Postcards from Malta.

        Postcards from Malta.

                                             

Malta, an island stuffed with history including the world's earliest free standing buildings, and between 1798 and 1800 the scene of a French landing as Napoleon popped in on the way to Egypt leading to a subsequent two year occupation until being cut off from France and the valiant defenders had to give in.

Instead of recounting the whole week I'll break it down into a few subjects, starting with my first experience of going on a plane with a gun.

It did seem a faff and a bit daunting, but it all worked out well.
The first step was selecting excess baggage; sports equipment; firearms. Both there and back again.
The air Malta website said you had to inform them 72 hours before travel and a police escort was required.
Was this as well as booking a firearm or did that count as informing? Also was a police escort needed both sides?  I called Sussex Police and they had never heard of it but just said ''follow whatever it says''.  Turns out it was only Malta side and with over 500 reenactors going they were on standby.
There were eleven guns on the flight so we all got grouped together and had to one by one go into an office and show the officer our papers and the serial number on the gun then have loading crew come and take them onwards. This included a dummy musket, I suppose it takes same space and they need to check it is a dummy.

At the other end were the police who met the muskets as they were received and again serial numbers were checked, but it was a little less formal and quicker. On the way back it was repeated but the Malta guys were not bothered about serial numbers which was good as it's a pain getting them in and out of a hardcase with other gear. The Police were very friendly and the main firearms guy was working overtime to cope with us all. So it was all okay, if more time consuming. Outside we were loaded into an army truck and taken to the drop off point between the two 'camps'.

Life in Fort St Angelo.  

This was my digs for the week. A massive fort built up over the ages on an ancient site and besieged in 1565 and bombed in WWII and now I had the honour of sleeping on its floor. My first three nights were in a little look out tower overlooking the escarpment up to the entrance, which was cool but sometimes a bit noisy due to the street and people on the massive posho yachts below. So I retreated to an alcove further in for the second half of the week.

The fort was a bit over subscribed, I opted to sleep out but bodies kept appearing throughout the first few days, the rooms actually felt a bit stuffy, might have had the small blessing of being mosquito free however. For a change I used the showers, hose pipes in a tunnel with cold water but still very welcome and made you feel most revived after a long day! one shower was at two a.m. after being woken up by bad pop music.

Helping with logistics I was quite annoyed by the attitude of a few of the people in the fort, the organisers were trying their best but stuff was often late, such as water, this was a re-enactment event run by reenactors, not a business you paid for.  listening to someone complaining that there group had no water I just wanted to tell them that if they were that desperate get two of your men to walk five minutes down the road and buy a few bottles to tide you over, what are you? Children?! Call yourselves soldiers!? use some initiative!

Walking into Valetta after the Philomena battle, the scenery really made me think that this wasn't Kansas anymore, must of been pretty gruelling for a campaign with 18th century logistics.

Could be Egypt!

The Battle of Mistra bay. Because of an eye injury caused by some gritty sand getting caught in my eye I only did the Tuesday and Wednesday battle, local health centre sorted it but it was a bit of a rough night on Friday. 

This battle was memorable indeed, we marched round a sandy coastal track to the base of a sloping hill that was covered in broken ground, all shrubs, thorns and white ragged rocks, really no gaps between the three and occasional small seams/chasms near the cliff face.. oh did I mention one flank was a cliff dropping into the sea below? 

We started by swinging round and advancing on a building/ditch held by the Maltese and traded a few vollies before a brief charge where I nabbed an enemy hat (which I duely returned). This was repeated and I noticed the fray only went up to a low wall so ran along it to get behind the defenders, who then surrendered.

Rock hopping up the hill whilst trying to remain in formation was interesting. ''staighten the line!' er no, there is two foot hole full of cactus! Half way up it seemed the enemy were finished and many sat in defeat on the rocks. But no, we were off again against a fighting retreat with pot shots against us

from the bluffs.

Then began a long march, the sort that becomes a chore but in retrospect you remember more warmly. I think a twenty minute wait in ranks riled more people as at least whilst moving you think each step is getting you somewhere. Finally, a town square! Civilisation, food, drink, steps to sit on, local music and a conga!

