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.