English Civil War Diary - Entry Number 15

The latest instalment of the fictional diary, already I have changed the course of history, in the real world, The Skirmish at Balk Wood never took place, and King Charles I did actually demand, unsuccessfully, to be allowed into the town of Hull. The Earl of Newcastle was forced to lay siege.

Plan of Action.

Meeting Room, White Hart Inn, Hull.

28^th March 1642. 8pm.

After reading aloud the latest report from his source, Peregrine Pelham sat back in his chair and took delight as he watched the mixed reactions of the other men in the room. He awaited the questions that he knew would follow. He was not disappointed.

'This information,' enquired Sir John Hotham, 'Is it just as reliable as the previous intelligence that allowed the taking of the plate near Pocklington?'

Pelham smiled and tapped the side of his nose with his right forefinger, 'It is from the very same source as the previous detailed information, I have no doubts this is just as accurate.'

Sir John's son, captain of the horse regiment that was involved in the capture of Sir Royston's plate, nodded.

'So the king is not going to lay siege to the town,' he looked at Colonel Septimus Gryndell. The latter was staring at the panelled wall opposite, rubbing his chin, as he always did when in deep thought.

'Apparently not,' once again the practised smile was curling Pelham's lips. 'If he was, he would need his whole force to assault the town and the citadel, not a task to be taken lightly or one that could be achieved quickly.'

'That doesn't mean they won't lay siege,' Sir John fired back. Pelham, the smile now gone, raised an eyebrow.

'They are not going to ignore the fact that this town is for Parliament,' continued Sir John, 'most of the North has or will, side with the king. Those towns that resist, will be taken by Newcastle and his army,' he looked at the other three men before continuing, 'They do not have the protection of our citadel, river or even town walls in many cases.'

The town walls of Hull had been neglected for many years and allowed to crumble in places. Strenuous work was even now being carried out, to ensure they could stand against attack by an enemy. Even with the repairs, it was doubtful that the defences could withstand heavy artillery fire for very long. The citadel, with its huge thick walls was the key to everything, it controlled the town and the river, its powerful guns could reach far out into the River Humber, controlling any shipping that ventured too close with hostile intent. More importantly, it overlooked the town itself, to capture Hull you had to take the citadel first.

'What say you Septimus?' Sir John said, looking at the Colonel of the Hull Trained Band. All eyes turned to Septimus, so far silent at this meeting, still rubbing his chain and staring at the dark wooden panelling of the wall opposite, looking but seeing nothing, but his ears had been listening to every word that had been uttered. He slowly turned to face the others.

'Aye I would lay siege right enough,' he spoke barely above a whisper, 'I would also put a ring of steel around the town, no one could enter or leave without me knowing it. I would occupy the villages of Hessle to the West and Hedon to the East, I would also take Beverley to the North. Of course, it all depends on how many men I had to carry out the task.' Septimus was warming to the problem, 'The king is taking the bulk of his army to Nottingham, but leaving the Earl of Newcastle with a sizeable force to control the North. He has a huge area to manage and will need all the men he can muster, I'll warrant that doesn't leave much for our friend Mister Twiston-Rawlings to command.'

The others nodded their agreement, Septimus continued, 'We have previous dealings with that popinjay, he is a fool and knows little or nothing of military matters.' He smiled, 'That gentlemen, is to our advantage I believe.'

Sir John smiled, 'I believe you are hatching a plan my dear Septimus, I recognise that glint in your eye.'

'Indeed I am sir! Septimus answered, once more a smile on his lips. 'We have one regiment of foot in the town, fully manned and already blooded in action. A second is currently being formed and trained, we have John's regiment of horse too. Granted the town could not sustain more than that, especially if we have to rely on supply by sea. However, I doubt that our wounded hero, will have much more under his command.'

The others nodded in agreement, Sir John invited Septimus to continue.

'I suggest we become such a nuisance, a thorn in the side of the Royalists by constant hit and run raids, that the earl will have to release more of his valuable troops to try and control the area. Of course we cannot afford any major engagements, but we could tie down an enemy force three or four times our size.

