by RNS | Jul 21, 2021 | Beating Tsundoku
Stephen Turnbull, The Lost Samurai (Frontline, 2021)
You might not think that Stephen Turnbull has anything left to say after having written umpteen books on Japan’s Samurai warriors, but you would be wrong. This book takes us into the world of Japanese mercenaries in Southeast Asia from 1593 to 1688. It is a fascinating but sometimes brutal story of competing powers and factions and the men who fought for them.
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Turnbull acknowledges that he deals in terms of convenience. Southeast Asia is loosely defined but shaped to fit the story. As for the Samurai, they were not Samurai in the classic, romantic sense but most were initially traders turned pirates, the Wakō. Others were left over fighters from the Sengoku Period of almost continual warfare; some were exiled Christians, while more were already resident in Japanese enclaves abroad. Turnbull notes that mercenaries were common in southeast Asia and hired on contracts of various lengths. They included men from many areas, including Europe. It just so happened that the Japanese were rather good at it and developed a fearsome reputation that frightened the enemy but made their masters suspicious.
As you might expect, it was the intrusion of Europeans into the region that created employment for so many of the Japanese mercenaries, though native powers had few qualms in using them too. Many of Turnbull’s sources are European, however, and that perhaps skews the evidence towards greater European emphasis. Fittingly, it was the Spanish in the Philippines who were the first to employ Japanese mercenaries for their schemes to invade China, which came to nothing, but their assault on Cambodia in the 1590s proved more fruitful albeit temporarily so. Japanese mercenaries here also found themselves useful as state executioners on a grand scale against rebellious natives. Turnbull describes the weapons and tactics of the Samurai; while they possessed unmatched bravery, they proved susceptible to European firepower. Nevertheless, the Samurai were used in attack and defence, and as bodyguards. Turnbull visits Siam, a long-standing recruiter of mercenaries through the trade system, then he describes how the Dutch were the most enthusiastic employers of Japanese mercenaries, recruiting directly from Japan. Of note here, is the role of the Japanese in the Dutch wars with the Portuguese, Spanish, and English for the Spice Islands, the Moluccas. But like the other Europeans, the Dutch began to distrust the Japanese, leading to the end of their employment from 1623. Similarly distrustful, the Spanish feared a Samurai invasion of the Philippines. The Dutch had a better case though, when in 1643, ‘native’ Japanese mercenaries helped defend Cambodia against the Dutch, which in reality proved to be a massacre of the Europeans. The Dutch also lost in Taiwan in 1662 with the ‘Iron Men’ playing a leading role. These were probably Japanese mercenaries, according to Turnbull, and they were the last recognised as such in the region.
Turnbull is without peer in bringing the complex world of the Samurai to a public audience yet works like this demonstrate that he is no lightweight historian. This is also a bit of a detour for Turnbull, away from the history of Japan he clearly loves and into southeast Asia with its ancient civilizations and early modern European interlopers. Turnbull follows the sources, sketchy as they might be sometimes, to paint a colourful picture of individual and collective exploits, some of them very gruesome indeed. He also provides the background and context for the use of Japanese mercenaries, which uncovers a familiar but alien world in many respects. The structure of Turnbull’s book is short, self-contained chapters like an edited book of essays on a theme, and it works well, though some chapters are deeper than others. Readers interested in the Samurai and southeast Asian early modern history will no doubt enjoy this book.
by RNS | Jul 20, 2021 | Beating Tsundoku
Ian Baxter, The Warsaw Uprisings 1943-1944 (Pen & Sword, 2021)
In a war full of atrocities, the Warsaw ghetto somehow stands out, perhaps as something tangible instead of the overwhelming numbers and evil of the Holocaust, something symbolic. It is even more so because of the defiance shown by the Jews and other Poles in resisting their fate in what was ultimately a physically hopeless cause but a spiritual and moral victory for good over evil. At first, I thought this was an inappropriate title in the Images of War series, but Ian Baxter shows us something important here, something that goes beyond war into contrasting definitions of humanity and immorality.
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Baxter begins with the background of the German invasion of Poland and the establishment of ghettos for Jews. By October 1940, the Warsaw ghetto housed 400,000 Jews in horrific conditions. In January 1942, the Germans decided to liquidate the Jews in purpose built extermination camps; they called it resettlement and it began in July 1942. Realising their fate, a Jewish resistance movement spread. A short-lived but violent revolt broke out on 18 January 1943, then in April another more serious outbreak of resistance took place against the final resettlement order; 750 lightly armed fighters took on the German troops sent to expel them. Only through complete destruction could the German troops overcome the well prepared bunkers and defensive positions, though they had all but succeeded by 16 May. The surviving Jews were executed or transported to the death camps, the ghetto utterly destroyed, and a concentration camp set up for forced labour to clean the streets. But the resistance was not over.
