Basing house

It was only a few days before Basing house that a change of plans made most of the weekend free so I could attend. It was a modest event and not many of our group were going but really that should be MORE reason to go. I also try to live by the idea of 'If in doubt, go!' In a YOLO sort of way, although that phrase had always confused me when I think about it.

If you only live once shouldn't you actually be really careful?

Basing house was once a magnificent complex of courtly buildings that started as a Roman site, then Norman, and reached  a it's height of splendour during the Tudor period but was beseiged and raised to the ground in the Civil war. There is a civil war reenactment of this most years but this weekend was Jane Austen weekend to mark 200 years since her death, with dance classes, book stalls, and some regency era soldiers of course, and two donkeys.

One of the great things about smaller events is you get to meet everyone you are working with.. some of the people there I have probably been at a dozen events with but if they are in the British camp with two hundred others and you won't know them from Tommy Atkins, but two days in the same tentline and a social evening and you'll know them well enough to say hello and catch up at other events.

After an inundation of breakfast offers on Sunday I went for a stroll, more people turned up, public and a couple more troops. Investigated the giant Lego model of Basing house in its prime.
Some of us then walked along the river to spread the word, it would have been rude to address the punters in the pub garden without having a drink of course. Hopefully a few decided to drop in post Sunday lunch.

We pushed on Sunday for a skirmish instead of another display and drummed up five French (two usually Brits but one had a French voltigeurs kit for the odd outing).. and an armed prison escape was on. Richard (who was to change sides) came into the obscure ruins to bring our soup and was overpowered and shot (out of sight) we then spread out around the enteance and bridge and opened fire on the surprised British in camp. Drums announced a patrol of Footguards would soon be joining us.

A couple of redcoats were down but numbers would soon tell. Despite a new flint I started to get misfires although you knew when they went off, big cartridges!  Quite by surprise the two British cavalry charged into the fray and I abandoned my musket to draw my sabre on them, seldom in life do you get to cross swords with men swirling around you on big horses.. and aaah, I went down.
It was a good scenario for the numbers we had and a nice bit of variety from the usual more formal battles.
Someone asked me if I wasn't worried about having two big horses swirling round me, sometimes horse can make you uneasy if they are skittish and you are not sure if they might try and pass straight through the spot you are standing on.. but you feel a certain confidence when you know both the riders and steeds know what they are about. In the UK most cavalry have their own horses but occasionally, and more so on the continent, people just hire a horse for an event and naturally it is dismayed to find itself in a field full of musketry, smoke and cannons. I think all the accidents I've seen have been at bigger continental events.

All in all a pleasant little event, possibly bigger next time if the organisers were happy although as mentioned weather and advertising didn't do it any favours. Bit of an odd event next, a music festival with just us adding a bit of colour, and doing a bit of crowd control and odd jobs! see you soon!

B r e t t a n 2

Truely I am falling into the reenactment calender, some events you want to do every year.. and July means getting on the coach for Bretten in Baden-Wurtemburg! sixteen hours across France, Belgium, Luxemburg.. where they have white chocolate and strawberry magnums... and into Germany for the Peter und Paul festival.

Group shopping trip, coach unpacked, camp and bar set up and it's time for a wander into town for a beer and an ice cream, my own new tradition, and learnt that Kubel is German for 'dollop' of ice cream.  "Ein eis mit Zwei kubel, ein Walnuss, und ein Malaga.' ends any confusion, although I still get ice cream on my hat.

                                                  

We were required on day one to all kneel before the Hauptman and the flag and take a solemn oath:

 'Do you all swear to serve the Bretten council and have a bloody good time doing it!?'

'YES."

The battles are a number of small encounters loosely telling the story of 1504 but no one would say the reenactment is a major part of the festivities just one of many draws on the menu. There is a lot going on and a lot of 1504 life of the craftsmen and guilds of the time, be they carpenters, radish farmers or even a few lepers, and a lot of flag twirling and drumming.