Pelham spoke, 'But what of the ring of steel you mentioned, won't that prevent these...' he pulled a face, 'Hit and run raids?'

'No Sir!' growled Septimus, 'A ring of steel is what I would put around the town, that fool will have no more than one his fine silk handkerchiefs hanging on the odd branch.

The other men laughed, and Pelham quickly felt his cuff, making sure his own silk handkerchief was not visible...

English Civil War Diary - Entry Number 14

Had a little time yesterday afternoon/evening so knocked out the next diary entry. It will slow down again somewhat now as events take their turn.

I have finished modifying the Quick & Dirty Rules version 1.1 and have typed them up and emailed them off the commanders for their final thoughts and comments. Another battle, using the modified rules will hopefully take place within a couple of weeks, real life allowing. I shall of course, video it for my You Tube channel and also take lots of photographs for this blog. I don't really want to call it Demo Battle 4, and as the table top will be arranged a little differently, with possibly a couple of farm buildings, walls, fences and some of the farm animals I painted up recently, as well as the usual trees and hedges, I really should give it a name. The Battle of ****?  Farm
.
Maybe you can come up with a name.

I hope you are enjoying these diary entries, so enough of my rambling.

Priceless Information.

Twiston Hall

28^th March 1642. 3pm.

James Appleton, head servant at Twiston Hall, announced the arrival of the king and the Earl of Newcastle from the door of Sir Royston's chambers. He then hurried to stand beside a table near the window upon which stood a tray containing a jug of the finest wine from the cellar and three beautifully cut glass goblets.

The king walked over to the bed on which Sir Royston lay, 'My dear fellow,' said the king, 'You look so weak, I feel I am intruding.'

'Your majesty, it is my gweatest pleasure and honour that you should find time to visit me, please accept my deepest apologies for not meeting you at my door, as befits such an important guest.'

The king sat on a chair proffered by James, 'Nonsense my dear fellow, you are a wounded hero, you stood against the rebels and paid heavily for it, no need to stand again for my benefit.'

The Earl of Newcastle, now also sat on another chair, beside the king. 'Terrible affair, how in god's name they managed to get this far North without us knowing is a scandal.' The earl would have loved to take out his clay pipe, but knew better, in the presence of the king.

James Appleton, poured three goblets of the wine and dutifully handed them to the guests, the final goblet he placed on Sir Royston's bedside table, before returning to his place by the window.

The king sniffed at the wine, a most wonderful aroma told him that it was indeed a wine fit for a king, he held up his glass, 'To a speedy recovery.' The earl mirrored the act. James hurried to the bedside and raising Sir Royston's head, held the goblet for him to take a sip. Sir Royston made a great show of struggling to swallow, in fact he could do with a good drink, and once the king and the earl had departed would make sure he finished this fine wine.

'Enough, thank you Appleton,' he said weakly, still acting a wonderful part, James carefully lowered his head back to the pillow. 'I fear even a fine wine is difficult to enjoy at the moment.'

The king was obviously moved and taken in by the excellent acting of Sir Royston, leaned forward and gently tapped his shoulder. 'We should not have bothered you my good man, you are still obviously suffering from that grievous head wound, we shall take our leave of you shortly, so you may rest and recover your strength.'

'Please your majesty,' replied Sir Royston in as weak a voice as he could muster, 'Having you here is the best medicine any man could have.'

The king nodded and smiled, 'I am shortly to depart for Nottingham with the bulk of the army, I shall be raising my standard there and will hopefully be joined by Prince Rupert within days. The earl will be remaining in the North to maintain control of the area and to capture the towns that dare to stand against me.'

Sir Royston wondered why he was being told this information, but knew it must have something to do with him.

'I have signed the commission, making you a full brigadier of the crowns forces, the king went on, I ask that, once well again, you take command of the forces in East Yorkshire.'

Sir Royston nodded and gave a weak smile, the last thing he wanted to do was go anywhere near an army or danger, he had been spared once, he didn't intend to put himself in any danger in the future.

'You honour me gweatly your majesty,' he said in his now familiar weak voice, 'but am I worthy or experienced enough to lead part of your army?'

