The Graceful Brute

The Graceful Brute

Salvador Mafe Huertas and Riccardo Niccoli, Panavia Tornado (Kagero, 2020)
The Panavia Tornado has been a fixture in the skies for forty years, flown by Europe’s top air forces in peace and war. It is a brute of a thing, capable of significant destruction, but also elegant in its way with its smooth lines running across the cockpit and swept wings then back to that massive tail. To see one in action is to want to know more about it. To that end, Salvador Mafe Huertas and Riccardo Niccoli have written a primer for the Tornado complete with many photographs and graphic renderings.
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The authors begin with the development of the Tornado from 1968 as a pan-European project. As they do this, they introduce the main parts and components of the plane. These are described in some detail as you might expect from a book of this type. It is ironic that a fighter-bomber designed for use in the Cold War did not see action until that had ended but was deployed in the decidedly hot wars that followed. Our authors follow the Tornado into the Middle East and Gulf War, the Balkans, Afghanistan, Libya, operations against ISIS, and Syria. The last active RAF Tornados landed at their home base in February 2019, but the durable plane continues in use by other air-forces.
There are other books about the Tornado, but this one does the job as a primer for the plane despite a couple of errors and some glaring omissions – the lack of coverage of Cold War service and just a brief mention of Saudi Tornados. The book is filled with photographs, some of which are superb, and include a balance of RAF, German, and Italian planes. The colour graphic illustrations are excellent (an A4 print of the cover comes with the book), so that if you wanted to build a model, most of your bases will be covered by this book. I think old Tornado crews will enjoy this as will anyone wanting a guide to the plane.

Men in Scarlet

Men in Scarlet

Gabriele Esposito, Wellington’s Infantry British Foot Regiments 1800-1815 (Pen & Sword, 2021)
The British army that fought and defeated the French under Napoleon was arguably the finest in this island’s long military history. Most of us can picture them in their red coats and black hats, facing down the French cavalry charges at Waterloo. But there was more variety in the British army than first meets the eye. To that end, Gabriele Esposito surveys the British infantry of the period in a book replete with colour pictures of the soldiers involved.
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Esposito begins with the Foot Guards where he provides a history of the units and their involvement in the Napoleonic Wars. He describes the Line Infantry next with an emphasis on their organization added to their history and deployment. The peculiarities of the Scottish Regiments are considered before Esposito moves on to the Light Infantry. Royal Veteran Battalions and Fencible Regiments occupy Chapter 5. Esposito turns to British troops abroad, beginning in Canada, then the West Indies, Africa, and Australia, before arriving in India. Sometimes foreigners came to us and served in the British Army. Esposito describes the King’s Dutch Brigade among others, including Maltese, Italians, Greeks, Swiss, and mixed foreign units. The most famous foreign unit was the King’s German Legion, which receives its own chapter. Esposito concludes with a chapter on uniforms and equipment, which were more varied than novice Napoleonic Wars readers might know. Thus headgear, jackets, and coats are described before Esposito lists the facing colours of all the regiments in the army. He returns to describes officer’s rank distinctions, greatcoats, trousers and kilts, then lists regiments that wore ‘peculiar’ uniforms. Esposito adds belts and pouches, and weapons to complete the soldier’s appearance.
It is difficult to assess the audience for Esposito’s sojourn in the Napoleonic Wars. Veteran students of the period will find much to nit-pick in the text, which rarely rises above routine descriptions and shallow conclusions. The contemporary colour plates are interesting, but many of them are not matched to the text, which seems decidedly odd. That they were all derived from the same online source says something about the superficiality of the research and production of this book. Nevertheless, someone new to the period who wants a primer on the British Army will no doubt enjoy it before moving deeper into the subject.

WWI’s Greatest Ace?

WWI’s Greatest Ace?

