Auldhame Castle - Boots and Old Stones

Auldhame Castle as it is today, on the edge of a cliff - view from the North West

There is no escape - relentlessly, true to yesterday's post, I dug the boots and the camera out, the thermal underwear and the weatherproof trousers, and I walked the 600 yards through the woodland from my house to Auldhame Castle. Before you ask why I have never visited the place before, I can only say that I seem to have been busy.

Auldhame Castle was a fortified house built, probably on or near the site of an earlier building (which may have been some form of religious retreat - see later), in about 1530, by Adam Otterburn of Reidhall, who was sometime Lord Provost of Edinburgh (from 1538 until his term of office was ended by the Rough Wooing), Lord Advocate to James V of Scotland and later secretary to James' second wife, Mary of Guise. Adam was murdered in Edinburgh in 1558.

Since he also had a residence at Reidhall (or Redhall), in Edinburgh, Auldhame may have been the family farm or a country seat, but it was a substantial structure. It was an L-shaped building - the North wing faced onto the cliffs over the Forth, on the East Lothian coast, and much of that is still standing and recognisable; the South-East wing has mostly disappeared - about all that remains is the entrance door.

Trouble with neighbours? - Tantallon, the seat of the "Red" Douglas family, is
just across a field and a little bay from Auldhame. Since Otterburn advised
James V on a treason charge against the Douglas household in 1528, it seems
odd that he chose to build next door to them. The field in the foreground is
called Old Adam, and it is here that the burial ground was discovered in
2005 - I had read that "Adam" was a corruption of Auldhame, but I prefer to
believe it is named after old Adam Otterburn

Entrance to the vanished South wing

This photo is borrowed from elsewhere - note the cloverleaf motif

Vaulted cellar area below the remaining building

In these parts, the ivy always wins in the end

Good heavens - could that be a ghostly hand waving - can you see it too...?

The flat area on which the house was built is bounded by a bank (and
the footings of an old wall, somewhere under the trees), built on top of a sandstone face

The ground is hard to figure out, because of the subsequent growth of the forest, the
progressive collapse of the cliffs in front of the house, building of more recent
walls and field structures and a fair amount of anti-tank defences left
over from WW2 - the beach here was a source of constant worry as an invasion site
(from Norway?)

This  is not a sandstone cliff - it is WW2 concrete!

No-one really knows when the building ceased to be used. One theory is that Cromwell's boys slighted it as part of a general reduction of defensible buildings in the area after the Battle of Dunbar, another is that it was already derelict by then, though it was not very old. Auldhame appears (as Oldham) on John Speed's map of Scotland in 1610 - there was almost certainly a village (probably of timber huts) in addition to the Castle. This has been swept away - nowadays the hamlet of Auldhame comprises a line of terraced farm cottages on the A198, and the large 19th Century Auldhame House, which has no connection with (and is half a mile from) the old Castle.

Just as a reminder, this is what it is supposed to have looked like around 1600
 - viewed from the same angle as my first photo - the cliffs were further away then!

During the time I have lived nearby, there was a major archeological dig (2005) in a corner of one of the fields of Auldhame Farm, next to the wood containing the castle. A Christian burial site and some form of religious building were examined, and after some debate it was decided that they probably dated from the 8th or 9th Century, possibly contemporary with our local saint, St Baldred, who is thought to have lived at Auldhame. St Baldred is a complex subject - if you can be bothered, I recommend you check him out on Wikipedia. Apart from surfing across to the Bass Rock on a rock, he also managed to be buried in three separate places - a tricky fellow.

ECW - Work on Sieges, and the Distraction of Local Ruins

Within the next few weeks I intend to get out my ECW siege bits and pieces, and have a more formal attempt at a siege. One of my invited guests will be David the Cruncher, my chiropractor, who appeared in this blog a little while ago when he came here to be introduced to wargaming. In honour of his South Shields origins, on that occasion we played a game based on the Battle of Boldon Hill, which in reality had never quite been a proper battle at all, but the fact that David’s uncle lives in one of the villages on the battlefield was an overwhelming case in favour of the scenario.

