♫ Every day when I wake up, I thank the Lord I’m Welsh…♫

Sorry -  couldn’t resist using musical notes again and a line from Catatonia’s International Velvet.

Neither of which have anything much to do with this post. And neither does the cavalry, except in the loosest possible sense.  Because today is the anniversary of the battles of Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift in 1879, both involving the 24th Foot, soon to become (in 1881) the South Wales Borderers.

And since proper historians probably do a better job than me of describing the actions and reasons for them, here’s a link to an exellent post, which covers both, by Richard Denning.

http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2012/01/battle-of-isandlwana-22nd-january-1879.html

♫ Bonaparte’s Retreat ♫…and other mysteries

If you’ve never come across Bonaparte’s Retreat, it’s a traditional folk song for the fiddle, or at least usually played on that instrument. I mention it because I tried recently to discover its origins, without much luck. (For anyone interested there’s a slightly modern-traditional version here). The earliest reference is to the tune being improvised, on the bagpipes, by a Scots regimental piper to celebrate his comrades’ performance at the battle of Waterloo in 1815. Or as a dirge for its casualties.

Maybe it was… perhaps it wasn’t. Which got me thinking…

One of the problems in writing HF is catering a readership which may vary from the totally ignorant (in the nicest possible sense) to those with an encyclopaedic knowledge of your period. And while you need the reader to be able to feel themselves ‘in character’, the balance between imparting facts, which may be brand new to the novice but old hat to the expert, and telling your story, can be difficult to strike.

So – how far can you go in bending history; moulding events to suit your own plotline? Purists will scream ‘NOOOOO!!!’ Me? I think you can, but not with impunity.

 ♫ It’s a mystery, it’s a mystery…♫

…so the song goes. And a recent post on another history-related blog here got me thinking even more about what we accept as being the ‘true facts’, as Americans would say, of many historical events.

 When I started to write Walls of Jericho, one of my prompts was an event which, though the barest details were included in a number of non-fiction accounts, didn’t ring true. The problem was, as a self-confessed history duffer, was I making assumptions I had no right to?

 ♫…I’m still searching for a clue… ♫

 In the end I wrote down the apparent facts and a series of what were, to me at any rate,  perfectly logical questions related to each. I thought there were bound to be answers somewhere if I looked hard enough.

 ♫ …It’s a mystery…to me… ♫

But what I found surprised me. No article or chapter or diary answered every question; most offered no explanation for any of my queries. In fact some even hardened the – fictional – ideas I’d had for that part of the novel into certainties.

 Why was that? Surely an event could not have been widely misinterpreted? And by numerous historians, who simply ignored related facts which, when put together, didn’t make any sense? It seemed so.

 ♫ A shot in the dark, big question mark…in history ♫

 Then I thought I saw an explanation. Historians rely on sources, both primary, from original documents, and secondary; accounts by other historians who have studied the same subject. And the problem with both is that sometimes neither tell the whole story. Or they’re slanted by the views of the original writer.

 ♫ …Is it a mystery..to..you? ♫

 So if historians don’t really know the whole story, even if they think they do, would it be fair to write a fictional interpretation which took into account these known-but-ignored facts, in a logical manner, but did not affect the real outcome of the event? I thought so.

I thought, in fact(!), my fictional account might be nearer the truth than history books tell us, but…maybe that’s taking myself a bit too seriously!

Do you think bending ‘true facts’ is fair, in fiction?

Oh – and it’s Toyah Wilcox (1981), in case you were wondering.

The long and the short of it, or Why Federico Caprilli Got Fired.

Cradle Stirrup used by British Light Cavalry from late 18th century until the Boer Wars

Stirrups were invented by the Chinese, then copied by everyone else.

Makes a change, that, but it was a long time ago. Just as well China was a sleeping giant, as Napoleon observed, otherwise patent lawsuits might have been flying back and forth like arrows at Agincourt. Or is it Azincourt?

But I digress.

Stirrups made riders more secure in the saddle. Cavalrymen could lean to one side with less likelihood of falling off when using bow, sword or spear, And as we know, a rider on the ground is just…well, an infantryman, with all the disadvantages in battle that brings. Lack of speed, lack of height and let’s face it, lack of class. Actually the latter was often true. Only the relatively wealthy could afford a horse. So the Roman cavalry, for example, were their gentry. But they didn’t have stirrups.

