A family reunion, 1812 is an excerpt from A Redoubtable Citadel, book four of the Peninsular War Saga. I was asked as part of #HistFicXmas 2023 to describe my happiest family scene in the books. There a few lovely scenes between Paul and his family but this one is probably my favourite. It’s the first time Anne has met her older step-children and her in-laws and I think it gives an interesting picture of what kind of relationship they’re all going to have. It is also a lovely moment between Paul and his father.
Lisbon, February 1812
They arrived at the villa shortly after noon. They had travelled at an easy pace, giving Paul’s wound a chance to heal and were greeted at the door by Mario who ran the household and who emerged shouting orders in Portuguese about luggage and horses.
“Mario, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Too long, Colonel. You look well and your lady is as beautiful as ever. And a new little one.”
“This is William, Mario, and be thankful he’s asleep because he is very noisy.”
“He looks like his father, Señora.”
“Is my family here, Mario?” Paul asked.
“They are, Colonel. Señor van Daan is in the courtyard.”
“We’ll go straight through and then Nan can take Will up and get him settled with his nurse.”
“Yes, Colonel. I will make sure they are unpacking.”
Paul walked through into the courtyard with Anne beside him. There was a man sitting at the table reading. He looked up and then rose and Paul stopped very suddenly.
“Father. Oh Christ, I’d no idea you were coming.”
“Paul.”
Anne shot a glance at her husband and saw that there was an unexpected shine to his eyes. She looked across at her father-in-law and realised that he was equally affected. It was not surprising. They must have been angry with each other for so much of their lives, these two towering personalities. But since they had last met, Paul had almost died at Talavera, had lost a wife and married another and had risen to the rank of brigade commander at a very young age. His communication with his father had been limited to writing letters during that time and Anne wondered suddenly how much Franz van Daan worried. She stepped forward.
“You two need some time alone,” she said quietly. “Let’s do the introductions later. I’m going to take Will up and get him settled with Gwen and I’ll change into something that doesn’t look as though I’ve been on the road for a week.” She looked over at her father-in-law, who tore his eyes away from his son to return her regard. “It is good to meet you, sir, although we’ve not properly met yet. But we’ll do that later.”
She touched Paul’s arm and made to go, but he caught her about the waist and drew her back. “Just a moment, girl of my heart. Father, have a quick look at my latest.”
His father came forward and Anne held out the sleeping child for inspection. “I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you meant your latest offspring,” she said and Paul gave a choke of laughter and kissed her.
“I did. Go on then, go and get him fed and settled.”
***
When Anne had left Paul looked at his father. Franz stepped forward and embraced him.
“Christ, Paul, I know it’s not possible, but I’d swear you’ve grown. Perhaps I’m shrinking.”
Paul laughed and released him, blinking back the tears. “You’re not, I promise you. It’s the uniform, it makes us all look bigger. I wonder if that’s why they chose it? Something about scaring off the enemy. I’m sorry about this, you caught me by surprise.”
“I’m sorry, I should have written to tell you. It was a sudden decision. I thought about it and realised it had been too long, and there isn’t much chance you’re coming home any time soon, is there?”
“No. I’m so glad you came. Where are Josh and Patience?”
“Out sightseeing. And that was your wife.”
“Yes. Now that you’ve seen her…”
“Now that I’ve seen her, boy, it’s very clear to me how you came to marry her so damned quickly. You could hardly let her sit and wait; I presume there was a queue?”
Paul laughed, going to pour wine. “There would have been, but I was very fast,” he said, handing a glass to his father. “Sir, thank you for coming, I’m so glad I made it down with Nan, now.”
He held out a chair for Franz and sat down opposite. “So were you hoping to see me and or were you curious to meet Nan?”
Franz laughed. “Both. Brigade commander, Paul – how old are you now?”
“You’re my father, you’re supposed to know that. I’m thirty one.”
“Christ, you really took this seriously, didn’t you?”
“Very. Although I’m well aware you never expected me to.”
Franz gave a wry smile. “No. I thought you were doing it to snap your fingers at me because I suggested the law. I gave it a couple of years and thought you’d be back at home and ready to fall into line.”
“When did you stop thinking that Father?”
