Where do you start, with a story like Rawdons?
In a nutshell: mid C17th, 1642, Charles I versus Oliver Cromwell, big nasty civil war, taught in schools as Cavaliers v Roundheads.
Re-enactment group, English Civil War Society, lots of people dressing up in funny clothes and bashing each other with big sticks. Took place over the summer season, with four major Musters each year, plus a number of smaller mini-Musters, plus a selection of Regimental Invited Events, RIEs, where one regiment would find an opportunity to have a small event, usually very local, and they would invite a couple of other regiments to either make up the numbers, or to be the baddies. This added up to a packed social calendar: I used to be away every second or third weekend through the summer.
In winter there would be Regimental banquets, a chance to dress up in posh costume: our own one, of course, held for many years in Fyfield near Faringdon, where Sir Marmaduke was allegedly buried, and we'd also be invited to other regiments' banquets.
Plus a number of armour-cleaning and kit-building weekends, where we'd congregate around whoever had the largest garage/garden, and enjoy ourselves making and mending.
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| Biggles. |
The CO when I joined was a chap called Roger who was renowned for his interest in wildlife.
This lead to his being immortalised in song, to the tune of the British Grenadier, in the lines "When e'er we are commanded to storm a hillside steep, our leader marches far behind and talks to flowers and sheep"
However, I was blissfully unaware of all this, as I just followed my brother and did what he told me.
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| Russell and Graham |
The "gang" at that time comprised the biking mob, being my brother (with me tagging along, of course), Russell "Sir Plus" Brown, Gerry "watch me pop my shirt open", Big Mick, Dom, Lurch, Ean, Little Liz, BJ and a few others: then there was the Enfield gang, which included Graham Perry (big brother of the Perry Twins), Matthew, known as "Mummy" for being sensible, Greg Stephens, Edward, known as Ted the Fed, and I think that Les Skipper, if not Hil Skipper, was also in the group. Years late I got to know Dom's little brother Nick, who was in Rawdons for years, along with his mates Paul, Jorge, and the Fartrobics team.
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| Matthew & Russell. |
On the left we have Matthew and Russell with Biggles's crazy little moped. Now, my brother is famous for the sheer quantity of his motorcycles, but normally they are what you might call on the "big hairy biker" side of normal.
For some reason, he bought this tiny manky little moped, and we used to have races from Enfield to Edmonton where the rest of us would roar off like maniacs, leaving Biggs and the moped to trundle after us, buzzing like a demented bee, and catching us up at every set of lights, grrrr grrr.
Oh, and if there are any real 70s nerds out there, check the very far left of the photo - you can just see the edge of the Bond Bug that Biggs and I co-owned over this period.
I still have the urge to get another one, just for the fun of it. We used to drive around in it, with me sitting on the lap of Paul, my last non-Rawdon boyfriend, in the passenger seat, to see if we could get a wheel off the ground when cornering. Ah, happy days. At this point, I was not totally dedicated to Rawdons - that happened gradually.....
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| Ooh, funky moped |
Here's Russell (right) playing silly buggers, and pretending it's a mean machine.
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| Russell (Sir Plus) |
And on the left, Russell picking me up from home on a more normal type of bike.
Anyway, inbetween all this thrashing around on bikes, I went along with them all to a couple of musters, just casually: and after a while it turned out that most of the gang, including my brother, dropped out, or moved on to other hobbies: but I was hooked.
It took a couple of years, but I gradually gave up all my other strange hobbies, and became completely consumed by the ECWS for well over two decades.
Shortly after I joined (but nothing to do with me!) Roger retired as CO, and was replaced by Bob Aldridge, who lived in a flat on the Hertford Road in Edmonton. Or was it in Enfield? At that time, most of us were in Edmonton and Enfield, and we all used to hang out together, play D&D, etc.
Yes, kids, we used to play D&D in the days before computers were invented. With dice. And our imagination.
This was the beginning of what I think of as the Golden Years - the best time of all, when you don't take it too seriously, and just have a good time.
We had some good strong characters in those years - notably the Skipper family: Val, Hil and Les. I met Val around 1980 when she moved into a shared flat where I lived in Lower Edmonton. I don't remember if we met via Les - I certainly knew Les in 1979 as I have a photo of me in fancy dress labelled "Les and Ted's 21st Party".
