Book Review: Wellington in 100 Objects, Gareth Glover

In the venerable tradition started - as far as I know? - by the British Museum's exemplary History of the World in 100 Objects, the book I'm reviewing here today joins an ever growing assortment of similarly themed books on numerous historical subjects. Prolific Napoleonic author Gareth Glover notches up yet more titles, annexing ever more shelf-space, authoring several such books on Napoleonic matters himself, including this one. And there are also titles by other authors, on the Third Reich, and all sorts.

In this book the objects themselves range from the tiny - a looted silver fork - to the massive - castles, stately homes, even whole villages, towns or cities, that Arthur Wellesley had some connection with. From the obvious, like his boots or campaign cape, to the more obscure, like dentures, or the saw used to amputate Lord Uxbridge's leg. 

From the humourous... [1]

And in the process of examining this wealth of material, which is frequently supplemented by other related stuff, we learn masses about not just the famed and celebrated victor of Waterloo, but his family, the times in which he lived, and the many and varied places his life story connects together. From the Congress of Vienna, to Napoleon's lonely and remote exile on St. Helena. From ancestral roots in Ireland, to nepotistic postings in India. And with his activities and interests connecting him with everywhere from the far-flung, such as to the Americas, to such near neighbours as Portugal, Spain and Northwest Europe.

Wellington doesn't have quite the same the mercurial mythological magnetism that Boney had, and continues to have. At the time of posting this review this book is listed as 'currently unavailable' on Amazon's UK website, unlike the pendant title, also by Glover, on Napoleon in 100 Objects. But, and especially so for the English, he is, and ought to be, someone we want to know more about. And this book does an admirable job of facilitating that.

... to the more macabre. [2]

NOTES:

[1] Wellington infamously duelled Lord Winchelsea, in 1829, whilst he (the former) was P.M!

[2] The saw and a bloodied surgeon's glove, from National Army Museum's collections, allegedly used to remove Uxbridge's shattered leg, at or just after Waterloo.

Book Review: Osprey, Campaign series - Quatre Bras - John Franklin

NB - I found out, via a post on TMP, that this book was available in a Kindle edition on Amazon UK's website for just 99p (as opposed to £14.99). So I bought it. As with my other Osprey reviews, for reasons of copyright, apart from the cover, the images used here are sourced from elsewhere.

I should, perhaps, start this review by admitting I'm not always overly keen on the eBook format. And in the course of this review some of the more general issues I currently have with eBooks will come under consideration. Two things in their favour are, rather obviously, that 1) they're often cheaper (and sometimes, as here, much cheaper), and 2) they don't take up all that real estate on your shelves that ordinary books fill.

But to get on with the subject of this review: how about this book? Well, it's the Kindle edition of the popular small, slim, serial paperbacks which are an Osprey trademark, such as their Men at Arms uniform and equipment series, or their Campaign series, to which this title belongs. Osprey appear to have commissioned John Franklin, a new name in the field of Napoleonic literature (to me at any rate), to cover the Waterloo Campaign, such that there are now three titles by him in this sub-series within a series: this one on Quatre Bras, another on Ligny, and a third on Waterloo itself.

Let's start with the good news. The first thing to note is how well organised the content is. There's a short scene-setting introductory section, dealing with the context just prior to the campaign. This is immediately followed by a comprehensive chronology. This chronology starts with Boney escaping Elba, and runs up to late evening on June 16th, the day of the battle at Quatre Bras. I can see why you'd put a chronology here, but I'd have preferred it after the main body of the text. Either way, it's a usefully succinct reference point.

Very well organised!

Next come three 'opposing' sections: opposing commanders; opposing forces; opposing plans. As neat and well-ordered a structure as that guy's kit, pictured above! In Opposing Commanders we get very brief summaries of the commanders, limited in this instance to Wellington and the Prince of Orange on the Allied side, and Napoleon and Ney on the French side. [1] In Opposing Forces we get the OOB, and related info on command and composition, etc. And finally, a very brief synopsis of the two sides different goals, in Opposing Plans.