Whilst hardly a campaign weekend Bretten is to some extent an immersive experience, most of the town is so transformed that you really can be in the mindset of being a landskneckt for the weekend, its a life of swaggering about being armed in fancy togs, possibly half covered in bells to give notice and mark you out from the townsfolk, and eating and drinking and fighting. That evening at the Bretten camp/tavern there is a ceremony where those bringing large pieces of wood or bread up to a dignitary can be rewarded with a helmet full of beer and I managed to insinuate myself into being honourary helmet holder, I didn't think the offerings that great this year, no one struggled up with a tree truck, although it did mean there was enough for a free beer for me. We landskneckts don't do stuff for nothing you know!

This immersion was also why I insisted on keeping my Katzbalger (side sword) on at all times, it is a status symbol of our profession.

Not being on duty Saturday was largely a day of pottering about, and shopping, I bought a nice leather pouch to replace the linen money bag I had to keep wrestling with, and sometimes losing, and of course MORE BELLS, three separate ones and a string of them for my other leg, and a fridge magnet. Random act of German kindness this weekend was walking up for what Id taken to be a small bar and asking for a beer only to discover, drink being handed over, that it was just someone's tent. 

Volunteered again for being amongst the Surgeon's cases, this years padding being chicken instead of raw pork, although still bound in ham.  Doing this means fighting in the first attack before being cruelly struck down.. and staggering into the arms of a helpful frau and ushered to the surgical station and doing lots of screaming. I don't mind missing most of the fighting as I still find it a strange mix of polite 'to me, to you, to me!' paddling and a minority of people who actually want to win like someone actually cares. Most of my comments from 'Mush' about willing co-operation still stand except you do have a limited degree of autonomy on whether you get killed early or late.. or not at all if it is your day.. because being stabbed requires a quite dramatic response whilst no one really knows where a musket ball has gone.

(incidentally my renaissance EU brooch proved popular and I may have to make half a dozen for folk if I can find a good source of brooches).

Still on the subject of food and drink one of my favourite moments of the weekend was being one of our group invited to the Herring and potatoes breakfast. This is actually all homemade and in the courtyard of someone's house which makes it even more intimate and whilst I had my doubts about cold fish and beer for breakfast when I woke up it all proved superb and I may have to put herring on the shopping list. 

Instead of march, wait, march. wait, march, wait, march.. this year was only a short march, one long wait, and a long march all in one go, with lovely crowds lining the way. 

A gun with a history, when the festival was (re)started back in the 50's there was an abandoned WWII 88mm anti-aircraft gun that they cannibalised to make the barrel of this cannon.

Nightlife.

As well as acrobats there were several bands on, a few modern ones over in the Markt platz and some authentic ones by the Church including a Balkan band with bagpipes that saw a lot of mantic swirling.

Tavern rules. Hats must be worn. no phones. No smoking. (yes, I did have to use my phone to take a picture of the no phones sign.)

A lovely couple watch the sun rise!

Heroes! some of the intrepid and hard working tavern staff still smiling after three days of it! (hopefully with some time of for their own fun)

and so it was time to clamber onto the bus for the long drive home. At Calaise I was actually worried that the sadly destroyed loins of my trousers might be an issue but nothing was said. Can they be saved? no.. but yes.. project for next year is to chop them up into a slashed pair with a different colour underneath, and maybe one pink lower leg on the left side. Also a bling gold chain to show my wealth and a peacock feather to show my affiliation with the Holy Roman Empire... or maybe a (faux) furry tail. These look quite cute but were not anything to do with the renaissance furry club and were actually meant to draw fleas away from your own clothes/body and into the tail.

                                     
   Back on Brighton race hill, the end, until 2018 although there may be a UK event next June as towards the end of the Wars of the roses some European mercenaries were 'invited' to come over and fight and were best known for a battle near Stoke field, however the trials of the campaign saw most of them dead before long, but long enough to get a look in on some British battlefields and so I might get the old yellow-and-red out twice next year and invite some of our German/Swedish friends over here.

                                                                  Tschuss!