In June 1944, members of the Warsaw Home Army rose up in anticipation of the Soviet offensive, but the Soviets may have betrayed them, waiting outside the city for the Germans to end Polish resistance, or German defences outside Poland stopped them; Baxter leaves this ambiguous but leans towards the former interpretation. This uprising was a much more organised fight against the Germans, resulting in special ‘pacification’ troops being rushed into the city. They initially slaughtered anyone they encountered but that only led to increased resistance. The battle then became more like a regulation urban engagement, though the poorly armed Poles had little chance. They had to surrender and did so on 2 October. Baxter then counts the cost: 11,000 Germans killed or wounded, 22,000 Polish fighters, and 200,000 civilians. The Germans partially reneged on their surrender agreement to transport 100,000 Poles to the concentration camps then started to raze Warsaw to the ground, but the Soviets finally arrived in January 1945 to seize what was left of the city.
Baxter’s narrative is straightforward and uncontroversial. But, as with all the Images of War series, the quality of the photographs give this book its value. Many are truly harrowing, even just the photos of lines of Jews being escorted out of Warsaw because we know their fate. The photos of often frightened fighters being captured conjure up similar emotions, while photos of laughing German soldiers prompt anger. Yet, looking closely, you can see the dignity and determination of the Jews; men dressed in suits, shirts, and ties, sombre rabbis, defiant women having lost everything yet standing upright in the face of death. The story being told in these photographs is one of true heroism, courage, and hope, and it is one worth telling again and again as Europe continues to face the legacy of the Nazism and hate in the 21st Century.
by RNS | Jul 18, 2021 | Beating Tsundoku
Simon Elliott, Roman Britain’s Missing Legion (Pen and Sword, 2021)
Who doesn’t love a historical mystery? And for military historians, there are fewer mysteries more prominent and perplexing than the sudden ‘disappearance’ from the record of the Roman IX Hispana Legion in 108AD. Was it destroyed in battle or more prosaically by an administrator’s pen? Roman military historian, Simon Elliott, endeavours to find out, analysing the four main theories for what happened to the 9th before delivering his own solution.
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Elliott circles in on the IX Legion through a description of the typical Roman Legion’s organisation and the roles played by the legionaries. A second chapter fills in the background of early Roman Britain and the progress of the Roman Legions into northern Scotland. Elliott then tackles his first theory, and the most popular, that the IX Legion was destroyed fighting in the north. As with all the theories he presents, Elliott works his way through the key evidence for and against the thesis before delivering his verdict. Staying in Britain, Elliott examines the theory that a Hadrianic war in London led to the Legion’s destruction, perhaps in a mutiny that led to the Legions erasure from history. Was the IX Legion transferred to Northern Europe then disappeared in the various wars along the Rhine or Danube? This seems to be the weakest of the theories presented by Elliott. His final search takes Elliott into the east and more wars to consider against extremely dangerous enemies, especially the Parthians. In his conclusion, Elliott brings his theories together and offers his own solution, which is… that would be telling, but this reader was quite surprised, particularly after reading Duncan Campbell’s brilliant, and still very recent, analysis of the problem in The Fate of the Ninth.
Historians of the ancient world are often fickle about their evidence, the paucity of which requires careful handling like fine porcelain. That is as it should be because minor errors can easily undermine or skew historical interpretations. Proofreading is essential. Unfortunately, the lack of proofreading in Roman Britain’s Missing Legion over simple matters creates doubts over the more complex arguments that Elliott presents; for example, Septimius Severus died in 211 not 213. Mistakes relating to some of the seemingly inconsequential background information can also be misleading: Elliott’s claim that the Caledonians attacked the legionary fortress of Inchtuthil during Agricola’s campaigns is baseless but sets up a scenario where the IX Legion could have been operating in the far north of Scotland and therefore more easily lost that way. That is careless writing, as is the resort to bullet points and summaries and introductions within chapters. It all feels a bit perfunctory, which is a shame because Elliott is obviously a knowledgeable Roman military historian, and he works his way through the four theories on the fate of the IX Legion with admirable clarity for the most part. Readers who want to skim through the mystery and gain useful background knowledge will enjoy this book, but it should have been much better.
by RNS | Jul 16, 2021 | Beating Tsundoku
John D. Grainger, Cromwell against the Scots [Revised] (Pen & Sword, 2021)
The subtitle for John Grainger’s Cromwell against the Scots is ‘The Last Anglo-Scottish War 1650-1652’. Followers of the Jacobites might contest that, but Grainger holds his ground. He notes that there has been no narrative military history of this important conflict in modern times. Grainger fixed that in the first edition of this book in 1997 but has now updated it with a revised structure and to incorporate new material.