Malta itself. I've never been to Malta before and very much enjoyed it. The architecture is fantastic, sandstone mostly, with balconies, and towers and engravings, and nearly everything is at least three or four floors to maximise space. At almost any time of the day you will hear bells or cannons, dont ask why. Culture seems a blend of the best parts of Italian and English. England of course occupied Malta right up to the last century and red phone boxes, three pin plug sockets, zebra crossings, etc bare this out. Most signs are in English and even I didn't feel bad just speaking it as first language, instead of a token fail at the lingo.

Food involved a lot of bread and pasties, the main source of carbohydrate, when goats cheese, fish and salad seemed another theme. You need stuff to keep you going, I thought I was eating well but lost weight in just a few days.

Cisk (ch-isk) is the local beer and the default if you are not fussy, sorry selective.. to me it had a plastic tang but was tolerable if served very cold. I preferred the Farsons light ales (same company). Kinnie is also a must try, a soft drink of orange and herbs, rather flowery with a hint of dandelion and burdock.

Weather was hot! You can begin a walk feeling fine but after ten minutes get a drop of sweat run down your face, two minutes later you'll be perspiring head to foot.  There was often a cool breeze of the sea and the tall buildings shade the streets.

Public transport is cheap, but the island has a problem with so many cars on a small island, if a ferry is an option go by sea! 

A day with the Royal marines (Czech/German group).

Dawn over the battlements, looking out to sea for over 2000 years.

Conclusion: a great time overall, nice to fight on different terrain Vs a more irregular enemy. Overall felt more like a holiday with friends in hats than a campaign, but then I was signed off for a bit. Would happily go back, I didn't really get to see the local museums, this was a big event, twenty years since the 200th anniversary but smaller events occur every now and then. 

Sitting here now I'd love to just teleport back for a stroll, or a water taxi, into town for a beer, even if it was a Cisk.

To Arms at Four Arms.

Such a long time, eight months! as last season ended a bit early and this one started a bit late.

                                                             QUATRE BRAS!

or as I have seen it too often 4 Bras, what is that? text speak? are we going to have Wtrloo 2020 or Lpzg?

The actual battle was on 16 June whilst to the East Napoleon fought the Prussians at Ligny, having been given a drubbing here Wellington fell back to a little place called Waterloo.

For us it was a great site based around a period barn not far from the crossroads with the remains of a wall and impressive gate, the barn itself was huge and had the tavern and a stage set up in it.

The line of trees at the top end of the camp I came to call the rain trees as I made my bed there on the first night, which was a bit of a nippy one, and woke up a couple of times thinking it was raining but it was just the breeze in the trees, others thought this also.

After breakfast, powder collection, filling cartridges and a browse at the traders it was drill on an amusingly sandy, bumpy, ploughed field.
Since last autumn I have had what turned out to be 'Frozen shoulder' on the left. Still I could load and fire a musket without much impediment, or so I thought until after about half an hour of drill.
it's common to get a slight ache from carrying a musket at porte arms.. over the left shoulder but this was a proper pain possibly because the arm has been used less but it felt like a bit more than that and when I moved to advance with bayonet forward I physically couldn't reach the right point with my left arm and wavered, for most of the time after that it was my right arm baring the weight. I will have to see how it goes.

Many of us had been looking forward to a long route march with a skirmish but those going would have been split up into two other units, one of which was lead by an Officer some of us have no respect for.. so as a unit we did a commemoration instead. Everyone on the bus! 

Later, the first battle! It was good to see so many Dutch-Belgians and Brunswickers.. although for a while it was just hearing them as the fighting raged beyond the crest.

The cannons boomed and everything was hazed with smoke. The British appeared marching to join the battle.. and we were also advanced down the slope to meet them. Who won Quatre Bras is debatable, often cited as a French strategic victory as the allies were forced to retreat but as an allied tactical victory as there was no breakthrough. For me Ney's inactivity in the morning when the outnumbered largely Dutch-Belgian force could have been overwhelmed cost the whole campaign.

It was played out quite well, the allies retreating from the field but the French in no rush to get forward, I wonder how the same battle would have gone as a UK reenactment.

Another misty morning and a but more leisurely, still more drill.

Again to battle, the calm before the storm of sitting or standing in a corn field, bar a few guns we were first brigade up, it was by now very sunny and when the battle started we were soon advancing.

Vollies were traded and we went forward, being in the front rank I didn't see the rest of the column behind me but the whole French attack rolled down the hill to smash a thin line, and then..

You know the end of Month Python and the holy grail? It was a bit like that, the bloke representing Ney and his entourage got between us and a few riflemen and went ' Non, non, this is not in the script! Turn round, go back to going back and forth. You can't do something that interesting! (n.b. They didn't really say this, nor was he shot by the rifles about five yards behind him).

