With Christmas falling on a Monday this year, I think most
people are going to be taking an extended break for the winter holidays. That
means that this will be the last "proper" blog post of 2017 (if these
ramblings constitute a "proper" blog post). I usually post on Friday
and next Friday everybody will be far too busy thinking about trees and mulled
wine and mince pies and Christmas pudding. At least I hope you will be. It's
been a funny old year, but if you're reading this you're still here and I hope
that you're going to be able to enjoy Christmas with your loved ones.
It's been a particularly strange year for me as an author
with six published books, none of which have been available in the UK for the
past six months. This is because I've been changing publishers, a process which
takes rather longer than I had realised. Accent (who used to publish my books)
were amazing in getting me to sit down and write and their editorial team were
great, but there have been a lot of changes there and both my editors have
moved on and the company is being restructured. It seemed like a good time for
somebody else to take responsibility for getting my books out. I have been very
lucky to get taken on by Endeavour Press. Endeavour come highly recommended by
writer friends as a new and exciting press with a lot of historical titles. I
particularly enjoy Sally Spencer’s Inspector Blackstone books, set in the
London of a few decades after Back Home.
I'm hoping that Endeavour will be able to get my books to a
larger audience. They are republishing all six novels, starting with Burke in the Land of Silver on 5 January
– so by the time you see the next blog from me, the book should be available. I
had hoped it would be on pre-order by now, but some things are not to be, so I
don’t have a buy link yet. I do have a cover, with a brooding Argentinian rider
wrapped against the weather. It could be James Burke about to set off across
the Andes, as he does in the story.
It does look vaguely familiar from our own trip where, like
Burke, we faced snow covered passes and the joys of a night at 3,000 metres
without electricity or gas. There’s not much in the way of shrub at 3,000
metres and what there is burns to ash in minutes, so it was a cold night.
I’m hoping that the final version of the cover will
highlight Paul Collard’s comment: “James Bond in breeches.” (You can just about
read it at the bottom of the page.) James Bond in breeches was pretty much what
I was aiming for, so I did appreciate that comment from an author I admire.
In celebration of my new publisher, I've got a fancy new
website. It's a work in progress at the moment, but here's a screenshot that
gives you some idea what it's going to look like:
This blog will transfer there, hopefully early in the New
Year, but don't worry – existing posts will still be available here and I'll be
sure to let you know the new address.
So here we are at the end of a busy year with a pause for
festivities after which I'll be rushing around promoting my books to an
audience who haven't had the chance to see them yet. Given that I know far more
people read this blog than have ever bought my books, I'm guessing that
includes some of you. You have a treat in store. I'll be letting you know full
details of the when, the way and the pitifully small cover price very soon. All I
can say at the moment is that come 5 January, if you check out Amazon, you
should find the e-book of Burke in the
Land of Silver. The paperback will be along soon.
Until then, have a very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New
Year, with lots of great reading ahead in 2018.
People
often ask where writers get their ideas from. In my case, they can come from
almost anywhere but, because I write historical novels, my starting point is
often a person or an incident that catches my eye in a work of non-fiction.
I've been lucky in that I haven't had somebody sitting over me and demanding
that I produce a book straightaway so I can usually be quite relaxed waiting
for something to strike me.
The James
Burke books, though, came from a straightforward search for a commercially
viable historical character to write about. I mentioned to a friend that I was
struggling and she said that I should look for inspiration in the lives of
Europeans living in the area that is now Argentina during the period of Spanish
rule and immediately afterwards. She had met me in Argentina and knew I was
interested in the country and its history and she told me that there were
fascinating lives amongst the early pioneers.
I started
reading books about South America, looking for people who were doing exciting
enough things to be worked up into a novel. I think my friend was hoping for a
serious tale of exploration and triumph over hardship – something like
Elizabeth Morgan’s Ticket to Paradise,
a brilliant story about early Welsh settlers in Patagonia. What I found instead
was the story of James Burke: soldier, womaniser, spy and a crucial figure in
the little-known British invasion of Buenos Aires in 1806
.
There is
very little that is definitely known about James Burke, but the little that
there is forms the basis for a wonderful story. Starting his military career
fighting for the French, he changed sides and worked as a spy for the English.
It seems likely that his lovers included a queen, a princess, and the mistress
of a Spanish viceroy. He travelled extensively around South America, riding
across the Andes in the snow and gathering vital military intelligence
throughout the area. It's likely that the information he obtained was crucial
to the British invaders in 1806. (He can hardly be blamed if the occupation was
so badly handled that they were soon driven out again.)
With such
gripping raw material, the first book about James Burke, Burke in the Land of Silver, sticks pretty closely to the facts –
at least as far as we know them. The story takes Burke from the West Indies to
Argentina, Brazil, and Spain. There are devious plots, thrilling fights, wicked
women and a villain all the more deliciously evil for being a real historical
character. Buckles are swashed and bodices are ripped. I had huge fun writing
it and I hope you’ll have fun reading it. And at the end, you will find you
have painlessly acquired a basic understanding of Spain’s role in the
Napoleonic Wars and some of the early history of Argentina.
Burke in the Land of Silver will be republished by Endeavour
Press on 5 January, to be followed by the other two books I have written about
James Burke. Two new James Burke books are all ready to follow if all you
lovely people buy the first three.
In my last blog post I reviewed a couple of historical
fiction books by authors I enjoy. In this post, with the republication of my
books drawing ever closer, I’m going to take the opportunity to mention some of
the things that other reviewers have said about my efforts.
Burke in the Land of Silver
"James Bond in
breeches" - Paul Collard
"A well-crafted adventure yarn with exotic settings and
plenty of suspense." Historical Novel Society
Burke and the Bedouin
“A “Boys’ Own” adventure (but also very suitable for ladies
who like a little derring-do!) … at its best in the vivid action sequences and
set pieces, such as the Battle of the Pyramids and the climactic Battle of the
Nile.” Historical Novel Society
“An entertaining light read, set in a corner of the
Napoleonic Wars which is often neglected.”
The Review
Burke at Waterloo
“Historical fiction as it should be written.” – Paul Collard
The White Rajah
“An involving tale of adventure, intrigue and unlikely love.”
