Hooptedoodle #437 - The Tricky Business of Suet Pellets

 Our garden birds are getting very well fed at the moment. One of the most popular lines is Suet Pellets, which are placed in a hanging feeder, ideal for the birds which can cope with eating from a perched position. Some of them can't manage this, but in general that works out OK, since the perchers are very messy eaters, and there is a lot of stuff dropped on the flower bed, where the ground-feeders can tidy up.

This is a bit of a problem for the smaller ground feeders - notably robins, wrens, blackbirds and thrushes, who tend to get trampled under foot and bullied by the bigger birds. Accordingly, my wife has improvised a caged feeder, in which she places a daily supply of the pellets. The little birds can hop into the cage, delicately pick up a pellet, and fly away with it to a safe eating place. The blackbirds have discovered that they can reach in through the holes and pick up odd pellets, which is fine, and it puts a stop to the wood pigeons just sitting down in the middle of the food and hoovering the lot.

The pigeons are really not pleased about this, and I am interested to see that they have attempted to solve the problem by a sort of outflanking manoeuvre. If they walk far enough, the reasoning goes, they must get past this stupid cage thing.

Here you see them at work. Interesting. They will probably out-breed all competitors in the near future, but I reckon they should not be placed in charge of strategic planning. Apart from the two individuals being distracted by the need to stop the other one getting any, there is a final irony as a bluetit pops in to take the only pellet they might have reached.

Hooptedoodle #436 - Invasion of the Big Vegans

 Sunday morning lie-in was disturbed today by the realisation that we were not alone...

A trio of ponies had escaped from the field opposite, which (for historical reasons) is known as The Walled Garden, and were munching on our grass. They also broke an old bird bath (no great loss) and generally expressed their opinion over the lawns.

A neighbour kindly closed our gate to stop them straying further (please don't ask why the gate wasn't closed in the first place), and a girl came from the Stables (up the lane) to recover them. 

She promises someone will come and clean up a bit - I'm not sure how far down the food chain in the Stables hierarchy you have to be to do the bucket and shovel job. I'll be pleased to get the mess cleared up, since a lady is coming to look at our garden this week, with a view to taking over as our regular gardener, and it might not be a good start to have the place covered in you-know-what.

Anyway, panic over, no horses were hurt or upset, and our day is definitely up and running. It is surprising how large a smallish pony is in the wrong setting.

 

No - that's not right at all...

 

The rescue crew in the hi-viz coat is included for scale purposes

 

Kilsyth (bis) - 1645

 

Baillie's reserve troops - Fife foot and a medium gun on his left. Yellow counters indicate "Raw" troops

 The background to this is twofold, I think. Maybe threefold - we'll see.

(1) I had been discussing with the Jolly Broom Man (JBM) the possibility of his trying a Zoom game with me. It is worth reminding myself that a game involving a gentleman in Darkest France, hosted here in the Darkest Scottish Border Country, is pretty much familiar territory, where two years ago I'd have been astounded that it was possible.

(2) Back in the Pandemic Days of 2021 I had the pleasure of hosting the Battle of Kilsyth (1645) on Zoom. On that occasion I was the umpire and message boy, and my guests were the noted Daves #1 and #2, who between them shared the roles of The Marquess of Montrose (leading the pro-MacDonald rebel forces, who may or may not have had some political affiliation with King Charles I) and of William Baillie, general commanding the Scottish Government troops. Poor Baillie has not been handled well by history, comparatively speaking, and receives very little adulation. Let us just say that there is still a Montrose Society, which has cheese-&-wine evenings and occasional presentation of papers, but you will not find any trace of a William Baillie Society. 

SIC HISTORIA NOS MEMINIT

My previous post on this battle was preceded by an unseemly wealth of information about the campaign and its politics, padded out with accounts of my falling into ditches and streams as I explored the battlefield, complete with heavy boots and cheese sandwiches. With all humility, and with whatever apologies are needed for my customary blind zeal in these matters, I was very pleased with the way my battle turned out, and added it to a list of games I would like to run again.

