The 200th Anniversary of the Retreat to Corunna
By Private James Hinton
At the beginning of this year there was a planned event to commemorate the 200th anniversary (Bicentenary) of the retreat to Corunna (Spain). Unfortunately the event was been cancelled due to lack of support from potential media supporters (television) and sponsors.
However two of us, Vince Law from the 95th Rifles and myself from the 79th
Cameron Highlanders decided to continue with the plan as we did not want the
event to pass without some kind of effort to recreate and understand the harsh
reality of retreat.
To sum up the history in brief Napoleon was coming after the British army led by
the General Sir John Moore and it was imperative that the British army retreat
with all speed to Corunna in the North West Galician corner of Spain for
evacuation by sea.
The retreat was marked by defeat, privation, and the harshest winter conditions
imaginable, and took the lives of over 6,000 British soldiers and was a complete
shambles. The exhausting marches, cold weather and frequent skirmishes with the
pursuing French units saw many turn to alcohol and become so drunk that they
were left behind! It was a dark moment of British military history. Sadly women
and children died too as they were attached to the soldiers regiments.
The route became signposted by the dead and dying by the side of the track and
the continuous line of bloody footprints leading up into the mountains.
The retreat was the worst trial of endurance suffered by the British army in the
Peninsular. Most of the army was reduced to rabble through hunger and cold.
On 14th January, 1809 the naked frost-bitten feet of the army trod the coastal
plain towards the harbour, before them lay the death of Moore and the Battle of
Corunna in which the tattered British army was to redeem itself.
I had only met
Vince once before at the Shornecliffe redoubt at the end of November but he
seemed keen to do the march as his four times Grandfather (of the rifles) had
been present in the Peninsular wars and taken part in the actual retreat.
New Years day saw us meet at Heathrow and fly out to the present day city of La Coruña and the next day take the 0800hrs train to Astorga which took 6½ hours, it felt like Spanish railways dropping us off and saying 'now find your way back from here!'
02 January 2009
Astorga
- Santa Catalina de Somozo
We picked up a
pilgrims passport, which gave us access to hostels on the pilgrimage route to
Santiago de Compostela which we would follow for nearly 100 miles. After a
fortifying coffee we set off late afternoon on the first leg of our journey
and made Santa Catalina de Somozo. There was a pleasantly warm
dormitory and across the courtyard where a bar served good tapas. We
were quite tired due to the early start and late night with hotels etc and had a
siesta, followed by evening meal and an early night.
03 January 2009
Santa Catalina de Somozo - El Acebo
After
breakfast in the three house village we set off on our first full days march.
We had lunch in Rabanal del Camino and many people wanted their pictures taken
with us, and we were given a very warm welcome. After all, it is not
everyday a couple of guys walk into a bar dressed in Napoleonic period uniforms!
When we went to pay for our bocadillos and beers it had already been paid for by
some kind customers. Once more fortified after lunch we prepared ourselves for
the ascent up to Foncebadon, the route taken by the retreat to Vigo. What
started as a heavy slog progressively became a hard climb until we were wading
through snow, the only prints in the snow being either a large dog or a wolf!
The climbing became quite exhausting and the snow drifts difficult to wade
through. Just as dusk fell we descended to the village of El Acebo but
found that the albergue was closed. A friendly family took us in and let
us dry out by the fire, they then let us stay as they had bed and breakfast
rooms during the summer. They shared their evening meal with us and even
fed two old peasant brothers who must have been in their 80's who sang old songs
which will no doubt die out with them.
04 January 2009
El
Acebo- Cacabelos
After
breakfast and photos with the people we stayed with we said our goodbyes and set
off once more into some stunning mountain landscape. Morning mist lifted
and the walking was uplifting. To be in such a remote location and witness
such wonderful unspoilt panoramic views felt like such a humbling experience.