Historical Novel Society
“This book works on so many levels.” The Review
“It's ages since I've started reading a
book and then been 100% annoyed at the world that it won't let me just sit
there and finish it all in one go, but The White Rajah by Tom
Williams has totally been that book!” By Slanted Light
"An interesting tale, well told." Bloomsbury
Review
Cawnpore
“All that historical fiction should be: absorbing,
believable and educational.” – Terry Tyler in Terry Tyler Book Reviews
“For anyone who has a love for this period, Cawnpore is
probably one for you.” Historical Novel Society
Back Home
Back Home was
runner-up for historical fiction in the awards that Rosie Amber’s book review
team give out following an on-line vote.
"I enjoyed every word of this novel. It's so cleverly
written, with low-key humour in parts, the research used subtly and unobtrusively." –
Terry Tyler in Terry Tyler Book Reviews
“It is perfectly paced and has an authentic voice which
gives a real sense of time and place.” Whispering Stories blog
Save the date
Burke in the Land of Silver will be republished on 5 January and should be available for pre-order before that. I'll let you know the date as soon as I do. The other books will be coming out every couple of weeks, until early March.
If you live in North America, all my books are currently available through Simon & Schuster. Can I mention that they make excellent Christmas presents?
If you want to check out other books on these blogs, here
are some useful addresses:
This is the fifth Jack Lark story. It starts with Jack
coming back to his childhood home and takes a while to get into its stride with
the return of Ballard, the spymaster from Lark's earlier adventures. Ballard,
for reasons he refuses to explain to Lark, is determined to find a man who is
serving with the French Foreign Legion in Italy and to bring him back, by force
if necessary, to his home in England.
The plot rambles a bit, with some implausibilities here and
there, but the point of it is to get Lark to the Battle of Solferino. Never
heard of it? Neither had I, but I should have.
Ballard's summary of the politics behind the battle
(basically the French and the Sardinians were trying to drive the Austrians out
of northern Italy) neatly provides the historical background that you need. From
then on it's just a matter of manoeuvring Lark into a situation where it seems
perfectly natural for him to disguise himself as a French legionnaire and join
the fighting.
Lark finds his man, who is duly returned to England, but the
story does not quite resolve itself. I think there is supposed to be a shock
revelation toward the end, but I doubt it will come as that much of a shock to
many people and the end of the story leaves Lark very clearly set to start
straight into another adventure.
One thing I have always respected Collard for is that he
does not flinch from the brutality of 19th century warfare and, if there is a
certain repetitiveness as Lark thrusts his bayonet into victim after victim,
that probably represents the reality of battle. Solferino was, as Collard’s
usual useful historical note explains, a battle that left nearly 40,000
casualties. For Lark, it represented his first contact with the reality of what
we might think of as modern warfare, with rifled artillery enabling whole units
to be mown down before they even engage the enemy. The historical note explains
that the horror of Solferino led eventually to the formation of the
International Red Cross.
This is far from the best of the Jack Lark books, probably
because it is really about a single battle rather than a campaign, so much of
the book is filled out with sub-plots, some more engaging than others. Still, it
told me a lot about a battle that I had not known anything about before.
Solferino did mark a development in the way that men wage war and it deserves
to be better known. Collard has done us a service by writing about it, and, if
the book does not entirely work on its own, it has set the characters up well
for the next in the series. If you are Jack Lark fan, you will enjoy The Last Legionnaire, but if you have
not read him before it's probably not the place to start.
Circle of Shadows by Imogen Robertson
It's always disconcerting to pick up a book and discover
that it's the fourth in a series where you haven't read the first three. I
would definitely have enjoyed the book more if I had started at the beginning
of the Crowther and Westerman books, but Robertson provides enough background
to the characters and their history for you to get along even if you are, like
me, starting in the middle.
Circle of Shadows
is a mystery set in late 18th-century Germany. Germany at the time had many
tiny independent states where the rulers compensated for their relative
obscurity, as rulers go, by building ever more elaborate palaces filled with
courtiers who took part in ever more elaborate ceremonials. This fictional
state is about to celebrate a royal wedding, so the amount of ceremonial has
been dramatically ramped up. The last thing anybody wants in the middle of all
this is a mysterious murder, let alone the series of mysterious murders that
confront Crowther and Westerman when they arrive from England to sort all the
confusion out.
Although the killings are ritualistic and quite unpleasant,
this is essentially a traditional "cosy crime" story, albeit with a
well realised historical background. I am generally irritated when books
present 18th-century women doing things that they would be unlikely to have got
away with in real life, but readers clearly enjoy female detectives and, in Harriet
Westerman, Robertson has produced a credible character. Harriet is a widow – a
position that gave women of the period a degree of independence. She is also presented
as an unusually feisty lady and would probably be even more convincing if I had
read the first book in the series. In any case, it is the background that is
historically well observed. The story is not intended to be wildly realistic
and there is a definite hint of magic about the resolution.
If you enjoy detective stories and you enjoy historical
novels, this nicely written combination of the two should serve well for
Christmas. But you might like to start with the first book in the series: Instruments of Darkness, as you ask.
A word from our sponsor
What of my own books? If you look at the next blog post, you will see some of the nice things people have said about them.
If you are living in North America, you can buy my books either as e-books or as paperbacks (because paperbacks always look better under the tree) from the Simon & Schuster website. If you are in the UK, you will have to wait until January when Endeavour will start republishing the book series, to be followed by the John Williamson Chronicles in February. Make a note in your diary!
Last week's post was particularly popular (posts about Napoleon always are), so this week we carry the story on to Napoleon's time on Elba.
Able was I ...
When Napoleon accepted his defeat in April 1814, he accepted
also the idea that he would go into exile. Exile was to me made a less onerous
punishment because the French government promised to pay him six million francs
a year as his pension.
It was suggested that he might go to Corfu or Corsica, the
country where he was born. However he chose Elba, an island between Corsica and
Italy.