I had decided to become a casualty near the end, next time a skirmisher popped off a shot.. but each time there was a misfire.. click! and so I lived to see another day.

I have one of those burnt in memories of the cavalry racing up the slope as some infantry marched down just by them.. but the pictures don't do justice, no motion and.. you can really see they are a motley bunch except for a few dragoons and one of them is a reversed colours musician.. it was a bit like that with our own headwear.. a handful of blue pom poms.. a red plume, some red chords, no pom pom, a narrow green and yellow plume and a bog brush of a yellow and green one seemingly randomly scattered! I don't mind plumes as a subsection but imagine onlookers going 'Why has that one guy got that big thing on his head?' I have heard it said that plumes were expensive and for best parades and wouldn't normally be worn into a battle, but there you are.

Unfortunately for the 21eme there coach got stuck in the sand, digging itself in as a storm approached. Volunteers were called for.

I decided to pay a call on the British officers to solicit more help and they were more than obliging, although I wasn't amused at jokes suggesting I'd been dodging manual work, I got far more muscle involved than my own! 

Sadly all the pushing in the world, or at least in a small part of Belgium, could not triumph and a recovery vehicle was summoned.

Those obliged to wait in uncertainty at least got to join the rest of us in Free beer from the tavern for everyone, everything must go! 

'Stefan is thirsty.'

Beards came up a few times, the Dutch and Brunswickers in particular seemed to have a lot of big beards. Which can be controversial.

..and so the weekend drew to a close and we drove West.. next event in two weeks.. SOUTH.. very much south.. to Malta 1798-1800. Crikey, it seemed so far away when first mentioned and now, a week and a half! stay turned.

The forbidden subject, shhhhh!

On October 15 there was an American civil war reenactment at a place called Middletown, eighty miles west of Washington. It would have been a fairly typical event, as many that had been held there over the years. Except this year threats of physical violence had been sent to attending groups in an attempt to keep people away. It didn't work, despite a suspected pipebomb being removed, and the two sides came together in a particularly fond embrace, shaking hands and singing each others songs. They wanted to send a message that their hobby would not be stopped by terrorist threats or politics. They were not there because of politics, nor would contemporary politics stop them.

This was part of the ongoing conflict of interests about confederate flags and symbolism in America, after Charlotteville, where ACW reenactors have been quick to point out that no one there was a reenactor. Sadly however there were people there waving nazi flags and KKK flags right next to those with confederate flags.. and the latter didn't seem to mind. This paints a bad picture for anyone else who flies the flag.  The issuer of the threats above of course seemed to find both camps viable targets so what was the problem? the Washington post referred to the unknown faction as being an 'Anti history group'.  As I write I see an event at Mannasas has just been cancelled.

Could similar happen over here? I have never known people to be so divided into two vague camps, the right wing is on the rise with Germany and Austria now having members of dodgy groups sitting in Government, and clashes between left and right sure to escalate, could a backlash see WWII German reenactors being assailed or not invited to third party events? or Victorian British or Prussians? Parlimentarians? Soviets?

Wherever there is a large mix of people meeting for a non political reason there will be a nationalist here or there, reenactors are generally interested in military history as a common ground. This can be nerdy and also involve toy soldiers as well as social history or sometimes it could be an ex military bloke, still following the flag and possibly taking things a bit too seriously.

Until the age of social media members of a reenactment group could be meeting up a dozen times a year for events and all having a great time together yet possibly not know what a fellow really believes in or what party they follow. Politics and religion: Generally a no go subject around the camp fire.

But when your facebook friend-through-reenactment suddenly posts up a UKip poster and shares a fake news story about an 'innocent white man' being sent to prison for twenty years for leaving a bacon sandwich within half a mile of a Mosque..  its facepalm time. What do you do next time you meet them and they sing 'Ich haben ein Kameraden'? or even 'Rule Britannia'..   Break into 'Le international'?

As well as politics now there is politics then. In any era I would chose the army closer to my own ideals and for some this is a must do, for others a complete irrelevence.
Take the English civil war, many soldiers will have been drummed into the local forces whether Royalist or Parlimentarian or because their peers were signing up, if professional soldiers it could be fighting for who ever holds the purse strings.. but for some as for a would be re-enactor they have to decide, for some it is a political choice.. I doubt many present day republicans choose to fight for the King, even one that has been dead for over 300 years.

