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When was the first toilet invented? What did people use before the modern flush? What are the origins of the term 'crapper'? To mark World Toilet Day, Julian Humphrys explores the history of Britain's loos
A... is for Ajax Although Elizabethan writer and courtier John Harrington wasn’t the first person to design a flushing toilet – Londoner Thomas Brightfield had done so in 1449 – he was the first to provide a written specification for one. In 1596, he penned his Metamorphosis of Ajax (a pun on ‘jakes’, a slang word for a privy) in which he described a remarkably modern-sounding device that he’d installed in his house. This incorporated a pan with a seat and a cistern filled with water. When a handle was turned, the water washed the contents of the pan into a cesspool. Although Harrington installed one for Queen Elizabeth I in Richmond Palace, cost, problems of water supply, and lack of sewers meant that the idea wouldn’t catch on for centuries. B... is for Bazalgette By the 1850s, London’s growing population was producing unmanageable amounts of sewage. Cesspools leaked and overflowed, contaminating water supplies, and matters weren’t helped by the outpourings of the increasingly popular water closet. London’s Commission of Sewers had ordered that cesspools and house drains should be connected to sewers, but these fed directly into an increasingly noisome River Thames. Following the ‘Great Stink’ of 1858, when the smell from the river was so bad that MPs even considered abandoning Westminster, the Metropolitan Board of Works was tasked with overhauling London’s sewerage system. Civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette (1819–91) was put in charge of operations. His 16-year project included embanking parts of the Thames, constructing 1,100 miles of street sewers, 82 miles of main interceptor sewers and building four monumental pumping stations, all designed to take the sewage eastwards to be discharged into the river away from heavily-populated areas. Watch | 10 minutes of toilets through time View Green Video on the source website C... is for Crapper In 1866, Yorkshire-born industrialist and plumber Thomas Crapper opened the world’s first bathroom showroom in Chelsea. For the first time, people could actually see sanitary products in place. Some were even plumbed in so that potential customers could try before they bought. In the late 1880s, Crapper was asked by the Prince of Wales to install lavatories at Sandringham, and he went on to supply sanitary ware for both Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle. The idea that one of our more robust terms for a bowel movement is derived from his name is a myth – that word was in use well before Crapper became famous. However, it is possible that the American word ‘crapper’, meaning a lavatory, became popular after US soldiers in Britain in 1917 saw his name stamped on the cisterns in some public toilets. Read more | How did knights in armour go to the toilet? D... is for Dung The infamous 1618 Defenestration of Prague, which saw three Catholic officials thrown from a third-floor window in Prague Castle, helped trigger the outbreak of the Thirty Years’ War. Remarkably, all three survived the 50-foot fall. Catholic sources claimed they were saved by divine intervention, while Protestants ascribed their survival to the fact that they landed on a huge pile of dung beneath the window. E... is for Espionage It’s hard to believe that the unremarkable public toilets in the small Hampshire town of New Alresford played a part in the Cold War. But they did. Harry Houghton used them as a dead letter box in his dealings with Soviet spy ‘Gordon Lonsdale’. A plaque on the toilet wall recalls how in 1961, Houghton was sentenced to 15 years’ imprisonment for his part in the Portland Spy Ring, which sold secret information from the Admiralty Underwater Weapons Establishment to the Soviet Union. F... is for Fleet Street Inspired by the success of Jennings’ toilets at the Great Exhibition (see ‘J’), the Royal Society of Arts tried to cash in on the act. On 2 February 1852, it opened London’s first modern public toilet (for men) at 95 Fleet Street. Women had to hang on a little longer; the first female public toilet opened at Bedford Street nine days later. Delicately dubbed ‘public waiting rooms’, they featured water closets in wooden surrounds and cost two pence to use. But, despite being extensively promoted by handbills and even an advert in The Times, only 58 men and 24 women used the rooms in the first month. Within six months, they were closed. G... is for Garderobe Originally a term for a storeroom for clothes and valuables, a garderobe is now usually used to describe a medieval privy, particularly in a castle. Actually, the two uses were by no means mutually exclusive, as the ammonia from urine helped deter moths and other parasites. Many garderobes were built into the thickness of an outer wall, and consisted of a stone or wooden seat over a vertical shaft. Others were sited in a projecting turret over an open drop. Depending on the design, the excrement would either hit the ground or land in a pit (which had to be periodically cleared out by an individual known as a ‘gong farmer’), or drop into a moat or river. The garderobes of some coastal castles, like St Andrews, simply projected over the sea and let the tide do the work. Garderobes could be a weak spot in a castle’s defences. During the siege of the mighty Château Gaillard in 1204, the French captured its middle bailey after sneaking up one of its garderobe chutes. When Henry III commissioned a new privy for Guildford Castle, the Clerk of Works was specifically told to fit bars to its outlet to deter intruders. H... is for Hampton Court To cope with the sanitary needs of the vast numbers of Tudor courtiers who assembled there, Hampton Court Palace boasted a huge communal garderobe. Known as the ‘Great House of Easement’, it was two storeys high and could accommodate 28 people simultaneously. Occupants sat side by side on oak planks and their waste was carried into the Thames via brick-lined drains. The building still stands today, although now it has a different function: it’s the office of the Chief Executive. I... is for Ironside It’s always a good idea to check that a vacant toilet really is vacant. The 12th-century writer Henry of Huntingdon gives this account of the death in 1016 of English King, Edmund Ironside: “When Edmund, fearful and most formidable to his enemies, was prospering in his kingdom, he went one night to the lavatory to answer a call of nature. There the son of Ealdorman Eadric, who by his father’s plan was concealed in the pit of the privy, struck the King twice with a sharp knife in the private parts, and leaving the weapon in his bowels, fled away.” Edmund Ironside: Anglo-Saxon warrior king J... is for Jennings When the Great Exhibition opened in 1851 in Hyde Park, one of its landmark attractions was Britain’s first paid-for flushing public toilets, which were designed and installed by Hampshire-born plumber George Jennings. For the price of a penny, visitors were provided with a clean toilet seat, a towel, a comb and a shoe shine. Records show that during the exhibition, over 675,000 pennies were spent. K... is for King Elvis Presley wasn’t the only King to die on the toilet. On 25 October 1760, George II’s valet was waiting outside the water closet for his master to finish his morning ablutions when he heard what he described as “a noise louder than the royal wind” followed by a crash “like the falling of a billet of wood from the fire”. He rushed in to find the king dying on the floor. A subsequent post-mortem revealed that he had died from an aortic aneurysm, which had probably been caused by straining. Read more | Showering, teeth brushing and donning underwear: the strange history of our daily routine L... is for Luther Was the Protestant Reformation thought up on the toilet? It’s quite possible. Martin Luther, the German Augustinian friar who was a seminal figure in the Reformation, suffered from constipation. He spent many hours in contemplation on the toilet, and later wrote that he was “in cloaca” – or in the sewer – when the belief that salvation was gained through faith not deeds came to him. M... is for Monasteries Many of Britain’s medieval monasteries still retain the remains of their communal toilets. Dubbed necessaria (for obvious reasons) or reredorters (because they stood behind the dorter or dormitory), they could be quite extensive in size. One of the most impressive can be found at Muchelney Abbey in Somerset. Unique in having a thatched roof, it’s a two-storey affair that the monks entered at first-floor level from their dormitory. N... is for Nightmen In the days before sewers, people in towns had to find a way of disposing of their excrement. This is where the nightmen came in. So-called because by law they could only work at night, it was their job to empty the excreta from people’s cesspits and cart it away. They usually operated in teams of four. One man, the ‘holeman’, went into the cesspit and filled a tub lowered by a colleague called the ‘ropeman’. Once full, it was pulled back up and two ‘tubmen’ carried it to a waiting cart. The night soil was then taken away and mixed with other rubbish before being sold to farmers as manure. O... is for Orford For those with an interest in medieval toilet arrangements, Orford Castle in Suffolk is a must-see. Its 12th-century keep is equipped with garderobes served by a system of chutes, which directed their discharge to a single area at the back of the tower. Like most castles, the majority of Orford’s toilets are of the sit-down variety, but it also boasts a rarity – a stand-up, triangular ‘poke and pee’ urinal in the corridor outside the constable’s chamber. Handily placed to save a night-time walk to one of the main garderobes, it now offers modern visitors an almost irresistible photo opportunity. P... is for Pepys An entry in Samuel Pepys’ diary offers an insight into the rather ramshackle state of 17th-century London’s sanitary arrangements, even for the well-to-do: “20 October 1660: This morning one came to me to advise with me where to make me a window into my cellar… and going down my cellar to look, I put my foot into a heap of turds, by which I find that Mr Turner’s house of office is full and comes into my cellar, which doth trouble me…” Things weren’t any better at court. The antiquary Anthony Wood acidly commented that when Charles II and his court descended on Oxford in 1665, “though they were neat and gay in their apparel, yet they were very nasty and beastly, leaving at their departure their excrements in every corner, in chimneys, studies, coalhouses, cellars”. Q... is for Queen If the 17th-century antiquarian John Aubrey is to be believed, Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford, may well have regretted not paying a precautionary visit to the privy before being presented to Queen Elizabeth I. In his Brief Lives, a splendidly scandalous collection of anecdotes about the great figures of Tudor and Stuart England, Aubrey writes: “This Earl of Oxford, making of his low obeisance to Queen Elizabeth, happened to fart, at which he was so abashed that he went to travel for seven years. On his return, the Queen welcomed him home and said ‘My lord, I had forgotten the fart’.” R... is for Rome Toilet walls have always been a temptation for idle scribblers, and things were no different in the days of ancient Rome. One such wall in a house in the Roman town of Herculaneum (which, like Pompeii, was destroyed in AD 79 by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius) bears the words “Apollinaris medici Titi Imperatoris hic cacavit bene” – roughly translated, that’s “Apollinaris, physician of the Emperor Titus, had a good crap here”. S... is for Stool One of the most sought-after jobs in the Tudor court was the position of Groom of the Stool. The Stool in question was a ‘close stool’, a fixed or portable commode, and the Groom’s job was to help the king undress before using it and to supply him with water, towels and a washbowl when he had finished. Whether the Groom was actually required to wipe the Royal Bottom is a matter of debate. Read more about the men who changed Henry VIII’s underpants The reason why this apparently lowly job was so desirable was the fact that it gave the holder an intimate access to the king that no other office holder enjoyed. Because a word in the king’s ear could make or break a courtier, it was important to keep on the right side of the Groom, and people would often petition him to pass on their concerns or requests to the monarch. As time went on, the Groom’s duties expanded until they came to act more as personal secretaries. Sir Anthony Denny, Henry VIII’s last Groom of the Stool, was also given the great responsibility of caring for the ‘dry stamp’, which was used to sign the king’s name on documents. In addition to the influence they enjoyed, Grooms of the Stool enjoyed high pay and a range of perks, including being given the king’s old clothes and furnishings. T... is for Torrens In 1868, William McCullagh Torrens, Liberal MP for Finsbury, introduced the Artizans and Labourers Dwellings Act, enabling local authorities to clear away houses without proper sanitation and erect decent dwellings for the working classes. Despite powerful opposition, the bill was passed. U... is for U-Boat In April 1945, just weeks before the end of World War II, German submarine U-1206 was cruising in the North Sea off Peterhead at a depth of about 60 metres when problems with the pressurised flushing system of its on-board toilet caused a leak, which flooded the hull with seawater. When this came into contact with the ship’s batteries, poisonous chlorine gas was created, leaving the captain with no option but to surface. U-1206 was quickly spotted and attacked by Allied aircraft, forcing the captain to order his crew to scuttle the U-boat and abandon ship. V... is for Vespasiennes Vespasiennes were metal open-air public urinals that were first erected in Paris in 1834, in a bid to put an end to indiscriminate public peeing (by men). They took their name from the Ancient Roman emperor Vespasian who, according to legend, imposed a tax on the collection of urine (which was used in tanning and laundries) from Roman public toilets. Vespasiennes were once a common sight on the streets of Paris; in the 1930s, there were over 1,200, but now, only one remains – on the Boulevard Arago in the 14th Arondissement. W... is for Westonzoyland After the Duke of Monmouth’s defeat at the Battle of Sedgemoor in July 1685, the nearby church of St Mary’s, Westonzoyland was pressed into service as a temporary prison for hundreds of Monmouth’s defeated rebel followers. Two comfortable toilets have recently been installed in the church, but no such facilities existed in Monmouth’s time… the church accounts record the expenditure of 5s 8d on frankincense, pitch and resin to fumigate the soiled building after the prisoners had been removed. X... is for Xylospongium How did Romans wipe their bottoms? They used a sponge on a stick called a xylospongium. In communal toilets, they were kept in tubs of water in front of where you sat. You took one, rinsed it, used it, and then put it back. The well-preserved Roman latrine at Housesteads on Hadrian’s Wall still has the channel which contained the running water used to wash the sponges. Writing in the middle of the first century, the philosopher Seneca described how a Germanic gladiator used a xylospongium to commit suicide: “He withdrew in order to relieve himself – the only thing he was allowed to do in secret and without the presence of a guard. While so engaged, he seized the stick of wood tipped with a sponge, devoted to the vilest uses, and stuffed it down his throat.” Y... is for York Although pay toilets didn’t appear until the 19th century, the towns and cities of medieval Britain appear to have been well-equipped with public privies. The first recorded public convenience in York was sited in an arch of the old Ouse Bridge. In 1380, one William Graa left 40d a year in his will to provide "a light in the common jakes at the end of Use Bridge”. One section of Conwy’s town walls houses a group of 12 projecting stone latrines, while London boasted Whittington’s Longhouse, a huge public toilet over the Walbrook river. Opened in 1421, it had seats for 64 men and 64 women. Z... is for Zagreb If you visit the Croatian National Theatre in Zagreb, check out Croatia’s most historic toilet. A magnificent blue-and-white porcelain creation, it was installed for the visit of Emperor Franz Joseph I when he opened the neo-baroque theatre in 1895. Use it and you’ll be sitting where a range of historical figures have sat over the years, including Franz Joseph, Ustaše leader Ante Pavelić and Marshal Josip Broz Tito. This article was first published in the June 2018 issue of BBC History Revealed magazine
