We are pleased to congratulate the honorary editor of Age of Napoleon, David Chandler [center of photo], on winning the 1995 Literary Award of the International Napoleonic Society, for the reappearance of 'The Campaigns of Napoleon', published by Weidenfeld & Nicholson.

'The Campaigns of Napoleon' has proved to be the most durable, authoritative and respected single volume work on the subject in the English language. If you don't already have a copy it's a must!!!

As readers are no doubt aware, Dr Chandler suffered a stroke in 1994 soon after retiring from Sandhurst. Age of Napoleon is proud that our honorary editor has agreed to write his first article since then for us, and we look forward to the many books and articles still to come.

With the great generosity of Midas Battlefields Tours, Gillian and I were invited to join their 120 visitors in four coaches completely free. The year before, in mid-June 1994, I had led a Midas tour on a visit to Waterloo. Unfortunately I had a heart attack and stroke on my return to Yateley near Camberley. The organisers (Ian Fletcher and Alan Rooney) had appreciated my efforts, and so we came to drive from London to Belgium on 16 June - just three days before the famous historical battle, south of Brussels.

Bad weather was announced, but we were never to miss this chance. As. I am Hon. President of the British Napoleonic Association I was more than happy to watch - and to take part in the mock-battle with our 800 members. Indeed I had planned much of the event five years before controlling some 3,000 members from eight countries. This year there would be all of 4,000 men taking part, including 250 cavalry (15 of them British), 15 cannon and two baggage wagons.

Arriving abroad by 10 a.m, from Dover-Calais, we were at once driven to visit Quatre Bras - the first part of Wellington's fighting around the battle against Marshal Ney's two corps. By now I already had my bearings I was delighted that two of my old television Cromwell films were shown, watching my own talks and pictures which seemed to be approved. Better still, I was already being encouraged by our coach guide who was more than pleased to ask questions and my confidence was returning. This was most encouraging.

We arrived in Brussels before the first lecture and before dinner. We were soon making new friends at the Hotel Astoria a large building built in about 1860 which seemed suitable for our needs and with comfortable beds and good food. The plans were excellent for us all, and we were looking forward to what would be a fascinating event.

On 17 June (Saturday) it was raining - as indeed forecasted by the French. Already these were clear indications that France was hoping for a washout. The reproduced famous Ball attended by Wellington on 15 June 1815 had hoped to avoid panic in the city as Napoleon's attack was impending. The French were specifically holding a far larger dance in Brussels to take away the press. Furthermore, it had been announced by the European Government that the official blue and golden starred flags would show a picture showing Napoleon as the 'spirit' of Europe throughout. This was hardly a tactful matter for England and elsewhere! You might believe that France and england were at war in earlier years. You would think that Napoleon had won in 1815!

But we British are made of strong courage, and pouring rain would not have stopped us today. I was already in my French (!) blue uniform and cocked hat as le General de Bourmont a figure scorned by every French child. De Bourmont was a traitor French general who had decided to desert from Napoleon three days before - and had escaped to Brussels. The Duke would not visit him ('..he is not a gentleman'), and Marshal Blucher was even stronger in comments - but he was made a (Royalist) Marshal in 1830. As I had selected myself for this position toady I would be able to move all events of the re-enactment. I also pretended to be a secret British officer and had a great time with two (British) young people living next door in our hotel, drawing codes and secrets, etc. for two days. Indeed, this game is continuing, their teachers at school permitting.

So the great day of Sunday 18 June 1995/1815 had arrived, we drove to Waterloo with our four coaches directed by the police control. Keeping our fingers crossed we noticed that the weather was dull - with no rain at 9 a.m. Gill and I walked a mile to the battlefield, myself as de Chandler-Bourmont in my uniform, cape and long boots. Some 30,000 members of the public were moving forwards to the tapes, and the first snag was to feel my right foot becoming sore. My suggestion to Gill that she should carry me on her as a horse was kindly refused!