After lunch in a bar at Ponferrada it became very warm with bright sunshine. We pushed on to Cacabellos making 32km for the day but wanted to stay here as it was famous for Rifleman Tom Plunkett's riverside pot shot which despatched General Colbert. We were absolutely shattered arriving here and were looking forwards to a rest in the Albergue. However it was closed and we were recommended to carry on to the next town, Villafranca, impossible as we were exhausted. We found a hostel in the end which was €15 each; beer, wine and Paella restored our flagging spirits. The next day Vince went to the river to get the feel for the famous Plunkett event whilst I sat in the church before we were happy to once again set off on our journey.
05 January 2009
Cacabelos- Trabadelo
Although it was under 5 miles to Villafranca from Cacabellos it seemed to take
most of the morning to get there through the winding vineyards to the Bierzo
wine region. We were quite weary and remarked at the uncharitable comment
the previous evening that we should carry onto Villafranca!
There was a Albergue open and the woman seemed very clued up on what other Albergues were open and those that were closed, thus we could formulate some kind of plan. After lunch I read out some facts about the significance of this town 200 years ago.
The patience of Sir John Moore finally snapped and a soldier was hung for stealing a ham and another shot beneath the swinging corpse for bad discipline. The army was made to march past the corpses and those other unfortunates barbarically attacked by French dragoons when worse for wear by drink. The army had to sleep in the street with only a tarpaulin cover to protect them from the elements.
We continued with the plan to rest for the night at Trabadelo and it was with tired aching limbs that we limped into this one horse town. It seemed such an effort that the albergue was located at the end of the town on a hill. We arrived to find it closed; we felt pretty crushed and I tried to negotiate at a hotel for a decent rate but they were not helpful. We found a nice hostel and the price was kindly dropped for us to keep our custom. The place had a huge kitchen / lounge and after dinner we purchased some wine and whiled away the night chatting.
06 January 2009
Trabadelo - O Cebreiro
We
decided to have an easy day and walk just 11 km (under 7 miles) and rest at
Ruitelán at the Albergue which we were advised was open. The next day we
would tackle to mountain to O Cebreiro.
As we got to Ruitelán we found the Albergue was closed, in fact the Hospitalero had closed it to redecorate that very day. I remonstrated with him somewhat and the conversation ended something like, "now go away, you are making me cold", as he closed the door on me. Like I was not cold in a kilt! We had a beer and decided the only thing to do was to go for the summit even though we were tired and wanted to rest. It was a hard climb and just when we thought we had done it we found we had another 4 km to climb. And when we reached farm buildings, once more we thought we were there, as we slipped in snow and mud in fog and snow flurries. At last we made it as darkness set in and people wanted our photos which we obliged despite being completely spent of energy. Thankfully the Albergue was open and after resting, wondering whether a heart attack would now perhaps claim me, we had a great dinner with lots of wine, and shuffled back in the swirling snow, shivering, teeth chattering in the snow blizzard back to our humble bunk bed. We were given some brandy and more photos taken. We felt proud of ourselves for overcoming adversity and climbing that 'effing' mountain.
07 January 2009 O Cebreiro - Triacastela
We woke up to winter wonderland and took a very snowy path but the wrong route so had to return and take the Camino sign posted road. A bit later we left the road, following the signs and after some lengthy twisting country road felt fairly sure that we were once more on the wrong road. We found a farmer at a village who basically told us that we should be the other side of the mountain, as he gestured to a formidable snow clad mountain. We returned and managed to find a goat track that climbed and climbed in snow drifts. We could not speak through once again suffering exhaustion and spiritually we felt pretty broken too. We did not even have to speak about it. Our heavy footfalls, labored breathing, and we both felt too gutted to talk about the experience. After once more finding the way, and climbing through snow, we stopped for lunch of hot soup and rustic bread at an Inn. There was a point in the retreat where Fraser's division took the wrong road, and a dragoon who was dispatched with orders to correct their journey got so pissed that by the time they turned round cost the effort 500 men including troops of the 79th Cameron Highlanders.
