So where did we leave it, ...think it was my views on the Falklands Conflict wasnt it. Well i'll lighten the blog this time and tell you about the fun of being a military re-enactor....
Theres a wealth and diversity of different eras and various branch of arms to volunteer for as a re-encator these days, ...from picts to romans, from vikings to normans, from robin hood to dads army, or you can even join the ranks of Darth Vaders Imperial Stormtroopers. I plumped for the REDCOAT, that icon of the british soldier from Wellingtons 'scum of the earth' to the heroes of Rorkes Drift. It offered the romance, the glamour, the pride and the chance of firing a big old smokey musket with a sharp piece of metal stuck on the end.
Well it was none of these, apart from the gun bit, it turned out to be tiring, sweaty, uncomfortable, dirty, noisy and sometimes embarrassing when things all went to ratshit, but it WAS FUN. Especially the bit in between the live action stuff, there was the drinking and the revelry, the meeting of others all sharing stories and jokes, and sometimes even girls....yes girls.
The above chaps are from the same group i joined, the Old Faithfuls, the 68th Durham Light Infantry. I joined them in 2000 when i was separated from my wife and had time on my hands to indulge myself in spurious hobbies, it was something i suppose i had harboured from the time i tried to join the armed forces, but here you could live in another time warp. They were a mixed bunch, some young ones and more older types, again with probably time on their hands now that the kids had left home, mostly from around the gateshead area, although they were other pointless members from overseas and down south, but they hardly ever attended any meetings or events. It was a close friend who was already a member who invited me to a curry night they were having, this i thought would be a good time to meet them. Hmm, lets see, put these three things together and what do you get, Geordies+drink+curry...?
Yes it just turned into a rave, but it was a start, i agreed to join and see them at their next drill session, i musta been pissed!
Pissed on duty again......Now the thing about pretending to be a historical soldier is that you are not really a soldier. You may have the weapons, you may have the uniform, you may have the knowledge, but you cannot live the life, or the hardships or the terror of fighting for your life against an enemy trying to kill you. Now i'm not a slim, lythe, panther type of person, more a Gnu rolling around in mud, and i thought i looked the bees-knees in my bright new red Camblewick Green toy soldier uniform. That is until i saw a photo of myself my sister took at an event, and then all my pride and confidence just drained away, i looked more like the Fat Controller! I couldnt be a Napoleonic redcoat, i took my re-enacting seriously and there would not be an 18st foot of the line soldier, - just no way!
Now i have attended many, many events and seen the historical context of various battles or regiments been made a mockery of. To really expect the public to see how the soldier of long ago looked, fed, slept and fought then we've got to be true to their memory and history, and its NOT seeing girls taking the part of men (its not a sexist thing, just purity one) or Saxons wearing i-pods, or 20 stone Waffen SS men. The organisers and secretary's of these groups need to put their foot down and tell people when they are not doing justice to the dedication of the group, i'm not saying that they cant be an active member of the group, but something that would be in context of their appearance. Well, thats my rant and opinion out the way.
See see, look in the books, a FAT AIRBORNE PARA?, ....sorry it just aint right!A particularly memorable event was when the group was invited to a multi-national re-enactment in Sarzana, Italy. It was June 2001, a vary hot month in northern Tuscany, not the best time to be running around in heavy woollen tunics and carrying 40lbs of kit, even worse when you are fat - it was a four day thing, with two days spent travelling, but it was only gonna cost each member £20 and it sounded a once in a lifetime event, so off we trot. Now we were told that we were to be lodged in a castle, which sounded great.. but, as we were the last to arrive we found that the only place left was in the deepest bowels of the castle, - in the dungeon, no hot running water, towels or maid service, but free moss, rats and slimy wet walls. Those damn frenchies had nabbed our rooms and the sunloungers too, still we all pulled together and with a spring clean, some fresh flowers and plenty of straw on the floor it almost felt cozy, then it was time for pasta and wine. Too much wine. Far, far too much wine.
We had to be up at the crack of dawn to start the days events, but after a long coach journey, hardly any sleep and then too much free aclohol we could barely get out of our pits to go for a piss. But being English i felt we had to be an example, so my close friend, Paul, and i eventually roused ourselves and decided to go for a shower and do the morning toiletries. Unfortunately we wern't the only ones to over-indulge the previous night and we found the only bath/shower was half full of regurgitated pasta, lasagne, pizza, some unknown hungarian dishes and copious amounts of wine, beer, lager and probably piss. So the shower was out, a quick handbasin wash down made do, ..oh the joys of living on the road. Anyway time for a good hearty British deposit, ....alas the toilet, shared by over 50 poor souls was in no fit state to be used, I almost decided to use the basin again until Paul recommeded a tried and trusted method, over the castle walls. So we climbed up to the ramparts found a good spot between the castellations and bombs away, ah it almost felt like heaven to be sat there with the beautiful morning sunrise peeping over the hills and not a care in the world, and hoping a frenchie would pop his head out of a windown down below!
Sarzana Castle, beautiful to look at, shit to live in,The main event of the weekend was taking place in the town below, with the French attacking us and beating us all the way back to the castle which was about 2 miles away. Apart from us we had Dutch, Austrian, German, Italian, Polish, and obviously French attendees, and we all got on famously well with very little malcontent. On the retreat back to the castle the English force kept the enemy off with a fire and run manoevre, all the time retreating back to the castle which stood on quite a steep hill about 300 feet above the town. At about a mile from safety we all ran out of ammo, so we took to our bayonets, then we saw a hoard of screaming cavalry come thundering down on us, so we turned and asked the captain should we form a square, but we were in the middle of a narrow street and he just looked at us and said 'No! SCARPER, every man for himself', so complete panic ensued which left me in fits of laughter and in fact I was the last to get back there. I was so knackered that i let the french army walk pass me, much to the jeers (friendly) and taunts of the foot soldiers, a friendly dutch soldier eventally walked the last half mile or so with me and shared his spare canteen which was full of brandy, ..ah by the gods it was finally worth it. Good memories and something i will never forget.
I would recommend anybody wanting to take part in re-enactment to go for it, its a tremendous learning curve, hard work but bloody good fun. I might go back to it once i have lost some weight, but what period?, i quite like the WW1 tommy, ...or maybe WW2 paras, ...or maybe 'Nam, theres just too much choice, by the time i decide it will probably have to be the Home Guard!
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