Zoom Game - Fuentes de Oñoro (3rd Day) - 5th May 1811

Yesterday I hosted/umpired a "distanced" game, featuring - nay, starring - Stryker as Wellington and nundanket as Massena - lofty company indeed. We used my Ramekin variation on C&CN, on a 17 x 9 hex table, and the forces were scaled to about 60% of the original, just to get everything on board (so to speak).

I spent some time studying the available scenarios - and eventually constructed my own. Some challenges for Fuentes - it is a very big battle, by Peninsular War standards, but also rather an odd battle in some ways. I chose the 3rd day (which, confusingly, for me, was the second day of fighting - the battle was 3rd-5th May, and the 4th was mostly spent manoeuvring, while Massena tried to come up with something rather more clever, and Wellington extended his right flank, in anticipation of this more clever thing which Massena might do).  The great, received British traditions of this 3rd day are mostly surrounding the early morning action, when Montbrun's cavalry and Marchand's and Mermet's divisions of VI Corps made a left hook through forests and swamps, and flushed Houston's 7th British Division out of the village of Pozo Bello. Craufurd was sent with the Light Divn and some cavalry support, to rescue the 7th Divn - Houston managed to retire to Freneda, which is to the west of the main battlefield, and took no further part. Craufurd then undertook a celebrated withdrawal, with his infantry in square, and with gallant support from his outnumbered cavalrymen. This section of the action is also famous for Norman Ramsay's "charge" with a couple of guns from the RHA, and so on - if you want a truly dramatic account of all this, Napier is your man, though how accurate the depiction is may now be a topic for discussion.

Whatever, I reluctantly decided that much of this early-morning caper is splendid stuff, and would lend itself beautifully to a big game of Sharp Practice or similar, but is far too tactical and fiddly for a big game with a blunt instrument like C&C. Thus our game started with Houston gone and Craufurd on his way back - I would have to grit my teeth and do without the Brunswickers and Chasseurs Britanniques, and our field would have Pozo Bello a mile or two off the south-west corner.

The game, then.

This is my rather basic version of a C&C set-up plan.

Start: general view from north-east corner - Anglo-Portuguese on the right, town of Fuentes (worth 2 temporary Victory Points to the French if and while they hold both hexes of the town) right in the middle of the photo

Start: looking along Wellington's main line, from his right - those big Foot Guard battalions look impressive, but they had a quiet day...

Start: view of the Allied right flank, with Craufurd's force strung out across the field, and Montbrun's cavalry appearing through the trees from the direction of Pozo Bello. Below you see Fuentes itself, with the garrison looking across the river towards Ferey's Divn [I substituted fords for the original bridges, just to avoid that annoying and rather undignified business of balancing sabots on the handrails]

Start: Beyond the Allied left, you see Ferey, with support from the Divns of Conroux and Claparède - the counters on the table edge are further battalions which are still to arrive - Drouet D'Erlon kept back part of the IX Corps force as a reserve. The river is shallow, but the section in the foreground (from the wiggly bit) is in a gorge, and unfordable.

Start: The French centre, with Montbrun's cavalry, Marchand and Mermet beyond. The centre was intimidated by the Allied artillery facing them (for once, the French are outgunned), and served mainly to pin Wellington's main force, and limit the extent to which the Fuentes town position could be reinforced.

Start: Drone shot of Montbrun's cavalry, making a fairly dismal job of harrassing Craufurd. The Allies won the first initiative roll of the game, which was a good one to win

Right from the beginning of the action, the fight for Fuentes began, and it was as bloody as Napier says; to everyone's amazement (especially Massena's), the French gained immediate success and took the southern end of the village. They were promptly driven out again, but came back with equal success. The theme was set - this was the main area of fighting for the day - very quickly, the French were 3-2 up in VPs (9 needed for the victory). Ferey is #17 - he had a very active day.

General view, about an hour into the game. Not much happening in the centre, though the 6eme Léger are taking a bit of a bashing from the artillery.

And still the fighting goes on at Fuentes - I really did lose count of the number of times it changed hands. At this point, the French brought up a battalion of grenadiers (red counter), but they didn't do very well.

On the French left, Montbrun sends a regiment of dragoons up, forcing the 52nd Foot into square, but they were seen off by Slade with the British 1st Dragoons.

Unusual sight - Montbrun's two dragoon units take shelter in the woods - the official story was that this was to clear the way for more troops and the French horse artillery.

Still not a lot happening in the centre, though the French had now pushed one of their own foot batteries forward, where they provided good support for the troops holding Fuentes.

