Waterloo

Today was the reason we decided to go to Brussels rather than Paris. We went out to Waterloo. We have been before, but I suppose it might be forty years ago. It’s changed quite a lot – Waterloo is a suburb of Brussels now, where it was really quite a country village, and the battlefield is intensively farmed – with the result that the sunken lane, which was quite clear forty years ago, has lost its hedges and in fact, isn’t sunken any longer. Kincaid says that the road was about twenty feet deep where he was stationed, close to La Haye Sainte, but it’s just flat now. I’m pretty sure the low ridge has been flattened off, too.

The two farms, La Haye Sainte and Hougumont, seem just the same. It must be very odd living in a farm which saw such slaughter. La Haye Sainte was defended by 376 men of the King’s German Legion, and only 41 survived. The defenders were armed with Baker rifles and ran out of cartridges, and then defended the farm with bayonets. The French were able to get over the wall by climbing on the pile of corpses of their compatriots, so goodness knows how many of them died. Also, an attempt by the rest of the K.G.L. to relieve the defenders ended in disaster as they were completely exposed to French cavalry. La Haye Sainte fell about 6.30 p.m.

Hougumont

The no-longer sunken road - the Allied position

La Haye Sainte

Looking towards the French position

Hougumont was held the whole day, by various units of Guards, but was set on fire with the result that the wounded were roasted to death. The French would not give up the attempt to capture it, even when the events of the rest of the battle made it pointless, and the casualties were enormous.

Obviously one would still want to farm one’s land, but living in the very house – one wonders how they stand it. Like the farms around Paschendael, which were clearly used as dressing stations in the first world war, and each had  their own graveyard behind. 

   

We saw the memorial to Sir Thomas Picton. Poor Picton seems to have been suffering from what we would now call post traumatic stress, but still took a command and died from a shot through the head. His top hat, with bullet hole, is in the National Army Museum. Wellington was very relaxed about matters such as uniform – at one stage he forbade umbrellas on the battlefield, which I think is quite telling. He himself wore plain grey civilian dress during the battle.

There’s also a monument to the 27^th Foot (Inniskillings) who, at the end of the battle, were lying dead, in square. Out of 747, 463 were killed or wounded. Kincaid wondered if this was the battle in which everyone would be killed.

The monument to the Inniskillings.

I ought to mention that it was bitterly cold, windy, and snowing slightly, and we did have a bit of a laugh, picturing the expressions on our friends’ faces if they could see us.

Wellington's H.Q.

Then we got the bus back to Waterloo village. Wellington spent the night before the battle and what was left of the night after at a substantial coaching inn, which is now a museum. They have one of Congreve’s rockets, which were deeply unreliable and quite likely to turn back on themselves into the British lines. Wellington kept trying to get rid of them. They also have one of the Earl of Uxbridge’s  wooden legs – he of “By God I’ve lost my leg!” to which Wellington replied “Have you, by God!” Uxbridge was the commander of the British Heavy Cavalry, and never forgave himself for failing to keep control. No cavalry had ever before routed so great a body of infantry, but they got carried away, failed to obey the Recall, got cut off, and of the Scots Greys, 279 troopers of 300 failed to return.

In the room next door to the one in which Wellington wrote his Waterloo dispatch, and got an hour or two of sleep, his ADC Alexander Gordon died after having his leg amputated. Wellington’s staff was almost wiped out. On getting the casualty list next morning, Wellington wept, and said, “I do not know what it is to lose a battle, but surely nothing could be more painful than to gain one at such a price.”   

So, back to Brussels, somewhat chastened, and off to a Lebanese restaurant which Phil remembered from business trips. We’re very partial to Middle Eastern food. It’s the antithesis of all that Noma and El Bulli nonsense. It’s real food, carefully but fairly simply cooked.