Anyway, despite having stirrups, just about everyone rode with a really long leg position, and I suppose there were a lot of reasons why. Few individuals were taught to ride, and an armchair-type seat seems comfortable to the novice. Long stirrups make it fairly easy to mount if you have no servant to ‘leg’ you into the saddle and saddles tended to be built up front and rear anyway, which helped you keep your seat. And a long-legged position was comfortable to ride in over long distances, a thing quite common at the time which we find difficult to grasp today.

By the beginning of the 19th century cavalry officers in particular had turned this style of riding into something approaching an art form, sitting almost straight-legged with only the tips of their toes in the irons. This was not strictly to the letter of army regulations, which, admittedly, did advocate long stirrups, but it had the effect of showing off their fine boots and breeches. Spurs were even fitted to the boot heel rather than the ankle so they didn’t spoil the line of the leg.  Because a trim, shapely thigh might easily turn a young lady’s head…

A shapely thigh...

But there were disadvantages. You couldn’t rise, or post, to the trot. This wasn’t usually a problem on home duty, but once cavalry went abroad on campaign long marches, the often indifferent treatment and irregular feeding of horses, and their consequent loss of condition, let to a huge increase in sore backs. Imagine being dog-tired, hungry and saddle-sore, riding a similar horse. You’re going to flop about in the saddle and make the poor animal’s sufferings far worse.

The other disadvantage of this style of riding was its limitation as a weapons platform. If you’re toting a huge lance and wearing armour so heavy it’s difficult to keep the damned weapon horizontal, then fine – have long stirrups and a deep seat. But riding with a slightly bent knee gave much more positional flexibility and, more importantly, reach when using a sabre or lance. And a shorter stirrup didn’t compromise stability – you could still use your carbine, for example. Though smoothbore firearms were so inaccurate you couldn’t expect to hit anything more than fifty yards away even if you were lying on the ground using a rest.

So many far-sighted officers began to shorten their stirrups. Some even went so far as to use two different lengths, very long for parades and pulled up a couple of holes for going into action. Maybe that’s why General John Slade took so long deciding the correct length to use against French cavalry at Mayorga that his Divisional Commander, Lord Paget, sent a subordinate to lead Slade’s brigade into the attack.

Still, it wasn’t until very late in the century that anyone really thought about using short stirrups to ride across country. That man was Lieutenant Federico Caprilli, an Italian cavalry officer and equitation instructor.

Caprilli made a detailed investigation into the way horses jumped. That’s him in the picture with the wicked moustache.

It had been believed for centuries that horses needed to land over a jump on their hind legs, the forelegs being too weak to take the weight of horse plus rider. That’s why horses were ridden into fences with their heads hauled up as high as possible and with the rider leaning far back in the saddle. Sounds completely barmy to us nowadays, but people once believed the world was flat.

Anyway, Caprilli developed what was the original ‘forward seat’ and was fired from his teaching position at the cavalry school for his pains. Not madly surprising, really: the ‘arme blanche’ has tended to stick with ideas rooted firmly in the time of Frederick the Great, don’t you know. Especially the British.

That’s why, in the Boer and First World Wars, no-one considered mounted cavalry attacking entrenched machine guns without artillery support a daft idea, even though Marshal Ney had made the same mistake a hundred years before at Waterloo (okay – Ney was attacking infantry squares but the principle’s the same). And it’s why the ‘perfect’ British cavalry sword wasn’t issued until 1908, when mechanisation was only a few years away. Perfect planning, eh?

Sorry – digressing again.

Caprilli jumping a cart

Caprilli eventually got his job back once the Italian top brass had tried out his theories themselves and found they really did work. And the rest is history, as they say, because without him no modern horse sport would have got off the ground (no pun intended). Except racing, maybe, but look what difference Todd Sloan’s over-the-withers style made to that.

So next time your knees are giving you gyp after a ride, just remember you’ve got Caprilli to thank…for saving your horse’s back!

War Horse

I’ve seen Steven Spielberg’s ‘War Horse’ and it’s very, very good.

