Is this 'Old School' I see before me?

One of the ironies of moving – albeit possibly only temporarily – to Ilkley, throbbing hub of Wharfedale wargaming, is that I have played substantially fewer games than when I lived in my central Leeds bachelor pad. However, last night it was back round to James’ for some Seven Years War Piquet. The full details together with loads of photos can be seen on the Olicanalads blog so I will be brief.

'To blow or not to blow?'

Apparently the week before, on the first attempt at the scenario using standard Piquet, the game was ‘turgid’ and seems to have been abandoned fairly early and without any reluctance. James took the only route he knows to improve things and changed the rules, being careful to leave a few typos in movement distances and base dice to add some spice. The resulting mélange of Piquet and FoB worked a treat, probably at least in part to the relatively small number of units and to the period being played.

The world according to Roach

My own part in the evening’s proceedings was as the Russian c-in-c. The transition to 18^th century linear horse and musket tactics from blowing up Crusader tanks with an 88mm in the western Desert proved somewhat problematic. I underestimated the effect the Prussian artillery would have on my cavalry and then I underestimated the effect the Prussian cavalry would have on my artillery. I followed all this up by marching to point blank range before initiating a firefight with one unit of my grenadiers, which naturally led to there not being many of them left to enjoy their first fire bonus. However, in the finest tradition of the Russian army the second unit got stuck in with the bayonet and stands in control of the southern hill.

Considering the nature of the scenario there has been relatively little sapping so far. I can’t see the bridge being blown, certainly not before the Prussian army flees under the double onslaught of the second Russian command (just arrived, but already causing casualties and being handled by Peter with slightly more aplomb than my lot) and them not having any morale chips left.

Presumably you would all concur that I have kept my opinions of old school wargaming to myself until now. But, can I make a wild assertion; this game was, in essence, old school, but without the boring rules. It was adapted from a Charles Grant scenario book (look at James' blog to see which book and indeed which Charles Grant), was set in the eighteenth century, and was bloody good fun. Notwithstanding the cards, dominoes, figures grouped on stands, and even a mysterious D16 appearing at one point, the spirit of the game would I think have been instantly recognisable to the founding fathers of the hobby.

Thomas Fairfax, his part in my downfall

Recently, in a comment posted on this blog, MS Foy appeared to confuse Sir Jimmy Savile with Sir Thomas Fairfax, something I suppose that could happen to any of us as we get on in years. One must assume that Fairfax himself would be very unhappy at this elision; after all Savile was a Roman Catholic. Anyway, it reminded me of how I first came to meet the Ilkley Lads and become an occasional visitor to the legendary wargames room of James ‘Olicanalad’ Roach. The story is neither particularly interesting nor amusing, but that’s never stopped me before and it’s not going to stop me now.

Black Tom does Movember

My career has for many years been a combination of working away from home interspersed with periods of downtime. Eventually and inevitably I started casting around for a hobby that would withstand being put down at short notice and then picked up again six months later. Somewhat to my ex-wife’s bemusement I reverted to my teenage pastime of wargaming or more specifically to painting and basing figures never to play with. My only interaction with the wider hobby was a visit to a Society of Ancients gaming day at the Royal Armouries. Amongst the people I came across there were a bunch calling themselves the Ilkley Lads playing a bizarre game called Piquet and arguing furiously among themselves about the definition of a flank.

A picture is worth a thousand words

Ilkley in those days had a wargaming shop – unusual for a relatively small town even given its status as the wargaming epicentre of the lower Wharfe valley - which I had never visited assuming it to be selling exclusively fantasy stuff. However the shop had a stand at the SoA show so I made a trip and had a look. On buying a discounted copy of Sam Mustafa’s Grand Armeé rules I fell into conversation with the owner. Noting my bemusement at Piquet, he said it was the ruleset of choice locally (an observation which turned out not exactly to be true) and that advice on how to play it was available on an internet discussion forum. After reading through the past messages on the forum I was sufficiently convinced by the mechanics (except possibly the bit about what constitutes a flank) to return to the shop and buy a copy of the master rules.

