NEWSLETTER, Spring 2018.
A new season is upon us, with Malta and Quatra Bras looming large in our sites and Farnborough abbey and Hole park being big UK events. Everyone should have completed all their travel and registration details by now, if not you'd better act quick!
A write up of Ickworth was going to be the centre piece of this issue but alas this weekend was cancelled due to flooding at the site (pictured above), so you will have to make do with some off season events and promises of things to come and a warm welcome to all our new members! and note I've been having a few formatting problems so forgive any odd spaces on these pages.
Congratulations must go out to Darren and Kat for their up and coming wedding, What a fantastic couple!
Congratulations must go out to Darren and Kat for their up and coming wedding, What a fantastic couple!
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Training day and Drill school
Coinciding with Worcester reneactors weekend many of the 45e went through the paces, brushing off the cobwebs of winter and getting into step. Left foot forward!
Training day and Drill school
Coinciding with Worcester reneactors weekend many of the 45e went through the paces, brushing off the cobwebs of winter and getting into step. Left foot forward!
Hard at work.
Then it was officers and NCOs at the ecole militaire converting French drill books into reality. Good luck with that!
"Non, on page 211 it says 3.5 paces adroit!"
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Davide of Basingstoke.
One of our long serving and much loved Soldats passed away recently, David Willian Horn, and was laid to rest at the beginning of March.
20th June 1951 - 12th February 2018.
Stories of Dave will doubtless be told as long as the 45eme are still marching. I was enthralled to find out that in his pre-re-enactment days our esteemed Captain Miles once met a smartly dressed young member of the Imperial guard standing to attention and deftly fielding questions from the public such as Duncan saying 'So what is this re-enactment business all about?'.. that smart young man was Davide. He obviously felt more at home and relaxed in the 45eme and his faded orange trousers and bicorne became an image his friends will hold dear! One of my last memories of him was from Waterloo 2015, many ended up in the first aid tent and Davide was amongst them with heat exhaustion.. within and hour of that he was back in camp toasting the Emporer with mandarin brandy! What a legend.
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The second battle of Leipzig, in Reading 2018!
The idea of an off season day of wargaming had been mooted since the year before but finally came about in January. Generals Bradshaw and Irwin commanding the French forces against Generals Stearman, Groves and Dubonnet forming the alliance of nations, mainly Russian, Austrian and Prussian respectively.
First time commanding General Von Debonnet considers his orders, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. Phil Timm, local man, also popped by to cheer on the action.
The game flowed quicker than I expected with most loses being in the cavalry as sabres clashed and lances dipped, but time would still run short before a definite result could be confirmed, although it was generally agreed that the French position at close of play looked a bit more doubtful with one contingent outflanked on a hill outside Leipzig and Russian grenadiers closing fast on the gates of the city.
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Napoleon III.
With the 45eme set to march at Farnborough abbey with its connection to the Napoleon dynasty in the form of Napoleon III having retired and later died near there, I thought it prudent to produce a Napoleon III for dummies article so that we might bluff our way through any questions about 'The other Napoleon'.
Nephew of 'our Napoleon', when the year of revolutions came upon Europe in 1848 King Louis Phillipe I got the boot (and also moved to England and died) and the many factions vying for power came to realise they needed a president, and already on the political scene and of course associated with his glorious uncle, Louis Napoleon became the first president of France.
His effectiveness was mixed and technically you could not hold the post twice in succesion so four years later the legislative assembly declared he could not stand for the presidency again, so he staged a coup d'état and then declared himself Emporer, to avoid accusations of tyranny he held a referendum to see if the people supported him and the vote was overwhelming YES. Many say too much yes and doubt about the results has been a long standing controversy.
Censorship and arrest of political opponents followed which would have seen him remembered badly but he swung the other way, re-designed Paris into what it is today, boosted French industry, trade and railroads and had the French maritime fleet hugely expanded, allowed workers to strike and made many liberal reforms,the prisoners were released although censorship still remained.
Most scholars maintain that his weakness was foreign policy, he committed France to the Crimean war and the war in Italy, being on the winning side against two of those nations who had humiliated France in 1814/15 (Russia and Austria, if only he could trounce Prussia!) however neither of these military campaigns attracted the same glory as those of the first Empire. He expanded the Empire in north Africa and backed an expedition to Mexico which all went wrong.
The Franco-Prussian war.
The Franco-Prussian war.
The downfall of Napoleon III was Prussia. The country had come to dominate Germany (especially after defeating Austria in 1866) and there was much friction between the nations. When the heir to the Spanish throne died one candidate put forward was a relative of the king of Prussia, France would not tolerate a Prussian friendly Spain on their South/west border. The candidate was actually not interested at all but a meeting was held between King Frederick and a French diplomat, Count Benedetti, which ended well.. However here enters the infamous Emms telegram which the King sent to Bismarck, who changed the wording and leaked it to the press, it was now a different account of the meeting that suggested the French ambassador had been told to piss off. This infuriated the French press and public and there were calls for war. France declared war on July 19.