The real meat of this book, however, begins under the title The Campaign Opens, under which there are 19 sub-headings, each dealing with a major component of the unfolding action. 18 of these deal with the action at Quatre Bras, with the 19th quickly visiting Napoleon, further east, defeating the Prussians at Ligny. It's incredible how much detail and information there is on the action, and this is quite probably the best aspect of what this title has to offer. But the very density of the information, combined with two other factors, the style in which it's communicated, and the constraints of the Kindle eBook format, will soon bring us to some of the not so good news.

42nd Highlanders at Quatre Bras, by George Jones. [A]

One thing that struck me quite forcibly, in relation to the detailed minutiae of the myriad movements, themselves occurring amidst multiple ever-evolving actions - and given the arguments that the Waterloo campaign has consistently generated I was perhaps a little surprised about this - was the absence of any tentative note from Franklin's descriptions of events. The bulk of this account is essentially a long list describing the movements of various bodies of troops and the actions they were involved in; at no point was I aware, as I have been so often when reading about war in general, and Napoleonic warfare in particular, that Franklin felt any doubt about the information he was imparting. Having just read several other rather different accounts of Waterloo, in which such uncertainty was often a key note, this difference really struck me.

Before I embark on any critical comments [2], let's briefly finish the summary of contents. Following the highly detailed coverage of the action itself, we have Aftermath, The Battlefield Today, and Further Reading. One of these last elements that I particularly liked - perhaps in part because I've visited some of the Waterloo battlefield (and will be going again for the 200th anniversary!) - is the section called The Battlefield Today. Having not yet visited either the Quatre Bras or Ligny sites (we did have a nose around Plancenoit, in 2014) these sites have now been added to the 'must do' list! And, of course, Further Reading suggestions are always welcome and useful. So, to summarise my summary of the contents, what's best about this is how well organised the information is, and how much detail there is on the action of the 16th itself.

Brunswick troops at Quatre Bras, by Knötel. [A]

Okay, so now it's time to turn to the more critical observations. One or two of these have to do with how the book's been written [3], whilst several have to do with the way it feels reading it in the digital format I purchased. My first gripe, and this has proven true of all the eBooks I've bought so far, is the poor quality of the images. I've seen the originals of some of the eBooks I have (inc. this one and a book on modelling small-scale armour), and it's clear to me that one reason why one might want to spend more money on a hard copy could be for the higher quality of the images. 

In this edition, double-clicking on images in order to see them better, is, if you'll pardon an Osprey Men-at-Arms themed pun, uniformly disappointing. With such atmospheric pics as the portraits, actions, uniforms, and the like, this is a shame but not desperately troubling. But with the excellent 'bird's eye' view maps (they're sometimes referred to as '3-D'!), of which there are several here, the size and quality is, to my mind, unacceptably poor. Okay, you can just about read them (there's some very tiny text explaining what they illustrate), but these particular images are not only things of great beauty, but are rich in information: they deserve to be bigger and easier to read. The more basic maps fare better, but even they could do with being bigger and in higher resolution.

In other respects the selection of images supporting the text is, for the most part, about what one would expect. Most of the images, aside from the modern maps, such as the portraits of commanders, the views of various actions, uniform plates, and so on, are reasonably vintage. There's not much to say about these images, which, whilst of very varied quality, from some that are quite naïve to some that are quite exquisite, are all very evocative, except that they are really quite charming, and add a lot to the appeal of books such as this. My only small quibble with the selection of these images was when I encountered three images (and I think it may have even been three in a row?) on the same subject, namely the Prince of Orange, 'heroically' tipping his tile! There are also several original pieces by regular Osprey artist Gerry Embleton. [5]

There are three pics of this scene, showing the young Prince

of Orange raising his hat. This isn't one of them!

Like the area of image quality, which is a general concern I'm discovering I have with eBooks, my second problem has to do with a technical issue, this time regarding formatting, and how the Kindle software functions. It might be that I'm just not sufficiently au fait with the technology. But certainly I find it's not as easy to jump back and forth in this eBook when I want to refer to maps - and in a book of this sort that's pretty much constantly - as it is in an ordinary paperback or hardback. [6]

The final issue I had with this book, and, to be fair, it might be the 'other side of the coin' in relation to some of the strengths of the book, is not one of a technical/format nature, as were the previous two, but has to do with Franklin's approach to the text. But before I get to any criticisms, another thing I would like to observe on the positive side is how, as explained in his Author's Note at the end of the book, he remarks that 'wherever possible the original terminology has been employed'. Bravo! I've heard tell of translations of, for example, Caesar's account of his wars in Gaul, in which the editorial/translation team have decided to use modern terminology instead of Roman terms. Wrong! Franklin's way is most emphatically the right way.