*rummages around - nope, can't find it.*
"Ted" was Edward, owner of two apple-green minis, and who was determined to have a relationship with me, despite me trying to hide behind the good old "but I think of you as a brother!" line. It didn't work out.... and sure enough, it spoiled our friendship.
Because of that experience, I took a firmer line with BJ (Big John) who tried to ask me out but was too shy to do it properly, in the face of me determinedly misunderstanding him, thankfully, but he was a great bloke, and used to come out for endless rides with me when I got my first motorcycle, while I was learning to ride it safely. He was a real sweetheart, and apparently he married a girl called "Bob" and I hear that they were very happy together.
Anyway, into the early 80s and here we are at a muster in Ugbrook: it took me a year or two to really throw myself into it, as at first I would only go to local musters where I didn't have to camp. What a sissy!
Eventually Val opened my eyes to the world of fly-sheets, sewn-in groundsheets and carrimats, and that was it, I was hooked. Up till then, I hadn't seen any modern tents, I'd thought that I would have had to sleep in (spine chilling chords and squeaky violins) The Hovel arghhhh!!!
"The Hovel?" I hear you ask.
Yes, "The Hovel" was a Rawdon tradition at that time: it was an ancient, ratty old tarpaulin, propped up in three or four places with broken pikes, with the edges pegged down. Horrible smells used to emanate from it, and horrible things used to crawl from it in the mornings.... and rumour had it that no woman had ever survived being taken inside the hovel. Certainly I never set foot (or knee) in it, in all my years as a Rawdon. Bugger women's lib, some traditions are not meant to be broken.
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| Ugbrook. |
From the left, we have Sue Stephens (sister of Greg) holding Harry-rat, the Robertshaws' horrible dog: then Val, then me, then a girly who belonged to the Bobshaws. Alice? Sorry, whoever you are, I can't remember.
But look at the horrible costumes, argh! Limp, poorly-fitted dresses, big 70s belts, perms, ugh! But we were having a great time....
...and here we are again, and just looked at that crocheted shawl!! Shudder!
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| Bracknell. |
And hey, just look at the groovy classic cars in the backgrounds....
Moving on, and still in our old grey coats: ah, I love this snap. For some years it was my recruiting poster - we're all so young, so happy...
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| Bracknell 1981. |
Here's another classic photo:
Just look at Sue, being The Little Drummer Boy, with the sun glowing upwards onto her face from the top skin... lovely!
From the left, the guy in yellow is not one of us: then Yatti and Jon Alcock loading their muskets: Sue with the drum, Andy Stone with the halberd, and the tiny, tiny, Rawdon pike block.
We were small, but we were very close-knit, and we had a ton of fun.
Then we got to the winter of 1982 and it all went horribly wrong.... it came to pass that the Skippers, the Robertshaws and John Wilson decided that it was time we paid more attention to authenticity and research, and a bit less to just having a good time. They changed our coat colour from grey to a horrible orangey-red, which we later phased into a better, darker, red. Phrases like "thoroughly researched" and "of museum standard" were bandied around by our leaders, with a lot of unhappy muttering going on in the background.
Predictably, it led to a split in leadership, and the Skipper/Robertshaw group departed.
This was particularly horrible for me, as Val and I were very close, we had been sharing a flat for the previous couple of years, and she'd assumed that I'd be on her side. However, that turned out not to be the case: she hadn't actually thought to discuss it with me, so we parted on very bad terms and have never spoken since. But I wish her well, and I heard that she'd married a Roundhead and hopefully she lived happily every after.
So, by the end of 1982, we had Bob in charge, and a "new generation" of Rawdons. There were silver linings: we were much closer as a group, after the split, and we did pretty much everything as a group, helped by just about all of us being in the Enfield/Edmonton area of North London.
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| Bob Aldridge being eaten by a tribble |
Bob lived in an ancient flat, and one day he announced that it was time to redecorate it, on the grounds that most of it was so dirty that he couldn't tell what colour things were. He used to hold to the Quentin Crisp theory of dirt, something about if you leave cleaning for four years, the place gets to a point of dirt where it doesn't actually get any dirtier.... still not sure about that, meself. Anyway, the place was a mess so we held a Painting Party and painted everything green, including the carpet
No, really, as well as painting the walls, the hallway and the landing, we also painted the carpet.
