A Triumph Challenged

A Triumph Challenged

Alberto Raúl Esteban Ribas, The Battle of Rocroi 1643 (Helion, 2022)
There are those who argue that Rocroi was possibly the most important battle of the 17th Century, and one on which the fate of Europe truly hung. It marked the end of Spanish military supremacy along with their famous tercios, and the beginning of French hegemony in Europe coincident with the accession of the infant Louis XIV to the French throne. But it is a battle familiarly told from the French perspective with few Spanish historians’ voices raised in opposition. We need a proper, balanced account of Rocroi, and Alberto Raúl Esteban Ribas is here to tell it.
Battle narratives tend to follow a similar format, and Ribas’ Rocroi is no exception. The historical context comes first, followed by a description of the opposing armies. As with everything else in this book, Ribas provides a thorough overview, which is accompanied by suitable contemporary illustrations. Having surveyed the armies, Ribas moves on to examine the respective generals and commands. With the set-up established, Ribas drives into the narrative with a chapter on how the respective sides arrived at the battlefield of Rocroi. The two armies then line up facing each other, though their deployment is the subject of some dispute, which Ribas navigates well. Then we are into the action. Here too, some confusion abounds as to who was where and what they did, which you might expect if you are familiar with battle narratives. But Ribas again works his way through the evidence to present a clear picture of events. For this, he is aided by illuminating, sequential maps, all the way through to the controversial massacre of the last standing Spanish units. Ribas closes his account with the aftermath of the battle, including casualties and prisoners, then the wider consequences, though he downplays the effect of the battle on the Spanish military; despite French historians arguing otherwise, Rocroi was not the disaster for the Spanish or triumph for the French they portray. Ribas’ concluding analysis of the battle is, therefore, a particularly interesting and quite persuasive piece of revisionism – Ribas adds a useful bibliography if you would like to argue with him.
The Battle of Rocroi takes a well-trodden path as far as battle narratives go, but Ribas digs deeper than most to write an interesting story and analysis that challenges the orthodox view of the battle. That alone should put it on top of your 17th Century books pile. The production value is high too, with contemporary illustrations, maps, and colour plates of soldiers for you to peruse while you ponder Ribas’s arguments. Whether this is the new definitive account of the battle will, of course, be questioned, but Ribas certainly takes the historiography of Rocroi in a new direction.

Keeping With Tradition

Keeping With Tradition

Angus Konstam, Naval Battle of Crete 1941 (Osprey, 2023)
In April 1941, the British and Commonwealth forces in Greece discovered the difference between fighting lacklustre Italians and facing the German blitzkrieg. The result was a desperate evacuation to Crete, then an even more frantic escape from that island as the Germans overwhelmed it too. The instrument for evacuation was the Royal Navy, and it is that story Angus Konstam narrates in the latest Campaign series book.
After the obligatory background introduction, Konstam discusses the opposing commanders. He has a lot of respect for the resolute and intelligent Admiral Cunningham, his subordinates, and partners in command in the army and RAF. Konstam also gives due credit to the German commanders who would wreak havoc on the Allies on land and sea and in the air. But it is the struggle between the Royal Navy and the Luftwaffe that interests Konstam here. To that end, he discusses the Allied Mediterranean fleet, its strengths and deficiencies, along with their order of battle. He follows a similar line for describing the German air force but notes the absence of the Italian navy’s main battle fleet, which could have made all the difference.
Konstam moves onto the respective plans for both sides, then the reality as plans turned into action and the Axis forces launched their invasion of Crete. He follows the various Allied Forces’ naval operations through their discovery by the Axis reconnaissance planes and subsequent attacks by hundreds of bombers. Although the Allied ships did well against the initial assaults, their anti-aircraft ammunition became depleted, which led to Black Thursday when the Germans sank the cruiser HMS Gloucester along with sinking and damaging many other ships. Darkness could not come fast enough for the Allied sailors. The attacks continued as the Allied defence of Crete failed and the evacuation began. Cunningham was determined that the Royal Navy must do its utmost to help the army; a promise that cost many lives, though for the first time, the RAF provided adequate air cover for much of the operation. Konstam closes with the ‘butcher’s bill’ and his conclusion that, while costly, the operations to evacuate Greece and Crete were worth the sacrifice.
Like all the Campaign series of books, Naval Battle of Crete 1941 follows a formulaic structure, so you know what you are getting. But Konstam is a fine storyteller, particularly when it comes to naval matters. He does lean towards the Allied side of this story and defends Cunningham to the hilt where others might be inclined to stronger criticism of his command. The book is well supported by superb graphics, maps, and contemporary photographs, as you should expect from Osprey. All in all, this is a good introduction and overview of an important and under-emphasised campaign.