Enfola Beach, Elba. Photo: Michael Joachim Lucke
Besides his pension he had been promised that he would
retain the status of a sovereign, so the Emperor of France became the absolute
ruler of this island of about 85 square miles, and a few smaller islands around
it. As the ruler, he was entitled to his own army, although, compared to the
armies he had once led, it was little more than an honour guard, with around
700 men.
At first, Napoleon seemed reconciled to exile. The pension,
he had observed, was “a great deal for a soldier as I am”. He was to be joined
by his sister, Pauline, who was too ill to travel with him when he first left
France, and he expected his mother, his wife and his son to move to Elba later.
He threw himself enthusiastically into public works:
building new roads, improving the quality of the streets, and making plans for
the development of the iron mines that were the country's main industry. To the
irritation of the Allied powers, he started to recruit new soldiers from Italy.
Arguably, as the recognised ruler of Elba, he had a perfect right to do this.
In any case, he pointed out that with Moorish pirates regularly operating in
the area he had a duty to maintain an army large enough to garrison the
defences of Elba and its surrounding islands.
Flag designed by Napoleon for Elba
Princess Pauline did not arrive until June, but her
appearance at Elba substantially improved social life on the island with balls,
concerts, and theatrical performances enlivening the place. What had originally
been a guardhouse to the mansion that Napoleon had made his home was turned
into a theatre, where plays were performed by the princess herself, her ladies
and the officers of the guard.
Whether the 700 soldiers of Napoleon's private army were
amused by the new social opportunities we do not know, but it is certain that
they were bored and Napoleon himself referred to them affectionately as his
"grumblers". The soldiers who had accompanied Napoleon to Elba were
all volunteers – indeed, some officers had resigned their commissions and
enlisted in the ranks so that they could go into exile with their leader. They
constituted some of his most loyal troops, many of them battle hardened.
Napoleon regularly reviewed them and insisted that they continue to train.
Artillery enthusiast that he was, he had them practising regularly with both
regular round shot and heated shot. Despite this, though, there is no doubt
that they found life on Elba, though comfortable, profoundly dull.
Napoleon's enthusiasm for his new realm gradually waned. To
his dismay, the French government reneged on the promise of a pension and the
cost of maintaining his court and his army vastly exceeded the revenue that
could be extracted from Elba’s iron mining and its other limited
revenue-raising opportunities. Servants were let go, building plans were
abandoned and Napoleon, from keeping himself busy inspecting his projects
around the island, began to sulk around the house, putting on weight.
Napoleon on Elba
The arrival of his mother, to whom he was devoted, improved
his mood, but he was genuinely distressed when it became clear that his wife
and son were not to join him. His wife was Marie Louise (who had replaced
Josephine in 1810). She was the daughter of Emperor Francis II of Austria and
the Austrian government was unhappy with the idea of her and her son forming
the focus of Napoleon's new court. She was persuaded not to join him and
Napoleon seems to have accepted this, but he could not come to terms with the
idea that he would never again see his son.
The shortages of money and the absence of his son soured his
mood. He regularly received news of the situation in France from his supporters
there as well as studying the French and British newspapers. By the spring of
1815, he was convinced that there were plans to force him from Elba – plans
which he said he would resist by force. “Avant
cela il faut faire une brèche dans mes fortifications, et nous verrons.” He
believed that the Allies might send him to St Helena and subsequent events
suggest that this may have been in their minds.
Faced with what Napoleon saw as a threat to his future on
Elba, the refusal of the French to pay his pension or the Austrians to allow
his son to visit the island, he looked at the disenchantment of the French with
their restored monarchy and decided that he would be better off returning to
Paris.
Napoleon's brief experiment with ruling a small island in
the Mediterranean was coming to an end and the events that would lead to Waterloo
were being set in motion.
An aside on that palindrome
Napoleon never created the famous palindrome, 'Able was I ere I saw Elba.' The first recorded use of it is from 1848, long after Napoleon's death. It appears in an American publication, Gazette of the Union, Where it is credited to an anonymous Baltimore author, known only as JTR.
Further reading
For a detailed account of Napoleon's time on Elba see The Island Empire by the anonymous
‘author of Blondelle’, published by T
Bosworth in 1855 and available in Google Books.
A shorter summary is available in Life and Campaigns of Napoleon Bonaparte translated from the
French of M A Arnault and CLF Panckoucke, published by Philips Samsung and
Company of Boston in 1857 and also available in Google Books.
For a detailed discussion of the origin of the palindrome, see Quote Investigator: https://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/09/15/saw-elba/
A word from our sponsor
Napoleon was right to believe that there were many people in
France who hoped for, and in some cases actively worked for, his return.
Amongst other plots, there was one to assassinate Wellington, who was
representing British interests in Paris. This period is the background to the
beginning of Burke at Waterloo, which
is to be republished by Endeavour Press on 2 February. (It should be on
pre-order from early in January.)
Of course, Napoleon did leave Elba and eventually met the
British at Waterloo were James Burke played a small, but crucial, role.
[Spoiler alert: Napoleon lost.]
Another straightforward history blog this week. It's about Napoleon, as posts about l'Empereur seem particularly popular.
We all know that Napoleon finally lost his empire at
Waterloo. What people often forget was that this was the second time he had
lost it.
Napoleon was initially defeated in 1814. His series of
brilliant military victories were followed by some dramatic defeats – notably
the failure of his Russian campaign.
For the attack on Moscow, Napoleon gathered his forces into
a spectacular Grand Army of 680,000 men. Although the force was hampered by the
condition of the roads as the Russian winter approached, Napoleon successfully
reached Moscow and occupied the city. The conventional wisdom of warfare at the
time was that once your capital was lost you admitted defeat and sued for
peace. Unfortunately for Napoleon, Czar Alexander was unsporting enough not to
surrender, so Napoleon found himself stuck in Moscow with no obvious way
forward. The situation would have been bad enough in any case, but much of
Moscow was destroyed by fire – either as a result of carelessness by the French
or deliberate arson by the Russians. Napoleon was now stuck there with winter
setting in and no obvious way forward. After a month, he moved his forces out
of the city and attempted to engage the Russians, but the Czar's army avoided a
pitched battle.
Supplies were running short and his army was no longer in
any position to continue an offensive campaign. Napoleon decided to retreat.
