HONEST SILVER A Story by BB

                                

HONEST  SILVER

A short story by Paul Howes

known of as BEANO  BOY, or just plain BB

copyright 2017

                                                  

                      "O',  a silver shilling is such a small working out sum to do", said Alice

                                                                               1

It was such a time to be had by the mad hatter the white bunny rabbit and for writing of this very tall tale

                                                  
                                  Our setting is the Fen land-reed beds of East Anglia,
                                                                Norfolk, England.

The year is 1864,and Alice is about to enter and fall down a most terrifying hole.

Proving terrifying adventures can be found just by chance anywhere, and by far including this mystifying start of one here,because even in its ending the mystery will continue elsewhere.


                            As the fast paced bindweed flowers itself along the waterways                               
                                 our story begins upon a magical glorious day,
                                 and one in which it felt  good to be young healthy
                                 and strong enough to work with ones hands,
                                 and put ones back into it. Such is the vigour of youth.
                                  The boats are up river way past the white washed Mill               
                                  The river is slow and peaceful in its flow and reflections.
                                 A gentle breeze fill the sails of the gliding Norfolk Wherry,
                                 only visible by its black barge sails cutting through the reeds.
                                 The golden sway itself resembling a sea of flax,
                                 and here and there tiny flint church towers seen above it,
                                 seem sunken deep within this waving movement of golden silk.
                                 The children with pretty smiles wave from the river bank,
                                 and the Doctor of higher mathematics raise`s his hat upon high,
                                 as the little boats pass them by.
                                 It was a lazy day and for some like Alice , a fast falling asleep day.

                       However for the lower working class it was one of hard graft.                             
                                                      

During the hard sweat of  this day it was by chance that while cutting the reed beds by those that do so for building roofs,that Sam Whittle Downe, noticed something very strange. He and another younger man by four years had come across an old rusted gate well settled and fixed into two red brick columns either side of it. To some it might not seem strange at all for a young man of seventeen to come across an old iron gate,but this gate was no ordinary one for shutting. It was an ornate double gate bearing a crest upon a shield of a raised Lion & Unicorn,all encrusted heavily in corroding rust. Vastly overgrown by wicked brambles, bindweed, and a forest of tall stinging nettle it seemed to young Samuel, to be very well protected as the darn sting of those things sure burned hot through his cotton leggings and upon his bare arms.
 Their boat now tied up to a rod of iron hammered into the soggy wet river bank of waving reed,and it being full of fresh cut flax, was very well secured and it resembled that of a small island of floating haystack upon the river. Cold tea,drunk from a bottle,and bread and cheese scoffed down in hungry haste had been their midday meal. Passing the bottle to each other in turn their shared bread crumbs were duly swallowed down with every swig.
"Lets stretch our legs." Arnie, suggested. "OK lets but only for a short time,or we`ll cop it off Old Broad Moors, that's for certain." So heading away from the river, while making a pathway of sorts through the high reeds, the tall grass  and Stinging Nettles,they had gone about 60 or so strides for a fit man,when there it was, a railing gate with wicked spear-like points heavily overgrown with rampant stuff, and shut tight and held so by an old red rusted chain of heavy iron links.There was no padlock hung from this twisted metal wrap that held the rusty double gate together. "My word! Look at this Arnie, a gate." "What!  How did it - I mean what is this place Sam?" Arnie, asked, with a look of surprise upon his well tanned face.      "Search me, Lets force it open." Sam suggested,but there was a Yell, loud enough for both to recognised it as Old Broad Moors, booming yelling. Both headed back toward where they`d left their shallow draft boat,and quick smart too as the hulk of the Gove came plainly into view.

" Where the   Heck have you two been. You get a  Bob a day for this work,and here you are a slooping off,behind me back. " Broad Moors, cussed out.   The two passed him by,without a word as he was very aggressive at the best of times,but here and now,very p`d off for a certainty, and upon turning he yelled," Get into that Boat, and get those reeds down river." 

