Follow the bear

I actually made it to Recon in Pudsey this year. I used to go regularly in the days when I did no wargaming, but for some reason the minute I actually got back into the groove I couldn't get my act together to drive less than thirty minutes. It was every bit as pleasant as I remembered and I did my bit to support the hobby by spending a magnificent £1.25 with the traders. I bumped into a couple of people that I know, whom I invited yet again to come round and take a look at the wargaming annexe. Maybe they will, but I'm not holding my breath. I was rather pleased to finally see one of them in his re-enactment finery about which I had heard so much. Sadly, I had no camera to record this. I put it to him that to the causal observer he didn't look terribly physically comfortable. He assured me that he was fine, but did so in a fairly unconvincing manner. He also explained that although he was an officer, he was the sort who wasn't in command of anyone and didn't give any orders; I've had jobs like that myself.

Coming back to the camera issue, I have bought a new one. You may recall that early in my newly single life I bought an excellent camera cheaply in a pawn shop, and then promptly lost it while over-excited by the young farmers ladies tug-of-war at last year's Otley Show. I then bought another from a similar source even more cheaply. This proved to be a disappointment and during the recent festival of online conspicuous consumer consumption I bought a better one at, I think, a reasonable price. Recent photos to appear here have been taken with it and, although I haven't by any means mastered it yet, I am happy enough with the results. The camera being replaced does have one big advantage though, in that it is very light. Given the loss to posterity of my not being able to show the 21eme Régiment d'Infanterie de Ligne's least dashing officer on this blog, the old camera has now been placed permanently in the man bag.

The road to Marston Moor

The whole country would have been as affected by the English Civil War as by the Great War; fighting was widespread and the death toll was proportionately higher than in either world war. Otley's part was somewhat minor. Parliamentarian troops marched through en route to Marston Moor and it is reliably documented that Cromwell held a conference with his commanders in an orchard in the nearby village of Menston. More apocryphally, these passing troops are supposed to have drunk the Black Bull - oldest of Otley's many pubs - dry. This may not be true, but it's firmly rooted in the local popular consciousness, mostly because there's a large plaque on the side of the pub facing the market square which makes the claim to everyone who walks by.

To mark the anniversary of the  battle - July 2nd - the English Civil War Society visited the town to commemorate all aspects of the events of 1644. I only witnessed their attempt at the drinking task through the window as I walked up to the Yew Tree to see the Max Band (excellent, with the highlight being a cracking run through 'Born To Be Wild'), but there they were, in period costume and giving it their best shot.

I did, however, go to see their drill demonstration and display of the sort of skirmish that may have taken place in the run up to the battle. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, but for lovers of loud bangs and the smell of gunpowder it was a cracking afternoon out.

 We already know that this blog's readership contains those with a taste for women dressed in male military attire - shame on you - and there was much that would have held your interest; a significant proportion of the combat troops involved were women. Look closely at the photos and you'll see what I mean.

Offensive, moi?

Who'd have thought it? Yesterday's post about some late 19th century paintings has caused me to lose 50% of my followers in one fell swoop. I'm assuming it can't be because I was slightly dismissive of religion and those with religious beliefs. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that there wouldn't be any Christianity without persecution. You should be bloody grateful to me for giving you a chance to turn the other cheek.

Today's re-enactor at the Royal Armouries is, for some unexplained reason, a dinosaur.

Potpouri

This post has more to do with latent OCD than anything else but here goes anyway:

• Excellent news that Vauban's Wars is going to be played at Historicon. I shall definitely make this a priority as soon as I have somewhere within which to prioritise anything.
• I watched Star Trek, the 2009 version, on DVD as a precursor to a cinema trip to see the sequel next week. I'd never seen it before; what a load of tosh. I thought the original engineer's Scottish accent was bad enough, but Simon Pegg's is worse. He makes Mike Myer's Shrek sound like Kenny Dalglish.
• Oddly - or maybe not - there were some similarities between the plots of Star Trek and the Sherlock Holmes play that I saw the other night. 
• No re-enactors at the Armouries this weekend, but there does seem to be a convention of crusties (think Swampy) congregating outside. I'm not entirely clear why. Then there's the hen party that has taken over one of the apartments opposite mine and who spent all yesterday afternoon on the balcony in their finery (short skirts, sashes etc) shouting down at passing blokes that took their fancy to get their kecks off. Sadly, no many how many times I walked to Tesco, my strides stayed on.

The British Grenadiers

With the drip, drip, drip of a septic...but no. These words spring to mind because this weekend's re-enactors are British troops of the Napoleonic period and include a drummer and fifer amongst their number. sadly, they only appear to know one tune and I don't know the proper words.