More troops crossing the river, and still the situation at Fuentes is half held by each side, and heavy fighting.

Under the claim that Massena was having problems with his old injury from Essling, I took the opportunity to field him in a carriage. He looks peaceful - he may, in fact, be asleep. The young ADC in the white hussar kit is the Marshal's 17-year-old son, Prosper, who is definitely very wide awake.

The French now have both bits of the village, so the 2 bonus VPs are shining on the scoreboard, and Picton brings up some Portuguese troops to try to do something about it.

The British dragoons attack - and defeat - the French dragoons in their wood - never seen one of these before...

By this stage, with the IX Corps chaps coming up in support, it is becoming obvious that Wellington is not going to be able to do much about recovering the town; his supporting units on that flank are already badly battered. From memory, I believe the VP count was about 7-3 at this stage, so something desperate was needed from the Allies.

General view after about 3 hours fighting - the French hold the village, and Wellington's troops on the high ground are a lot more sparse than they were.

Wellington leads a general advance in his centre, to inflict some losses on the French troops opposite, and to cut off the Fuentes position.

General MacKinnon, who commanded the area around the town, was seriously wounded in the fighting, and Picton became personally involved in the effort to recover the position - here he is attached to some of the Portuguese from Powers' brigade, who are obviously nearing the end of their day.

Here is General Claparède, of IX Corps, leading some of his men against Fuentes town. I took a great affection for the General, whose name is obviously really Clapper-'Ead (his family were bell ringers). Round about this time the 79th Highlanders, after a long and arduous fight, were finally eliminated, and the French had won 9-4. Someone went to wake up Massena and let him know.

As ever, thanks to my colleagues for their courage and enthusiasm - sitting watching a big battle on a laptop requires not a little fortitude and stamina, so I appreciate their efforts very much! I very much enjoyed my day umpiring and watching fake history come to pass, and it was terrific to have someone to talk to!

Wet Day - Keeping Busy...

Very nice, sunny morning first thing, but it gradually clouded over and from early afternoon we've had what one might describe as biblical rain. At one point I had to get the recycling out to the bin, and I stood in the downpour to watch what looked like a shallow river running down the lane outside our gate. Yes, I got a bit damp, but it was worth it - not much happens around here.

Among the boxes of soldiers from the Eric Knowles collection which I have here, waiting for refurbishment, there are some generals and staff figures. A lot of these are very early Hinton Hunts, and the quality of the castings is a revelation to those of us who first met up with HH in the 1970s. I've done very little with these fellows thus far, so I decided to have a go at one. The original painting was of a very nice quality, but, being singly-based commanders, they have been subjected to a lot of handling, so the paint is worn in places, and the colours have (obviously) faded during the last 50-odd years.

So here is my new General Lord Somerset (though he could be almost anyone), a vintage Hinton Hunt BN107 OPC figure, freshly retouched and based, fronting his (ex-Eric) Household Brigade, ready for Waterloo if required.

I also glued up some of these. This is the production run of the Max Foy Mark 2 Siege Doofer (Vauban version) - Michael of Supreme Littleness did a nice job on these. I shall slap some paint on them sometime this week. All taking shape on the siege front - I'm waiting for the postie to bring me my latest shipment of trenches (they're in transit from Fat Frank's emporium).

This evening I'm listening to the Burnley vs Spurs match on Radio 5 Live, while working to set up a battlefield for Thursday. Still some work to do, but a decent start. You may hear more of this. Note the bag of Orange Chocolate Minis, courtesy of Terry's Chocolate - other sweets are available, of course, but these are the official confectionery of choice of Foy's Battlefield Construction plc.  

Now you're talking - these bags are now resealable, so you can have one or two minis and put them away for later. Can't understand that at all - surely they would go stale? Certainly I can't remember ever having a bag which lasted into a second day. Still, it's an interesting development.

Stirrings from the Attic

 I've been working away quietly in my semi-isolated state - done a fair amount of painting, refurbing and sorting-out. Here are a few quick pictures, from recent tasks which actually produced something.

I finally completed a unit of Spanish granaderos provinciales which I started (according to my notes) in March 2017 - which is not especially slow by my own standards! Figures are mostly OOP Falcata.

I replaced the crews for two French foot artillery batteries, using retouched ex-Eric Knowles Hinton Hunts - I used my original guns, which are Hinchliffe 20mm. The previous gunners were (whisper it) overscale Prinz August home-casts, very poorly painted, which resulted in these batteries being confined to the French Artillery boxfiles for many years (I'm beginning to understand how they must have felt) - now they can get out and shoot at someone.