And there it stayed, except that now it was Piquet that I didn’t play rather than Shako, Principles of War, Days of Knights and the various other rulesets that I hadn’t been playing before. I continued to take the occasional look at the discussion forum and one day the subject of Sir Thomas Fairfax’s birthplace arose. As it happened I was at that point sitting in my office on the very estate where he had been born and I posted to that effect. Very shortly thereafter my phone went and a voice announced that he was Mark Dudley. Having seen my post he had deduced that I must be working at the head office of the group he worked for and had found me in the telephone directory. One thing led to another and I was introduced to the rest of the Ilkley Lads. Soon I was upping and downing like a good’un, showing them how to win at Condottiere and refusing to get drawn into arguments about flanks.

Not long after that I became, for a period, Managing Director of the division at which Mark worked. While that lasted we got into a nice routine of spending an hour or so last thing Friday afternoon discussing wargaming. My further involvement with the group has been intermittent over the years due to my slightly odd work schedule; I once had to pull out of my role as warrior Pope in a very interesting, if long, Italian Wars campaign in order to swan around Little Rock, Arkansas not borrowing $100m. My main claim to fame during that period – apart from beating them all at Condottiere, did I mention that? – has been as the only person to have read Command Piquet before the one time that we played it. Upon my recentish return to Ilkley I have obviously been saddened by the great Old School schism, although frankly not as saddened as I would be to play nothing but Charge! all the time.

(Si si) Je suis un rock star

This is another music post, which, as the blog has acquired a new reader with expertise in that subject, leaves me rather nervous. It makes one nostalgic for the old days of nothing but a couple of wargamers in their dotage and the trusty Russian spambots. Anyway, be that as it may, I have been to see Bill Wyman’s Rhythm Kings and I need to write about it.

Zank 'eaven....

I hadn’t seen Wyman perform live since Knebworth 1976 at which the Stones notoriously failed to appear until the early hours of the morning. The assumption at the time was of backstage debauchery, of sex and drugs getting in the way of rock’n’roll, but I think these days it’s generally accepted that there was a genuine, boring technical hitch rather than anything more glamorously decadent. The end effect was the same whatever the cause: most people had to watch the set through a haze of tiredness. Not me though. I had been asleep all day, suffering – and I mean suffering – from too many Hosepipes the night before. I briefly came round for 10cc, was OK for Lynryd Skynryd and was fighting fit when the headliners appeared.

So, to the Grand thirty seven years later to find that despite all his excesses Wyman appears to have aged better than me. Certainly musically he was on fine form, as were his band. Unfortunately Georgie Fame was in hospital with pneumonia, but the rest were all excellent. Albert Lee was, almost inevitably, the stand out, but the others – including guest vocalist Maria Muldaur – were no slouches. My personal preference was for the Chicago blues numbers they did (including a belting cover of a Little Walter song the name of which escapes me for the moment), but the version of ‘This is a Man’s World’ sung by Beverly Skeete was also first class. (As a digression, the only time I ever saw James Brown himself that was also the highlight of the set).

I made the point in previous posts that some performers clearly don’t like singing the song with which they are most associated (Elkie Brooks with ‘Pearl’s a Singer’, Ralph McTell with ‘Streets of London’), but Muldaur – someone who hung out with Dylan in New York and appeared regularly with the Grateful Dead – didn’t seem to mind performing ‘Midnight at the Oasis’ at all. It didn’t make it any better though. There weren’t any Stones songs, although there were a few that they had covered such as Irma Thomas’s ‘Time Is On My Side’. Introducing the final encore Wyman announced that he didn’t like the songwriter of the piece they were going to finish with, and I wondered who could have had that effect on the mild-mannered bass player. It turned out to be Chuck Berry and was therefore entirely understandable.