“After Assaye. I was privileged to watch you those first weeks at Melton and I spoke to Colonel Dixon. It was obvious you’d found where you wanted to be.” Franz glanced at him and smiled slightly. “And I’m guessing you found something else as well.”
“My lady? Yes. I’m still getting used to it, I suppose. Although I’m not sure I’m ever going to learn to take her for granted.”
“I was sorry about Rowena, Paul.”
“It still hurts,” Paul admitted. “She was so much a part of my life, it was as if there was a hole left that nothing else could fill. I have Nan, and had from the first, and I love her in a way I never did Rowena. But I don’t think I ever knew what Rowena meant to me until she’d gone. She stood by me through so much. It’s been hard at times, so much has happened in the past couple of years.”
“It is difficult to keep up by letter,” his father said dryly.
Paul accepted the implied reproof with a rueful smile. “It’s impossible, and I’m not a very reliable correspondent, I know. Once you’ve got to know Nan properly you’ll do better, she’s very good. And you can read her handwriting which is more than you can say for mine.”
“I’m looking forward to getting to know her. How long can you stay?”
“Probably not long. Wellington treats requests for leave like being bled by an over-enthusiastic junior surgeon. And he’s especially bad with me, God knows why. Bloody Craufurd got three months in England last year and I couldn’t manage a week to get married. I’m here and I’m hoping for a couple of weeks but if one of my ensigns walks through that door in a week’s time telling me that Wellington is screaming for me, I won’t be a bit surprised. If that does happen, I may leave Nan for a bit longer if you’re happy with that. There are always supply columns coming north, she can get an escort back when she’s ready. And the way the commissariat feel about her, they’ll move a lot faster with our rations if she’s with them.”
“What on earth does the commissariat have to do with your wife, Paul?”
“More than they’d like, she’s my unofficial quartermaster. As well as my unofficial regimental surgeon. You ought to hear the medical board on the subject.”
Franz was laughing. “I am more and more glad I came. She’s got you somewhere I never thought you’d be, Paul, you can’t keep the smile off your face when you talk about her, can you? How long have you been married?”
“About a year and a half. It doesn’t seem that long, and yet it’s hard to remember life without her.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s twenty-two. She married for the first time very young, he was killed just before Bussaco and we married soon after that.”
“And how long had you known her, Paul?”
Paul could hear the suspicion in his father’s voice. He considered for a moment then decided to tell the truth. “I met her in ’08 in Yorkshire.”
“I see. You’ve been surprisingly constant then.”
Paul looked down at the wrought iron table for a moment, then up into his father’s eyes. “You mean given that I was unfaithful to Rowena? Yes, sir. If I could go back, I’d change what I did back then, but I can’t. I intend to keep my marriage vows this time around.”
Franz gave a faint smile. “This wife of yours seems to have thoroughly tamed you, my boy.”
“I don’t see that as an insult, sir.”
“It was not intended as one. Is there anything she can’t do?”
“Well I’ve yet to see her cook a meal, and if you hand her a shirt that needs mending she’s likely to tear it up for bandages. She isn’t much like other women, sir. Although she has proved surprisingly adept at motherhood which is a bit of a surprise to both of us. I missed the birth completely but she seemed to sail through it without a hitch, and she’s proved astonishingly competent with Will. It’s going to be hard for her, he’s very young.”
“Is he weaned?”
“We’ve brought a wet nurse. She’s an Englishwoman who lost her man at Fuentes de Oñoro and she has a young daughter. She’s from London and wants to go home. Once Will is properly weaned, which won’t be long, it’s up to you if she stays on as his nurse or goes home – just make sure she gets there if that’s what she wants. Her name’s Gwen and she’s a good girl, you’ll have no trouble with her.”
“We still have Mary who came home with Rowena,” Franz said with a smile. “She’s proved herself very useful and she married a few months ago, one of our grooms. Paul, there’s something I’ve not told you yet.”
“Go on.”
“When we decided to come out to collect William and meet your wife, we…”
There were sounds of arrival in the hallway and Paul heard his sister-in-law’s gentle tones admonishing. The door to the courtyard burst open and a child entered. He was wearing a white shirt and breeches with a loose jacket, open and with two buttons missing. He looked at least nine or ten from his height and manner, but Paul knew it was deceptive, knew he was not quite eight.
