Sweatling and Sailing (Detling and Llangorse)

Detling

It has become a well known fact: we do not get normal weather for the Detling Military Odyssey. It is either torrential downpour or baking hot, now, forever classified as Wetling or Sweatling. Last year we had to take a knife to our group tent to stop it flying away during the downpour, this year, the coin landed on the other side and we had +30 weather most of the weekend. Nevertheless, shenanigans proceeded.

To start things off, we unveiled our new Brohirrim march. The Brohirrim is the bizarre alliance between Øst Centingas and Mercia on the rare occasions that we get to fight on the same side, now made official by toques and tank-tops.

Most of the days were spent hiding from the sun. Vikings and Saxons slithered into whatever shadows they could find, only emerging when it was time to fight or eat. The fighting was great and we got to play around with the new style of shorter dane axes which was new. I didn’t spend a lot of time going through the other exhibits, it was too hot to walk far, but we did grab an ice cream and go see the WWII fight. All the rattling gunfire and big explosions made me twitch like I was being electrocuted, and provided additional entertainment for the group of us watching the show.

After hours, we were settling down for a delicious dinner (which for Louis was an entire bowl of custard) when I was hit on the back of the neck with a cold stream of water. Nathan quickly became an arms dealer, distributing his seemingly endless supply of little water pistols, and our camp became a war zone. After a scorching hot day, this was the perfect way to use up the little energy we had left. The Regia kids thought we were all weird, and told us so.

This year, ØC also managed to scrape together a costume and became a swashbuckling pirate crew. We were enjoying our pirate talk when the wedding party arrived. The Mercians, dressed in beautiful, flowing wedding dresses sashayed up the road… and straight into an ambush. The pirates were still armed with their water guns.

The party tent was as eclectic as ever. Pirates and bridesmaids were quickly joined by the pantheon of Greek Gods and many Mr. Gumbys from the Monty Python sketch who greeted us with a rousing ‘HELLOOOOO.’ (youtube link for reference: https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2nedgv ) The gods all had their props, golden apples, three-headed dogs, and Kronos had a baby made of rice crispies that was being passed around for people to nibble. Very tasty. Katya and my mission to manufacture more dance partners has been a success! Demedts is still the best dancer in the group but now Nathan, Tom, Liam, and a few others know a few swing steps too.

For the Sunday and Monday, I took command of the Viking army. By command, I mean that I did the dramatic yelling and posturing while Katya was the actual mastermind behind our strategy and troop deployments, but man, I had fun with it. The storyline this year was that a force of Vikings had just returned to their ship from a raid, but the tide is out so they are trapped. A Saxon force discovers them and attempts to take back the treasures and hostages and much shouting and fighting ensues. Very happy to report that Vikings got to keep our loot and sail safely home 3/3 of the days. I may have gone a bit overboard with killing hostages. The Saxon side attempted a boar-snout tactic to rescue them, but since we were able to fight them off, instead of letting them get away, I had them all executed. On Monday, we stepped it up a notch, pretending to allow one hostage to return to her family before having my archer shoot her in the back. Good wholesome fun. I had all but lost my voice on the Monday but it was so worth it.

The third day, I was overjoyed to learn that it was allowable to train in just a tunic, no trousers and wool leg wraps. So, pasty legs glistening in the sun, I was able to enjoy fighting with a bit of a breeze. My bruised knees were also used as a demonstration of what shots do not count as hit zones. I am now a big fan of my tunic sun dress.

Naomi had returned with her lovely hair washing and braiding display, so I had a Viking braided knot sewn into my hair which was really cool.

Llangorse

A very full car pulled out of Canterbury Friday afternoon. Katya, Isabel, Nathan and I managed to pack ourselves and all our kit (sans shields- more on that later), into a small rental car and headed for Wales. We arrived as the sun was just starting to set and set up camp. Tom and Katya had a massive plastic tent, complete with a front porch area, and you could stand up around the entire thing. In stark contrast, Nathan was sleeping in a pop-up tent that had to be crawled into and curled up in. Nathan’s tent could fit in the porch area of Tom’s, which was confirmed when Tom returned from a sailing venture to find Nathan’s tent had been relocated into his. Nathan was subsequently speedily evicted.

With the repetition of shows, I try and find something new at each show, to make it distinctive. For this sailing trip, it was finally warm enough for us to attempt to go swimming. We were fortunate that the heat of Detling had lingered long enough that it was decently warm, even in Wales. So three insane Øst Centians and a mad Mercian donned swimsuits and jumped in. Well, not quite jumped, more like, slowly lowered ourselves in. The lake is only a few meters deep, less when you take into account the feet of goose poop and seaweed on top of that. It felt like walking on custard and fishing nets so you really tried to swim as perpendicular as possible. Nathan had worn his Union Jack ‘Blighty Boys’ swim trunks, stating that, ‘While the Union Jack is British, everyone knows only and English man would wear these.’ Some members of the swimming crew were less excited than others. While I was delighted that others had joined me in my madness, Isabel was regretting her decision to enter the water, and her facial expression will bring me joy for many years to come.

In the evening we gathered around Myles’ amazing BBQ, where he was cooking venison steaks. This food was amazing, I’m drooling just remembering them. Shane had also brought his homemade meads which were a welcome treat as well. When the sun sank behind the hills, a large group of us gathered our furs and blankets and made our way to the docked Bear. Before the trip, we had accumulated a collection of sea shanties and poems to sing the evening away. Obvious classics like ‘Leave her Johnny’ and ‘Last of Barrett’s Privateers’ were mixed in with a few more unconventional songs, Veggie Tales’ ‘Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything’ and ‘The Last Saskatchewan Pirate’ among them. The stars shone and the boat rocked and a great time was had by all until the stirring wind drove us back to the fireside and our tents.

The days were spent skimming the surface of the Welsh lake in a Viking longship. People learned the terminology, how to skipper, to tack and trim the sails and all these other sailing terms. I say people, this does not include myself, since I remain nautically useless, preferring to be ballast or take photos. Though in the photos I will always hold a rope to make it look like I know what I’m doing. Oh, and rowing. I can actually row.

I was also able to film with my new drone, and it didn’t take a swim! The footage will eventually be in a clip somewhere, but just the fact that it is still a functional flying device means I’m already very happy.

Since there were too many people for everyone to go on the boat at once, those of us left onshore began fighting. As previously mentioned, ØC were unable to fit our shields in the car, and so Tom had very nicely brought some extra shields. However, they were Mercian shields, and while I tried my hardest to avoid Tom’s camera, there now exists a photo of me fighting with the black and yellow (though it really is a shit yellow).

A brilliant end to our re-enactment summer. I always think that life will calm down but somehow I always seem to find my weekends full of sword-fighting and campfires. Long may it continue.

Sea Fever - John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.