Episode 4 In the Highest Tradition

MUSIC: "AMAZING GRACE" by the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards

Down the centuries of warfare

there's been nothing anonymous about the arrival of the Scots.

By long tradition, they have brought with them the music of the glens.

But tradition cannot defy progress.

Even the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, resplendent on horseback,

have had to acknowledge a less romantic mode of transport.

Likewise, not all the tunes ofglory are traditional airs.

Amazing Grace, recorded by the regimental band in 1972,

won them a curious battle honour.

At the last count, it had sold 12 million copies.

There is, however, a decidedly moreprecious golden artefact.

One, two, three...

Super. Thank you very much indeed.

So revered is this relic of war,

the French imperial eaglecaptured at the battle of Waterloo,

that its permanent resting place for well over a century

has been at Edinburgh Castle.

Only for the filming of this programme was it briefly returned

to the regimentthat prised it from Napoleon.

If you are asking me how I feel, right at the moment,

I think "very, very proud" is the answer to it.

Not only in the fact that it was won very bravely at Waterloo

by Sergeant Charles Ewart,

but the fact that it was taken as our cap badge after that,

a cap badge that has been shown through many campaigns,

including theCrimean, Sudan and both WorldWar I and World War II.

I think, at the moment, I'm probably the envy of all regimental members,

present and past.

I believe it's the first time it's been with the regiment...ever.

It was originally, afterWaterloo, put in Edinburgh Castle

and this is the first time it's actually been with the regiment

and as I say, I feel very, very proud to be able to actually handle it.

Waterloo, noon, the 18th of June,1815,

one of the two most famous charges in British history.

Scotland'sonly cavalry regiment,

amalgamated since 1971 with the 3rd Caribiniers,

were then knownas the Royal Scots Greys.

The Greys were held in reserve until about 11 o'clock in the morning

and then they were ordered forward.

They came up the back of the rise, they crossed the lane,

leapt at the charge over the fence and jumped straight in amongst

the Gordon Highlanders,

who were sheltering in the long grass down below.

And the Gordons were totally unable to get out of the way

and so clung to the stirrups of the Greys

and charged into battle together screaming, "Scotland forever!"

During this charge, not more than perhaps 70 or 100 yards,

Sergeant Ewart came face to face with the French standard,

the standard of the 45th Regiment. He seized it.

He then battled to retain it, cutting down, thrusting with his sword.

In a lovely description, he said, "A Frenchman came out with his sword,

"I parried it and slashed him down with my sword,

"parted his head to the teeth." One has this very personal combat.

Horses, slashing, gnashing, taking the Frenchmen as they came.

You have the final scene of the commanding officer though,

who'd had his wrists slashed, with the reins of his horse

between his teeth, charging again into the French.

Really bloody and personal.

Napoleon, as history records, was suffering from piles.

The site of 416 horses coming at him did little to help.

You see, the regiment was mounted on greys,

that's why we are called Greys, and his remark later on in the day,

after yet another charge, was, "Those terrible grey horses."

And grey they remained, even if by World War I,

the tradition demanded a certain artifice.

Grey horses weren't always easy to come by

and certainly in World War One, horses were dropping like ninepins -

disease or just being cut down by enemy action,

and the Greys, proud as ever of their traditions,

when they were issued with bays and blacks,

actually the commanding officer ordered them to be dyed grey.

And you can just imagine the powdered wigs of greys going into battle then.

In October 1854, wickedly outnumbered,

the Royal Scots Greys were in another humdinger of a fight, in the Crimea.

They were among the initial 300 horsemen of the Heavy Brigade,

who charged 3,000 Russian cavalry and, within eight minutes,

began to force them to retreat.

Various people say that this was one of the most fiercely fought

and successful cavalry on cavalry engagements that ever was.

So close had the Russians got to the home lines

that you can see that the butcher took up his sword,

charged onto the nearest mount and sallied forth.

The sad thing about it was the story has it that,

when he got back after the battle, in which he had fought well

and two VCs had been won,

that he was actually charged for leaving his post.