With the iron rod yanked free of the ground that had held safe the boat they boarded her, she was a long oblong flat bottomed punting type craft, and beside it the Old Mans boat was tied to theirs.

A few minutes passed them by, and Broad Moors suddenly appeared coming along the well trod down pathway. He said nothing. This was highly unexpected, but most certainly true as a rather white faced,  normal caustic cussing , man approached them in a fast paced flurry of rushing as if something wild was chasing him. Well before reaching them he stopped, clasped his breast with both hands, did half a turn, staggered backwards, and collapsed with a thud as his large over weight frame hit the ground. As the two lads ran to give him aid he was well past caring about the sting of nettles by this time, or why those two had skived off work. They noticed two Silver Shillings, had rolled out from his grubby waist coat pocket.

Their wages seemed unimportant at this time to them, and so were replaced safely back into his pocket that also held his sticky hanky rag full of snuff. 

Such things are at ones own cost if honest as the day is long.

                                                                       2

The afternoon quietly bore on as Sam, stayed, and Arnie took boat down river to fetch the Constables in the village. Both feared somehow that they would be hanged, for they lived in the age of the drop. It was nearing nightfall as the Law arrived by the chug, chug,hiss, of a modern steamboat,along with Doctor Fraser Alan Hawthorn, a rather enormous fat man of 35 who cared little for a steam boat trip of this kind. For he was heavily convinced it would capsize, and sink or that hissing boiler thing would indeed explode reducing him in size down to flying tiny bits.

Upon quick examination," Dead as a door nail Sergeant , No signs of fowl play, Probably his heart just gave out."

" So he naturally snuffed out Doctor?"

"Yes,he most certainly did Sergeant."

With the white paper document duly signed and witnessed by those gathered around it. The Doctor folded it up neatly lengthwise and stuck it into the black band upon his hat, then after wiping the inside free of his sweat he said," My fee is Seven shillings and sixpence, Sergeant.", as he replaced it back upon his shiny bald head, with the odd looking paper firmly affixed with his price tag upon it.   " Yes Sir", replied the tall Policeman who had enormous handle bar whiskers linked into and growing out from his sideburns,  a hairstyle oddly well in fashion for those times, as indeed were his 15 inch size boots of regulated hobnailed polished service.
The young  constable with fine pocket watch chain was a rather white looking individual clean shaved, with buck teeth , but had a well buffed look and super shine to his uniform of darkest blue.

 He was holding his oil lamp and was firmly  occupied in  a struggle as every insect intent on feeding upon him flew toward the light.
The dark of the evening was near pulled in around their ears by this time.

 It was that instant of time when the biggest dragon fly flew under the back of the constables helmet. Well the fearsome thing sent him crazy like into a yelling frenzy as he was waving his helmet about to evict the wide winged insect.

 It was then his ears were fully noticed, and everyone including the two young men thought them far to long and sort of soft pale white.

With that activity safely over the huge lump was dragged from the stinging nettles bundled up in boat canvas dragged a bit more and pushed ,shoved and bundled into stowage beneath  the wood decking boards where coiled hairy hemp rope lay. The hissing steam whistle sounded it was time of departure.

As the small overloaded Steam Boat, body, fat Doctor, two Policeman and fiddling modern Boatman chugged away down river with a full head of whistling steam, both Sam and Arnie were so relieved as they waved them bye. 

Little note or favour was returned from those aboard the boat as it disappeared into the mist now rising from the darkness of the river.

The pathway trampled earlier by them held very little interest to them now.

 Or indeed what lay beyond that rusty old iron gate. 

They were convinced though that Broad Moors, was terrified to death, but felt better him then them. They decided they best leave well alone.

Leaving the boat loaded high with cut reeds upon the river they hopped over the small dike that ran parallel to it , and onto the granite stone chippings of the railway lines, then walked 4 miles down along them to  Helleston Mill, a white-washed place, where hot fresh buns and sweet tea was served them, by the prettiest girl they had ever seen.Their ordeal of that day over,they slept soundly in an outhouse on stacks and sacks of corn. They had had an adventure both of them cared little for. i dare say that they will certainly have many more to come.
                                                            

                                                                    3

And so it was that the hard solid sharp flint of the Saxon Church tower,

welcomed another beneath its slow turning shadow. It sure was an early medievil time piece.