Terry C Treadwell, The Red Baron (Pen & Sword, 2021)
World War I was the first air war, but unlike the war on the ground, fighting in the skies was an individual endeavour where different, but no less deadly, rules applied. The pilot warriors that dueled each other over the trenches fought and died under their own code of conduct. Some became aces and heroes, a few became legends, but there was only one Red Baron: Manfred von Richthofen, the most feared pilot of the war. In this illuminating book, Terry Treadwell offers a photographic insight into Richthofen’s world.
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There are only two chapters in The Red Baron, which is a bit odd. Treadwell begins with the outbreak of WWI to set the scene for the early Manfred von Richthofen to grow into. He entered the war as a cavalry officer followed by a stint in the trenches with the infantry, but the newly introduced Air Service attracted him, and he was soon training as an observer then a pilot. In September 1916, Richthofen joined ace Oswald Boelcke’s fighter squadron and he soon had his first confirmed kill. Richthofen’s rise continued until he led his own squadron in January 1917. By then he was already Germany’s top living ace: German propaganda ensured he was also a household name. He became the Red Baron through painting his aircraft red for recognition, and he encouraged his pilots to individualize their planes too, thus Richthofen’s Flying Circus was born. Richthofen suffered a serious head wound in July 1917. He resumed flying and accumulating more kills, most famously in his red Fokker Triplane, but in April 1918, Richthofen broke his own rule about never flying low over enemy lines and was shot down and killed. Who killed him remains open to debate, but there is no doubt over the regard his enemies held him in when they buried him with full military honours, much to the chagrin of local civilians. Treadwell concludes with a post-mortem description of Richthofen’s death and a list of his victories.
Treadwell’s The Red Baron is one of those books that provides just enough information to taunt the reader into wanting to know more. The author’s text, as he admits, is there to guide the reader, however, through Richthofen’s illustrious career and to accompany the photographs. The book contains many pictures, tightly grouped around Richthofen himself, thereby offering an almost intimate portrait of the Red Baron in that you get the sense of the man as a warrior and leader. In the most poignant photograph, however, you do not see Richthofen, just him flying his triplane into the distance on his last mission. For those interested in the air war in WWI, this is an informative biopic of the greatest pilot to fly in it and an enjoyable evening’s reading.

A Virtual Visit to Hadrian’s Wall

A Virtual Visit to Hadrian’s Wall

Rob Collins, Living on the Edge of Empire (Pen & Sword, 2020)
Hadrian’s Wall conjures up images of an imposing barrier cutting across the northern English landscape, populated by stern-faced Roman soldiers prepared for the next barbarian attack. That isn’t completely wrong, but it is not the whole picture: Hadrian’s Wall became a community hub almost from when the Romans laid the first stone. Rob Collins has put together a book full of fascinating photographs of artefacts, illustrating the many facets of military and civilian life along Rome’s most permanent frontier.
Collins divides his book into eight chapters, encompassing all aspects of life along Hadrian’s Wall, and each lavishly illustrated with colour photographs. He starts with communities and homes, from farmsteads to military tents and barracks. This incorporates a little studies on demographics and furniture and lighting. How the people dressed, and their appearance are next, though perishable materials come mostly from the earlier period of the Wall. Some of the jewellery exhibited here is exquisite, but even the mundane artefacts are extraordinary in their way given how they shine a light on people’s everyday lives. What they ate and how they stored food follows, revealing how even this far off frontier was connected to the whole Empire. We should not forget that Hadrian’s Wall was primarily a military installation, and with that in mind, Collins turns to security, both personal and military, including weapons and armour. But the Wall also acted as an economic centre, so implements for trade and administration are covered here, with a section on leisure items included. Religion played a major role in antiquity and for those living on the Wall. Collins covers the full panoply of the Gods and religious practice in this chapter. Then comes a chapter of unknowns; oddities that we are not quite sure as to their function. All good things come to an end, depending on whose side you were on, and Collins’ last chapter surveys artefacts from the last days of the Wall as it transformed into an Anglo-Saxon zone. Appendices on where all the artefacts were found and museums in which you can see them concludes Collin’s book.
Living on the Edge of Empire is more than a collection of photographs of finds from Hadrian’s Wall; it serves as a useful primer to the Wall as a focal point for community life in all its variety. Collins has assembled an impressive range of materials, which reveal that sometimes the most significant finds come from the most commonplace items. Vindolanda features heavily in the array of objects, which is appropriate given how much has been carried out there. That might skew the picture of the whole Wall, but I think there is enough from other sources to provide balance. Collins’ text matches the artefacts in its clarity, with the final result being a neatly organised and illuminating book. If you cannot visit Hadrian’s Wall, this book might be the next best thing.
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The Boteler Did It?

The Boteler Did It?

