by RNS | Sep 27, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
Nic Fields, Britannia AD43 (Osprey, 2020)
We all know the Romans. They were the great conquerors who laid the foundations for western Europe over the course of five centuries and turned the Mediterranean into their lake. But why did the Romans invade Britain in 43CE and how did they do it? Nic Fields explores those questions in Britannia AD43, an Osprey survey book familiar to most military history students. Along the way, he illuminates the main debates that still linger over the events of that year and busts some long-held myths while engaging the reader with a fascinating story.
Fields begins with Julius Caesar’s reconnaissance of Britain in 55 and 54BCE followed by the Contact Period when trade and cultural interchange flourished, but otherwise Rome showed little interest in the island off the edge of the Empire despite the claims of conquest by Caligula in 40CE. That all changed when the notoriously unsuitable Claudius became Emperor the following year. He needed a military victory, Britain was a likely target, a pretext came up, and the Romans were soon planning an invasion and conquest.
Aulius Plautius Silvanus commanded the Roman invasion of Britain in 43CE. Fields introduces him, his legates, and his opposing general on the British side, Caratacus. They commanded very different armies, and the differences between the two is Fields’ next stop. The Roman army was professional in every way; disciplined, organized, and a proper state instrument of war. The British Celts were the opposite; warrior tribes, brave individually but brittle collectively if their initial ferocious charge failed. Their enigmatic use of chariots merits attention too, with their effectiveness open to question. Fields adds a section on the Roman navy that feels a bit forced, but his survey of Roman auxiliaries is very useful.
The strategies of the two sides could not have been more different. The Britons opted to draw the Romans into the country then confuse and disperse them with the hit-and-run tactics they used so successfully against Julius Caesar. These Romans were here to stay, however, and wanted to fight the Britons in a pitched battle and be done with it. Fields moves onto the campaign with a description of the assembled Roman forces, the landing and then the push inland. The Britons opposed them at the Medway River in an unusual two-day battle but could not hold and retired. They tried again at the Thames and lost again. This was in no small part to the tactically adept Batavi auxiliaries that Fields lingers on before introducing Claudius arriving in triumph on his elephant to accept the surrender of the southern tribes. The conquest was not over, however, and Plautius ordered Vespasianus to take the southwest, which he did but not without more hard fighting. Then the Roman advance north began while they consolidated their captured territories. Fields concludes with the question: was all this a Roman vanity project?
There are very few surprises in Osprey survey books like this. The format is familiar with a simple chapter structure and a mid-text break of artistic colour plates. Many maps, colour photographs of various locations, and archaeological discoveries also illuminate the narrative. The text skims the surface for the most part, and Fields engages briefly with the deeper mysteries that the incomplete and sometimes contradictory sources cast up. That is not a bad thing: this is an introductory survey after all. Fields is, however, too opinionated and flippant at times; for example, he disparages Julius Caesar, and Caligula getting “whacked” jars. Putting that to the side, Britannia AD43 engages and entertains its audience very well. For those not already well-versed in the period, they will probably want to read more based on Fields’ book, using his very useful bibliography as a starting point, and that for me makes Britannia AD43 a success.
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by RNS | Sep 25, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
Andrew Abram, More Like Lions Than Men (Helion, 2020)
Growing up, I understood the English Civil War as a fight between two armies that clashed regularly with the Parliamentarian army of Oliver Cromwell overcoming the Royalist army of Charles I who was doomed to lose his head as a result. Other fighting in the regions was dismissed as not much more than local fisticuffs. Times have changed, of course, along with scholarship and interpretation, and the interconnectedness of the struggle has become steadily more apparent. In that vein, Andrew Abram’s More Like Lions Than Men examines the Cheshire Army of Parliament under Sir William Brereton and establishes it firmly in the broader strategic context of the war.
Abram splits his book into three parts. Part I follows the Cheshire army on campaign from Autumn 1642 to February 1646. Brereton assumed command in a County that showed little interest in the war, but he recruited a sizeable force and cooperated with other Parliamentary forces across England. He also resisted Royalist incursions into Cheshire as the County became increasingly important. Brereton was successful through 1643 aided by a cadre of competent officers and experienced soldiers and that continued through the heavy fighting of 1644 and the siege of Chester that occupied much of 1645.
Parts II and III delve into the nuts and bolts of the Cheshire army. Abram examines how men were recruited, dressed, and organized into the infantry, cavalry, artillery, and other non-fighting branches. He includes an interesting section on religious ministers, which was important particularly in the Parliamentarian armies. Abrams turns his attention to how the army functioned away from the battlefield; how they were fed, paid, and armed, including their ammunition. Part III surveys the units that made up the Cheshire army, beginning with Brereton’s cavalry, highlighting their sub-units, officers and NCOs, and numbers. He does the same for the Infantry regiments and Dragoons. He concludes with an outstanding bibliography
More Like Lions Than Men is excellent value. The opening fast-paced narrative section is followed by an exemplary scholarly analysis of all elements of the Cheshire army. The text is littered with interesting contemporary illustrations and a judicious use of quotes, though some are too long and could have been paraphrased. The colour plate section of soldiers and flags adds to the production values of what is overall a fine book and one that sets the standard for anyone wishing to attempt the same. If diving deep into an English Civil War army appeals to you then this is a must buy; for those just interested in the ECW and how armies fought, Abram has set you up with a thoroughly engrossing read.