David Crook, who saw these little chaps on my table via a Zoom visit, became quite emotional at the thought of these old soldiers getting back into action after so many years, in a form which we hope Eric would have approved of!

For my WSS collection, Goya very kindly painted some more Imperial troops - these are the two battalions of the Regiment of the Markgraf of Baden-Baden, in official shiny WSS varnish.

And I've also been working away steadily on bits and pieces for future siege games (I now have taken delivery of the Vauban's Wars rules and the posh playing cards, and am studying for my diploma). Here you see one of my handicraft evenings, cutting various length strips of 1-inch wide brown felt, to serve as forward saps in the game...

...and here is the start of a small set of mini-units for siege infantry - in this case the Peninsular War department. There is no strict requirement to re-base anything for the VW games,  but I have taken a liking to these little 12-man units, mounted in 3s on skinny little bases, which can sit comfortably in trenches and on walls and covered ways. This may seem a bit extravagant, but it gives me a really useful job for some Lamming figures that don't really have a home, and other various spares from the Deep Boxes. In particular, a good number of marching figures and "standing firing" fusiliers, which normally I don't use, can get a gig at sieges.

I'm not doing anything fancy with these - just a quick touch-up if needed, some fresh varnish and stick them on the skinny bases. Initial target is about a dozen such units for each side - normal units from my standard collection will be fine for tactical events like storms and sallies, if numbers are short!

I'm also adding to my collection of trench sections and gun emplacements, and some odd-shaped earthworks pieces to serve as a fausse braie for the medieval walls of places like Ciudad Rodrigo (Vauban never got as far as Spain, as far as I can see - the proper Vauban kit will come in very nicely for the WSS...).

Once again, I've bought in scenery pieces from that fine chap Fat Frank, still going strong in his eBay shop. You can get your trenches made to order, with or without sandbags!

I'm sure there will be more pictures soon - in the meantime, I hope you are well, and keeping safe.

Ten Years of Riotous Fun

Eventually, it came as a complete surprise. This blog has been running for ten years - last Tuesday, in fact. When I first started it, I had no idea what I was doing or getting into - at the outset, I made a personal note to knock it on the head if/when it needed it, and in any case kill it off after 10 years. There has to be a limit to how much rubbish one heart and mind can inflict on the world.

All this time later, I still have no idea what I'm doing. I have made a number of good friends through the blog, for which I'm very grateful, and overall I have relished the experience greatly - I've really enjoyed the writing (I always enjoyed writing) - and I have gained a lot of excellent advice and some important motivation for progressing my hobbies. So - all good, no regrets at all, though I am still perplexed by the occasional death threats...

Anyway, my bluff seems to be called - the scorer is reminding me that time may be up. What to do?

To be honest, I find the world in which I now live is darker and sadder than I had hoped, and (an irritation too far?) the dreaded New Blogger is still sufficient of a pain in the wassname to put me off doing lengthy posts with lots of photos. It would be ridiculous to keep posting just to keep up my batting average - it might become obvious that I have nothing more to say. Nothing helpful, anyway.

It would be too melodramatic to just delete the thing - I would certainly regret that sooner or later, and it would be - well - embarrassing. The one thing that is really saving it this morning is I started reading some of my earliest posts, and I remembered a few things, and I felt a little better about it. So what I'll do is have another quiet spell, I've decided. If I have something to say, I'll think about saying it. If something has happened in my hobby world that I'm pleased about, I may well share it.

Please don't send food parcels. To everyone who has read (or glanced at) this blog over the years I offer my best wishes - really appreciated. To the people I've got to know through my involvement in it, my most sincere thanks for everything. Look after yourselves.

Hooptedoodle #376 - Erm - Do You Have Anything a Little Stronger?

A friend passed me these scans of some Civil Defence-type posters issued by the UK Women's Voluntary Society in 1951, to help the population survive a nuclear attack. A quick read through suggests that everyone, even the WVS, knew that we were well screwed if there was such an attack. Statements like "you will be told..." - right - by whom? It's not that this wasn't well-intentioned, it's just that its earnest uselessness is a classic example of something whose name escapes me at the moment. Perhaps the WVS could assume responsibility for our current Covid-19 planning? I'm really glad we never had to rely on these instructions. Bless em all.

Hooptedoodle #375 - OCD Holidays with Soss

Portreath Harbour

When I was a kid, my closest relative and friend was a cousin, Dave, who was the same age. I had a pretty gruelling couple of years when I was 11 and 12 - it's a daft age anyway. Most of my friends at school lived some distance away, and I wasn't allowed to invite anyone to our house - this was in case they met my sister, who was mentally handicapped, which is a separate story altogether - my dad wasn't very good with stuff like that.