As I've already alluded to, Franklin is certainly to be commended for packing his account full of information - and for those wanting an information rich account, this is definitely a very useful book - but it is, as a result, and because of the way it's done, rather dry. And this type of dryness translates, for me, into two rather doleful D's: difficult to follow (not helped as outlined above by the Kindle formatting) and, alas, rather dull. Franklin's approach here is more Siborne or Clausewitz than than Barbero or Paul Britten Austin, if you know what I mean? [7]

In some important respects this is, and quite obviously so, one hopes, very much a complement. Siborne and Clausewitz are both highly respected authorities, particularly, and very naturally, in the circles in which they are best known and understood. But theirs aren't the easiest or most enjoyable accounts to read by a long (grape) shot. And nowadays, one might wish for accounts that are both factually as correct as one can hope to be, and yet are also engaging at the same time. Ideally I want both information and enjoyment!

Franklin's account is saturated with information, and on that count I'd score it five out of five, but, whilst it's not the dry and stodgy porridge of Clausewitz's account of 1812 - reading that really did, literally, give me a headache - it is still hard to keep it all in one's mind (a fact not helped, as already mentioned, by the way the eBook format makes referring to maps trickier than it ought to be). But, as I've now said numerous times, to be fair, there is a heck of a lot of information, and perhaps sometimes it is an either/or case with information vs. drama?

71st Highlanders at Quatre Bras, again by George Jones. [A]

My final criticism of the text has to do with nomenclature: Franklin was dead right to use the languages and titles of the era when it comes to ranks, units, formations, etc. But I have to confess I don't like how he chooses to render the titles of the commanders. Constantly reading such full and correct but unnecessarily verbose titles as Sir Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, or Willem, Hereditary Prince of Orange-Nassau, was, I found, rather galling. I would personally prefer a practice I've seen other writers employ, whereby they give the person their full title once, ideally when first mentioned, and thereafter use shorter names, e.g. simply Wellington, or The Prince of Orange. [8]

In terms of information, I'd score this five out of five (primarily for quantity; I'm not sufficiently expert to judge the quality [see note 2 below!]); in terms of user-friendliness and the quality of the experience in Kindle, it'd be two or three out of five; and finally, in terms of enjoyment - how much of a pleasure was it to read? - I'd score it three out of five.

A reviewer at Amazon's UK website, writing about Corunna by Christopher Hibbert, says 'I'm a huge fan of history, particularly if it's about the Napoleonic wars, but I'm not a huge fan of history books filled with fact after fact and nothing to 'hook' you' (you can read that review here, if interested). I find it hard to say this, especially having followed some exchanges on TMP in which Franklin and another forum member (registered under several different names over an extended period) engage in some quite vitriolic exchanges, but, despite it being a well organised and fact-filled read, I found it rather flat and dull.

This was especially noticeable to me, as also was the absence of any real sense of the 'fog of war', having just read several incredibly compelling and moving accounts of other aspects of the Waterloo campaign, the best of which were Paul Britten Austin's 1815 The Return of Napoleon, and David Howarth's A Near Run Thing. So, as hard as I find it to be openly critical of what is obviously a well researched labour of love, I felt, when I first submitted an Amazon review, that I must score this at three out of five. However, after re-reading some of the book, and going over my reviews, I eventually opted for four stars, despite my not having really greatly enjoyed the fact-filler but rather dry text. This said, it's definitely worth having and reading, and I probably will be getting his Ligny and Waterloo titles as well, certainly if they're going for just 99p!