I am pleased to record the fact that JBM is (or was) an established user of my own Commands & Colors-based ECW rules - in fact he helped me sort out the bugs in the earlier version. Since he was receptive to the idea of using a re-run of Kilsyth as the vehicle for our Zoom extravaganza, I was able to reissue much of the previous paperwork, and I still had the troops labelled in the boxes, from last time.

The game was arranged for the afternoon of 22nd December. On this occasion, JBM was to be Montrose [since it would probably be ill-mannered to invite a guest to be Baillie], I was Baillie and we promised to keep each other right on the rules. I'd never tried this before, but since we each have a set of the Command and Chaunce (Event) game cards, and the necessary Battle Dice, we played to the original rules, rather than using any substitute, dice-based activation system. In case, like me, you had ever wondered, I can tell you it is possible to play with two sets of cards, even 1000 miles apart - it makes no difference that we used 2 sets rather than sharing 1.

The game went well - we had minimal hangs in the broadband, but nothing major. 

Background Story, and the Historical Battle:

 

Montrose’s army was originally set up in an approximate line of battle stretching from around D7 and then upwards, (to the west) off the table, waiting for the Dumb Covenanters to march along the road from Stirling (the road is just off the left edge of the table, and parallel to it). The initial rebel line up was (probably) Highlanders on their left, Irish in the centre, regular Foot on the right, with Horse covering the rear of the flanks.

 

Baillie realised there was a trap, so sent his army on a march along the bottom edge of the map, from the left of the table, using dead ground as much as possible, heading to the high ground beyond the mill at Auchinrivoch, which would place him above and behind Montrose's left flank. If Montrose withdrew, or even just sat there, Baillie was happy to sit and wait for a reinforcement commanded by the Earl of Lanark, which was thought to be coming from the west.

 

[This initiative of Baillie’s effectively turns the traditionally accepted Kilsyth battlefield through 90 degrees.]

 

However, two things went wrong for Baillie:

 

(1) Montrose became aware of the flanking move, and rushed his army to face to their left - their positions on the table reflect how quickly the units could move, and where they were starting from.

 

(2) for some reason, the small Commanded Shot unit (under Maj Haldane), which was to lead the Foot units to Auchinrivoch, and Home's (veteran) regt of Foot saw highlanders on the other side of the little valley, apparently looking a bit disordered, and deduced that Montrose's chaps were retreating over the mountains (north); thus both units stopped marching up to the mill, and turned to attack directly. Baillie failed to correct this, and was obliged to throw in as much as he could to make the best of this premature attack. Game on.

 

 

 I'll give a very quick resumé of the game, and let the captions to the photos provide a little more detail.

 

Baillie decided that, though he had not wished to start an attack before his right wing troops reached their intended position above Montrose's left flank, the potential unsteadiness of the Highland troops in Montrose's centre gave an opportunity to gain the initiative; the Government troops got off to a brisk start, taking a 2-0 lead on VPs (7 needed for the victory), eliminating one of the Clan groups, plus one of Mac Colla's Irish battalions, and occupying the enclosure at Auchinvalley.

 

Subsequently Montrose's horse got themselves organised on their own left, made very short work of their Government equivalents, and rolled up Baillie's army from the flank. The game ended with Montrose in a decisive 7-2 lead. History is vindicated once again, though Balcarres, commanding the Government horse, was badly at fault for the collapse and the exposure of Baillie's right. 

 

I must thank JBM for his excellent company, and some real laughs along the way.

 

This was my last fluttering for a while - 2 days later I was laid out with the flu, and managed to hurt my back, coughing, (not recommended as a plea for a hero's sympathy), so I missed the entire Holiday period.

 

Oh well... 

