Posts Tagged ‘bearskin cap’

Bearskin Cap worn by Sir Charles Russell, VC, Grenadier Guards, in the Crimea

The Grenadier Guards landed at Kalamita Bay in the Crimea in September 1854, as part of the Guards Brigade, 1^st Division, English Army of the East.  These were Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s elite personal guards.  In the Crimea the Guards Brigade consisted of the Grenadier Guards, Coldstream Guards, and Scots Fusilier Guards.  The Guards’ battle honours include Alma, Inkerman, and the Siege of Sevastopol.

Sir Charles Russell was awarded the Victoria Cross, Britain’s highest decoration for bravery, for his actions at the Battle of Inkerman, 5 November 1854, at age twenty-eight.  The then Brevet Major Russell offered to dislodge a significant group of Russians from the Sandbag Battery, asking if anyone would follow him.  A sergeant and two privates volunteered.  His assault party met much resistance, and seemed on several occasions to be close to annihilation.  Their skill, particularly with the bayonet, prevailed, and the enemy was sent on their way.  Russell fought with great distinction, at one point wrenching the rifle from the hands of a large, powerful Russian.  Sir Charles achieved the rank of Lieutenant Colonel before retiring from the Guards.

The 1846 Uniform Regulations describe the cap in the photograph as a “bear-skin, twelve inches deep, fastened under the chin by a plain gilt taper chain.”  Just prior to embarking for the Crimea, the Guards modified their bearskin caps by cutting them down a few inches.  Perhaps in keeping with this modification, the actual measurement for the cap in this photograph was ten inches deep.  It is also interesting that this bearskin is a soft leather collapsible cap, rather than the stiff Guards caps routinely seen, which have a bamboo-like cage beneath the skin itself.  The white goat’s hair plume on the left side indicates the bearskin is Grenadier Guards, who were on the right flank of the Guards Brigade.  A Coldstream Guards’ scarlet cut-feather plume was on the right side, as they were on the left flank.  The Scots Fusilier Guards had no plume and were in the center of the line.

This artifact was photographed courtesy of the Guards Museum, London, UK.

[This is a fictional tale by your humble servant, but based on a very real story.]

Although a more modern Scots Guards sentry, it gives the idea of the loneliness of the post - Courtesy of the Scots Guards Appreciation Society

Private Sean Gorman, Scots Fusilier Guards, had been on duty at the castle gate guarding the Royal Family for hours.  His frail, slender frame was cold, wet, and covered in snow, from his tall bearskin cap to his shiny black brogans.  His bright red coatee was a barely visible pinkish colour under the layer of white fluff.  He stood at a rigid attention, staring straight ahead, waiting … waiting … waiting for his relief.  Guard duty, he thought in disgust, on Christmas eve, 1853, I’ve no luck at all.

The monotony was mind-numbing, but he had learned to steel himself.  His brain raced from one thought to the next, but his physical being was rock hard and unmoving. Och, what in hell was that, he thought, listening to a distant crying.  A wee bairn, a baby … it sounds like a baby. Out there in front a the gate, in the snow.  Och, no.  It must be with its mum.  Just walkin’ past, hurrying to the warmth and crackle of a bloody great fire.

There it was again.  The high-pitched whine, closer this time.  The swirling thick snow blocked Sean’s view but for a few feet ahead.  The cries were not changing.  It wasn’t passing by.  It was heart-wrenching, pleading.

What am I ta do, Sean thought.  I canna leave my post.  The punishment for such a transgression was severe – a court martial, prison.

He stood rigid for another twenty long agonizing minutes, as he listened to the pitiful crying.  He could take it no more.  He snapped out of his trance-like guard state, and ran down the road through the churning blizzard toward the cries.

He heard its exact location along the side of the road before he saw it.  The cries were emanating from a small mound of snow.

As Sean gazed down into the snow his eyes widened.  God save us, what’s all this?

[Part II of the continuing adventures of "Sticks" will be along tomorrow.]