“Papa!”
“Francis.” Paul moved forward uncertainly and then the child ran. Paul caught him up into his arms and held him tight, the boy’s arms wrapped around his neck in a stranglehold. Paul buried his face in his son’s hair, fairer than his, almost white like Rowena’s and inhaled the scent of him. Beyond him he saw his brother coming forward, smiling, and then his sister-in-law holding the hand of a girl of around ten, dainty and fair in a pink dress with a white pinafore over it. Paul dropped to his knees, still holding his son with one arm and held out his other arm to his daughter.
“Grace. Oh lass, come here. You’re as pretty as your mother.”
Grace ran forward and joined the embrace and Paul knelt holding them and kissing them. Finally he looked up at Patience.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “You’ve no idea. I’m revising my plans, if Wellington wants me out of here before two weeks, he can either come and get me himself or cashier me. I can take the loss.”
“Oh, Good Heavens.”
Paul looked up. His wife was coming into the courtyard from the inner door, laughing. She had changed out of her travelling clothes into a sprigged muslin gown trimmed with blue and she looked very young and very beautiful. “You kept this very quiet, Paul.”
“Love, I didn’t know.”
Anne smiled at her sister-in-law and Joshua, both of whom were staring at her in considerable astonishment. “But there’s one missing, and she’s the only one I’ve met before.”
“She’s here, but she’s a little shy,” Patience said, lifting the smallest child from her skirts. She was not yet two, as fair as the others. Anne came forward.
“My poor Will is going to look like a changeling in this family if he keeps that dark hair. Although he’s got the eyes and the attitude already.”
“And what makes you think that attitude comes from me?” her husband said, laughing up at her. Anne thought, her heart unexpectedly full, that she had never seen him look quite so carefree. Reaching out she took Rowena from Patience and settled her on one hip.
“You were very tiny the last time I held you,” she said, studying the child. Blue Van Daan eyes looked back at her. Anne kissed the soft cheek. “When he’s stopped feeding, which might be a while, you shall all come up and meet your new brother.”
“Half-brother,” Grace said. She was staring at Anne as if she could not tear her eyes away.
“Grace!” Patience said, horrified. Anne laughed.
“No, she’s completely right. There are a lot of half relationships in this family, aren’t there? I’m going to sit over here with Rowena because she’s heavy, come and sit by me, Grace, you need to help me work all this out. You’re the eldest, aren’t you, which makes you how old?”
“I’m nine. My mother is dead.”
“I know, Grace, and I’m sorry. She died of fever in India, didn’t she? Your father has told me about her.”
Paul was watching the two of them, fascinated at seeing them together for the first time. His daughter went slowly to the chair beside Anne. Rowena was fidgeting, and without hesitation, Anne took the two combs out of her hair and gave them to the toddler, showing her how to lock them together and slide them apart again. Enchanted, Rowena began to play with the combs.
“Anne, let me take her up for you,” Patience said, and Anne looked up with a quick smile.
“Oh not yet, please? I’ve waited so long to meet them all.”
“Father told you about my mother?” Grace said, sounding incredulous, and Paul felt guilt twist like a knife.
“Of course he did,” Anne said without a moment’s hesitation. “He didn’t need to tell me about Rowena because she was my best friend. I never met Nell but your father told me she was very pretty. And looking at you, Grace, I can believe it.”
Francis was watching Anne as well. Paul set him down and got up, his eyes on the children. Francis went to stand on the other side of Anne.
“My mother was pretty as well. I’ve seen a portrait.”
“I don’t know what my mother looked like, I’ve never seen a portrait of her,” Grace said wistfully.
“No there wasn’t much opportunity going to India,” Paul said lightly. “But if you want a fairly good idea, Grace, find a mirror. Your eyes are my colour but the shape of your face is Nell’s and no mistake.”
“Did you really know my mother?” Francis asked, and the wistful tone of his voice made Paul want to cry. He had not expected to see his children this week and he realised he had given no thought to how he would explain Rowena’s death, his marriage to Anne and their complicated relationship. He realised abruptly that Anne had already thought about this and knew exactly what she wanted to say.