But there you have it.

Injustice was shortly to be compounded by debacle,

for waiting further back, in the Valley of Death,

were the 600, the Light Brigade.

The commander of the Light Brigade, General Cardigan,

said he hadn't been given orders to go, so he wouldn't.

And they sat there and they watched this amazing feat of arms

by the Heavy Brigade, who had broken every rule in the book

and still managed to put the enemy to fight,

and they weren't allowed to join in.

Som by that stage, they were pretty pissed-off bunnies.

'Disaster or not, the story of the charge is traditionally retold

'on the anniversary of Balaclava.

'The 13th/18th Royal Hussars very sensibly leave it

'to Major Willie Peter.'

And from up here, Lord Raglan looked down

and saw the enemy taking the forces away.

Or taking the guns away.

And he thought, "Here's a chance. I will now capture the guns, because

that is a sign of victory and I will deploy the Light Brigade to do it.

Now, those of you who have played Space Invaders know that at the time

when you press the button on the Space Invader machine,

something happens on the screen, immediately.

You try playing Space Invaders when there's a two-minute gap

between you pressing the button and it happening on screen

and the game is still played at the same speed.

That's what it's like being a general, with no radios,

sitting on the top of a hill, about a mile to two miles away

from your forces.

Everything you send has to be sent by runner or galloper or aide de corps

down to pass on that information.

Also try and remember that, prior to about 1890,

there was no such thing as smokeless ammunition,

so the pall of smoke that hung over a battlefield was incredible.

It was as though you had chucked 500 smoke grenades

and that's why everybody wore bright uniforms,

that's why the infantry had huge colours, six foot by six foot,

so that during a battle, people could see who their friends were

and where their forces were.

That's the difficulties that Raglan had to cope with.

So he sent an order, and I'm going to read it to you so you can understand,

in the light of what he believed to be happening.

He said,

"Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front.

"Follow the enemy and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns.

"Troop horse artillery may accompany

"and the French cavalry are on your left."

He gave the message to a guy called Nolan,

who was a 15th Hussar and as keen as mustard.

Nolan went lickety split, straight down the hill to the bottom,

went across to the Light Brigade.

When he got to the Light Brigade, he met the commander of the cavalry,

Lord Lucan, and the commander of the Light Brigade, Lord Cardigan.

He handed the message to Lord Lucan, who looked up the valley,

and the only guns he could see was this mass at this far end here.

He couldn't see the redoubts,

so he turned to Nolan and, in rather a crisp voice, said,

"Where are the guns?!"

Whereupon, Nolan flung his arm over his shoulder and, in rather

an arrogant manner, said, "There, my lord, there are your guns!"

Lucan looked down the valley, saw the guns, and went, "Christ!", probably.

LAUGHTER

Anyway, he then told Cardigan, who commanded the Light Brigade,

that this was the time for Cardigan to go for it.

Cardigan gulped, said - or is reputed to have said -

"Here go the last of the Brudenells", the family name of the Cardigans.

So they set off down the valley - towards the wrong guns.

At this point, Nolan realised that there had been a cock up,

because he'd been at the top with Raglan

and his arrogant little remark hadn't made much sense.

So he trundles up to the front to tell Cardigan, "Ahem...wrong valley."

Anyway, just as he gets there, he's about the first casualty

of the Light Brigade and gets his head blown off.

Cardigan thinks he's an incredibly rude and arrogant young man

for trying to get in front of him - after all it is HIS charge -

and he also thinks he's a bit of a wimp, because as the shell

tore his head off, he started to scream in rather a feminine manner.

The Charge of the Light Brigade was to inspire epic literature,

most of it romantic nonsense.

Hundreds of men were simply blasted to pieces by the Russian guns

and it ignored discipline so irrational and harsh

that loyalty, in the circumstances, was miraculous.

Behind Cardigan, leading the 8th Royal Irish Hussars,

came one Colonel Frederick Shewell.

134 years later, he has a remarkably frank descendent,

Lieutenant Anthony Shewell, serving in the same regiment.

