The Political Life of Charles I

Those of you who bother watching my Facebook feed, and have good memories, will know that I have been reading this:

Cust, R., Charles I: A Political Life (Harlow, Pearson, 2005).

Given that the original post was on May 1 this year, and I am writing the blog on the UK election day, it has taken me a while. This was, in the Estimable Mrs P’s parlance, my ‘downstairs’ book, which means it kept getting covered with other items, newspapers, periodicals and so on. It is also a fair-sized chunk of book – 474 pages or so, by my reckoning.

I mentioned on the Facebook post that I am not a great fan of Charles I. While, I suspect many people are emotionally in favour of the Royalists, in reality, we would (if we had survived to adulthood) probably have been favouring Parliament. It is, I suppose, a bit like party loyalty – it lasts and lasts as an emotional attachment until your party is just so horrid as to switch your vote.

Anyway, that book, after a bit of an introduction, starts with Charles’ advent into the political scene with sone of James I’s parliaments, where he say, of course, in the House of Lords, in 1621. This was the start of his political education. He was also sworn in as a privy councillor in 1622, and had the benefit of his father’s advice, particularly the Basilicon Doron, originally written for Charles’ older brother, but containing James’ political philosophy and views on how kings should behave.

While we, and many historians, might dismiss this work as a conventional renaissance ‘mirror of princes’ exercise, Charles seems to have taken it seriously. He had a strong sense of duty to God and his people. He believed, more or less, in the Divine Right of Kings, came to dislike Puritans and in religious policy tried to steer the Church of England away from their influence. Charles was also a neo-stoic – he endured all sorts of assaults on his honour and prerogative but was convinced that Providence would vindicate him.

As we know, it all ended in disaster. In fact, given that the problems started at least in the 1629 Parliament and lasted more or less 20 years, we could classify it as a slow-motion train crash. Charles managed to get himself a reputation for duplicity and double-dealing. This was because he had a few things he would not budge on, and so he would only pretend to negotiate over, say, the episcopacy, while also attempting to subvert the agreement by other means. Thus he was dealing, by 1647, with the Scots, the English Presbyterians and the English Independents, hoping that they would sufficiently fall out among themselves to give him an opening.

As, indeed, it happened, as the Scots, more alarmed by the rise of the Independents than of the prospect of a restored Charles who might not be wholly under their control. The advent of the Second Civil War, of course, more or less, cost Charles his head. But even so, as Cust shows, there were still negotiations to be had and a deal was possible, if not probable.

Charles, however, was susceptible to bursts of overconfidence. One of the biggest mistakes militarily he stands accused of is deciding to fight the night before Naseby. This seems to have been decided between Charles and Rupert. Cust suggests that they could have escaped to the safety of Newark. But, possibly, Rupert wished to get at the New Model Army early, before it had settled into a fighting force, and Charles, perhaps overconfident in the abilities of the Royal army, and ill-informed as to the strength and whereabouts of the enemy, agreed.

I suppose that this one could be argued back and forth. Was it necessary for the Royalists to fight at Naseby? Maybe, and maybe not. They would have had to fight sometime, of course, and the New Model infantry, as the battle was to demonstrate at least in part, was a bit fragile. If a retreat to Newark was attempted, they would have to withdraw in the face of Cromwell’s cavalry which might not have been as easy as some commentators have suggested. It would be an interesting question to wargame, however.

Such bursts of overconfidence, intermixed with faulty intelligence, were rather the norm for Charles and his decision making, however. It was rather hard to believe that the country would survive at all without a king, no matter how reduced his powers. The most radical Parliamentary leaders do not seem to have really believed that his execution was even politically possible until November 1648, or thereabouts. Nor did Charles, at least until he was really put on trial for his life.

As is so often the case, the trial veered between farce and tragedy. But Charles, neo-stoic to the end, more or less had decided on martyrdom. In fact, this achieved most of his political ends, by a roundabout route. Not having negotiated away anything more than the concession of 1641 meant that the Restoration monarchy was able to pick up from where that left off, rather than the more limited monarchical powers which could have been agreed later. I suppose it took 1688 to get the Parliamentary system we know, roughly speaking, now.