MUSH

Many moons ago when the internet was relatively young, there was a thing called a MUSH.. a multiple user shared halucination. A game basically set in whatever background the players wanted, like Star Wars for instance.
Reenactment is a lot like a mush because it relies on willing participation of a great number of people any of whom could go out of character/setting and off on a random tangent, it was also mainly run by narrative agreement, no one could knock your character unconscious for instance unless you went along with them doing it, You have to play the game, be part of a bigger story but still with some leeway to act individually. We are all here to have fun.

In reenactment nothing is really enforced by law (unless it is unsafe). I have never seen anyone refused from taking part due to poor kit but this is because people want to support the hobby and experience the life, including proper gear, and maybe I have been fortunate in my experience.
 If you see a packet of hobnobs on your camp table do you..
A) Cover them up because they are spoiling it for your sense of time/place.
B) Cover them up for the public really, it's expected of the group.
C) Leave them because you are having lunch and people shouldn't have to do things at lunch. like at work.
D) Put a pair of jeans and a tee shirt on and sit and eat the biscuits. if you are not being in reenactor mode people shouldn't mind (see Jena 2016) and your fellows are probably too polite to tell you to go elsewhere. 

                                         Sentiment good, but you've still spoilt that photo!

Playing the game is meeting a certain standard and taking part seriously.. yet also not TOO seriously. Your not really in the army, respect your officer but remember his name is Gary and he's a shoe salesman from Norwich.

I have also had members of the public say that some groups are friendly to the public whilst others blank them completely, I have seen this, seems to differ from unit to unit. Sometimes people are busy, some people are shy, but this should seldom reflect on the whole group. if you are all making rounds up have one person tell those loitering public what you are doing and why. They have come to see you. 

This weekend gone we fought several units of Austrians and they played the game well. They knew what was required of them and when they had to take casualties and be thrown out of the town, that is exactly what happened. They did it with a (concealed from the public) smile and didn't need repeated assaults before making a reluctant retreat. No one is going to think less of your unit and its pretend fighting skillz because in the officer's meeting that morning it was decided that unit x would be beaten up. If you want to play to win go and do airsoft. This is more like theatre with a bit of improv than a sport.

                                                         We are all here to have fun, that does not mean lowering standards, but remembering why you are here and why people come along to shows. There is a hazy wall between whatever century you are in and the rest of the world, sometimes it must be broken for the public, sometimes for other reenactors, the challenge is knowing when it is the right time.

                                                              Play the game!

Significant other.

Another question I have found often posed, usually from other reenactors, is... 'So, your wife not interested in coming along?'

This is usually met with a faltering 'Er... no.' as I choose where to begin, it is usually with the camping bit. When we were younger we went camping a few times but the appeal began to wain for her, especially after one particularly wet weekend in Dorset, trying to get the tent set up in a downpour. Now we have a bit more disposable income there is these things called 'Hotels'.

She also has no real interest in Napoleonic history, I know there is the 'Jane Austen' card that some suggest as a means of getting those not interested in cannons and cartouches involved (for Napoleonic period), possibly with fancy dancing and dresses thrown in.. but then I'm not interested in that bit either! and I don't recall Elizabeth Bennet sitting on a log by the campfire with a tankard of grog. Nor is she interested in being a soldier.

Are we too late for the Jane Austen weekend?

Also if she did come along she'd need food and a tent, a proper Napoleonic tent, which is quite an investment even before camp bed, lantern, flatscreen television, etc.. and where do I go? I like sleeping outside which would be a bit odd if your partner is sleeping in a tent five feet away, and eating separately.

She did come to the AGM and met people, enough to get an impression, and takes an interest in my tales from the front line and who is who.. but has no desire to be part of those stories involving mud, smoke, sweat, mishaps, turnips and year old biscuits.

'Are we having fun yet?'

Also as another non-partner bringing comrade put it she recognizes that THIS IS MY THING. I go off and run around with guns and swords and see friends, have a couple of drinks and a sing song, get away from normal life, wander around the country and the camp, come back and then be put in a hot bath.

.                                                  

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!