We had been in the country for one month. The weather was still very warm, as it had been over 100 degrees. In the high plains to the east, I had slept out some nights, gazing at the stars in the clear sky, seeing the long streak of the Milky Way, listening to the small night sounds around me. I lay on my greatcoat, my Baker rifle alongside, and gathered the memory of the night and the passed day into my mind as you would drink from a flask of cool water in the desert. That day, I had advanced up a very steep slope from a valley base, up a road so dusty that after a short march it had so clogged our mouths and noses that we could hardly speak. The soldiers had been behind me in a open column, as we expected no resistance. The cliffs began to close in on our flanks, making us into a tighter formation. Suddenly, we saw enemy cavalry and had to move fast. We advanced at the pas de charge into the narrow gorge, and a few rifle bullets killed or wounded some of our men. After that, it became unclear -- a volley of shots from a height riddled us with bullets -- evidently the enemy had riflemen in a good numbers, at that range a musket would miss nine times out of ten; and then it happened -- a strange smoking,hissing nightmare of flame and noise -- dropping from the sky onto our heads and exploding, sending our soldiers into paroxysms of terror and fear at the unknown means the enemy were using to kill us, to blind and burn us, to slap us flat in a sticky red smear on the moun-tainside. In a moment, we were taking to our heels and running screaming back the way we had come. A reminiscence from a war memoir. A remnant of a novel? Fact or fiction? Actually, everything and all at once. The scene as described happened, but over two days not one, and in parts very far apart in time -- and sometimes more than once! It is,of course, a scene from a film, "Sharpe's Enemy" made in the southern Crimea in August, 1993. The French soldiers were really Ukrainian Army conscripts, and the riflemen the same, and the "smoking night-mare" our reconstructed Congreve rockets. I trained the soldiers to become for the purposes of our project, 'Napoleonic' soldiers of four nationalities, British, French, Spanish and Portuguese. One of the understandings we came to was that I'd never ask them to do anything I wasn't prepared to do myself. Hence, the attack on the stronghold of Adrados, held by the British, by French troops led by an officer who bears a strong resemblance to me, and who meets a very sticky end.... Appreciation What you'll not get a full appreciation of in the film is the hours spent by us training to become efficient period soldiers. You'll also not feel as we did that marching several times up a very steep slope, carrying knapsack, pouches and musket in that heat dries you up in short order like an old prune. You don't see the sweaty armpits, the wrinkled red noses, the lightheadedness of sunstroke, or feel the tingling aftermath of an exploding rocket head on your exposed face and hands. You long for water, but there isn't any. The truck crrying it is broken down in the valley somewhere. Night is still five hours away. ... What I got was a better appreciation of what it must have been like to serve during the Napoleonic ara. Re-enactment in England is admirable but in my long period of service with the Napoleonic Association and visits to other societies, you don't often see members suffer, and when you do, never for longer than a few minutes. In two terms of service with the Sharpe Film Company, I've learned a lot about what it is like to suffer. ... If service with them was unique. I could, after our first trip out to the Ukraine, fully appreciate what Sir John Moore and Sir Arthur Wellesley must had gone through when dealing with the political scene in Spain or Portugal in 1808/9. Local government in the Southern Crimea must have been very similar to the Juntas of that time, if the help and assistance we got was any example and evidence. Transport was a nightmare. Food was a challenge - obtaining it and cooking it. Our cooks deserved General Service Medals - or V.C.s! The terrain was very hard and unforgiving, the weather at times horrendous. It all blended together into a marvellous adventure where I had only to close my eyes and ob-scure the modern buildings and vehicles to be back in the year 1809, marching with 'Wellington' through Spain.The lines of tents, the horses, the guns, long columns of marching soldiers, high mountains, sweeping valleys, - endless plains - I saw romance in every sight, every minute, every day. I am a long-term member of the Napoleonic Association's 95th. Rifles, and a researcher on the Peninsular War and Waterloo Campaign for as long as I can remember. Add to that my love of muzzle loading made me an ideal candidate to act as Military & Technical Adviser to the film company. In a few short weeks, after training the principal actors to use flintlock rifles and act as British rifleman in a training area near London, I was asked to accompany the film crew to the Crimea to continue to advise and assist with the making of the films. After a gruelling five months, we returned footsore, weary, sick and chastened but successful. In 1993, we were to go back to make three more films in the series. This time it would not be a bridgehead, but a concerted invasion of a crew resolved to get the job done, to get in and hit back: The challenges were there, and demanding, and they were met! Badajoz We moved from the heights of Belagorsk to the equally-low valley of Baidar near Balaklava, scene of the fateful 'Charge'. I visited this place over