Bored, but busy with boards

One of the advantages to having a house being built on your property is that there is plenty of off cut lumber for projects.

Note large pile of lumber to the right of the house

One of the disadvantages of plenty of off cut lumber for projects is...more honey do's.

So....Mrs J, ever thoughtful of my mental health, and in addition to the normal "Honey Do" list has begun adding to my workshop project list.

In spite of my subtle warnings.

However, she does know my weak spots.

Oscar would be my little buddy on the right, his wonky leg is his front right one. Annie is on the left.

"Well...You know that Oscar is getting a little long in the tooth and his "wonky" leg is giving him issues"

"Yes"

"Well, he's having issues getting up on the bed and even worse ones jumping off of it."

"Yes", I say with trepidation, knowing the trap has been set and there's no way out.

"Well,  couldn't you build a ramp for him to use to get into and out of bed?  Soon."

So, I run out to my nearest lumber supply depot, (Shown above) and pick out two long cut off pieces of siding and some quite usable (after cutting nailed ends off and squaring them) 2 x 8's.  Which when laminated together, mitered to the correct angle (14^o) , covered with leftover carpet from our last re-carpet of the current house and garnished with a beautiful piece of ambrosia maple for a rail gave me a nice little ramp.

Banished to the Lumber Dump!

Which Oscar promptly jumped off the tall end, catching his hind legs on the rail. The Czechoslovakian Judge gave him a 10 for the resulting half gainer.

The look on Mrs J's face as she rushed to assist him, told me that Oscar would not be sleeping in the Dog House that night, but it would not be empty.

So...fortunately, my local lumber supply depot had not been stripped bare of lumber.  So, consulting with my project manager on changes She'd like in the design, I went back to work.

Round two went a little easier.

We will be adding a permanent covering shortly.

And, while not completely finished, we tested it before committing more carpeting  (which was a pain in the butt to unwrap, cut, attach then re-roll and re-cover in industrial Saran Wrap).  Annie was first up the ramp.  Oscar eyed it a little nervously, so we picked him up and put him on it.  He promptly jumped off the side.

I felt Mrs J reaching for the rolling pin.

So, I picked him up and put him on the bed.  He ran down the ramp.  Again, I picked him up, Again he ran back down.

Finally...

 Tuckered out by the episode, he ran up the ramp and took a nap.  Unfortunately, that's my side of the bed and I had intended to take a nap.

Knowing that discretion is the better part of valor, I let Sleeping Dogs lie (Literally!) , and went to clean up the work shop.

So, how is the Lumber Supply Project coming along, juvat?

Well, Sarge,  pretty well.  

Monday morning last, the project looked like this.

Taken from the Horse Barn.

The crew has been working for about an hour and gotten the sheeting down on the garage roof.

Later that morning.

By Tuesday.

We had a pleasant surprise Wednesday evening, as evidently, some one other than just carpenters had shown up.

The fireplace and Chimney had been installed.

Doors also.

By the end of the week, most of the internal braces had been removed, the AC ducting installed.

Great room taken from front entrance with dining room on left.

Front entrance from Patio door, Kitchen on right

I've been told that we are rapidly approaching that part of the project where  noticeable progress slows considerably.  That having been said, one of our commenters here, BillB, had suggested adding some insulation to the inside wall between the Master Bedroom and the Great Room to dampen the sound of the TV above the Fire place.  We made that change in time, so...Thanks Bill!

The plumbers are expected this week and one of their tasks will be to reposition the water pipes from the middle of the Master Suite hallway  and into the actual bathroom where they might be useful.  Guttering is something else we need to consider.  We've had fairly heavy rain and the ground underneath the roof corners is eroding quite a bit.

Didn't think of that (and 4.6 Billion other small details).

So...Life goes on.  Heard a little good news from our Governor.  Hope y'alls are doing what they should be doing and not what some have been doing.

I'll leave it at that. Or maybe some Hummingbird dogfighting.

There's Only So Much a Free People Will Abide...

Two-hundred and forty-five years ago, on this day, a Wednesday, forces of His Royal Majesty, King George III, set forth from Boston to seize arms which the colonists had stored near Boston. The specific objective was the town of Concord. A distance of some twenty miles when measured from Boston Common.

The British would cross the Charles River in boats manned by sailors of the Royal Navy, so it was to be two lanterns shining from the tower of the Old North Church...

LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light, --
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm."

(Source)

It must have been an unpleasant start to a long day for those British soldiers and Marines. A day which, for many, would be their last.

I have written two fairly decent posts on that momentous event in American history. One in 2016 and another last year. I liked last year's post so much I thought I'd give it another airing this year. (You can read the older post here.)

That day in 1775 didn't mark the beginning of what would become the United States of America, but it did mark the day when people decided that enough was enough. They may not have intended to seek independence, but once blood had been shed by both sides, it was probably inevitable.

Would be tyrants should read their history. It may not repeat itself, but you might say it rhymes.