I must admit I was a little unsure how Michael Morpurgo’s novel, originally aimed at children and young adults, would work on film. The theatre show has drawn rave reviews, but a movie? And based on such emotionally-charged subject matter?

As it turns out the opening minutes will please the horse-oriented more than those with only a passing equine interest. Morpurgo originally wrote the novel from the horse’s point of view but Spielberg has avoided this Black Beauty-type storytelling method by concentrating more on the human characters who affect the horse’s life. The film is no worse for the change which helps increase the pace as the movie progresses.

I won’t spoil it for anyone who’s not read the book by giving away the plot. Suffice to say that the story centres on a horse, Joey, brought up in rural Devon, who is sold to the army and sent to the Western Front, at the beginning of World War I, as an officer’s charger.

And though the horrors and sufferings caused by the war are essential elements, as befits a family film blood is kept to a minimum and there is absolutely no gratuitous gore. Strangely this seems not to compromise the gritty realism of the battlefield scenes, a couple of which, later on in the action, may be upsetting for very young children.

So, does the film have any faults?

Well, there’s far too much whinnying, a pet hate of mine which plagues films involving horses. Cavalry aficionados may poke fun at a practice charge and the non-use of sword knots. And continuity geeks will no doubt spot the magic rope halter early on - now you see it…

But these are mere nit-picking. The preview screening I watched in front of a full house had no-one, child through pensioner, moving from his or her seat throughout the 140-odd minute running time. That tells me most were captivated. I reckon if the soundtrack had suddenly failed you could have heard a pin drop.

There are few recent films which have made one feel better leaving the cinema than when one arrived – spiritually uplifted, in fact.

War Horse is such a film, and I urge you to see it.

But…you will cry.

 

War Horse opens in cinemas in the US on Christmas Day and in the UK on January 13th

Happy Winter Holiday??? Merry Christmas!

Little Donkey

Does this sort of phraseology drive you nuts?

‘Happy Winter Holiday’ – a phrase coined by who-knows-who and seized upon by those congenitally afraid of upsetting someone. Who this ‘someone’ might be is to me, at any rate, unclear.

Perhaps the word ‘Christmas’ upsets non-Christian religions. If they’re so sensitive as to feel aggrieved by views other than their own, then they worship a pretty intolerant God.

 Maybe it upsets Christians who don’t believe in the Nativity. So they’re intolerant too, are they?

The most compulsive argument I’ve come across for using ‘Happy Winter Holiday’ instead of ‘Happy Christmas’ is that the Christian connotation confuses the children of non-believers. And I could go for that, except…is it impossible for their parents to explain to them why they believe as they do, from an early age?

Actually, I think the phrase was coined by atheists, often the most intolerant of all non-believers. They can’t handle the joy Christmas brings to countless millions because they don’t get it, so why should anyone have fun if they don’t?

Of course Christmas also brings misery to millions all over the world, and if we can’t at least spare a thought for them in the season of goodwill we’ve no right to celebrate the birth of Christ.

So I say just ignore the PC brigade. Eat, drink, make merry. But do something for someone less fortunate than you are – it doesn’t matter how big or small, just something. Because if we all do something the world becomes a better place. That’s really what celebrating Christmas is all about.

Happy Christmas!

What?  Where’s the cavalry?

OK – just for you here’s a typically odd UK Christmas lament which sort-of says it all, really.

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“They don’t like it up ‘em, Mr Mainwaring!” – Or why it’s nice to know what’s inside your saddle.

 

Surprising the tat you sometimes find in saddles!

Modern synthetic saddles are a godsend.

Cheap to buy (well-compared with a new leather one), easy-ish to fit (if you buy a decent brand), lightweight and easy to clean, plastic saddles have been around for a couple of decades now. Quality and construction-wise they are beginning to approach the look of leather with few of its drawbacks.

And with many of these saddles having changeable gullets so you can move them from horse to horse, you might wonder why leather saddles still sell at all.

So why do some manufacturers insist on making…let’s say ‘exaggerated’ claims for their products? They don’t need to but it seems they can’t help themselves.