Colonel Shewell is my great, great, great, great uncle Frederick.

He was a strict disciplinarian and by no means popular with his men.

He was, on the morning of the charge, referred to as "the old woman"

by his men, as he came to join them.

As he arrived, he found a number of the men smoking.

About four or five of them were smoking little pipes

with swords drawn and in the face of the enemy.

He considered this to be very taboo and gave them a severe reprimand.

Lord Paget, who was smoking a fine cigar a little way down the line,

was in two minds as to whether he should put out his cigar

or to continue smoking it.

He elected to continue smoking his, despite Shewell's reprimands

and, in fact, smoked it till the end of the charge, some 20 minutes later.

A few moments later, Shewell rode back down the line and came across

some three or so men smoking yet again, despite his order.

He, this time, had them arrested and that involved the removal of all

of their arms and, consequently, they rode into the charge unarmed.

Two of them were killed and the third one he had flogged the following day.

Even if you escaped the Russians or the floggings, there was still

Scutari, where,

for all the ministrations of Florence Nightingale,

four times as many men died from disease as enemy action.

'In just about every war prior'

to the Second World War, more people died of disease

than died in action. And whereas in the jungle, it's malaria,

in the Crimean campaign, it was cholera.

Cholera is otherwise known as rice water fever

and it's not the bottom falling out of your world,

it's the world falling out of your bottom.

LAUGHTER

You basically shit yourself to death...

LAUGHTER

..and you can do it in about five hours, if you put your mind to it.

LAUGHTER

There were spivs in those days.

Many men were sentenced to death by provisioners back home

who sent out meat, some of it 23 years old,

that could have walked to the Crimea.

What you do is you take some pork, bung it in a barrel,

put some heavy brine - salt and water - on it, and leave it.

23 years later, it tends to have gone past its sell by date...

LAUGHTER

and if you then store it under the point where the horses are kept

and by the time it's had 55 buckets of horse urine over the top,

it tends to acquire a somewhat aromatic flavour.

LAUGHTER

If you were a regiment, you would be issued with two or three cows

per day, if you were lucky, and the cows in the Crimea weren't much good.

The officers had the fillet steak and guys in the guard room got the hoof.

LAUGHTER

Clothing. Quartermaster had no clothes, whatsoever.

What you arrived with, you fought with,

and if your large pack had been left in the ship - tough.

Sergeant Mitchell, of the 13th Light Dragoons,

had his first change of socks three months after arriving in the Crimea

and that was only because he found a dead body the right size,

to remove them from.

If there's one tradition happily abandoned,

it is the glorification of the indefensible.

If the lecture is tinged with contempt, it is because

these were the only men from the speaker's regiment to survive

the Charge of the Light Brigade. Just 21, out of more than 100.

Now, what I'm trying to say is that

it WAS a complete cock up.

The guys then of the 13th Light Dragoons or the Light Brigade

or any of the regiments that took part in that campaign

were no different or no braver than the guys who climbed out of

the trenches in the Somme and got mown down by German machine guns.

They were no braver and no different from the members

of the 13th/18th Hussars, who on June 6th, 1944, sailed in a tank

with bits of canvas strapped to it, from 4,000 yards out

against hostile fire and landed in Normandy.

And they are no different from your run-of-the-mill infantryman

in a brick of four, toddling around Crossmaglen or Londonderry.

We will be celebrating, over the course of the next week, Balaclava.

It's our regimental day and we think a great deal of it.

It perhaps was not the best thing we've ever done,

but it was probably the most glorious. Thank you very much.

APPLAUSE

REVEILLE PLAYS

Nonetheless, 135 years on, the human courage of that action

is commemorated daily.

Lord Cardigan's old regiment, unlike any other in the British Army,

mounts its night picket at the unlikely time of 9.50pm.

Why do we do this at ten to ten, Evans, whilst the rest of the army

does it at ten o'clock?

Lord Cardigan, colonel of the 11th Hussars, died at ten to ten, sir.

