I've always wanted to do a "kiss and tell" book, but I'm resisting the temptation. Actually, I'm not really sure if I've ever been "in luuurve" : I've thought I was, a couple of times, but apparently not, as in all cases, it just didn't last.
I think a few words of explanation are required here, to remind anyone of my generation just what it was like being in re-enactment 30-odd years ago.
We lived life at a tremendous pace, in muster terms: whereas normally you'd see a boy, decide you liked the look of him, find out his name, find out a bit about him, make eyes at him, lure him to your side, wait for him to ask you out, go out a few time, first kiss ("aaaah!"), going steady, eventually getting physical.... well, it was nothing like that, being in Rawdons in the late 70s and early 80s. Instead, you'd meet someone in the beer tent - by definition, full of people and full of beer - snog them, drag them back to your tent, do the wild thing all night, then in the morning, if they weren't utterly hideous, you'd have breakfast together, go your own ways for drill (unless he's in your own regiment, of course) meet up for lunch, separate for battle, meet up and cook tea together, beer tent together - my word, you're going steady already!
Nine times out of ten, the other party would live halfway across the country, so you'd meet up at musters, or you'd go to stay with each other for non-muster weekends. This meant that relationships were pretty heavy-duty, right from the word "go", with no time wasted.
Looking back, that seems ludicrously abnormal, but at the time we were all doing it, and it seemed perfectly all right.
Of course, a lot of "muster loves" fizzled out, when the distance was too great, or when the other party, seen in civvies (as opposed to kit) turned out to be - well, just not suitable. This was, of course, a major complication: everyone was in a regimental coat, usually covered in mud and sweat, with hair (or lack thereof) hidden under permanently-worn hats (once you'd got "hat hair" it was easier to just keep your hat on all weekend) so there weren't the usual clues to someone's social status, or personal taste.
In addition to these issues, some regiments were more favoured than others, when it came to inter-regimental liaisons. Rawdons used to frown on me for going fishing outside the regiment, but come on, we were a very small regiment, and I had certain rules: about not going out with more than one member of any one family, for instance! Blackwells were considered to be ok, I was an honorary Blackwell for a couple of years, when I was working with one (Chris Chantrell) and living with another one (Keith) and our two regiments used to do a lot of stuff together.
Whinge-chesters were considered ok, I went out with a couple of them over the years: our two regiments used to do a lot of Living History together, so there were good chances for liaisons.
Roundheads, on the other hand, were a big no-no! To this day, I haven't dared confess which Roundhead it was that I slept with...... once......just the once, honest...... and I was very, very drunk......
Do also bear in mind that this narrative covers a period of some 20 years, and I am far from being any sort of record-holder!
Anyway, instead of lurid details, here are just a few odd photos that didn't really belong on the other pages......
Not in any particular sort of order, neither chronological, nor in order of importance, or performance (he he) or anything else. Also, for obvious reasons, not a full catalogue....
OK, here is Jim, long-standing Rawdon, who I used to refer to as "Jim, the crazy vicar". No idea why, it was a quote from a Goon show.
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| Jim, Caldicott, 83 |
After sitting on the ground all weekend, he used to get so desperate for a proper chair that he'd beg me to leave my car open so that he could sit comfortably in the seat for a while.
He's not actually naked, by the way, he just looks that way. I think he might have been changing his shirt - no, can't be, he's smoking a pipe. Actually, he could still be changing, as he was a determined pipe-smoker, also a determined hat-wearer even in ordinary life. He lived with a phobia about going bald, and thought that wearing a hat would protect his hair.
Anyone seen him lately? Does he still have hair? I'd love to know.
Ah, late summer 1982, me and Steve Smith being cute at Crystal Palace.
I appear to have a lamppost growing out of my head, and I'm holding hands with my own foot, but apart from that, a perfectly normal relationship. We'd been friends for years, then we got physical for a while, then we went back to being friends.