We started a downhill ascent and at last the snow left us but Vince was struggling with his personal demon; stony paths and his disintegrating boots. Stones would ultimately source the weakness in the sole and get stuck, whereas my gaiters would act like a conveyer belt collecting tiny stones and the depositing them in my boots. All very Chinese water torture.
We reached Triacastela and the Albergue was on the approach side to the village, was open, warm and very friendly. There was even a washing machine which faced the unknown hazard of both our shirts, both of which now possessed it's own men's locker room aroma.
We had a great evening meal with grilled steaks served on wooden boards with salsa and guacamole dips, we washed it down with 2 bottles of red to get over another difficult challenging day.
08 January 2009 Triacastela - Sarria
By now we were in a surreal routine of putting on our kit every day and just walking, eating and sleeping. Normal life seemed a lifetime away and it is a most odd experience which is difficult to describe.
We took a detour via a village called Sanxian and it was beautiful sunshine all day. Also it was a lovely rural amble and we broke the day by feasting on a lovely 'ensalata mista' and a couple of beers at an agreeable old bar. After more crunching through snow we at last arrived at Sarria, where the pilgrimage route continues to Santiago de Compostela and where we would now leave that route.
The Albergue was very nice with a heated floor, which was nice to see the fashion did not die out with the Romans. We met a young excitable Spaniard from Burgos who insisted on taking us to a bar and trying Pulpo (octopus) which was nice. He was trying to shake off an Italian girl whom he entrusted to Vince to keep an eye on her as she had a heart condition, physical and mental!
09 January 2009 Sarria - Lugo
This was our grimmest day, 36 km (23 miles) of national highway which was a heavy slog. The morning was ok and we reached what felt like half way into our journey and had lunch in a bar which was nice but the afternoon was perpetuated by just more of the same punctuated by large furniture stores every where called 'Meubles'! Much later we stopped again for coffee and we were told it was 12 km to go. Then we hit a convergence of freeways and dismal sprawling suburban wasteland which went on and on. My feet were in agony as plodded on what felt like an unreachable destination. At last we arrived at the beautiful walled city of Lugo and found the municipal Albergue where we were glad to reach and then went in search of something that could be called a meal, but we no longer cared as we fell into bed with the sleep of the dead in an exhausted state the likes of which were tasted first hand 200 years ago by the British army.
10 January 2009 Lugo (rest day)
If yesterday was the hardest day, today was one of the best and by no means was this the fact that we declared it a deserved rest day. The man in charge of the Albergue seemed quite a jobs worth at first, saying we could only stay one night, but once I gave him one of the many explanatory papers explaining our purpose he immediately softened. He said we could stay 2 nights and even produced detailed plans for the next stage of our journey.
We left the Albergue for breakfast and immediately met a man whom we later named Ronnie Corbett, who had lived in Australia for 35 years. He told us that it was possible to walk around the Roman walls which we precisely did, all 2.1 km of them. Complete irony that our day off started with a walk but these walls are amazing; 2000 years of history beneath our feet and we speculated where Sir John Moore's men would have camped. We later went to the museum, who were celebrating 75 years of being installed in a former Franciscan church and the museum people immediately seized on us for publicity, in which photos were taken with some of the staff. We were invited to a party later that evening as part of the celebrations. The party was great, the wine was flowing and dish after dish of tapas kept arriving and we bumped into our old friend Ronnie Corbett, who was talking to Vince a lot about life in Galicia and 35 years in Australia. As the evening wore on we left and Ronnie Corbett insisted we take bottles of wine with us. After watching a demonstration over violence in Iraq, Ronnie took us to various bars to buy us beer, each time telling us that he lived in Australia 35 years. One of which was full of ladies of the night! They wondered what we were doing there as we were not making use of their services and I just pointed to Ronnie Corbett saying that we were with him. We staggered back to the refuge and finished off the wine we took out for us before collapsing to bed!