The king smiled broadly, 'You sir are a hero, brave enough to encourage your men in the heat of battle, you have already proved you are more than worthy and experienced to command.'

It was not what Sir Royston wanted, but he could not turn down the king's offer, 'Your majesty, it is my honour to serve you in any small way I can, and once fit again, I will be honoured to command your forces in East Yorkshire.'

The king stood, 'Splendid my good man, we shall leave you now to recuperate, our visit has tired you and it is plain you need rest.'

The earl rose and touched Sir Royston on the shoulder, 'Do not rush back before you are fully fit, I shall have dispatches sent to you regarding what is required in this part of the county.'

James opened the door and then followed the distinguished guests out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Sir Royston sat up, snatched the goblet of wine and downed it in one. Damnation, he thought, he must make sure he took a goodly amount of time to recover, maybe they would appoint someone else instead. He doubted it and was resigned to the thought of facing musket fire again, well as the brigadier, he would make sure he had as many soldiers between him and the enemy as possible, at all times.

The king, and earl departed Twiston Hall with their escort and James Appleton returned inside the hall. He had much to write on the small piece of paper that would be attached to his feathery friends leg later that afternoon.

Sir Peregrine Pelham, the MP for Hull was reading all about the kings visit to Twiston Hall, less than two hours later...

English Civil War Diary - Entry Number 13

Well after being neglected somewhat over the last few weeks, yet another diary entry is ready. A bit like buses eh! You wait for ages then four come along at once.

I have been busy conversing via email with Ringo and Kurtus, regarding the Quick & Dirty Rules, some modifications that are needed and thanks to the suggestions made by the two commanders, I can now write the first revision, excitedly named Version 1.1

I hope to use the new version of the rules to fight another battle in the near future, Both Ringo and Kurtus, have agreed once again to take command of the forces.

On the painting front, alas, my poor Scottish Highlanders are stood looking at me, with just the flesh added to them, I really am going to have to get cracking on them, as the Montrose Irish are also mounted on their pennies, awaiting a coat of primer and will be the next job. A box of Covenanter Foot sit in their box, claiming third position in the painting queue. I also have three sets of plastic Warlord Games regiments of foot, still on their sprues, also shouting for some attention. So all in all, I am going to be very busy on the painting front for some time to come.

However, I have been watching and admiring the Perry 'War of the Roses' figures, now that was also a Civil War set in Britain, a couple of hundred years or so before the one I am currently building armies for. I am very, very tempted to pick up a box of Mounted Knights and a box of Archers/Bill men, just to see for myself. A future project methinks!

Well enough of all that, here is the next diary entry, hope you enjoy it.

Seize What Fate Offers.

Twiston Hall

28^th March 1642. 1pm.

Sir Royston had finally regained full consciousness that morning. When he first opened his eyes and recognised his own delicately painted ceiling with its cherubs and flowers, he thought he had been dreaming, when he tried to lift his head, he realised he had not! It felt as if it had been cleaved in two by an axe, and that the woodcutter was now stood on his forehead, trying to extract the said axe by riving it back and forth.

His hand felt the bandage that swathed his head, and he tried to remember what had happened. The musket fire, men screaming and dying, Captain Parr's face or what was left it, kept floating before his eyes. He closed them tight, but that horribly mutilated face was still there, staring at him in accusation.

'Please to take a drink sir.' a woman's voice, one he recognised, one of the hall servants. It was the first time he realised that there was someone else in the room. He opened his eyes, the girl, Margaret of was it Mildred, was offering a goblet up to his lips, she gently lifted his head a few inches and he felt the cold liquid, and realised it was milk, he drank deeply, so thirsty he hadn't realised how dry his mouth and throat were.

'How long?' he barely recognised the croak that came from his own throat. The girl smiled and put the goblet back to his lips, again he gulped down the cold milk.

'I shall call the physician sir, he can answer all your questions.' She gently lowered his head down onto the pillow and was gone.

Harold Auchinleck, appeared beside the bed. 'How are you feeling sir? we have been much worried.

'How long have I been here?' His voice sounded a little more like his own now, Sir Royston noted.