“I knew her very well, Francis,” she said. “She was the best friend I ever had.”
“And was she really pretty?”
“She was lovely.”
“I look like my father,” Francis said, and Anne studied him and laughed.
“You really do,” she said. “But you have one little thing that reminds me so much of Rowena that I want to cry.”
“What’s that?” Francis said eagerly.
Anne reached out and ran her finger lightly over the bridge of his nose. “You have her freckles,” she said softly. “Each one of them stamps her name all over you, Francis van Daan. And there are other things about her I’m hoping you have too.”
“What?”
“Her goodness. Her kindness. Her sense of right and wrong. If you keep hold of those as well as your father’s stubbornness you could be prime minister one day.”
“I want to be a soldier one day,” Francis said.
“Do you? Wherever did you get that idea from? Anyway, you can be a soldier and a politician, Lord Wellington has done both. Perhaps he’ll be prime minister one day, who knows?”
Grace had reached out and was touching the silky strands of Anne’s hair, which was coming loose without the tortoiseshell combs.
“Your hair is so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Grace. Although I admit I always used to want fair hair like yours. I was envious of Rowena for that.”
“I think you’re prettier than my mother,” Francis said quietly, and Anne reached out and caressed his face gently.
“No, you’ve just forgotten how lovely she was. You can’t see it in a portrait. In the story books they gave me as a child, the prettiest princesses were always fair haired and blue eyed, like both of your mothers. What your father was thinking when he chose me as number three, we’ll never know.”
“I know,” Francis said firmly. “I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re the most beautiful lady I have ever seen.”
Anne was smiling. “There are an awful lot of beautiful ladies out there, Francis. But thank you.”
“Number three?” Grace said, and there was an odd tone to her voice as though it had never occurred to her to place her long dead mother on the same footing as her two stepmothers. Paul felt guilt again and opened his mouth to speak then stopped as his wife reached out and put her arm around his daughter.
“Number three,” she said firmly. “Your mother was the first, Grace, then Rowena and now me. I know I can’t replace either of them with you, how could I? But I hope you’ll get used to me. I’ve heard so much about you all. Now who is going to come up and see Will? He can’t still be eating or he’ll explode like a shell.”
“And that one is going to haunt nursery teas for a while,” Paul said, beginning to laugh. Anne smiled up at him.
“What is the point of nursery teas if you can’t have unsuitable conversations? You should have heard some of the things my brothers used to say around the table, Nurse used to cover her ears.”
“If your brothers were the most badly behaved at your nursery tea table, I would be very surprised, girl of my heart. Hand over my youngest daughter, you’ve had her long enough.”
“Is that what he calls you?” Grace said, wide-eyed.
“He calls me a lot worse than that. Get those combs off her before she eats one of them, Paul, she can’t be hungry it’s not close to tea time.”
Francis began to laugh. “Combs for tea!”
“Only if you don’t behave, Master van Daan. Patience, I am so sorry, I’ve not even said how-do-you-do yet. And you as well, Joshua. Let me go and introduce Will, and when we’ve all driven him mad and he’s howling through over-excitement I’ll give him back to Gwen and come down for sherry and civilised conversation, I promise you. And I’ll dump this lot off in the nursery on the way to wash themselves, Francis looks as though he’s been through a battle on a wet day his face is so dirty.”
“It is not! I do not!”
“You absolutely do, and don’t argue with me, I’ve seen a lot of battles.”
“Have you? I didn’t know girls went near battles.”
Paul was laughing so hard he could not stop. “They’re not supposed to, Francis, but try telling your stepmother that, she hasn’t the least sense of propriety.”
His wife regarded him severely. “You’re becoming as over-excited as the children, Colonel. Give me Rowena and put those combs on the table before you break them, I’m serving them to Francis for tea later. Don’t come up, stay and be civil to your brother and Patience, I’m not sure you’ve even had a chance to speak to them yet. I’ll see you later.”
She left, and they could hear her progress with Francis and Grace suggesting a collection of bizarre items which could be served for tea.