What happened at the battles of Lexington and Concord?
When British troops went to seize arms stockpiled by American colonists at Concord, Massachusetts, they could have had little idea of their raid’s revolutionary ramifications. Julian Humphrys explains all…
Under cover of darkness, in the early hours of 19 April 1775, a force of British soldiers was on the move. General Thomas Gage, the British Commander in Boston, Massachusetts, had learned the American colonists were stockpiling weapons and ammunition at Concord, about 18 miles away. To nip any potential resistance in the bud, he ordered a surprise raid to seize the lot. What happened next at Lexington and Concord lit the spark of the American Revolution, and the events have been immortalised as "the shot heard round the world", a phrase coined by Ralph Waldo Emerson's 1837 poem Concord Hymn. Find out below what happened during the battles, and the importance of the events of 19 April in the long conflict to come… What tensions led to the battles at Lexington and Concord? In 1775, Britain’s 13 American colonies ran along the east coast from Massachusetts in the north to Georgia in the south. Each was administered by a royal governor, his council and an elected colonial assembly. After defeating the French in North America in the early 1760s, in part during the Seven Years' War, Britain wanted to increase taxes in America and make the colonies pay for their own defence. Using the slogan ‘No taxation without representation’, the colonists argued that only their own assemblies, and not the British parliament, had a right to levy taxes. Tensions rose. December 1773 saw the colonists dump a cargo of British tea into the harbour, in protest of Britain’s attempt to tax imports – the Boston Tea Party. The government responded by closing the port of Boston, dissolving the colonial assembly and placing Massachusetts under military rule. Believing both their liberty and economic prosperity to be under threat, the colonists took action. They set up their own continental assembly, took over their local militias and started stockpiling military supplies. Lexington and Concord: quick facts Who fought? British regulars: 1,500, American colonial militia: 3,500 When? 19 April 1775, the date most often cited as the start of the American Revolutionary War Where? Middlesex County, Massachusetts, modern-day USA Why were the battles fought? A skirmish in response to a British bid to seize American militia supplies What was the result? Most sources agree that the battles ended in a British defeat Who was Paul Revere and why did he ride? Paul Revere was a silversmith and member of the group of colonists known as the Sons of Liberty who actively resisted British rule. He had been an influential figure in fanning the flames of revolution with his engraving depicting the 1770 Boston Massacre which was widely shared in the aftermath, and he was present at the Boston Tea Party in 1773. Thanks to Henry Longfellow’s poem of 1861, Paul Revere’s Ride, the messenger is best known for the part he played in warning Lexington of the impending arrival of the British in 1775. But there was much more to the extraordinary man’s life. A Boston silversmith of partly French descent, Revere dabbled in dentistry and was also an engraver, printing the new country’s first paper money. An active opponent of British rule, he took part in the Boston Tea Party. His military career was spectacularly unsuccessful. He was court-martialled (but acquitted) for his part in a disastrous expedition against the British in what is now Maine. After the war, he opened America’s first copper-rolling mill and eventually died, aged 83, in 1818. Twice married, he had fathered 16 children. What happened at Lexington and Concord? Lieutenant-Colonel Francis Smith was chosen to lead a flying column of British redcoats into the small town. Smith chose his men well. He selected the elite grenadiers (the toughest) and light infantry (the swiftest) from a number of regiments, building a force of about 700. To avoid a lengthy roundabout march out of Boston, Smith’s men were ferried across the Charles River in barges and, after wading ashore through waist-deep water, the soggy troops began their march on Concord at about 2am. Gage and Smith had hoped for secrecy and surprise, but they weren’t to get their way. As the redcoats approached, the ominous sound of church bells rang through the night; the people of Massachusetts knew something was up. Dr Joseph Warren, a Boston resident and a key opponent of the King’s rule, had been informed by a sympathiser within the British command (possibly Margaret, Gage’s American born wife) that a raid was going to take place. Warren sent two riders, tanner William Dawes and silversmith Paul Revere, to spread the word. To make doubly sure the message got through, two lanterns were lit in the tower of Boston’s Old North Church – a pre-arranged signal meaning the British were to cross the Charles River by boat. Dawes and Revere initially took different routes to Lexington, a few miles east of Concord, where two key revolutionary leaders, Samuel Adams and John Hancock, were staying. Concerned that the radicals might, in fact, be the true targets of the British raid, Revere and Dawes persuaded the two to flee. The messengers then set off for Concord, meeting a third rider, Samuel Prescott, on the way. There is, incidentally, no evidence to support the myth that Revere rode about shouting “The British are coming”. Indeed, if he had, it would been confusing, as colonial Americans at that time considered themselves British. In the event, only Prescott made it to Concord. Revere was captured by the British, while Dawes was thrown from his horse and had to walk to Lexington. Read more | How did the American Revolution begin? But the riders had done their job. Other messengers were now spreading the word and militiamen from all over the county were hurriedly mustering and heading to intercept the redcoats. By the time Britain’s Lieutenant Colonel Smith and his men had reached Menotomy (now Arlington), it was clear that the enemy had stirred up a hornet’s nest, and Concord was still more than ten miles away. Before heading on, Smith sent a message back to Gage calling for reinforcements. Gage duly ordered Lord Percy to take his brigade (about 800 men) to help the redcoats on the road to Concord but, thanks to a misunderstanding, there was a four-hour delay before Percy set off. Meanwhile, Smith’s column was cautiously approaching the town of Lexington. Learning that there might be opposition on the road ahead, Smith ordered Major John Pitcairn of the Royal Marines to take the light infantry into the town. The Sun was just beginning to rise as Pitcairn’s men entered the little town. There, drawn up on the green, were about 77 American militiamen, under the command of Captain John Parker. A veteran of the French and Indian Wars, Parker was dying of consumption and, in fact, had only five months to live. Initially neither side wanted to fight. Parker’s tiny force was heavily outnumbered and, knowing that most of the supplies at Concord had by now been hidden, he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his men for no purpose. So he positioned his men carefully, in plain sight to make a point, but not actively seeking confrontation by blocking the road. In Parker’s eyes, if there was going to be any fighting, the British would have to start it. Pitcairn also wanted to avoid bloodshed. He called on Parker’s militia to disperse but, before they could, a shot rang out Who fired the first shot at Lexington? Nobody knows who fired that fateful shot but, in the ensuing confusion, the British fired a volley and charged with fixed bayonets. When the smoke cleared, eight militiamen lay dead on the green and a further ten had been wounded. One redcoat had been hurt. Soon after, Smith rode into Lexington. He was horrified to learn what had happened. Using a drummer to recall Pitcairn’s scattered troops, who were busy chasing the surviving militiamen, he reformed his column and pushed on to Concord. They arrived at about 7am. The colonists had, perhaps, 300 militiamen in Concord but, rather than fight there, they pulled back across a bridge to the north of the town where they waited for their reinforcements. The redcoats set about searching the town for the weapons and ammunition they had come to confiscate, unaware that much had already been spirited away. They did, however, find three large cannons, which they rendered unusable by destroying their trunnions (axles), as well as hoards of flour and musket balls, which they dumped in the town pond. Other supplies and pieces of equipment were set alight. But this was to have unexpected consequences. On seeing the billowing smoke, the colonial militia on the other side of the river assumed that the British had set fire to the town and, now about 500 strong, they began to advance towards the bridge that led back into Concord. The 100 light infantrymen guarding the bridge fired one volley at the militiamen. The Americans replied with a volley of their own – this took the lives of the first British soldiers to fall that day and, after the great poet Ralph Waldo Emerson coined the phrase, became known as the “shot heard round the world”. Outgunned, the Brits fell back. Smith’s men had been searching Concord for four hours, but now it was time to retreat. Some 2,000 militiamen were in the area, with more arriving every minute. The British formed up and set off on the return to Boston. It was then that their nightmare began. At first, the militiamen simply shadowed the British, but they now had sufficient numbers to inflict real damage. They began sniping at the redcoats from behind stone walls, houses, sheds, trees and bushes. In their scarlet coats, as opposed to the dull red of the ordinary soldiers, Smith’s officers made distinctive targets. With his men being picked off, Smith began to lose control. Many of his troops cast away their equipment to retreat more quickly as they ran the gauntlet of colonial fire. By the time it reached Lexington, the column was near to total collapse. Had it not been for Lord Percy who was waiting for them at Lexington with his brigade of redcoats and a couple of cannons, Smith’s men might not have made it back to Boston at all. Despite being short of ammunition, Percy covered the rest of the retreat with some skill, sending groups of men into the fields on each side of the Boston road to keep the colonists as far away as possible and using his two cannons whenever he could. Even so, the militiamen continued to harass the British. They were fired upon almost all the way back to the Charles River where, to the relief of the exhausted redcoats, the Royal Navy was waiting to ferry them to safety. The British had lost 73 killed, 174 wounded and 26 missing on the retreat. American casualties were about 90. Boston Tea Party: Igniting a Revolution Member exclusive | Discover the causes, tensions, and violent origins of the Boston Tea Party. Join leading experts as they explain the key players involved in the plan – and why tea was so important to the story. Listen to all episodes now Who won at Lexington and Concord? Militarily, Lexington and Concord had been a minor defeat for the British, but it had been a major disaster politically. Smith’s raid had caused the very fighting it was intended to prevent and the B1ritish army had caused bloodshed on American soil. What’s more, the casualties suffered from an often unseen enemy, together with the belief that one of their comrades had been scalped, would lead them to commit a number of atrocities against the locals – a fact widely reported by their enemies. All this helped turn resentment into outright rebellion. And when it came to fighting, the colonists had proved that they could stand up to the redcoats, a fact not lost on Lord Percy: “Whoever looks upon them as an irregular mob will find himself much mistaken.” What happened after the battles at Lexington and Concord? Encouraged by their initial success, the American rebels surrounded Boston, where their army started to gain many new recruits. Despite winning a costly victory at Bunker Hill in June, the British were forced to abandon Boston the following March, although they balanced this with the capture New York by the end of the year. In July 1776, representatives of the 13 American colonies declared their independence from Great Britain. The French joined the war in 1777, as allies of the Americans – they were later joined by both the Spanish and Dutch. Read more | From Bunker Hill to Yorktown: 9 battles that made the United States When the British surrendered at Yorktown in 1781, it was, effectively, the end of the fighting. In 1783, Britain formally recognised American Independence.