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

(Source)

Tom and Will Clark were brothers, Tom being the older by a year. Both had been farm hands in a small village in Essex, had been until they were old enough to escape that life and take the King's Shilling,

They were big lads, and strong from all that farm work growing up, so big and strong that they were made grenadiers. Elite soldiers, so they were told, who now stood shivering with the rest of their company on the shore of Boston's Back Bay. Waiting for the boats which would take them to the "mainland" as their company sergeant major, Bill Lewis, called it.

Neither brother knew whether it was very early in the morning or very late at night (both being damned near the same thing Tom thought). They only knew that while Spring had technically arrived, the nights and mornings still bore a sharp chill.

"Alright lads, steady, our boat's right there, let's go sailing!" Sergeant Major Lewis called out.

"Sarn't Major, haven't ye had enough of boats for the time being?" Will joked, all were well aware that the sergeant major had been sick as a dog the entire Atlantic crossing.

"That's enough out of you Will Clark! Move laddies, let's get aboard!"

The crossing was uneventful, the grenadiers stood quietly as the sailors rowed them across the water. When the boat finally grounded on the opposite shore, the men scrambled over the sides, into the cold water, and formed up quickly.

"My bloody boots are soaked through, this army life will be the death of me yet." Will grumbled to his older brother, hoping that the sergeant major hadn't heard him.

"Jesus Will, keep your voice down..." Tom Clark began, only to be interrupted by Sergeant Major Lewis, who missed nothing and heard everything in "his" company.

"So Will Clark, chattering like a magpie again are we? The army might not be the death of ye, but I swear that I will kill you myself if you don't shut your gob!"

"Yes, Sarn't Major, sorry Sarn't Major."

As Lewis turned and walked to the front of the company, to make sure the leftenant didn't make a complete hash of things, Will Clark stuck his tongue out.

"Stick it out again Clark and I'll have you flogged."

With that Will shut his mouth, wondering if the sergeant major was some sort of demon, the man never missed a trick.

The sun was well up before the assembled troops moved off, whereas it had been quite brisk before, as the dew evaporated in the bright sun it was growing quite hot. Nothing like a brisk march and a wool coat to warm a fellow up!

A small village green was just ahead, from his position near the flank of the column, Tom Clark could see there was a small body of men formed upon the green. In civilian clothing but he could see that these men were armed. "What deviltry is afoot this fine morning?" he wondered.

An officer rode out ahead of the column and directed the men to their left, ordering them from march column to line formation. When that maneuver was completed, the officer ordered the men to halt. The command rippled down the column behind them as well, repeated by each commander in turn.

Then the mounted man faced the grenadier company and ordered...

"Company will fix bayonets!"

The grenadiers reached back and gripped the sockets of their bayonets. Tom could see that his brother Will looked very pale, obviously he had seen the armed men as well.

"Fix!"

A ripple of movement down the line...

"BAYONETS!"

With bayonets now fixed, the grenadiers stood like statues, the officer wheeled his horse towards the men on the green and ordered them to lay down their arms and disperse at once, in the name of the King!

The armed civilians seemed to waver, ever so slightly. Tom could not understand how these few civilians, armed with what appeared to be older versions of the musket the grenadiers carried and not a few fowling pieces as well, thought they could withstand the might of the British Army.

Tom watched the officer turn his horse again and trot back to where the company was formed.

"Charge your BAYONETS!"

With a yell, the grenadiers threw one foot forward and leveled their muskets, bayonets at the ready. At that moment, Tom saw a puff of smoke, powder smoke, by a stone wall off to the right of the green. Then he heard the sharp buzz of a ball pass nearby. Dear Lord, they're shooting at us. Are they insane?

A number of men, Will included, fired off their muskets in the general direction of the slowly disappearing smoke.

"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" Sergeant Major Lewis screamed as he used his spontoon to slap some of the men's muskets up. Tom had never seen the man so furious. In an instant, the command was given to advance.

As the drums rolled, the grenadiers stepped off. A single, ineffective volley was fired by the civilians, many of them began to run.

"Company, HALT!"

"Present your firelocks!"

"FIRE!"

A volley rang out from the company line. Tom felt the big musket kick back against his shoulder as he immediately began to reload. As the smoke rolled away, he could see a number of the civilians down on the ground, some writhing in agony, some as still as the grave.

"Company will advance!"

The drums rolled and the grenadiers moved forward again. Many of the civilians had vanished into the houses surrounding the green. Some still stood, reloading.

"At them lads! Give 'em cold steel!" The officer on horseback shouted.

With a yell the grenadiers rushed forward. One or two of the civilians were bayoneted where they stood. Will pursued one man right to the door of one of the houses and bayoneted the man in the lower back. Will watched in shock as the man fell, Will's bayonet still in his back. There was so much blood.

Tom Clark rushed up and pushed Will aside. Grabbing his brother's musket, he placed a foot on the civilian's back and yanked back on Will's musket. As the man groaned and tried to rise, Tom handed Will's musket back to him, then pushed the wounded man back down.

"Stay still laddie, your fight's over."