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by RNS | Sep 23, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
John S McHugh, Sejanus Regent of Rome (Pen & Sword, 2020)
His name is synonymous with burning ambition; a man who had enough but wanted it all. At his peak, Sejanus’s power rivalled that of the Roman Emperor, but he overstepped (don’t they always?) and died a traitor’s ignominious death. Along the way, he fundamentally changed Roman history and political culture. John S McHugh brings us Sejanus’s story and attempts to solve the mysteries that still surround him.
Sejanus was born into an influential, though not noble, family during the fiery death of the Roman Republic in 20 BCE. He began his army career as a young man, hoping to follow in his father’s footsteps as one of the Emperor’s Praetorian Prefects, which he duly achieved after climbing the military ladder. He had done so through patronage and exercising his ambition, but Sejanus was also charismatic and energetic and politically astute. Sejanus was now near the centre of power but that only stoked the fires of his ambition. He watched and learned how power worked, becoming the Emperor Tiberius’s right-hand man in the process. When Tiberius removed himself from Rome, Sejanus filled the void as a regent. He now controlled Rome through fear and patronage while keeping Tiberius ill-informed as to events in his capital. Then Sejanus fell, sharply, as tyrants do; Tiberius finally wise to Sejanus’s power-grab. The man who would be Emperor was imprisoned, garrotted, and his corpse defiled, though he suffered his fate bravely. A six-year terror followed against Sejanus’s supporters, real and imagined, fuelled by Tiberius’s vindictiveness and spurred on by his new Praetorian Prefect, Macro. It ended only when Tiberius died. McHugh concludes on a sympathetic note for Sejanus who he sees as little different from those who came after, though Sejanus set the precedent.
The sources for Sejanus are patchy at best, but McHugh picks his way through them with care – his handling of the ‘murder’ of Drusus is an excellent example of this. That might not make for the most enjoyable reading experience at times, but it is necessary and provides great insight into the pitfalls and rewards of studying ancient history. McHugh’s draws the reader in with his clear narrative of events and descriptions of the major players in this extended drama, and his placement of Sejanus’s rise and fall in the context of Roman politics is skilfully exposited. Sejanus’s dramatic rise and fall still serves as a morality tale through the centuries, and it is one that McHugh tells well.
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by RNS | Sep 17, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
John Walter, Weapons of the Civil War Cavalryman (Osprey, 2020)
Weapons of the Civil War Cavalryman is part of Osprey’s Weapon series. Its author, John Walter, has written many books on small arms, so you know he is going into the weeds in his latest work, and if you thought that the Civil War cavalryman carried just a saber, carbine, and pistol then think again; there was much more variety in their weapons than popular culture suggests.
Walter dives straight into his subject, discussing the weapons American soldiers carried in their conflicts leading up to the Civil War before continuing into an overview of weapons logistics, particularly their manufacture in the US and foreign suppliers. He expands on the developments of the various longarms – rifles and carbines – of both sides, and there were many different types. Walter follows that with similar discussions on revolvers, including French and British models, with a detour into the small derringers for personal use as a last resort, and bladed weapons. How the cavalry was raised, organised, and fought is summarized with some examples of their use in battle. Walter notes there was no standard issue for all of these because the Civil War was initially a volunteer war. Walter also teases out the debate between the classic saber and the revolver for close combat. He finishes with an appendix on patents and a useful little bibliography for further reading.
If you are familiar with Osprey books, you will know that it is the illustrations and photographs that make them worthwhile, without disregarding the obvious expertise of the author of course. Weapons of the Civil War Cavalryman does not disappoint in that regard, including an illustration of the famous and futile cavalry charge with lances at Valverde in 1862. In addition, photographs of weapons are included on almost every page. Anyone interested in Civil War cavalry will appreciate this slim but interesting book.
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by RNS | Sep 16, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
Jon Diamond, MacArthur’s Papua New Guinea Offensive 1942-1943 Images of War (Pen & Sword, 2020)
In MacArthur’s Papua New Guinea Offensive, Jon Diamond takes us into the heart of a brutal battle during World War II, fought by under-trained soldiers in a vicious environment across almost impossible terrain. Along with the victory at the neighbouring island of Guadalcanal, the Papua campaign marked the zenith of Japanese Imperial ambitions in the Pacific and the turning of the tide in favour of the Allies.
