Showing posts with label Civil War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Civil War. Show all posts

Friday, 26 April 2013

How many Gettysburgs



‘I’d also like to remind our jingo-drunk public that they haven’t the least notion what a war with modern weapons will be like and the only fellows who can even guess are your American survivors from places like Antietam and Shiloh — that’s the only real war there’s been in a hundred years.’ The General pointed an accusing spoon at Mr Franklin. ‘Know how many men went down at Gettysburg? Fifty thousand — and if I hadn’t moved damned lively I’d have been one of ’em. Well, how many Gettysburgs d’you think it will take to settle a scrap between the kind of forces under arms in Europe today? I don’t know — perhaps a month of it would make everyone cry quits, but knowing the sort of clowns who’ll be in command — who are always in command — I take leave to doubt it.’


Mr American, p.520, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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Thursday, 7 February 2013

Entitled to bore



     ‘Well, for heaven’s sake don’t wake him,’ said his majesty. ‘The longer he sleeps the better I’ll like it.’
     Fisher smiled. ‘He’s a bit of a penance, but . . . well, when you’ve charged with the Light Brigade I suppose you’re entitled to bore a bit.’ To Mr Franklin he went on: ‘He was an aide to your President Grant, you know, in the Civil War; fought the Indians too, with that chap Custer. And served in the Indian Mutiny, Crimea, Zulu War, China, practically everywhere . . .’



Mr American, pp.189-90, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.



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Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Crimson with booze



Even in the South they respected him for his courage; I remember the verdict, delivered to me by a grizzled Alabama veteran, crimson with booze and chewing on his Wheeling tobey:* “Ole Ossawatomie? Well, now, suh, Ah reckon he lived like a skunk — an’ died like a lion.”

* A particularly pungent cigar.

 
Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.348, Harper Collins, 1995.


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Monday, 26 December 2011

One crazy farmer



I thought he was talking through his hat — one crazy farmer being topped for murder and treason didn’t strike me as a reasonable casus belli. Which shows how much I knew.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, pp.342-3, Harper Collins, 1995.



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Wednesday, 12 October 2011

Flashman the non-Founding Father



      It’s understandable, to be sure: they have to live with their ancestors’ folly and pretend that it was all for the best, and that the monstrous collection of platitudes which they call a Constitution, which is worse than useless because it can be twisted to mean anything you please by crooked lawyers and grafting politicos, is the ultimate human wisdom. Well, it ain’t, and it wasn’t worth one life, American or British, in the War of Independence, let alone the vile slaughter of the Anglo-Saxon-Norman-Celtic race in the Civil War. But perhaps you need to stand on Cemetery Ridge after Pickett’s charge to understand that.
      I put these thoughts to Lincoln, you know, after the war, and he sat back, cracking his knuckles and eyeing me slantendicular.
      “Flashman the non-Founding Father is a wondrous thought,” says he.

Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.105, Harper Collins, 1995.


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