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Grainger gets off to an unfortunate start when he argues that Scots suffer from “the usual inferiority complex”, thus indicating a subtle bias that underlies his analysis all the way through to his unfortunate conclusion. The military history that forms the bulk of his book tells the story of Cromwell’s invasion of Scotland in 1650, which both sides viewed as inevitable once Charles II arrived in Scotland to claim his thrones. The Scots gathered their army under Leslie and stayed on the defensive, hoping for an opportunity while wearing down the English invaders. He thought he had that at Dunbar in September, but brilliant generalship by Cromwell, argues Grainger, led to a Scottish rout and retreat to Stirling. After various manoeuvres, Cromwell dislodged the Scots who then marched into England to arouse the Royalist supporters into joining a grand army with Charles at its head. But as much as the Scots resented an English invasion, the English equally scorned the Scottish adventure – this is a central point in Grainger’s argument. The English support the Scots required proved significantly reluctant to come forward, though some did, and the army became entrapped by Cromwell in Worcester. A year to the day after Dunbar, Cromwell attacked and routed the Scots again, but this time with no chance of redemption as almost none of the Scots made it home to fight again. In the meantime, Monck, left behind by Cromwell, captured Stirling and pulled off what amounted to something of a bluff with his stretched forces in capturing Scottish towns while fostering political discontent amongst the Scottish hierarchy. Grainger notes that Scottish resistance imploded under English pressure and their incessant squabbling. Their defeat was total, and they remained under the English yoke until 1660 and the Restoration of Charles II.
Grainger’s narrative is engaging and rattles along; his description of the Battle of Dunbar is particularly good. His analysis of the fractured Scottish political scene is also insightful, though he rarely lingers on any similar problems in England with just a few forays into why some in England would not fight the Scots who had backed them in the English Civil War. Grainger’s text is well-supported by maps and monochrome photographs of interesting artefacts and place, and portraits of the main players. It is unfortunate that he concludes with an appeal to the British union that is mired in antiquated thinking, but that aside, the narrative elements are well worth reading for students of warfare in the British Isles in the Early Modern Period.
by RNS | Jul 14, 2021 | Beating Tsundoku
Johann Nobili and Christopher Pringle ed., Hungary 1848, The Winter Campaign (Helion, 2021)
(Guest Review: Mike Huston)
Hungary 1848, The Winter Campaign, is the semi-official Austrian history of the first half of the Hungarian war of Independence. Johann Nobili was tasked with rewriting the history after the initial author’s draft was deemed too negative by the Austrian authorities. It is written almost entirely from the Austrian perspective and certainly takes a more positive view of the winter campaign than the facts would allow. It is crammed full of the strategic plans for the campaign, initial troop locations and their subsequent deployments, numerous orders of battle, discusses Commanders that are unfamiliar, and takes place over a geography where many of the place names have changed. The main historical text is so full of information that it is neither a quick nor an easy read. So why bother?
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The War of Hungarian Independence in 1848/49 is one of the most interesting of the many conflicts that rocked Europe at that time. It is woefully under-represented in the English language and Christopher Pringle’s efforts in translating and editing this work are to be warmly welcomed. The translation flows well, and Pringle does his best to make it an easier read. He has written well over 300 footnotes to the text, providing supplementary information to help the readers understand who’s who and what is actually going on. There is even a table of place names that runs to nearly 20 pages, which details all the names mentioned in the book along with their modern equivalent when they differ to allow the readers to find them on modern maps. When the original place name is used for the first time in the text the modern equivalent appears beside it, which is a service that I wish a few more authors would take the time to provide. Several high level maps have also been provided showing the most important troop movements. To add to the context of Nobili’s account, Pringle also summarises the main events before and after the campaign. The end result is a resource that is an “un”official Austrian military history of the campaign chock full of detail that would not be found elsewhere and supported by a knowledgeable translator who makes it far more accessible to the reader.
Don’t buy this if you want the ladybird book of everything there is to know about the Hungarian War of Independence. However, if like me you have a love for the European conflicts of the mid nineteenth-century and you want to add to your knowledge of a fascinating war, you really should squeeze this one on to your already groaning bookshelves. It is a book that you will be returning to for years.