'Tis three days since you were carried here from the York Road sir, what a state you were in, covered in blood with a huge wound to the head, truly I thought you were done for.' He moved to the window and opened the drapes slightly to allow some daylight into the room. 'It seems the regimental flag, or at least the pole holding it, came crashing down on your head, during the fight with the rebels. Completely knocked you out sir.'

Sir Royston narrowed his eyes, the flag, he had ordered it thrown down in surrender, he remembered the fear he had felt, not wanting to die, his life being more important than anything else. John Parr's disfigured face, once more drifted before his eyes. How many had witnessed his cowardice, surely John had not survived that injury, but Major Cunningham, that boring major who's phantom army had indeed been real, once he reported what had happened not only would everyone know that Sir Royston Twiston-Rawlings was an incompetent fool but a coward in the face of the enemy too!'

'How is Captain Parr?' Sir Royston asked, 'I know he suffered a tewwible wound,' hoping that he would never be able to attest to his actions.

Mr Auchinleck shook his head, 'John Parr was killed sir, along with many men of the regiment. It will take some time indeed to recruit the men to fill the missing in the ranks.'

Sir Royston didn't give a damn how long it would take to replace the dead, just so long as John Parr wouldn't be able to speak out. 'Major Cunningham of the horse wegiment, how is he?' Surely, he couldn't be that lucky that he too was no longer around to tarnish his name.

The same shake of the head, sadly sir, he too was killed in the battle, bravely leading his troopers against superior odds, a sabre blow through the chest I'm told, replied Harold Auchinleck.

Sir Royston's spirits lifted instantly and he had to concentrate and not allow a smile to show on his face.

'Two fine men and many of their twoops gone.' Sir Royston put on as sad a voice as he could muster.

'Very true sir, but you have been spared, not only that a hero to boot.'

Sir Royston's ears pricked up, 'A hero, me, why a hero?'

This was getting better by the minute, someone was looking down on him for sure.

'Why sir, you were found where the fighting had been the heaviest, wounded and with the regimental flag draped across your body a true hero without a doubt. It is why the king instructed me to care for you.'

Sir Royston felt like jumping out of bed and dancing around the room, from coward to hero, fate truly had been on his side, his reputation not only saved but enhanced. He calmed his thoughts, 'The king himself instructed you? That is most kind of his majesty.'

The physician placed his hand on Sir Royston's forehead, 'You are still hot and fevered and need complete rest, however, the king is arriving here within the next two hours as he wishes to thank you personally for your efforts against the rebels. You are far too weak to leave your bed and king or no king, he shall have to sit by your bedside.'

It was too much, Sir Royston could not believe his fortune could be this good, the king riding from York to Twiston Hall to personally thank him. He must get up and be suitably dressed for the occasion, but wait, he was a wounded hero, much better he be laid here looking as wounded as it was possible to be. This was an opportunity to be savoured and seized and Sir Royston was just the crafty, conniving cad to do both...

English Civil War Diary - Entry Number 12

The next diary entry ready for you enjoyment.

Impossible.

Twiston Hall

27^th March 1642. 11:30am.

Sir Royston had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the two days since he had been brought home. Royalist forces, alerted by the survivors of the skirmish at Balk Wood, had rushed to the scene. The surviving soldiers, assisted by some of the residents of nearby Pocklington, alerted by the gunfire from the battle, were attending the wounded and dying.

Sir Royston was found with a severe head wound, but still alive, the regiments colours draped over him. Next to him lay the dead and horribly disfigured body of Captain John Parr.

He had been carefully transported to Twiston Hall, where further work by the physician could be carried out on the head wound, deep and very bloody, but not life threatening.

Now in the care of servants, Sir Royston had to be constantly held down and calmed as he was suffering terrible nightmares of his experiences, reliving them as he lay there in a state of semi-coma.

The King's Quarters, York.

27^th March 1642. 1pm.

'I intend to take back the plate stolen by the rebels and will hang their leaders from the town walls!' King Charles was beside himself with rage. 'This is an open act of war, let alone treason,' he continued. The king was pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back. The Earl of Newcastle had never seen him in such a rage before, he had always taken bad news with an air of dignity, possibly seething inside, but never showing it to others, save perhaps his wife, as befits a ruling monarch.