The 1943 battle of Kursk: was it the biggest tank battle in history?
The Second World War saw one of the most epic tank battles in history, as the Germans and the Soviets clashed near Kursk. Julian Humphrys tells the story…
What was the battle of Kursk? Your quick guide Who fought in the battle of Kursk? Soviets | 1.9 million men, 5,100 tanks, 25,000 guns 2,400 aircraft Germans | 900,000 men, 2,700 tanks and assault guns, 10,000 guns, 1,800 aircraft When and where was the battle of Kursk fought? July–August 1943, Kursk, Ukraine Who were the key players in the battle of Kursk? Between them, these four men commanded around 2.8m men, 8,000 tanks and 4,200 aircraft… Field Marshal Erich Von Manstein Commander of the southern German pincer. He had been key in the defeat of France in 1940 and, earlier in 1943, had stabilised the front after German failure at Stalingrad. Field Marshal Walter Model Commander of the northern German pincer. Nicknamed the Führer’s Fireman, Hitler considered Model one of his best generals. He committed suicide at the end of the war. General Nikolai Vatutin Soviet Commander of the southern sector of the Kursk salient. He was mortally wounded in an attack by Ukrainian nationalists in February 1944. General Konstantin Rokossovsky Soviet Commander of the northern sector of the Kursk salient. He had survived arrest, torture and imprisonment during Stalin’s purge of army officers in 1937. Why was the battle of Kursk fought? The Germans planned to cut off the Kursk salient with a pincer attack What was the outcome of the battle of Kursk? The battle of Kursk was a victory for the Soviet forces Historian Julian Humphrys takes up the story of the battle, the tanks that were used in the clash, and why the Germans lost at Kursk… The summer of 1943 saw the German army mount a risky operation that made even Adolf Hitler nervous. “Whenever I think of this attack, my stomach turns over,” he told a subordinate. Soviet advances after the battle of Stalingrad and subsequent German counter-attacks had left a huge salient, or bulge, sticking out into the German-held territory around Kursk in Ukraine. Hitler’s plan, which was code-named Operation Citadel, was to mount attacks from the north and south in order to cut off and surround the Russian troops in the salient. Success would also give the overstretched German army a shorter front line to man. To build up the force to carry out this ambitious plan, the Germans brought in troops, tanks and planes from other sectors of the front. In the end, 70 per cent of all their tanks and nearly two-thirds of their aircraft in the east were committed to the operation. But would it be enough? Conventional military wisdom states that, to have a chance of success, an attacking force needs to outnumber the defender by three-to-one but, at Kursk, the invaders had no such advantage. Despite their efforts, the Germans around Kursk were still heavily outnumbered. What tanks did the Germans use at Kursk? With thick armour and a powerful gun, the German Tiger I was a monster. But it was expensive to build and fewer than 1,500 were produced during the war. Hoping quality would defeat quantity, the Germans put their faith in their new tanks – medium Panthers, heavy Tigers and monstrous ‘Ferdinand’ self-propelled guns (essentially a huge gun fixed to a tank chassis). They hoped these cutting-edge war machines would overwhelm the Russian defences, creating a breakthrough that the rest of their armoured force could then exploit. But the Russians were ready for them. The salient had always seemed the obvious place for the Germans to attack, and Russian intuition was confirmed by intelligence passed to them by their western allies. In order to build up his forces and allow the new German tanks to join his army, Hitler delayed the push. The Russians used their extra time well, constructing some of the most formidable field defences ever put in place by a defending army. Before they could get anywhere near the Russian fortifications around Kursk, the attacking Germans would have to fight their way through miles of anti-tank ditches, minefields and barbed wire entanglements all while doing battle with thousands of tanks and facing fire from the 25,000 guns the Russians had assembled in the area. In key places, there were anti-tank guns every 10 metres. The German attacks began in earnest early on 5 July and, almost immediately, it became clear they had underestimated their Russian adversaries. A massive Soviet counter-bombardment began shortly before the attack was due to start, confirming the Germans had achieved no surprise whatsoever, and the extensive field defences in their path ensured progress was painfully slow. On the podcast | James Holland tells the story of the Sherwood Rangers While it was true that the heavy German tanks often proved impervious to the Soviet antitank guns – one Russian soldier described how 45mm shells bounced off the Tiger tanks like peas – their tracks remained vulnerable to the anti-tank mines. Another threat came from the Soviet soldiers, who ran forward with spare mines to place in the attacker’s path, or to throw grenades, Molotov cocktails and satchels of explosives at the advancing German tanks. Lacking a hull-mounted machine gun, the Ferdinands fared particularly badly, as they were unable to repel these primitive-but-effective infantry attacks. German tank troubles at Kursk The appearance of the Soviet T-34 tank in 1941 had come as a major shock to the German high command. The T-34 was superior to their own tanks and its effectiveness was only really restricted by the poor training of its crews. Faced with this challenge, the Germans quickly began work to improve the design of their existing tank models and produced new tanks that could take on and beat the T-34. One of the most famous was the Mark V Panther. With better armour and a more powerful gun than the T-34, the highly useful tank was more than a match for its Russian enemy on the battlefield. But it was not without its problems. Rushed into service without proper testing, it could be unreliable and many Panthers broke down before they even reached the action. What were the weather conditions during the battle of Kursk? The weather during the battle alternated between blazing heat and pouring rain, coating the combatants in dust on one day, bogging them down in mud the next. Inside the scorching tanks, heat exhaustion was commonplace as sweating crewmen struggled to load the tank guns with their heavy shells. Many debilitated Germans kept going by taking Pervitin. Nicknamed Panzerschokolade or ‘tank chocolate’ by the soldiers, these highly addictive pills contained methamphetamine, helping to fight fatigue and increase self-confidence. More than 200 million were handed out during the war. After four days’ heavy fighting, the German attack from the north, led by Field Marshal Walter Model, began to run out of steam. His men had inflicted terrible casualties on the Russians, having destroyed hundreds of tanks, but the Soviet numerical advantage was just too great. No sooner had the Germans destroyed a unit of Russian tanks than another appeared in its place. Russian reserves of men and equipment seemed limitless. To make matters worse, the Germans were now coming under fire from ground-attack aircraft. After advancing a mere eight miles, the German attack ground to a halt. Field Marshal Erich von Manstein’s forces in the south ran into the same difficulties but, after a slow start, the pace of their advance began to pick up. On 7 July, it briefly looked as though von Manstein’s troops might break through the main Russian defence zone. But the Soviets rapidly deployed reinforcements, and the German advance slowed once again. Read more | 5 tanks that changed the course of the First World War Even so, they pushed on and, by 11 July, the armoured divisions of the elite II SS Panzer Corps had reached the outskirts of the small town of Prokhorovka, 50 miles south east of Kursk. That night, as the German forces rested in a forest before attacking Prokhorovka, they heard an ominous sound – the rumble of hundreds of tank engines. The Russians were planning a counterattack of their own. Action in the air at Kursk Kursk may be known for the size of its tank battles, but the clashes in the skies were also some of the largest in history. Both sides had assembled thousands of planes, which duelled in the air, attacked enemy airfields and swooped down to bomb and machine-gun enemy targets on the ground. Though their orders were to concentrate on ground targets, the Luftwaffe initially took a heavy toll of the Soviet air force. But they were hampered by a lack of fuel and gradually the Russians gained air superiority. Soon they were bombing German airfields on a nightly basis. Was Kursk the biggest tank battle in history? The following day, the two sides clashed in what has often been described as the largest tank battle in history. In fact, other battles had involved more tanks, but never before or since have so many armoured vehicles – more than 800 in all – clashed at pointblank range. That this was the case was down to the Russians. They believed that if they fought at a distance they would simply be picked off by the German tanks’ superior guns. This, they believed, was their only chance to get in close where their own guns would be more effective. As the German tanks emerged from the forest and moved into open ground, General Rotmistrov, Commander of the Russian 5th Guards Tank Army gave the code word “Stal, Stal, Stal” (‘Steel, Steel, Steel’), and 600 Russian tanks charged towards the Germans. Rudolf von Ribbentrop, the son of the German foreign minister, commanded a company of tanks in the battle, and he later described the scene: “We halted on the slope and opened fire, hitting several of the enemy. A number of Russian tanks were left burning… I looked around as was my habit. What I saw left me speechless. From beyond the shallow rise about 150-200 metres in front of me appeared 15, then 30, then 40 tanks. Finally there were too many to count. The T-34s were rolling towards us at high speed.” What were the 11 most significant battles of WW2? Soon the battle degenerated into a confused melee; tanks burned on all sides and all command was lost. Some tanks rammed each other, others exploded as their ammunition caught fire, sending their turrets flying into the air. Crewmen escaped from their blazing tanks with their clothes on fire and desperately rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames. Others were less fortunate and died, screaming, in their blazing iron coffins. When dusk finally brought an end to the fighting, the two sides pulled apart. The fields had become a tank graveyard; they were littered with burned-out hulks, some still pouring black, oily smoke into the air. Despite having lost some 200 tanks to the Germans’ 50, the Russians remained unbeaten. The following day Hitler called off the operation. The Russians were already counter-attacking north of Kursk and, with the news that the Allies had invaded Sicily, Hitler needed to withdraw troops from the eastern front to defend Italy. When the Russians also began a counter-attack south of Kursk, the exhausted Germans had no choice but to carry out a fighting retreat – they fell back 150 miles on a 650-mile front in two-and-a-half months. The great German gamble had failed. What happened after the battle of Kursk? In their failed bid to eliminate the Kursk salient, the Germans had suffered disastrous losses in men, tanks and planes. While Soviet casualties had been much heavier, they were better able to make good their losses. Unlike the Germans, they enjoyed a vast pool of manpower, plus their arms industry wasn’t hampered by a shortage of raw material nor was it regularly disrupted by enemy bombing. Read more | WW2 timeline: 20 important dates and milestones you need to know The Germans were now firmly on the defensive, and defeat was only a matter of time. Though they would continue to win local successes, the Germans were steadily pushed back by the sheer numbers that the Russians deployed against them. The following summer, the Soviets launched Operation Bagration, a major offensive in Belorussia (today, Belarus). The German front caved and, in just five weeks, the Russians advanced over 435 miles to the outskirts of Warsaw. Eight months later, they were at Berlin’s door. This article first appeared in BBC History Revealed
The battle of Worcester: Cromwell’s last battle
The Parliamentarians’ crushing defeat of Charles II’s army at Worcester finally brought to an end more than a decade of civil war in Britain. Battle historian Julian Humphrys explains…