Anyway, as Cust observes, while the early Stuart state had a good number of difficulties which were never going to be easily resolved, neither Charles’ father, nor is oldest son, would probably have landed up in the pickle Charles created. He was too obstinate and did not know when to agree and when to hold firm. He regarded the Parliamentarian side as being rebels and traitors and believed that to such people a Christian king was not obligated to be honest. It was them who should be on trial, not he.

In a sense, he was right. A fair bit of the Parliamentary junto were, in fact, engaged in activity that could have been regarded as treason, and, to some extent, went into a civil war to cover their tracks. On the other hand, Charles was not above blame for some of the problems and views, particularly of himself and his kingship. It was all rather a mess, a contingent mess, granted, but a mess nevertheless.

The Advent of the Koreans

Patience, they say, is a virtue. It is not one which has been particularly to the fore in my wargaming ‘career’ to date. But, eventually, most things which are of interest are turned into models. I have referred before here to my fleets for the Japanese invasion of Korea in the late Sixteenth Century. A fair few of them have meandered across my painting table and been duly photographed and put away. Some of the pictures have appeared here, partly to catalogue which ship type is which, because the names and types of ship are, to the westerner, downright confusing, to say the least.

Further ships have now meandered across my painting table. These are below.

In my filing system these ships rejoice in the name of ‘bunes’ although that is not, of course, accurate. The ships on the right are seki bune, which medium warships of Japanese origin and design, I think. The larger ones in the middle are ataka bune, large warships. The two masted jobs on the left are kenminsen. These are a bit more slight looking than the warships and they seem to have originated as ships taking envoys to China, and then as merchant ships. Fair enough.

Now, the patience bit. Many moons ago when I was young I collected all sorts of 6 mm soldiers from the early modern period, as the reader of the blog might well be aware. As my reading extended, I acquired ‘Samurai’ armies, that is Japanese armies of the age of war. But men with swords clobbering each other can get a bit dull, and I had heard of the invasion of Korea, so Korean, Ming and Manchu armies were acquired. Well, really, cobbled together from various of Irregular Miniatures 6 mm ranges, reaching from ancients to colonial.

As I recall, a really nice campaign was enjoyed. I had a hex map drawn with coloured pencils, and three Samurai armies invading, against, initially, a single Korean force. This latter was, eventually, reinforced by the Ming and the Manchu, and the Japanese were forced back into defending a town. The final battle was a glorious assault and defence of the said town, after which the invaders surrendered.

At this point the project sort of stalled. Not only was there not much information available on the wars – if you typed ‘Korean War’ into early search engines you got a very different war as results – but I was aware that there was a distinct naval element to it and, nowhere to be found were suitable ships. Nowhere. At any scale.

A few years ago I had another go at the land wargame, recorded as the Citrus Campaign. This too rather petered out. By this time I had got my head around the importance of the naval aspects of the war. The Japanese lost command of the sea early, and never regained it. Through the heroics of Admiral Yi Sunsin and the Korean navy, including the intriguing turtle ships, eventually the Japanese gave up. They were also, it turns out, facing a massive attack from Ming China down the peninsular, and also having to try to deal with a major insurgency crisis.

Imagine, then, the feelings of interest that flowed through the veins of this crusty old wargamer when I discovered that Tumbling Dice had a range of 1:2400 scale Chinese, Korean and Japanese ships. Not only did they exist, but they were the right sort of scale for my activities. My pleasure was only mitigated somewhat by the realisation that ships usually mean having to build stuff, and, as the blog will also testify, I am really not good at building stuff, particularly ships with separate masts.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and the fleets were duly delivered by Santa. ‘That is ages ago’ I hear you cry, and, indeed, it was. But the Korean fleet is now finished, its assembly and painting having been delayed by the masses of 28+ mm civilians on show recently. But now, in all its glory, the Korean fleet is here.

I can see you are excited. In the middle of the middle line are the turtle ships, flanked by Korean warships of the p’anokson type. To the fore are scoutships, kobaya, which I suspect were originally coastal freighters, although some sources suggest that they were light, swift vessels designed for boarding. To the rear of the seki bune, ataka bune and kenminsen, as already documented.