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Images:

[A] These pics were found at pinterest. This link ought to get you there: Waterloo 200

NOTES:

[1] In a way this is fine and obvious, but in another way, perhaps it isn't? Wellington and the Prince of Orange both commanded at the battle this book covers, as did Ney, but Napoleon, of course, did not, as he was busy fighting Blücher at Ligny. You could of course argue that as Napoleon was C-in-C (not to mention something of a control-freak!) and Ney was working to his orders...etc. Granted. But one could also argue that as Napoleon features more centrally in the Ligny and Waterloo battles, those would be the titles in which to cover him. Otherwise there's a danger that there could be some repetition of content in other volumes in the series, as there might also be regarding Wellington.

[2] My limited knowledge of the subject doesn't permit me to extend my critique to the factuality of the actions described. At present I'm busy reading books like this to try and learn what allegedly happened. I frequently see online debates, even some in which Franklin has himself commented (for example some currently active over at TMP), in which such things are discussed, and often rather too heatedly for my liking. I'll leave such debate, at least for the time being, to the more learned!

[3] I feel mildly paranoid about the hubris of critiquing anyone who has the wherewithal to do anything successfully in the public domain, such as writing a book like this. But I also value quite highly the views of others, people who like me are buying and reading such books, whether they express them on their blogs, in a forum, or on a commercial website. I almost always check several reader reviews before buying a book (usually via Amazon UK). But to be perfectly clear: I have nothing but respect and admiration for those who put their work 'out there', such as authors like Franklin. 

By and large when I write reviews, especially if they're destined for Amazon, for example, I try and stick to stuff I love. So any more critical reviews, should I get as far as posting them, have been agonised over as they've been written and re-written! With my Napoleonic reading I'm intending to be more comprehensive, and I hope to ultimately write something about more or less everything I've read, posting shorter versions on Amazon, and longer versions here. Why? For several reasons: doing so helps me both evaluate and remember what I've read; because I find when others do so it helps me make informed decisions, and I want to contribute to that process; and lastly, simply because I enjoy doing it!

[4] I don't see that this has to be so. Sure, eBooks will be bigger, memory wise, if they have better quality (i.e. higher resolution) images. But that's something I for one definitely want. Indeed, I can't see why, ultimately, eBooks ought not to be able to challenge conventional print (on yet another front!) by supplying superior size and quality images. But as they are, the images here are, to me, the equivalent of what low sample-rate MP3 music files are to a CD-quality track: the original image (or music, to keep the analogy going) may be fabulous, but granular low-res versions, be they MP3 music files or the images in this Kindle edition, aren't up to snuff.

[5] Embleton was the uniform illustrator for another Osprey title I recently reviewed, on uniforms of the Mexican-American war. As accomplished as his contributions to this title undoubtedly are, they sit slightly oddly in the book, to my eyes - and I'm an art graduate and occasional illustrator myself - which is dominated, for the most part (and excepting the maps) by more antique art styles. 

   My favourite of Embleton's contributions is the image of some Jägers in a field of corn. The other three of his works (at least the ones credited to him) are all reproduced twice, once in colour, and once in back and white (with numerical annotations on the latter), and accompanying blocks of text set against grey backgrounds. These appear to illustrate little vignettes, drawn from the main narrative, which the text explains in more literal detail. 

   Interestingly there's a note at the very end of the book saying that 'the original paintings from which the colour plates in this book were prepared are available for private sale'. As an occasional freelance artist and illustrator I can really relate to that! Osprey give Embleton's website address, and then add: 'The Publishers regret that they can enter into no correspondence upon this matter'!

[6] In the end I discovered that what I had to do was jot down the 'locations' where the maps were (not page numbers, because there are no page numbers, the format being fluid and flexible; i.e. depending on the size of screen one might have more or less pages), whilst placing a bookmark at the point in the text where I momentarily exited to visit the map. I could then navigate back to my bookmark. Perhaps as I read more eBooks using the Kindle app on my iPad I'll get better at this sort of thing. But it did strike me that there might possibly be some better way!

[7] For anyone who doesn't know what I'm getting at here, contrasting Siborne's treatment of the Waterloo Campaign with Paul Britten Austin's treatment of the 1812 Russian campaign shows two polarities of approach. Both are based on exhaustive use of original source material, but Siborne recasts it into a rather impersonal sounding/feeling factual narrative, whilst PBA weaves the original protagonists words into a richly evocative and very humane (and emotionally involving) tapestry. The Siborne approach is, perhaps, rather more like a scientists report, with the the facts all present and correct (as far as the author could determine them; and yes, I know there are debates over the correctness of some of his information), but the feeling of personal human involvement, the subjective voice, rinsed out. 