There are half a dozen or so of these chaps and I went down to watch five rankers (note to self - check spelling) being ordered through loading and firing drill by an NCO of some sort. It was all very interesting; I'm always surprised by how complex the operation is. The effect was pretty impressive up until the point that on the command 'fire' they all shouted 'bang' in unison. Then they just looked silly.

Cinco de mayo esté con usted

A bit of a hiatus in blogging has been caused by not much happening that I wished to share. I know that you are all desperate for my views on whether UKIP are nutters and racists (which indeed they are), but I would simply refer you to Marx's theory of false consciousness which sums it up rather well. Although certainly only in the UK could such a pro-state, pro-ruling class bunch be regarded as in some way anti-establishment.

UKIP councillors celebrate

Anyway, what of the re-enactors at the Royal Armouries? Well, perhaps unsurprisingly, they have been, I think, Star Wars related this weekend. I say that I think they have because of course I have never seen any of the films and so it is to some extent a matter of guesswork. They have mainly been inside until this morning, rather amusingly, the fire alarms went off and they all got herded outside. Whilst this was inconvenient for me personally because I had to go somewhere else for my morning Cappuccino, there is something brilliantly comical about a man with a light sabre being ordered about through a megaphone by a stroppy woman in a high visibility vest.

"What do you mean, I can't use the lift?"

Robin is in da 'hood

This weekend's re-enactors are Regia Anglorum. They seem to cover a longish period ranging from the late Dark Ages to the early Medieval although one suspects their hearts are really with the Saxons. At the Royal Armouries this weekend they are doing 1213 in an event entitled 'John and the Pope'; neither of whom features at all. They were advertised by the museum as an 'interpretation' and as well as the fighting, of which more later, they did an awful lot of sitting around sewing. They brought a small fishing boat with them, but sadly didn't take to the Leeds-Liverpool Canal with it.

None of these people were in attendance; nice beards though

On Saturday afternoon they put their needles and thread down and adjourned to the tiltyard. First up was an exhibition of skill-at-arms featuring four mounted men at a variety of javelin and couched lance tasks (most of which made me think that I'd quite fancy my chances as a foot soldier against them) and one task featuring what were obviously very sharp swords (which I would prefer not to have to deal with). There was then a 'battle' the back story of which seemed to have something to do with liberty, freedom, and the Magna Carta. It seems that King John had imposed all sorts of taxes including one on widows who did not remarry. One can only hope that neither George Osborne nor Ian Duncan Smith were in the audience otherwise they'll be bringing that one in quicker than one can shout "They take from the poor to give to the rich". Which is a nice link into the main protagonists of this event who were, naturally enough, the Sheriff of Nottingham (boo hiss) and Robin 'of the Wood' Hood (huzzah).

A chap with a beard

I won't insult your intelligence by telling you who won. There was lots of shouting (neither this lot nor the cowboys from a few weeks ago are any loss to the world of amateur dramatics) and plenty of bashing and clashing. The one interesting point from a wargamer's point of view is just how quickly they tired. Still, in summary it was good fun, it was free and it was warm sitting in the sun for the first time this year.

International Tabletop Gaming Day

In honour of this event it seems to me that most appropriate actions that I could take are to neither game nor write about it. So be it.

Today's re-enactors are some sort of medieval entertainers. There is a stilt-walker (which always impresses me) as well as a jester in a costume that makes him look like he is buggering a monk. I've no idea whether that is deliberate or not.

Last night I went to an evening with James Fearnley, best known perhaps as being the accordionist with The Pogues. I went because I was keen to learn about what was life was like with the band's charismatic and famously out-of-it front man and also how they came to record 'Fairytale of New York'. I wasn't disappointed on either count. I was however somewhat surprised to find that other members of the audience appeared to have gone along so that they could tell the speaker what life was like on the road - sex, drugs, rock'n'roll etc - apparently oblivious to the fact that he'd done it and they hadn't. Add to that one chap who seemed to have led a similar lifestyle to Shane MacGowan and with the same consequences, but who put it down at great length to the fact that he was a chef, and I got a bit irritated.

 

Beard, but no teeth

The Resistance

Played a few games of The Resistance at the White Swan yesterday and I was rather taken with it. As it happened I was never a spy so I can't say how it played from that perspective. We also played a game of Guillotine and one of Cosmic Encounter, both of which I won. The negotiation option of the latter seems rather weak to me. I just refused to ever agree to anything and took the loss of ships on the chin. You get them back sooner or later anyway.

She looks like a spy to me

St Patrick's day only intruded on the pub in a minor way although there was some interesting young person romantic interaction going on when I arrived. We didn't used to do it that way in my day I can tell you.

