Posts Tagged ‘Wellington Barracks’

Last night I attended one of the most spectacular events I’ve seen thus far at the Majestic Theater, Gettysburg, PA.  It was the Irish Guards Band, and the Argyll and Sutherland Highlander Pipes and Drums. They were magnificent.

Irish Guards Band

They made the modest stage sparkle and pop endlessly throughout the performance.  Toe-tapping Irish, Scottish, Welsh, English, and even American tunes, and brisk martial music brought the audience, a full house, to their feet.  The scurl of the pipes stirred many a heart, including mine.

Argyll and Sutherland Highlander Piper

Musicians came into the audience, delighfully surprising many listeners, and playing flawlessly – trumpets, pipers, and even a post horn … there was no dozing this night.  Their quietly poignant and beautifully played rendering of “Taps,” and the British equivalent, “Last Post,” was something I will remember for a long time.

I had thought the strikingly refurbished Majestic Theater too small for a marching band with pipes and drums, but it certainly was not.   Their marching on that tiny stage was, in itself, something to behold.

I spoke to several of the Irish Guards lads during intermission, and was pleased to find we had many mutual friends among the Scots Guards, whom I met doing research at Wellington Barracks, London.  After the performance was over, for some unknown reason, these lads managed to find their way to the Garryowen Irish Pub, where we were able to share a pint of two or three or four.

Drums of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders

It was a good night had by all, and when I go to the UK on tour in April/May, I’m certain we’ll meet up again.  Two lads, Kalvyn and Mick, actually hang out in my favorite local in London, The Cardinal Pub, so I know we’ll be meeting up.  Besides, I think they owe me a pint … or me them.

Irish Guardsmen chatting with Jeffrey Gabel, Founding Executive Director, Majestic Theater - Gettysburg

Garryowen

New mates in pub - sorry for the bad pic ... I suspect you understand

Crimean Memories - Released by Schiffer Publishing

What would be the reaction of two ‘Yanks’ photographing and writing about surviving artefacts of a near forgotten British War – the Crimean War?  Well, it wasn’t at all what was expected.

Whether it was our dogged determination (focused on the work until it was done each day, then on to the pubs), our historical knowledge (certainly not reaching the level of theirs), the fact that the soldiers who fought it are under appreciated, our approach (professional – we hoped), or merely our bright Yank-like smiles, we were met with overwhelming enthusiasm and support from museum staffs and private collectors wherever we went.

At first, they were a bit reticent and cautious, wanting to bring each artefact into our photo set, then returning each delicately to its glass case home.  After a few museum visits, however, with both of us wearing white gloves, and Mike speaking curator-eez to them, things began to change.  I think phone calls were made among this small community of museums.  They saw and sensed how we cared for and about the artefacts.  Soon we were ourselves handling the artefacts, given the keys to the display cases, and found less and less supervision on our work.  We considered this the utmost compliment and were diligent in our efforts to honor their trust.

In all locations they made room.  In some instances they would close down a floor for our setup.  In others, they went so far as to close the museum for us to shoot. I can recall one occasion where they actually closed the museum, handed us the keys, and said please come get us if you need anything, then, in passing, “Oh, and lock the doors when you’re finished.  We’d like you to join us for a bite and a pint.”  Needless to say, we were a mite humbled by this treatment.

We were hosted all over by the most gracious folks.  Just to name a few of the many cherished memories:  As mentioned previously, guests at the homes of several curators and collectors; guests several times for lunch at the Honorable Artillery Company – London; guests at a Loyal Georgian Society meeting – Halifax; provided a private tour of Horse Guards (Sort of the British Pentagon) by the SgtMaj of the Welsh Guards; guests at Black Sunday, Scots Guards, Wellington Barracks; guests at the Sergeants’ Mess and Officers’ Mess, Wellington Barracks; and even a special guest at Windsor Castle for the Scots Guards Changing of the Colours by Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth.

Mike assisting with lighting on a typical shot - note his white gloves

Mike hard at work taking notes on artefacts

NCO Mess Wellington Barracks

Will and Commanding Officer, Scots Guards - Black Sunday, Wellington Barracks

With Brigadier Kim Ross - Black Sunday, Wellington Barracks

Will 'working' while seated at The Duke of Wellington's desk - Horse Guards

Windsor Castle - Five Bishops blessing the new Scots Guards Colour

HRH Queen Elizabeth at Scots Guards Changing of the Colours - Trooping the Line. She is really quite lovely and gracious.

[This is a fictional tale by Will Hutchison, but based on a very real story.]

The butcher’s nose was broken in two places from the Sergeant Major’s blow.  After weeks in hospital, an indignant butcher appeared before the Scots Fusilier Guards Adjutant, demanding compensation and punishment for his assailants.  The Sergeant Major had already spoken to the Adjutant.  Sticks was already becoming a beloved mascot to the regiment, and indeed the entire Guards Brigade. He had taken to soldiering like it was a family tradition.