The man tried to sit up, groaning, "Damned lobsterback bastard, rot in Hell!"

Shocked, Tom hit the man in the face with the butt of his musket, killing the wounded civilian.

"You had your chance mate, come on Will, we need to rejoin the company."

Will Clark was in shock, he had stabbed a man, then watched his brother kill him. What in the world was going on? This couldn't be happening, it's such a beautiful day. Why are we killing our fellow Englishmen?

The company quickly reformed and stepped off in march column once more. All along the road Tom could see men off in the distance, seemingly in a hurry to get somewhere. The march continued unopposed as the day grew hotter. Tom was worried about Will, he was quiet and seemed to be staring off into the distance, following the man in front of him without really paying attention.

They went into Concord, smashed up a number of cannon carriages and caissons, a couple of the lads set fire to a haystack. It all seemed like great fun, though Tom was wondering what they were going to do next. The officers all seemed angry, apparently what they had marched out of Boston for was not to be found, at least not in the quantities the officers seemed to expect.

Reforming, the column moved off down the road they had come into Concord on. Not far away Tom heard musket fire, serious musket fire, volleys were being exchanged close by, though he couldn't see where.

Tom began seeing bodies of formed men on the nearby ridge lines and moving parallel to the road they were on, some of the older men, the veterans. were looking a bit worried. It seemed to Tom that a war might be starting this very day, were these men insane?

As the company rounded a bend in the road, a volley rang out from behind a nearby stone wall. As Tom looked in that direction, he heard a high-pitched scream and saw their young leftenant pitch from his horse, blood staining the man's trousers nearly the same color as his jacket. The young man died before he hit the ground.

Sergeant Major Lewis quickly took control and ordered the men to face right and present their firelocks. As he ordered a volley, Tom saw nothing but smoke from where the civilians had fired from, they had vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

"Reload lads, quickly now!"

As men bit off cartridges, as ramrods rattled down barrels, another volley came from the opposite side of the road. More men in the company went down, some were unmoving, some were helped unsteadily to their feet as the Sergeant Major got the men moving again. They had to get out of this enclosed space and get to where they could form up properly and hit back.

The day went on like that, agonizing hour after hour, until they met up with more British troops coming up from Boston. The civilians, the rebels as one officer had called them, had faded back into the countryside. Leaving the King's troops battered, bloodied, and exhausted.

Tom and Will marched back to Boston, wondering what the day had meant. Wondering how their fellow Englishmen could hate them so. Will was changed, he was quieter, life wasn't so funny any more.

While Will had been shocked at how he had bayoneted a fellow human being earlier in the day, along the march he had gone from being confused to grimly determined. He had expended nearly all of the rounds from his cartridge box. Tom remembered watching his brother calmly load and fire throughout the long day, had remembered his brother's grunt of satisfaction as he saw at least one man go down when he fired.

Will was no longer the frightened boy he had been that morning, he was now a soldier.

War had come to the King's American possessions, again.

(Source)

Woe Is Me. Kind Of.

Well after a week of staying up too late and getting up too early, it's finally Saturday. Not that I can really tell the difference anymore. In the photo above, if the laptop on the TV tray is up and running, it's a workday, if it isn't, it's a day off. The machine on the left is always up, well, it's up when I'm up.

As you can see, the morning coffee is ready for consumption, both computers are up, and the Ready Helo stands atop the desktop tower, manned and ready. (No, The Missus Herself frowns on me flying it in the house, in case you're wondering. BTW, the other day someone asked what the columnar thing near the window was. No, it's not some slender R2D2 wannabe, it's a fan. Very compact it is. Very handy to have.)

So it's Friday night as I write this, do we have big plans? Uh, no, not at all, even when we're not in Sparkling Isolation. Not to mention which it's been an odd couple of fortnights, health-wise. Now, now, dinnae panic, I've not rendezvoused with the corona, nope, it's the rhino kicking my ass. Head all plugged up, nose dripping like a faucet with a bad o-ring, sneezing like mad. No fever though, which pegs it as the one, not the other. (Also no headache, The Missus Herself tells me that I can't have a headache as I am a headache. Not really, I can be a jerk at times, which... Okay, I can be a headache, never mind.)

This one -

(Source)

Not this one -

(Source)

(If you chase the link under the beer it will lead you to an article. Apparently Grupo Modelo, the folks who brew Corona, have shut down production due to the disease, not wanting their employees to get sick, not due to the stupidity of people who think the beer and the disease are associated. Stupid people shouldn't drink anyway.)

Now the visit from the rhino is just in the past few days, the longer term medical "issue" which has been inflicting Your Humble Scribe is neither life threatening, nor particularly painful, just annoying as Hell.

Back in 2000, might have been 2001, I can't remember, I had this weird looking rash across my chest and back. Showed up all of a sudden like. I got up in the morning and there it was, it wasn't particularly itchy but it was one of those, "Hhmm, that ain't right, better get it checked out." Which I did, puzzled my doctor it did, he'd never seen the like of it (back then my doctor was male, now my doctor is female. No, he didn't have an operation, he left the practice to go elsewhere.). So it was off to the dermatologist, where they checked things out, though now it wasn't a rash, there were these unsightly lesions. So they did a core sample, no really, hurt that did. Left a mark as well, which I suppose is normal when a chunk of flesh is bored out of you!