I don't mean in the sense of dropping a lot of paint on it: we got down on our knees with brushes, and we painted it. Surprisingly, it looked quite good...
Back in my non-green-painted flat, this is Alan Perry being silly: he has clip-on animals clinging to his ears and nose. Nice look, Alan!
Wow, just look at my groovy stereo, that does actually appear to be a record deck.
So, back to business, and back in proper clothes again. Here's my mate Sue, having been promoted from drummer (Steve Smith was now our drummer) to musketeer, having a pop after battle on the second day, for the benefit of me and my camera. I love the expression on her face, and the way the pan flare illuminates it.
Ah, it's another Whitehall, another freezing January day, and we're making a spectacle of ourselves on the lions in Trafalgar square.
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| Whitehall 83 |
The "lad" at the top is, I think, a girlfriend of Stoney's. She didn't last long.
Did I mention Rawdon Games? More of that in Rawdons on Holiday, but here we are caught in the act - well, posing, actually, after a hectic game of rounders. I have a feeling that we were challenged by another regiment, but I can't remember which one, and I can't imagine which regiment would be daft enough to take us on.
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| Braintree 82 |
Back row: Dave Brooks, Mike Fitt, Derek Agnew, Hil Skipper, Stoney, Michael Perry, Someone Else. (sorry, can't remember you)
Front row: Phillip (belonged to Bobshaws), Les Skipper, Steve Smith, Sue. In front, Ian Biddle; lying down, Alan Perry. Not exhausted, just a last-second attempt to get in the photo.
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| Drill in the Snow. |
This was pre-Whitehall, January 84, and the local council were kind enough to let us use the park for drilling, as long as we didn't fire the muskets. As you can see, this year it was snowing, but we were still cheerful!
I'd draw your attention to the Scotch Hat that Steve is wearing: we had a craze for wearing them for a couple of years. Then we all went over to Monteros, a much more useful piece of headgear, that folded down to keep your ears warm.
Jon, on the right, was a sweetie, and a much-needed stabilising influence, being a little older than us "new generation", and being quite a lot more sensible. We all went to his wedding where I met his younger brother Cris again, and kidnapped him. We went out for quite some time - er, me and Cris, not me and Jon! - but you'll have to look at Algy in Luuuurrve for the sordid details, he he.
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| 1985 |
At this time I was working with Chris at Poly-lina, so we hung out a lot together, and I'd been dragged into helping make muskets - and not even for my own regiment!!
Here are Martin, Pete (at one time, CO of Blackwells) Chris, and Andy Twinn, along with various bits of board and half-made muskets. Sorry about the peculiar colour, I don't think I had a flash on the camera. It's that old.....remember those square four-sided flashes that screwed into the top of the camera? Well, I didn't have one that day.
Not entirely sure if this next pic shouldn't be in the Holiday section, as the caption says Rawdons' Easter Break. We're all in kit, to be sure, but I'm wearing my (extremely old) female kit, which hardly ever saw the light of day: at events, I'd always be a musketeer. Possibly it was a make-and-mend weekend at Sarah and Michael's house in Nottingham? We'd take any and every opportunity to wear kit, and we never thought it was strange, not at all!
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| Easter 1990 |
Niggle Prune, otherwise Nigel Plum, was for many years our Regimental Pervert. Not in any detrimental sort of way, bless him, he used to strive to be as perverted as possible, but really he was such a sweetie, and it just wasn't possible to take him too seriously. He frequently told me that he'd never sleep with me because I didn't have a chin. I would like to point out that I never, not ever, not once, asked him to sleep with me: he just felt the need to tell me that, should I ever ask, he wouldn't. I'm still not sure if I should have been insulted, rather than relieved.
One of his favourite stories was that when he first joined Rawdons, all new and wide-eyed, he was so impressed that I'd been in it for 6 years or whatever, at that time, and he couldn't imagine himself ever achieving that level of fame. Hah! Six years later, he did it, and he didn't stop at six, but stayed for many more years. Just goes to show, time just flies by when you're enjoying yourself, even if your friends don't all have chins.
Update, about 2010 : I've just been in contact with Niggle, and unbelievably, he's STILL in Rawdons!! Well done Nige, you must be one of the longest serving members by now, and no doubt you are impressing all the newbies with how long you've been around!