Melissa Julian-Jones, Murder During the Hundred Years War (Pen & Sword, 2020)
Who killed William de Cantilupe in 1375, and why? We may never know, but that does not stop Melissa Julian-Jones from analysing the evidence and suspects. She also uses this murder to cast her gaze around the wider social, economic, and political contexts of an often turbulent England still at war with France.
Julian-Jones opens with a brief overview of the crime and the major theories surrounding it. With that out of the way, she starts digging into the background of the victim and his family, which is mostly a sordid tale ending in a reconstruction of William’s murder. Then, as in all the best mysteries, Julian-Jones lines up her suspects for a more detailed background check, of which there were quite a few if you include aiders and abettors. After who might have done it comes why they might have done it with a search for motives. That amounts to money, sex, and the intriguing notion of ‘communal vengeance’ against a cruel lord. Julian-Jones turns to the mechanics of law enforcement particularly with regard to the Cantelupe murder. Then we are into the trial and its aftermath. Julian-Jones concedes that there are many questions we cannot answer about William Cantelupe’s murder. She winds her book up with some appendices from the contemporary records.
Historical murders act as useful conduits into the period when they were committed. Trials and other records provide instant histories; snapshots for historians to explore and analyse. Julian-Jones seizes that opportunity for William Cantelupe’s murder to present a fascinating social history, including the inner workings of the mediaeval social system centred on the manor house. As such, this is a very good read, though I perhaps might question the analytical structure for a public history audience. But, if you want to have a wander around 14th Century England, you will no doubt enjoy Julian-Jones’ book.
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Jameson’s Folly

Jameson’s Folly

Jameson’s Folly
David Snape, The Rescue They Called a Raid (Helion, 2021)
On the face of it, the Jameson Raid of 1895-1896 seems a rather innocuous affair. Five-hundred men led by a headstrong Scottish surgeon marched into a neighbouring South African territory and were soundly beaten then expelled. But this apparent ripple in the British Imperial pond had great ramifications beyond its local impact. David Snape brings us the full story of the raid, its causes, and aftermath.
Snape begins with the characters involved in the Jameson raid: Cecil Rhodes, Leander Jameson, Paul Kruger, and Joseph Chamberlain. Their intertwining stories and competing ambitions against the backdrop of Victoria’s empire provide the basis of this study. The action centres on the Boer South African Republic (ZAR) under Kruger that became a sensation when gold was discovered and foreigners (Uitlanders), most of them British, poured in. They soon wanted political rights, but Kruger wasn’t having that. Rhodes and Jameson encouraged the Uitlanders to rise up (they didn’t), which would also satisfy their lust to expand the Empire and thwart Kruger’s new German friends in the ZAR. They soon gathered a force to invade the ZAR; all they needed was a match to light the fuse, which soon arrived with the Drift Crisis. Snape assesses the situation on both sides on the eve of the raid, then we are into the action.
Jameson organized his force of around 500 men and was determined to move forward despite Uitlander protestations. The column advanced on 30 December 1895, destination Johannesburg. But Kruger knew Jameson was coming and organised his defences with volunteers, while he hedged his political bets, which Snape goes into in some detail. Jameson, meanwhile, discovered that the British government would not support his attack, but decided it was too late to turn back. As his force approached Krugersdorp, they faced stiff resistance and lost 30 men in a foolhardy frontal attack. The Boers all but chased the Raiders, putting them under constant fire until they ran into a prepared Boer position. Jameson was trapped and forced to surrender. The Boers treated the Raiders well, returning them to face trial by the British.
Snape describes the international repercussions, which were seismic. Jameson and his officers stood trial in London: five received prison sentences, others not tried were forced to resign their commissions. The Reformers in Johannesburg that Jameson thought he was helping were tried too, the four ringleaders receiving lengthy prison sentences. In London and South Africa, the blame-game began, including a committee of inquiry and parliamentary debate. Snape goes into considerable detail on the aftermath and what became of all the major players.
The Rescue They Called a Raid is an absorbing read and another winner in the Helion stable. Snape holds the line effectively between the action and the context without getting too bogged down. He is helped by a cast of characters you couldn’t make up, and Snape sketches them with an eye for the telling detail. Snape also writes well, if a bit scholarly at times, and the story flows easily between combat, courtroom, and committee. The inclusion of contemporary illustrations and photographs adds to the atmosphere. Students of Victoria’s Empire will want to read this, as will anyone interested in 19th Century Imperial adventures.
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