One day Alan brought his sixteen-years old brother Henry down to Charlie's Model Shop; he was a nice lad, interested in tank kits, but without a word to say for himself. "He's always been like that" said Alan: "But then, you don't get much chance to talk when you're the youngest of five brothers!" So, after that we always called the lad Henry the Fifth; he didn't seem to mind and got on with his tank kit making, never opening his mouth. Then Fred bought his video and started a Sunday night habit of the Gang going round to his place to watch war and historical films - Oliviers HENRY THE FIFTH really grabbed us and some of the lads began painting up Medievals for a 100 Years War Campaign. Someone asked where Agincourt was and Charlie, who'd been there, said: "It's inland of Calais... in France... you could do it easily in a weekend.. why don't you go... I'll lend you the maps."
Bob looked thoughtful: "Wouldn't mind taking my car... four of us sharing the cost." Bob's S registration Cortina was the pride of his life and, being a garage mechanic, was always kept in good nick. Fred and Alan said they'd go, but who'd be the fourth? Alan smiled: "My brother Henry... can't go to Agincourt without Henry the Fifth, can we?" We all laughed at the thought of Henry getting a bit of culture - "He's got no money... he wouldn't want to go!" Alan said he'd lend the kid the cash and so we asked Henry straight-out if he'd go; to everyone's surprise he nodded vigorously, muttering: "Be a long time before I can pay him back!"
They found a cheap Mini-Break on the Ferry, and to save on hotels they took a tent and sleeping-bags. Using Charlie's Michelin map No. 236, they planned the way from Calais on Route N46 to St. Omer and then D928 south to Agincourt. It was all very exciting, the drive to Dover, then on the Ferry, reading Burne's book THE AGINCOU RT WAR they'd borrowed from the Library -- except Henry, who read a comic to Dover and slept all the way over on the ferry. When they landed Bob got a bit flustered driving on what he called the wrong side of the road, but combined navigating by Fred and Alan got them safely out of Calais, while Henry resumed reading his comic book. They were surprised to see that the French people didn't look much different to English, except most of them were carrying long loaves of bread.
It was evening when they reached Ruisseauville, the village where they had to bear left down to Maisoncelles, the battlefield of Agincourt laying between the two, astride a minor road D104. The navigators got a bit confused and allowed Bob to drive as far as the Maisoncelles crossroads before they agreed they had actually gone right across the battlefield, so Bob pulled in to the side of the road and switched the engine off.
A bit over-awed, no one said anything, then Henry spoke, the first time he'd opened his mouth since leaving Calais. "What's that you say, Henry?" asked Alan. But he was not talking to them, staring straight ahead, his lips moved mechanically:
"From camp to camp... through the foul womb of night... the hum of either army stilly sounds... the armourers with busy hammers closing rivets up... give dreadful note of preparation..." And there was a lot more like that before he shook himself and looked around: "What's on then... why are we stopped?" They looked at each other, not knowing what to say, then Bob suggested a drink at the cafe on the otherside of the road. Later, i n gathering darkness, they put the tent up in a field by a large clump of trees alongside the road and soon were nestled in sleeping-bags - but sleep was hard to come by because Henry the Fifth was mumbling away to himself:
"The poor condemned English... like sacrifices by their watchful fires Sit patiently and ruminate on the morning's danger..."
They could not hear it all, just snatches of what sounded like poetry: "Gloster, tis true we are in great danger... Good morrow brother Bedford... and old Sir Thomas Erpingham..."
All night it went on intermittently like that; once Henry frightened them to death by suddenly sitting bolt upright, eyes closed as softly he said: "... a little touch of Harry in the night!"
Then he sank back and no more was heard as he slept, snoring too. Next morning he was the old familiar Henry the Fifth, silent as the grave. Around the back of the car, packing away the tent, Fred said to Alan: "It's Shakespeare, isn't it... I remember Olivier saying them words in the film." Alan shook his head: "I don't know what to say... he's never read a word of Shakespeare in his life...nor any other poem or play!"
Closely following Charlie's notes and Burne's book, they paced 275 steps north from where they had camped, knowing that was where the front French division stood, with masses of cavalry on both flanks; they observed the woods as being wider apart than where they had camped on the English line. They forgot Henry, who was mooning around behind them; then they heard his voice, loud and clear, hanging on the still morning air:
"This day is called the Feast of Crispin... he that outlives this day and comes home safe... will strip his sleeve and show his scars and say... these wounds I had on Crispin's Day..."
By the side of the Agincourt Wood on the line of the English position, they began marching across the 300 paces frontage of the 2,000 flan king archers, then 80 paces of Lord Camoy's 300 men-at-arms, and another 80 paces across the frontage of the 500 archers who had stood there; this brought them to where the 400 knights, men-at-arms and the King's Bodyguard had been formed in three ranks fifteen feet apart, with six feet between each man. Charlie had told them that at 40 paces on lay the exact spot where King Henry the Fifth, between the second and third lines, had fought for 180 violent minutes on the 18th of October 1415.
Without any pacing and moving quite independently, the boy Henry had reached that spot before them where he was standing still and erect, looking much taller than he really was; his voice rang out:
"... we few... we happy few..w we band of brothers... Harry the King Bedford and Exeter... Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster..r we are but warriors for the working day... our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched with rainy marching in the painful field..."
Like a tableau, they stood watching Henry standing their declaiming - word perfect - the Shakespearean words they knew he could not possibly know, feeling that, as with a sleepwalker, he should not be disturbed. Bob muttered: "It;s as good as Lawrence Olivier in the film!" Then, as before, he shook himself as though waking from sound sleep, and became the silent Henry the Fifth they knew - and remained so for the rest of the trip except for the moment, when driving slowly from the field, Henry turned and stared back through the rear-window, murmuring:
"Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus."
Then he went to sleep and had to be woken up when they got on the ferry, where he sent to sleep again, waking as they sailed into Dover Harbour to complain he had lost his comic book.
Next day at the Model Shop, Charlie asked how they had got on; telling him, Fred said: "It was all a bit weird... but I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"
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