Extract From The Diary of Corporal Nobby Stocker Part 2
Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2008 12:16 pm
Extract from the diary of Corporal Nobby Stocker, Army of Portugal; English Longbow Contingent 1400AD
Cor lummey. One minute its 1370 and the next its 1400. Doesn’t time fly when you’re constantly at war? Just got back from a spell in Merry England, seeing me misses and the eight kids. Funny thing was I only remember seven of the little blighters last time I was ‘ome. Still I never was to sharp with me numbers. I only stayed a few hours ‘cos Mrs. Stocker discovered I’d caught a dose of ‘Galloping Knob Rot’, while I was on me travels and threw me out. Told me to come back when I was cured or dead. Wimmin!!!
So ere I was back with me mates and this time we was invading Denmark. Don’t ask me why ‘cos I ‘aven’t a clue. Personally I don’t like Denmark. Its right parky and all there is to eat is pork. As for the beer, it’s smooth and clear with no lumps floating around. What’s that all about? You can’t beat a chewy pint of real ale, I say. Makes me wish I was back ‘ome with me mucker, Hairless Dick ‘avin a few swift halfs of Olde Crusty at me local The Weeping Wound.
Anyway the land about was pretty flat with no terrain as such, except for a piece of brush on our right. The two armies set out there stalls, so to speak. On our side the light ‘orse and the Portuguese knights took the open ground on the left, while the spear and my old chums the English nobs, held the centre. My lot, the longbows, was given the most dangerous job of taking the brush. Aint that just my luck. The enemy moved up opposite us, one big line of heavy foot and supporting crossbow, with some knights and spear ‘anging around at the back. They was, we were told mainly Danes with some Swedish and German allies and I can’t tell you what a relief it was to be facing an army who wore trousers.
The plan was explained at the briefing by Duke General Lord High Almighty Mourinho. The spears would advance slowly to draw the enemy in while the light horse would delay the enemy knights, allowing our own motley collection of landed gentry to charge the infantry and steal all the glory. We, as already mentioned was taking the Brush on the right. This was pretty much the same plan we used last time, the time before and all the times before that. And they call this general the Special One, I ask you. He’s a legend in his own mind he is.
The light ‘orse sped off to trap the enemy knights behind their lines. While our own bunch of aristo’s did what they always do, which is charge forward in a straight line. To be honest they aint too bright and not too good at taking instruction. Just point ‘em where you want ‘em to go let them off the leash and they’ll keep going until there’s no one left to fight or they’re all dead. The spear wall also pretty much does the same thing as always, pretends to advance while hoping the rest of the army would finish it before they have to fight. Generally brave blokes but their equipment isn’t up to scratch. All the money got spent on the Generals mistress, so tough luck lads.
My lot advanced sharpish to take the brush before the enemy, which we did and then we waited, nervous like. Usually we are on our own but today we was supported by some of them newfangled firearm thingies. Can’t say I’m impressed. They couldn’t hit an elephant’s arse from five feet and have more chance of blowing up in your face than of actually killing any one. Not counting all that noise and smoke puts you right off, it does. You mark my words they’ll never catch on.
The enemy were getting closer, moving slow ‘cos of the brush. I could see em clearly, big fellas armored and carrying bloody great axes, all hairier than a Scotsman’s sporran. I had a bad feeling about this. I reckon this lot must have been Swedish ‘cos there was a definite smell of herring about (though it might have been me feet).
Well we all opened up together, banging and twanging away, with there crossbows returning lighter fire. We had to stop ‘em ‘cos there was no way we could fight ‘em ‘and to ‘and. They took casualties but kept on coming, getting closer and closer until they was on us. One of the ugly blighters came right at me. I looked at the size of Betsy and then I looked at the size of his axe, and that was it. I was off. The rest of the lads was pretty much right behind me. Luckily the Swedes where a damn sight slower than us and we soon left ‘em behind. No doubt we would have run all the way back to blighty if Lord Harry FitzOsborne-Smyth Earl of Lancaster, Leicester, Derby, Lincoln, Salisbury and nearly everywhere bleadin’ else, hadn’t turned up. He rambled on about doing it for King and Country, stiff upper lips and all that rot but to be honest I was too shagged out to run any more anyway.