    Paul Britten Austin's approach takes the same kind of material, but leans instead towards the subjective experience, with a result more like what that the author himself very aptly described as a 'word film'. In my ideal world, you could have the two things together. I'm trying to think if I've encountered such a balance... Was Gill's 1809 trilogy a case in point? Is this what Chandler achieves in his Campaigns of Napoleon? Some of the books I've enjoyed the most, Barbero's The Battle, Zamoyski's 1812, and Simms' The Longest Afternoon have certainly felt that way. But perhaps they err more towards the subjective?

[8] I'm not alone in this: the book is criticised for this approach in a Miniature Wargames review.

Book Review: Grouchy's Waterloo, the Battles of Ligny and Wavre, Andrew Field

In this, the third of four books covering the Waterloo campaign from the French perspective, the focus is, as the title makes clear, on Marshal Grouchy, the newest and last of Napoleon's commanders to be raised to that position, and the skirmishes and two bigger battles he fought on Napoleon's right wing, during the Hundred Days campaign.

Inevitably there's also coverage of the other concurrent events, meaning some duplication of information with other titles in the series. But this is both inevitable, and indeed necessary, and for those sufficiently interested, more pleasure than chore.

Ligny, by Theodore Yung.

In my recent review of Hussey's two-volume history of this campaign I described Grouchy thus, 'until he learned of Napoleon's decisive defeat he was vacillating and cautious, most likely too in awe of his imperial master to act decisively on his own initiative. And yet once he knew France was militarily beaten, he suddenly rediscovered his leadership mojo'... And whilst I now have a much deeper, and more nuanced understanding of his actions in the campaign, thanks to this book, I think that judgement still stands.

Grouchy.

This is a brilliant book, if, like me, you're obsessed by this colourful era, and, like me, your chief interest lies with the French. It's brilliant even if that's not the case. I've docked half a star only because Field chooses to quote a lot of the official orders and similar correspondence in full, and these are sometimes a bit verbose, and between them include a lot of repetition. 

There is a reason for this, however, which is, I expect, to do with the post Waterloo blame game, with Napoleon and his acolytes saying, a la Scooby-Doo, 'if it wasn't for those darned meddling kids (Grouchy and Ney), I'd have gotten away with it!' quoting the correspondence in extenso helps clarify whether orders were understood or not, and carried out properly or not, etc. [1]

Ernest Croft's fab painting of Napoleon at Ligny.

Ultimately Grouchy did fail Napoleon, as did Ney. But then again, Napoleon was hoist by his own petard, in that he appointed them (and Soult was perhaps another unhappy choice for his particular role), and he played fast and loose with troop allocations, etc. The rickety chain of command, lack of clarity and promptitude in issuing orders, and the inherent style of Naploeon's leadership, which could cripple his subordinates ability to act well independently - this clearly happened with a Grouchy - all add up to a certain sense of inevitable failure. And that's before you even consider the bigger David vs Goliath picture, with a tired war-weary France facing a vastly superior international coalition.

All in all, another excellent chapter in Field's essential contribution to the English language literature on this epoch ending campaign, bringing much needed balance by looking at the French side of the story. [2]

----------
NOTES:

The younger Grouchy, as a Capt. Of Dragoons, circa 1792.

[1] The lack of clarity in some of the orders beggars belief.

[2] I do hope more of his sources become available in English, in particular the more colourful lower echelon accounts, such as that by grognard Sergeant Maudit.

Book Reviews: Waterloo, Vols I & II, John Hussey

 

Wow... magnificent! I just finished volume two of John Hussey's mighty, epic two volume history Waterloo, The campaign of 1815. What a great literary-historical journey it was. 

John Hussey's account of the One Hundred Days campaign is nothing if not thorough. Fortunately his prose is more contemporary in style than, say, Capt. Siborne's, whose very large history of Waterloo - even bigger than this one, esp. if you include the third volume of maps - is known to be a tough slog. 