Good, well done.

'Even the dandyism of Cardigan's day is scrupulously preserved.

'The calf-clinging trews were his idea.

'It was his regiment and he dressed them how he damned well pleased.

'They were known as the Cherrypickers, or the Cherrybims -

'Cardigan's fresh-faced boys.

'Inevitably, behind their backs, this was corrupted to Cherrybums.

ARTILLERY AND GUNFIRE

'This veneration of the past, by soldiers training day and night

on computerised warfare is, of course,

the very definition of tradition.

The anomaly is that the man who led the Charge of the Light Brigade,

an unmitigated disaster,

still dominates the heirlooms of his regiment's mess.

He wasn't even a popular man.

He had purchased his commission for £48,000.

Ronald is remembered, too.

Ronald was Cardigan's horse at the charge.

He survived, unlike more than 450 of the 673 men behind him.

Even the advent of the First World War

couldn't shake faith in the horse.

In the safety of their studios,

contemporary cartoonists invented a new sport - tank sticking.

Occasionally, wildly courageous cavalry actions

seemed to confirm the view.

As late as August 1918, horsemen of the Inniskillin Ragoons

attacked a German troop train and took 300 prisoners.

And with only hours of World War I to go,

the 16th/5th Lancers silenced a German machine gun post.

It was to be the last lance attack in British military history

and these were the weapons they used.

Interestingly enough, as you would appreciate,

as they were used in battle, the pennants were bloodied

and tradition dictated that they should never be cleaned.

And some ten years ago, I think, there was cleaning lady

who over-zealously took the pennants off,

cleaned them and they are now cleaner than they should be.

- Trying to get the blood out? - She certainly was, yes.

But they are absolutely original

and normally live in the regimental headquarters.

Even these days, when the general comes to visit

55 Scorpion reconnaissance vehicles remain in the background

while they greet him like true men at arms.

150 years ago, this was how a 16th Lancer dressed for battle.

Today's ceremonially-crimped pennants date from 1864

and a ferocious engagement in India.

Their famous charge that day, at the obscure Punjabi village of Aliwal,

is what they are celebrating here.

Being outnumbered definitely scores points.

That day, there were 10,000 British troops against 40,000 Sikhs.

It was an extremely violent and bloody battle, Lancer battle,

and as a result of which, when they came back out of the battle

at the end of it, their pennants were heavily encrusted in blood

and looked like they were crimped and, as a result, by tradition,

the 16th Lancer pennants have 16 crimps in them,

which remains to this day.

There is no escaping, no intention of escaping,

the influences of the past. Tanks, like horses, have names,

though grooming them is mildly easier.

It's traditional that the cavalryman names his mount.

Until 1938, of course, we named all the horses.

Since then, we've named our tanks. And a side effect of this is that,

if a tank crew are going to spend reasonably long periods of time

together they are going to build up a certain relationship

with it even if it is just a hunk of metal, and so giving it a name

adds individuality to a tank.

Nothing equivocal about the 17th/21st Lancers.

The motto said it all, "Death or Glory".

The cavalrymen of old had little alternative,

but it does require a horse.

As little as 15 years ago,

one was seriously expected to have a horse before a car.

If you could afford both, you were jolly lucky,

but most people had a horse of sorts,

whether it was a polo pony or a hunting beast.

But most people did have a horse before they had a car.

But nowadays, we find that our needs are slightly different from what

they were before and that one does move around a lot more and the need

for a car is perhaps greater than the need for a horse

as younger people would see it, anyway, these days.

The second thing is that somebody always told me that every officer

should know fear and there is nothing more fearful

or frightful than a horse for producing that fear.

It is willy nilly until tamed andcontrolled,

a very dangerous animal, and I think it's a good thing

for officers to know that, to feel that they are not quite so secure

in life as they feel they might be, perhaps, in the saddle at the time.

Fairly old-fashioned views,

but, I think, two quite important and relevant ones today.

Banishing fear won this man, Sergeant Wooden, the Victoria Cross

for rescuing a 17th/21st Lancer officer

at the Charge of the Light Brigade.