Speaking of young people, yesterday's re-enactors turned out not to be re-enactors at all. As far as I could establish they were Steampunkers there to admire and be admired amongst themselves rather than to interact with the general public. The costumes looked rather splendid close up and they seemed to be having a good time, but as usual one is left wondering what the point is.

A chap with a beard

What the Dickens?

And so to the theatre. I saw a sort of Dickensian spoof although the main character was the man himself, during his days as a parliamentary correspondent. It was a very funny combination of wordplay and physical comedy and featured such typical nineteenth century tropes as a one-armed man playing the guitar and an erotic, Scottish, Bollywood dancing pigeon-food seller.

A chap with a beard

I have great hopes that today's re-enactors will loosely continue the theme. The only one that I've seen so far looks, from this distance anyway, like Marie Lloyd. I suppose that as she's all alone it's possible that she's lost her way and don't know where to roam.

The Queen of the Music Hall

I shall pop down later to make sure that there is no dillying or dallying going on.

Slight return

Well, the cowboys are still there; in fact they are shooting hell out of each other as I type. I admire their commitment because I happened to end up in the same pub as them last night (the Adelphi on the corner of Hunslet Road and Dock Road) it must have been a struggle for many of them to open their eyes this morning let alone get up and strap on their gunbelts. Like yesterday I popped into the Armouries cafe for a mid-morning capuccino to find it full of chaps in chaps and ladies in bonnets. Unlike yesterday I didn't greet the young lady behind the counter with a cry of "Howdy, ma'am". She didn't find it funny the first time in such a definite and pronounced manner that a repeat seemed rather pointless.

A Bunch of Cowboys

 

One of the unexpected advantages of living next to the Royal Armouries is the seemingly never-ending stream of people dressing up under one's window. Today it is the wild west. This is one of the more successful efforts recently. I think this may be for two linked reasons. Firstly, there are quite a large number of them and secondly they are all dressed differently. It seems to me that there is a clear correlation between how much re-enactors enjoy things and how individual their costumes are. The most joyous of the events outside my apartment has been without doubt the comic book convention and the most depressing were the sad ranks of the Star Wars stormtroopers who, except for Lord Vader himself, all looked identical. Of course the alternative reason could be that this bunch get to make lots of noise firing off a variety of guns as they pretend to shoot each other. The 'shoot-out'  put on by the Lonestar Old West Re-enactment group which ended with everyone except the undertaker being dead (or were they?) was certainly entertaining and loud enough. Judging from the dialogue which preceded the mutual massacre those taking part were right to choose re-enactment over amateur dramatics as a way to spend their time, but I suppose it's a least possible that the frontier was entirely populated by Geordies.

The gunfight at the Clarence Dock Corral

 I would have liked to see the Gatling gun fired though.

Re-enactors

There are some English Civil War re-enactors marching around noisily outside my apartment at the moment. Possibly it would be more accurate to say that they are marching around outside the Royal Armouries as I certainly didn't organise them.

The noise comes from the drum, not from the numbers

The photo was obviously taken from some distance (in this case the balcony of my sixth floor bachelor pad), but then that is the safest place to be when re-enactors are involved. This bunch are obviously not as bad as the truly dreadful Star Wars stormtroopers from a few weeks ago, but nevertheless shouldn't be approached too closely.

So, I hear you ask, were there re-enactors at Vapnartak? Now I know that you are keen, indeed desperate, for my review of that event, but please be patient. Anyway, there were. I think that they were some sort of dark ages types, but I'm not sure because I hurried past with my gaze averted in order to avoid any risk of making eye-contact. I recommend that as a useful tactic if one can't maintain a sufficient vertical gap. You're welcome.

Yet more dressers-up

The Royal Armouries is once again hosting people who like nothing better than to wear fancy-dress, although this lot are, to me anyway, substantially sadder than the comic-book fans. The concourse below my balcony is playing host at the moment to a Darth Vader look-alike (cloak and mask-alike anyway) and a number of those blokes in white armour with ray guns whose proper name escapes me. It does so largely because I have never seen the film - indeed any of the films - and have never had any particular wish to do so.

Having said that, it is surprising how much of the story of the original film at least that I have picked up by osmosis along the way. A few years ago Charles Ross brought his one man Star Wars show to the West Yorkshire Playhouse. I knew that my ex-wife would want to go - unlike me she is a big fan - but I also knew that she wouldn't go alone. So I volunteered to go with her. The show takes about an hour and covers the original trilogy. To my astonishment I followed the first twenty minutes without any problems and even laughed in some of the right places. Sadly, the rest of the show went completely over my head. However, for those who feel the force I would recommend it. Ross, a very good performer, apparently also does a one man Lord of the Rings and I would certainly like to see that.