Wintec, for example. Their ‘Cair’ saddles are advertised as having air-filled panels. Take a look at this link before you decide if that’s true or not.

http://forum.horsetopia.com/tack-apparel-equipment/140092-inside-wintec-cair-saddle.html

The thing is, there’s nothing wrong with Cair; a lot of horses like it, though it can be difficult to get into the panel if the saddle needs extra flock to get a good fit.  But it’s not air, it’s closed-cell foam, so why tell your customer something  patently untrue?

As far as I am aware the only true air-flocking is ‘Flair’, a system designed by First Thought Equine in the UK. And an effective option it is, since you can add it to an existing saddle, though it can be rather high-maintenance.

So next time your saddle is repaired or adjusted, ask your saddle fitter what’s inside it. You might be surprised!

This is a synthetic race saddle I recently took apart. Note the head nail points facing forward (they actully stuck through the gullet lining) and the state of the girth web attachments which are ready to pull through with a good tug. If you use one of these that’s more than a couple of years old I’d suggest you get it checked out.

 

http://www.fteltd.co.uk/flair/flairintro.htm

http://www.caircushionsystem.com/flash.htm

Thanks to the 5000

Last week this blog passed the 5000 views mark. Which is pretty good, I reckon, for a fairly specialist site.

When I started, I never really considered what a blog was for. ‘You simply must have one,’ every Advice For Writers website on the planet trills, ‘to promote your book, dahling.’

Problem is, I’m not really into self-promotion. It seems sort-of, if not vaguely grubby, then…a bit un-British, perhaps. Rightly or wrongly, most Brits don’t trumpet successes, they just muddle along quietly, keeping in the shadows. The old-fashioned ones do, anyhow – or that’s how it seems. Maybe the never-ending chatter of non-celebrity Reality TV inhabitants (I can’t call them ‘stars’) in the media has made self-promotion a dirty word. Whatever the reason, I find it difficult to get involved in promoting something I can’t quite believe in. Me

So…why have a blog?

Because…there’s loads of information out there on Napoleonic cavalry, much of  it fascinating. No – really, it is!  Nothing like as much written material as there is about the period’s infantry, granted, but plenty all the same. There are certainly a lot more anecdotes (and they are the meat in a historical fiction-writer’s sandwich) than could ever be appropriated to add colour  to a whole series of novels.  Because, of course, the last thing a novel should be is a history book.

Conversely, there’s a lot missing.  Horse management, for example, rarely gets a mention. Details of how animals were kept, fed, treated by saddler, vet and farrier, transported abroad, groomed even, are rarely found. It’s as if everyone involved knew how these things were done so no-one bothered to write them down.  ‘Assumed knowledge’ a friend of mine calls it.

There are old veterinary texts out there detailing contemporary treatments and ‘drugs’, of which I have a couple of examples. Clater’s ‘Everyman His Own Farrier’ is a fairly common example, actually written in the mid-18th century and subsequently ‘revised’ (and plagiarised) by others. And, of course, from military sources we know what weights of feed horses receive in barracks or on service. But the latter records exist more from the needs of regimental purchasers and the supply chain on campaign (Commissariat) to justify costs, than from any enlightened effort to inform.

Once you get to the Victorian era, things do improve a little. I was recently gifted a book called ‘The Horse World of Victorian London.’ A modern reprint of an 1894 text, this book give detail on all horse ‘types’ at work in the capital, their numbers, ages, what they were fed, typical length of service per industry and usual fate. All useful stuff, but still lacking the nitty-gritty information to truly round out these animals’ lives.

And perhaps the information we seek will never be found. Perhaps it was never written down. But just maybe, one of you who reads this blog will come across something of interest: in some obscure book or pamphlet. In another article, or on another website. Between the tattered covers of a dusty volume discovered in some long-cluttered attic. And if you do, I for one would be delighted to hear about it.

And so, perhaps, would some of the 5000 who looked at this blog in the hope of discovering useful information.

So my thanks to you, the 5000, for taking the time to look at my blog. I hope you found something of what you were looking for, whether that was fact, fiction, or simply an opinion. And if, on your travels, you happen to discover anything about horses or management that we seem to have forgotten all about in the last hundred years or so, please post a comment about it on my site.

Because another 5000 searchers may be looking for that same thing.