When the king eventually calmed enough to take a seat, he looked directly at the earl, anger still clearly showing in his eyes. 'Now you tell me that it is impossible! He almost spat out the words, 'Am I to allow this cowardly act to pass without taking any action?

The earl, not wishing to anger him further, picked his words carefully. 'Your majesty, my sources inform me that the plate has already been placed aboard ship, as has most of the contents of the armoury and even as we speak is either ready to sail or already is at sea.'

'Then I will have those responsible for this outrage instead,' hissed the king, 'our forces are large enough to lay siege to the town, are they not so?'

Once again, the earl chose his words carefully, 'Our forces are adequate to lay siege to the town, we have a goodly and growing number of artillery pieces, but the town itself is well supplied with artillery on the town walls and the citadel too.'

The king stroked his beard, his eyes never leaving the earl who felt ever more uncomfortable, he continued, 'We could surround the town, but with Parliament having control of the sea, the town can be supplied with men, powder and anything it needs by ship. We can never hope to starve the town into submission.'

'Then we shall take it by force.' hissed the king, 'and every man in it will hang from the walls as an example to all who defy my god given right to rule.'

The earl winced, 'The town walls could be breached, but the citadel is another matter, its walls would be more than a match for any ordnance we have. The citadel also overlooks the town, making it impossible to hold any gain we made.'

The king leapt to his feet, 'Impossible, once again you tell me impossible!' He almost screamed the words. 'Many brave men died and are being buried as we speak, yet you tell me it is impossible to avenge their deaths and that the perpetrators of this despicable act, can safely skulk behind the walls of their town, laughing, safe in the knowledge that I cannot touch them!'

The earl didn't answer.

The king eventually calmed down and once more took his seat. 'I am travelling to Twiston Hall tomorrow to visit the brave Sir Royston. He had to endure the loss of his captain and see his regiment torn to shreds, yet still he tried to rally his men, his regimental flag wrapped around his body, until he too was struck down. The king once more rubbed his beard, 'I'll wager he didn't whine like and old woman and say impossible.'

English Civil War Diary Entry - Number 11

The next diary entry had already been written and so I am uploading it today. The following two parts are already planned and are well on the way to completion for uploading in the next couple of days.

It is surprisingly easy to write the entries, as having the figures to play out the scenes, also adding a little subterfuge makes the stories almost write themselves. I enjoy creating the characters and how I think they would act and speak, totally fictitious of course, and not meant to be a portrait of the real figures in history, just my take on them.

A Slipping Prize.

Maister's Staithe, West Bank of the River Hull.

25^th March 1642. 12 noon

The gang had been working to unload the Dutch lugger since seven that morning, they had sweated, cursed and strained every muscle, to unload the cargo of roof tiles. Now the men could take a half hour break to drink the small beer and eat the bread and cheese provided by the owner of the Staithe.

There were lots of staithe's in the town of Hull, private little wharves that covered the whole West bank of the narrow river that split the town from the hugely impressive citadel, just sixty feet away on the opposite bank. Built by old King Henry, to protect the town from the Dutch, French or anyone else who might have wished to capture the town. The guns of the citadel commanded not only the River Hull, but also the River Humber into which it flowed.

The folk of the town also knew that those guns could just as easily be pointed at the town itself, should they show any sign of rebellion or dissent for the law.

Having collected his tankard of beer and food, Tyler Brooks sat at the edge of the staithe with the other workers, his legs hanging over the edge, above the lugger berthed alongside, the tide was out and the wooden ship was now resting on the thick brown silt, only a small channel of water now flowed down the centre of the river's course. That would change when the tide turned and once more all the vessels at the staithes would have plenty enough water to float them.

Tyler munched on his hunk of bread and gazed to the opposite bank, the landing stage for the citadel was located here, and for the second day running, a vessel was moored there. Different ship from yesterday, he had noticed that as soon as he had stepped onto the staithe that morning. But doing the same thing, being loaded with powder, muskets, pikes and other paraphernalia of war.