Anyhoo, I waited a week or so then they called me for a follow-up. Many long faces in the doctor's exam room. I wondered who had died and was ready to offer condolences, then I realized the long faces were on my behalf. Hhmm, thinks I, this can't be good.

"We've got the results from your tests, we think you have anaplastic large T-cell lymphoma (ALCL)."

All I heard was "lymphoma."

A quick check of the Internet gave a prognosis of seven years. Hhmm, gives me a bit of time it does. My buddy Fred thought I was taking it rather well.

"Well Fred, we all have to die sometime. If this is how the Lord wants me to check out, well, there ya go. Better than getting hit by a bus I suppose!"

Fred and I had a chuckle, then we all went out to dinner where far too much alcohol was consumed. (Fred was my pastor, a grand fellow. I loved that guy and was crushed when he passed away, from cancer, in January of 2008. Which began the "bad stretch of years," as I recall them. Fred in 2008, my Dad in 2010, Lex in 2012, then Buck in 2014. Yes, I grew to be quite nervous of even numbered years!)

Anyhoo, the nice folks at the dermatologist sent me off to a cancer doc at Rhode Island Hospital (with my own doctor's concurrence, of course). After an examination, we chatted for a bit. I described the lesions to him and mentioned that they eventually erupted, dried up, and went away. (Ooh, that was a bit graphic, sorry...)

"They go away?"

"Yes, sometimes they leave a scar, as you can see here, but yeah, they go away."

"Uh, not sure how to say this, but ALCL lesions don't heal, or go away. Let me go check something."

He left the exam room, gotta say I was happy with the not ALCL thing, but that left me back at square one, what the Hell is this malady I have? Oh, forgot to mention, the "this isn't ALCL" thing wasn't at the first visit. That was an exam followed by an appointment for another "procedure." This one involved a bone marrow sampling. From the small of my back. Let's just say, there are certain parts of the body which can't really be numbed enough. The small of the back, well, the pelvic bone underneath that region, is one of them. Must have been nasty to watch as well, The Missus Herself wanted to be there with me (one of the many reasons I love that woman) so she was and almost passed out. Doc had her leave the room.

Yeah, that procedure sucked and it hurt, quite a bit. Not a sharp pain but a feeling of discomfort, much discomfort. Glad that was over.

Anyhoo, long story short, turns out what I actually had was called lymphomatoid papulosis (LyP), which took me years to spell correctly. I spent most of a year traveling up to Tufts Medical Center up in Boston. The doctor there (a very fine lady doctor who now teaches at Yale, last I heard, she'll produce some fine doctors, of that I'm sure) wrote me a prescription for methotrexate, I think it was 75 milligrams a week.

Eventually the lesions stopped popping up. As the doc was moving to New Haven, Connecticut, for the Yale gig, and there seemed no need to continue "shipping up to Boston," we agreed that my own doctor could keep an eye on things. (This was the lady doctor I have now, great doc BTW.) Also I was off the meth. Heh.

But...

(You had to know there was a "but" in there somewhere.)

Every now and again, when Spring has sprung and the weather begins to get nicer, I will have an outbreak of the LyP. Usually they're just wee things which resolve in a day or so. Occasionally though I will get one of the big, nasty looking ones. Said nasty looking one I indeed am dealing with right now. On my face. Yay me.

It's about ready to "crater" (as I put it), then it will be nasty for a day or so, then dry up and go away. Well, I thought the worst was past until I woke up Friday morning. As I'm making the bed, I notice something on my pillow. I put my glasses on and it looked like someone had been assassinated right there on my pillow. Blood all over. Eeww!

Seems it hasn't completely dried up, yet.

So I've got that on my plate right now. Not painful, just ugly looking and annoying. I also can't really shave either, so I look downright unkempt. Well, more so than usual.

The disease, BTW, is not contagious. It is also rather rare. Yay me.

With that and the head cold, blogging might be sparse in the next few days. Probably not, but you never know, just wanted to give you all a heads up in the event Your Humble Scribe doesn't post something one morning. I didn't die, it's just that my morale is in the toilet at the moment.

But this too shall pass.

Be well and, as the sergeant used to say on Hill Street Blues, let's be careful out there.

Draught or Draft?

Draught beer fonts at the Delirium Café in Brussels.
(Source)

Actually this is one of those "I got nuthin'" posts. It's not about beer, it's not about the difference between the words "draught," primarily an English usage as in the Queen's English, and "draft," which is what we colonials use as opposed to  "draught." Our cousins across the Pond use both spellings, though they mean different things. Here in the U.S. of A. we stick with "draft," though in some hoity-toity drinking establishments we will use the term "draught" for all of the fancy non-American beers they have on tap.