Painting by Illarion Pryanishnikov
The retreat from Moscow has become the stuff of legend. The
French army had a policy of living off the land, foraging for food in the
countryside that it was moving through. The Russians adopted a scorched earth
policy, destroying food stores in all the areas that the French would have to
move through. Unable to find food, struggling with roads that had turned to mud
under the weight of the traffic, trapped in the Russian winter without proper
winter clothing and constantly harried by Russian troops who refused to form up
for battle but who raided the column mercilessly, Napoleon’s Grand Army was
reduced, according to some estimates, to just 22,000 men.
The losses suffered by the Grand Army were never to be made
good – there simply weren't enough men of fighting age available to replenish
their ranks.
Detail, "La Chef de la Grande Nation dans une triste Position", French copy of George Cruikshank's 1813 "The Head of the Great Nation, in a Queer Situation!"
Napoleon now faced the wrath of the Russians, the Prussians
and the Austrians. What is often forgotten is that, by moving against Russia,
Napoleon committed the classic error of European strategists and found himself
fighting a two front war. When we talk about Wellington's Peninsular campaign
we usually think of it as being confined to fighting in southern and central
Spain and Portugal. Napoleon had had significant successes in Spain but once he
left the country and concentrated his efforts on Central and Eastern Europe,
the French armies there were noticeably less successful. By 1814 Wellington had
driven them north and actually crossed the Pyrenees into France itself. He
prepared to march on Paris, but was too late. The combined Austrian, Prussian
and Russian armies had already got there.
Off to Elba, 1814 - classic contemporary cartoon by Gillray
The Napoleonic wars provide the background to my series of books about James Burke. Napoleon's exile to Elba was, as we all know now, was not to mark the end of his influence in France. Even while he was exiled, Bonapartists were plotting his return and their attempts to assassinate Wellington is the starting point for Burke at Waterloo.
After being unavailable in the UK since summer, all three books about James Burke are being republished by Endeavour in January and February next year. I'm hoping that they will be available to pre-order in December and I will certainly be writing more about that over the next few weeks.
Burke served in the peninsula too. My book about his activities there has already been written, but publication depends on sales of the first three. In the past I haven't been able to work myself up into the paroxysms of anger that many authors show over book piracy, though I know that there are people who have stolen my books. Sadly, nowadays piracy is getting so bad that it is affecting people's ability to publish. If you enjoy the Burke books, please buy them. If you don't pay for them my publishers won't commission any more, which would be a shame as I've enjoyed writing them and I know many people have enjoyed reading them.
I've changed the header on the blog. The new one is not a thing of beauty, but it's there temporarily to let everyone know that the James Burke books are about to be republished by Endeavour Press. There will be new covers then and a new header here.
The last few months have been very frustrating for mebecause my books have been unavailable outside North America since I left Accent Press. When I left Accent the idea was to be published by Endeavour Press, but I didn't realise how long it would take for my books to become available again. Actually, it was only a few months, but when you have had six books published and suddenly nobody can buy any of them it leaves you feeling a bit bereft. I'm therefore really excited and delighted to say that I have a re-publication dates for all my books. The first to come will be the three existing books about James Burke and publication dates will be: JAN 5: Burke in the Land of Silver JAN 19: Burke and the Bedouin FEB 2: Burke at Waterloo
All three books should be available to pre-order a month before publication. They will be published as Kindle e-books, which are available exclusively through Amazon. They will also be published in paperback, although they may not be available immediately the e-books are out. You can order paperbacks through your local bookshop, but you are much better off just going to Amazon.
The John Williamson books are also being republished by Endeavour and will be coming out in February/March.
I will be saying a lot more in the next few weeks about James Burke and why you should be reading the books, but for now I just wanted to let you know that we have a definite publication date. Readers in the United States and Canada have been able to buy my books all year through Simon & Schuster, but it has been frustrating not to be able to sell my boys to UK readers since I moved publisher in the summer. Everybody has told me that Endeavour are brilliant publishers and I am hoping that James Burke will be able to get to a much larger audience from January 2018.
My research efforts have taken me down the sewers of Paris, onto the battlefield at Edgehill, and even through the snows of the Andes on horseback. Sometimes, though, it’s a lot easier than that. My son has, for the past nine years, served as an officer in the Royal Logistic Corps of the British Army. His first-hand experience of trying to stay awake on sentry and how long it takes to dig a trench have filtered into the life of James Burke and his colleagues. These days, however, you are more likely to find him in a lab coat than in the mud as his current work sees him providing technical advice on ammunition and equipment. In between answering questions from the Army and police he occasionally has time to discuss the colour of gunpowder smoke or the explosive power of a 19th century mill (wait for the next Burke book). Here he is to talk about his personal pet subject of military history: body armour.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Body armour is an often overlooked piece of equipment. It isn’t as sexy as guns so tends not to get much screen time in Hollywood. Besides, in a movie it’s easier to just have your baddies miss than protect your heroes with ceramic plates that would cover up their toned abs. The exception is found in history. When we watch films set in the days of yore you can’t have a shot without a knight in his armour astride a noble steed.
And yet, a little over 200 years later Sharpe and Burke were fighting Napoleon dressed like this:
Renactors from the British 95th Rifles
Cut forward 200 years again and the fashion has swung the other way. Today’s soldiers go to war almost as armoured up as their medieval counterparts.
US solider, Iraq 2008
Why the change? Why the change back? The answer lies largely with one man.
The story of defence technology is a perpetual cycle of better weapons leading to better armour, leading to better weapons. In the 1300s the longbow was the guided missile of its day. The bleeding edge of military technology, her devastating bodkin arrows were cutting down armies in a similar way to the machine guns of the First World War. However, by the 16th century, the longbow was already being phased out in favour of firearms. The thin plate of Richard of York just couldn’t stand up to a bullet and armour was becoming ever thicker, heavier and all encompassing. Pretty soon knights were being lifted onto horses by winches, but the gunpowder and firearms development kept pace. By 1530 arquebuses so large and powerful they resembled portable cannon, complete with support stands, were in use in Spain and Italy. The days of the heavy knight were over.
By the time of the English Civil War, the use of armour was limited.