Nor is Hussey's work like Alessandro Barbero's more contemporary account, The Battle, which, placing one squarely on the battlefield amidst the action of the 18th June, has a very different feel and scope. Hussey tells a much bigger tale, of the 'big hats'; this is very much a command and control view of the campaign. There's lots on diplomacy, and even logistics (I don't quite know why, but for some reason I particularly love the latter aspect of military history!). And it soon emerges that the Allied coalition was, as Napoleon knew and gambled upon, a complex and quite fragile thing.

Despite numerous mistakes - strategic and tactical - Wellington was the man to get the job done.

But make no mistake, this is no less exciting for all that it stays closer to the upper echelons of command. For one thing, the way the two volumes are structured works really well: volume one begins with the diplomacy at Vienna, moves through Napoleon's return, before following the build up - Allied dithering versus rapid decisive Napoleonic action - and climaxing with the final three chapters, which focus on Ligny, Quatre Bras, and the wanderings of d'Erlon's Corps.

The excitement builds very nicely. And if, like me, you're obsessed with this era, Waterloo, or - quite probably - both, then the depth of detail will entrance. It is worth restating that this very definitely isn't Antony Beevor style down in the mud and blood stuff. So, if that's how you like your martial history, this just might be arduous going in the first half of volume one and the latter half of volume two.

Hussey is clearly very taken with Blücher's 'up and at 'em' style of leadership.

Volume two is almost a mirror image of volume one, kicking off with the brief pause of the 17th, before rapidly launching into the excitement and confusion of the 18th, and Waterloo itself. And there's a lot of confusion, something Hussey conveys extremely well. In fact, with admirable and almost paradoxical clarity.

Hussey paints a picture in which the Prussians don't come off too well in terms of staff work, with only Müffling shining in his role as liaison between Wellington and Blücher. Gneisenau, on the other hand, comes over as alternately timid and anxious or peevishly aggressive. And the lack of clear communication from the Prussian side becomes an oft-repeated lament.

Anyway, volume two quickly grips the reader with its intense and detailed coverage of the action of the 18th, opting for the classic 'Five Acts' approach (can anyone remind me who it was that first came up with that approach?) [1], which works extremely well. And, as he does with the whole history across both volumes, Hussey always gets over both his own views and those of others, even where they diverge, supporting his own position with clear and reasoned argument. It's a very compelling account.

Müffling, an effective liaison 'twixt Wellesley and Prussian brass.

Whilst Grouchy, d'Erlon and Ney have long been whipping boys for those whose admiration of Napoleon will brook no exceptions to his undeniable (if flawed) genius, that is not so here. Hussey lays the blame for the ultimate French defeat clearly and squarely at Napoleon's feet. One of the major problems stemmed from what could and often had been, in other times, one of the major strengths of Napoleon's leadership style: his desire to keep total control under his own hand.

As Hussey paints the picture here, this left Ney, brought in at the last moment, both emotionally slighted and practically uncertain; arriving on the eve of battle, with no formed staff, troops were added and subtracted from his command willy-nilly, as Napoleon - constantly changing his plans as he reacted to the evolving situation, sometimes under mistaken apprehensions  - saw fit. It was this situation that then lead to d'Erlon wandering around between Quatre Bras and Ligny, not only not benefitting French fortunes at either, but actually causing problems.

Grouchy, a man of two modes.

And as Hussey has it, Grouchy in the Waterloo campaign was a man of two modes. Up until he learned of Napoleon's decisive defeat he was vacillating and cautious, most likely too in awe of his imperial master to act decisively on his own initiative. And yet once he knew France was militarily beaten, he suddenly rediscovered his leadership mojo, and skilfully extricated his force, the one remaining part of the Armée du Nord that remained intact, safely returning it to France.

Unlike Grouchy, d'Erlon wound up both lost on the 16th, and defeated on the 18th. That the latter attack ultimately failed was a surprise to all, and in some major respects this was due to the 'fox hunt' style attack of the British and Allied cavalry. According to Hussey Napoleon's basic approach, though lacking in subtlety, most likely would've worked, in particular with an earlier start. But he also notes that communication at the top of the French army was no longer what it had once been, back in Berthier's day, and speculates on whether perhaps Grouchy and d'Erlon should've swapped roles with Davout and Suchet.

d'Erlon, lost two ways.