Not that there's anything wrong with that. Now I'm not a beer "snob," I drink what tastes best to me and it often depends on the occasion. For instance, if I can't make up my mind what I want, then it's Guinness. If I'm eating at Aidan's Pub, here in Little Rhody, then typically it's a Guinness with bangers and mash, if it's the meatloaf mountain...

What's a "meatloaf mountain" you ask? Well, officially it's "homemade meatloaf over grilled garlic bread, topped with mashed potatoes, grilled onions & beef gravy." The meatloaf is incredible (they don't mention that the meatloaf is wrapped in bacon, they should as it's delicious), they do mashed potatoes at Aidan's so well, the gravy is to die for. The gravy bit is odd, something else which I could not abide as a callow youth, which now I crave!

The only thing at Aidan's better than their beef gravy is their Irish whiskey gravy. Which has, you guessed it, whiskey in the mix. Tastes INCREDIBLE and, excuse me a minute...

Sorry about that, what with this Sparkling Isolation and all I haven't been to Aidan's in over a month. So yeah, I drooled all over my keyboard whilst expounding upon the gravy at Aidan's. Damn it I miss their food!

But I was talking about the sort of beer I like with my meatloaf mountain, typically I will go with a porter (did I mention that Aidan's has a superlative beer selection? Well, they do.), but not just any porter, this one -

(Source)

It has been described as "dessert in a glass," being a big fan of desserts, I rather like it, and it really does complement the meatloaf. I don't know why, I am no epicure, nor do I pretend to be one. I like what I like.

Hhmm, maybe this is a beer post, might even be a food post. Perhaps it's both, I dunno, I am pretty much doing a brain dump at this point. There are times when I fret because I don't know what to write about. So I just start writing. Odd that.

Okay, I miss the food at Aidan's, I miss the atmosphere at Aidan's. If you were to ask, Aidan's is to me, what Shakespeare's was to Lex. FWIW, I love both places. A visit to Shakespeare's is mandatory when I'm in San Diego, to Aidan's when it's Sunday, right after church. It's a tradition which The Missus Herself has not tired of, yet. (Though truth be told, there are Sundays when she says, "let's go somewhere else today." To which I always say "Casa Margaritas?" Which she will normally agree to, though the only thing she likes there is the Texas fajita. So much so that the last time we went there the waitress just looked at her, smiled, and asked "Texas fajita?"

The Missus Herself is not ordinarily so predictable.

For the record, I love pretty much the entire menu at Casa Margaritas. What do I drink for beer, er, cerveza, when I'm there? Easy question, easily answered, this -

(Source)

Usually at least two, I tend to go heavy on the hot sauce on my Mexican food. Love it.

Damn, I think Casa Margaritas is actually open for delivery now! Should I? I crave their burrito Mexicano, this damned hunkering down has put me off my feed.

I guess this is a beer and food post.

Now I'm hungry.

And thirsty.

The Great War

Trenches of the 11th Cheshire Regiment at Ovillers-la-Boisselle, on the Somme, July 1916. One sentry keeps watch while the others sleep.
Photo by Ernest Brooks

Welcome to the fourth installment of Sarge's "Off the top of my head" History Lectures*...

great

adjective

1. of an extent, amount, or intensity considerably above the normal or average.
"the article was of great interest" 

2. of ability, quality, or eminence considerably above the normal or average.
"the great Italian conductor" (Source)

It was called the Great War, not until the Second World War erupted was it called the First World War. It wasn't great as in wonderful or fantastic (in fact it was anything but), it was great as in massive, as in the whole world seemed to be involved. It was indeed intense, whether it was more intense than previous wars, I don't know. Getting shot at is pretty intense, regardless of the context.

When you mention the Great War to most people, they think of that opening photo, they think of trench warfare, the mud, the artillery, the incessant machine gun fire, but it didn't start that way. No, in the beginning it was men marching in columns or in line, either on foot or on horseback.

French infantry charging into battle in 1914. The machine guns haven't started firing, yet.

The French Army went to war wearing blue kepis, blue coats, and red trousers. Yes, you read that correctly, RED trousers.

The evolution of French infantry uniforms in WWI.
(Source)

The Germans wore the pickelhaube, this rather odd (though somehow cool-looking) piece of headgear.

Photo courtesy of Le Musée de Sarge
Yes, that's my pickelhaube

While those helmets did look kinda cool, to make them ugly they covered them in gray cloth, with the regiment number painted on in red. Wie so...

Practical, but damn that's ugly!

In addition, everybody had cavalry. Guys on horses with sabers. Heck, the French still had cuirassiers! Guys wearing steel back and breast plates, helmets with horse tails and all, just like back in the days of Napoléon! (Though to be fair, they looked more like Napoléon III's cavalry, red trousers and all!)

French cuirassiers in Paris, August 1914. These regiments wore cloth-covered cuirasses and
helmets during the early months of World War I.

The Germans had their lancers, which they called Ulanen or Uhlans.

Prussian Guard Uhlans about 1912.
(Source)

Men on horseback with pointed sticks. Just the thing for charging into machine gun fire!