It was a bit confusing for the rest of the regiment, as we'd been mates for so long, but frankly I think they were just glad that I wasn't fishing outside the regiment! I seem to remember that I was a bit confused about it myself at first, being what you might call "an older woman" and being accustomed to Steve being just one of "my boys". But it seemed to work, for a few months at any rate.
Steve was regimental drummer for some years, after Sue Stevens went musket: I was also regimental drummer for a few years, so at this time I think we were both drummers. Can't remember for sure: being a comparatively small regiment, we couldn't really afford to have two able-bodied drummers, they tended to be persuaded into getting a musket as soon as possible.
udging by the fact that I'm wearing women's kit, I must have still been drumming at this point: once I'd gone musket, I stayed in men's kit all the time.
Rawdons were disappointed in me again, another liaison outside the regiment, oh dear. This was Keith, a Blackwell, and you can blame Chris Chantrell for introducing him to me.
At the time, I was working with Chris at Poly-lina, a plastics company in Enfield Lock, and we spent a lot of time together, both at work and socialising afterwards.
I guess it was inevitable that I would therefore be drawn into a lot of Blackblotts' events: as well as getting invited to all their regimental outings and kit-making sessions, I used to participate in a lot of their socialising too. We all used to drink in the old Cherry Tree at Southgate - there was Pete, who went on to be CO, Chris of course, Martin, Naomi (who became a great mate of mine for a couple of years, married Paul Wisken, lovely bloke: left him after a couple of years, and then she married a roundhead AAARGH! We lost touch...) Paul W (lovely bloke, as mentioned!) Deborah, great earrings; Woger ("welease Woger!") who was another real sweetie, Naomi used to keep threatening to have sex with him, just to scare him; Kendo Steve, who drove a vintage jag with some style; Ian and Jean, lovely couple, very sensible and jolly; Jerry Hughes, who married a weird girl called Otley who double-barrelled her name to Otley-Hughes - the sign of a non-committed marriage if you ask me, but that's just my opinion - and was known thereafter as Mottley-Huge: ooh, who else was there, Sue Swingland who breast-fed in the beer tent. After giving birth to a baby, obviously. And another Sue, I think, generously built, known as the Big Madonna with the Fallen Boobies.
Anyway, Keith and I went out for a year or so, and lived together in Tottenham during the riots, which was interesting... we used to all sing together, in fourteen-piece harmony with some strange extra notes - that was a lot of fun. Chris was a great folk guitarist, and if asked nicely, would "Ting us a Tong, Kwis!" During the winter, we - that is, Blackwells and me - used to go to a pub in Southwark and sing for the tourists. Either the Bear or the Ship, can't remember which. They used to advertise us, and bus in coach-loads of tourists to see the strange people in strange clothing - oh, yes, any excuse to wear full kit and travel on public transport. Exhibitionists? Us? Nooooooooo - who would, for the price of a pint, sing all night long.
Here we are, caught in the guilty act of snogging at the Battersea Fun Day, organised by Capital Radio. A bunch of us turned out in kit to recruit, and we got two new members on the day, one of whom was Sarah Speight, who turned out to be a great friend of mine. Actually, she's the reason I finally left the society, in a roundabout way: about four years after she joined, when she was (I had thought) about as committed to re-enactment as I was, she made a casual reference to planning to do something "after I've left re-enactment". At the time this shocked me to the core, as I had imagined, had I ever given it any thought at all, that I would be a Rawdon till the day I died. But it planted a seed, and some several years later, when I found myself in an intolerable situation, I did indeed manage to leave the Society. But that was a long time in the future......
Kiwi Tony, brother of my great friend Sue Weller ( as opposed to my regimental great friend, Sue Stephens!) with whom I worked at Poly-Lina, along with Chris Chantrell. Is that inbred enough for you? Never could get Sue to come along to musters, though: she thought that Chris and I were completely barmy.