Climb the 235 steps to the top of the tower of Worcester Cathedral and, once you’ve recovered your breath, you’ll be rewarded with a remarkable bird’s-eye view of the city below you. You’ll also be standing on the very spot where, on 3 September 1651, Charles II watched his tired and outnumbered army prepare to do battle with the forces of Oliver Cromwell. It would be the final battle of the Civil War. After his father’s execution in 1649, the throne had passed, in theory at least, to Charles II. Charles was supported by the Scots, who disapproved of Charles I’s beheading (he had been their king as well) and had fallen out with their former English parliamentarian allies, particularly over religion. Parliament reacted by sending an army north which, led by Oliver Cromwell, defeated the Scots at Dunbar on 3 September 1650. Hostilities dragged on but on 1 January 1651, Charles was crowned king by the Scots at Scone. That July, the English crossed the Forth and, after defeating the Scots at Inverkeithing, cut their army off from its chief source of supplies. Hoping to tempt Charles and his Scottish army into hostile English territory, Cromwell left the border unguarded. Charles took the bait. At the beginning of August, he led his army into England. Read more | 10 key battles of the Civil War The battle of Worcester: in context Who fought? Royalists (Charles II): 10,000 Scots, 2,000 English Commonwealth (Cromwell): 28,000 English Losses Royalists: 2,000 killed, 10,000 captured Commonwealth: 300 killed and wounded Who won? The result was complete destruction of Charles’s army If the young king had hoped that hordes of supporters would rally to his cause, he was to be disappointed. The English may have disliked the Republic, but they hated the Scots even more, and, after nine years’ intermittent fighting, they were thoroughly tired of war. Not only did the hoped-for reinforcements fail to materialise in any great numbers, but Charles’s army began to shrink as Scottish stragglers were mopped up by the English forces that were shadowing his army in ever-increasing numbers. On 23 August, having been forced to ditch his plan to advance on London by the sheer weight of numbers that were now facing him, Charles entered Worcester. Morale among his forces was low. His troops were tired, hungry and miles from home and, while most would have fought hard to defend their homeland, this adventure down south was a different proposition altogether. David Leslie, the commander of Charles’s Scottish cavalry, had fallen into a deep depression after being defeated at Dunbar, and expressed doubts that his troops would fight at all. Meanwhile, the forces of parliament were closing in. Realising that they were likely to be attacked, Charles’s men began strengthening the city’s defences. Earth was piled up against the medieval stone city walls to dampen the impact of cannon balls, and a large earth fort, dubbed Fort Royal, was thrown up outside the city’s Sidbury Gate to defend the eastern approach to Worcester. Much of this work was done by forced labourers from surrounding villages. Six months later, they would be set to work again, this time to demolish the defences they had been made to dig. By now, Charles probably had about 12,000 men under his command in Worcester. About 10,000 were Scottish, the rest English. By 17th-century standards at least, this was a substantial force, but it was dwarfed by the massive army that the English parliament was preparing to deploy against it. Commanded by Cromwell, it was a mixture of regular troops and soldiers from various local militias and, at 28,000 strong, it was one of the largest armies ever to take the field in England. Charles II on the run. (Photo by ullstein bild/ullstein bild via Getty Images) Crushing defeat On 2 September, Charles’s forces suffered a further blow to their morale when the Earl of Derby, the leader of the one English rebellion in support of the would-be monarch, turned up at Worcester with the news that his little army had been crushed at Wigan in Lancashire. On the same day, in a bid to at least improve the clothing of his tattered army, Charles ordered £453 worth of cloth from a local draper. But there would be no time to make this into uniforms for, on 3 September, Cromwell’s mighty war machine rolled into action. The significance of the date wouldn’t have been lost on Cromwell’s men. It was the first anniversary of his great victory at Dunbar and, to underline the point, the English used the same rallying cry – ‘The Lord of Hosts’ – as they had at that battle. For anyone who knew their Bible (and many did), the message was clear. ‘The Lord of Hosts’ was taken from a rather ominous passage in the Book of Jeremiah which read, “This is the day of the Lord God of Hosts, a day of vengeance, his sword shall devour his enemies. It will be drenched with their blood.” Seeking to make the most of his huge advantage in numbers, Cromwell planned to envelop Worcester from the south, east and west. The main drawback to this plan was a liquid one: running south to north past Worcester, the River Severn effectively cut his army in two, while troops advancing to the west faced an additional obstacle in the form of the River Teme, which joined the Severn just south of the city. But the English had found a solution to this problem in the form of a number of wooden boats, which they planned to lash together to form improvised pontoon bridges. While Cromwell remained with the bulk of his army on the eastern side of the Severn, his future son-in-law, Charles Fleetwood, led 12,000 red-coated soldiers in an attack in the west. The Scots fought hard, progress was slow and there was some bitter fighting in and around the village of Powick just south of the Teme. (Ironically, this was the site of one of the earliest actions of the Civil War in England, when Royalist cavalry routed their Roundhead counterparts in 1642). A bridge too far Seeing what was happening and anxious to maintain momentum, Cromwell personally led three brigades of his army across the first pontoon bridge, which had been built across the Severn. Faced with this threat to their flank, the Scots fell back across Powick Bridge and took up new defensive positions north of the Teme. Once again, Fleetwood’s troops were faced with stiff resistance, but the Scots simply didn’t have enough men to defend everywhere. A new pontoon bridge was set up across the Teme, and using this, the bridge at Powick and another crossing further west, the English eventually broke through. Initially, the Scots fell back in good order, but as more and more Parliamentarians arrived on the scene, the retreat turned into a rout and they rushed for the town bridge across the Severn and the apparent safety of the city itself. Watching these events from the tower of Worcester Cathedral, Charles believed that he still had an outside chance of victory. He reasoned that, in crossing the Severn to help Fleetwood, Cromwell had seriously weakened his forces to the east. Rushing down the tower’s steep spiral staircase, he gathered together what forces he could and led them in a desperate sortie out of Worcester’s eastern Sidbury gate. Three hours’ desperate fighting ensued as the Scots initially drove the Parliamentarians back from their positions around Perry Wood and Red Hill and even captured two cannon. Sensing an opportunity, Charles called on David Leslie, who had assembled his cavalry outside the city, to come forward and support him. But with no confidence in his men, Leslie never moved. All is lost For Charles, the game was up. His outnumbered troops could advance no further, and by now, Cromwell was transferring troops back across the Severn to join the fray. The Scots battled on, using the butt-ends of their muskets when they ran out of ammunition, but eventually they were driven back into the city. Cromwell’s men stormed into Fort Royal and fired its cannon into the mob of retreating Scots who, according to one onlooker, were now so desperate to escape that they were “readier to cut each other’s throats than defend themselves against the enemy”. The Parliamentarians charged into Worcester, hot on the heels of the fleeing Scots, but royalist resistance lasted just long enough for Charles to escape out of St Martin’s gate. Tradition has it that he left by the back door of his New Street headquarters just as some Parliamentarian dragoons were coming in the front. Around 2,000 of Charles's men were killed in the battle, which Cromwell called “his Crowning Mercy”. Most of the rest were captured. The Parliamentarians lost 300 men. Although Charles eventually escaped, Worcester shattered the Stuart cause for a decade. It also confirmed the political dominance of England, and Westminster in particular, over the rest of Britain, the effects of which continue to resonate today. In 1660, Charles II was invited to return as monarch (Photo by DeAgostini/Getty Images) What happened next? Oliver Cromwell was now the most powerful man in the Republic, but Britain remained deeply divided and there was little agreement over how the country should be governed. In 1653, Cromwell became head of state as Lord Protector, but was never able to secure widespread support for his regime and, ultimately, his power rested on the fact that he had the army to back him. After Cromwell’s death in 1658, his son and successor, Richard, proved incapable of holding the country together and, in 1660, Charles II was invited to return as monarch. Read more about the Restoration What happened to Charles II after the battle? Charles would spend the six weeks after Worcester as a wanted man – a fugitive in his own country. Thanks to the loyalty of some of his subjects, his own resourcefulness and quick-thinking, and some large slices of luck, he eventually made it to safety on the Continent. Charles’s time on the run gave him something no other monarch of the time had – an insight into the everyday lives of the ordinary people in his realm. The Republic’s failure to find a political settlement led to Charles’s restoration as king in 1660. During his 25-year reign, he often proved callous and cynical, and was quite prepared to throw his advisors to the wolves. But he never forgot the loyalty of those who stood by him in those dark days of defeat. This article was first published in the April 2017 edition of BBC History Revealed
The first outing of parliament's New Model Army irrevocably neutered the royalist cause in the first Civil War…
With dense fog hanging over Naseby in Northamptonshire, the opposing armies of King Charles I and his disgruntled parliament struggled to see each other across the battlefield. It was 14 June 1645, three years into the Civil War, and so far neither had managed to inflict a decisive defeat on the other. Naseby was where that would change: within three hours, Charles’s chances of reasserting his authority had all but evaporated. Relations between monarch and parliament had broken down in January 1642, when Charles, maintaining his divine rights as king, stormed the House of Commons to arrest five MPs for treason. The men weren’t there, and Charles left unsatisfied and with parliament set against him. Within six months, both factions had raised their standards and were in open warfare. Read more | 10 key battles of the Civil War The prelude to this particular clash came in May 1645 with the royalist sacking of Leicester, after which Sir Thomas Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell were swiftly ordered to bring the king to battle. In the fighting that followed, the royalists suffered devastating losses – nearly 1,000 dead or wounded and 5,000 captured. Parliamentary losses were around 400. Blame for the defeat is often laid at the door of the Earl of Carnwath, who grabbed the bridle of Charles’s horse to stop the king from charging into the fray to rally his men. Some of the royalist troops saw this as a sign to retreat, and they abandoned their positions. Charles wasn’t able to muster an army as strong again and within a year parliament had snuffed out all organised royalist resistance. The ling went on the run trying to rally support, until he was finally handed over to parliamentary forces in January 1647. Read more | Killers of the king: the men who dared to execute Charles I This article was first published in the June 2018 edition of BBC History Revealed
The battle of Brunanburh: the forgotten fight that changed British history