I took this opportunity to check out the rest of the battle. The Light Horse had done a grand job of distracting the enemy knights while our own gallant but somewhat brainless nobility had done what they do best and rode down several units of enemy heavy foot.
Breaking through and charging onto the enemy spear. These then formed an orb and stood there thumbing there noses at our blokes who kept bouncing off. They weren’t to cocky for long though as one of our boys burst through and the orb formation became more of a pancake formation as all his heavily armored mates followed him.
In the centre things didn’t look so good. More Danish heavies was advancing on our spear. They stopped and gave a few blasts with the crossbows which didn’t do much so they started forward again. Our boys was looking nervous. But not to worry the English nobs was here to save them. Hooray. And they rushed in heroically delaying the enemy and giving the spear a breathing space. Now after their last performance our brave lads had decided they needed more armor to give themselves an edge and so were now encased completely in steel from head to foot. Consequently they couldn’t see a bleadin’ thing and were more of a liability to each other than the enemy. All I could hear was “Ouch, mind out Tarquin”, “Awfully sorry Roger, thought you were a dammed foreigner”. If it hadn’t been for the arrival of the crossbows who turned up in the nick of time to catch the Danes in the flank our noble lads would have been facing another humiliation. The spears meanwhile managed to beat off the enemy without any help and was standing proud. This combined with the light horse getting into the enemy baggage meant it was all but over and the Danes crumbled followed closely by their allies. Hooray we’d conquered Denmark. Endless supplies of pig fat and a cheap supply of herring was ours. Was it worth it? Not to me we got our pay cut cos we were the only ones to scarper. Life just aint fair.
Translation
Cor Lummey Expletive
Little Blighters Children
Galloping Knob Rot Nasty disease of the privates (or in this case the Corporals)
Right Parky Very Cold
Mucker Friend
Olde Crusty Suspicious looking beer
Local Nearest public house
Nobs Nobility
Sharpish Very Quick
Ugly Blighters The enemy
Betsy Nobby’s trusty sword
Bleadin’ Expletive
Shagged Out Very tired
Blighty Merrie England
Cor lummey. One minute its 1370 and the next its 1400. Doesn’t time fly when you’re constantly at war? Just got back from a spell in Merry England, seeing me misses and the eight kids. Funny thing was I only remember seven of the little blighters last time I was ‘ome. Still I never was to sharp with me numbers. I only stayed a few hours ‘cos Mrs. Stocker discovered I’d caught a dose of ‘Galloping Knob Rot’, while I was on me travels and threw me out. Told me to come back when I was cured or dead. Wimmin!!!
So ere I was back with me mates and this time we was invading Denmark. Don’t ask me why ‘cos I ‘aven’t a clue. Personally I don’t like Denmark. Its right parky and all there is to eat is pork. As for the beer, it’s smooth and clear with no lumps floating around. What’s that all about? You can’t beat a chewy pint of real ale, I say. Makes me wish I was back ‘ome with me mucker, Hairless Dick ‘avin a few swift halfs of Olde Crusty at me local The Weeping Wound.
Anyway the land about was pretty flat with no terrain as such, except for a piece of brush on our right. The two armies set out there stalls, so to speak. On our side the light ‘orse and the Portuguese knights took the open ground on the left, while the spear and my old chums the English nobs, held the centre. My lot, the longbows, was given the most dangerous job of taking the brush. Aint that just my luck. The enemy moved up opposite us, one big line of heavy foot and supporting crossbow, with some knights and spear ‘anging around at the back. They was, we were told mainly Danes with some Swedish and German allies and I can’t tell you what a relief it was to be facing an army who wore trousers.
The plan was explained at the briefing by Duke General Lord High Almighty Mourinho. The spears would advance slowly to draw the enemy in while the light horse would delay the enemy knights, allowing our own motley collection of landed gentry to charge the infantry and steal all the glory. We, as already mentioned was taking the Brush on the right. This was pretty much the same plan we used last time, the time before and all the times before that. And they call this general the Special One, I ask you. He’s a legend in his own mind he is.
