Waterloo 2009

Well that wonderful time of the year, which only comes once a year has come and gone; no I’m not talking about Christmas but the Battle of Waterloo. A joyful, and occasionally a solemn, time where hundreds of re-enactors travel across treacherous seas and barren inhospitable lands (well...The Channel and France) to join hundreds of other re-enactors and members of the public to celebrate the memories of those that fought and died in one of the most famous battles in human history.

                        Troops on the march                                                       Having a break back at camp

After a slightly shaky start finding out that we weren’t even expected for the event, a communications problem we settled into a quiet evening - despite the bagpipes being played right next to our campsite, around the campfire, with cold meats, bread, and beer, to contemplate the battles to come.

                    Waiting for the bus                                                      A tight squeeze on the bus to the battlefield   

We awoke to the sounds of Bugles, to find the campsite a hive of activity. Stores preparing to sell their luscious wears.... tempt us all to part with the oddly coloured monetary paper that now lined the insides of our wallets, with other units marching and drilling and the loud roar of muskets firing in preparation for the day. After a good breakfast and a cancelled safety drill, we ‘fell in’ for the memorial parade. It was a quiet and sombre event, at which we showed our respect to all those that lost their lives (from both sides) on that fateful day in 1815. Presenting arms to the spirits of those that shall forever remain young. “Lest we forget”.

Going to battle!

What followed the remembrance was a short break for lunch and then off to the Brigade drill. We had the honour of being assigned to the ‘Light Brigade’, along with the 92^nd Gordon’s and some members of the 88^th, so we used the drill time to get some practice in Light infantry tactics, while the non soldiers of the unit posed for the cameras.

After an hour of running about and learning how to use the poor guy in front of you as a human shield- we retired in preparation for the army drill.  We spent a good hour posing like “tarts”, which we do better than any other unit, and getting a little bit nervous that we were going to be running DIRECTLY in front of the cannons REPEATIDLY – We all started to realise why they wore kilts, when we heard about that, but like good soldiers, we followed our orders to the letter and showed off our new found Light infantry skills.

Proud of ourselves, we settled down at the camp... preparing... waiting... anticipating... for the battle to come that night!

The lull before the storm!

The sound of drums and orders rocketed through the air, shattering our peace. “C – Brigade FALL IN!!” crossed our ears, and it was then that we knew.... The fight was to begin! The thud of timed boots hitting the ground and the occasional “squelch!” of someone stepping into something best not described was the anthem to our long march to the first battle field.

A large clear field, full of ‘Smelly Cow Mines,’ was to play host to our first encounter with the French. We lay in anticipation, knowing that at any minute the “rifles” who had extended into a long, spaced out skirmish line, resembling an ornate fern garden in their green jackets, would open fire signalling that the enemy was in sight. We begin chatting and laughing at the thought that “Operation Human Shield” and “Operation get behind the Greenies” was in full flight. However our jovial mood was shattered by the horrendous, piercing and body shaking explosion of a French cannon opening salvo.... This was it.... History was to repeat... and we were to fight!

             The Pipers on the battlefield                                                      The French cavalry attack!

Muskets let loose, covering the field in ghostly fog which hid man and beast amongst its white ether. After salvo and salvo, we pushed forward upon the French. Chills ran up their spines looking at the impressive (and somewhat debonair) men in kilts. Working in pairs we advanced, and then “tactically ran to the back” to allow the Heavies to actually do some work. We used this brief break to prepare a plan. We were to move up the left flank, fire off a few shots and then go in for the kill!

As we marched our way down, we were harassed endlessly by Calvary. But bravely we pushed on, knowing that victory could be ours! After what seemed an eternity, we stared into the eyes of the French. We could smell the Garlic oozing from their pores. “CHARGE!” came the order from our CO. And with that, we ran straight at them! The sound of metal hitting metal, the crunch of bodies and muskets crashing together, it was the sound of war.

Alas, we were overwhelmed and withdrew. The casualties were numerous, but no loss hit us harder than that of our CO’s scabbard... may it rest in peace. We regrouped (those that remained) and pushed forward again. Fortune must have been on our side that day as two miracles occurred: Our fallen comrades had revived, and the French were retreating to the town.

The French infantry attack!

We showed the French yet more of our bravery, as we ran and withdrew in front of the cannons – which must have been against Health and Safety... but orders are orders! – and drove them down to the base of the hill.  Casualties began mounting on our side again (including myself who was fallen by a dodgy musket a.k.a. my own not working! Yet, we killed the French to a man. Victory was ours!  A swig of Scotch revived me and we marched back to camp. The night air was laden with the sounds of merriment and drunken songs. The battle-weary men of the British Army laughed and joked as to savour the victory, or to forget the turmoil that would befall them on the field at the rise of the sun.

Some of the British troops for a square.

At rise, we had a beautiful breakfast kindly cooked by our camp followers, however before we could sink our teeth into the mouth-watering food, we were back in line with our company and marching to the field. As we stepped in time to the drums, the heavens opened, as if the clouds were crying for the men who would fall that day. We looked out to the cornfield, and we knew... if the French didn’t get us, the weather might. Dripping and sodden, we marched into the long stems of corn... the wet corn braving places under the kilt that any sane women would stay away from!

 We crouched in the corn, only our bonnets showing, getting wetter and wetter by the second. The mud slowly drawing us in as it absorbed the shower of rain. Waiting for the commands, we could see the French approaching. A small advanced guard, not unlike us, was slowly advancing for the Emperor. We knew that soon they would be upon us... we opened fire.  The battle drew on and on, each second our weapons getting coated in a mixture of Burnt powder, Water and Rust.... yet... we fought on. Calvary roaring around us, we formed into a tight formation.... each man protecting his comrades. Mud flying, like brown shards of confetti, as the horse’s hooves churned up the mud.

The British army fight back the French.

Eventually, the skies eased their relentless assault on us, and all that remained in the air was the smoke of a 1000 muskets and cannons firing... Should the Ghost’s of the past been watching, they would have recognised the scene as not short of the day they died in 1815. Surrounded, tired and defeated, the French surrendered in front of the huge crowd, that had braved the rain to watch what must have been a spectacular site. And the Battle of Waterloo was remembered for another year.

Marching back to camp after a victory over the French.

 Exhausted we marched back to camp for the last time, and partook of the great activity known as dismantling the campsite. We said our goodbyes to the fiends, who had made us so welcome, and departed for the long journey home... knowing that once again... Belgium (and the world) was safe from the desires of Napoleon. My thanks go to everyone who came to the event, and especially to our Camp followers! They work so hard, while we go off and ‘play’ and we owe them everything. My thanks also go to the 88^th Gordon’s (who made us so welcome throughout the entire event). Got to love the Cloggies! And lastly my final thanks go to those who organised the event, so that we could commemorate a defining moment in History, were so many lost their lives.

Private Dom Lafford

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