My intended action this time will be "Something a Little Bit Like the Siege of Newcastle" (1644) – you will hear more of this shortly. Because of the impending presence of guest generals (and my experience of guest generals is that the beggars sometimes wish to have some idea what is going on), I am working on tidying up the rules, and writing them out in a form which might be understood by someone apart from me – in particular, all the scribbled pencil tables and post-it notes need some attention.

Anyway – I hope to set out more details of all this over the coming few weeks, including (maybe) a revised draft of the siege rules. In the meantime, I have become a little diverted by some of our local castles here in East Lothian.

It is, in any case, a topic which I find interesting, and there are a great many sites around here which have history related to the ECW. The most recent distraction came during my studies of the activities of the Covenanter Armies – I was reading about the East Lothian regiment which marched into Northumberland with Lord Leven (subsequently appearing at, for example, Marston Moor and the sieges of York and Newcastle), and it seems that the colonel and patron of this unit was Sir Patrick Hepburn, who lived at Waughton Castle.

Now I know Waughton – it is about 4 miles from where I am sitting – and I know there is a pile of old stones and the remains of a medieval doocot (dovecot, to English readers) on the farm at Old Waughton, but I know nothing about the history of the place – it really doesn’t look very interesting.

Wrong. A quick look at Andrew Spratt’s splendid website devoted to reconstructions of Scottish castles reveals that Waughton Castle was a fine thing – in fact here it is.

Waughton

So, if it was still the home of an important local family in the mid 17^th Century, how has it vanished so completely? – so much so, in fact, that a reclusive old nerd like me (who has plenty of free time, a camera and walking boots, and lives, as I say, 4 miles away) did not even know it was there.

Mr Spratt likens the disappearance of these old fortified houses to children’s sandcastles on the beach being swept away by the tide. Yes, it is true that there were a number of dramatic incidents such as Cromwell and Monck destroying the places, but even in the cases where the places just fell into disuse there was a sort of gradual tidal wave as the locals requisitioned the stone to build houses, barns, field boundaries. I must have seen the stones of Waughton Castle many times, but they are built into farm steadings and stane dykes. They must have migrated in countless small carts and barrows over the centuries. There may be some on our garden rockery…

So I have resolved that I will take a bit more trouble to spend some time looking at Andrew’s website, and visit what is left of these local places. Apart from the well-known National Trust sites at Tantallon (Douglas family) and Dirleton (Ruthvens), within a very few miles of here I know of Waughton (Hepburn), Hailes (more Hepburns), Innerwick, Yester and many others, I also now see that the ruin in the woods on the farm here at Auldhame, which is less than a mile away and which I had previously believed to be an ancient abbey, is now thought to have been a house destroyed by Monck after the Battle of Dunbar. Hmmm – Andrew, you have my full attention. There is also a tale that the Laird of Lochhouses (2 miles from here, now a working farm) was wounded at the Battle of Dunbar, followed home by English dragoons and shot on the doorstep of his “tower” – this patently is not the extant Victorian farmhouse, so I think there must be another ruin somewhere nearby.

Hailes

Yester

Auldhame - 15 minutes squelch from here

The church at Whitekirk (also about 2 miles away) is reputed to have been used to stable some of the Roundheads’ horses after Dunbar, but there are innumerable such stories, and there is a whiff of resentful outrage in this one – as an example of the sort of heretic rascals these chaps were.

Whitekirk Parish Church

Anyway – if the weather starts to improve, I would welcome the excuse to go squelching round the local countryside in search of ancient stones. I shall have to stock up on pork pies to add excitement to the packed lunches.

Please note that I use Mr Spratt's illustrations without any permission to do so - if you are interested in this, I would recommend that you visit his website via the link in this post - well worth the time.

