga of getting my black powder and then shotgun licence behind me I had the great fortune of being able to make payments on a pedasoli musket at a good price and collected it at said AGM. Mine all mine. My precious.

As with all things it is good to ask around. Derbyshire arms are the main suppliers of black powder weapons and equipment in the UK, and like many businesses I have found some speak very highly of them.. others not so, with deliver times often being long overdue... similarly my habit from Stitch in time seemed to be well admired and I had no problems with service whilst trusted chums had a mix of opinions when advising me where to buy one from. Many reenactment suppliers are real cottage industries and it seems to me you can often strike it lucky or fall foul of simply how much work the person has on and how much time they have and what there own supply situation is.  As I said before you tend to get what you pay for but there are still bargains to be had out there so don't always dismiss a bargain if a bit of research gets you some good reviews.. or at least a healthy mix. Nothing I have bought so far has really let me down, an advantage of cottage industries being these people are often involved with the hobby and care about what they do, but as humans things can sometimes still go awry.

                                          This is my musket. There are many like it but this
                                                                     one is mine.

For this year most of the bicentennial events are pretty early before the UK scene has really climbed out of bed and with no 'Big event' of the campaign like Leipzig was to 1813/2013.  So what might the year ahead bring?  Who knows.. I hope to get to Woolaton as it was my first event (less than a year ago, that seems really weird!) and have several other events marked down including a return to Dover and Eastbourne and a new event at Painshill which bodes well as a big gathering (and a joint birthday party) and maybe a trip to Belgium for Hoogstraten, I think an event abroad each year would be a grand plan.

En Avant! 2014!

LEIPZIG! the Big one. (Part Two)

The march began along a lane, thousands of men and women in a very long line, three or four abreast. Already people were watching and filming away, here and there an outbreak of singing. Across a road and onto a slope up to the field.. cresting the ridge the full scope of the battle area became apparent, it was over a mile to the far end, the opposed units were mere smudges on the horizon. Battalions filed into place and then.. lunch.  There was a good atmosphere but it was slightly tinged with a sense that orders would be filtering down.. with a bit of muddling through.  

Then the order to march! Soldiers struggled to their feet, only to be marched another 100 yards. This is also a great part of what things were like, also I had not worn a backpack before and could feel it pulling, especially where my musket rested, and the ploughed ground underfoot took extra effort to get along whilst remaining in file.

Away to the left a cavalry battle was swirling away, too distant to distinguish who was who. Cannons thundered on the horizon, you would have hoped they were not aimed at you. A soldier feels safe out of musket shot, almost in another world, but with artillery fire you can imagine the anguished sense of impotence at men dying around you and being unable to do a thing about it.
Light troops engaged ahead of us came running back, we crossed over the bridge to the other side of the field.

Suddenly shit got real. Prussians units were converging on us and two light field guns were brought up closer. We began firing and advanced.

This was perhaps my favourite moment. The band behind us struck up 'Le victoire et nous'.. one of my favourite tunes, a real fist waving piece, we were going forwards right into the enemy, you had to shout to make yourself heard. Volley fire began, I felt the shots singe my thumb, my mouth was dry with gunpowder, and then cavalry swept though between the Prussian battalions, hooves pounding as they galloped past mere feet away.  A real sensory overload! somewhere at the back of my mind the thought 'How the %$^£ did I ever end up here?' ran through my mind.

                                                            Taste the Awesome!

We then got charged by Prussian fusiliers, amid which a young Prussian officer told us we should be falling back. He got short shift, in a well meaning way. Soon though this proved the case. We went back over the bridge to reform a good way back. The village was on fire.

The only problem I had with firing was when I had started to load and then not had time to fire, I was unsure in the confusion a few moments later whether I'd got the charge in (and no one had told me you don't push the paper in for tap loading, I think its easy to forget what might be obvious when you are an experienced old hand). A comrade sorted it out though.

Back to the front!  Down to the river. The plan was for us to cross and the bridge would be blown up with us on the wrong side, but this never materialised, I can imagine several reasons why, logistics, getting people far enough from the blast in a battle, technical difficulties..   so we stood at the fore of the battle (at least on this wing) and traded shots.  Then the Bavarians ran, changed sides and disappeared over the bridge. On came a tidal wave of Austrians and it was all over for me.

The battle still ranged on for a while, the remaining French were pushed back up the field, and Napoleon made his escape...