The Wrong Side of the Tracks

The Wrong Side of the Tracks

Malcolm Clegg, Railway Crimes Committed in Victorian Britain (Pen & Sword, 2023)
There is something a bit romantic about Victorian railways. This was the age of powerful locomotives shrouded in clouds of steam, sprinting through England’s green countryside, and plush carriages full of elegantly dressed passengers. But, like most aspects of the Victorian era, rail travel was something of a façade; most engines were workaday mules compared to the racehorse locomotives, and more people travelled Third Class than First. And crime, in all its facets, stalked the railways. Former British Transport policeman, Malcolm Clegg, is here to tell you all about it.
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We sometimes forgot in the modern age how important railways were for transporting mail and valuable goods. It is appropriate then that Clegg opens with stories of theft, from mailbags to coal to boxes of gold dust, and including the first great train robbery in 1855. Theft sometimes led to murder as happened to Detective Sergeant Robert Kidd in 1895. In this section on violence and murder, Clegg includes the real first ever railway murder, in 1840, and the tragic infanticide committed by Louise Masset in 1899. Also of interest is the scandalous affair of Colonel Valentine Baker, which sounds like a Sherlock Holmes story but was far more sordid in its details. Clegg moves onto fraud, not a crime you automatically equate with railways, but there were some eye-popping cases and look quite peculiar when matched with simple fare dodging in the same chapter. Pickpocketing follows, while the next chapter on obstructing the railways focuses on much more serious, sometimes deadly, crimes, including the famous train derailment in 1865 that nearly killed Charles Dickens. Some of the latter cases were more negligence and accident than crimes, but defendants still stood trial. Clegg concludes with some cases that definitely were accidents and feel like ‘padding’ when other true crimes could have been explored further.
Railway Crimes is not a book about railway crime; it is a collection of cases grouped under convenient headings. That does not make this a bad book, but in some ways, it is an opportunity missed. Clegg also neglects to attach any sources or bibliography, which is annoying especially for social historians who might want to dig a little deeper into some notorious crimes. Nevertheless, true crime aficionados will appreciate this collection, which is well written, and it is a good read, maybe even on a long train journey.

An Arthurian Mystery

An Arthurian Mystery

Tony Sullivan, The Roman King Arthur? (Pen & Sword, 2022)
The theory that the legendary King Arthur was based on a Roman soldier, Lucius Artorius Castus, goes back to 1924 and was revived in the 1970s. It appears here again in Tony Sullivan’s forensic analysis of the evidence for and against Artorius. If proven correct, that would settle a lot of arguments formulated over centuries of curiosity. But that isn’t Sullivan’s mission in this interesting and thoughtful book.
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Sullivan introduces the central character in this story. Lucius Artorius Castus, a Roman equestrian officer who comes to us through two inscriptions and a signet ring, and from those we can trace his military career. Sullivan works his way through the interpretations of this evidence and how it has become linked to contextual evidence supporting the Arthurian legend. He finds it wanting. Sullivan also presents the evidence for the King Arthur legend. Agan, the author can find no connection to Artorius. Sullivan then digs into the wider context of Roman history from 150 CE to 250 CE, asking if the case can be made for Artorius having an extraordinary career worthy of the Arthurian legend. At the end of that lengthy chapter, Sullivan summarises the case for Artorius so far, and it does not look good for the Roman Arthur. Sullivan turns to the all-important Sarmatian connection: did Artorius command Sarmatians in Britain? As with all his chapters, Sullivan works his way carefully through the evidence, and he finds nothing to support the theory. The author notes that we do not even have concrete evidence for Artorius’ timeline that would coincide with Sarmatians in Britain. Sullivan returns to the Arthurian legend to see if there is a connection looking backwards. We move into post-Roman Britain then into the legend itself. That leads into Sullivan’s conclusion, which should be crystal clear by this point.
It is not often that a book is written to demolish a theory, they usually promote one. But Sullivan clearly has a bee in his bonnet about the Artorius-Arthur connection, and he goes after it like a dog with a bone. I think it is unfortunate that Sullivan chose the straw man of a 2004 movie to test his argument against because he has enough evidence from the historical record to play with. Nevertheless, Sullivan forensically dismantles the Artorius theory in an engaging and well-organised text. Students of King Arthur will want to read Sullivan’s conclusions and take note, while the rest of us will just enjoy a thought-provoking read.