I am not sure about the inclusion of Japanese types for this navy. It seems reasonable enough, granted. The cultural, trade and diplomatic links between Korean and Japan were, after all, well established. The turtle ships formed the main strike force, backed up by the p’anoksons. The Koreans had developed the use of ship-board cannon, while the Japanese favoured boarding, as just mentioned. While I am about it, I might as well mention that this seems very similar to what was going on in the West at the time, with the Spanish Armada and the English race-built galleons. But I digress.

Anyway, the first phase of the project is now finished. As it happens I am writing this blog in a different room from my usual ‘study’. The reason for this is that my desk upstairs is presently covered by Japanese ships with masts stuck on, which are drying, hopefully vertically. I dare not move them while that process is going on, and therefore have had to alter my own location, rather than risk droopy masts.

After the Japanese fleet, which is, in truth, about half finished, there is a Chinese fleet to consider. This is, in fact, mainly a Song dynasty fleet, but I will live with that. I read the other day about the fleets the Chinese put out in the late 1400s, and how their ships were technologically superior to those of the West at the time, and, indeed, for about another 300 years the Royal Navy only adopted compartmentalisation at the end of the Eighteenth Century. I am considering campaigning beyond Korea, as well. I mean, the Chinese fleets went to the Spice Islands. What if they stayed?

A Punitive Expedition

‘What do you mean, the Romans are coming for us?’

‘They are sending a punitive expedition.’

‘Oh, well. If it is puny we don’t need to worry about it.’

.Not puny, sir, punitive. To punish us.’

‘Punish us? What for?’

‘Um, well, we took Muchado recently, which was claimed by the Galicians.’

‘So? That is perfectly normal.’

‘Yes, sir. Except the Galicians are allied to the Romans, and so the Romans are coming to punish us for attacking their ally.’

‘But the Galicians weren’t allied to the Romans.’

‘No, sir, they were not. But now they are, and so the Romans are coming to punish us for attacking their ally.’

‘To whom they were not allied at the time.’

‘No, sir. This is what passes for logic in international relations…’

*

So, back in Spain with an old scenario, which I played a couple of times with Romans and Dacians. Both times the Romans lost, and I was starting to wonder if I was biased against them. After all, I am on record somewhere as agreeing that the only good Roman is a dead Roman. Still, this is the battle of Temeshvekovar shifted in time and space to northern Spain around 20 BC.

The Romans enter on the road at the bottom left, and their objective is the town on the hill in the far right corner. The playing cards are the Spanish ambushers, in unknown strength at each location – behind hills, woods, and rough going. About one in four cards will disclose a base or two.

When I tried this with the Dacians, they just about managed to defeat the Romans by ambushing on the hill near left, before the Romans got their march column deployed. With this in mind, I modified the Roman tactics, firstly to keep their scouting light horse free from entanglements along the way, and secondly to deploy before the column could be hit by any marauding tribal foot.

A few moves in and the Roman strategy (or is it tactics?) are starting to pay off. The auxilia are proceeding up the nearest hill, to, surprisingly, no opposition at all. The near right-hand rough ground gave two bases of Spanish light horse. I’ve sent the Roman lights on ahead, and am covering the Spanish lights with auxiliary cavalry instead. The Spanish command post on the right-hand front hill is also visible.

A few moves later the Spanish on the hill have been revealed, as have some skirmisher and light horse bases near the stream. The Roman auxiliary cavalry have caught the Spanish light cavalry and are handing out a pummelling, while the legionaries deploy to face the Spanish tribal foot on the hill.

Looking carefully at this position, I realised that, without support, the Spanish on the hill were vulnerable to being surrounded. As Spanish commander, I needed to try to prevent this, and so I revealed the troops across the stream on the Roman right, hoping that they would be more tribal foot and cavalry. Alas not, they were more skirmishers (almost inevitably in a Spanish army, I suppose). The only thing was to beat a hasty retreat from the hill and hope for the best.