I remember seeing a news feature on the anniversary of the death of Charles I and a reenactment group was on hand, some of whom were interviewed and one woman was adamant that the foul parlimentarians had MURDERED King Charles, it was no act, she seemed really angry at those F&^%ing roundhead scum. It was personal.

I am a 'fan' of many things German/Austrian.. and sympathise with regular German WWII soldiers who were conscripted and whose families could suffer if they didn't show proper commitment to the Reich, these things are seldom simple as good guys and bad guys, but I would not wear a WWII German uniform now, maybe once, but not now.

One step up, or down, from that is SS reenactors. Even other re-enactors often shake their heads and say why?  given the examples above I will always have that doubt about motivation, you chose that uniform when you could have been Luftwaffe field division, paratroopers or regular army? They must get it in the neck all the time from the public and sit around the fire bemoaning how misunderstood the poor waffen SS really were.  Yet we must not forget that there were the SS in the historical reality of course. They do have some quite nice gear, and tanks, much cooler tanks, but still, NO. I realise now I have started thinking in my David Mitchell voice, obviously thinking of Daryl the Peep show Nazi.

So yes politics is usually avoided within the hobby, but not always possible, like when you are travelling with nine people in a minibus on election Day or fifteen hours on a coach with thirty people a few days after Brexit, going to an event in Europe and wondering how difficult it might become, goodbye EU health cover, open borders and Firearms passes... You can claim to 'not do' politics but politics will still 'Do you'.

                                          

Reenactment is a great hobby, with many open minded people from all walks of life, many find getting away from it all for a few days a huge part of it. No news, no TV, little or no social media, and like the Union and Confederate soldiers on October 15, let everyone come together on one side. 

The contest is over, but let the history live on.

Swinging 60s.

So another period to be ventured into, so how does American civil war (ACW) reenactment differ from Napoleonic or indeed medieval/renaissance?

Popular culture suggests ACW is very popular and the event this weekend was said to have been the largest event of its kind for years yet was probably about as big as Hole park, itself the biggest UK event for Napoleonics.. so that notion probably owes a lot to American media whose go to reenactor is a simple ACW guy.
It was agreed to have been a great event, two societies, Soskan (The southern skirmish association) and ACWs (American civil war society) working together and both having encouraged new comers to come along as guests and give it a go seems a good way to put on a bigger show and bring in new blood.

I think I mentioned before that I have a theory that British reenactors have an ingrained idea that the army is about standing to attention, respecting your officers, keeping a stiff upper lip etc all from exposure to TV and films and the likes of trouping the colour in the UK and that this is a contributing factor to why the French Napoleonic camp has a reputation for being more relaxed. We are free of those conceptions.

All of ACW stuff is a bit like that. It's not British (or German) and they are volunteer armies of citizen soldiers, often poorly supplied, fighting for democracy. Rank distinctions in the Confederate army were particularly hard to tell, everyday duties seemed to just organise themselves.

More people want to be Confederate. Why? I feel the popularity of being Confederate is about the mood and the dressing up box. To an Englishmen it's more exotic, more wild west, and the poor supply gives more leeway in clothes and equipment. To some the south is romantic, the union is a more regular army. With shoes and everything. The elephant in the room is slavery but people do subscribe to the 'it was about southern rights and secession' argument. Right, yeah. But politics didn't come up. Most people I know from Napoleonics were Confederate, maybe they'd spent all their money on fancy kit for that.

The groups I camped with in the trees were fond of using the term 'Progressive' to describe what they do, living like we did at the campaign weekend except for them it is every event. Progressive was also used for anything going a bit further than usual.. want to give out handbills to people? You could print them off from your computer.. or you could actually construct a working printing press and use that instead.. that would be progressive. However there was a faction amongst them who felt women should stick to historical female roles and also that no Union troops/people should be admitted to the Confederate camp, it's all got to be that real. I wonder if as they get older and fatter they will give up in the name of authenticity? Wouldn't be a lot of people left!

One thing I'm not so keen on, may be the music. I don't mind the fiddle, which can be emotive and soulful as well as frenetic but the whole banjo yeehay! cotton eye Joe thing does make me grimace somewhat. Dixieland always makes me think of excitable old men having a hoe down at a wedding.