Diamond begins with an overview of the early Pacific War, beginning with Japanese expansion across Asia after Pearl Harbor then focusing on the campaign in Papua New Guinea. That put them in reach of Australia, but they would need to take Port Moresby on the south of the island, which was held by the Australians. When MacArthur arrived to take command of the South West Pacific Theatre, he was tasked with capturing Buna on the north of the island to establish an airfield. The Japanese beat him to it and tried to push over the Owen Stanley Range to Port Moresby, so began the brutal fighting on the Kokoda Trail connecting Port Moresby to Buna. This was conducted against the backdrop of the failed Japanese effort to defend nearby Guadalcanal that put the Japanese on the defensive around Buna. The Australians turned to the offensive with the under-trained Americans pushing in too with engineering and air support. They took Buna then pushed on along the coast to drive the Japanese out for good. Winning was a relentless slog against the elements, disease, and of course the redoubtable Japanese, very few of whom survived. Mixed in with the narrative, there is a chapter on terrain, weaponry, and fortifications that all favoured the defenders, particularly in ground unsuitable for tanks. If that was not enough, the Japanese became experts at constructing concealed bunkers that had to be taken the hard way, man to man. Diamond also considers the commanders and soldiers on both sides.
The Images of War series depends on the collected photographs alongside the narrative to make the books work. In this case, there are too many photos included from the Burma front, the Philippines, the Doolittle Raid, and Guadalcanal, but those from the Papua campaign are informative. Many of the photographs show the awful conditions these men had to fight in – mud, tall grass, rivers, jungle, more mud – and the incredible efforts of soldiers and engineers to overcome them. Diamond includes photographs of the major commanders and soldiers, the latter mostly marching or resting, but there are some excellent combat photographs too, particularly of the Japanese: the deterioration of the soldiers on both sides as the battle wore on is evident. Diamond does not forget the Papuan natives who risked their lives for the Allies and made such an important contribution to victory.
This account of the Papua New Guinea campaign does not break any new ground, but Diamond tells the story well, and the accompanying photographs are useful visual aids for understanding the hell these soldiers went through. There are more detailed books that describe this campaign, but as a primer, Diamond’s MacArthur’s Papua New Guinea Offensive does the job more than adequately and is well worth reading.
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by RNS | Sep 9, 2020 | Beating Tsundoku
Alberto Toscano, A Champion Cyclist Against the Nazis (Pen & Sword, 2020)
As I write this review, the Tour de France is in full flow with commentators extolling in hyperbolic fashion the heroics of professional cyclists. Without denigrating those undoubtedly great athletes, however, a true hero of cycling was a pious young Italian Gino Bartali who saved the lives of eight-hundred Jews from under the noses of their fascist pursuers during World War II. In A Champion Cyclist Against the Nazis prominent Italian writer, Alberto Toscano, narrates Bartali’s remarkable story.
Gino Bartali was an extraordinary cyclist; a two-time winner of the Tour de France, three-time winner of the Giro d’Italia, and a winner of over 180 other races. Born in Florence in 1914, Bartali, like so many other poor Italians, lived for his bike as almost an extension of himself. He bought his first one aged 12, won his first race at 16, and turned pro in 1935 aged 20. He also grew up deeply religious. Bartali’s anti-fascism was already on show in the 1930s, which brought him to the attention of the Mussolini regime; when he won the Tour de France in 1938, he refused to salute Mussolini from the podium. That was also the year everything changed with Italy’s racial laws aimed at Jews. Then Italy declared war on Britain and France on 10 June 1940, ending sport for the foreseeable future. Bartali was called up, but his role in the war was that of traffic policeman until Italy surrendered to the Allies in July 1943. The Germans invaded, reinstating Mussolini, and the transport of the Jews to the death camps began – 8,000 would go, but few came back. Bartali hid Jews in his house and engaged with the Catholic resistance networks to save more Jews. Under the guise of training, Bartali carried forged papers for Jews and money in the frame of his bicycle between monasteries, convents, and his home in Florence. When stopped, he told sports stories to the Nazi and fascist guards to distract them. He also had to avoid Allied planes that strafed the roads. After the war, Bartali returned to professional cycling. He won the Giro d’Italia in 1946, then the Tour de France in 1948 against a backdrop of political turmoil in Italy. He retired in 1954 after failing to overcome injuries from a car accident. Bartali became a minor TV celebrity in subsequent years and stayed close to cycling. He died in 2000.
Toscano writes with love for Bartali, often referring to him simply as Gino. However, while this is a biography about Bartali, he features less than you might think, especially in his work saving Jews. That is for the simple reason that Bartali refused to talk about it. What we have then is a light, enthusiastically written biography infused with political and cultural references, particularly movies, and some fascinating insights into Bartali’s cycling career and the politics of the professional cycling. Toscano also displays a deep hatred of fascism and sets his veneration of Bartali against that, highlighting optimistically the triumph of simple goodness over evil. In these times of re-emerging fascism, that is a comforting thought.
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