The shot shows the Roman foot steadily advancing, while the cavalry from the rear of the column has moved up and is now crossing the road just in front of the legionaries. The auxilia are facing off the annoying skirmishers on the left, while the auxiliary cavalry has seen off the Spanish light horse. One base has rallies under the general and is looking threatening to the withdrawing Spanish, while the other has yet to be issued with orders.

The crunch came when the auxiliary cavalry under the general got onto the flank of the withdrawing Spanish foot and charged. This was one of those messy, swirling combats that occur from time to time using these rules.

In the centre of the picture, you can see the Roman auxiliary cavalry (with the brown disordered markers) which has just routed the tribal foot and skirmishers you can see in front of them. The cavalry have just been hit in the flank by the remaining Spanish tribal foot, however, who managed to get out of the firing line from the charge because their compatriots held out for a turn before routing.

The Roman cavalry was routed in its turn, but the general survived. The newly charged Spanish foot were charged in turn by the lead base of the Roman cavalry which you can see on the left, led by the Roman sub-general. The Spanish tribal foot base was routed, the general was hit, and the Spanish morale went to fall back.

*

At this point, I stopped the game, as the Spanish were clearly losing. I checked which units were where on the other side of the stream, and the Spanish heavy units were too far away to help. For once, the Romans had survived an ambush. I supposed that the Spanish, being now general-less, would decide that defending the village was not worth the spillage of Spanish blood and would withdraw, while the Romans would advance, burn the place, and also go home.

That was an interesting action, I felt. The card deployment for the Spanish kept me guessing, while actually, it did not really do the Spanish any favours. Perhaps I should have concentrated the Spanish, or at least the heavier infantry and cavalry, into fewer cards, which would at least have given them a better chance against the Romans. The sight of a seven-base phalanx of legionaries advancing over the hill did make the Spanish hearts quail a bit.

As the Roman commander, a more circumspect approach paid dividends, although I did start to wonder whether a time limit on the game might have made them hurry up a bit and risk being caught out, although with the Spanish deployment as it was that was not, in fact, terribly likely. But it is all ingredients for the thinking pot, as it were.

The Dutch Ambassador’s Party

‘Monsieur, we must follow at once, and quickly.’

‘Follow? Follow who?’

‘The Dutch ambassador. My government needs a copy of the treaty. We must spy our chance to obtain it.’

‘Obtain it? You mean steal it?’

‘Monsieur des Contes, this is diplomacy. There is no such verb as ‘to steal’. We obtain.’

‘The ambassador has lots of guards, you know. And he has a sword himself. There is just the two of us.’

‘We must use stealth and opportunity, Monsieur.’

*

And so the second scenario in the Corbie Rebooted campaign was produced. I have painted, if you have been following my Facebook page, a bunch of Redoubt 28+ mm civilian figures for the mid-seventeenth Century, and so was looking for an opportunity to use them. I pondered and came up with a scenario that seemed to fit the bill. M. Gaspard des Contes (my RPG character) and the English agent M. White are attempting to procure a copy of the Franco-Dutch treaty for the English government. The treaty, or some copies thereof, are accompanying the Dutch ambassador to France on his return to the United Provinces. Señor Emboscuda, the Spanish agent who attempted to impede me the last time, is also after a copy. He has gathered an array of other Spanish ruffians and desperadoes to attempt to intercept the ambassador and his party.

The ambassador and Spanish intersect at the village of Des Fetes. Here, some of the residents are in dispute with their Lord, M. Caca De Fetes. The Lord wishes to replace the usual parish Ale (a party with lots of alcohol to raise funds for the church. No, really.) with a genteel dance. The peasants are not impressed and are hatching a scheme to dognap Mme De Fete’s lapdog, and possibly kidnap Mlle De Fete as well, to get their Ale back.

The setup is below. The Spanish had random entry points assigned and diced for. They mostly landed up in the far right corner. Behind the church, the local clergy is holding an outrage meeting to steel his supporters to start stealing dogs and children. The ambassador’s party has just arrived in the village, and a number of civilians are milling around, going about their usual business.

The figures are a mix of Redoubt, Wargames Foundry, Outpost, and Warbases. The carts and buildings are Usbourne. The rules are a mix of Flashing Blades and my own head. Mostly, the characters are trying not to start fighting. M. des Contes and M. White are currently off the table to the right, shadowing the convoy and awaiting an opportunity.