Even the British had their mounted Life Guards

A squadron from the 1st Life Guards, August 1914; possibly attached to the
Household Cavalry Composite Regiment, as the Life Guards did not leave for France until September.

So the nations of Europe went to war in August of 1914, the troops went in standing up, bayonets at the ready (or on horseback, sword at the ready), just like the old days. Napoléon would have recognized the formations (and some of the uniforms), Grant and Lee would have shaken their heads, they knew better. Some fifty years earlier armies started digging, even without the machine gun and the latest artillery, they knew that to advance into enemy fire was a recipe for disaster.

But they learned, the hard way, after thousands of deaths, they learned. (As a side note, if you have not seen the BBC's mini-series Our World War, seek it out**. Only three episodes, the first, dealing with the Battle of Mons in 1914, shows the Germans marching blithely into British machine gun fire. Sobering it is.)

By the fall everybody started digging trenches in the West (the East stayed semi-mobile throughout the war due to the vast spaces involved, though some parts of that front were as heavily dug in as in France), from the Swiss border to the English Channel, the armies went to ground.

For four years the British and French generals tried the same old ways of attacking, and the infantry died the same old way. Blast the Germans lines with tons of artillery, then march forth to "do battle." Of course, the Germans kept their front line lightly manned, once the cannon fire stopped, the German machine gun teams would man their positions, and commence the slaughter of an entire generation.

In 1918 the Germans tried doing things a little differently. No massive artillery preparations, but small groups of shock troops seeking the weak points in the trench line, finding them then getting in the rear and making huge amounts of trouble. Thing is though, everyone was on foot, a soldier couldn't get very far before the Allied reserves would move up to seal the penetrations and then wipe out the shock troops.

Even when the tank came along there were no sweeping advances, those mechanical beasts were just too unreliable and they still needed infantry to protect them. They weren't all that fast either. The war ended because the German people were starving, the troops were mutinous, and new troops coming to the front didn't want to fight, they didn't see the point. Not with their families at home starving, "For what?", they asked.

With swarms of fresh American troops arriving, the German grunts saw the writing on the wall, there was no way they could win.

So they quit.

How did it start, this blood letting on a massive scale?

Europe in WWI, start to finish.
(Source)

Well, you might want to blame the royalty governing many of the powers in 1914. The King of England was related to the Kaiser of Germany and to the Czar of Russia as well. But really it was the system that was to blame for the war. But none of those chaps (including the Kaiser of the Austro-Hungarian Empire) was an absolute ruler, each had a Parliament/Reichstag/Duma to answer to for many things. (The Imperial Council and the Diet of Hungary for the Emperor in Austro-Hungary.)

Large armies, built via conscription, were all the rage on the Continent. The French used it, the Germans used it, the Russians used it, and the Austro-Hungarians used it. Everyone wanted to avoid being "not ready" for war should something happen.***

Of course, large, standing armies are very expensive. So most countries had a regular army and a system of reserves. A soldier would be trained, serve for a couple of years, then be sent back to civvy-street until such time as they were needed. So a small, professional army was to be augmented by calling up the reserves just prior to war starting.

Why not do it before the war started? Because then everyone else would know that you were ready to start a war, why mobilize if you weren't going to use that big army? So every army had a schedule for mobilization, once the crisis was clear, each army would recall their reserves, form them up, equip them and move them to the front, or I should say where they anticipated the front might be.

Anything that upset that schedule gave the generals nightmares. "What if the other guy gets a jump on his mobilization and is ready before we are? We could lose the war!" So everyone had to be ready to mobilize at a moment's notice. Once mobilized the troops would begin to move and nothing could stop them. See where this is going?

Anyhoo, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand (heir presumptive to the throne of Austria-Hungary) and his wife decided to visit Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina, which was a fairly recent addition to the Empire (occupied since 1878, actually annexed in 1908). The Serbians were not happy with that. A small group of fellows (perhaps with the support of the Serbian government) decided to act on their dislike of the Empire's annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina.

By killing the Archduke and his wife as they visited Sarajevo.

Which they did. The Austrians demanded that Serbia turn over the culprits and gave the Serbs a list of demands which they knew would be rejected. They threatened war with Serbia.

The Russian were pissed off, they considered the Serbians "fellow Slavs" (but like Russians through the ages just wanted to be top dog in the area). The Germans were telling the Austrians, "go for it, we've got your back." So the Austrians mobilized.

Then the Russians mobilized (they'd show those damned Austrians), as did the Germans, figuring that because it took the Russians forever to do anything, they could mobilize, sucker punch France, then get the bulk of the army back to the east to deal with the Russians. All the while letting the Austrians defeat Serbia.

Of course the French had to step up and mobilize as well, they knew damned well that the Germans had their eyes on France first. (And they were itching to get Alsace and Lorraine back which the Germans had seized in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870).