The rebels are stripping the arsenal of the citadel, no doubt the ship berthed here yesterday, was already on its way to London. It was almost certain this one would follow later today. The arsenal in the citadel was the main reason the King had travelled North, the arsenal contained a vast supply of munitions for the wars against Scotland.

Tyler washed down the bread and cheese with his beer and wiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth. If the king did not soon make a move on Hull, there would be nothing left to equip the armies he was hoping to raise.

When work eventually finished that evening, he called into his favourite haunt, 'The Ship Baltic,' for a few pennies and a bottle of brandy, he would tell of what he had seen today to William. Tyler doubted it was his real name, nor did he really care, he paid for any information that he passed on about the coming and goings in the river, that was all Tyler was concerned about, a few coins and a decent bottle of brandy. He cared not for Royalist or Parliamentarian and would serve either quite happily, if they paid of course! Nor did he care where or to whom his information was passed, none of his business after all...

In fact the information, along with other nuggets of intelligence went directly to the king's forces at York, and to the Earl of Newcastle in particular...

 

Well there you have it, another character makes himself known and conveniently lets us know what is happening in Hull.

English Civil War Diary Entry - Number 10

I managed to fight the skirmish at Balk Wood today, so the next part of the diary follows with photographs of what occurred. Rather than break the diary entry up with photographs, I will put them all at the end, to look at once you have read the story.

The Small Affair at Balk Wood.

The York Road, approaching Balk Wood, South of Pocklington

25^th March 1642. 8:00am

Sir Royston briefly considered marching his brigade up The Balk, the road leading to Pocklington and through the town itself. It would make a very fine sight, with him at its head. He could almost see the admiring glances of the town's lady-folk. However, such a detour would just add time on the journey and he was keen to arrive in York as close to noon as possible, so reluctantly, he dismissed the idea.

The head of the column passed by the road and alongside Balk Wood, followed by the two wagons.

As the column of foot drew level with the wood, a sound like thunder, roared across the peaceful countryside as every musket hidden in the wood fired as one in a murderous volley. Men in Sir Royston's Regiment of Foot, fell like sheaves of corn to the sickle, some silently fell, hitting the surface of the road, dead before reaching the ground. Others, screamed in agony as a musket ball tore into their bodies or limbs, tearing flesh and muscle before shattering bone. Others too stunned to move or even understand what had just happened, looked at the thick cloud of powder smoke, which rose silently up through the branches of the trees, as if the whole wood had burst into flame.

'Off the road, off the road!' The voice of Captain Parr, leading the regiment, could be heard shouting, some men obeyed immediately and threw themselves onto the grass beside the road. Others still too shocked or still deaf from the thunderous volley, stood motionless, unable to comprehend what had happened or why so many men were screaming in agony and others lay motionless on the road.

A second, more ragged volley instantly took away their confusion along with their lives. One lad, no more than sixteen years of age, gazed at the bloody stump that had been his left hand, so shocked and stunned, he felt no pain. His mind trying to understand what his eyes were seeing.

Slightly ahead of the carnage, the horse handlers on the wagons were having trouble controlling the frightened animals that were rearing and snorting in terror. The handlers themselves, had no idea what had just happened and had to fight to control their own fears as well as the careering horses and wagons.

Sir Royston's horse reared as the sound of the first volley roared along the column from the rear. If nothing else, he was a superb horseman and soon controlled the startled creature. He turned and saw the cloud of smoke rising from the edge of the wood, heard the screams and cries of men in the distance. The troopers on horseback, had also regained control of their mounts, Major Cunningham galloped forward to meet Sir Royston.

'It seems the phantom force that does not exist, has laid a perfect trap which we have blundered blindly into!' screamed the red faced major, pulling his horse up beside his honorary brigadier.

His eyes wide open and darting in every direction, Sir Royston could barely speak, fear eating at his heart. 'I don't understand, how could this be happening?

Major Cunningham could see the fear in the man's eyes, 'It is happening because you are a damned fool sir! And I shall see you pay, when this day is done.'

'Horsemen approaching sir! A cry came from the troopers, Major Cunningham swung his horse around, to be faced with a fully formed regiment of horse bearing down on he and his men.