A curious story, since Wooden was a German mercenary and the VC

wasn't instituted until two years later.

However, several were awarded retrospectively.

One to a man who had assisted Wooden.

Wooden insisted he got one, too, and did, to become the only German

to win the Victoria Cross and the only man ever to ask for one

and get it.

In the literal sense, the Royal Artillery headquarters in Woolwich

is the home of the Victoria Cross.

The medals are actually cut from the cascabel, the ball at the back

of this cannon captured from the Russians at Sebastopol.

The supreme award for valour was instituted by Prince Albert

and being the uxorious husband he was he was never in two minds

about whom to name it after.

Only yards away at Woolwich stand the Nery gun,

its scars an inspiration to the Royal Horse Artillery.

Every year at 4.00am on 1 September, L Battery rolls out a 13 pounder.

It is to salute the men who, at dawn that day in 1914,

fought an incomparable action.

The opening month of the First World War

saw the British in full retreat from Mons.

They had been so hopelessly outnumbered - a 70,000 expeditionary

force against 160,000 Germans, that the Kaiser dismissed them

as "a contemptible little army".

He had another think coming 80 miles down the road.

Exhausted after a week, the Royal Horse Artillery

encamped in fog at the town of Nery.

They believed the French to be on the ridge in front of them.

A single German ranging shot disabused them.

They were virtually surrounded, so they stood and fought.

Guard...halt!

Right turn! Stand at ease!

Stand easy.

75 years later, these are the young heirs to the battle honours

won by their predecessors in L Battery.

Take post.

Kneeling numbers, up.

An epic battle was about to start.

The Germans held the high ground and all the aces,

except a premium on courage.

For it was here, with their colleagues dead or wounded,

that L Battery were to halt the headlong German advance,

just 40 miles from Paris.

During that initial bombardment, which fell mostly on the battery,

most of the casualties occurred.

150 of the battery's 250 or so horses were blown to pieces,

in their traces, still in their gun teams, still hooked in.

The battlefield was carnage. Total and utter carnage.

The battery captain, Captain Bradbury,

cried, "Come on, who's for the guns?!"

And he led the remaining men and the officers to the three guns.

One of them lasted but a few minutes, the second not a lot longer

and that left only F sub-section, commanded now by Captain Bradbury,

who was acting as layer, with Sergeant Nelson,

the gun number one, acting as range setter.

He found the range to the 12 German guns at 725 yards.

The ammunition had to be brought up over 20 yards

from the ammunition limber in the rear.

That 20 yards was death-swept space, covered by German machine guns,

as well as their exploding high-explosive shells.

During the action, Sergeant Nelson was very severely wounded

in the side.

Shortly after, he was wounded,

Battery Sergeant-Major Dorrell arrived.

Captain Bradbury ordered Sergeant Nelson to withdraw,

to seek medical attention.

Sergeant Nelson refused, because as he pointed out,

he couldn't move anyway and the gun was short of ammo.

So Battery Sergeant-Major Dorrell relieved Captain Bradbury

of his duties as layer and the brave captain ran to get more ammunition.

As he did so, he fell, mortally wounded, both legs severed.

Despite these crippling wounds, he continued to command the gun,

directing its fire against the German artillery,

until he was again wounded.

He was to die later that morning.

Steadily, F sub-section began to destroy the German guns,

until with its last remaining rounds,

the German artillery was finally silenced.

'Three quarters of a century later,

'a single shot at dawn commemorates that action.'

Number six, load.

Number six, fire!

For their valour, Captain Bradbury, Battery Sergeant-Major Dorrell

and Sergeant Nelson were awarded the Victoria Cross.

A further three recommendations were made that morning.

'L Battery owns the VCs won that day. No potentate could buy them.'

These are the real VCs. It's not very often we get them out of the bank,

but the odd special occasion, such as today.

And those are the genuine ones.

Our history alive today and that is what we have to live up to.

I know it's a hard act to follow,

but those really are what we live for.