The inventors of the Hosepipe

Upon re-reading this it occurs to me that some of you may not be fully aware of the contents of a Hosepipe. To make one take a pint glass and put in a half of draft Guinness, a bottle of barley wine and a double brandy. It is delicious, with the bitter taste of the stout offset by the sweetness of the barley wine and the warmth of the brandy (you must imagine that description being said in the voice of the man from the Cointreau advert of days gone by), but to avoid the hangover from hell one shouldn’t drink more than the appropriate number. For the avoidance of doubt, the appropriate number is none whatsoever.

The beauty is in the walking

'But the beauty is in  the walking - we are betrayed by destinations' - Gwyn Thomas

When I moved to Ilkley - epicentre of wargaming in the lower Wharfe valley - a few weeks ago it was my intention to get out on to the moor for some walking. So, I carefully chose the coldest day so far and off I went.

Your bloggist is the chap twenty yards behind everyone else

'As I went walking I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said "No Trespassing."
But on the other side it didn't say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
This land is your land, this land is my land'

Proud to be a honky woman

Regular readers may have formed the conclusion that in the seventies I was a fan of British rock bands fronted by women - and they'd be right. And so I have been to see Elkie Brooks. Now you may never have heard of her, or you may associate her with "Pearl's a Singer", but either way check this out to see why she stirred the adolescent male of forty odd years ago. Her Vinegar Joe bandmate the late Robert Palmer (who incidentally was a very keen scale modeller) went on to have more success, but she has been constantly performing for more than fifty years.

"Don't let the bastards grind you down"

It would seem that notwithstanding the subsequent middle-of-the-road hits her heart remains in the Blues/Rock of those days. She and her band benefited from an astute choice of playlist with fine covers of 'Nights in White Satin', 'Purple Rain' and songs from such as the Doors and Bob Seger. I was also surprised, but delighted by their version of "Burlesque" by the much under-rated Family.

"Rolling and Tumbling ain't done me no harm"

She did perform both her big solo hits, 'Lilac Wine' being the better of the two on the night. Like Ralph McTell she threw in the one they'd all come to hear half-way through as a singalong, but this time it didn't really work.

Jake Thackray - Remembrance

In a fine example of synchronicity, no sooner has MS Foy mentioned Yorkshire's answer to Jacques Brel than elsewhere on the interweb someone draws my attention to this timely YouTube clip.

'I know that God created tortoises, but is God always wise?'

It's raining, raining in my heart

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénêtre mon coeur ?

O bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie,
O le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s’écoeure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison ?
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi,
Sans amour et sans haine,
Mon coeur a tant de peine.

- Paul Verlaine

Il Gattopardo - not!

And so to the theatre. The National Theatre production of Alan Bennett’s latest play is on at the Grand in Leeds. Now, as you may or may not be aware, there are some other wargames blogs which would like you to believe – for some no doubt nefarious end of their own – that Mr Bennett is no longer with us, that he has ceased to be, that he has shuffled of this mortal coil. Happily this is not the case and he continues to amuse us. He is furthermore, and certainly since the demise and disgrace of the other chap that we don’t mention any more, Leeds’ most famous son and the theatre was suitably packed.

"I write plays about things that I can't resolve in my mind"

The large audience was rewarded with some fine acting and a lot of laughs. Whether there was any deeper message is more debatable. The main character spent so long proclaiming that her story wasn’t a metaphor for the state in which England (sic) finds itself that one must surely assume that in fact that’s exactly what it was supposed to be. However, personally I don’t have either empathy or sympathy with the rich fallen on hard times so it all rather passed me by. The author scored points at the expense of relatively easy targets such as Thatcher, the National Trust, oligarchs, but I can’t have been the only one to be uncomfortable with his benign view of pornography; those scenes were however rather funny and very well staged.