A second roar of gunfire, not as severe as the first, travelled the length of the column, accompanied by more shouts and screams.

'I have work to do, You need to rally your regiment or what may be left of it! Yelled the major as he ordered his men into fighting formation and led them at full gallop towards the approaching horsemen.

Sir Royston found himself alone, Captain Parr, he would know what to do, he thought and spurred his horse down the column in an effort to find him.

The sight that met him, took what small amount of hope he had, away like an ebbing tide. His men lay dead, dying, wounded or running away from the wood, which to his horror, hundreds of men where leaving and forming up into ranks.

Somehow Captain Parr appeared unscathed, stood beside the flag bearer at the side of the road. He was trying to rally the terrified men, with little success, a few fired their muskets at the figures emerging from the wood, but the fire was wildly inaccurate and ragged, though some balls did hit home.

'Throw down the flag and surrender!' screamed Sir Royston. 'I don't wish to end my life here, It is too precious for that.'

Captain Parr was about to reply, when a musket ball tore away half of his face, throwing him, mortally wounded onto the grass. A second later, a second ball hit the flag bearer, killing him instantly, the flag on its pole, released from his grip, arched forward and hit Sir Royston squarely on the head, toppling him unconscious to the grass beside the other two men, the coloured banner fluttering down to cover him.

The survivors of Sir Royston's regiment, who had not already begun to run across the field, threw down their weapons in surrender.

Even Septimus, was horrified at the carnage on the road before him, so many dead and others moaning and attempting to crawl away, leaving a red trail to merge with other growing red stains on the grey granite chippings of the road surface.

'Cease fire, cease fire! He shouted up and down the line of his men.

Captain Hotham, with the element of surprise, confusion and outnumbering his foe, had smashed into the Royalist horse. Major Cunningham had been cut down by a sabre in the opening contact, falling dead with many of his men.

The survivors, now leaderless, fled towards York, pursued by a troop of Hotham's men.

The skirmish now over, Septimus and his two captains got the men to set about treating the wounded and gathering the dead of both sides.

'No matter what colours they wear, they are entitled to aid or a Christian burial.' Septimus had told them.

Within an hour, the convoy was ready to proceed to Hull, the wagons bearing their treasure, now also carried wounded troopers and soldiers of the victorious force. The dead had been hastily buried, not very deep as their loved ones would no doubt wish to reclaim the bodies for a proper burial at home. The captured Royalists had been left to care for their wounded until help arrived from York.

Captain Hotham placed a troop at the rear, to ensure no Royalist horse was approaching from the direction of York. He also put out flankers and scouts ahead of the column as it began its journey back to Hull. His father, as part of the attack plan, had agreed to send two regiments of horse to meet and escort the column back to safety.

Septimus rode at the head of his men, the battle had been short, no more than a minor skirmish, in light of what would follow in the years ahead. It had been bloodier than even he could have previously imagined. He traced the pattern of the embossed cross on the small leather bible in his jacket pocket with his finger and silently praised the lord for the victory...

 

Sir Royston leads his brigade along the York Road

 

A fine Spring morning for a stroll.

 

 

 

The concealed Parliamentarians wait in Balk Wood. 

 Captain Hotham's horse await the first volley, their signal to attack.

The ambush force.

 

Sir Royston leads his men by The Balk, the road to Pocklington.

 

The horse and wagons are allowed to pass.

 

The Royalist foot reach the wood.

 A thunderous volley shatters the peace.

 

Parliamentarian troops fall dead and wounded.

Captain Parr attempts to get his men off the road.

 A second volley rips into the confused soldiers.

 Major Cunningham calls Sir Royston a fool as Hotham's Horse appear from behind the wood.

 Sir Royston tries to find Captain Parr, as Major Cunningham's outnumbered troopers charge at Captain Hotham's men

The horse clash.

 Sir Royston, fearing for his own life, orders the flag lowered in surrender.

Captain Parr is fatally wounded, the flag bearer falls dead and the pole knocks Sir Royston unconscious.

 

The wagon horse handlers try to control their animals.

 

 

Major Cunningham, pierced by a sabre, is killed.