I’m going to base this post firmly in 1813 which is where I’m up to in the Peninsular War Saga. At this point, the Van Daan family is separated by war. There are also internal tensions which will presumably have to be worked out once the war is over and Paul returns home. In the meantime, for #HistFicXmas this is a brief introduction to the family so far.
Anne van Daan is Paul’s second wife and my female MC. She’s nine years younger than him and when they met he was already married. He married Rowena, his first wife, because he had seduced her and she was carrying his child. He had an affectionate relationship with Rowena, who bore him two children but he was unfaithful more than once. Anne was also previously married to Lieutenant Robert Carlyon who treated her appallingly. Paul and Anne were finally free to marry after Rowena died in childbirth and Robert was shot while trying to murder Anne. Since then, Anne has travelled with the army, putting up with the terrible hardships of campaign life to be with Paul. She is described more than once as the heart and soul of the regiment. Formidably intelligent, she is willing to turn her hand to doctoring, nursing, administration and diplomacy – anything in fact that doesn’t involve housekeeping.
William is two, Anne’s first child and has his mother’s dark hair though he still has the Van Daan blue eyes. It’s too early to know much about his personality. The same can be said for Anne’s latest child, little Georgiana who is not yet a year old. She was born prematurely after the appalling retreat from Madrid and Burgos and her birth was difficult enough for both Paul and Anne to hope that there won’t be any more too soon.
Horses
Paul hung on grimly, hearing the shouts of the men around him, and a furious volley of fire back at the enemy. Bringing Rufus finally under control he slid from the saddle feeling physically sick and ran his hand down the animal’s sweating neck.
There are too many other horses involved in the Peninsular War Saga to list them all, but one of the most popular appeared in the Manxman series, when Paul’s battalion were sent to Denmark. For such a short campaign he chose not to subject his horses to the misery of a sea voyage, but managed to hire two horses from a local inn. One of them was a young horse called Felix. The other was Luna, an overweight piebald mare. I found it very entertaining to send my gallant hero trotting around Denmark on the equivalent of a Thelwell pony and my readers absolutely loved the story of Luna, especially how it ended. It’s probably the first time in the books that we glimpse just how sentimental Major van Daan really can be about animals.
The other horse to play a very significant role in the books doesn’t arrive until book six and makes an immediate impact. I didn’t have to invent a name or description for Lord Wellington’s favourite mount, since Copenhagen was real. This is one horse that Paul is not particularly fond of.
Jannie the Budgerigar.
Old Kirk Braddan Church and Cemetery
I found myself at Old Kirk Braddan earlier this week when I had an hour to kill before meeting my 
There has been some form of religious worship on this site for fourteen centuries and stones from the first Celtic Keeill (Chapel) can be dated back to around 400 AD. Old Kirk Braddan was rebuilt on the site of an older church in 1777 and is dedicated to Saint Brendan or Braddan. Unlike many other eighteenth century churches, it was never updated during the Victorian era and retains its original box pews, gallery and a three decker pulpit, with a lectern, minister’s pew and pulpit above. It remained the parish church until 1876 when it was replaced by the new church.
The church contains a number of Celtic and Norse crosses from the period 800-1265, which were found around the parish. Several of these bear a ring chain design which is associated with the sculptor, Gaut, son of Bjorn, who came from the island of Coll in the Hebrides and settled on the Isle of Man. Gaut is considered one of the best carvers of his time which was between 950 and 1040 AD. One of the crosses bearing his designs has been translated as “Gaut created this and all in Mann”. His carvings are of a style seen in many Celtic and later Scandinavian crosses.
Beyond the Manx crosses, towards the altar, there’s an impressive memorial up on the wall, looking surprisingly elaborate for such a simple church.
I was aware of another memorial in the churchyard which is known locally as the Atholl monument. Since Murray was the name of the local Dukes of Atholl I went scrambling around among the overgrown graves. It took some time because the place is beautiful; a tangle of greenery dotted with moss covered stones. This is no modern, neatly laid out graveyard, but a piece of history. Many of the graves are sadly difficult to read but one or two are clear enough to give an indication of the long history of Kirk Braddan. 