The National Trust is a Nazi trust, smash the National Trust

 So, an entertaining night out, but not – for me anyway - a classic. For a genuine classic on a similar theme try reading Lampedusa’s ‘The Leopard’; “Si queremos que todo siga como está, es preciso que todo cambie”, which I think is probably the point that Bennett is trying to make..

Catharsis

Back to the White Swan for some boardgaming goodness, albeit mostly card or dice based; boards seem rather out of fashion in boardgames at the moment.  Games played were Tsuro, King of Tokyo, Zombie Fluxx and Love Letter. We had five in attendance, which is too few to split up and too many for many games; Love Letter being a wind down game after one person had left. Despite that it was all very pleasant, except perhaps for Zombie Fluxx. I only really took it because it was Halloween last week and we played it because a couple of people were eating and logistically it worked. The problem with all the Fluxx games is that the length of time they take can be somewhat arbitrary. This one definitely outstayed its welcome.

On a completely unrelated note, it’s been a little while since I featured any Mexican art and to rectify that I offer you ‘Catharsis’ by José Clement Orozco, a work to be found in the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City.

Pot16pouri

I've just watched 'The Eagle' on Channel 4. There's two and a quarter hours of my life that I shall never get back. Clearly the film has nothing to do with ancient history (or plausibility) and is probably best viewed as an allegory about US imperialism; a reading strengthened by the Romans all being played by Americans - and a Canadian of course. Unfortunately it's an allegory that excuses the cruelties of the imperialists and expresses astonishment that the oppressed should ever fight back. Oh, and apparently the Romans were as fond of mawkish sentimentality as the Yanks are. Anyway, it all comes out OK because the subject peoples learn to love their conquerors in the end. Yeah, dream on Uncle Sam.

"You have delighted us long enough, now sod off home"

My magazine reading has reached Wargames Soldiers and Strategy 68. The theme is Leipzig and there are a number of interesting articles around it. However there is  also a most peculiar article by Mike Evans suggesting that the world would be a better place if there were only one set of wargames rules. The only argument deployed to support this is that Evan's can't be arsed to remember any more than that. It is possible, I suppose, that the whole thing is meant to be amusing, but if so then I strongly urge the author not to give up the day job.

Völkerschlachtdenkmal

Dell'antro magico

And so to the opera. For once it wasn’t Opera North, but rather the English Touring Opera. The latter seem to specialise in works from the Baroque period which have small casts and, even more importantly, small orchestras.  They are in Harrogate for a few days – three different operas over three nights at the Harrogate Theatre plus a concert performance of Vivaldi in a church – and I went along to the first night. The piece in question was Il Giasone by Cavalli, written and first performed in Venice in 1649.

 

Our hero is still recognisably the Golden Fleece man although sadly neither libretto nor staging owes anything to Ray Harryhausen. The onstage Jason here is a lover not a fighter although quite what the women see in him I’m not sure. Not only is he a two-timing cad willing to murder (or more accurately get Hercules to murder for him) if it suits his plans, but he’s also a countertenor; and we all know what that would have meant back in seventeenth century Venice.
 

Musically, it’s almost all recitatif, but there are some rather fine arias and ensemble pieces, the highlight for me being Medea’s aria towards the end of the first act (they were performing Ronald Eyre’s two act translation) while she carries out some witchcraft aimed at protecting her lover in his upcoming fight with the dragon. This is also the highlight of the staging with books bursting into flames and the appearance of a snake adding to the allure of the rather fetching Hannah Pedley.

I say he’s her lover because although the prologue is set at their wedding (where oddly although her father Apollo is in attendance – and looking for all the world as if he is about to enter a Charles Dickens lookalike competition - some other unidentified chap gives her away) at the end Jason leaves her and returns to his wife. Perhaps they did things differently in Ancient Greece.

The prophetic deity of the Delphic oracle

Anyway, this was my first encounter with ETO and I was very impressed. The singers and musicians were strong and the choice of opera was spot on. I’m not sure I am up to three trips in such quick succession, but I shall certainly look to catch them on their next visit.