This was quite a complicated little action. Eventually, I rolled up 26 non-player characters to try to determine what happened. Each group had to roll a 6 on 1d6 to activate, aside from the Spanish led by Snr Emboscada, the ambassador’s party, myself, and M. White. This had some odd results, which were quite realistic. The Spanish figure you can just see on the far side in the centre never activated. The outrage meeting behind the church took quite a long time. The villagers on the street did activate at the carts rolled towards them, and actually blocked it a little bit, allowing myself and M. White to catch up, and the Spanish to launch at it from the alleyways, without much warning.

The drone-oriented shot above shows the chaos breaking out. The two guards at the front of the Ambassador’s convoy are engaged with the villagers. One has managed to nicely get some ladies out of the way. The other was a bit more aggressive and has just been struck down from behind by a villager after he shoved one of the ladies out of the way, twice.

Further back, the Spanish are overrunning the convoy. One guard is down, stunned, and the ambassador himself has, after striking out against Snr Emboscada, been felled by a vicious rapier to the head, and is now unconscious and bleeding. The Ambassador’s servant is making for the nearest alleyway, and the remaining guards are trying to defend themselves.

Meanwhile, the party from the manor has emerged to see what all the fuss is about, while the outrage meeting is heading from the church to confront their landlord. As I mentioned earlier, there was a lot going on.

The final positions are above. The Dutch guards have dragged the ambassador out of harm’s way. In the distance the local clergy is, in fact, negotiating with M. Caca De Fetes about the Church Ale. The manor servant with the dog is on the ground. This was his fault. Some of the villagers approached him to grab the dog. He decided to run off, leaving the dog, but got tangled in his own feet, the dog, and the lead and landed on the ground. According to the statistics the monk and the lord are probably brothers, so they agreed to hold the Church Ale with an additional formal dance at the start.

In the foreground, you can see Gaspard des Contes heading out of the village. He had slipped around the confrontations at the rear of the Dutch ambassador’s coach and, on a critical roll of his wit and another good roll of his dexterity had abstracted a copy of the treaty and is now beating a retreat, covered by M. White getting in the way of any pursuers. Snr Emboscala is not too worried by this, however, as he has found another copy in the coach, so he has directed his men not to give chase.

So, who won? The Dutch definitely lost, having lost two copies of the treaty and having a number of their people injured, the most seriously hurt being the ambassador. The Spanish and English sides both obtained their objectives, as did the outrage group and M. Caca De Fetes. So a good time was had by three-quarters of the parties, anyway.

Next, of course, Gaspard Des Contes and M. White have to get their copy of the treaty to England, probably hotly pursued by Dutch agents and who knows who else. There is also the matter of the Spanish assault on a Dutch diplomat to be resolved, especially as the incident happened on French soil….

An Announcement… Part II

It had to happen, and on Tuesday, it did. A knock at the door… shadowy figure on the far side of the glass… a camera slicing an instant from eternity. Yes, the parcel delivery man has delivered that book. You know, the one I have been going on about here since about February: Solo Wargaming: A Practitioner’s Guide.

Through the kindness of a commenter here, I already knew it was out in the wild, so to speak, but it is nice to have my own little stack of copies.

It is, I think, nicely produced and, while it might not be quite as comprehensive as the blurb would have us believe, I hope it is a contribution to the hobby. I decided to add the preaching figure from my collection to the photo, partly because he missed out on the last wargame and partly because I was reminded of the verse:

Of making of many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh. (Ecclesiastes 12:12)

Um, yes, well, as you were. On a whim I also photographed the book open, on my trusty book seat.

The picture is actually from one of the somewhat later chapters, which discusses, among other things, the use of personalities and characters. The table lists some of the characteristics from officers in the Jersey Boys campaign. I do examples….

Anyway, as a writer, it is a bit of an odd business, publishing stuff. I have done it before, of course, in an academic context. That is a little different, of course, but there are similarities. For example, by the time the work appears in print, you have moved on to something else. Life does not stop and wait for publication, and in academic life, at least, putting your feet up and basking in the glory of being published is not really an option, at least until you are a crusty old professor who has minions to develop your projects for you.