 

Initial situation, from behind Baillie's left flank - yellow counters mark Raw troops, red counters Veterans

 

And, again, the starting position, this time from Baillie's right

 

 

This is Montrose's hastily improvised line, from his own left - Veteran Irish troops in the centre, Highlanders beyond them

 

 

The Highlanders are moved forward around the enclosure at Auchinvalley Farm

 

 

Baillie's inexperienced reserve troops, Fife infantry under John Leslie, take up a strong position on the left

 

 

Early success for the Government; Robert Home's RoF, supported by Haldane's Commanded Shot, take the enclosure and do some major damage to the Highlanders

 

 

One further piece of ill-fortune for the Rebel troops at this point was being required to draw a "Chaunce" card, which revealed that all of Montrose's mounted troops had been supplied fodder contaminated with chickweed, which slowed them down for the rest of the day [it has to be said they did pretty well on it, at that...]. Here Airlie and Nat Gordon sort out the Royalist horse on their left wing

 

Mac Colla (base #11?) brings up his Irish troops. Beyond them we see Montrose (mounted, accompanied by the King's standard), attempting to calm down the Highlanders after a nervous start

 

 

The Earl of Balcarres, with the Government horse and the leading part of Baillie's intended infantry advance, gains the high ground beyond the windmill at Auchinrivoch

 

 

At this point, Baillie thought things were going pretty well...

 

 

Through total stupidity, Balcarres miscalculated an opportunistic attack on the Rebel horse (forgetting that "Trotter"-type horse may travel 3 hexes, but only 2 if they intend to fight anyone when they get there), and was very badly beaten

 

 

Now, suddenly and very clearly, Baillie could see that the failure of his cavalry had completely exposed his right flank. Bad news. With the inspirational support of his personal chaplain, he attempted to consolidate the troops in his centre, who seemed less than impressed with the idea

 

The asides of glory; one of the Highland clan units was sent to the rear by a Chaunce card, to replace poor-quality powder they had been provided with - they received occasional encouraging news from the front...

 

 

...and now it comes; the Rebels roll up Baillie's right - in particular, Airlie's horse did a formidable amount of damage at this stage... (if there is a Man of the Match award for the day, they probably deserved it)

 

Far from Fife, and fed-up - Henderson of Fordell's lads wonder if it is time to go home yet

 

 

Mac Colla (back corner with the ridiculous axe) takes the enclosure again, with one of his very fierce Veteran Irish units. Mac Colla's standard (which I believe is the MacDonald flag of the Lord of the Isles) is also in the field, to indicate where Mac Colla has got to

 

 

General impression of the end of the day, with Montrose's cavalry sweeping around the Government flank - it looks like a very long walk back to Stirling, gentlemen

 

Happy New Year 2023

 We had a very quiet night here last night. Nothing at all to write about, but my son, being rather more dynamic, went out for a walk yesterday evening (last year!) near his student flat.

Here's a view from a very damp Glasgow; looking south across the River Clyde towards the BBC Scotland building (which is in what I believe is Govan, though I'm not an expert). Looks like it was a quiet evening in Glasgow, too.

All the very best to anyone who visits this blog. May the new year bring us all something to be at least a little hopeful about!

Hooptedoodle #435 - Christmas with the English Pastoralists

 My Christmas got off to a flying start when I had to go to bed, unwell, on Saturday morning. A situation which would have been recorded in the cricket score-books of my youth as RETIRED HURT.

Not wishing to dramatise anything here, but I was coughing like an elderly horse, and I was pretty much convinced that I had Covid again, but I have been testing regularly since then, all negative, so I guess I have the flu. Boring.

Right.

Well, I have retired to the attic bedroom (as one does), and I have been relying for entertainment on a USB stick of mp3 music which I recorded a few months ago - I have a few of these, for the car, or any outlying BluRay player; this one is titled French Impressionists and English Pastoralists. A sort of private joke for what kind of music it is.