Another memory of Niggle: one non-muster drinking evening, he was bemoaning the fact that people who'd been in it for as many years as I had, all had a big store of stories relating to times before he joined: you know, he'd make a comment about how muddy the campsite was, and one of us "old hands" says "Mud? Huh, you should have been at Sutton Scotney!" and someone else would then say "Yeah, but what about Witton '83 then?" and we'd all be off, reminiscing.
He hated being so left out, so to cheer him up, he and I made up a story of our own, and at the next muster, in the beer tent, we started talking about "that night old Spongey ate the breeches" and laughing like maniacs.
We kept doing this, and by the end of that season other people were joining in to this entirely fictitious story - and we loved it! So if you are one of those who said "cor yeah, sick as a parrot he was" or "dunno how he managed that second leg" then now you know the truth about Old Spongey, may he rest in peace.
Getting back to the story, now we are in red coats: I think of this photo as The Mean Bunch (Sub-title: "well, you try getting a drink out of them!") Actually that's not true, I prefer to think of this as "Me and my boys". Or, the Merry Musketeers. Or something like that. And of course we are all girls, that's the point.
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| The Mean Bunch |
I was promoting the wearing of false moustaches at the time, and I'd brought along an eyebrow pencil, he he, and we had a lovely time scribbling on each other's faces. From the left, Mandy Nixon, Berry Healey, Sarah Speight, and me. Now I wouldn't like anyone to think that I was turning into a Skipper or a Robertshaw, but by this stage in my re-enactment career, I had indeed developed quite an urge to do things better, and this included trying to gently persuade our large numbers of weedy girlies to try and butch up a bit, to be more convincing musketeers.
There was already an undercurrent of feeling within the Society that the public were disappointed in seeing what were obviously girls pretending to be men, so we started trying to get them to do it better, before the Powers took the obvious step and decreed "no cross-dressing".
Already, in 1990, English Heritage were threatening to make it a rule, as they were justifiably only interested in allowing us to play in their superb sites if we looked the part.
In fact, to digress for a moment, they did eventually lay down the law of no cross-dressing, which was directly responsible for the rise in the Living History movement. With so many girls not allowed to dress as men, we were, as a battle re-enactment group, severely short of soldiers and drummers, and severely over-run with disgruntled girls. The only answer was to re-enact the camp side of things, where the girls could create legitimate roles for themselves.
This was - eventually - a huge success. But there were always some rebels, and oops, hate to admit it, but in 1993 I got so fed up with not being able to fire my musket at EH events that I did some research, bought a professional false beard and moustache, and had lessons in how to apply it, and how to disguise my fair skin.
It was hugely successful: with those on, and contact lenses, I looked quite convincingly like a lad, and quite different from myself dressed as a musketeer.
The first time I wore it at a muster, I went into the beer tent, swinging up to all the girls I knew and kissing them: it was psychologically interesting and a bit scary, that they all let me do it, they didn’t know how to protest when an apparently total stranger approaches them in a familiar way. Didn’t get my face slapped once! (I make quite a handsome lad, actually) I’d taken the precaution of making myself a new outfit so no-one would recognise me by my clothes, and it was a fun evening! I do loooove dressing up…. (* sigh, don’t get the chance anymore*)
And at the next EH event, I performed as a musketeer, and was actually interviewed by the Mayor of Dartmouth for local TV news at the event, and he didn’t twig that I was female.
I even won an award for being the only female to get away with cross-dressing at an English Heritage event - I kept it for years, but I think it got lost last time I moved. Luckily I still have this photo of it.
You will notice that the figurine has no sword, that was the joke - it has no "weapon" (hollow laugh).
It is a TOSCA ("Totally OTT Seriously Coarse Acting" ) presented to me by Beville Grenvilles regiment, the "Dustin Hoffman ‘Tootsie’ Cross-Dressing Award" at their annual banquet that year.
End of diversion, back to the early days:
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| Louth, 1990 |
Back row: Janet (? no idea!) Mandy Nixon, Michael Perry, David Somebody (can't remember his surname, had an off-on relationship with Alison for years). Front row: Berry Healey, me with a big grin, and a chap called Hugh, sorry Hugh, who I'm obscuring with my exuberance. And who can blame me, look at that fantastic blue sky!