Her brother was visiting from New Zealand for a couple of months, and she dragged him along to a staff fancy-dress party, where of course he met Chris, and I, in our normal everyday banquet outfits. Really, it was cheating for us to go to Fancy Dress parties in kit, but on the other hand, any excuse to wear kit....
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| Poly-Lina Fancy Dress. |
Tony was only over here for a couple of months, so we knew it was only a short-term thing, but he was a great sport, and let me kidnap him and drag him off to musters at a day's notice! He dressed up in all the gear, went in the pike block like a good 'un, and was generally an asset to the regiment. Don't tell him, but I actually applied for my first passport... just in case..... ! I was living in Enfield at that time, in fact I was living with Sue and Stoney just after they were married,(that's Sue Stephens in the Regiment, not Sue Weller...) now I think about it: but then I took a job in Swindon, and moved out there, having not long broken up with Keith from Blackwells, and being determined to make a clean break of it. It was a bit of a long journey, and it was time for Tony to go back to NZ, so that was the end of that.
Talking of Chris...
Chris Chantrell..... not a "love" in the boyfriend/girlfriend sense, not at all, but we were close friends for a couple of years, and I loved him dearly as a mate, so he deserves his own entry.
I can't remember how we originally met - well, via the ECWS obviously, I rather think I used to go over to their campfire to carry on singing, when Rawdons had all fallen asleep. Blackwells were famously enthusiastic about singing, to the point where warning orders would remind people with small children where Blackwells were camping, and would suggest that if they wanted a quiet night, they should camp at the other side of the site.
About a year after we got to know each other, he told me that his boss was looking for a new secretary, so I went along to an interview and started work there. This meant that we socialised all the time, and I was invited to a lot of Blackblotts' events. This was a great time, I loved it, as virtually every day had some element of ECWS about it, and frankly that was all I lived for: work, 9-5, was just something that had to be done to earn the money to go to musters.
Chris was a talented singer/guitarist, as mentioned above, and a great guy. He'd been hit over the head so many times that he was very prone to concussion: on one minibus journey, Pete swerved unexpectedly and Chris hit his head on the window. Flat out! Cries from Martin of "Pete, the rear gunner's bought it!"
Oh, I've just remembered where I first met Chris - it was at Crystal Palace, he was a musketeer, and was run down by the Roundhead Cavalry, sustaining a shoulder injury where Dr John's horse trod on him and - you've guessed it - concussion. I was the one who picked him up, and I rather think I gave him a lift home, can't remember, and it's no good asking him, obviously.
He married a girl called Karen, and once I'd left Polylina and moved to Swindon, we drifted apart, and I haven't seen him now for years.
And there was another Cris...without the "h":
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| Cris... my word yiss. |
Then, a few months later, most of us in the Regiment went along to Jon's wedding, and at the reception I met this nice, long-haired young chap, who turned out to be Cris. Much embarassed at making eyes at him, having not realised that I already knew him (another example of the perils of meeing people in kit only!) I kidnapped him after the reception, and took him home, which at that time was a flat in Waltham Cross. Yes, the one with the hideous carpet.
He stayed with me for a few weeks, I think it must have been either during holidays from Uni, or before going into the Army: in a moment of weakness, Cris had enrolled for officer training in order to be put through Uni. Well, that was how he phrased it at the time, but I think he was just nervous, having enjoyed the Uni part, about how he'd manage the officer part. So this was another limited-term but intense relationship, we had lots of fun doing musters, eating kebabs and going to the launderette together. Or possibly he was sent to the launderette while I was out at work, can't remember!
Anyway, the day duly came that he went off to the army and we didn't see him for some years, although he did come back just once, with incredibly short hair and no patience at all with our inept drilling! I used to have just one photo of him, taken during that flying return visit, dressed as a pikeman and resting his head against the pike in exhaustion. It was titled "Cris sleeping vertically" but alas, I've lost it somewhere over the years.
So did Cris enjoy the army life? Who knows....
... and all those other, too many to mention, (or, more to the point, of whom I don't have photos) thank you for making the decade a great deal of fun!
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