With the demise of individually commissioned knightly armour came the opportunity to dress your armies in uniforms. In England, the Civil War marked the beginning of the idea of uniformed armies. At the start of the war, the infantry on both sides wore their civilian clothing but gradually the idea of issue clothing took hold. The Parliamentarian forces were more likely to wear some sort of uniform, as the Parliamentarians had more financial resources (they controlled London with its economic power) and were thus better positioned to provide clothing to their troops. An early order from Parliament said “that all soldiers should have delivered unto them at their first marching coats, shoes, shirts and caps, in all to the value of seventeen shillings for every man”. The issue of armour, though, was limited. Helmets, backplates and breastplates were issued to pikemen, though often only the front ranks would be armoured, the rest relying on thick leather or cotton clothing to provide them with some sort of protection. Musketeers usually didn't wear armour at all.
Civil War soldiers at Edgehill (Thanks to the Sealed Knot)
As an aside, it's worth noting that the clothing here was "uniform" in the sense that standard clothing was issued. Uniforms were not used to distinguish between opposing armies. People often wore coloured sashes to indicate which side they were on. Given the quality of dye technology at the time, the colours were often not that clear and there were frequent instances of clashes between different units on the same side or, indeed, of people failing to attack the enemy because they were unaware of which side they were on.
Cavalry was a different matter. There was no central supply of uniform to the cavalry by either side. The dress of cavalry troops was left to the commanders and often reflected the personal vanity of the senior officers. (This remained this case with some units even in the Napoleonic Wars.) The King's Lifeguard of Horse became known as "The Troop of Show” because of the fineness of their uniform. Most cavalrymen wore leather coats known as "buff coats" which were considerably more expensive than the clothing issued to the Foot. The average cost of a trooper’s buff coat was between twenty-five and thirty shillings with officers coats costing considerably more. Back and breastplates were supposed to be worn over the coat (although, in practice, they often weren't). The armour and thick leather did offer practical protection, but the clothing worn by cavalry officers was at least as much about display as functionality.
Today’s Household Cavalry wear armour as a nod to their past. Photo by Marco Verch
By the time of Waterloo the British had almost completely done away with metalwork on their uniforms. The French Carabinier-Ã -Cheval still wore breastplates (cuirasses) and after the battle British intelligence agents were sent to investigate the dead to see how they had performed. The results were not good.
Cuirass holed by a cannonball at Waterloo
It seemed that the days of body armour were over. Conventional wisdom held that it was not possible to stop a bullet with anything that could be worn on the man and for 50 years the engineers and scientists of the day stopped trying, in much the same way they had given up alchemy 100 years before; it simply couldn’t be done.
Edward ‘Ned’ Kelly was born in Australia in 1854. In October 1878 he, his brother and two friends killed a sergeant and two police constables. The “Stringyback murders” caused the Kelly gang to become outlaws: a parliamentary act authorised police or private citizens to kill them without trial. However, Ned and his gang evaded capture and embarked on a series of ever more daring bank robberies. By the time the Act lapsed in 1880 the reward for the Kelly gang was £8,000.
In June of 1880 the police tracked and surrounded Kelly and his gang to a hotel in Glenrowan. A shootout ensued that lasted most of the night and, as day broke, Kelly made his break. A large man, he seemed to tower over the police in his knee length great coat and head obscured in the morning mist. The police would, according to fokelore, later describe Kelly as a demon or the devil as he moved coolly amongst the bullets, seemingly unharmed by the firepower raining down on him. Eventually he was shot in the leg by police sergeant Steel and the truth came out.
As their robberies had become more dangerous, Kelly and his gang had commissioned a blacksmith to make them suits of armour out of ploughs. Each weighed around 40 kg and covered the head, shoulders and thighs. Worn under their greatcoats it wasn’t immediately visible to the police, who had dismissed intelligence reports of the Kelly gang’s imperviousness to bullets as tall tales. However, with Kelly down and a high profile trial and hanging to follow, the truth was plain to see and the press ran with the story everywhere.
Kelly’s armour is still on display in Victoria, complete with 18 bullet strikes
The story of Kelly’s armour was the talk of the civilised world. (Imagine if today the Hatton garden robbers had been found to use newly discovered force fields or teleporters.) Questions about why British troops weren’t using Kelly-style body armour were even asked in parliament. The four suits of armour were split up and sent across the globe (even today there is some confusion about where they all ended up) and Europe’s armies and scientists turned to developing Kelly’s suits into mass producible equipment. Thirty years later the militarisation prior to the First World War would accelerate technological innovation yet further and by the outbreak of war suits not dissimilar to Kelly’s were on display amongst all the major powers.
The Germans favoured a 'lobster' armour that was fairly effective but heavy and cumbersome. (It tended to be reserved for machine gun crews who didn't need to move a lot.)
German WWI “lobster” armour. (Photo by Halibutt)
The British design was generally considered better, as the bravery citation for Lt. Hugh Cowell Kinred, 14th Bn. Gloucester. Regiment, reveals:
"For conspicuous gallantry. When a bomb thrown by the enemy fell at his feet in the trench, he at once threw himself on it, and was blown into the air and much bruised and cut by the explosion, his life being saved by his steel waistcoat. His plucky action saved many casualties."
As body armour proved itself in battle over and over again, it became increasingly prevalent. Although in 1914 very few soldiers were equipped with any sort of armour, by the end of the war the Brodie helmet would become synonymous with the British Tommy. Body armour was here to stay, all thanks to the notoriety and ingenuity of four bushrangers from Victoria.
A Word from our Sponsor
I love writing these blogs – or getting other people to write for me – but the idea is to encourage you to read my books. I've been fairly quiet about this lately because since the summer they have only been available in North America. Come January, though, all three of my books about James Burke and his adventures during the Napoleonic wars will be republished by Endeavour Press. They should be available on pre-order soon after Christmas. I'll be writing a lot more about this between now and then, but if you could promise yourself that you will buy one as a slightly delayed Christmas present, I'd be thrilled. Wonderful as it is to know that so many people read and enjoy this blog, it would be nice if that translated into more sales of the books.