The French bit is easy enough - Ravel, Debussy, Fauré, Hahn, Ibert, a few others. The English category is less obvious; the composers are associated (in my mind) by the style of music rather than the strict dates. Vaughan-Williams, Delius, Bax, Butterworth, Jeffreys, Finzi, Gurney.

Having stashed my festive food in the freezer until some time when I feel up to it, I'm living on Lucozade and Gerald Finzi - musn't grumble.

Finzi gets me to the point I wanted to discuss here. He's better known now than he was, but still not very popular. Finzi himself lived from 1901 to 1956, first of all in London, was evacuated during WW1 to Harrogate and then moved in later life to Gloucestershire. He is probably best known for his song settings of English poetry, with piano accompaniment, but he also produced some beautiful orchestral work.

 

Gerald Finzi (hurrah!)

I got a real shock when I first heard his Éclogue, for piano and orchestra, on the radio in about 1998 or so. Very moving. Heart stopping, in fact. I understood that he had written the original piece around 1928, as part of a piano concerto which eventually was scrapped. After Finzi's death, his publisher rescued two of the surviving movements as separate pieces. So that must have been around 1960. I couldn't understand how someone who listens to as much music as I have could never have heard such a lovely work; in fact I had never heard of Finzi at all. How could this be?

Well, the start of the explanation is that on that morning I was listening to Classic FM, which was a commercial classical music station in the UK. I would not have heard it on the BBC. Good heavens, no. This is because of the personal bias of one Sir William Glock, a legendary music critic and organiser. Glock is regarded as one of the great men of British music - his influence is still around, though he has been dead since 2000. Glock studied piano with Artur Schnabel in Berlin, and became convinced that modern music was the way to go. He was music critic of the Daily Telegraph and then of the Observer, and ran summer schools to support the growth of "avant-garde" music. His belief was that anyone who wrote music with a more traditional harmonic system - especially if it involved arrangements of folk tunes - was old-hat. Therefore Vaughan-Williams was especially not welcome, as was anyone who had studied under, befriended or (possibly) even heard of Vaughan-Williams.

 

Sir William Glock (boo!)

From 1959 to 1972 Glock was the BBC's Director of Music, and from 1960 to 1973 he was also head of the London Promenade Concerts. He was a despot. Anyone who was on his (alleged) blacklist of composers would not be performed on the BBC, and there was just about a shut-out on all concerts in London. It might have been possible for concerts to have been performed, or even broadcast, in the more provincial parts of Britain, but who cared about that?

If someone was known (or suspected) to be on Glock's list, the effects were far reaching. The UK recording companies would not touch them, since the BBC would not play or review the records, and there was little scope for public performance. I recall, as a young man, being told that Vaughan-Williams was really an eccentric amateur and would have done much better if he had been a more fastidious orchestrator. Who told me this? - that's right - the good old BBC.

Glock didn't only put a stop to some British composers having an audience in Britain; also Aaron Copeland, Franz Schmidt, Szymanowski and a few others were not encouraged.

In later life, Glock was Director of the Bath Festival, and undoubtedly had some positive influences in the field of music, though his obsession with Pierre Boulez strikes me as a bit odd. However, I recently obtained (at last) a CD of the works of John Jeffreys, which was recorded in the last year of Jeffreys' life, 2014. The sleeve notes on the CD explain that Jeffreys and a few of his contemporaries were unfairly ignored during their productive years, and though Glock and his legacy are not mentioned it is obvious why. At one point, Jeffreys, who had a tendency for depressive illness, was frustrated to the point of destroying the manuscripts for most of his (extensive) portfolio of work.

Well, that does it for me. I hope Glock got a severe talking-to when he arrived at the Pearly Gates. The whole thing smells of the Russian Government banning American music. You will not listen to this, because I say so.

It's rather a long piece, but if you don't know the Éclogue, here it is. I promise you will feel better if you have a listen.