King Æthelstan’s victory at Brunanburh in AD 937 may just be one of the most important battles ever fought on British soil, yet today it is virtually unknown. Julian Humphrys explores what happened over an entire day of hard and bloody fighting, and why the events on that long-lost battlefield echoed through the centuries
Half a century after Brunanburh – the victory of the men of Wessex and Mercia over an alliance of Scots, Strathclyde Britons and Norsemen from Ireland – it was still being called “the great battle”. Indeed, it has been described as one of the most defining battles in British history. It helped the Anglo-Saxon king Æthelstan consolidate his hold over his Wessex kingdom and create a more unified England, while it has also been argued that the strong resistance put up by his enemies prevented the whole of Britain from being forcefully united into one imperial power. Despite its significance, few today have heard of the battle of Brunanburh in AD 937, and even fewer think they know where it was fought. The battle of Brunanburh: quick facts When was it fought? AD 937 Where? Great Britain (precise location disputed) Why? Allied invasion of northern England Who was involved? Kingdom of England, led by Æthelstan Kingdom of Scotland, led by Constantine II Kingdom of Strathclyde, led by Owain I Viking kingdom of Dublin, led by Olaf Guthfrithson Who won? After a day of fighting, according to some accounts, it was an English victory What led to the battle of Brunanburh? Ever since he’d been crowned king of the Anglo-Saxons in AD 925, Æthelstan had been steadily extending his authority. After his grandfather, Alfred the Great, had halted the Danish conquest of England, his father, Edward the Elder, recaptured the East Midlands and East Anglia from the Danes in AD 917. Building on these solid foundations, Athelstan pushed north. Two years after becoming king, he took over the last remaining Viking kingdom at York, extending his rule up to the Scottish border. In AD 934, he invaded Scotland, possibly because its king, Constantine, had broken a peace treaty. Read more | Aelfweard and Aethelstan: were they rivals for the throne of Wessex? After gathering his forces at Winchester, he marched north, picking up reinforcements on the way and paying a visit to the shrine of St Cuthbert at Chester-le-Street, in modern-day County Durham. Supported by a fleet that sailed up the east coast, Athelstan led his Anglo-Saxon warriors deep into Scotland, burning and ravaging as far as the great fortress of Dunnottar, south of Aberdeen. View Green Video on the source website Nobody dared take on the powerful southern army in battle, and the northern rulers soon gave in. Constantine surrendered to Æthelstan and his neighbour Owain, King of Strathclyde, followed suit. Both were forced to accept the overlordship of Æthelstan, now at the peak of his powers. Realising that their only hope of countering the powerful English king was by setting aside their differences, Æthelstan’s enemies forged a coalition against him, with Constantine and Owen joining forces with Olaf, the Viking King of Dublin. In AD 937, they moved into Northumbria, where there were large numbers of Danish settlers and few of the aristocracy felt much loyalty to Æthelstan. It’s not clear how or where they combined their armies, but it is said that 615 ships carried the Dublin Vikings to England. The one source that does give any details says that the Vikings sailed their longships up the Humber. Read more | The Danelaw: is the ‘realm’ of the Vikings in Anglo-Saxon-era England a place or an idea? Who was Æthelstan? During his 14-year reign, Æthelstan pushed England’s boundaries to the furthest extent they had yet reached. He eliminated opposition in Cornwall, extracted a huge tribute from the kings of Wales, conquered Viking York, extended his control over Northumbria and fought off a major invasion in AD 937. But he was more than just a warrior feared by his neighbours. He issued law codes to strengthen royal control over his expanded kingdom, regulated the currency, and encouraged town life. He was a great collector of works of art and relics and a generous patron of religious houses. In his final years, Æthelstan was respected and influential throughout Europe, and four of his half-sisters married European rulers. He died in AD 939 and was buried in Malmesbury Abbey. Read more | If King Alfred was great, was Æthelstan even greater? By autumn, the invaders had established themselves in York and were ravaging Æthelstan’s kingdom to the south. How would Æthelstan respond? According to a contemporary chronicle (which is now lost, but was quoted in the 12th century by the writer William of Malmesbury), he did nothing, spending “idle hours” while the invaders laid waste his lands. In fact, Æthelstan was busy raising troops. A 10th-century army took time to assemble, and Æthelstan wasn’t going to make the same mistake that Harold Godwinson would in 1066 by hurrying into battle before he had gathered all his forces. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle emphasises the part played by the West Saxons and Mercians in the ensuing clash of arms, but it seems that Æthelstan’s army wasn’t exclusively English. The king had brought in some extra muscle in the form of a force of Viking warriors under the leadership of two hard-bitten Icelandic adventurers: Egill and Thorolf Skallagrímsson. Egill’s colourful (and violent) life was the subject of a long saga, probably written by Snorri Sturluson, the famous 13th-century Icelandic poet, chieftain and historian. It’s a thoroughly entertaining read, offering a valuable insight into the Viking mindset, but it’s so full of literary invention that its value as a history is thought to be limited. Dawn attack According to Egill’s saga, Æthelstan bought some of the time he needed to raise his army by challenging his enemies to fight him on a “hazelled field”, a specially chosen battlefield marked out by hazel branches, where the fighting would take place by mutual agreement at a set time. By tradition, once you had been challenged in this way, it was considered dishonourable to refuse or continue to ravage an enemy’s lands. Finally, towards the end of the year, Æthelstan moved north, and the two armies clashed at a place called Brunanburh. There’s a lot of debate over where this actually was, with Yorkshire, the Wirral, Galloway and Northamptonshire just some of the suggested sites. Egill’s saga describes the battlefield as an open heath bordered by dense woodland on one side and a river on the other, with Æthelstan and his brother Edmund’s forces drawn up where the gap between the two was narrowest. Read more | Brunanburh: Where did the battle that saved England take place? The main battle began with a dawn attack by the English, but the first casualties had already been suffered when an Anglo-Saxon bishop arrived with his men the night before, pitched his tents too near the enemy, and fell victim to a surprise attack. The initial fighting bore little relation to the confused free-for-all often depicted in today’s films. Both sides would have drawn up in closely packed ranks, presenting a solid wall of shields to their enemies. It’s sometimes suggested that the shields overlapped for extra protection, but this would have been impossible in the hurly-burly of battle as well as making it extremely difficult to use a weapon effectively. The lines of both armies would have bristled with spears, the commonest weapon of the period, leading at least one poet to describe an army as a “war-hedge”. Swords are frequently mentioned in contemporary poems and accounts, but they were expensive and usually only carried by the richer members of an army. Some warriors carried two-handed axes, which could shatter a wooden shield or cleave a man’s head in two. Unless one army attempted a surprise attack, a battle would normally begin with the two armies drawing up opposite each other, shooting bows and hurling insults – and spears – before one side (or both) felt confident enough to move forward. This might be a slow and steady advance, but an army could give up the security of a shield wall in favour of the impetus provided by a mad rush. Sometimes, warriors would deploy in a wedge formation, commonly called a ‘swine array’, and try to punch their way through an enemy shield wall. Axemen needed room to swing their deadly weapons, so it was almost impossible for them to fight in tightly packed ranks. They may have dashed forward to take on individual opponents, or used their axes to splinter the wooden shields of their enemies. If both lines held firm, the fighting would degenerate into a bitter battle of attrition. This was close-quarter combat at its most terrible, where you looked into the eyes of your enemy and could smell his breath and taste his blood. Accounts say the fighting at Brunanburh lasted all day. According to the Annals of Ulster, the battle was “immense, lamentable and horrible, desperately fought” while a contemporary poem concluded “never was there more slaughter on this island, never yet as many people killed before this… since from the east Angles and Saxons came up over the broad sea”. Eventually, the English gained the upper hand and the invaders broke and fled. Athelstan and his army pursued them until nightfall, “hew[ing] the fugitive grievously from behind with swords sharp from the grinding”. Olaf made for the safety of his ships and sailed back to Dublin with what was left of his army, Constantine escaped to Scotland and abdicated a few years later, while Owen was probably killed in the battle. Athelstan and Edmund headed south in triumph. But the English paid a heavy price for their victory: two of Athelstan’s cousins had been slain, along with two bishops, Thorolf Skallagrímsson, and “a multitude” of lesser men. The invaders’ losses were even higher. Five minor kings, seven Viking earls and one of Constantine’s sons were killed together with thousands of their followers. Read more | 10 ways the Anglo-Saxons changed the course of British history Locating the battlefield: where is Brunanburh? A wide variety of sites have been suggested. One is near Lockerbie in Scotland, not far from the hillfort at Burnswark, but it’s unlikely the battle was fought this far north, especially as Olaf and his allies had overrun Northumbria and occupied York. Another suggestion places the battle further south, in the hills on the Huntingdonshire-Northamptonshire border. Some accounts refer to Bruneswald rather than Brunanburh, and there was indeed a forest of that name between the rivers Nene and Ouse in that area. Some historians argue that the battle was actually fought on the Wirral. Dismissing the 12th-century account of the Vikings sailing up the Humber as a mistake, they base their conclusion on two place names that are mentioned in the contemporary account: Brunanburh and Dinges Mere. They believe that Brunanburh was the old name for the Wirral village of Bromborough, and that Dinges Mere meant ‘marshland of the Thing’, the old Norse word for the assembly which met at Thingwall on the Wirral. Others aren’t convinced. Historian Michael Wood believes that the account of the Viking landing on the Humber is probably correct, and points out that two sources, one Irish and one English, say the invaders were helped by Danes within England, who could only have been from Northumbria or the East Midlands. He argues that the battle was probably fought somewhere south of York, which was, after all, the main war zone between the 920s and 950s AD. Wood concludes by asking that if the Vikings’ aim was to re-establish their kingdom in York, what were they doing in the Wirral? It seems likely that unless some new written evidence is uncovered or there’s a stunning archaeological find, the debate will rumble on. Brunanburh is the final battle in Seven Kings Must Die, the finale film to The Last Kingdom. Check out more of our related content: Seven Kings Must Die: how close to real history is it? Seven Kings Must Die ending explained: who are the seven kings? Seven Kings Must Die spoiler-free preview The Last Kingdom: what's the real history and how historically accurate is it? The real Uhtred of Bebbanburg: the historical inspirations for The Last Kingdom’s hero Bernard Cornwell on The Last Kingdom’s finale If King Alfred was great, was Æthelstan even greater? Who was Edward the Elder? Brunanburh: the forgotten fight that changed British history Michael Wood on the astonishing Æthelstan This article was first published in the September 2017 issue of BBC History Revealed
Julian Humphrys looks at the colourful history of school uniforms...