So I recall a dismal few years when there was a lot of homework and a very small amount of television, and I filled in my spare time by reading in my bedroom, and going for long walks with the dog. I later got some relief when I discovered the pleasures of cross-country running, but for a long time there was pretty much nothing going on. My family didn't talk much.

My cousin, whose parents were separated, got a place as a boarder at Liverpool Bluecoat School. The Bluecoat was an unusual school - it had day pupils - I also knew someone who attended there as a day pupil, but he said he was basically an outcast - the boarding school was very much the heart of the institution. There was a long tradition of places at the school being allocated on a charitable basis, which is how my cousin was accepted. Many of his friends in the boarding house were from military families, frequently British Army people stationed overseas - so he had pals who used to go home to Kenya or Malaya for the Summer holidays. Dave used to go home to sunny Wavertree. *

Liverpool Bluecoat School - I think that's the chapel

He also had a friend called Soss. They were pretty much inseparable. I used to go with Dave's mum to the chapel service at the Bluecoat most Sundays. The boarders all paraded in - very disciplined, full uniform - and there was a full, drawn-out service, organ, choir, proper sermon - the lot. The chapel was dark and cold and grandiose - lots of busts of Lord This and Viscount That, and General The-Other. And very, very hard pews. At the end of the service, the boarders were allowed to meet with any personal visitors - I think I used to get 5 minutes with Dave. Any items passed across had to be approved by a member of staff. I'm sure it was character-building, but my recollection is that it was a bit like a very dignified prison.

Dave was invariably accompanied by Soss, who never had visitors of his own. Soss - short for Sausage (his love of sausages was legendary at the school, apparently), his real name was Danny Burgess - was an odd character. He was quite small, and he never spoke. He would occasionally shrug, or grin nervously when spoken to, and he blinked constantly. He looked like an urchin - he had a pudding-basin haircut, years before the Beatles made such things fashionable, and his blazer was too big, and he always looked uncomfortable, and fidgeted. He was constantly in trouble for not polishing his shoes for the Sunday service.

Soss came from Cornwall. He was at the school as an Army orphan. His dad had been killed during the Suez Crisis. His dad was a driver in a transport section somewhere, and he died in a road accident around Suez time. This gained Soss a lot of contempt from those of his school chums whose families were senior officers in Colonial Places, and it added to his general exclusion. Soss's mother used to come up a couple of times a year for Speech Day, and to meet with his teachers. Her name was Antoinette, and she was a tough, rather battered little lady - very kind and very polite. She was as poor as a church mouse, and used to travel up from Cornwall to Liverpool on a relay of buses, which must have been dreadful. Because she couldn't afford to pay for accommodation, she used to stay with my aunt, and on one occasion, though it seems incredible now, she actually stayed with us. My mother got on very well with her, and they maintained a regular correspondence for some years. My mother was always fascinated by people who had had difficult lives, so I fear Antoinette may have been something of an exhibit.

When I was about 14, I suddenly learned we were going on a Summer vacation to Portreath, on the North Cornish coast, for a week, and we were going to stay with Antoinette. Sounds idyllic, but we were going in a car my dad borrowed from a work colleague who repaired cars in his spare time, and the whole spirit of the trip was along the lines of never mind how awful this is, just think of the money we're saving.

Our destination was Portreath, not far from Redruth. The holiday itself was not great. Antoinette had arranged cheap B&B at a friend's house, about a mile from her own home, for my parents and my sister, and I stayed in the village with Soss (I shared Soss's bedroom) and his mum, and her partner, Walter, who was a bit of a problem. Walter was an ex-marine, and covered with tattoos (by the standards of the day, anyway), and he was loud and aggressive, and argumentative, and he drank a great deal.

I found that I had been allocated a camp bed which rocked like a see-saw, so I stuck my suitcase under one end and a box under the other, and that stabilised things a bit. Soss had part of a large room which had been split into two by putting a partition down the middle, and this partition divided a large bay window in half, so that each half-room had a half-window, which made a sort of alcove where my bed was situated. 