 It was upon an early hot blistering September day the 12th to be exact in the year 1864,when Mr Reginald Barthelemy Grunt, known as Broad Moors,was laid to rest near the red brick and grey flint wall in the church cemetery.

 The old black moggy lay snoozing a cat nap in the sun upon the wall in its favourite spot, and showed no bother at all for such proceedings taking place far below its head.
Just beyond that wall nearest to his interred body of everlasting rest was sited a beautiful large Cheery Tree hung heavy with fruit in the old Vicarage garden. 

Its roots had long since sought out its spread underneath and extended far beyond that wall into that decaying bone yard...
The Vicar, mumbled out his forlorn hope mutterings,

and the three people beside the open grave watched as the large wide coffin was lowered by rope by four heavy set men.
Squire Peabody, Sam and Arnie, were the only ones there. As Old Broad Moors, was rather an unliked man by most in the small village of Nott. 

He had given over good reasons why they should be that way inclined. For he was a nasty piece of work,  always the worse for drink, and as mad as a Hatter to boot, hense the local name placed upon his head.  Broad Moors, a place for outright nasty nutters.

With his job done, the Rev Skittle, who indeed did resemble one, shut his large heavy black Bible of well oiled wavy hand waxed pages, and set off for home with it tucked under his left arm. 

`Cherry pie and custard for tea,' he thought to himself as he went his usual way passing the graveyard double review of slanted headstones that lined each side of the shingle pathway.

The hole was already being quickly filled in by the four men wanting to get off home for their tea, and the sound of small stones hitting the hollow box sounded like a drum roll of un-godly hail.

The Squire having given  that heavenly servant of many mumbles a Gold Sovereign for his duty,  walked with the two young men down the shingle stone pathway leading to the  over hang of the ancient greyish Oak Lytch Gate.

"Tell me boys, about the two Shilling he owed you two?" The Squire asked them, 

and upon which they quickly related what had happened again. 

For they were sort of growing tired of telling of it.

"Well as B M, was in my employ, here are your wages a Shilling, each." 

 "Thank you kindly Sir", they said while knuckling down a salute from their forehead.

 "Report to my Mr Havourslap, 5 am tomorrow morning sharp."   Squire Peabody, ordered directly. 

"We have work a plenty for the likes of you two."  

  With that said, he tapped the brim of his tall shiny black stove pipe hat, with his silver knobbed walking cane. 

Then  he walked casually down Church Street     whistling a happy tune.

                                                                       4

                                                               Conclusion

These two young men both widows sons had endured years of being taunted called "Work House Brats! Or Work House!"   By others in their age group,   but upon replacing two silver coins upon a dead man their lives were for ever changed.   Mr Havourslap, was a Master Mason. Very strict in work practice,  but there was none fairer and he held no heavy hand of legal yoke upon any man or boy. 

Mistakes were to be made and owned up to, and a lesson learned by each and everyone of them. 

That was his code of ethics. and by God he lived by them.

Both Samuel Whittle Downe,   and Arnald   Arnip,  were Apprenticed for seven years,  and so became highly skilled in the Craft, as Stone Masons & Thatchers,    and houses for miles around the small village of Nott,   (once called SNOTT ) , wore their woven weatherproof hats for years to come, and the walls they built still stand today.

 It became their custom to conceal in each thatched roof, a secret find for future  skilled  hands to find.

 A tobacco tin, a short note and a Silver Shilling inside.
The note bore a date,  their names and simply read:   Honest Silver.

The little round tins of Virginia Twist, 

are often found as dusty roof top are renovated, 

but few these days understand their true meaning.

 So I decided to put the record straight.

What of the old rusting double gate?
That i promise is a story for another time.
For certainly there is a mystery beyond it.
That has been already partly written,
and indeed read perhaps by even some of you. BB

                                                                         Copyright 2017

THE DUEL Penned by BB

                                                             Copyright 30/04/2017


                                                               The Year is 1743

History does not identify him,as fact or even fiction,but he served like many do today.