When did English children start wearing school uniform? The wearing of a uniform that was distinctive to a particular school can be traced back to Tudor times (though it was by no means a national phenomenon). Take Christ’s Hospital School in Horsham, for example. They still wear long blue coats, yellow socks and leather belts – a uniform that differs little from that worn by its original scholars when the school was founded in the reign of Edward VI. So do we Brits have the monopoly on archaic school uniforms? No. In Japan, boys in many secondary schools still wear an outfit modelled on 19th-century Prussian army uniforms, while many girls’ schools still have sailor suits inspired by European naval dress as a uniform. These designs have nothing to do with Japan’s own military past but can be traced back to the 1870s, when Japan was influenced by Europe in the establishment of its formal education system. When did students start to rebel against their uniforms? As early as the 14th century, Oxbridge colleges were legislating against the “excess in apparel” being worn by scholars. However, while over the last 50 years or so students have sought to hide jewellery, thicken ties or shorten skirts, they are by no means united in a desire to abolish their uniforms. The students of Christ’s Hospital are not alone in having voted overwhelmingly to retain theirs. Are school uniforms ‘in’ or ‘out’ in Britain at the moment? They are most definitely in. The vast majority of British schools have some form of compulsory uniform and there even seems to be a move away from the baggy sweatshirt of the 80s and 90s back to the traditional blazer. In its current advice to schools on the subject, the Department of Education barely pauses to discuss why schools should have uniforms (“The Department strongly encourages schools to have a uniform as it can play a valuable role in contributing to the ethos of a school and setting an appropriate tone”) before advising in much greater length on issues of discrimination and value for money. This article was first published in the September 2014 issue of BBC History Magazine
The battle of Blenheim: how did the Duke of Marlborough triumph on the Danube?
The Duke of Marlborough’s victory at Blenheim in 1704 shattered the myth of French invincibility and paved the way for Britain’s emergence as a world power. Battle historian Julian Humphrys explains…
As evening fell in Bavaria on 13 August 1704, a weary Duke of Marlborough climbed down from his horse and hastily scrawled a message to his wife on the back of an old tavern bill: “I have not time to say more but to beg you will give my duty to the Queen and let her know her army has had a glorious victory.” Marlborough’s triumph cemented his reputation as the greatest general of his age. It also helped prevent France from dominating Europe. When the childless King Charles II of Spain died in 1700, he left his throne – together with all his territory in the Netherlands, Italy and the Americas – to Philip of Anjou, the grandson of Louis XIV of France. The prospect of Philip eventually becoming king of both France and Spain filled many European states with alarm. To counter Louis XIV's growing dominance, England, the Dutch Republic, Austria and Prussia, and a number of other states, revived the Grand Alliance that had been formed against France in the 1680s. Meanwhile, France allied itself with Spain and Bavaria, and war broke out. The opening years of the conflict were largely indecisive but, in 1704, the Grand Alliance found itself faced with a major crisis: French and Bavarian forces stood poised to capture Vienna and thus knock Austria out of the war. In response to this threat, Marlborough, who was in command of the Allied forces in the Low Countries, acted decisively. He marched his army some 400 kilometres from Flanders to invade Bavaria, where he joined forces with his ally, the Imperial general Prince Eugene of Savoy. It was a triumph of organisation and logistics, and it was in a large part due to the efforts of the Dutch, who laid on much-needed supplies at very short notice. Battle of Blenheim: fast facts When was it fought? 13 August 1704 Where? Blenheim, Bavaria Why? Part of War of Spanish Succession Who fought? France and Bavaria (Marshals Tallard and Marsin) 56,000 men, 90 guns Grand Alliance England, Scotland, Austria, Holland, Denmark, Prussia and other German States (Duke of Marlborough, Prince Eugene of Savoy) 52,000 men, 66 guns How long did it last? 13 hours, from the first shots to the final surrender Who won the battle of Blenheim? Crushing defeat of French and Bavarians What were the losses? Grand Alliance c12,000 killed and wounded French and Bavarians c20,000 killed, wounded and drowned, 14,000 captured The battle of Blenheim begins On 13 August, Marlborough confronted the Franco-Bavarians near Höchstadt. Two armies had joined forces to face him: one under Marshal Tallard and one under Marshal Marsin and Elector Maximilian of Bavaria. On the face of it, the Franco-Bavarian position was a strong one. Their troops were drawn up on higher ground behind marshy land along the Nebel stream, with their flanks protected on one side by the River Danube and on the other by woods. They further strengthened their lines by fortifying three villages: Blenheim, Oberglau and Lutzingen. Who was John Churchill? Born into a family of royalist gentry that had been impoverished during the Civil War, John Churchill first joined the army in 1667. He rose to become second-in-command of the royal army that defeated the Monmouth rebellion at Sedgemoor in 1685, but he deserted King James II for William of Orange during the so-called Glorious Revolution. Under William, he was created Earl of Marlborough and went on to command English forces in Ireland and Flanders, but also spent a month as a prisoner in the Tower on suspicion of being a secret Jacobite. In 1702, he was appointed Captain General of the Allied armies in the war against France and made a duke. Despite his relatively humble origins, Marlborough was well-connected. His wife, Sarah, was a close friend of Queen Anne, and his sister, Arabella, had been the mistress of the future James II. Their son, the Duke of Berwick, followed his father into exile and went on to become one of Louis XIV’s most successful generals. But Marlborough had spotted a flaw in the way the enemy had deployed. Instead of uniting into a single line of battle, Tallard and Marsin had drawn up their forces separately and, while their flanks were strong, the area where the two armies met was dangerously weak. Marlborough’s plan was simple: pin down the Franco-Bavarians on the flanks before smashing through the centre. It took a while for Prince Eugene’s forces to march into their positions on the right of the Allied line, so Marlborough ordered the bands in his army to strike up a tune. The French responded in kind and for some time the only battle was a musical one, as the bandsmen of each army sought to outdo each other before the fighting began. Eventually, the artillery of both armies opened fire, and while Marlborough was riding up and down supervising the bridging of the Nebel stream, a large French cannonball came bouncing along towards him. Much to the relief of those nearby, it narrowly missed him, but left him liberally coated with dust. Marlborough began the battle by ordering an assault on the village of Blenheim on the French right. Led by Lord Cutts, a much-wounded veteran who was nicknamed ‘the Salamander’ because he could always be found where the fire was hottest, two brigades of British redcoats marched forward in close order. The village had been fortified with barricades of overturned carts and, as the British came into range, the French defenders opened a devastating fire. The redcoats were mown down in droves and the attack faltered. Sarah Churchill and Queen Anne A major factor in Marlborough’s rise to prominence was the friendship of his wife, Sarah, with Queen Anne. The pair enjoyed a close, if somewhat tempestuous, relationship and even had pet names for each other. Sarah called Anne ‘Mrs Morley’ and Anne dubbed Sarah ‘Mrs Freeman’. For many years, Sarah – a devoted supporter of the Whig party – was able to exert considerable political influence upon the queen who initially valued Sarah’s plain speaking. But as time went on, the queen grew tired of Sarah’s increasingly hectoring manner and found a new confidante in Sarah’s cousin Abigail Masham. Anne shifted her support to the Tory party who wanted to bring the war with France to an end. In 1711, Sarah was dismissed from court, Marlborough stripped of his offices and the pair went into self-imposed exile until the accession of King George I brought about a revival in their fortunes. Read more about Queen Anne's feuding favourites Into flames Undeterred, the British tried again, this time with the support of Hessian troops, but once again the attack came to a halt in the face of the withering French musketry. Blenheim remained in French hands, but the British attacks had panicked Clerambault, the French commander on the spot, into pouring even more troops into the village. Soon Blenheim was packed with 12,000 men and the French centre was even weaker than ever. Meanwhile, on the far side of the battlefield, Eugene was attacking the Elector of Bavaria and Marshal Marsin’s troops around the villages of Oberglau and Lutzingen. His men also suffered heavy casualties and three attacks were beaten back, but their determined assaults pinned down large numbers of Franco-Bavarians and prevented them from intervening where it really mattered – the centre of the battlefield. Marlborough now launched masses of infantry and cavalry against that very spot. After first driving off an attempted counter-attack by the French cavalry, the Allies made their move. Despite the gallant resistance of nine battalions of young French infantrymen who stood their ground and virtually died to a man, they smashed through the French centre and then wheeled left and right to attack the French and Bavarians in the flank and rear. The majority of Tallard's troops tried to retreat to nearby Höchstädt, but many never made it the town. More than 3,000 of them drowned in the Danube, including Clerambault who had vainly tried to swim his horse across the river in a desperate bid to escape. The collapse of their centre left the men on the French right flank cut off and surrounded in Blenheim. They fought on until dusk, even though the village was on fire; many of their wounded comrades died, screaming, in the flames. Eventually the French accepted the inevitable and surrendered. At the cost of 12,000 men killed and wounded, Marlborough and Eugene had inflicted a devastating blow to the Franco-Bavarian forces who suffered at least 20,000 casualties and lost 14,000 men taken prisoner. It had been a crushing defeat for the French. Austria had been saved and, that November, Bavaria withdrew from the war altogether. Read more | How the French won the battle of Waterloo (or think they did) Marlborough returned to England a hero. Tallard wouldn’t see France again for seven years. After his capture at Blenheim, he was brought back to England and housed in a comfortable residence in Nottingham. He soon became a popular member of the local social scene, hosting dinners and soirees, and is credited with introducing the English to the delights of celery. When hostilities between England and France finally came to an end, Tallard was released and returned to France. He might have expected something of a frosty reception when he was presented to Louis XIV at Versailles. But as Tallard stooped to kneel before his monarch, the king broke all convention. Stepping forward to help the elderly marshal to his feet, he murmured “Welcome back, old friend”. What happened next? Two years later, Marlborough again beat the French, this time at Ramillies. He followed this up with victories at Oudenarde in 1708 and Malplaquet in 1709. By now, France was faced with the real threat of invasion but allied unity broke. In 1710, the Tories came to power in Britain and resolved to end the war. A series of peace treaties saw Philip recognised a king of Spain but forced to renounce his claim to the throne of France. Spain lost a number of European territories while Britain gained Gibraltar, Minorca and land in the New World. The fruits of victory: how John Churchill won Blenheim Palace The Duke of Marlborough was showered with rewards after his victory at Blenheim. Queen Anne gave him the royal hunting estate at Woodstock and a grateful Parliament voted him money to have a monumental country home – Blenheim Palace – built on the site. The building, designed by the baroque architect Sir John Vanbrugh, became the subject of considerable controversy, particularly over exactly who was to pay for it. Public funds dried up after the duke’s fall from grace in 1712 and later work on the building was eventually paid for by the Churchill family themselves, with Marlborough’s wife Sarah keen to oversee its completion as a memorial to her late husband. Blenheim is the only palace in Britain not to belong to royalty or a bishop and is still the home of the Dukes of Marlborough. This article was first published in the August 2017 edition of BBC History Revealed