A well earned rest but keeping the arms exercised (in Lugo)
11 January 2009 Lugo - Friol
I had quite the makings of a hangover but by walking, it soon evaporated. We joked about the previous nights events. "Did you know that Ronnie Corbett lived in Australia for 35 years"? I joked. "I had no idea!", responded Vince.
We went through some beautiful countryside and saw quite a few people jogging as once again we took a wrong turn. We stopped for a rest in some woods and I foolishly lost all the detailed plans for the next 2 days supplied from the Albergue in Lugo. We decided to do a cross country itinerary to Betanzos as the original retreat traverses more awful highways and we were mentally scarred from the awful slog to Lugo, the paradox being that Lugo is a beautiful historic city but sprawling agglomeration is awful.
We eventually got to the weird town of Friol. When we heard Jimi Hendrix on the approach blasting out the American nation anthem we should have smelt a rat. It was one weird town and the hostel was absolutely perishing cold. I actually thought about sleeping in gloves. I put my sleeping bag in-between the bed sheets for added warmth. When we tried to get food each bar kept referring us to another until we were going round in maddening circles chasing our tales! In the end we went to a store come bar where we had wedges of bread and the York Ham I ordered turned out to be spam! We named it 'Royston Vasey' after 'League of Gentlemen'! Even wine ordered in a bar tasted like vinegar and looked like beetroot juice. We were glad to leave the next day and shake the dust off our heels. Even Vince's coffee tried to take him out as it was made with sour milk. Being a certified black coffee drinker, I was spared the indignity of a churning stomach and associated problems!
12 January 2009 Friol - Sobrado
Glad to get Friol out of the way we set off, once again in our Napoleonic uniforms which was now complete normality for us, west towards Sobrado dos Monxes. It has to be said at every village, hamlet and farmhouse we would approach would be greeted by a cacophony of dogs barking and howling. At some places dogs would communicate with dogs in the next village announcing our arrival, rather like 101 Dalmatians.
We were both badly suffering from knee problems which made descents agony and the chaffing from the rubbing of garments and cartridge boxes etc was also painful and an irritation alleviated by the application of Nivea cream.
Although just 14 miles to Sobrado, some of the road climbed and twisted and descended and twisted on a road of improbable cant, defying gravity and feeling like we were on a giant Scalextric track!
At last we arrived at a pleasant lake location and reached the majestic monastery of Sobrado where we would be staying for the night for the price of £3 each! We slept in a building dating from 1215 and the dorm was heated which was appreciated after Friol. The main part of the monastery was a church building built in the 17th Century and it was very austere, bare and Spartan inside. A strange event took place later that evening which really was very spooky and can only be described as paranormal activity, perhaps a re-action to my Highland 19th Century uniform. Needless to say, it fair shock me up. The building was eerily empty of people and the and we walked around the 2 sets of double cloisters and various chapels. There was no one to speak of as the monks inhabited a restored area above the cloisters. It rained all through the night, continuous heavy rain and we hoped it would ease off in the morning which it did. Although I loved the experience it had a forbidding air about it but I would definitely return.
Monastery of Sobrado
13 January 2009 Sobrado - Betanzos
Luckily the rain ceased and the sun came out. As we walked the clouds darkened again and another rain shower followed but once again the sun came out. It was warm spring like germinating sun which made one feel quite optimistic.
On the outskirts of Curtis we saw a road side little chapel dedicated to 'Sacred Heart' (Jesus) and St Antoine, where Vince took a snap of me.
We had lunch in a bar called 'the Norfolk' and the bar guy was talkative and showed us a cartoon type magazine about the retreat with a Highlander and a Green Jacket! We laughed and said it could be Vince and me! He kindly gave us the magazine.
He told us our intended destination for the night was around 15 km, just under 10 miles away, which was ok and do-able for us.
Fortified by beer we broke into a column march for a couple of hours until we saw a sign telling us the place we wanted to stay was 11 km away. Once again, we were so dumbfounded and gutted at learning this, both of us could not speak. We carried on a winding wooded road going up and then punishing downhill descents to which our knees were an enduring torture. At one point Vince got really frustrated, and I don't blame him.