One end bites, the other end kicks…

Horses are inoffensive herbivores. Prey animals which always run if danger threatens, and docile servants to mankind down the centuries.

Or are they? What if they ate meat? What if they killed other animals, or even humans?

 In his new book Deadly Equines, lifelong horseman and author CuChullaine O’Reilly proposes an alternative; that not only have horses eaten flesh for thousands of years, but also that they commonly kill other creatures. And he backs up his theory with solid evidence.

Now, if you read much about the Napoleonic Wars you may be familiar with Jean-Baptiste de Marbot and the story of his charger, Lisette.

Basically, Baron Marbot was a French cavalryman who spent much of his time as aide to one senior officer or another, ending up a General. After the wars he wrote three volumes of memoirs, probably the most entertaining French cavalry diary (apart from Parquin’s). And one of the stories concerned his acquisition and subsequent use of a chestnut mare which had disembowelled a groom. And of how, in one battle, Lisette attacked an enemy soldier with her teeth, tearing his face off. Nasty.

But apparently, this sort of behaviour is not uncommon. Having extensively researched his subject, O’Reilly quotes sources from as far back as Alexander the Great right up to the present day. Killer horses appear in just about every century. And perhaps even more surprising, the deliberate feeding of meat to horses has been widely practised, by steppe tribesmen of old to modern-day polar explorers. Yet all this evidence seems to have been either forgotten or deliberately suppressed. Perhaps, in the fluffiness and sentiment of modernity, the animal has become a cartoon caricature of its real self.

So is our friend the horse  in fact a meat-eating omnivore with murderous tendencies? O’Reilly makes a sound case, based on two irrefutable premises; that the horse has the worst-adapted digestive system of any herbivore, and that it is the only one to use its teeth for defence – or attack.

If it does nothing else, Deadly Equines will surely give readers pause for thought. And perhaps make us all treat horses with a little more respect.

 Deadly Equines by CuChullaine O’Reilly FRGS      ISBN 9781590480038

Published by The Long Riders Guild Press (2011)

Writing the horrors of war

Recently a couple of readers reviewing WOJ have intimated that the book doesn’t portray the true horrors of war…in vivid technicolour. Which, in the main, is true. Graphic descriptions of violent death in gory detail – Peckinpah-esque if you like – may suit certain authors’ narrative styles. And some readers’ tastes.

Part of the problem is a never-ending search for realism; trying to put the reader in the midst of things. Many contemporary paintings of Napoleonic battles showed the dead but never the real horror, concentrating more on glory, if such a thing can truly exist in war. So how would a fictional character, deeply involved in the action, view such violent injury and/or death?

 Having spoken with two young men with tours of Afghanistan under their belts, I believe that depends on the individual’s experience of battle. Reluctant though serving soldiers are to give details, what I got from these conversations was surprising. To me, at any rate.

I thought a soldier’s first reaction when going on patrol or into action for the first time would be to feel fear. Not so, apparently. Adrenaline kicks in quickly, one reason why military training is so important – actions which have become second nature always take precedence when an individual is under extreme stress. Presumably, the brain is much more comfortable with repeated ‘everyday’ experiences to fall back on. So a man may suffer a sort of ‘tunnel vision’ where unimportant, peripheral detail is blocked out.

 However the more experienced man has more apparent time. Events seem to happen more slowly. In reality this could be simply because of his experience. He now gets a smaller adrenaline rush. His brain allows him to take in more detail. So he notices the gory stuff, and must react to it in some way.

 And when we come to the very experienced man, his senses take in even more of what surrounds him. But the very fact of his experience allows him a choice. He can either acknowledge or ignore what he sees, and thus control his reaction to it. Human reaction doesn’t change that much, and what the soldier feels today is much the same as his ancestor on a battlefield would have felt.

 Visualisations of flesh ripping, blood spurting and entrails protruding may indeed have a place in historical military fiction. Many novels are filled with them. But notice the singular: ‘a‘ place. I believe that means they ought to be used sparingly. Having pages, or even whole chapters, drip blood cheapens your story, in my view. It’s sensationalism for its own sake. A story can hold its own without the gore – if it’s good enough.

Because it invites the reader to use his or her own imagination, and that’s what good storytelling should be about.

 

A change from the advertised programme…

 

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