The battle of Pharsalus: how Julius Caesar defeated Pompey
It was the ultimate heavyweight contest – Rome’s two greatest leaders in a bloody fight to the finish. Julian Humphrys explains how Julius Caesar emerged as victor…
Down on paper, it looked like the battle that was about to be fought in central Greece would be an easy victory for Pompey. He had twice as many men as his enemy, seven times as many cavalry and, what’s more, his men were well fed, while those of his enemy were chronically short of supplies. There was just one problem – that enemy was Julius Caesar. Caesar and Pompey had once been allies, but Caesar’s stunning successes in Gaul changed that as Pompey saw his once-unrivalled prestige being eclipsed. Furthermore, many in the Roman Senate, especially the aristocratic optimate faction, saw Caesar’s growing wealth, ambition and popularity as a threat to the Republic in general, and their influence in particular. In a bid to cut him down to size, they ordered Caesar to step down from his military command. Caesar refused and, in 49 BC, in a direct challenge to the authority of the Senate, he crossed the river Rubicon into Italy with a legion of soldiers – an illegal act that led to civil war. Battle of Pharsalus: fast facts When was it fought? 9 August 48 BC Where? Pharsalus, central Greece Who fought in the battle? Caesar: 22,000 men, 1,000 cavalry Pompey: 45,000 men, 7,000 cavalry Why was it fought? Struggle for power between Caesar and Pompey Who won? Victory for Caesar Within weeks he had overrun Italy, helped by the fact that Pompey, the overall commander of the forces opposed to him, had withdrawn to his power base in the east. Caesar then mopped up opposition in Spain before crossing to Macedonia in January to take on Pompey himself. After an initial defeat at Dyrrachium (in modern-day Albania), where his attempt to capture the enemy supply base ended in abject failure, Caesar moved his hungry army into central Greece and confronted Pompey near the town of Pharsalus. Although he had twice as many men as Caesar, and a powerful cavalry force drawn from all over the Roman empire, Pompey was in no hurry to fight. Caesar was isolated in a hostile country and was desperately short of provisions, and Pompey reasoned that hunger would eventually force him to surrender. Nevertheless, pressured by his officers and the Senators that were with him, he reluctantly agreed to give battle. Who was Pompey the Great? (106-48 BC) During his long career, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus (Pompey the Great) won a string of impressive military victories. He played an important part in Sulla’s victory over Marius in the Roman civil war of 82 BC, fought in Sicily, Spain and Africa, helped to stamp out the Spartacus slave revolt, cleared the Mediterranean of pirates and conquered Armenia, Syria and Palestine. An excellent administrator, his organisation of Rome’s newly won territories in the east was a huge success. Such was his power and prestige that, in 70 BC, although well below the legal age for such a post, he was appointed consul – the highest elected political office of the Roman Republic. The secret alliance he concluded with his rivals Julius Caesar and Marcus Crassus – cemented when he married Caesar’s daughter, Julia – initially worked well. The trio dominated Roman politics for seven years. But, when Crassus was killed, Julia died and Caesar began amassing power in Gaul, the alliance fell apart. Pompey began to see Caesar as a dangerous enemy whose power urgently needed curbing. Surprise strategy Both generals deployed their troops in three lines, Caesar making sure that the left flank of his army was hard up against the river Enipeus. That way it was impossible for Pompey’s fast-moving cavalry to ride around them. Realising this, Pompey massed his cavalry against Caesar’s right flank. His plan was simple – while his own infantry place, his horsemen would sweep aside the enemy’s paltry cavalry force and then wheel inwards to attack Caesar in the flank and rear. It was a sound enough plan, but Caesar was up to the challenge. Knowing full well that it was highly likely that he’d be faced with a mass of enemy cavalry marauding around his right flank, he took steps to counter the threat. Detaching six cohorts from the legions in his third line, he formed them up in a fourth line, angled back behind his own cavalry on the right and hidden from their enemies by the horsemen in front of them. According to the Greek historian Plutarch, Caesar briefed them personally, telling them not to throw their pila at a distance but to “strike them upwards into the eyes and faces of the enemy; telling them that those fine young dancers… would fly to save their handsome faces.” Warriors and weapons at the battle of Pharsalus The backbone of both armies was provided by professional Italian heavy infantry. These were organised into ‘centuries’ of 80 men, each one commanded by a centurion who led from the front and a second-in-command called an optio, who was stationed in the rear to keep the ranks in order. Six centuries made up a cohort, and ten cohorts a legion. This meant that on paper, a legion consisted of 4,800 men. In practice, this was rarely the case, especially if, like Caesar’s legions at Pharsalus, they had been on campaign for some time. While the mocking words he used undoubtedly played on the infantryman’s traditional contempt for the pretty boys in the cavalry, the idea behind them was deadly serious. Once they’d thrown their pila, his infantry would have had to fight with their short swords and would lack the reach to defend themselves properly. But, if they held onto them, they could confront their enemies with a deadly obstacle – a wall of shields bristling with spear points. Their well-drilled ranks and brightly painted shields must have made an intimidating sight, as the first two lines of Caesar’s well-trained legions tramped silently and steadily towards their enemies across the dusty Greek plain. Then something unexpected happened. Although at that time it was customary for both armies contact, Pompey’s men didn’t move an inch. Caesar always considered that it was a mistake to meet a charge at the halt as advancing troops tended to be more confident and had the forward momentum, but Pompey had his reasons for ordering his men to stay where they were. He was concerned that if he ordered an advance, the inexperienced legions and the foreign allies that made up much of his army would become disorganised. By staying put they would at least maintain his enemies who would be tired and disorganised. Furthermore, by drawing Caesar’s troops onto him, Pompey would make it easier for his cavalry to ride around and encircle them. However, Caesar’s men were seasoned professionals. When they realised that Pompey’s men weren’t going to advance to them, his legions calmly halted, drew breath, dressed their rank then moved on again. Once they were in range, they hurled their pila, drew their swords, and charged screaming at Pompey’s men, who threw their own pila and braced themselves for the impact. Read more | What happened to Britain’s lost Roman legion? One of the first to reach them was Caius Crastinus, a veteran centurion from Caesar’s tried and trusted Tenth Legion, which was stationed on the vulnerable right flank of the line. Before the battle began, he had promised Caesar that, alive or dead, he would deserve his commander’s praise by the end of the day. And he kept his word. Caesar himself later recalled that Crastinus was the first man to run forward on the right, followed by a hand-picked force of 120 volunteers. According to another account, “the army testified that he had switched from rank to rank like a man possessed.” Crastinus would earn his commander’s praise, but he didn’t survive the battle. He was eventually felled by a sword thrust that went into his mouth and came out the back of his neck. Outnumbered seven to one Pompey’s infantry was coming under intense pressure but, by committing his reserves, he somehow ensured that his line held firm. It was now time for his horsemen to make their move, and the air echoed to the sound of thousands of hooves as Pompey’s massed cavalry thundered forward to attack. Caesar had an extra reason to watch their advance, for they were led by Titus Labienus, his old second-in-command in Gaul who had angered him by defecting to Pompey. With an advantage in numbers of about seven to one, the result was never in doubt, and Labienus duly pushed back the Caesarean cavalry who had ridden to oppose him. But he and his men were in for a shock. As Labienus’s horsemen milled about trying to regain their order after their charge, Caesar ordered his hidden fourth line of infantry to advance. In one of the most devastating attacks ever made by infantry upon cavalry, they emerged from the clouds of dust that had hidden them from view and did as Caesar had instructed, stabbing and thrusting with their pila at Labienus’s disorganised horsemen. Taken by surprise, the cavalry panicked and stampeded to the rear, leaving the left wing of Pompey’s army completely exposed. Peering into the dust in an attempt to see what was happening, Pompey watched with horror as first his cavalry emerged in full retreat, and then the soldiers of Caesar’s fourth line came into view as they wheeled around to attack his army in the flank. He’d already been forced to commit his reserves into the battle against Caesar’s frontal assault, so he had nothing left to counter this new threat. When Caesar finally ordered his third line to join in the attack, Pompey realised that the battle was lost. With his allies streaming back in disorder and his legions slowly but surely giving ground, he abandoned the field and rode back to the temporary safety of his fortified camp. Read more | A guide to the Roman army, plus 10 facts about life in the legions While Pompey sat in his tent in shattered disbelief, Caesar was busy on the battlefield, urging his men, who by now had the entire enemy army on the run, to carry on and complete their victory by capturing Pompey’s camp and the treasures and supplies it housed. As Caesar’s men drove its defenders and burstinto the camp, Pompey finally stirred. Exchanging his red general’s cloak for the clothes of a common soldier, he rode away unnoticed, accompanied by a handful of trusted advisors. Caesar was stunned by the opulence of his enemy’s camp. “It was easy to deduce from their pursuit of inessential pleasures that they had no misgivings about the outcome of the day,” he later wrote. Meanwhile, the pursuit went on until nightfall. According to Caesar, while 15,000 of Pompey’s men were killed and a further 24,000 were taken prisoner, his own army lost just 200 rank-and file and 30 centurions. It had been a stunning victory. What happened after the battle of Pharsalus? After the destruction of his army at Pharsalus, Pompey fled to Egypt. If he thought that it would provide him with a secure bolthole while he rallied his supporters, he was badly mistaken. He was immediately murdered on the orders of the advisors of the young Egyptian king Ptolemy XIII, who hoped to curry favour with Caesar. The Civil War might have ended there and then but Caesar, who had followed Pompey to Egypt, spent several months in Alexandria getting involved in the dynastic struggle there and conducting a highly public affair with Cleopatra, its legendary queen. This allowed his remaining enemies to regroup, and forced him to fight further campaigns in Africa and Spain before victory was finally won. Caesar returned to Rome, where he made himself dictator for life. But his victory was to be short-lived. On 15 March 44 BC, Caesar was assassinated by a group of disgruntled senators. This article first appeared in the Christmas 2016 issue of BBC History Revealed