Another thing you learn about the attitudes of the day is the animosities that come through.  The Old Guard get get paid ten times what the common soldier does yet often don't do the fighting, the Staff poncing about in the rear, at one point our cavalry rode past us, galloping to the rear and I thought 'It's alright for you, you're out of here!'   All in a nice way of course, but they arise out of sympathy for the men you represent.

Everyone got up, units reformed before the crowds.

                               Then came two minutes silence, and a single tolling bell.

All the battalions formed a column of march and left the field, along the line of the crowd who applauded all the way. Some units sang. We regularly shouted 'Vive l'Emporer' and ' Vive L'Leipzig!'

What a day it had been. The biggest reenachtment event ever, or so I am told. I doubt anything so bold will be seen until 2015. It gave me a whole perspective on the European scene and I loved meeting people from all over the world who all came together for this day in a big field in Saxony.  also that despite grand strategic notions and plans.. the common soldier knows absolutely nothing about why he is being sent forward or moved back again.. nothing but the twenty yards around him. His world is reduced to just a few comrades either side of him.

I will never forget that Sunday in October, 2013. 

LEIPZIG! the big one. (part one)

So the day finally came, when I booked the trip it seemed distant, now, here it was!

To cut a long story short I arrived in Leipzig about midnight, and sans luggage. Fortunately I was wearing my greatcoat over my whites, with gaiters, and a breadbag as handluggage (now rather stuffed) and my musket had been brought along by Duncan in a car, so I could always scrounge enough kit together to make it onto the field.

As many a soldier has done before I wondered between campfires asking if anyone knew where my regiment was.. 'aaah, a momente..' *gives cup, fills with brandy* 'No, I donta know."
(my big map and a spare phone battery were in my lost luggage btw) I was twice pointed in a rough direction of one of the other bivouacs and set off. Eventually however I turned back other than end up miles away. I should cut my losses, it would be easier in daylight with more people about.

I pitched into a pile of staw by a row of tents to sleep, the moon was bright and I pulled my greatcoat up to my face. A church bell chimed two o'clock.
A woke up now and then and then heard voices nearby, looking up at two greatcoated figures who seemed to be wondering if I was dead. They invited me to sit by their fire and as reveille was called they kindly offerred me breakfast. They were Russians (playing French, 33eme) and it was quite a breakfast, lentil soup with sausage, bread and cheese, black coffee and traditional Tenesse Whisky. I was quite set up for the day and quite moved by their kindness.

The Church by Touhaus Dolitz, just two minutes from camp, where Austrians and French fought for the bridge and surrounding houses on the 16th.

Setting off again I saw a group of Police and asked if they knew where 'Biwac drei was' (I now had a small map) they were not sure.. but put me in the back of a Police car.. and drove me to the Torhaus Dolitz, and here it was!    However the troops were about to march off for battalion drill and I just got to shout over a fence to my Officer what had happened and that I should sort luggage out and be here for afternoon practice.

I got back (still sans luggage) in time to meet up with the others and que at the 'field kitchen' for potato soup and a lunch bag for the next day. There was to be another practice as our brigage was very much le internationale and having units who had not drilled together before and speaking several different language had seemingly made the earlier practice not run as smoothly as the General would like.  I stayed behind with a comrade for a bit of 'shooting' practice/drill, having not been in a battle and loading/firing before. It is quite an experience and a joy to start, me, a firer at last! No more pretending. The flash and burn of powder. I never appreciated before the slight pause between pulling the trigger, the pan igniting, then the charge in the barrel going off. A couple of beers followed.

That evening (now with Luggage, I put my case in an Hessian sack to make it inconspicuous) :-) I was the guest of the Sappers and Miners and a couple of drinks, song and banter around the campfire. Joined occasionally by a plodding Norwegian on sentry duty (which goes on all night).  Turned in about eleven, stretched out under a table as a bit of momentary drizzel threatened rain. Slept like a log till about half six when a very loud cockeral woke everyone within a hundred yards up, no one actually shot it.

There was a great thrum of activity as breakfasts were finished and folk started to get into full kit and form up. Brigades formed at their alloted places and marched to the practice field where I believe Napoleon was meant to review the troops. However He was stuck in the traffic. Much milling about was done, watching units arrive. Marshal Ney appeared. So everyone formed a marching column and we were off to the battlefield!