So, by my reckoning, it is roughly a year since I sent off the manuscript, and my wargaming life has developed somewhat, at least. That is not to say I have necessarily changed my mind on anything in the book. It is more along the lines that things have developed, particularly in my thoughts on skirmish and role-playing solo. I am still experimenting, as the recent entries in the blog will show, as well as the painting and even some painting. We will see where it gets to.

One of the things that happens when you publish something is that people congratulate you. This is wonderfully affirming, of course. Writing is a lonely business often, and to have people say how good it is to have created a book is great. Then, they cast around looking for something else to say about it.

It has to be said that, in my conversations with people since the book was announced back in February, many have expressed ignorance as to the existence of wargaming as a hobby per se. Perhaps it is the bit of the country that I live in, but a wide variety of people from all walks of life have admitted that they had no idea of its existence. Nor, in fact, did they know that I was a wargamer, in spite of them knowing me for around 20 years or so. I suppose this means I am a fairly tidy person and the troops are all packed away in their boxes and cupboards before anyone comes around.

Still, that does lead me to the first question people often ask: ‘Are you going to be a millionaire?’ This one is quite easy to answer: someone once told me that you do not sculpt wargame figures for riches, you sculpt them for poverty, and it is the same with writing. Recent figures from the Society of Authors suggest that the annual income of a successful writer is about £11,000 a year, and that is for full time writing with a string of magazines and newspaper articles, as well as books in the quiver. It also notes that the figure is distorted upwards significantly, because one J. K. Rowling is a member of the society. If you want to find me at a wargame show, I will be the one near the entrance, croaking out ‘Spare a chasseur for the poor, sir?’.

I confess, when, a couple of years ago I confessed to Mr Berry that I was writing a book on solo wargaming, I did remark that it probably had the selling power of a six-week dead fish. He disagreed, and thought that it might do a bit better than that. We shall see.

Anyway, once the matter of the lack of wealth generation from a book is disposed of, non-wargamers, obviously getting a bit desperate, tend to ask what I am going to write next. Fortunately, I have a get out clause for that, which is that the ‘next’ book is the one on 6 mm wargaming, which is currently stalled due to lack of decent photographs. On quizzing, I will be forced to admit that the text is largely written.

Some questioners then press a bit harder, recognising, as I said above, that a written text is not one being worked on now. So, they persist: what are you working on now?

When I finished the manuscript, I was pretty well out of ideas and energy. A similar thing happened after finishing the thesis, in fact. Suddenly you have all this time and mental space, and not much to fill it with. However, over the last year I have managed to fill it a bit, and through the editing and proof-reading stages of production, have started to realise that there are a few more angles and topics which could be addressed.

So now, when someone asks me ‘Are you writing another book?’ I can reply with an enigmatic smile: ‘Perhaps.’ But that is about as far as I can go. I would like to play some more wargames...

Woke Wargaming?

Every once in a while in the wargaming blogosphere, or at least the bit of it that I read, an interesting conundrum appears, which seems to me to be worth mulling over a bit more than just firing off a comment. The recent post on Don’t Throw a One about the Haitian Revolution is one such. I recommend reading the post and the comments if you have not already done so.

Without wishing to get into the pros and cons of wargaming such a conflict, it is worth noting a few things. Firstly, the argument is not really about wargaming the conflict. There are a lot of these sorts of questions around – in the comments, the issue of the Russian Front in World War Two was raised. I sort of tackled this a bit in a previous post, so will not bang the drum over it again. Sometimes, however, it does seem that the non-wargaming public has the sort of assumption that we would not wargame a specific subject, such as the Russian campaigns if we really knew what happened. Well, the answer to this is, of course, that we are wargamers and we know what happened. Wargaming the subject does not imply agreement or acquiescence with the activities of the participants.

To return to Haiti, a long time ago I undertook an Open University course in history, one module of which made extensive reference to the Haitian revolution, and the OU was not afraid of using the words Creole (for mixed-race individuals) and slave. It might also be worth noting that the international situation was the French Revolution – with its emphasis on freedom, after all – and a massive spike in imports of slaves into French Caribbean colonies after 1791.

