The Society of Cavaliers

It was a cold day. Minus 3 Celsius. Father had driven us up to Oxford in his baby blue Hillman Minx. 

I still have the old girl in the garage.

We'd set off bright and early with a packet of ham sandwiches and a thermos flask full of tea which mother had put into a basket for us. Magnifique! Mother was a jolly good egg and proposed to crack on with some knitting that she needed to catch up upon. Good show!

We motored along at a good clip, and the car only broke down on us twice. Father did insist we stop at St Albans so he could get a good look at the Roman walls for a new Ancients project he was working on. Some rules called "WRG" - I knew nothing except that they came with a reputation for the recreation of historical accuracy that was unparalleled.  

I had a Transistor Radio on the back seat and it was playing "Hey Jude" by the Beatles. 

It was quite the jolly outing.

We were filled with curiosity as to what the Brig have in store for us. We had been sent a rather mysterious invitation in the post. We were to present ourselves at the Mitre Hotel in Oxford to hear a proposal.

Rumour had gotten about in certain circles that Mr Featherstone and Mr Bath (among others) had also been invited along.

Now, at the time, the Brig was a big wig -  the Head of Military History at Sandhurst. He had just published a smashing book on the Battle of Edgehill the year before. So, of course, speculation was running wild!

So, there we were. Father parked and we went inside the hotel and were guided to a private dining room. Mr Bath and Mr Featherstone were already there. Mr Bath looked a little nervous and was gripping his G&T tighly. Mr Featherstone was dapper as ever with a silk cravat and his inevitable cigarette holder. Father ordered a pint of Real Ale for himself and a lemonade for me.

Various others filtered in. My Bath was showing off a few of his latest War Elephants. Mr Barker shuddered visibly at the sight of them. "More of your horrid pachyderms, Tony?" 

But then from without came a terrible crashing, a jangling if spurs and a stamping of booted feet. "Damn it all! I can't see a bloody thing with these plumes in my face!"

The door was flung open to reveal a terrible apparition. 'Twas the Brig, red of visage, white moustache bisecting his face, flailing madly at the plume of a large hat the sat upon his head. He was clad in the costume of a Cavalier. All in pale blue with white lacing.

"Ye gods..." gasped someone. 

The cigarette holder dropped from Mr Featherstone's lips.

Mr Bath went a deadly shade of white. 

The Brig tore the hat from his head.

"Gentlemen, I have a proposition for you!

"We shall form a society called the Sealed Knot (or, indeed, the Society of Cavaliers).

"I shall be Captain General. Sergeant Featherstone here will be Secretary."

Mustering

Giving Fire

Appointing Mr Featherstone Sec'y

Well, the meeting was something of a blur as the Brig ordered VAT 69 all round. Goodness me, it was an affair to remember. I especially remember being given a couple of hundred Willies and being told to have them ready by Easter.

He even painted up OK.

 S

See where these little diversions lead us?

Huh, he looks like he just took a snowball to the head.

Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?

 OK, off topic, but I could not resist. And, besides, it's seasonal.

I'll paint him up tomorrow.

So, I've never really sculpted anything before, so this is a bit new and quite a bit of fun while watching "A Nightmare Before Christmas" with Erin.

A Troop of Shew

There's no business like Shew business I whistle through my teeth as I put the finishing touches on my latest for the Brig.

It was different, it was a little out of the ordinary. I thought, oh it's a royal bodyguard for the Graf. Idly I wondered how they would go in "Charge!". A quick puff on my cheroot and I opened the window to let the smoke out and palmed down a mint so mother wouldn't suspect.

Whatever might the Brig be up to? They certainly didn't look like anything from the VFS.

Ye Sealed Knotte

'Twas the week (or two) before Christmas, and all through the house was the rustle of quiet industry.

Mother was creating plum puddings and mince pies and trifles of many kinds.

Father was busy converting Spencer Smiths into panzer grenadiers with two-minute epoxy and a straight-edge razor. 

I was fiddling about at the small desk in my loft bedroom with a number of half-pennies in a desultory fashion. I had just finished the Brig's 'The Cavalier Army'. What a cracking good read it had been; everything you could possibly wish to know about the Civil War. My brain was buzzing with the possibilities. 

I had had an idea of what might be achieved upon the tabletops of Mars with numbers of pikemen and musketeers in the service of the King.

"Eureka..!" I muttered and drew up the following diagram upon a sheet of foolscap.

You know, I pondered aloud... I wonder if the Brig would be interested in this. 

That called for a shot of VAT 69. And a small cheroot. I had to be careful not to overindulge as I had Finals coming up the next morning.

Whoever said Ed Suren did not have a sense of humour?

 

Surely this miniature was sculpted after the founding of The Sealed Knot?

Oh eBay, thou temptress

 

Oh, the shame

I regret nothing. Nothing!

Some cutting in, a few details, maybe some back-lining, and they'll slot right in with the Littler Britons.