When we limped to 2 km from the town we found a bar and had a couple of beers before continuing. We got to the place and the 2 hostels there were full up. After discussion we decided we had no option but to continue another 5 miles in the dark on a main road to try and reach Betanzos which was totally draining spiritually and mentally. Luckily Vince started some singing to lift our spirits which was very much required! At last (ten pm) we agonisingly limped into Betanzos, my feet burning and aching, spirits at the lowest ebb and we found some kind of a guesthouse, with a room all crocked of crazy wonky angles, and damp but it was a bed!
We went and found some food (Raciones of beef) with a bottle of red wine and hit the sack after a 40km (24 mile march!).
14-15 January 2009
Betanzos - A Coruña
After
yesterdays awful slog, we promised ourselves 2 things. A very easy day and
a large shot of Brandy as soon as the hour became decent. We had a wonder round
some old churches in Betanzos and then went to a bar to have a coffee and the
brandy. Then a guy came in and insisted we have a brandy with him!
We continued and after a great lunch of beef and potatoes reached a place called Cambre and stayed at a very pleasant Motel in an area called 'Espiritu Santo' (Holy Spirit). I washed the shirts in the bathtub which was perfect heaven to soak my tired feet in.
We had evening meal and a fair bit to drink as it was our last night on the road. We finished off with a shot of Cardhu whisky served to its level in an almighty tumbler, all €5 worth!
Next day we were supposed to meet up with a Colonel Lipscombe for a tour of the Corunna battlefield at Elviña but we had further to go than we originally thought and were further hampered by rain too.
We decided that we had to finish our march at the tomb / memorial of Sir John Moore. As we staggered into La Coruña I was really tired once more and the predictable outskirts were not that exciting but a car full of girls waving, tooting their horn and blowing kisses restored ones equilibrium.
As we got near our destination we found a bar called 'The Green Jackets'. The guy insisted on giving us a beer on the house and it was great to sit on a bar stool and take my pack off. We then met 2 very academicals British women, who seemed very interested in history and research and took us to our final destination.
For me, it was very moving getting to our goal and as I stood in front of the tomb of Sir John Moore, it felt a very emotional moment. This was it, the end of our 185 miles and we had done it, made it and my thoughts were with those that perished and also the bravery of the British army 200 years ago.
I checked into a really nice Hotel on the 9th floor with a fantastic view of the pounding surf of the Atlantic Ocean and went to the airport to meet Beverley, my partner. There someone said to me 'Are you James?'. It was Colonel Lipscombe of Nato. Now that is a claim to fame, being recognised by a Colonel from Nato. It must have been the kilt!
The next few days followed with commemoration events including a battle and a bicentenary memorial being unveiled at the San Carlos memorial gardens. We also visited the Roman lighthouse which was fascinating. The Green Jackets bar did some great hospitality events in which a lot of beer, wine and tapas was available. Vince and I also got presented with medals.
It was very strange when the time came to going home. We had spent 18 days in Spain and doing something totally different outside our daily lives. It was going to be difficult adjusting to normal life. I was proud to be a representative of the 79th Cameron Highlanders (1815) re-enactment group and proud to do the walk with Vince.
...............................................................
I read that perseverance doesn't demand more than we have but all that we have. In every triumph there is a lot of try. It is a willingness to bind yourself emotionally, intellectually, physically and spiritually to an idea, purpose or task until it has been completed. Dreams only become reality, when we keep our commitments to them.
Well, I would honestly say that at times, doing that march was an endurance requiring great stamina and we had to seek reserves that we just did not know we had.
At times I would think of the terminally ill children that I raised around £600 in sponsorship for the Rainbow Children's Trust to inspire me, other times I respectfully remembered those that lay by the wayside, never to stir again.
But we did it, and I hope from it I feel I am a better person, because doing this kind of thing each day makes one more patient and more understanding of the world.
James Hinton (Private)
79th Cameron Highlanders
(1815)