twenty-five times this year, amassing both pictorial and documentary evidence on the nature of the terrain, etc. But we had come to Baidar not to relive a cavalry charge, but a fearful episode in the year 1812 - the third seige and subsequent Storming of the fortress of Badajoz. Of all my research into the period, it was Waterloo and Badajoz which held for me a sort of 'morbid' interest. I had servad with the N.A. at events in Waterloo, battle re-enactments, on seven occasions, three of which on the actual battlefield itself. But this was an opportunity I knew few would ever get -- to re-enact, to relive, to experience the assault of Napoleonic troops on a defended fortress, after a seige by the Battering Train, re-enacted for the benefit of the camera by our extras, props and principals. Do I hear you say, ah, but, it's not the same? Read on, my friend, and ponder... Rain As we moved into the prepared trenches before what became known as the 'Wall' - Bedajoz itself - the weather broke. Rained poured down and the wind blew steadily. Secretly, I was overjoyed - to film the seige of Badajoz in fine weather seemed as bad as film-ing Omdurman in the Artic - it gave just the right look to our gabions, fascines and seige batteries. We slipped around in mud, muffled up in greatcoats, blew on our hands and shovelled up spadefuls of slimy crud. Not just the actors' took on the look of dishevelled, disillusioned soldiers - most of the crew did too! It was very good for us, and helped me place the events in a very firm historical background in the talks I gave back at the hotel. Describing to the principal actors trying to identify with their historical counterparts how they suffered and died at Badajoz was made considerably easier by this factor. We moved away from the 'Wall' to film some scenes in camp. During last year's films, I had worn my old rifleman's uniform but never figured in any scenes with it. This year, I 'enlisted' in the Light Company of the South Essex for the duration of "Sharpe's Company" - whenever they were required, I was there. The reason for this was to become plain - I had decided to try to re-live Badajoz to the full, by serving in the Army, and hopefully to be picked for the 'Forlorn Hope', and take part in the assault. As it worked out, this became so obvious that I no longer had to volunteer - it was expected I'd be there. I accepted this, gratefully. I fired the first shot in the seige from one of our seige guns; at the same time, simultaneously, as a rifleman I jumped for joy in the British camp over two miles away! This is the advantage of film - in one case, we had a soldier killed by the same bullet he fired in another scene dressed as another soldier - amazing - but you'll never spot it! But, back to my story. Amongst the other things you'll not spot is the degree of suffering and injury that took place in the 'breach' at Badajoz. Sixteen nights of filming, in weather vary-ing between blizzard and frosts, bitter wind and two or three degrees of cold, of terrific explosions sending men reeling, slippy stones upon which soldiers fell and sprained ankles and wrists. Despite all the care taken, the 'Wall' just seemed to laugh at our puny efforts to get down into the ditch, climb the breach, up the slope and inside, without exacting a toll on our bodies and energies. It became a struggle - one in which only the hardest, the most determined, the most eager, would win. It caused anger, frustration, rage and argument. It reduced fit men to invalids, and some not to turn up at all. It tore up our uniforms and broke our weapons, it burned us and wore us down - but in the end it lost. I was one of the few that heard the sigh of relief as we went over the top - it came partly from the film crew, and partly from our ancestors just over the hill at Balaklava and Inkerman. I felt a helping hand several times during the assault, giving a leg-up when necessary, and I'm sure there were more soldiers going over in the final storming than set off at the bottom - well, bless 'em! Afterwards, when it was over, I made the time to sit for a short while and cover fully all the aspects of the Assault, and particularly the human one. In a nearby ditch which offered some pro-tection from the cold, small groups of soldiers huddled together around small fires, trying to keep warm. Dressed as British or French soldiers, in the dark it could have been anywhere in the year 1812. Nobody bothered them, except for filming times, noone offered them a hot drink, or a helping hand. We became survivors, everyone strugling in his own way against the 'Wall' and the weather. And, in our own way, each and every one -- we got through, some with a few more grey hairs and others with a few scars as souvenirs. But some, like me, with a store of memories of a struggle that is worth it's weight in gold (or lead!) when it comes to rereading military history or participating in 'living history' projects. When I work for English Heritage this summer, as part of their Special Events Unit "Wellington's Army" scenario, I think that there will be at least one 'veteran of the Peninsular War' who will become strangely quiet and develop a far-away look if you were to ask "What was it really like at Badajoz?" The three films of 'Sharpe 2', "Sharpe's Company", "Sharpe's Enemy" and "Sharpe's Honour" can be seen on Central Television during May 1994. Sharpe, Harper and Moore will march again... Back to Table of Contents -- First Empire #16 Back to First Empire List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 1994 by First Empire. 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