Hussey's coverage of the battle itself is superbly lucid, and highly exciting. And I also very much enjoyed how he managed to keep all the various narrative strands both separate, yet active and mutually reinforcing (unlike, all too often, the troops on the ground!). He also addresses some of the partisan nationalist bickering that's marred post-Waterloo history writing, and manages to come to very soundly reasoned and well supported conclusions of his own, whilst allowing for the differing views of other authorities.

Wellington on Copenhagen.

Whilst Hussey clearly admires Wellington, and shows how reasonable he was in comparison to, for example, the alternately strident or gloomy Gneisenau, his is not a hagiographic portrayal by any means. Wellington committed sins of both omission and commission. In the former category he failed to give preparatory orders early enough - hence the 'humbugged' bit - and even on the day, his disposition remained mistakenly over-weighted to the West. And worst of all, whilst Hougoumont was thoroughly prepared, La Haye Sainte was dangerously passed over.

Hussey's admiration for Blücher is perhaps more straightforward, like the man himself: whilst Wellington had gifts that allowed him to operate extremely well both on the battlefield and in the corridors of power, Blücher was simply 'that old devil' (as Boney put it); you could knock him down -and this campaign illustrated this quite literally - but he'd be on his feet and into the saddle, and back on the attack, if not the next day, then the day after. 

Marshal Vorwarts...

Having visited the battlefields myself twice (2014 and 2015), there was a special resonance when reading this account: having stood by the stone commemorating some of the actions of Mercer's RHA troop, and viewed a plaque attached to the church wall at Plancenoit, all the many place names and actions that took place and are so ably narrated here came vividly to life for me.

There's a lot of literature on Waterloo, that epoch-ending battle that finally brought the Napoleonic era to a definite full-stop. And a surprising amount of that literature is very good. But for me this is right up there with the best. A massive account - about 1,000 pages of narrative (that's not including notes, etc.) - that gave me huge pleasure to read, and has left me feeling far better informed on this fascinating chapter in European history.

The Prussians fight for Plancenoit.

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NOTES:

[1] Hussey does mention who it was who first described the battle of Waterloo as a drama in five acts, I just can't recall who he credits.

Hussey is very taken with Turner's depiction of The Field of Waterloo, but appears to favour the watercolour (above) over the oil version (below), inasmuch as that's the one he reproduces and discusses.

The Soldier Museum, Houghton Hall, Norfolk

The 6th Marquess of Cholmondeley, with his Waterloo diorama. [1]

On Sunday 2nd September, Sam, Simon and I - the males of our branch of the Palmer clan - visited the superb Soldier Museum, at Houghton Hall, in Norfolk.

The collection was assembled by the Lord Hugh, 6th Marquess of Cholmondeley, who served in the Army during WWII. Accordng to one of the guides, he did possibly work on some of the figures in the collection himself. But, by and large - and it is a pretty large collection [2] - the figures and dioramas are commissioned.

19th Century French colonial doings in North Africa.

Endearingly malproportioned; real old fashioned toy-soldiers...

... of the gloss painted 54mm (or thereabouts) variety...

... these are Austrians, depicted in several picturesque scenarios.

The numerous exhibits cover around about 300 years of military history, with an accent on the 19th Century, and especially the Napoleonic Wars. There are all sorts of models and scales, from flat zinfiguren to proto Action-Man figures. The rather attractive diorama below looks like it features 25mm figures, and depicts an action of the Franco Prussian War, by a windmill.

Several exhibits depict parades. Below we see British Empire troops in North Africa. And below that part of a very large Prussian parade, on a less site specific green baize setting. And thirdly, another Colonial scene, showing camels, mules, and natives, all helping transport dismantled British artillery.

One of the oldest scenes depicted is the battle of Culloden, with the British redcoat regulars pouring disciplined fire into those kilted berserkers, of the Highland clans.

'Och ae, I'll nae lay doon ma Claymoo-er, tull I'm kilt!'