He was always in all circles  referred to  plainly as Bagley. A name known at Horse Guards,The British Admiralty and to Kings and Princes. All respected him although most feared him for his coat buttoned up on many sides. He wore several uniforms when there was need to do so, but far preferred a bland pattern cut to his cloth of grey, but always he favoured well his waistcoat of light green and that long blue black coat that carried important letters from the Crown ,The House of Lords,and Parliament of England. His three cornered hat given to him by the P M of the day.
His own King George, along with other royal heads was fettled to a fine sharp shine of iron and all had fell out from the same sagging mould after being cast up into a troubled sea of struggling world power. A repetitive thing ongoing still in our own time,for those with big sticks like to flex enough muscle in order to use them. Bagley, served a mad king,and that highly proven fact would create high costly wars and eventful loss throughout the colonise. For the America`s were the sweet Prize in the jewel of many a kings crown,sitting upon many a throne.

                                                     BOSTON MASSACHUSETTS

So upon such a sea of constant intrigue  this loyal kinsman was often a target for insult, and even a target for murder, but his sword saw fit to dispatch the many who had tried ,and as for those highly paid in polished coin to insult him, they soon came to realise his ice cold skill with both pistols and sword upon the duelling field.

However it was not always a killing field,
but many came to limp along through life because of it.

One such  duel happened to take place in America in 1743 or 1744 dates are often a great mystery for me at odd times. It involved a French Officer, during the peace, he having stamped hard on Bagleys shoe rendering it in deep twisted red clay at his now painful big toe end. An outright insult indeed and with no apology forthcoming from this dressed up dandy in fine white cloths. A Duel, a place and time was arranged by others acting for both parties concerned.

At that particular time inside The Hare & Hound Tavern, it being rather stuffy, filled up to brimming point with odd sized gentleman, all clay pipe smokers of the finest twist of sweet Virginia. Within this haze of towering smoke swaying heads were soon puffing gossip fit enough  to unseat a king.
                                                
                                                     DUEL ARRANGEMENTS

It was a rather rushed affair and the time for it being at midday on that day,and with only a few minutes to prepare for it. It was agreed pistols would be primed and loaded on the field of gallant display. For such Peacocking was duly witnessed by others seeking fair play. It was agreed two pistols each would be used to settle well this day of outlawed activity. The place arranged a nice quite spot called and recorded as Fox Hill just outside of Boston on the Common near the large twisted tree. The Frenchman and his seconds rode up to that spot, as did Bagley, with his fellows following on behind. Time being short and without reliable pistols to hand, a British Officer of Kings 1st Dragoons approached  the gallant gentleman, and offered both his pistols and his horse, and a good shake of hands in agreement was welcomed as were the few silver coins for a round of drinks.  For Bagley was a realist who thought this might well be his ending upon this day. So a parting gift for a drinking spree, left behind by him was to his liking. With fresh drink arriving the whole  house  stood up and cheered him, for most certainly he was no ordinary common man.