Mobilisation was a complete muddle, men from one area were often directed to another to form up and by the time they arrived their regiment had already left for the border somewhere, France was covered in dribs and drabs of troops. The French crossed the border into German territory but communications were poor, armies did not know where the other armies were, or where the Germans were. I say Germans not Prussians because as planned by Bismarck with France declaring war and appearing the aggressor the other German states such as Bavaria, Saxony and Wurtemburg backed Prussia whom many had opposed in the war of 1866 with Austria.
Basically the rest of the war was a tail of retreat by the French, with no significant victories despite the fact the German forces often suffered far more casualties. Cavalry charged to their deaths on both sides against rapid rifle fire and the French unveiled the Matrileuse, the world's first machine gun.
The classic battle saw the French defending a ridge or village and with the modern chassepot rifle they could easily outrange and outfire the Prussian rifles, at Gravelotte the Prussians took 4000 casualties in twenty minutes! but as often happened the French will broke and they quit the field when a counter attack might have won the day.
If the French had a superior rifle the Prussians had superior artillery, breach loading Krupp guns were closer to something from world war one than Napoleon I whilst France had neglected updating her artillery and had guns that simply followed the same tactics as in 1815.
(Last year on the way back from an event I was curious as to what these very Imperial looking emblems at Farnborough station were (pictured right), they are of course there to highlight the Napoleonic connections.)
At Sedan the main French army and Napoleon III were surrounded and captured. The war went on for nearly another year under a provisional Government with France summoning every man to fight including divisions of sailors and Franc-tireurs, armed civilians, but Paris was soon under siege leading to the Paris commune and effectively a civil war as the Paris national guard demanded a new Government, the existing government sent troops to crush the uprising but most of the troops refused to fight the militant civilians. Ironically the Prussians are credited with helping Parisians escape from the city where starvation was setting in. The government army attacked and carried the day in the end, the communards making a last stand in a cemetery.
Following the war Germany became a unified nation under Prussian hegemony.
So our Napoleon III ended up abdicating and removed himself from France to England, Chislehurst in the end after a sojourn in Brighton and Cowes, in the end Napoleon, already in poor health, had an operation for bladder stones, it went badly and he died in 1873. In 1887 his remains are moved to Farnborough abbey.
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Home.
'Don't look at them, don't look at them,' Adrienne Charmond chided himself 'just keep loading.' and with that he swung the heavy Charleville musket round from his hip, wheeling at the same time as his feet formed a tee and the musket butt slammed into the dry Spanish soil by his left foot. 'le cartouche dans le cannon.' He fondled for the ram rod, tweeking it a few inches up from the barrel then running it out between thumb and forefinger. For a moment he looked ahead and saw the serried ranks of brown coated enemies, dusky faces beneath broad bicornes, as one their own muskets swung down to bare on him, at thirty yards, it was exactly the moment he didn't want to see. He tore his eyes away and rammed home the baguette, already moving to clear it from the barrel with that awkward twirl, 'Why not just use the other end?' he thought for the hundredth time. Then came the volley and his dirty hands clenched white for an instant. A miss, nothing had hit him. He would live for at least another half a minute.
The ranks around him shuffled as loaded muskets were swung up to shoulders, the watchful eyes of the Officer and NCOs noting the lines were ready to fire, or appeared so. A sword swept up, the drums rattled. Chamond went to firing position, the barrel of his musket dipping low under its own weight then rising up, steady, roughly aligned with the chest of a moustachioed man opposite, himself hurrying to load.
"Feuer!"
He pushed the musket a fraction away from him, his right eye partially closed in anticipation of the barrel now besides his head being about to flare. He pulled the trigger, crack, a ripple of fire and smoke. Sparks from his neighbours pan burnt his cheek but there was no time to blink as the order to bare the musket up, to wait for the satisfying silence of a volley well delivered. then "Chargez!" the process began again. He reached to his giberne, clawing for another cartridge even as the musket was brought back to his hip, slanted forwards.
He never saw the enemy volley this time, just heard the staggered retort and suddenly his leg trembled and shook with one burning spot about a span above his right knee. Calmly he continued loading, this was not sang froid but denial, he didn't want to know what had happened. How bad was it? Don't look. He could not look at the enemy and he could not look at his leg. his whole world was concentrated on the pan of his musket. He shifted his feet once more into the tee, causing a rush of warmth below his knee. Blood leaking down to his gaiter top. He winced and staggered, forcing himself upright.
Instead of an order to fire came 'A demi-turn adroit!' and he pressed his giberne close to his hip and swivelled the musket, lock inwards. The whole company turned on the spot. Except him. He was lying on the ground now. confused. The company were marching away. He shouted an incoherrant noise. He looked about him as a sleeper just awakened. His leg was darkening crimson from thigh to knee. The brown ranks of the Spanish were veiled by their own smoke. horsemen in wide brimmed hats and carrying cruel lances emerged on their flank, irregular troops, partisans? Don't let there be partisans or looters. He didn't want to be captured and skinned alive. He rolled awkwardly over and tried crawling back to the French line. He saw the green and grey of some German battalion behind him now. Where were his battalion? his company? his pelaton? his friends? Panic rose within him. His head swam. The pain in his leg flared and then there was nothing at all.