Dien Bien Phu: the battle that split Vietnam
France’s catastrophic defeat at Dien Bien Phu in northwest Vietnam in May 1954 ended its hopes of maintaining any influence in Indochina and set the stage for the monumental Vietnam War. Julian Humphrys explains…
The French had always been rather half-hearted about the war against the Viet Minh. Whereas the brunt of Britain’s post-war military efforts was borne by National Servicemen, the French decided not to send any conscripts to fight in Vietnam. The result was that their generals were always short of boots on the ground and the ‘French’ forces that fought in the war were actually an amalgam of local forces, troops raised from their other colonies, soldiers from the French Foreign Legion and a smattering of French regulars. By 1953, the French government had faced the inevitable. Starved of men and short of popular support, they were never going to be able to force the surrender of the Viet Minh. It was now simply a case of strengthening their position at the bargaining table. To achieve that end, General Henri Navarre, their new military commander in Indochina, was instructed to improve the military situation in the country. Read more in our guide to the Vietnam War Dien Bien Phu: in context French Indochina refers to an amalgamation of colonial territories in southeast Asia ruled by France from 1887 onwards. During World War II, the colony was occupied by Japan, who ousted the French. Following the Japanese surrender at the war’s end, Vietnamese independence was declared by the Viet Minh, a communist coalition led by Hô Chi Minh. However, France quickly resumed control, causing the outbreak of a war of independence in 1946 – the First Indochina War. The battle of Dien Bien Phu extinguished French influence in the region. When? 20 November 1953 to 7 May 1954 Where? Dien Bien Phu, northwest Vietnam Who fought? Viet Minh (General Võ Nguyên Giáp) 50,000 troops, 15,000 support troops, 250,000 civilians French Republic (Colonel Christian de Castries) 2,800 French, 2,900 Foreign Legion, 2,900 Africans, 5,500 Indochinese Who won? Viet Minh victory Losses: Viet Minh c23,000 killed and wounded French c2,000 killed, 6,000 wounded, 11,000 prisoners Although Navarre planned to use the bulk of his reserves in a sweep against Viet Minh forces in the south of Vietnam, he realised that the greatest threat to French interests actually lay in the north of the country, especially as Viet Minh forces had moved into neighbouring Laos. Laos had just been granted independence from France, but it remained an ally and Navarre felt he had to defend it, particularly as there was a real danger that the Viet Minh would then head south to threaten Cambodia and southern Vietnam. Navarre had other reasons to be concerned about the north. The T’ai people of the extreme northwest corner of Vietnam were actually supporters of the French, but their base at Lai Chau was coming under increasing Viet Minh pressure. And then there was opium. The poppy fields of the northwest were a major source of income, which both sides wanted to control: the Viet Minh to raise money to purchase weapons, the French to fund special operations. Bearing all this in mind, Navarre came up with a plan. French forces would set up a fortified camp in the northwest, which could act as a base for raids and other offensive operations, block the Viet Minh’s supply route into Laos and serve as a new headquarters for the beleaguered T’ai. And if the Viet Minh tried to attack it, so much the better. They would be drawn into a conventional battle in which superior French training and firepower would prove decisive. Into the valley For his new base, Navarre selected Dien Bien Phu, a mountain valley with an airstrip, about 300km northwest of Hanoi. In choosing this site, the French made two assumptions. First, that they would be able to resupply their troops there by air and, second, that the steep wooded mountains overlooking the valley would prove an impenetrable barrier for the Viet Minh artillery. They would be wrong on both counts. On 20 November 1953, the first French troops parachuted into the valley, quickly dispersing the Viet Minh troops in the area and seizing the airstrip. Over the following weeks, a further 12,000 troops would be flown into Dien Bien Phu together with 30 artillery pieces and even a squadron of tanks, which were delivered in pieces and then assembled on the ground. The commander of the garrison was Colonel Christian de Castries, a swashbuckling cavalryman who Navarre believed would be ideally suited for the offensive operations he envisaged being launched from the base. The French set about fortifying their position by constructing about three dozen strongpoints, which were grouped together into clusters. In true Gallic fashion, each of these was given a woman’s name – Annemarie, Beatrice, Claudine, and so on. On the podcast | Christopher Goscha explores the conflict between the French empire and Ho Chi Minh’s Vietnamese army that followed These strongpoints were rather hastily built and not really secure enough for a protracteds iege, but the French weren’t anticipating such an event. In any case, they were sure that they had nothing to fear from the Viet Minh guns. After all, Colonel Charles Piroth, the jovial onearmed commander of the French artillery at Dien Bien Phu, had assured them that the Viet Minh would never be able to get their guns up the mountains that overlooked the base. Even if they did, his own guns would destroy them the moment they gave away their position by opening fire. Piroth’s confident words would come back to haunt him; the French had made the fatal mistake of underestimating their enemy. The Viet Minh commander, General Võ Nguyên Giáp, has been described as one of the greatest strategists of the 20th century. Like the French, the Viet Minh leadership believed that a military victory would strengthen their hand at the conference of great powers that was due to begin in Geneva and it was down to Giáp to deliver such success. Identifying Dien Bien Phu as the place where such a victory could be won, he concentrated nearly 50,000 combat troops in the area, seizing the high ground around the base and surrounding the French garrison. It was a triumph of logistical planning. To ensure that his troops had the ammunition and supplies they needed to take on the French, Giáp mobilised a quarter of a million Vietnamese civilians to build scores of new roads and construct hundreds of bridges. Civilian porters transported supplies on animals, specially reinforced bicycles and hundreds of Russian Molotova trucks. Dozens of artillery pieces and thousands of shells were laboriously manhandled into position in the hills around Dien Bien Phu and dug into bunkers with trenches and shelters to protect their crews. By March 1954, Giáp was ready to strike. The ensuing battle has been described as taking place in a stadium with the Viet Minh in the stands and the French on the field, their every move visible unless it was made at night or during the early-morning fog that sometimes shrouded the valley. On 13 March, Giáp stunned the French by unleashing a devastating bombardment on the Beatrice position on the northeast corner of the French perimeter. Beatrice was then attacked by an entire Vietnamese division and fell after several hours of heavy fighting. Of the 550 Foreign Legionnaires, only a few dozen escaped. On 14 March, the Gabrielle position received the same treatment as Beatrice. By 23 March, both Annmarie and Huguette were in Viet Minh hands and the airstrip was virtually unusable. The last flight into Dien Bien Phu took place on 28 March. From then on, all supplies had to be dropped in by parachute. Even so, the Viet Minh anti-aircraft fire was so effective that French supply planes were forced to fly at a much higher altitude than they wanted, causing thousands of parachutes to miss their targets and drift into enemy territory. Even the bottle of champagne dropped to mark de Castries’ promotion to Brigadier-General ended up in Viet Minh hands. The angels of Dien Bien Phu The only Frenchwoman at Dien Bien Phu wasn’t supposed to be there. Geneviève de Galard was a 29-year-old French military nurse who had volunteered to serve in Indochina on aircraft evacuating wounded soldiers to hospital. On 28 March, her transport plane suffered damage to an oil tank while landing in darkness at Dien Bien Phu and was unable to take off again. At daybreak, the Viet Minh artillery destroyed the plane and damaged the runway. Galard was now stranded in the valley for the next six weeks, helping to care for the wounded. When, after a brief period of captivity, she returned to France, the media dubbed her ‘the Angel of Dien Bien Phu’. But less was said about the other women in the beleaguered garrison: the 18 Algerian and Vietnamese sex workers of the two mobile brothels accompanying the French forces into the valley. As casualties mounted, they too served as nurses and four were killed by Viet Minh shellfire. After the surrender, the Algerians were allowed to go home; the Vietnamese were sent off for ‘re-education’. Numbers game These reverses came as a devastating blow for French morale, none more so than for Charles Piroth, who retreated into his bunker to blow himself up with a grenade. Christian de Castries himself seems to have lost confidence in his own ability to handle the battle and passed tactical control over to two hard-bitten French paras, Colonel Pierre Langlais and Major Marcel Bigeard. As time went on thousands of soldiers, mainly Indochinese troops who made up a third of the garrison, gave up fighting altogether and took shelter in the caves that adjoined the river running through the Dien Bien Phu position. But the Viet Minh were suffering morale problems of their own. Every strongpoint captured, every yard gained, came at a horrific cost in human lives. So Giáp changed his tactics. The mass infantry attacks of March were replaced by a slow but steady approach. It was now classic siege warfare, with the Viet Minh soldiers inching their way in trenches towards the French positions. Meanwhile, the onset of the rainy reason added to difficulties on the ground and made French supply drops from the air even more difficult to carry out. By May, the French were running out of food, ammunition and hope. The final Viet Minh assault was launched on 6 May and the last French soldiers surrendered the following day. Around 11,000 troops, many of them wounded, marched into captivity. Fewer than half would return home. What happened after Dien Bien Phu? France’s defeat toppled its existing government and ushered in a new socialist administration determined to pull out of Vietnam. The victorious Viet Minh hoped for control across the whole country, but the Geneva Accord, which was signed just two weeks after the fall of Dien Bien Phu, divided Vietnam into two independent nations: a communist north with its capital at Hanoi and an anti-communist, US-backed south with its capital at Saigon. This partition was supposed to be temporary; the two zones were meant to be reunited through national elections in 1956, but these were never held. The tensions it caused would eventually lead to the war with the US, which would finally end with North Vietnamese victory and the reunification of the country in 1975. Julian Humphrys is a historian and author specialising in battlefields. His books include Enemies at the Gate (English Heritage, 2007) This article was first published in the May 2019 issue of BBC History Revealed