Bullets Struggle Uphill?

 Yesterday I enjoyed an English Civil War miniatures game, using my own rules, which are unashamedly based on the Commands & Colors: Napoleonics set.

The game was a lot of fun, and I may write up a battle report when time permits, but during the game a situation arose for which I have no real answer...

At one point we were working out how many Battle Dice to use for an infantry unit firing on another (that's Ranged Combat of course). My guest pointed out that, since in this instance the fire was uphill, then according to my QRS there should be a deduction of 1 die. Oh no, say I, that's a mistake; the [-1] only applies for melee combat uphill. So we check the main rules book, and - goodness me - it says that Foot fighting uphill have a deduction of 1 dice for ranged or melee. To tell the truth, I've never played it like that - I've only ever made the deduction for melees.

Anyway, we made a note that this seems odd, and the rules should probably be changed to require a deduction only for uphill melees, and I scribbled it in my Pending Changes jotter. The game proceeded on its merry way.

Since my ECW game is derived from the C&CN ruleset I had a read of those rules last night, and was surprised to find that they too insist on 1 dice deduction for firing or melee uphill - I had faithfully lifted this into the ECW version. If I'm going to be honest, I have to admit that I can't remember using the deduction for uphill fire in the Napoleonics game either. Hmmm.

Of course, I can change my own rules however I like, and intend to fix this in the next update: -1 dice uphill will only apply to Melee Combat for Foot. Before I consider amending the published C&CN rules as well, I thought I'd see if anyone can provide a really good reason why musket fire would be less effective uphill?

I'm sure there may be a lot of (cod) science involved, and in my search for illustrations I came across lots of photos of American chaps in baseball caps shooting peaceful-looking deer in all sorts of scenery, so I swerved all that.

Anyone have any ideas why musket balls really might be less effective going uphill? I'd be interested to hear any reasons - the more preposterous the better, of course. I can imagine that having the ball roll out of the end of the barrel might be a problem if shooting downhill, but uphill seems OK. If anyone feels moved to use this as an opportunity to have a rant about the stupidity of all aspects of games involving hexes then please don't bother; I've heard it all before, it's boring, and I forgive you anyway. [We know where you live.]

Hooptedoodle #434 - Bookmark and Ramifications

And we note our place with book markers, that measure what we've lost

 I was looking through some old books the other morning - trying to find some military reference or other, and a suitably old bookmark fluttered to the floor.

I must have been given this to accompany a book purchase, one among so many. The old-style telephone number (031 for Edinburgh) indicates that this purchase must have been before 1995 [I knew you'd spot that, Watson], though I am surprised that the insertion of a "1" as second digit of UK phone numbers was as recent as that. No matter.

I am a little embarrassed to relate that I had a single employer from the time I left university until I took early retirement, and for much of that period I was based in or around George Street, and for a large proportion of my lunch breaks I would have been in The Edinburgh Bookshop for some of the time. It wasn't an especially brilliant bookshop - it was always overshadowed locally by James Thin's and Baumeister's and the many specialist booksellers in the Old Town, but - well, it was in George Street, wasn't it? On wet days, cold days and just plain boring days I would traipse along to No.57 after my lunch.

It wasn't a very welcoming store. In charge of the shop-floor were two older ladies who always wore black - very serious older ladies. They were devoted followers of the old Edinburgh principle that anyone who worked in a shop was a cut above anyone who might have the temerity to shop there, and they were very hard on anyone who did not conform to their high standards.

Right at the start of my interest in wargaming, I went into the EB (which, confusingly, was usually known locally as "Brown's", though I never met anyone who remembered it actually being Brown's - I suspect it was one of those social tricks to make outsiders feel uncomfortable) to order the Osprey book about the Iron Brigade. They had a stand of Ospreys, so, since I couldn't find the Iron Brigade, I was encouraged to ask.

Mistake. One of the two Angels of Death rolled her eyes at me, and refused to order it.