Hooptedoodle #249 - Not the Eighth Dwarf

A propos of absolutely nothing, I was going through my folders of family photos, and came upon this one, taken while on holiday in Sorrento in 2000 (goodness me - is it that time already?).

We went for a walk up to St Agata, which is a good climb above Sorrento, and then on to the ancient convent of Il Deserto, which is on the road over the hill to Massa Lubrense. Past the convent there is the Hotel O Sole Mio (no, really), which in 2000 used to cater almost exclusively for German tour companies. The only reason I mention this at all is to explain the picture - along the side of the road was a line of plastic gnomes - I think they were Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, though now I study the photo I'm not so sure - and I was amused by this homely touch in a land of treasures and fine art. The entrance to the hotel car park was adorned with a plastic statue of Jesus, as you see, which struck me as a rather idiosyncratic complement to the group.

This is all mere whimsy - a fleeting moment of quirkiness in a pleasant holiday from years ago. In passing, I might mention that we last visited the area in 2010, and naturally we couldn't pass up on the chance of retracing our walk to Massa, but the little road had been redeveloped a good bit - the hotel had been replaced with a nice new one (and, it has to be said, the old one looked a bit of a dump), and Snow White and her augmented entourage were no more.

I am also reminded that in 2000 a local dog insisted on attaching itself to us, despite everything we tried to discourage it, and walked all the way with us from just past Il Deserto to Massa Lubrense. I was very concerned that the poor thing would be lost forever. When we went into a cafe in Massa for a well-earned drink (we took the bus back), the dog happily sloped off back up the road. I have to assume/hope that it got home safely; in fact, it probably joined tourists for the walk over the hills every day.

Another photo from the same holiday - maybe even the same walk - reveals a strange, slim version of MSFoy with rather more hair - scary - now that seems far longer ago than the holiday! It looks as though I may have been worrying about the dog...

1809 Spaniards - Voluntarios de Campo Mayor - the authorised version

With, again, my sincere thanks to Macota for providing the reference information, I attach the relevant pages from the standard work by the Conde de Clonard, which show that the Vols de Campo Mayor were raised in Sevilla in 1802-3, confirm that the unit was named to commemorate the taking of the (Portuguese) town and fortress of Campo Mayor, during the War of the Oranges, and even give some details of which units helped contribute the manpower for each of the 6 companies. They were renamed for the town of Albuhera in 1815, and the reference to uniform colours also gives me a clue that the 1812 version of this regiment - in British-made light blue uniforms with white facings - gives a sensible ID to just such a unit which I have had sitting on the painting bottletops for a while (thanks again, Matt), waiting for me to provide a suitable drummer so they can take their place in the 1812 army.

Clonard's book was published in the mid-19th Century (I think), and he gives some later history, and the plate of unit insignia shows Campo Mayor at top left. The list of colonels could use some dates, I guess, but hey.

Just to make the point that these chaps worked very hard during the Guerra de Independencia, I also attach the tables from Col. JJ Sañudo's invaluable database of unit histories - these guys were everywhere - Talavera, Ucles - read for yourself. Thanks to everyone who contributed ideas, and to anyone who just read the original posting - oh, and to Google Books, of course.

Number 6 - An Expansion Too Far?

Sometimes you get a sort of sign – admittedly, some of us are so blooming dense that it takes a good shove to make the point, but I seem to have got there in the end.

I am a big fan of Commands & Colors: Napoleonics, the GMT boardgame, which I play with miniatures – in fact this is the basis of almost all my wargaming now. In the past I have considered each of the expansion sets as they were announced – the only one I’ve invested in was #5, the Generals, Marshals and Tacticians set, which provides a new card pack, some upgraded rules and a rather richer game.