The OU was also not afraid of describing people of African ancestry as ‘blacks’. Thus, the use of the names, however uncomfortable they might make some post-colonial scholars and ‘woke’ (whatever that is) individuals, is perfectly acceptable, albeit that the course was first published in 2007.

So what has happened? Has our sense of historical perspective completely disappeared? More to the point, perhaps, how are we actually going to refer to the combatants without using such pejorative terms? It is certainly a problem that is wider than the Haitian Revolution, and, for the matter of that, wider than wargaming. A good deal of the public discourse over history is dominated by these sorts of post-colonial debates. For those of you with strong stomachs, a dip into the debates triggered over Nigel Biggar’s Colonialism (which I reviewed briefly here) would show a fury in the scholarly community which would surprise most wargamers, even those who argue fiercely about points of contention in rule sets.

The key question was whether Ray should continue to wargame the Haitian Revolution over the objections of his family that it was racist, distasteful and used words which were, in some sense, to be depreciated. Well, maybe, but history is history and that it how words were used then. Failure to recognise that would make us misunderstand history in the round, which would be a bad thing. Not preserving the use of the words in their original context would make us fail to comprehend the mindsets of the people of the past. They were not like us.

Herein, I think, lies the rub. As wargames, we, sort of, recreate the past. Historians, in some sense, recreate the past in their thoughts and, hopefully, in their words and the minds of their readers. History which does not do that is not worth reading, after all. And yet the past cannot be re-created, which is probably just as well. Generating armies which represent a slave revolt over two centuries ago does not recreate the attitudes and world views of the participants.

I suspect that the answer, as it does in so many of these cases, lies in the question of context. If we react to the word ‘black’ for example, when used to describe a fellow human being, we are reacting to a whole bunch of stereotypes and tropes in our culture. A few headlines from recent years, relating to problems over treating skin conditions of black people, the death rate of non-whites in the Covid pandemic, to the scandal over the Windrush generation in the UK and I am sure many others all key into the use of this particular word. And hence people (at least those of a fairly liberal mindset) take offence.

But there is another issue lurking here, and that is about the difference between offence and harm. I can take offence at something, but not be harmed by it. Likewise, I can be harmed by something, but not offended by it. A rival shoe shop could open next to mine – my trade, and therefore my income, will probably be harmed, but I should not be offended by it. I can certainly take offence at someone gratuitously being described as a ‘black’ if the context suggests something negative is meant.

In this case, then, the description of a regiment in the Haitian revolution as black is not offensive and does no one (at least, no one who has any idea of the context) any harm. Out of context, the word generates many negative ideas and connections. In context, the OU’s description of Haiti that ‘black armies led by former slaves would be major powers in the land’ is hardly either harmful or offensive.

Taking offence, then, is a matter of context and, in this case, historical fact. It might not fit in with some wider political agendas, but that is neither here nor there. We can and do often reinterpret history, and it is frequently used to bolster ourselves and our own image – the celebrations of the 80^th anniversary of D-Day might be used for this, for example. An argument could be made that D-Day was more or less the last occasion on which the UK was a significant, positive force in the world and that we look back on those times with nostalgia. This is reinventing the past – no one knew what was going to happen next, after all.

So, should a war game on the Haitian revolution take place? It might not be to everyone’s taste, but that should not stop it. It is neither harmful nor offensive, in my view. The only way it can be so construed is by taking some of the language and events out of context and twisting them a bit to fit a modern, cultural, argument (or set of arguments). History is very prone to this, nowadays, which as a historical wargamer is a bit of a pity.

Spanish Intermezzo

 

Wargaming and painting came to a bit of a juddering halt recently, as I was proof-reading my book. But I can now report that the proofs are safely returned and, apparently, dispatched to the printer. So in about four weeks, I believe, the printed copies will be in the warehouse and will start to be despatched to whoever wants a copy. I think you can still get the pre-release price if you are quick.