Will I be doing ACW again? Yes I hope so, looking forward to seeing calender for next year. Will I continue as a war correspondent? Maybe.
It was fun to be an independent civilian without military duties or timetable or rank although there was a bit of a lull on Saturday. Sketching was a good way to spend time.
Normally reenactors don't take on an almost role play identity, they are themselves as generic soldiers or whatever their role, but as a civilian and a new guy it seemed appropriate.
If I could be in any ACW unit it would be the Zouaves, I love the big red trousers and uniforms copied as a military fashion from French colonial troops but sadly, and perhaps strangely for people who like dressing up, there are no zouave units in the UK.

I had been in correspondence with a few folk about joining up, a challenge was I can not get another firearm without getting a big cabanet which is impractical so I need a non infantry soldier role, or borrow a rifle every time, which is also a drag. Artillery? Musician? Medical corp? The latter seems most likely.. especially as I may have taken advantage of a fellow selling old kit....

and so ends the season, which means things may be quieter here but I do have some musings I may yet choose to pour forth, until then Au revoir!

Our man in the field, part two.

The Battle of Antietam, part two by Wilhelm Schmetterling (see previous edition for part one). 

Roll calls sounded once more, I wondered how much shorter some of those lists of names were on this misty Sunday morning. Chewing stale bread I wandered along the leafy lane into the main camp, with an optimistic coffee cup. I was not disappointed by the Texans, whose coffee did not contain the whole coffee beans like that brewed in camp 'You have to drink it with your teeth' I was told.  By a long perambulation I took myself over to the federal camp in order to secure some more sketches.

It certainly seemed hostilities were to be resumed, and I again met with the excellent and well provisioned medical corp and tagged along as they surveyed the ground where it was believed the rebs might try to resolve the business began just yesterday. Drums rolled and bugles called again. I dashed north as it was my intention to be on the other side of the fence today, in the company of Southerners.

Like drops of oil flowing together the Confederates formed up, the droplet I was with were my camp mates, and they sang lustily as we marched to form up. Then the long wait that I wanted to last forever yet also be over with, even more so I wanted someone to blow a whistle and announce the war was over. You can all go home. But no, we were soon marching to more carnage.

A long, sunken road ran parallel to another corn field. I almost choked when I realised this was the very ground I had looked over with the medical staff and we were approaching just where they said we would, should I say something? Were the Yankees just waiting to fire? We stopped, lining the road, then the tips of union colours were seen baring through the cornfield. A wild cry went out as the first men in dark blue appeared, along with sharpshooters in green, who met their opposites. Three Union cannons also opened fire.

                               

To be near a shell that impacts the soft earth is a strange thing, the initial blast is like the clap of a hand, a puff of smoke, black at its heart, throwing debris in a circle and gone before you can react. Then from above gravity brings down the clods of matted earth and then your eyes sting at the final act of thin soil floating back to earth. I was glad of my spectacles and saw men with eyes watering from having looked up too soon.

The company ahead could not stand the weight of fire, fallen men were dragged back into the corn into which the foray was disappearing, a lull in the storm. 

But what was that against a fence but a federal flag, just there, a hundred yards away. 'Go on Jimmy!' a man shouted and a lad in a slouch hat was running into the open land between the lane and the field, the cornfield from which a hundred guns might be poised to fire at any moment. As he drew close and seised the flag the cheering increased, was he going to make it? Back he ran with the cumbersome prize, a shell falling in his path, but no rifles sounded. He was here, he did it. Jimmy was a hero at that moment and what joy there was on his young face.

Drums quietened the moment, they were coming back, beneath the green flags of the Irish brigade. The intensity of the fire seemed to increase as the already depleted southern ranks were whittled away like one louder voice drowning out another. All alone the line which began as three ranks deep there were empty spaces or single men loading and firing, loading and firing, until the blue ranks had such an advanatge as to know a charge would win them the field, and so it was, I removed myself to a gap at the end of the lane and saw the Union troops break into a run that ended the last shred of resistance. The battle of Antietam was over. 

What was it all for? You may be aware by now that it was reported as a Union victory as the next day General Lee's army moved away south and that urged to give a heady pursuit General McClellan went exactly nowhere. 

As for myself I boarded a train, to a hotel with a type writer and a hot bath. I sit here now and reflect on the horrors I have seen but also on the nature of courage and I remember men laughing and joking. 

Laughter lost in the maelstrom.

Wilhelm Schmetterling, Maryland, USA.