                                                       ON THE COMMON

For those who do not realise it horse pistols of that day and age were indeed fearsome huge long barrelled things. I only make mention of it because the Frenchman an Officer in shiny white lace had brought two fine pocket pistols that had been taken out of the highly polished wooden box. He looked very nervous as his weapons were being loaded with powder and shot, while he could see two huge Dragoon pistols being likewise primed for a broadside action he now cared little for.
"I object!" He said. "
You object Sir?",replied all who were to stand in support of him. "I do. His weapons are monstrous  things not fitting a gentleman." He declared. One and all could see his point even the smiling Bagley, because a Frenchman peering at two alarming large primed weapons, while he himself had ornate pocket pistols,well it must have looked like he was indeed looking at the business end of two British six pounders?
After walking around,sizing up each other it was agreed to be unfair to the other gentleman by those overseeing this rather rushed forward occasion. Now the fellow who had accepted gold to dispatch Bagley in this American field of opportunity seemed now rather relieved not to face a blasting from those black powdered devil's.  Shiny Devil`s that the Englishman held in each hand while tilting them back half cocked against his breast.  " Does the young gentleman wish to apologise and withdraw from the duelling field?" The Frenchman was asked.
"Bien sur que non! Of course not!"
After a brief discussion concerning this  tricky situation it was agreed, both would duel with the French gentlemans pocket pistols. Bagley, agreed as did the other gentleman who seemed to have passed his ill at ease activity of sweating enough to float a small boat. "The Englishman will chose his weapon as he is the party slighted."
And so it came about both did pace it out,turn and fire. In that instant of time both pistols misfired. Bagley`s hand was stung to share extremeness! Much like being caned at school, leaving him having to flap it about while doing a very fine jig of a dance. Finally his dance finished, he placed his hand , as if it would cure it in some magical awesome way under his other arm. A sting and powder burns,he had come off light.
As the Frenchman's pistol misfired it blew apart blowing off two of his fingers. He too danced such an up and down jig of frenzy! Proving that the French can keep pace with any Englishman on any day of the week for such jigging about.
Gradually the smoke cleared away, and the screams and fine hot dancing subsided and after a few minutes of medical treatment such as it was,it being the case a white handkerchief was wound around the poor gentleman`s hand while he sat upon the damp grass his face covered in tumbling tears, enough to float another small boat.
With his mind now fully accepting the constant repetitive throbbing,Bagley the fine upstanding fellow that he was approached the worst off of such a days play,and shook the injured Frenchman`s hand with the remaining thumb and two fingers. Honor was served.
Two days later the body of the French gentleman was fished out of Boston harbour.

As for Bagley, his story is far from being over, but it is important he be mentioned at this particular time. After serving many years, but being no way an old man another story begins to unfold for him in the year 1759 with a house and parcel of land being granted to him, in crusty old England for his service to the Crown. The why of it was never penned upon such a Royal Letter he had received. The Property & Deeds thereof were for a house, and included those pertaining to outlaying buildings along with 30 acres of meadow land at Old Catton with The Tills cutting a  pathway along one side of it, and 15 acres of woodland named Fiddle Wood, with the Gurney Stream passing through it.

It certainly was a very strange house for it had many a plumb line and set square angle added to it. The extension of rendered brick with gable end dormer window,and roof with a new double chimney was added that year 1759, and so it was that Mr Johnathan Bagley Pollywhat and Mrs Belinda Catherine Pollywhat, moved into the house in 1760,and soon after a child was born and the date of the birth it being the 2nd day of February 1760 was recorded in the family Bible as being a Girl Child named Peggity Belinda Pollywhat. Yes dear Peggity had arrived.

There will be other story`s pen and inked concerning Peggity`s earlier life,but that is for a later time.
                                                                 
                                                                           BB

                                                                        Copyright

THE HOUSE : A Story Book Tale presented by BB

                                                               Copyright 2017



The house had long since fallen  into disrepair followed by pointless dilapidation  and it being very old, but recently arrived there among the tall sea of flax, was most feared by the locals because of many a strange tale concerning it and  those that had tried to live there. I came upon the look of this house during a dream of utter torment for such details were very strange to me. While having such a vision of this house,I awoke and got up, made a cup of tea,just in order to break such a dream theme up. Drinking the last sweet brown stuff down I returned to my slumber. However, yes it continued where I had left off.

I guess silly me,  I must have left it on pause?