Here we are with the end of another week fast approaching
and it's time for me to produce my weekly blog post.
I generally turn out around a thousand words a week on a
range of subjects. I try to keep it vaguely focused on history or writing, but tango
and other things do sneak in. Fortunately I enjoy producing my blog, which is a
good thing because I spend quite a long time doing it. I'm thrilled that
thousands of you read it. I know very few of you actually "follow" it
– largely, I suspect, because unless you're on Google+ (and who is?) there's no
real point. You can follow me on Twitter (@TomCW99), though, and get a link to
every new blog post as it comes out. I’d appreciate the Twitter follows: I have
560 at present and people tell me I should have more.
Writing the blog is an opportunity for me to write about
things that interest me and, when I'm lucky, to connect with some of my
readers. I'm always hoping to hear from people through the ‘Comment’ box at the
bottom of the page, although I know that not very many people will write.
Please do – I read them all and it's always appreciated.
What's bringing on this burst of introspection? Well, since
the summer the blog really has been a labour of love. In theory it helps me
sell my books, but unless you live in North America (where you can buy my stuff
through Simon & Schuster), you won't have been able to get hold of anything
I've written. This is because I have been changing publishers and publishing
schedules mean that there is a hiatus between leaving one and taking up with
another. However, this week I've been told that Endeavour Press will
be publishing all six of my books in fairly rapid succession starting in
January next year – which is now just two months away.This means that
over the next few weeks you can expect to see slightly more about why you
should buy my books and rather less about tango.
For now, though, as you've been kind enough to read this I'm
just throwing in some nice pictures of dancers that I've taken over the years (plus one that someone took of me).
At the moment, my books are not available in the UK. They are shortly to be republished by Endeavour Press, but until that happy day you can only buy them in North America, through Simon & Schuster.
I blog about once a week and, given that I'm not selling any books in my own country, I see this as largely a public service. The public certainly seem to appreciate it, because I know lots of you read it. What I didn't realise, until I did my sums today, is that about a third of my blog readers are from the USA. So this is just to say that if you would like to click on THIS LINK and buy one of the books, I really would be most awfully grateful. Think of it as a contribution to my blog writing efforts – though if you read the book, you might find that you really enjoy it.
Monday marked the 375th anniversary of the battle
we now call the Battle of Edgehill, but what was known all those centuries ago
as the Battle of Kineton. It was the first great battle of the English Civil
War, an inconclusive affair which, nonetheless, left thousands dead and
wounded. Estimates of the number killed vary wildly, but a casualty figure of
2,500 casualties (dead, wounded or captured) is often quoted.
There is still a small village at Kineton, but where much of
the fighting took place is now Ministry of Defence land and closed to the
public. Once a year the Kineton Officers' Mess hosts a dinner in commemoration
of the battle and invites representatives of the sealed Knot, a Civil War
re-enactment organisation. There is a talk by somebody who knows about the
battle (this year it was Mr F Baldwin) and a small display of Civil War drill. I
was lucky enough to be a guest this year, and, besides enjoying an extremely
good meal, I now know much more about the battle than I did a fortnight ago.
Edgehill was a battle fought by accident. The Royalist army,
led by Charles I came across scouts from the Parliamentarians, under the Earl
of Essex, quite unexpectedly on a Sunday morning when the Parliamentarian
forces were planning to observe the Sabbath. Essex himself was at church at
Kineton.
Charles probably drew up his plans for the battle on the
hill, more or less where you can see what looks like a castle tower in the
photo below. It's actually a pub called the Castle, which wasn't there at the
time.
Although a modern commander would enjoy the advantages of
such high ground, 17th-century warfare was different. There were definite
advantages to being at the top of a slight slope, but battles had to be fought
on more or less flat land. Pikemen were key to battlefield strategy. An
indication of the length of the pikes is given in the picture below and you can
imagine the difficulty of manoeuvring over rough country, even without a hill.
In order for pikes be used effectively, the infantry had to move as a solid
block – an isolated pikeman would be a dead pikeman. Battles were therefore
fought on ground that was more or less flat, preferably without too many fields
and hedges to get in the way.
Both Charles and Essex wanted a battle that day. Although
they had not been planning to meet, both saw the opportunity to deal a
resounding blow against the enemy and stop the Civil War almost before it had
started. It's likely that many of the troops believed that the whole thing was
going to be over in a matter of months and they, too, wanted the chance to
resolve the issue quickly.
Fortunately for the commanders, the land between Kineton and Radway was flat and relatively open, with streams and hedges marking off
the sides of the field which made it harder for the forces to be flanked. The
picture below shows what Charles I would see below him nowadays, although
things have changed a lot with the area now being heavily cultivated and broken
up into fields.
Charles' view was probably less misty. In 1642 the day was cold with light rain, but visibility was good, as opposed to the warm overcast weather in 2017.
Both armies drew up with cavalry on their flanks. The white
farmhouse in the centre of the picture below marks the left of the Royalist
line.
The right flank probably extended to beyond the brown field
in the centre of this photograph.
This gives some idea of the size of the battlefield. The two
armies totalled almost 30,000 men, although many of the Parliamentarians did
not actually reach the field in time to fight – including, notably, one Oliver
Cromwell.
The Royalists achieved early victories with successful
cavalry charges on both wings, but as is often the case with cavalry, horses
and riders became overexcited and galloped all the way to Kineton – lost in the
mists in the photographs. Some of the Parliamentary horse rallied and returned
to the field where they were able to give crucial support to the infantry while
the Royalist infantry remained without cavalry support.
The result can be seen as a draw. The cavalry battle was won
by the Royalists but the Parliamentarians probably got the better of the
infantry fighting. However, the level of carnage left both sides withdrawing to
lick their wounds and the next day the armies faced each other but neither
moved forward to fight. After that the Parliamentarians yielded the field,
making it technically a Royalist victory. Charles, however, failed to take
advantage of his temporary control of the roads to London and remained in the
area – seizing Banbury, of all places. (It's hardly a major strategic town –
barely more than a village really.) The failure of the Royalists to take the
opportunity to march directly on London may have undermined their chances of
winning the war. By the time Charles did turn his attention to London,
Parliament was ready for him and his inability to take the capital, with its
arms manufacturers and its significant financial resources, crippled the rest
of his campaign.