He was struggling to cross a river but the soft mud beneath his feet betrayed him, he floundered, he could see a house on the river bank, it was his house. No, it was the house of his childhood. Soft voices floated across to him, his mother? so far away, how could he hear a voice that was little more than a whisper from so far away? The voice grew deeper, he swallowed muddied river water, it burnt his throat. He choked. The grey heavens were suddenly pieced with white light. The voice grew familiar, not his mother. It was his friend, Declarey. His eyes were open. Brandy. not water.
He was alive, head on his pack in a bustling camp. His friend was feeding him brandy with a soup spoon. He moved to look around. pain flared in his leg beneath the blanket.
"Don't worry, the ball went clean through, missed the bone. We didn't take you to a surgeon incase they whipped it off but Delzons, the old butcher, had a good look."
Chamond relaxed. He was alive, and back amongst wood smoke and thin soup, back in the company.
He was home.
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Rogues gallery!
Home.
'Don't look at them, don't look at them,' Adrienne Charmond chided himself 'just keep loading.' and with that he swung the heavy Charleville musket round from his hip, wheeling at the same time as his feet formed a tee and the musket butt slammed into the dry Spanish soil by his left foot. 'le cartouche dans le cannon.' He fondled for the ram rod, tweeking it a few inches up from the barrel then running it out between thumb and forefinger. For a moment he looked ahead and saw the serried ranks of brown coated enemies, dusky faces beneath broad bicornes, as one their own muskets swung down to bare on him, at thirty yards, it was exactly the moment he didn't want to see. He tore his eyes away and rammed home the baguette, already moving to clear it from the barrel with that awkward twirl, 'Why not just use the other end?' he thought for the hundredth time. Then came the volley and his dirty hands clenched white for an instant. A miss, nothing had hit him. He would live for at least another half a minute.
"Feuer!"
He pushed the musket a fraction away from him, his right eye partially closed in anticipation of the barrel now besides his head being about to flare. He pulled the trigger, crack, a ripple of fire and smoke. Sparks from his neighbours pan burnt his cheek but there was no time to blink as the order to bare the musket up, to wait for the satisfying silence of a volley well delivered. then "Chargez!" the process began again. He reached to his giberne, clawing for another cartridge even as the musket was brought back to his hip, slanted forwards.
He never saw the enemy volley this time, just heard the staggered retort and suddenly his leg trembled and shook with one burning spot about a span above his right knee. Calmly he continued loading, this was not sang froid but denial, he didn't want to know what had happened. How bad was it? Don't look. He could not look at the enemy and he could not look at his leg. his whole world was concentrated on the pan of his musket. He shifted his feet once more into the tee, causing a rush of warmth below his knee. Blood leaking down to his gaiter top. He winced and staggered, forcing himself upright.
Instead of an order to fire came 'A demi-turn adroit!' and he pressed his giberne close to his hip and swivelled the musket, lock inwards. The whole company turned on the spot. Except him. He was lying on the ground now. confused. The company were marching away. He shouted an incoherrant noise. He looked about him as a sleeper just awakened. His leg was darkening crimson from thigh to knee. The brown ranks of the Spanish were veiled by their own smoke. horsemen in wide brimmed hats and carrying cruel lances emerged on their flank, irregular troops, partisans? Don't let there be partisans or looters. He didn't want to be captured and skinned alive. He rolled awkwardly over and tried crawling back to the French line. He saw the green and grey of some German battalion behind him now. Where were his battalion? his company? his pelaton? his friends? Panic rose within him. His head swam. The pain in his leg flared and then there was nothing at all.
He was struggling to cross a river but the soft mud beneath his feet betrayed him, he floundered, he could see a house on the river bank, it was his house. No, it was the house of his childhood. Soft voices floated across to him, his mother? so far away, how could he hear a voice that was little more than a whisper from so far away? The voice grew deeper, he swallowed muddied river water, it burnt his throat. He choked. The grey heavens were suddenly pieced with white light. The voice grew familiar, not his mother. It was his friend, Declarey. His eyes were open. Brandy. not water.
He was alive, head on his pack in a bustling camp. His friend was feeding him brandy with a soup spoon. He moved to look around. pain flared in his leg beneath the blanket.
"Don't worry, the ball went clean through, missed the bone. We didn't take you to a surgeon incase they whipped it off but Delzons, the old butcher, had a good look."
Chamond relaxed. He was alive, and back amongst wood smoke and thin soup, back in the company.
He was home.
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Rogues gallery!
Horsham museum 2015
Clearly somewhere that's been hot, but typically of an event the cloth bungs in the musket barrels suggest rain on the day!
Breakfast somewhere damp!
Davide!
Next newsletter will be due about June, probably after Malta, as usual feel free to send any articles or news items you might want included. Vive le 45eme!