Not such good weather at this event, but a good turn-out:
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| Boscobel 91 |
No problem - all I ever wanted was to be Lance Espado, like my brother before me *sniffle*.
Sorry - what was that? Lance Espado? Yes, it was a rank that was used incorrectly, back in the 70s when, frankly, we didn't give a damn about historical accuracy. By the time I was in a position to take any sort of rank, it had been decided that Lance Espado never really existed, so they wouldn't make me one. For that reason, I refused all offers of promotion, unless I could be a Lance Espado for a year first.
Looking back, I was a strange, muddled child....
Getting back to the photo, here is the seething Rawdon musket block, the biggest one we'd ever seen, guarding the (allegedly) actual tree up which our illustrious King shinned.
Back row: Me with sargeant's halberd and air of pride; Tony "Oscar" McSwift, declaiming mightily; a new recruit, another new recruit, Hugh (who I'd obscured in the previous photo but I don't remember much else about him: shamefully the note on the back of this photo says "Boring Hugh" for which I do apologise), Gordon Ashman of the Swiss Family Ashman, Dixie (wow! A blast from the past! Dixie had been in it forever when I joined!!) and Ray Palmer, partially obscured by Dixie's gun.
Front row: Alan Perry, David Ashman, of the Swiss Family Ashman; another new recruit, Moth(Graham), Michael P, Tony Warrington, Sarah.
Talking of Sarah:
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| Boscobel 91: conference |
Don't we both look serious!
I have no idea who took this photo, it obviously wasn't me as I'm in it, so I must have had a friend at the muster.
And oh look, we're both wearing that most fashionable headgear, the Montero, as mentioned earlier. I loved these caps, as I could make one to fit my rather small head, and it never, ever, blew off in the wind. I always had tremendous trouble with felt hats, and I could never get one small enough to fit properly. Monteros were brilliant. I must have made about a hundred of them, over a period of a few years: once I'd figured out the pattern by studying paintings and doing research (aarrgh, I'm turning into Val Skipper again!) they became really popular, and everyone wanted one. The death of the big felt hat! Well, not quite, officers were still supposed to wear felt hats and feathers, but for musketeers they were so incredibly practical as they didn't blow off, didn't get bashed by the stock when drilling, and could also be worn pulled down, which didn't look very stylish, but was very warm.
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| Street Fight |
This was a street fight, don't ask me where, as I can't remember - probably Worcester, or maybe York. Ah, we did so many.....
From the left, I can identify Ray Palmer, then Michael Perry in front of him, then me: behind me and to my left is Steve Taylor, and I can't place anyone else. For some reason I think the others are either Blackwells or Tyldesleys, but I may be being misled by the black and white. Whoever they are, the chap to my immediate left appears to have blown his head off. ("Gesundheit!")
And while on the subject of me being a jolly good musketeer, here's an odd snap of me in action, or possibly wondering what I have dropped.
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| A Calm Musketeer |
That's Michael Perry behind me, with a funny 'at on, and he's in Salmon pink whereas I'm in dark red, which means it's a fairly early photo, probably mid-eighties. We were lumbered with the naff pink in 82, and we phased it out as the coats wore out. The chap just walking out of shot in grey (we kept the old grey coats for new recruits and for years we were a bit two-tone) is Paul Thompson.
I have no idea which muster it was, but it's obviously late summer, and a very hot one, judging by the blasted stubble.
And, finally, all good things come to an end: my boyfriend of the time wanted to join the cavalry and persuaded me that if we were in different regiments, we'd never see each other at weekends at all. He had a point, the cavalry have very different requirements from foot regiments. So, I left Rawdons, joined the cavalry for a couple of years: left him, left the society, probably not the best decisions of my life
But it's been a great hobby, great mates, lots of travelling around the country, and I hope that you managed to find a picture of yourself amongst these ones.
And it's still going, even today! Foot and mouth couldn't kill it, Health & Safety Exec couldn't kill it, so if you feel the need for a hobby where you get hot, tired, dirty and often wounded, then just put "ECWS" into Google, and see what you get.....
I hope that you have enjoyed this trip through my photo album, and if you feel moved to add a photo or add a comment, or just to say hello, then do please feel free to e-mail me. But don't expect an immediate response, as I don't check here very often.
Hon. Algernon Fitz-Fotheringey III ("Algy of Rawdons")