The Atholl monument turned out to be a large obelisk in the centre of the churchyard in honour of Lord Henry Murray, fourth son of John 3rd Duke of Atholl who was born in 1767 and died in the December of 1805. Lord Henry was the Lieutenant-Colone Commandant of His Majesty’s Regiment of Royal Manx Fencibles.
In book eight of the Peninsular War Saga which I’m currently writing, Oswald is about to have a difficult time at the siege of San Sebastian. I’m delighted I’ve found out about this now as it will give me a different sense of connection to the man. Incidentally, his second wife had a distinguished career of her own as a Victorian artist who specialised in fairies – a terribly Manx thing to do. I’d heard of her many times and seen her work but I had no idea she was married to one of Wellington’s generals. It’s like discovering that two old friends know each other.
Back out in the churchyard, I wandered around admiring the snowdrops and making up stories in my head about some of the older graves. I wish more of them were legible. There are no neat paths laid out between the stones in this graveyard. It’s a little sad but also very beautiful compared to the neat rows of stones in a modern cemetery. As I was on a historic tour there was one more grave I wanted to see, also from my era but very different. Fortunately this one is well labelled now and the inscription very plainly copied.
With time running out, I made my way back to the car, careful not to trip over a fallen gravestone in the tangle of grass and plants. I love ancient churches and graveyards and I’ve a feeling there are a few more I’ve not yet properly explored on the island so expect further posts. I especially love those which would have been here, an important part of island community life when my Manx sea captain and his wife first met in 1806 or returned to visit in 1811. Standing in these quiet places imagining those people gives me a very real sense of history.
Here comes 2023 at Writing with Labradors and a very Happy New Year to all my friends, family and readers.
I’d already effectively finished book 7 of the Peninsular War Saga at the end of 2021 and passed it on to my editor. Poor Heather had a somewhat fraught start to 2022 since she knew how desperate I was to get another book out after a year’s gap. She worked very hard despite some health problems of her own and the book was published in April. A
I went back to 
In addition to the two books, I wrote my usual three free short stories this year. Valentine’s Day took us back in time to the winter of 1808-09 and 
With travel opening up again, I fulfilled a long-held wish and signed up for a Waterloo tour with 
Other trips during the year were more about catching up with friends and family after such a long separation during lockdown. I still managed to slip in some historical visits though, with a trip to the Naval Dockyard in Portsmouth, Maritime Greenwich in London and the Military Museums in Winchester, where I acquired a Rifles bear to add to my desk army.
Another thing I’ve been able to tick off my list this year is that all the books are finally available in paperback and I have new covers for both of my Regency romances. My long-suffering editor, Heather Paisley of 
On a personal level, I’ve mostly recovered from the effects of the various lockdowns. I’ve made a start of book 8 of the Peninsular War Saga. It’s called An Unattainable Stronghold and follows the 110th into the Pyrenees and the storming of San Sebastian. After that, I’ll be going back to the Iris to join Hugh Kelly and Alfred Durrell along the coast of northern Spain where they are joining Sir Home Popham on his campaign to annoy the French and the Spanish equally. I’m very much looking forward to the biography of Popham currently being written by my good friend 
The year had a sad ending when we heard that my uncle, William ‘Bill’ Bryant had died. Bill was a huge personality, very much part of my childhood and will be very much missed. He raised a family of history lovers and I laughed aloud during one of the eulogies about his passion for watching war films, despite the fact that he must have seen Zulu and the Battle of Britain a thousand times. The final piece of music played at his funeral was chosen by him, and we both laughed and cried as we left the service to the rousing sound of the Great Escape.
Welcome to the Jolabokaflod- an annual tradition here at Writing With Labradors. Every year since 2017 I’ve offered some of my books for free on Amazon kindle as a Christmas gift to my readers, old and new.
Number One London Tours
Features of the landscape like the covered way which is still partly visible, waist and head-high crops and surprisingly steep ridges help the story of the battle unfold far more easily than looking at maps. Gareth had maps a plenty though, to demonstrate each stage of the fighting as we reached it, starting from Papelotte and moving around the various parts of the field. He had also brought a copy of his fantastic
Interspersed with clear, easy to understand descriptions of troop movements and the various attacks at different stages of the battle, were the individual stories from both Gareth and Kristine about the men who fought, suffered and died at Waterloo. I’ve seen many of these accounts before but hearing them read out on the ground where the action took place gave them a whole new meaning.