One thing led to another and the troops went off to war. At the last minute Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany wanted to call the whole thing off, his generals told him that once the plan was set in motion that there was no stopping it. There would be chaos, the Russians would water their horses in the Rhine, etc., etc, "Suck it up Kaiser, we've got this whole thing planned out. Don't worry so much!"

Well, it didn't work that way. The French were a tougher nut to crack than the Germans figured, while they were wading through Belgian fortifications and fighting with French troops further south, the Russians were advancing through East Prussia. So France had to wait, they moved troops by rail to the East to stop the Russians, which they did.

But the advance on Paris stalled. ("Didn't follow my plan, did you?", asked the ghost of von Schlieffen.) The Battle of the Marne stopped the Germans in their tracks and the shovels came out, leading to four years of unheard of slaughter. Essentially a generation died.

That's my version of the Great War. (Yes, I had to look up a couple of dates, but for the most part, that was off the top of my head.)

Oh yes, everyone on the winning side said, "The Germans started it!" So they must pay, the Treaty of Versailles really led to World War II, didn't exactly cause it, but it gave Hitler his start in politics. Germans tended to believe that it wasn't their fault, Hitler told them so. So yeah, vote for Hitler. Thanks "Big Four."

The heads of the "Big Four" nations at the Paris Peace Conference, 27 May 1919. From left to right: David Lloyd George (UK), Vittorio Orlando (Italy), Georges Clemenceau (France), and Woodrow Wilson (USA). Four very good reasons to dislike politicians, that's what I call 'em.

* Meaning which, I don't do a lot of research before writing, picture me answering a question about a topic while sitting down, face to face, avec moi, perhaps over an adult-type beverage. Hopefully which the questioner is buying. (Hint.) You can read the first three installments -

• here,
• here, and
• here.

** Available at Amazon via BritBox. With a seven day free trial for Amazon Prime members.

*** The United Kingdom had a small, very professional army. They didn't resort to conscription until later in the war. When most of that small professional army was dead.

The Friction of the Day*

Charge à la baïonnette française

While I have no problem with working from home, can't beat the commute and my co-workers are awesome (The Missus Herself and the feline staff), it just isn't as productive as actually being at work in the lab. There have been times where I wanted to check something out on the system but couldn't, I'm here, system is there. There is no connection to the outside world at the lab, it's on the company intranet which, thank you very much, we don't want outsiders playing with. With good reason.

As the guys still at work are upgrading the system anyway, there isn't much system to access at the moment. Still, it would be nice to be there with my colleagues, good lads and lasses all. At home I'm a team of one. There I'm actually on a team. A damned fine team if I do say so myself. (And I do.) I had little to do with that, they were a good team when I joined up, they'll be a good team after I retire. Provided, of course, they stay together, which is probably not going to happen. Projects come and go and the people needed to work on those projects come and go as well.

But enough of my whinging.

I started the day with the intention of writing a historical post, that's when an attack of the lazies overwhelmed my outposts and got inside the wire. Leaving me all unmotivated and the like. Nevertheless, I wanted to toss something out there for you all to chew on, discuss, debate, or ignore, as the case may be.

The friction of the day, kinda put me on a different path than I'd started on. That being said, let me give you a mini-rant.

I think the Chicoms** need to pay, and pay dearly, for the massive perturbations they caused to the economy, not to mention the deaths caused by this virus-thingee. Why should they profit from this? They are, not to put too fine a point on it, assholes. Giant assholes. They are the idiot bully in the neighborhood who needs his ass kicked once and for all.

When Nixon went to China I was pissed at him, I still am. They are the reason that North Korea suffers under a brutal dictatorship. Without Chicom help Kim Il Sung would probably have been put up against a wall and shot, eventually, Ceausescu-style. Then his progeny wouldn't be around to inflict their particular brand of misery on the Korean people. Anyhoo, to me the legitimate government of China is currently exiled on the island of Taiwan, that corrupt bunch in Beijing are thieves and murderers. Thanks Nixon, I liked you up to that point. /rant

At any rate, that's all I have to say about that for the time being. Historians and current events are a bad mix, not enough data to really know just what the heck is going on, dontcha know?

So here's some music. I like this particular live version as I like watching the musicians actually play their instruments. What's more, I get to see the incomparable Neil Peart do his thing. Man, I miss that guy.

Tom Sawyer

Pye Dubois, Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson & Neil Peart

A modern-day warrior
Mean, mean stride
Today's Tom Sawyer
Mean, mean pride

Though his mind is not for rent
Don't put him down as arrogant
His reserve a quiet defense
Riding out the day's events
The river

What you say about his company
Is what you say about society
Catch the mist
Catch the myth
Catch the mystery
Catch the drift

The world is, the world is
Love and life are deep
Maybe as his skies are wide
Today's Tom Sawyer, he gets high on you
And the space he invades, he gets by on you

No, his mind is not for rent
To any god or government
Always hopeful, yet discontent
He knows changes aren't permanent
But change is

And what you say about his company
Is what you say about society
Catch the witness
Catch the wit
Catch the spirit
Catch the spit

The world is, the world is
Love and life are deep
Maybe as his eyes are wide

Exit the warrior
Today's Tom Sawyer
He gets high on you
And the energy you trade
He gets right on to
The friction of the day

(Source)

The opening photo, with the French infantry circa 1914? Let's just say that they represent the lazies which overran my plan for the day. Ya know what they say about plans, right? No plan survives contact with the enemy, or reality for that matter...



