The Errant Drummer

SATURDAY

There was a real sense of anticipation for me when approaching Newstead this late May Bank Holiday. This in no small part was down to having raided Tesco in Abergavenny en route for as much booze as we could make off with, we did have to take a shopping trolley on a forced march of about half a mile to get it back to the car! We will come back to this later.

Reaching Newstead, after a slight detour caused by Nigel (the name given to my sat-nav) having a mind fart, it was an incredibly bustling campsite but very well organised. We only took one wrong turn when finding where Vaughan’s were encamped. But once we were there – oh boy – it was time to start a seriously heavy bout of….well, putting up tents in amongst pot holes, thistles, and encroaching wildlife. Now, unusually, Luke and I set up our tents a little way off from our main regimental camp due to our late arrival. I’m not entirely sure that this wasn’t by design on the part of those who had arrived earlier.

After a very sociable evening spent around the campfire, with a brief sortie to the beer tent we all turned in ready for the inevitable hungover agony of drill the following morning.

SUNDAY

Waking up at a little before ten o clock on Sunday morning I was obviously delighted to learn that A: Luke had found the frog we put into his tent and it hadn’t turned into a princess when he kissed it, and B: drill was at ten o clock. That gave us just enough time to grumble, have a cup of tea and a pot noodle and bottle of prosecco for breakfast before leaving our “outpost” and making our way with great enthusiasm to form up for drill at half past. At this point I must make my first in what will no doubt be a series of timeline bending leaps forward to our breakfast on Monday and express my personal thanks to Ashley Hill, without whose culinary expertise, the cream of our Pike block would have no doubt succumbed to starvation. Top bacon heating Ash, Well done!

Drill, always exciting, and universally greeted with a smile and a swagger by all the most loyal and glorious soldiers of the king was particularly fun on that day. Our Musketeers acquitted themselves most nobly, and the enthusiastic shouts of “BANG!” reverberated across the entirety of the Midlands louder than had the weapons been loaded. Our Pike were mixed with none other than our gallant comrades of Prince Rupert’s foote. We practiced forming demi-hearse and then marching through the musket after a massed volley. On about the third attempt the pike were successful in actually waiting for the musket to open their order before we ploughed through with pikes charged.

Victory was assured.

After some block practice for the Pike, and the delicate and necessary fine tuning of this well-oiled machine for the upcoming battle; moving people about, giving any raw recruits some guidance and ensuring we were all responding the same way to the same commands (Pikemen after all, are laboriously inefficient at listening to anything). The shotte were still walking up and down and enthusiastically shouting bang at things, I believe. We returned to camp for food and drink, and to conserve some energy for the hard work to come.

We formed up for battle considerably more promptly than we did for drill, and resultantly had longer to wait before actually getting to the battlefield. The “hurry up and wait” philosophy was in full swing! Upon reaching the battlefield the Royalist army took up position at the bottom of a slope that climbed gently at first but increased in steepness about two thirds the way up. The weather was really nice, sun shining down and the ground underfoot undulated and was firm. So we would be fighting uphill in the heat on a less than cushiony surface. And that’s just how we like it!

The King’s forces filtered through the trees at the bottom of the hill, to the percussive thumping of artillery, and the sporadic crackling of musketry from a few advanced roundhead musket blocks. After several volleys the noise and powder smoke were both rolling across the battlefield and the order came to advance. We were positioned on the left of the line near the crowd-line. For a show off like me this was a great opportunity!

We climbed the hill and breezed past the Scots brigade who had become distracted by laddered tights or some such skirt related malfunction. We first made contact with Essex’s, who after some point of pike engagements became disheartened and wandered off to try and find easier pickings amongst our musket block. Little did they know that they faced some serious competition and were seen off by our shotte. At one point their entire pike block was put to the sword (literally) singlehandedly by the CO!

In the meantime our Pike block had found some worthy opposition in The London Trayned Bands. Here was our moment of glory, at close order we crept forward relishing a proper bout of contact. “Closest!” came the cry from the front rank.

We packed in, tight. The formation felt solid. The wobbliness of the new recruits was gone.

We came on at a steady speed, controlled, measured, ready to kill!

Then SMASH! All our forward momentum was halted and shoved back! Ouch. We went back – hard.

Clearly, we were in for a fight. After losing the next push, our resolve started to take hold and we began to hold them, and eventually drive them back up the slope. Victory was really assured. I must confess, as a pikeman, I can’t really tell you what the musket block were up to, although there was enough noise to inform us they were right up there with us.

At the battle’s climax we were alongside and put the rebels to flight, stepping over fallen roundheads at the crest of the slope. The crowd were still there too so the show had been enjoyed by all. The army took a moment to gather itself and wait for the orders to march on. I took this opportunity to fall out and uncharacteristically energetically run, ok walk, back down the hill to recover my armour that I was force to discard. The buckle becoming, well, buckled. Very kindly the army had waited for my return!

Then it was back to camp to recover and ease the aches and pains by consuming beer. And port. And rum. And that’s where the tale of the shambolic drummer comes into being.

TALE OF THE ERRANT DRUMMER

A pleasant evening was had by all, sat around two modest campfires. Beer flowed and a sporadic bout of hairdressing broke out, all of a sudden there was a plethora of plaiting around the circle. Men, women and children all party to being both plaiters and plaitees! And some damned fine work was carried out by inexperienced, tipsy amateurs in darkness only illuminated by the crackling of the flames! Not a single plait survived for inspection in the morning light, draw from that what conclusions you will.