It was also horribly easy to imagine the aftermath, with dead and wounded strewn across the field. Injured men staggered towards anywhere they might find help and too many of them fell by the wayside. The memorials to the different armies and regiments as well as to a few individuals which are scattered around the battlefield highlight the poignant truth that most men who died at Waterloo had no marked grave, no memorial and quite possibly may not even have been buried at all.
When we emerged, it was dark. Kristine had bought some flowers and a few of us walked up towards the Lion’s Mound which is lit up at night. It looked spectacular and despite all the jokes about it spoiling the battlefield, it felt like a fitting memorial that night, not to the Prince of Orange or Wellington or to any of the other individual commanders but to the thousands of anonymous men and animals who died on that field two hundred and seven years ago. 
We placed the flowers on the edge of the field, not on any particular monument but just on a spot where any man might have fallen and stood quietly, listening on a phone to John Tams singing Spanish Ladies, a haunting folk song. A version of that song existed in 1815 and might have been sung by the campfires by men who did not survive that day. It seemed an appropriate memorial to the ordinary soldiers and the perfect way to end Waterloo 2022: the Battlefield Tour.
I have no idea whether there’s something political about this, whether it’s considered Napoleon was the most important person at Waterloo given that he was an Emperor or whether they just don’t think Wellington or Blucher memorabilia will sell. I do think it should probably be redressed, but if it’s a marketing decision then I guess that’s a good enough reason. All the same, Napoleon as a dog was a bit much for me.
Across the busy road from the Wellington Museum is the elaborate church which was there at the time of the battle and used, like many churches, as a hospital to receive wounded men. Those of you who have followed me for a while know that I have a thing about old churches and this one was particularly peaceful, with a number of memorials to the men who fought and died during the Waterloo campaign. Memorials at this time tended to be paid for either by the family of the dead man or by subscription through the various battalions and regiments, so not surprisingly more of them relate to the wealthier regiments. Very few of the memorials even mention the NCOs and enlisted men apart from this one in the church, which may well be the first of its kind.
After lunch we moved on to Napoleon’s Headquarters in the farmhouse of Le Caillou, where Napoleon and his staff spent the night of June 17, 1815. The museum collection is spread over five rooms and tells the story of the Emperor’s actions in the hours before Waterloo. There are a number of artefacts relating to Napoleon, though Gareth queried whether some of the furniture was authentic given that the Prussians reputedly set fire to everything on their way through after Napoleon’s departure. Still, it gives a good sense of how the farm might have looked at the time.
In the garden outside the farmhouse are one or two memorials. There is also an ossuary, which is a small building intended to serve as the final resting place of human bones. Ossuaries are often used where burial space is scarce but in this case it has become a depository for bones found on the battlefield over the years. I’ve seen photos of this but found the real thing unexpectedly moving.
Our next visit was to the small but very good museum in Ligny. It covers both Ligny and Quatre Bras and gave a very good sense of what happened on 16th June in these small villages and towns as the French inflicted a bloody defeat on Blucher’s Prussians and fought to a stalemate against Wellington’s Allied army. I was shocked at the extent of the casualties at both battles. Somehow I’d always had the vague impression that these were just skirmishes ahead of the main battle, but they clearly weren’t. All three armies were weakened by what happened on this day and it must have had an effect on what happened at Waterloo.
Waterloo 2022 – the Waterloo Museum and Hougoumont and we don’t hang about on the 
The museum gives an excellent overview of the history of the French revolution, Napoleon’s rise to power and the various coalitions and wars which led inexorably towards the Waterloo campaign. There are fabulous displays of weapons and uniforms from troops on both sides of the campaign, maps and models depicting the events of 1815 and the famous Waterloo Panorama which was painted in 1912 by Louis Dumoulin, and occupies a circular building. It is 110 metres in circumference and 12 metres high and the soundtrack plunges you into the midst of the battle. Despite, as Gareth assured us, a number of inaccuracies, it’s genuinely impressive and I’m glad we managed to see it before it closes for restoration later this month.