After that, some wargaming was required, I felt. I have done a bit of undercoating, but even so, the real reason for doing this stuff is to fight wargames, so here goes. My eye lit upon Varga’s The Roman Wars in Spain and I considered that I did not think my ancient Spanish troops had ever hit the tabletop. This was to be rectified.

Dipping into Varga I came across a page where the Cantabrians were raiding their neighbours. This played into Augustus’ hands as he wanted to finish off the conquest of Spain. The only holdouts were the Cantabrians, Galicians and Asturians.

So, to start off with, I decided on a raid and capture territory scenario, and returned to one I prepared earlier, The Bridge at Muchado. Obviously, the bridge became a ford while translating the action back 1650 years or so, but the rest was fairly as expected. The next thing to note was that I was using Polemos SPQR armies, which gives the Spanish a lot of skirmishers each, and a solid core of tribal foot and heavier cavalry.

The setup is above. The Cantabrians are to the right, aiming to seize Muchado, the village in the centre by the ford. The Galicians are to the left, trying to prevent the same. My idea as the Cantabrian commander was to cross the ford and seize the village, but I could see that was not going to work, as the ford was covered by the Galician cavalry and tribal foot. So the next idea was to work the skirmishers onto the flanks and envelop the village.

I had forgotten how slow skirmishing can be under the rules (which were not PM:SPQR, but are related, faster playing rules). The factors are low and the chances of causing damage are not much greater. Most of the action was the clash of the skirmishers.

The picture shows the action after quite a few turns, and skirmishing is in evidence along most of the lines. In the foreground the main outflanking effort of the Cantabrians is underway, and has caused quite a bit of damage to the Galicians light horse, one of which is fleeing (left), the other of which is shortly to join them. However, the rest of the Galician skirmish strength is closing up, and the battle is nowhere near over. In the centre, you can see the heavier troops facing each other over the ford and stream and shouting ‘Grr’ a lot. On the far side, the Galician lights are gaining the upper hand over their foes.

I should note that I have learnt some things over recent games. Firstly, armies in these ‘tempo poor’ rules when they reach about 15 bases start to need sub-generals, and these are present here, both with the skirmishers. Generals with skirmishers are very useful as they can pull damaged units out of line, revive them and send them back, hopefully in a few turns. They are, however, a bit vulnerable to the 'risk to generals' rule as if a skirmisher base with a general attached is on the receiving end of a bad roll, then the general is at risk, as the Galician sub-general found out.

Secondly, I learnt that rushing to cross the stream is not a good idea from the ECW version of the scenario. Thus there was not much action in the centre, as the Cantabians did not want to cross the stream and be on the receiving end of a charge at -2 on the dice, nor push the cavalry across the ford to be met by the Galician cavalry and take a charge from tribal foot in flank. So it was all a bit quiet in the centre.

As the Cantabrian right slowly collapsed they were able to redirect skirmishers from the centre to prop it up.

On the near side, Cantabrian left, the advance of the light troops across the stream is well underway with significant disruption to the enemy (and a bit to themselves). It is slow going but seems inexorable at the stage. On the far side, the Cantabrian skirmishers from the centre are causing a fair bit of damage to the hitherto successful Galicians.

Eventually, the casualties told on the defenders. Their right flank was under great pressure and being forced back. It was only a matter of time before it collapsed. On their left, the last Galician skirmisher base was looking very lonely against the Cantabrians. The centre was still locked up, neither side willing to commit to combat, but with the flanks more or less gone the Galicians threw a bad morale roll and hit ‘fall back’. They fought on for a turn or two, losing some more bases, and then went to withdraw mode, so they did.

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That was a nice battle and, of course, very different from the ECW version. I decided not to rush the ford and stream with the Cantabrians and risk horrid defeat by counter-charge, but to work on the flanks. With more bases and a lot of skirmishers, this was a rather natural thing to do and it worked, eventually. Patience, and a lot of it, was required. The Galicians were a bit unfortunate with some key dice rolls – losing the sub-general was not helpful and some of the tempo and combat rolls went against them. Nevertheless, I am not sure what else they could have done.

Still, the scene is now set for some more wargames in ancient Spain as the Galicians do what most defeated tribes did, and go a whine to the Romans, who are always up to stamp out trouble, of course.