During this outbreak of apprentice hairdressing, someone particularly astute thought that this was the time for breaking out the port and rum bottles liberated from Abergavenny to pass around. This was absolutely required to ward off the cold of the night and further lubricate the aching joints and bruises. It just happened to be rather pleasant as well. On the down side, the bottle of port was blamed (by the culprit) as the reason for her disappearance, and the biggest manhunt since Dr Richard Kimble was late home from work.

After the port and rum had somehow evaporated the camp broke up, and a small but elite band of merrymakers ploughed on through the night to lay siege to the bar in the beer tent. Along the way we collected one of our pikemen (Young Frank) who was just returning from the aforementioned and with minimal persuasion had him turn around and return from whence he came.

Very shortly after investing the bar, we were interrupted from our important besieging by Eddie, one of our own pike and father of our solitary drummer, Steph. The young lady in question had gone missing, and without warning. Naturally, the heroes of the regiment were only too happy to leave the important work in progress to rescue a fair maiden in distress. However, leaving our ale to look for a drunken Steph hardly counts. Grudgingly and with a great muttering we agreed to help, grumbling under our breaths. With all the efficiency of an alcohol fuelled sloth at a taxidermist’s we crawled into action, dividing into pairs to search for our little wanderer.

Vytas very sensibly headed off to search an area where ponds and nettles made dangerous terrain for an inebriated dwarf. Meanwhile, Luke and myself ambled aimlessly into the dark for about 70 yards or so until it occurred to us that we hadn’t left a rear guard at the beer tent. What if Steph happened to go in there? At least then we would be able to report her whereabouts and get back to our siege!

This was a 24 carat nugget of golden genius. A diamond bullet through the forehead of inefficient nocturnal trekking. The only flaw in the plan was that the beer tent was full of beer. And we drank it. And then we got distracted by talking to some girls. And we got further distracted by the dancing. And we completely missed the point at which Steph entered the beer tent, lost her wallet (again) and was taken away by the men in the white coats. (She later claimed she was taken by the fairies, which is not a regiment anyone at camp was familiar with).

Karma did come back for me though, as upon returning to camp I managed to wade into a patch of stinging nettles slightly larger than the Amazon basin, without my socks on. Yay!

MONDAY

Drill on the Monday was a much more intimate affair, only our brigade forming up to drill with Rupert’s for the second day’s battle. To our dismay we learned that about four of their experienced Pikemen had left and would not be there for the day’s battle. These had been replaced by four brand new shiny recruits, three of whom hadn’t even picked up a pike before. (In fact one didn’t even pick up her pike until the battle, but more on this later). After a little block training it was time to administer the punishment our errant drummer had earned. We had Steph run the gauntlet, whereby the pikemen removed their gauntlets, faced each other in two lines and liberally battered Steph as she ran between the lines. Fair play to Rupert’s for joining in, although it was reported that they went a little soft with the gauntleting compared to us. Well of course – they hadn’t been up all night walking through stinging nettles had they!

The influx of inexperienced recruits to the ranks was discussed after drill and it was agreed that in order to give us a fighting chance we’d better have a “bunger-inner” to push people into positions where they could be most effective, Vytas, who was acting as our NCO for the weekend suggested I should do it. Well, without a repaired breastplate, fighting at the rear rank seemed like a decent option. And I could shout at people. Not that I’m a shouter you understand!

After several games of the micro card game Love Letter, the time was soon upon us to march off again to clash with Parliament’s troops. After joining with Rupert’s we marched off into the woods where the girl who’s first experience of the pike block was one of generally looking terrified and visibly shaking. This may have been as a result of the stories she’d heard, or the sight of a seasoned veteran having a pre-battle comfort break in the bushes we will never know. Nonetheless I was told to look after her.

We took to the field much as the day before however we were in the center of the line this time, and our musket block was smaller due to people going home. It was bolstered by some new firers though and a notable addition was none other than Ear Rivers’ own CO, Mr Sam Eedle. Who plays a vital part in the battle’s outcome as we shall see.

The battle was a much harder affair for the Pike block, and we were battered throughout the afternoon, losing the first few pushes really badly. As the fight wore on, we gradually began to resist better the pushes of the enemy block, however it was not until the second to last push that we were able to actually win a push. It is not surprising therefore that throughout the day, the number of new recruits in our block dwindled from four to two. Shaky girl had disappeared. As we took another break in a particularly staccato battle, to recover and advance up the hill, ten yards at a time, all the while being circled by cavalry, news had spread through the ranks that there had been disaster in the musket block. Sam’s musket had suffered some sort of mechanical problem – having moving parts always posing an unnecessary risk of malfunction compared to the simple elegance of a huge stick.

In any case – the moment had come, the whole army was ordered to form demi hearse. A favoured formation by pikemen as we don’t have to move! There was a deal of kerfuffle going on as General officers tried to organise the various musket blocks into holding their fire until one enormous volley could be fired. Our musket were still firing regularly all be it at a slower place. Sam’s musket was now firing again, and even if he is, as was described by someone closer than I, the slowest musketeer in the army, I can only presume that he sacrificed rate of fire for accuracy. I fully expect that this accuracy is what made the difference to the musket battle!

In any case, the massed volley finally happened, muskets opened order and the pike charged through to push back the shattered Roundhead army. Al in all, a successful day was had by all, even if we were considerably more battered by the second day’s engagement. Once again we marched back past the house and there were more crowd there than the Sunday, hopefully a great day out was enjoyed by all. A noteworthy mention goes to our very own musketeer Gareth Evans who passed his driving test on a four-hoof-drive, one-horsepower mode of transport. We look forward to knocking him off it in the future!

From my point of view it was a fantastic weekend and we look forward to marching in the King’s service again.