* From Tom Sawyer by Rush
** Chicom/Chicoms, i.e. Chinese Communists, I use the term to distinguish and separate those bastards from the Chinese people who have been exploited and enslaved by those bastards. Again, not to put too fine a point on it.

The Roughnecks of Sherwood Forest

U.S. oil tanker Pennsylvania Sun was torpedoed by U-571 on July, 15, 1942, about 125 miles west of Key West, Florida.
(Source)

The other day, Don asked the question -

Well, here at The Chant we certainly do civilian WWII stories. This might be the first and, to be quite honest, I have been remiss in not posting any "civilian" WWII stories. Why is "civilian" in quotes you might ask?

Well, the sailors who manned the merchant fleet, the guys like Lex's Dad who manned the freighters and tankers plying the convoy routes in World War II were not members of the armed forces. The folks in Britain who suffered under the Luftwaffe's onslaught and saw their homes and businesses destroyed, who saw their relatives and families die were, for the most part, civilians. The same can be said for the innocents in all of the countries invaded by the Nazis and the Empire of Japan. They suffered and died, yet wore no uniforms, carried no weapons.

Their stoicism and heroism under fire is perhaps more noteworthy as they could not fight back, at least not directly. Going to work at their normal, everyday jobs though, did support the fighting men and women who took the fight to the enemy.

The chap at the front, with his rifle and uniform, needs those folks behind the lines to do his job of destroying the enemy. Without the "civilians," the fellow at the pointy end wouldn't last long.

That being said, Don's comment led me to this story. A fascinating read. Lest you think that this small town in Nottinghamshire would be a safe gig, far behind the lines, not really subject to Luftwaffe bombing raids, well sure. But work in the oil fields is hazardous without a world war raging around you, ask any roughneck -

By January of 1944, the American oilmen were credited with 94 completions and 76 producing oil wells. But not without cost. While working Rig No. 148, derrickhand Herman Douthit was killed when he fell from a drilling mast. Douthit was buried with full military honors at the Cambridge American Cemetery. (From the article)

Oil drove the war machines of all the countries involved in the war. It's why Japan headed south, it's why we bombed Ploesti, it's why the Pennsylvania Sun was torpedoed. Without oil the planes don't fly, the ships don't steam, and the tanks don't move.

Oil, a big deal now, a big deal then.

As for those fellows on that torpedoed tanker in the opening photo -

Pennsylvania Sun was traveling from Port Arthur, Texas to Belfast, with 107,500 barrels of Navy fuel oil on 15 July 1942. At 7:49 am, the U-571 fired one torpedo at the unescorted Pennsylvania Sun while the ship was steaming on a zigzag course at 14 knots 125 miles West of Key West, Florida in the Gulf of Mexico (24°05′N 83°42′W). The torpedo struck amidships on the port side between tanks number 5 and 6. The torpedo also blew away the port wing of the bridge, killing quartermaster James B. Mortimer and able seaman John C. Riley. The ship's cargo ignited and the ship quickly became an inferno.

The master of Pennsylvania Sun, Frederick Lyall steered for five minutes southeast at full speed and then ordered the engines to be stopped while a distress signal was sent. The ship's remaining nine officers, 33 crewmen and 17 armed guards abandoned ship in three lifeboats, rowed away and put out sea anchors to wait for a rescue vessel. They were picked up by USS Dahlgren after three and one-half hours and taken to Key West the same day. There were 57 survivors of which several crew and Armed Guard were injured, two crew were lost.

The next evening, the ship's master, three officers and the crew of USS Willet returned to Pennsylvania Sun, when a patrol aircraft reported that the ship was still afloat and the fire had abated. They extinguished the remaining flames and towed her to Key West, where temporary repairs were made and the bodies of the 2 deceased crew members were removed from the ship and buried at their home towns. The tanker steamed under her own power with her crew to Chester, Pennsylvania and returned to service after the permanent repairs were completed in 1943. (Source)

Truly amazes me that she didn't sink, but was repaired and returned to service.

I'm thinking I need to do some reading up on the Murmansk convoys. Those guys put it all on the line to succor an ally who would probably never acknowledge the value of those efforts, those sacrifices. At least not while Communism held sway in that benighted land.

So yes Don, we do civilian stories of World War II. Most definitely.

A salute to the "Oil Patch Warriors" of Sherwood Forest!

Oklahoma sculptor Jay O’Meilia’s Oil Patch Warrior monument to Lloyd Noble’s Sherwood Forest roughnecks. Dedicated in 2001 at Ardmore’s Memorial Square. An identical statue stands in Nottinghamshire, England, near where the Oklahomans performed their historic service to the cause of freedom.
(Source)

Hat tip to Don McCollor!