 

The outnumbered Royalist horse, now leaderless, flee the field.

 

Pursued by Parliament troopers they flee towards York.

 

The leaderless foot, run away across the fields.

 

 The ambushing force, emerge from the wood and begin to form up.

Captain Hotham arrives on the scene of the carnage.

 

 With their dead buried and the wounded on the wagons, the column sets off for Hull.

 

Scouts and flankers ahead and a troop behind in case of any interference along the York Road.

 

 

 

 

Well I hope you enjoyed this diary entry, Part 11 is already written and should be uploaded tomorrow with Part 12 already in the planning stage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The next diary entry.

Unfortunately, due to other things happening, I did very little painting over the weekend. However, the mounted leader figures are now complete and I have moved onto their mounts. The cattle have also had a coat of paint and a couple of washes. The pigs and chickens remain untouched for now.

The next entry of the Civil War Diary follows. I cannot write another entry until after I have fought the skirmish battle on the table top, only then will I know the winners and losers. The battle, will I hope, be enjoyable, in a gaming sense of course, as some of the little soldiers already have a name and the beginnings of a character forming. This I think will add just that little bit more interest to the battle report that will be written, along with numerous photographs too. Maybe you already have a favourite character, or perhaps, one you wish to see knocked down a peg or two.

Travelling Blind

Balk Wood, South of Pocklington

25^th March 1642. 7:30am

Once back in the woods, Septimus instructed Captain Hotham to send two troopers North-West along the York Road. They were to remove helmets and cover their uniforms with riding cloaks and if possible, travel alongside the road, rather than upon it. Septimus didn't want to be caught out by any force which, may at that very moment, be travelling from York to meet with the royalist convoy from Twiston Hall.

All the men had been given a hot breakfast of oats and now stood to at the fringe of the wood overlooking the road. Captain Watson and a sergeant had walked along the road, satisfied that they could not see any of the Foot regiment hidden among the trees and bushes.

Captain Hotham's regiment, had also eaten and had taken up a position to the rear of Balk Wood, out of sight of anyone who happened to pass along the Balk, to or from Pocklington.

The two captains and Septimus, now stood in a small clear area, to the rear of the waiting and silent musketeers and pikemen. All weapons had been loaded, checked and checked again. Each man had, when he stood to fire, a clear view of the road in front of him.

'Now we wait.' said Septimus in little more than a whisper. 'Once those troopers who are watching the convoy return, we can finalise the plan of attack. If that fool still has not sent scouts ahead or to his flanks, he is going to be in for a very nasty and costly shock.'

The two captains mumbled in agreement.

At that very moment...

One Mile away, South-East on the York Road.

Sir Royston was enjoying the fine Spring morning, the sun had broken through the thinning clouds and was now pleasantly warm on his right side. He was alone at the head of the column, he should really have invited the Major of the Horse Regiment, to ride with him, but the man was nervous bore and he didn't want this wonderful morning spoiled by that clucking old woman, bleating in his ear about scouts, pickets and the like. For goodness sake, he thought, we are only on a four hour journey, which will end with a triumphal entry to York. What could possibly go wrong?

Balk Wood. 7:50am

'Riders approaching sir!'

The call was quietly and calmly passed down the line of the waiting soldiers. Coming across the field at a good gallop, were the two troopers who had been shadowing the convoy.

The two dust covered and sweating men, reported that the convoy was exactly as before, no scouts or flankers had been sent out, and that it was less than a mile away.

'Gentlemen,' Septimus said to the two waiting commanders. 'We will allow the mounted men and the wagons to pass unmolested, the men are to stay hidden. Only when the foot regiment is passing before us on the road, will the men stand and fire a volley.

Captain Watson, nodded.

Septimus turned to Captain Hotham. 'Once you hear that volley, your men will charge from around the back of the wood, directly at the horse. They should by this time be in total confusion as to what is happening in their rear.'

This time it was Captain Hotham who nodded his understanding.

Septimus grinned, 'God and surprise are on our side today, let us not waste it.'

Both captains smiled back and hurried off to join their regiments.

The clatter of horses hooves and rumble of iron rimmed wheels could just be heard approaching along the road...