“Compensation and punishment yer askin’, is it?” the Adjutant inquired, politely.

The smug butcher nodded, saying, “It’s only right, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is, my man, and so you shall have it.” The butcher smiled, thinking he had won some great prize.

The Adjutant called in his clerk, then said to the butcher.  “Aye, well, sir, here it is.  The compensation will be that I don’t throw you behind bars, and the punishment will be that your contract with this barracks to supply beef has been cancelled.  Yer never ta come back ta this barracks again.  Yer dog’s a wee bit healthier now.  If yer seen here again, I’ll set the dog on ya and let ‘im chew ta his heart’s content.  Och, now, da ya kin that, sir?  Was I clear enough for ya?”

The butcher stood in shocked silence.  The Adjutant ordered, “Take this poor excuse for a man ta the gate, and boot him out.” The clerk dragged the bewildered butcher away.

Over the next months Sticks became stronger and more relaxed in the company of the men of the Scots Fusilier Guards.  He endeared himself to one and all.  He was fed and cared for primarily by Sean Gorman, and occasionally the Sergeant Major, but he visited the other soldiers at their toil each day, making them smile.  Each one felt he owned a small part of the dog named Sticks.  He didn’t belong to one; he belonged to everyone.

Sticks even learned to stand tall at formations, proudly viewing all his friends in their strange high bearskin caps as they prepared for the day’s guard duties.  He was ever punctual and always first on parade.  The rest of his time he spent prancing about Wellington Barracks like he owned it, which in a special way, he did.

[Part V, where Sticks goes to the Crimean War, will be along tomorrow.  Stay tuned.]

A youthful Ian Carlyle in the Crimea

Deciding on a fictional hero for an entire series is a daunting task, not to be pursued lightly. The character will last for years and through many adventures. He will grow older as the series progresses. I had certain aspects of my protagonist in mind from the beginning. For instance, I am a Scot. My father, a character in his own right, was born there. He was raised in the north, and considered himself a highlander, although actually born south of Glasgow in Kilmarnoch. He emigrated to Canada, then to the US. He had a thick brogue. In fact, I had a strange quasi-Scottish accent until I was about ten, when it began to fade away. I wanted my hero to have my roots, and, like my father, be a bit of a rogue and a maverick.

I chose the name Carlyle, because it was a sept of the Clan Bruce of Scottish nobility. The first name, Ian, just seemed to fit. His home was originally Dunmore Hall, until I found through research and friends in Scotland that there was a thriving Dunmore Hall, family, and estate, and they well might take offense to being fictionalized. Thus I made up the name Dunkairn, as Ian’s home. A ‘cairn’ is a mound of stones with crevices. These cairns are all over the highlands. It came to mind from a wonderful cairn terrier I had once owned. Like all such creatures, he was raised to hunt – to drive critters from among these cairns so his master could make the kill. I changed the ‘c’ to a ‘k’ on purely a whim.

I’d had my fill of reading about enlisted men who, against all odds, rose from the ranks in the 19th century British army to become officers of the Queen. The overwhelming majority of the British officer corps did not fit this mold. They came into the army as officers, and, in most cases, had to be able to afford the considerable purchase price and maintenance costs of their commissions. Each promotion was purchased, and the higher, the more expensive.

I made Ian the second son of the Earl of Dunkairn, just to complicate his life even more. As the second son he would not inherit the title, and, in that Victorian period, his options were limited. It would have been appropriate for him to go into the army.

There are many British regiments I am fond of, particularly Scottish regiments. At the top of that list, however, is the Scots Guards, or as they were titled in mid-19th century, the Scots Fusilier Guards. As part of the Guards Brigade, the Household Guard of the Royal family, they were, and remain, the elite of British military. I also wanted him to join a regiment his father, the Earl, might have been in during the Napoleonic Wars, many years before. The Guards are replete with officers who are also titled nobility. One might easily run into a Lieutenant ‘His Lordship’ so and so, or Captain ‘Sir’ so and so. What better regiment for my hero to join than the Scots Fusilier Guards?

To develop Ian’s military background, I spent countless hours at the Scots Guards Archives at Wellington Barracks, London, and, of course, at the Buckingham Arms, across Petty France Street from the rear gate – one of my favorite pubs. With the expert help of Kevin Gorman, Archivist, Scots Guards, who has since become the son I never had, I was able to pin down two of the Scots Fusilier Guards officers who served on George B. McClellan’s staff, Army of the Potomac, in the American Civil War – Captain and Lieutenant Colonel (dual rank system in G uards only)Edward Neville and Captain and Lieutenant Colonel Charles Henry Fletcher. I combined their service records and backgrounds to come up with the fictional Captain Ian Carlyle.

