Posted on May 5, 2016
“The drums bang, the drums of war, the screams and the calls, calls for more, calls for death, calls for salvation. Calls for family and home and safety. But the drums of war and the screams cover these calls. All there is left to do is fight. You become as blood-thirsty and as barbaric as the worst around you because you will die if you do not. Commanders stayed in Warrington, the armies of Oliver Cromwell and of the Earl of Derby. Men with hollow eyes and grimaces. Not the smiles of victory or the cheers of brotherhood in arms. Just a silence and a pain which you can sometimes still feel hanging over parts of the city all these years later. It’s a pain that never fades. The pain of youth and life and love stolen away by dirt and violence and war. But Warrington still stands, stands with the fallen, stands with the death, stands on into the new dawn…”
Warrington was a ‘fulcrum’ during the English Civil War, this country found work as fodder to the cannons. Now we find work as Orangery and Conservatory installers in Warrington, yeah, quite the step down. Sometimes though when I’m on a roof turning a screw and I look out at the fields outside Warrington I see them teeming with tents and smoke and fire and meat and meed. I hear the silence and the noise. Maybe in some moment of respite a mad joy comes from the soldiers, a joy to be alive that is born of living so surrounded by and close to death.
Or maybe the stench and the pain of death clings to them. You must wonder what you would become under that pressure? A monster? An apostate? A fool? A madman?
Posted on March 15, 2016
What was it like being back there? Being back then? Being part of an army in medieval times? I bet it would have been cold at times, quite cold, very cold sometimes I’d imagine. Just think about how cold it must have got at night out in those fields out in the middle of nowhere waiting for some other army who might just have invaded YOUR LAND and brought their weapons to YOUR LAND now they’re here and wanting to fight YOU on YOUR LAND well rise people! Rise up! Rise against the invaders! Join your king! KING! KING! KING!KING! KING! KING!
I can imagine it though, better than you can probably, I can imagine exactly what it would have been like and I try and make my life like that. I cook all my meat raw and eat it(http://indefinitelywild.gizmodo.com/how-to-cook-a-steak-over-a-campfire-1597750668). I wear armour some of the time (http://www.wallacecollection.org/thecollection/collections/armsandarmour). I grow my hair and my beard very, very long. I live in a field. I heat myself by burning wood fuel briquettes. I march to work. I fight god, dammit. I fight properly with sword and shield. With fire and brimstone. With fish and chips. With knives and guns. With murder and killing. With pain and hurting. With all the blood. With all the sweat. With none of the tears. With all the shouting. With all the screaming. With all the chanting. With all the big, beautiful banners.
War! I really enjoy war. I mean, I’m sure it was completely horrific and brutal and everyone wanted to get the hell out of there and the stench of death was thick in the air. Pain and brutality seeping into the skin of every human unlucky enough to remain alive. But look at me! Look at my life. It is completely horrific and brutal and I want to get the hell out of it and the stench of mediocrity was thick in the air. Boredom and failure seeping into the skin of every me unlucky enough to remain alive.…
Posted on March 15, 2016
‘When we run into battle, who are we? Who are we when we stare at the others running at us? Who am I to the man whose eyes I am staring into? Who am I to the man who wishes to bring me death? What is it that divides us? Are we different beings? No. Many will want to make you think that your enemy is a beast or an animal, is something that is not human, something below you. But they are men, they are human, as much as you. They have been trained and pushed, moved to the front line by their leadership. They are scared and brave. They want to live, they will kill to do this.
Is it their leadership. Is that the divide? Are they fighting for the wrong great men? Are you fighting for the right great men? Ha! I doubt it. No. Well, almost certainly not. The reality is that it is hard to know if the defeated have ever been the noble, as they are no longer alive to argue for or prove their nobility. So where is the difference? You bleed the same. You look the same. You fight with the same fear, the same bravery.
Your difference, friends, is only in your colours. Look up, look at the colours you hold, look at the banners the Heralds have made. They are your colours, your banners, your Arms. There is a different colour over them than there is over you and at the end of this day only one colour will fly over this field. If it is not your colour then you will be dead. This is what you fight for. This is what separates you from the men who want to kill you: It is your heraldry! It is your coat of arms! It is your banner! Because if your banner falls on this field of battle you fall on this fall of battle, and if you fall, your banner falls. That is the game. These are the rules. This is the battle. Fight for life, fight for honour. Fight for me if you want to. Fight for your brethren and your family. But if you fight for nothing else, fight for your banner, for as long as it stands, so do you.’…