"Our stock of these is bewildering, we have lots of them, I think the quality is very poor, and I am not going to order a single copy. I'm sure that if you look in again you may find the item you are looking for, though why anyone should be interested in such matters escapes me."

Right.

That kind of sets the tone. I was just a spotty actuarial trainee at the time, and was used to being abused as part of my normal day, so I was not scarred by the experience, and I bought the book on a trip to Newcastle, later the same year. Visiting "Brown's" became a ritual punishment for my colleagues and me - there were many tales of retribution.

My friend Jake Mansfield was asked to leave on one occasion, because he was carrying a Woolworths carrier bag; it was explained to him that a lot of important people patronised the shop, and it was necessary to preserve the tone of the place. Paul Levack was asked to leave because he was carrying a box of cream cakes, obtained from the patisserie next door - maybe this was more understandable. Andy Scott was asked to stop chewing gum.

We were always on our best behaviour - you can understand why.

There were some prominent visitors, in fact - one regular was Professor Peter Higgs (of boson fame), whom I knew slightly because he had been my Mathematical Physics lecturer for one year at university, and there were all manner of lawyers and medical consultants and financial superheroes - none of whom I knew at all, naturally.

I remember one particular incident with affection - it encapsulates so many human frailties in one short lesson, I feel...

I was in "Brown's" at lunchtime, as usual, and decided to ask if they could obtain a particular book for me. The shop was fairly quiet, and I realised with a sinking heart that I would have to speak to one of the Black Sisters. She was already "helping" someone else - generally nondescript middle-aged man, rather below average height, I recall. I stood behind him, to wait my turn. He was not doing well; the lady in charge was becoming very exasperated - shaking her head and being even more rude than usual. He had obviously brought into the shop some kind of a receipt for something he had ordered previously.

"Oh, this is ridiculous - what is all this here? [pointing]"

"I'm sorry, your colleague completed the order - I believe that is the title of the book, is it not?"

"[Theatrical sigh] I can see that it is a title - no - this, here - 'Melville' - is that supposed to be the author?"

"No - no, that is my name..."

"MELVILLE?? - what sort of a name is that? - Melville What? - or is it Mr Melville?"

"No - I'm sorry - it's my name - I am the Viscount Melville."

The lady leapt to attention - like a ramrod; she didn't salute, but I would not have been surprised if she clicked her heels together. Obviously she had been blind-sided by one of these important customers she used to speak of, and what followed was a demonstration of fawning obsequiousness which was so embarrassing that I actually crept away and left them to it. This must be what happens when someone takes a hefty kick in the value-set. I have never forgotten it. The lady in question must have been dead for many years now, but I still remember the occasion with a gentle warmth. Ahhh...   

Edinburgh Bookshop disappeared around 2006. For a time it may have been Ottakers, I believe it was actually a branch of the great rival, James Thin's, for a little while, which must have hurt them deeply. It must have been knocked for six by the arrival of Waterstones, and it was certainly finished off by the rescheduling of George Street to become a very posh shopping area. Nowadays if you cannot eat it or sip it or wear it you will not find it in George Street. Such is progress. Last time I looked, No.57 was a shop selling up-market outdoor sports clothing, but  that may have changed now. The only remaining clue was the iconic clock over the front door.

I was astonished that I cannot find any old photos of The Edinburgh Bookshop online - not even Brown's. I had intended to include a suitably gloomy b&w shot. Just nothing. I spent so many hours there, over the years, on my very best behaviour, and it has vanished without trace. That's not easy to get your head around. There is a new Edinburgh Bookshop now, in Bruntsfield Place, away from the city centre, but they are a completely separate operation; just to be sure, I phoned them up - I spoke to a charming, friendly, helpful lady who was unaware that the old shop had ever existed, and who obviously wouldn't have lasted ten minutes with them, back in the day.

Perhaps I imagined it?