                                                                                                                                                             

Since then the days passed into weeks and then one day it being an Easter Sunday those details came flooding into my mind again, but not in any dream,but in broad daylight in my wide awake day time activities. Although hazed in shape the wood framed building was easy to mark out,as if I had been doing it in repartition during many an earlier time. As I placed the first dark outline upon the paper card I realised it to be a very large building with a dense roof of thatch and it did seem to have grown there as if a natural reed bed on the nearby fens. For this part of East Anglia, was awash with such floating read beds of friendly waving flax. Of course in reality the house never existed. but now traced out within the outer framework of this story it did,and it along with nameless characters were fitting together piece by little topsy turvy piece. _Soon after starting the writing of this, and the scratch building of  that medieval timber framed house I realised this was getting most scary and it was as if I was being compelled to pen and ink it down,and also build this uncommon place up.Uneasiness began to dominate both types of work,and over a few days that which I had dreamed of stood complete upon my small work table. The numerous windows seemed very dark black eyes of this hair-raising place, for truly I knew it as such without really knowing it before at all. Such are uncommon places stemmed from such dreams.                                                                

The photo results seem very clear to view,but does the human eye always pick out that which is there?       The old solid door now stripped bear clear of wicked rose thorns is locked tight, and some in Nat Village say it is bolted shut tight from inside,and those that did such a locking and a bolting of all those dark Oak doors and windows are still there,if only in dismembered remains. For certain there are no Winkle graves in the nearby village church. No not even a one. So when was it that Sir Edward Charles Winkle, a Knight placed his stamp of authority upon such a blot on this landscape ?  As near as I can tell it was during and after the Wars of The Roses ,and oppressed peoples were given over to seek other means of gaining a living other than working of land afforded them.

                                                           

The red brick lower part of the rendered walls crumbled in places seem to date this place and firmly plant it around the 1480`s and in fact Henry the King who had six wives made royal mention of it in  1539. The case being the Monks from  the near by Anglesey Abbey had been discovered in hiding there ,and he boasted while stuffing his neck with chicken. " They all wanted to go to Heaven, but were in no great awful rush to get there. However they all went anyway." He laughed out shockingly aloud. That Court loved Henry,for to do otherwise meant being shortend by a neck it being hacked off something terribly cruel ,and with much more than just one blow at the hacking block. It did seem the stiff necked English sure put a dead certain dullness ,and wicked bluntness to the shine and sharpness of all the axe-mans tools.

It was 1537 Easter Day,a Sunday evening when the house servants left for the Church Service in the village, while the family occupants preferred not to hold with any religious  house for fear of Henry, and that awesome blunt axe. As Old Mott,with no other name beside it left the house, with the rounded plump dogmatic swearing Cook, trundling on behind him,called Beggs, and the two young serving girls following along behind her whispering girls talk with giggles, all headed towards the sound of that dong, dong bell.                                                                                                          

Little did they realise it then that they would soon be free of that overburdened place of regal  servitude.                                                                                                                                                         As the mist rose from the surrounding Fen land.                                        

                                                                                                                              

Most certainly it was a most solemn silent Meeting in that tiny flinted church,as Mickmead, the Priest had left for safer shores. It seemed although he being a rather short ,but very loud, fat, and double chinned man of the cloth in his mid 40`s, he had no intention of getting a lot shorter in Henry`s ,England. Such was his chin that gave resemblance to that of a chewing Hamster to him that owned it, and it that hung so well was much more the worthwhile  a saving.  So he took fearful flight to safer shores carrying the golden cross and goblet along with the small  finger bowl from the church. Fate decreed rather oddly for him, that it all turned out to be some kind of ornamental shinny brass.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

It was indeed Flaggend,,,that had rung the bell since Brother Mickmead`s, timely scarpering! He being the digger of graves when there was such a call of opportunity  for it. As it was a Sixpence in his hand for a doing it, "Spand, Spick, Hand Proper," as was his a calling of it. Most certainly Flaggend,,, the dark skinned man with curly hair, will be written of in other tales.

As for the house it had remained long after the Winkle family`s disappearance, some reckoned an evil event had befallen them all, because on that night of the large full Moon they vanished without a trace. The last half eaten meal still settled to cold congealed fattiness upon the dark metal plates, ___indeed the long table was still set out untidy-like in the six odd places around it. All their belongings intact with cloths hanging where they would've been while others were out for the wash,but them gone never to be seen or heard of since.The only living thing left in that house seen above, was the family`s one eyed skinny dog,that answered to Keats! It being a tiny thin dog it could never have been accused of eating them that is for sure. It was Pennwick,the Church recorder of family names, and village Fish Monger that took the dog in,and it played out its life span in pure delight with the village children that nicknamed him little Cyclopes, although very few of the younger kids knew of it or understood such a name. As for the dog, she would only ever answer to Keats,a name put into place long before he ever existed. Another mystery was concerning that one eyed dog,and how certain children in 1537 knew of the Cyclopes?

