Hells Angels my @rse.
The thread by aussielong about getting duffed up, plus another that mentioned Hells Angels reminded me of this story, from about thirty years ago.
I was a youngster then and me and my mate used to go along to the English Civil War reenactment battles. We used to get dressed up in these red tunics and leggings and pick up a pike, or sometimes a musket.
Then we used to march out in regimental blocks and get directed by the generals to attack the Royalists, it was a right bloody affair, lots of broken limbs and the occasional deady. It was fantastic fun, being a foot soldier in the Montagues in the roundhead association. It was always worth a medal if you managed to lay hands on the enemy standard, and if you captured it, well you were a blooming hero.
Our standard bearer was an old bloke, in his fifties, looked like Catweazle and he would never fight in the push. He stood at the back with the standard, holding a studded club about a foot long. If any Royalist hand was laid on the standard, whack!!, broken fingers all round. We found out one night that he was an ex SAS trooper who wouldn't fight, in case he killed someone. He wore a razor sharp sword that he called widowmaker. (yes I suppose we were all barmy)
Anyways, we were sitting around the campfire one night, near Otterspool, about two hundred of us,pissed as @rseholes, sharpening swords and polishing the armour, cleaning out the muskets when the local plod turned up. 'You guys had better be careful, the local chapter of the Hells Angels have heard that you are here, and 30 of them are on their way looking for a rumble'
All you could hear was 200 guys saying 'Go ed' heh heh.
They never did turn up.
The thread by aussielong about getting duffed up, plus another that mentioned Hells Angels reminded me of this story, from about thirty years ago.
I was a youngster then and me and my mate used to go along to the English Civil War reenactment battles. We used to get dressed up in these red tunics and leggings and pick up a pike, or sometimes a musket.
Then we used to march out in regimental blocks and get directed by the generals to attack the Royalists, it was a right bloody affair, lots of broken limbs and the occasional deady. It was fantastic fun, being a foot soldier in the Montagues in the roundhead association. It was always worth a medal if you managed to lay hands on the enemy standard, and if you captured it, well you were a blooming hero.
Our standard bearer was an old bloke, in his fifties, looked like Catweazle and he would never fight in the push. He stood at the back with the standard, holding a studded club about a foot long. If any Royalist hand was laid on the standard, whack!!, broken fingers all round. We found out one night that he was an ex SAS trooper who wouldn't fight, in case he killed someone. He wore a razor sharp sword that he called widowmaker. (yes I suppose we were all barmy)
Anyways, we were sitting around the campfire one night, near Otterspool, about two hundred of us,pissed as @rseholes, sharpening swords and polishing the armour, cleaning out the muskets when the local plod turned up. 'You guys had better be careful, the local chapter of the Hells Angels have heard that you are here, and 30 of them are on their way looking for a rumble'
All you could hear was 200 guys saying 'Go ed' heh heh.
They never did turn up.
thick
Comment