I’ve always been excited by the prospect of playing bigger C&CN games, on a bigger tabletop, so have been waiting for some time for the new Expansion #6, which allows Epic or La Grande Battle [sic] sized games on a bigger board. When it was announced, in March, I put my name down for pre-order in a state of some excitement, which qualified me for a discounted price, and I received an email receipt. Splendid.

And only then did I start to think about it more carefully.

Let me see – the new expansion gives you a couple of new playing boards (wasted on me, since I don’t play it as a boardgame), a book of new scenarios, using the bigger format, with some new scenery tiles and unit blocks (also wasted on me, for the same reason, and since many of the scenarios are for nations and campaigns which I do not play), a revised rule book (good, though I am aware that I need some new tabletops and, preferably, a church hall somewhere to play Epic games with miniatures in my scale) – no new card pack, though. The cost of the expansion is $75 plus postage, less about one-third discount for pre-ordering (plus UK VAT and Royal Mail handling charges).

The expansion was delayed for some reason, but shipping eventually commenced on 13^th December. I have received nothing, and I was not convinced that I had actually paid anything, so I began to suspect that GMT had not sent me anything. Hmmm.

I sent an email yesterday, just to check where we are up to. GMT are good, and efficient, and the excellent Deb replied to me today, to say that, since they did not have up-to-date credit card information for me, they had not processed my order. If I wish to update my account information, they can sort things out. They could maybe have told me there was a problem, but they didn't.

Once again, hmmm. Was this the final sign?

Apart from anything else the pound Sterling has gone on a mighty slide since March – this game is getting more expensive, and more marginal, by the moment. I made a decision which surprised me, though I feel somewhat relieved having made it. I cancelled my order. I am confident that Expansion #6 is an excellent product, and that players all over the world will thoroughly enjoy it. But not for me. If I can piece together how the rule revisions work, I can probably make some tweaks to my own miniatures games to allow bigger, multiplayer games, and that’s really all I want. The shiny big box full of redundant bits and pieces would have been a folly – I can see that now.

It took me a while, but I got there. I may be enthusiastic, but I am not easy. Marketing departments, please note.

1809 Spaniards - a mystery unit?

This post covers a topic which has been discussed in a couple of my emails recently, so if you recognise any of it then I have simply opened the subject up a bit wider, in search of clues. Because, my dear Holmes, I am puzzled.

One of the forthcoming units in my 1809 Spanish army is a light battalion, the Voluntarios de Campo Mayor. I've included a picture of them in their 1805 regulation uniform, if only to give some proof they existed. I have checked my Spanish army database (a fine thing - the work of Col. JJ Sañudo), and it shows that they had a long and busy career during the Guerra de Independencia, but of course Sanudo's lists start in 1808, and I'm looking a bit earlier than that.

I have a little research to do to try to find an authentic (or at least feasible) flag for the unit. I enjoy lightweight digging jobs like this, but there is something a bit odd going on here. Campo Mayor is not in Spain at all - it is in Portugal. Why, then, would the Spanish Army have a unit named after (and raised in?) a Portuguese town? The regiment was raised in 1802 (I don't know where, at the moment), which makes it one of the very youngest of the regular regiments which existed prior to the huge explosion in new units raised from 1808 on. I am guessing here, but this may have something to do with Manuel de Godoy. The War of the Oranges (May-Jun 1801) had resulted in Spain capturing some Portuguese territory - including Campo Mayor and the province of Olivenza. The Treaty of Badajoz returned some of these areas to Portugal, though Olivenza remained Spanish until modern times.

Around 1802, one of the Spanish cavalry regiments changed its name to the Cazadores a Caballo de Olivenza, which may appear a little cheeky, in view of the very recent change of ownership (this is still a disputed region today), but it would have been really cheeky to name a new infantry unit after Campo Mayor, which - if it ever was Spanish - was only so very briefly.