I needed to add a simple map here, since the placing of the bed was one of the themes of the holiday. Problems were threefold: 

* the bed was dreadfully uncomfortable, and smelled of having been stored in someone's garage for years

* there was a street lamp right outside the window, which sounds odd, but the street lamp was a normal-sized lamppost, and the lane outside climbed steeply and turned very abruptly, so the lamppost from down the hill illuminated Soss's room quite brightly, even with the curtains closed

* the bed was tucked into the alcove to save as much space as possible, so I was at an angle to the rest of the room. Because I couldn't sleep anyway, I was constantly staring at the edges of the ceiling, which made very odd angles with my bed, which disturbed me greatly - bugged the hell out of me, with those vivid shadows! In the dead of night I got up, shifted the chair from next to the bed, and moved the camp bed so that it lay against the partition. That was better. The world was straight again, I could go to sleep.

I became acquainted with Walter after bedtime, since he came back from the pub very drunk, and started shouting and banging things about. Soss said we mustn't talk any more until the morning, or there might be trouble.

When I got up in the morning, Walter had gone to his work. He worked irregularly, and it seemed to involve a van and people that Antoinette wasn't happy with, and anyway Soss wouldn't talk about it. Fair enough.

It was a lovely day, so after breakfast Soss took me swimming in the harbour. In those days I had a glass face mask, which I got a lot of fun out of, but with hindsight it probably messed up my swimming, because I never swam any distances - I was always looking at the bottom of the pool, or playing around underwater. Whatever, off we went to the harbour. Soss, of course, swam like a tadpole - well out of my league. Because I had my face mask with me, he came up with a great idea that we would dive down, swim under some wooden fishing boats (they were two-abreast) and come up against the ladder on the harbour side. This was pretty good, actually, but on about my 4th turn the bow-wave from another vessel caused the boats to drift against the harbour wall, so that when I came up the gap had closed - I had a few seconds of absolutely blind terror, but I turned around and had enough breath left to swim back under the boats to the clear water on the far side. There was no real danger - in fact, I could have gone forward to the prow of the boat I was under, which was a shorter distance.

Soss laughed like a drain, of course, and I put a brave face on it, but I'd had a bad fright, whether or not it was justified, and I'd had enough underwater swimming for the day, thank you. I can still remember exactly how it looked and felt when I thought I was stuck down there.

We went back to Soss's house, to get rid of our swimming costumes ("cozzies" in both Liverpool and Cornwall, I recall!). My bed had been shifted back to its angled position, and there was a handwritten note:

DO NOT MOVE THE FURNITURE OR THERE WILL BE TRUBBEL. REMEMBER YOU A VISITOR HEAR!

Soss said don't worry, that was how things were in his family. I worried.

This looks about right...

OK - next adventure. Soss seemed to have a gift for targeting my neuroses - or possibly helping me create new ones. We took packets of egg sandwiches with us and went for a walk along the beach, round a couple of headlands, to what Soss called his secret beach. That was really very nice - it was deserted; we played around on the sand and in the water until lunch time, threw about a billion pebbles, and then Soss announced that we would have to get off this beach by climbing the 200-foot cliff behind us, since we were now cut off by the tide and the beach would be underwater soon. Once again, he was completely relaxed, totally in his own element, and had never considered that there might be townies who were pathetic enough to be scared of heights (as I was, and still am!). Up the cliff we went - only fear of letting myself down in front of my cousin's friend kept me going, I think, though I can't imagine what alternatives there were. We made it to the top, and I found that I had been clutching my package of sandwiches in one hand all the way up, which can't have been an advantage. There was a lot of very nervous laughter at the top, I can tell you.

Triumph Mayflower - not one of the British classics

And more of the same. I persevered with the oblique bed, dutifully went into hiding each night before Walter roared back from the pub, enjoyed the peaceful days when Walter went to work, and relished a few walks that did not involve cliffs or drowning in the harbour. I saw very little of my family - they may have been pleased to have got rid of me! To be honest, I am astonished that I can't remember much more about my stay in Portreath, though I do know that the weather changed on about day 4, and after about a day of looking at horizontal rain outside (and, I suspect, an argument between Walter and my dad, which could have left me an orphan as well) we cut our losses, and my family drove back to Liverpool in the borrowed car (which was an old Triumph). That was one occasion I was glad to get home again!

* Footnote, nundanket style: One of Dave's great friends at school was Brian Knowles, an exceptional musician, who earned his crust for many years touring as Musical Director with Roger Whittaker (quiet at the back, please), but eventually was established as a composer and performer in his own right. He is now Composer in Residence at the Royal School, Haslemere. I find it hard to imagine him hanging around in cold, dusty corners of the Bluecoat with Dave and Soss. Dave died of prostate cancer when he was only about 50 - Knowlesy played some music at the funeral, in Birkenhead. I have no idea what happened to Soss - my mother's correspondence with Antoinette stopped fairly abruptly!