The two pictures below show a very handsomely realised model depicting the Charge of the Light Brigade. The charging cavalry are fabulous, as are the greatcoated Russians, defending their artillery.

Another theme that's about as strong as the Napoleonic thread, is the Colonial one. I took loads of pictures, but haven't included so many of the models from the Colonial Wars, as they're not so much to my interest.

This diorama makes clever use of different scale figures to enhance the depth effect.

Somewhere in Zulu-land.

Somewhere in India?

There's markedly less modern stuff: below are two pics of an early WWI battle, notable for the mix of brightly uniformed Frogs fighting more dourly coloured Krauts. And somewhere further down, below a few more Colonial-era doings, is just one photo of the lone WWII scene. Apparently this latter desert warfare model features the 6th Marquess in  person, in miniature!

My dad was impressed with the collection, and commented on the detailed painting of the Scots' kilts! So here are some for you to judge. And following those 'Amazons', some more colonial scenes, including Sikh horse/baggage holders, and the colourfully attired followers of the Mahdi.

Always shoot the bagpiper first.

Hold your horses.

At Mahdi Gras the desert blooms red.

The only WWII scene depicts North African combat.

There are many Napoleonic exhibits, ranging from large battle scene to larger individual figures, and including two fine China equestrian figures of Wellington and Bonaparte, and numerous other single figures and groups showing both personalities and uniforms of that most colourful of martial epochs. I haven't included pictures of the larger single figures, as most of my snaps of such subjects came out pretty poorly.

Scots Greys get in among the French...

Wellington and Staff at Waterloo.

One of numerous colourful French scenes, in a slightly larger scale.

Sam took this 'pano', at the centre of which is the Waterloo diorama.

If you've read the earlier entries on my blog, going back some while now, you might know that I have a thing for Waterloo dioramas that goes back to Childhood. So, in honour/celebration of that, I've included a number of photos of that particular diorama. 

It's nowhere near as large as some (e.g. both the large and small Siborne models, or the one at The Royal Green Jackets Museum). But, just as with the real battle, only much more so, a large amount of action is compressed into a small space, making for a richly populated and highly exciting diorama.

The view south, from Wellington's northern end.

The perennially popular Scots Greys, inc. Ewart grabbing the Eagle.

The ol' grognards prepare to sally forth. [3]

French cavalry and artillery advance en masse.

At the sharp end the French horse charge...

... and finally reach the British squares.

Wellington sits his horse, and surveys the battle from a handy (if possibly fictitious) knoll.

His French counterparts do likewise, albeit on foot (piles playing up?).

As well as the dioramas, and single figures, etc, there are also prints, paintings, weapons, drums, and all sorts of other military history memorabilia. I took pictures of some of this stuff. But I'll confine myself here to this rather nice painting of a French Napoleonic hussar, and - as I'm a drummer myself - a few rather handsome drums.

Is this guy a trooper of the 7th Hussars? Oil painting by Paul Grolleron.

Simon, Sam and I aslo walked around some of the grounds, chiefly the walled gardens. They are terrific. I include just two pics below. The box hedge topiary is elegance itself, and the mock Greco-Roman temple is bizarrely rustic, being made from coarse wood decorated with antlers!

Despite my being a graduate of an art and art history degree from Goldsmiths, London home to many a conceptual artist, I was totally uninterested in the Richard Long landscape art exhibits. I saw one, whilst passing through the walled gardens, and it just reminded me how so much modern art seems to have lost its way, disappearing up its own fundament.

But Houghton Hall as a whole, the gardens, the Soldier Museum, and so on, is great. I can certainly see myself returning here, with Teresa, and taking a look around the house as well, which we didn't do on this occasion.  

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NOTES:

[1] He died in 1990, aged 70.

[2] I think the collection contains circa 20,000+ figures. The promo bumpf boasts that it's the biggest such collection in Europe. 

[2] Is that the ghost of Poniatowski looking on, at left? There's certainly a figure in a couple of my pics that looks very like Poniatowski, the Polish aristo' (only lately made a Marshal), who had in fact died during the disastrous retreat after Leipzig, drowning whilst attempting to ford the river Elster, in 1813.