According to Sañudo, the Voluntarios de Campo Mayor became (or were absorbed by) the Regimiento de Infanteria Ligera de Albuera (No.11) on 2nd March 1815. The mystery, then, is why and how the new light infantry battalion of 1802 was named after a Portuguese town? I'm still grinding my way through various books by Esdaile, Bueno and others, so I may yet find something, but I realise that someone might just know the answer.

All clues welcome, as ever!

Wails of Torpor - non-review

Within the last year or two I've started picking up cheap DVDs of old war movies - I've thoroughly enjoyed Sink the Bismarck, Bridge over the River Kwai, The Desert Fox and a pile of others - some I'd seen before, back in the day, some are new to me - just the thing on odd rainy afternoons, or on the 3am insomnia shift when the depression bites. I can accept them and enjoy them for what they are, with all their dated values and outmoded politics.

I still have a few that I keep an eye open for - Battle of the Bulge (the one with Robert Shaw) is on my list, but I also get occasional recommendations from friends, or people whose taste I know to be about on a par (good or bad) with my own. Someone very kindly sent me an Amazon voucher for Christmas, so I took the opportunity to buy a few things I would not otherwise have treated myself to. I bought the new, 4-disc set of Abel Gance's Napoleon (1927?) - digitally restored, includes a pile of additional material which had become detached from the original movie, and a new musical soundtrack (derivative, but very good) by Carl Davis. At 8½ hours (or whatever it is) it still requires a major commitment in coffee and devotion, but I have started on the first disc, and have given up and determined that I shall start it again very soon when I am more relaxed.

To make up the package (and benefit from shipping savings) I got a few other things - notably Cross of Iron (which was recommended by a mate and which stars James Coburn as the famous blogger, Sgt Steiner - the film is OK - I'll watch that again, too, but mostly for Coburn) and Wheels of Terror, aka The Misfit Brigade, which was also recommended, and which might just be the worst film I've ever seen.

Wheels of Terror was made in 1987, I think (certainly the haircuts would confirm it was around that time), and it is based on one of the many works of Sven Hassel, a Dane who served in the German army in WW2. Now there may be a great many Hassel fans out there - all due respect to you all, I was never one. I recall WH Smith and station bookshops everywhere stocking best-selling pulp paperbooks by Hassel, all very popular, all with lurid covers, and all, reportedly, crammed with extreme violence and sweary words. I never bought or read any - not a matter of snobbery or prejudice - I seem to have been very busy in those days, and books of sweary words were not a high priority.

Anyway, I read the description of the DVD version of Wheels of Terror, shrugged, and decided it was probably worth £2.45 or whatever it was, if only to fill the gap in my education and see what all the fuss had been about.

Wow. The whole thing is buried under a lot of anachronistic American slang and mannerisms, the German soldiers behave like a comedy version of the US Marines (lots of "Yes - SUH!" in unison). The story line is silly, and pretty much irrelevant anyway, the bangs are bigger and brighter than you would credit, and the dialogue is something else. I kept finding myself shaking my head, and reminding myself, not only that someone had actually written this crap, but also had thought fit to include it in the movie. The acting is unbelievable in more than one sense, but in the end it is not so much bad as unnecessary - presentable actors such as David Carradine and Oliver Reed (not sure if Reed actually speaks, come to think of it) offer up their lines in very obvious disbelief - perhaps hoping it will all be over soon.

Maybe the style has dated - maybe they were trying to cash in on Hassel's success, or on the takings of some other film they wished this could have been. I was, you will have gathered, disappointed. I'm relieved that I did not read any of the books when they were around, but it's always a shame when you revisit some faintly naughty indulgence and find it was not worth the bus fare.

Why am I writing this up? Not sure, really - maybe it fits into a recurrent theme of nostalgia not being what it used to be - maybe it is just a public-service warning for non-Hassel-fans to avoid this film at all costs. It is without a single redeeming feature (though the unit markings on the tanks may be accurate - I wouldn't know) - you would be far better spending an hour and a half sweeping up leaves, or washing the car.