The English Civil War was horrendous. Four per cent of the
entire population of England died during the war – probably nearer to 10% of
the young men essential to an economy that was still largely agricultural. The casualty rate in Ireland was substantially higher: the exact level is still the subject of controversy. Yet
nowadays, the English tend to romanticise it and the dinner night did provide a
wonderful spectacle of men in very impressive uniforms. (There were women, too,
but we’ll pretend they were all men for the purposes of historical accuracy.)
Are these Cavaliers or Roundheads? I've really no idea, as each regiment was uniformed differently (if the soldiers had uniforms at all) and they could tell which side they were on only by the sashes they tied round themselves ahead of the fight and most of this lot aren't wearing any sashes. The Royalists wore read and the Parliamentarians orange, which on a rainy day with dye technology fairly primitive meant that the differences weren't as clear as one might hope. The situation was further confused at Edgehill when some Parliamentarian cavalry defected en masse to the Royalists in mid battle, but forgot to change their sashes. Many of them were killed by their new allies.
Civil wars are always messy. The English Civil War was very messy indeed.
A Word from our Sponsor
After several years of weekly blogging, I feel that writing blogs has rather taken over from writing books. At one time I thought that people who read the blogs might go on to read the books. Some of you have and I really appreciate your support. The statistics on blog readership compared to sales suggest, though, that blogging is really an activity in its own right rather than a way to promote books.
As with so many things in life, I feel that it's a good idea to change things around from time to time, so I'm really going to try to make more of an effort with my newsletter which currently has a subscriber list measured in only double figures. The newsletter can be chattier and doesn't have to be produced every week and will, hopefully, be more of a two-way communication. I find that, even with such a small number of readers, the newsletter seems to generate more responses than the blog does. Can I please suggest that you sign up for it? You can do that from https://tomwilliamsauthor.co.uk/newsletter. I know that sometimes there can be technical problems with signup forms. I only know about these people tell me – do get in touch at tom@tomwilliamsauthor.co.uk if you have problems signing up.
And, of course, it would be great if you bought the books as well. Christmas is on its way and the paperbacks (all my books are available in paperback) make excellent gifts.
A few weeks ago I
blogged about Marble Hill House and English Heritage’s plans for the
property. I'm coming back to this because I think that the way that
we fit historical buildings and landscapes into our modern world is important.
This post provides a bit of an update and some more
detail on the issues that "heritage" can raise.
The essence of English Heritage’s plan is to carry out improvement works in the park and to develop significant parts of the park back toward more what they might have looked like
in the 18th century. They have done detailed archaeological work and the plans
are not fanciful, but based on the best possible evidence that they can gather.
For those (and there are many of them) who believe that heritage is about
restoring our historic past, the proposals are an exciting opportunity to
restore grounds which were significant in the development of the English
garden. For many local residents, this is a bunch of historians messing with a
much loved park in order to rebuild something that may or may not have been
there two and a half centuries ago.
Marble Hill Park
I leaned rather toward the second point of view and drafted
a post attacking English Heritage and their plans for widespread tree felling.
The words “Jane Austen theme park” may have appeared. Fortunately, I sent the
draft to English Heritage for comment and John Watkins, their Head of Landscape
and Gardens came to talk me through the plans and explain where I had got them
wrong.
I learned a lot about the history of the park and quite a
bit about the trees, but mainly I learned how the planning system is hardly the
best way forward in moving projects like this to a satisfactory conclusion.
Woodman spare that tree
Marble Hill House is set within a small area of woodland
(described as “wild wood”). The vegetation is mainly self-seeded. There is a
lot of holly, ranging from small bushes to large trees. There is a thick canopy
and little light reaches the ground, which is largely covered with ivy. A few
animals – mainly squirrels and foxes – live there, but the density of the trees
and the amount of ivy means that it is not an especially helpful habitat in
terms of biodiversity. There are strong arguments that from the point of view
of maintaining the grounds and improving the health of the trees generally,
some clearing and coppicing would-be a positive step.
The house
from the north
So far, so uncontroversial. Unfortunately, Richmond Council,
in the interests of ensuring that no trees were unnecessarily removed, asked
for a survey that counted every individual tree or shrub in the wood and a note
of each one that was to go. The result was headlines like this one on Twitter.
A petition
has been set up and, at the time of writing over 2,800 people have already signed
it.
It’s a petition I would once have been happy to subscribe to,
but two hours of looking at the site with Mr Watkins has made me see it in a
somewhat different light.
Firstly, the majority of the 300+ "trees" are
small, damaged, or near the end of their life. Anybody interested in the health
of the woodland must appreciate that the current density of trees and
uncontrolled undergrowth is not a healthy eco-system. The woodland floor gets
little sunlight and is covered in ivy. It does not support wildlife. Some of
beautiful trees in the area are difficult to see because of the scrub
surrounding them and all of the trees suffer because they do not they do not
get the light or nutrients they need to grow. Removal of many of these
"trees" would not worry anybody who has been in and looked at them up
close.
There are trees in the area which should be preserved. It's possible to argue about the merits of individual trees. For example, we looked at a yew that is scheduled for removal because of damage to the trunk which, it is argued, means it is not a healthy tree. However, looking at it with Mr Watkins he agreed that there is certainly room for disagreement on the point. There are several trees where it's not really possible to make a final decision on removal or retention at this stage, but the planning process means that all the trees that might be removed have to be listed. It would clearly be better if the planning consent was in two stages – one for the smaller shrubs that are definitely coming out and then a careful consideration separately of the larger trees that may or may not be removed later. Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to be the way that planning applications work.
This oak show significant storm damage but is structurally sound and will be retained
More seriously, the details of the trees that are to be
removed have been released ahead of the details of the trees that are to be
planted. My concern that the current blocks of woodland will be replaced with a
much more open view containing a few neatly laid out trees such as may have
been planted in the 18th century turns out to have been mistaken. Yes, some
trees will be removed and there will be a small number of trees planted in neat
rows very unlike what is that at present. However, the northern margins of
these blocks will be built up with additional planting to maintain the same
sort of appearance from the north, whilst opening the area up to visitors. At
present, the whole area is fenced off as the vegetation is thick and the
ground-cover not conducive to walking.