Leaving to say goodbye. Gill moved to her place where she had been given a VIP grandstand ticket by my Belgian friends. I moved through the tapes to join Wellington's staff near the famous tree. Cavalry, troops and artillery were on the move, trumpets and bugles sounding. It was a marvellous moment. There was no rain, but the early night had seen some and (oh, my words!) there was much mud, mud and terrible mud - just as had been the case on that Sunday in 1815.

Of the 2,500 'French', only some 300 were truly French as they did not wish to share with us in Brussels, but the 1,700 Allies were now in position above the famous Mound. Our friends were Belgians, British, Germans, Americans, Canadians, Austrians and Russians. I feel proud to have helped plan all this for the last five years as the Hon President of The E.U.R S. (the European Union of the Re-enactment Society). This has all been worth so much hard work and arranging by Philip Elliot-Wright. Suddenly, exactly on time, (well approximately so) the thundering cannon and rattling musketry burst forth: Waterloo had begun! Beyond the la Haye-Sainte model of the farm in the centre, and with the Chateau de Hougoumont to the right, literally thousands of 'French' marched forward. The distant drums thundered and the bands played and marched. It was a magical time for me.

Because of the slippery mud and my sore right foot, I sadly, but sensibly, gave up my idea of moving through the Allied positions, around the French forces, and thus meeting many of my international friends. Instead, I placed my cloak on the mud, sat down, and leant against 'Wellington's Tree' on the hill, from where I had a superb view. Many Allied officers and troops came past my seat on the ground, saying many a word to salute me. I was very proud of my British Napoleonic Association this was a tremendous moment.

I saw the young boy from the hotel and arranged to have him run to Wellington, sitting on his horse, and accompanied by his staff. He carried my secret message to the Duke from de Chandler-Bourmont. The young boy's eyes were sparkling! This is the fun of this Society, so many different peoples and friends, fascinated by military history but with no real danger or blood. The battle was equally as fascinating as the view. Guns roared, soldiers marched, cavalry galloped, the smoke thickened and cleared - and the sun shone precisely on time. This was the life, even if I am 61 years old (or should that be young?)

A French colour was captured by Sgt. Ewart of the 'Scots Greys' and a great cheer went up from the Allies - and from the public (except by the French of course). Soon 200 French cavalry, led by Marshal Ney, splashed and slithered against the crest as Wellington's lines were ready with the great squares: it was magic! Then came the peak - the Middle Imperial Guard. My British friends advised - even ordered - me to fall back 30 yards. I said no, that I would keep Iying at my staunch tree 'alive or dead'. No one could argue with the Hon. President of both the NA and the EURS! There are certain advantages of hard work and being the 'boss' - and even being ill. The last battle was unbelievable - the only word. But the French generals, even Ney, the bravest of the brave, tried to free me 'No thanks', so I clung to my famous tree until the Imperial Guard was retreating, where the last square died ('Merde', etc.) I certainly did not wish to march two miles all the way back at the end.

A final rocket exploded in the sky, the Battle of Waterloo 1995 was over. Napoleon had lost again, and this time perhaps for ever, or at least for some time. The role-playing Emperor had received a slight heart attack an hour previous and been driven off in an ambulance. Fate, I ask? Yes, thanks, I am still alive! We must start again and plan for 2000 AD (DV).

But WHAT a day! Tired and sore, Gill led me off of the field, with almost 35,000 others, members and public, slipping away. No, any ambulance was not interested, so we had to limp back to the coaches, but a kind American recognised me, turned his car and carried us back. In the hotel, our friendly doctor from the next room visited me. My long boots were prised off, the right one with blood. I was ordered (by both Gill and the doctor, I might add) not to walk to the coach home. No matter, we had had a marvellous visit. My foot appears to have been the only casualty at Waterloo, except, of course, for poor Napoleon who was doing well at least when last told.

So that was our visit. I may be a 'romantic historian' (of which I have been accused by several colleagues!, but after all, WHY NOT? I have even been known to like the French - some of the time!

Chandler