                                                                                                                                     

Such are the ongoing stave's of time changed and passed along without any comprehensive answer. With the rustic sound of the Saxon Church bell come a Sunday, and that place the house left shut tight.  That house now silent still has settled well into this wetland and overgrown has become a mystifying part of it.                                                                                                                               

                                                                                                                                                                        

                                                                         Conclusion

After I took all those photo shots,something strange occurred upon the viewing of them, 

a ghostly figure in the upper  window.   The hairs on the back of my neck stood up,and each did quite prick a well deserved nerve ending of frightening chill.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

                                                Written & Scratch-built  by  BB                                                                                     

                                                                 

                                             

A Few Shots More.

                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Massed French Columns & Cavalry presented by BB

Using the large table I unpacked my boxes of toy Napoleonic soldiers. It must be mentioned that I am just an average painter, and up close viewing of my infantry would confirm that. So I place large columns of troops to achieve the Panoramic View, like those Epic Movies of old. The pictures are raw and to the point and show a tiny part of Waterloo and that awesome battle. They are sample set ups and at that time of camera shootings, each was moved aside and other Battalions took their places. What is to be viewed is the French Grande Battery of Guns firing, and then after the infantry filtered through that Gun Line, they quickly reformed and advanced  toward La Haye Sainte, and towards the sandpit and Wellingtons British and Allied Army. There were three massive columns and some accounts confirm  about 17,000 Infantry and Cavalry support. The Farmhouse was engulfed in a sea of fire.
 I am not a Wargamer,but welcome seeing toy figures,and reading some battle reports on Line.

                                                                        JUNE  1815  

All the cavalry seen are conversions.

Above a French Line Lancer.

KA-POW!

 The French Gunners have been firing solid iron shot, exploding round shot,all laced up neat and nicely with rusty horse shoe nails  by the half bucket, it being poured in after loading. They have given La Hay Sainte,a good pasting,along with a Belgium regiment standing on the higher ridge in plain sight for well over an hour.

There were 84 Guns in The Grande Battery on that wet muddy day.

  Some of my old tree`s donkey years old came out of storage. They are a bit battered but they are old friends.  The Gunners above all conversions.

French Line Lancers and  Cuirassiers are supporting the advancing French Infantry. So there`s lots of Guns & Bayonets moving up.

The Dove Cote over the Main Gate.

The German troops actually destroyed the roof in order to set their sights on the enemy marching past. My scratch-built Farm Complex has all the windows and doors and gates,but I squeezed the structure in order to save space,but feel it worked out really well. Made 14 years ago of cardboard from boxes and with the roof being plastic drinking straws. One has to start some how,and some where in this hobby.

I do have enough guns and crew painted to make up the Grande Battery,and when I set it out it was a  line of 84 Guns 10 foot long. No Picture though.

                                                                        KA-POW!

The British Heavy Cavalry would break up this advance, but suffered greatly while attacking the French artillery, both by Gun fire, and the Napoleons regiment of Red Lancers which are viewed in the picture above.

Other staged events. 

British Lt Infantry Cold Stream Guards are standing their ground, against the Red Lancers Middle Guard Lt Cavalry. Allied Belgian Cavalry come to give aid to the Brits,but  most fall  by the Lance  thrust and a few from friendly fire. Confusion rained on this battle field and in my mindful play.

I painted those Red Lancers up over 15 years ago.

Converted Italeri,Officers mix it with French Cuirassiers

" That`s not sporting of them,they are in armour! "

Hougoumont was under constant attack as more infantry tried hard to take this place. All the French Infantry are HAT Industries conversions.

Thanks for stopping by. BB