Butcher's broom in the woodland. So called because it was traditionally used by butchers to clean their blocks
Some people will still be unhappy with the planned changes,
but many people will be reassured if they only knew what they were. In any
case, whether you like the proposed changes or not, it would surely be helpful
if they were clearly explained ahead of any planning decision. The idea that
the planning consents could be given in stages is surely worth looking at.
Butcher's broom again. This is a female plant (with berries)
Restoring the original gardens
Some of the problem with the discussions of what is planned
for Marble Hill is that there are two distinct aspects to the work. Part of it
is essentially about woodland management but this is being done in the context
of attempts to restore the original 18th-century garden plan. As I explained in
my previous post about Marble Hill, the gardens are important in tracing the
development of landscape gardening in England. Henrietta Howard’s plans seem to
combine the strict formality of gardens from the 17th century and before with
the more informal approach to landscape that was, arguably, to find its finest
expression in the works of Capability Brown.
English Heritage will argue that the restoration of parts of
the 18th-century gardens in the apparently incongruous environment of a modern
municipal park is actually very close to the original concept which saw
different kinds of land-use sitting alongside each other. Whether the hidden
pathways and wooded areas of an 18th-century garden actually make aesthetic or
practical sense next to a 21st-century rugby pitch is a serious question and
one which I think deserves to be seriously addressed. It does go to the whole
question of how we protect England’s historical heritage within the context of
the modern world. I'm not sure that the planning process is the best place to
be having this discussion.
Self-seeded elm in the woodland. English Heritage at looking at possibly reintroducing elms to the park
I was very sceptical about the whole idea, but I must admit
that John Watkins makes a convincing argument. When you explore these blocks of
wild woodland in detail, sometimes stepping over the fence into areas that are
not generally open to the public, a surprising amount of the 18th-century plan
is still visible. Unfortunately, you really do have to be there together with
an expert. The sheer quantity of vegetation means that photographs, whether
taken at ground level or from the air, basically show lots of leaves. It's only
when you stand with a guide you can see the gaps in the trees where open rides
would have led through the woodland area all that time ago. One of the blocks
has a more open area hidden at the centre. There is lots of ground-cover but no
larger trees. The 18th-century plan shows that there was a secret flower garden
at this point and English Heritage intend to restore it. A surprising amount of
Lady Henrietta Howard's landscaping is still preserved, although it is visible
only to a landscape archaeologist.
Living with heritage
It seems that everybody locally has a view on whether or not
their favourite tree should be chopped down. (In at least one case, sadly, it
must be, because the roots are beginning to attack the foundations of the
house.) They all care about whether the whole of the park should still be open
to dog walkers – a substantial element of the park using community. They care
about the playing fields and the children's playground and the future of the
local cafe. All these issues are being aired, but there doesn't seem to be any
forum for a serious discussion of the heritage issues.
English Heritage are trying hard to engage with the public,
as evidenced by the amount of time that they have been prepared to give to me,
but this appears a dialogue of the deaf. English Heritage are only now learning
just how deeply people feel about a park which many of them have been using on
an almost daily basis since they were children. (The number of people who stood
up at a public meeting and presaged their remarks with the statement that they
had been walking their dogs there for over 40 years was eye opening.) Local
people, on the other hand, know little, if anything, about the historical
importance of the grounds and see only vandals who want to attack treasured
woodland. How this mutual incomprehension is ever going to resolve itself into a
plan generally acceptable to everybody is not clear. I would love to think that
this blog might be a starting point. If anybody does want a conversation, you
could begin by posting in the ‘Comments’ below.
Valuing heritage
Any discussion of English Heritage's plans for Marble Hill –
and, indeed, for many other sites – can't ignore the financial constraints that
English Heritage works under. In this country we claim to be very proud of our
heritage and it brings in a lot of money from tourists as well as giving much
pleasure to the many people who visit heritage sites every year. Yet English
Heritage has moved from being a government-funded organisation supported by
taxation to being a charity which will soon be expected to raise the money that
it needs to maintain England's heritage by charitable contributions.
Realistically, people are not going to put enough money into
collection boxes for them to keep places like Marble Hill properly maintained. (If you do want to support English Heritage financially, you can join HERE.) The result is that many sites are now expected to generate income to cover
their costs. Hence the plans for an on-site cafe, which have raised many
complaints locally. Despite concerns that trees will be felled and the nature
of the site will be changed, the cafe will not have any significant effect on
woodland or on the park’s landscape. This is not to say that it's necessarily a
good thing, but it does seem to be a necessary thing unless we are to accept
that the park should not be properly maintained.
If the cafe doesn't raise the sort of money that English
Heritage are hoping for then the plans could leave us with an elaborate
exercise in landscaping that will soon become overgrown, dirty, and (given the
number of hidden spaces in the woodland) potentially squalid and dangerous. Alternatively, English Heritage will have to make up the shortfall from its other income, leaving other properties short of resources.
Of course, if this really is our English Heritage, one
solution would be for the government to fund improvements to the landscaping
from taxation, but while politicians can find money for their pet vanity
projects, heritage funding is a victim of austerity and likely to remain so.
English Heritage’s plans are therefore defined almost as much by the financial
realities as by any ideal view of how the park should be presented.
Acknowledgements
Whilst I'm not sure that I share English Heritage’s vision
for Marble Hill, I do acknowledge that they are doing their best to meet what
they see as their remit. English Heritage put significant resources into what
is essentially a municipal park that they never asked to take responsibility
for but which they were landed with as a result of the political changes
discussed in my previous post. The park is, as I hope my photographs show, an
amazingly beautiful place, free for anybody to enter and enjoy. Just because I
may not agree with their future plans, doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the
efforts that they are making.
I'm particularly grateful to Kate Pitt and John Watkins of
English Heritage for giving me so much of their time and answering some very
ignorant questions, and to the on-site archaeological team for explaining to
amateurs like myself how they know so much about what the gardens would have
originally looked like.