Trouble in Paradise

Trouble in Paradise

René Chartrand, The Armies and Wars of the Sun King 1643-1715 Volume 5: Buccaneers and Soldiers in the Americas (Helion, 2022)
René Chartrand continues his wide-ranging survey of military activities during the pivotal reign of Louis XIV. In this volume, we leave the cockpit of Europe for the turbulent Americas where regular and irregular warfare coexisted cheek by jowl. It is a fascinating and often eye-opening journey.
Chartrand sets his stall with a chronology of military events in the Americas through the long 17th Century. He notes that this theatre became an integral part of Louis’ imperial vision before narrating the background of French involvement in the Americas, where they competed with the Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese, and English for control. Chartrand turns to the evolution of the buccaneers, men who were ‘left behind’ in the Caribbean islands then grouped together as the ‘Brethren of the Coast’ to form a powerful if ungovernable force. The Spanish, in particular, attempted to crush the buccaneers and were met with ferocious brutality in return.
We move on to the imperial power games in the Americas, starting with Louis’ ambitions in the Caribbean and Central America. Chartrand walks us through the early stages in the West Indies and Panama, folding the buccaneers into the international action. Then came the Dutch in 1674 with their powerful navy to fight the French in a war that lasted four years and saw several Caribbean islands change hands, though it was the French who came out on top. Chartrand’s attention turns to the ‘Peace’ of the 1680s, a term that did not apply to the Spanish as perennial targets of the French supported buccaneers. Their operations also extended into the Pacific region. France versus England and the Anglo-Spanish follows with King William’s War affecting the Caribbean in the 1690s. The French also encountered the Portuguese along the Amazon during this period. After a brief hiatus, war continued into the 18th Century with The War of the Spanish Succession. The intensity of the fighting from Florida to Rio de Janeiro is traversed nimbly by Chartrand’s episodic narrative style as he zooms in and out of key events.
The chapters switch from the narrative to surveys and analyses that read like extended appendices. Chartrand ponders the value and distribution of money before moving on to a survey of private and metropolitan forces in the Caribbean and the organisation of French marines, including uniforms and weapons, though just about every aspect of the soldier’s world is touched upon. The buccaneers are given similar treatment in my favourite chapter of the book. Surveys of militias and fortifications follow. The actual appendices cover artillery, maroons, and some aspects of buccaneer life.
This is easily my favourite volume so far in this Helion series exploring the Sun King’s wars. You could argue that there are two books here: there is action aplenty to follow in Chartrand’s engaging narrative section, and his survey of various aspects of the wars illuminates the narrative by digging a wee bit deeper into the soldiers who fought – his chapter on the buccaneers was very useful given how often they influenced events. The artistic support provided by Helion is first class too, incorporating contemporary illustrations mixed with excellent commissioned colour plates of some of the soldiers. There are too many jump-off points for further study in the text to list here, suffice to say this volume stands on its own as a worthwhile read and will spark many reading forays into the jungles and islands of the Caribbean region at the turn of the 18th Century.

Clash of Cultures

Clash of Cultures

Stephen Turnbull, Mongol Warrior versus European Knight (Osprey, 2023)
‘Europe’s fate is in the balance’ feels like a modern state of affairs with massed tanks on the borders and warplanes clouding the skies, but in the 1240s it was the Mongol hordes that threatened a developing medieval Europe, and only the knights of Eastern Europe stood in their way. In this book, part of Osprey’s Combat series, Stephen Turnbull surveys the armies facing off and the battles they fought in this pivotal campaign.
Turnbull begins with a brief introduction to the war that eastern Europe should have anticipated but tragically did not. The mysterious Mongols of the Far East turned west in 1237 breaking across Rus before pouring into Hungary and the eastern European principalities in 1241. However, Turnbull challenges the common belief that the Mongols were an unstoppable force and only their retirement from Europe saved the day. The knights, he argues, were also not the clumsy oafs we might think they were.
An assessment of the two sides follows. Turnbull considers status, recruitment, motivation, command, control, organisation, weapons, dress, and equipment, highlighting the differences and similarities. Nowhere was the difference more apparent than in tactics, with the European knights’ close order charge set against the fluid Mongol tactics of feigned retreat and envelopment, though Turnbull argues they were better in close combat than previously thought. By the 13th Century, Mongols had also become more adept at siege warfare, as Kyiv found out in December 1240.
Turnbull turns to the Battle of Liegnitz, fought on 9 April 1241, which was a significant Mongol victory. This battle featured a Mongol smokescreen that debilitated the Polish cavalry. Also in 1241, the Mongols defeated the hubristic Hungarians at Muhi. After narrating those two battles, Turnbull moves on to the ensuing sieges in 1242 at Estergom and Székesfehérvár. At Estergom, the knights held out in the citadel, which could not be breached. Then, at Székesfehérvár, the Mongols faced the Knights of St John, who held out seemingly quite easily. The Mongols, however, destroyed many smaller settlements. Then they left. No one is quite sure why, but Hungary was devastated in their wake. In his analysis, Turnbull highlights Hungary’s rebuilding programme while noting that the Mongols were not the invincible force they claimed to be as seen in the subsequent attacks on Hungary that met with little success.
Osprey books can sometimes be a wee bit dry but not this one. Turnbull writes an engaging and insightful narrative mixed with thought provoking arguments, particularly about the Mongols, a subject he knows well. He is helped by his subject matter with this jarring clash of military cultures and the massive stakes involved, and his text is illuminated by Osprey’s customary excellent artwork. For me, the best Osprey books make you want to read more, and this one certainly fits that bill.