The light ‘orse sped off to trap the enemy knights behind their lines. While our own bunch of aristo’s did what they always do, which is charge forward in a straight line. To be honest they aint too bright and not too good at taking instruction. Just point ‘em where you want ‘em to go let them off the leash and they’ll keep going until there’s no one left to fight or they’re all dead. The spear wall also pretty much does the same thing as always, pretends to advance while hoping the rest of the army would finish it before they have to fight. Generally brave blokes but their equipment isn’t up to scratch. All the money got spent on the Generals mistress, so tough luck lads.
My lot advanced sharpish to take the brush before the enemy, which we did and then we waited, nervous like. Usually we are on our own but today we was supported by some of them newfangled firearm thingies. Can’t say I’m impressed. They couldn’t hit an elephant’s arse from five feet and have more chance of blowing up in your face than of actually killing any one. Not counting all that noise and smoke puts you right off, it does. You mark my words they’ll never catch on.
The enemy were getting closer, moving slow ‘cos of the brush. I could see em clearly, big fellas armored and carrying bloody great axes, all hairier than a Scotsman’s sporran. I had a bad feeling about this. I reckon this lot must have been Swedish ‘cos there was a definite smell of herring about (though it might have been me feet).
Well we all opened up together, banging and twanging away, with there crossbows returning lighter fire. We had to stop ‘em ‘cos there was no way we could fight ‘em ‘and to ‘and. They took casualties but kept on coming, getting closer and closer until they was on us. One of the ugly blighters came right at me. I looked at the size of Betsy and then I looked at the size of his axe, and that was it. I was off. The rest of the lads was pretty much right behind me. Luckily the Swedes where a damn sight slower than us and we soon left ‘em behind. No doubt we would have run all the way back to blighty if Lord Harry FitzOsborne-Smyth Earl of Lancaster, Leicester, Derby, Lincoln, Salisbury and nearly everywhere bleadin’ else, hadn’t turned up. He rambled on about doing it for King and Country, stiff upper lips and all that rot but to be honest I was too shagged out to run any more anyway.
I took this opportunity to check out the rest of the battle. The Light Horse had done a grand job of distracting the enemy knights while our own gallant but somewhat brainless nobility had done what they do best and rode down several units of enemy heavy foot.
Breaking through and charging onto the enemy spear. These then formed an orb and stood there thumbing there noses at our blokes who kept bouncing off. They weren’t to cocky for long though as one of our boys burst through and the orb formation became more of a pancake formation as all his heavily armored mates followed him.
In the centre things didn’t look so good. More Danish heavies was advancing on our spear. They stopped and gave a few blasts with the crossbows which didn’t do much so they started forward again. Our boys was looking nervous. But not to worry the English nobs was here to save them. Hooray. And they rushed in heroically delaying the enemy and giving the spear a breathing space. Now after their last performance our brave lads had decided they needed more armor to give themselves an edge and so were now encased completely in steel from head to foot. Consequently they couldn’t see a bleadin’ thing and were more of a liability to each other than the enemy. All I could hear was “Ouch, mind out Tarquin”, “Awfully sorry Roger, thought you were a dammed foreigner”. If it hadn’t been for the arrival of the crossbows who turned up in the nick of time to catch the Danes in the flank our noble lads would have been facing another humiliation. The spears meanwhile managed to beat off the enemy without any help and was standing proud. This combined with the light horse getting into the enemy baggage meant it was all but over and the Danes crumbled followed closely by their allies. Hooray we’d conquered Denmark. Endless supplies of pig fat and a cheap supply of herring was ours. Was it worth it? Not to me we got our pay cut cos we were the only ones to scarper. Life just aint fair.
Translation
Cor Lummey Expletive
Little Blighters Children
Galloping Knob Rot Nasty disease of the privates (or in this case the Corporals)
Right Parky Very Cold
Mucker Friend
Olde Crusty Suspicious looking beer
Local Nearest public house
Nobs Nobility
Sharpish Very Quick
Ugly Blighters The enemy
Betsy Nobby’s trusty sword
Bleadin’ Expletive
Shagged Out Very tired
Blighty Merrie England