The end result was the character study described in Follow Me to Glory:

“Then, of course, there was Captain Ian David Carlyle, himself. Ian was of medium height, his ramrod posture making him look much taller. He had a delicate face, like his mother’s, with the straight nose, high cheekbones and strong chin of his deep highland roots. Having been brought up largely in London, he had only a trace of Scottish accent, unless he chose to charm or mock someone. At those times his brogue became as thick as he wished, a useful skill that he had learned to impose as one might turn a fine horse, with a flick of the wrist.

Ian had thick sandy-brown hair, which appeared red in bright sunlight, and clear blue eyes that, when focused, could quite literally melt the hardest heart. These same eyes could also turn to iron straight away, and cut through the resolve of most opponents in an instant, another useful skill.

Ian carried himself with the decisive and confident demeanour of a military officer. He wore this bearing like a badge of honour. This, like so many aspects of Ian’s character, was his father’s and Angus’ influence. [Angus is his mentor, a crusty old highlander.]

Ian was, after all, second son of the Earl of Dunkairn. He was here in the Crimea at the end of a long personal struggle, and wanted this war badly, to pursue his own dreams of glory.”

Period Photography by Roger Fenton, and sketches by Peter Culos

Ian Carlyle in American Civil War - 6 years after Crimea

Scots Fusilier Guards officer in Crimea - Used as model for Ian's early sketch

Group of British observers on McClellan's staff in American Civil War

Edward Neville (left), Unidentified officer (middle), Charles Fletcher (right)

The first in the Ian Carlyle Series.

What on earth possessed me, a Yank, to write for my debut novel a book about the Crimean War, a very British war – not well known in the US.  Actually it didn’t start out that way. My original thought was to write about British observers in the American Civil War on General McClellan’s staff. There were about a dozen of them.

I began writing about these Civil War observers, but it soon dawned on me that they received their combat experience, and became the fine officers they were, in the Crimea, six years before our Civil War. I decided that the setting for the first novel must be the Crimea. I would bring my characters into the American Civil War in the sequel. The Crimean War then became my passion, my obsession, if you will.

Through the next three years of research I made numerous visits to the UK, and two trips to the Crimean battlefields.  After a ton of hours at the Scots Guards archives at Wellington Barracks, London; Eton College; and various amazingly beautiful places in Scotland; I finally felt I could put pen to paper … or more precisely finger to keyboard.

Actually, people know more about the Crimean War than they may realize. For instance, the Charge of the Light Brigade – Florence Nightingale, the lady with the lamp – the ‘Thin Red Line’. These all came out of the Crimean War. It took place at the height of the reign of Queen Victoria, and was primarily fought on the Western coast of the Crimean peninsula (present day the Ukraine), between 1854, and 1856.

The war’s origins are shrouded in political mystery and intrigue, ranging from somewhat bogus religious reasons to the expansionist doctrine of the Russian Czar, Nicholas I, in an effort to gain free access (A warm water port)  between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean Sea. The spark which caused the feces to hit the fan was when Russia invaded the then Ottoman (Turkish) Empire.

Britain and France, the most unlikely of bedfellows, came to Turkey’s aid, supported by Sardinia. Although a Turkish Army basically forced Russia back across her borders, the people and governments of Britain and France felt strongly that Russia needed to be taught a lesson. Thus in September 1854, a combined allied army landed on the Crimean peninsula. Their mission was to capture Sevastopol and sink the Russian Black Sea fleet harbored there.  Their long term strategic goal was to stop Russia from ever again entertaining ideas of expansion in the Mediterranean.

The Russians sunk a major part of their own fleet to block the harbor to British and French ships, and it took the allied army, at great cost, the next two years to ‘capture’ Sevastopol. In the end, the Russians merely evacuated the city in good order, and left it to the British and French.

I think a writer must follow his instincts and above all his passion. I guess my original intent was that “Follow Me to Glory” would be a prequel to the major American Civil War work, but as I researched and wrote, Ian Carlyle’s owing up adventures and his Crimean combat experiences took on their own character and importance.  Thus, it is a prequel in the sense that it is the first in the Ian Carlyle Series, where his character comes of age as a man, then as an officer in the caldron of war.  The sequel, “The Gettysburg Conspiracy,” brings Ian Carlyle, now a seasoned veteran, into the American Civil War. There will also be at least a third in the Ian Carlyle series. I am determined, however, that each book will be of equal importance, and each will stand alone as a story in itself.

I did ponder the idea of making the setting for the series in a different era, but there is such a strong connection and impact between the Crimean War and our Civil War (only a few years apart) that I doubt there is any other period or set of wars which would so readily lend themselves to my vision.

I have always been mesmerized by this simpler Victorian age. Where they were more gentle and genteel among themselves, yet still using terribly blunt linear tactics when throwing armies at one another head-on. The lines drawn in cultural values, and in war, seem to me clearer than more recent conflicts. Of course, there’s that passion of mine for the 19th century. I couldn’t very well ignore that, could I?