Showing posts with label James Scarlett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Scarlett. Show all posts

Thursday, 9 July 2009

Hunting in Ireland



‘Tell ye what, Flashman; I don’t know much about fightin’, but it strikes me that this Russian business is like huntin’ in Ireland – confused and primitive, what, but damned interestin’!’



Flashman at the Charge, pp.92-3, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Thursday, 18 June 2009

Our blamy cruise



And then heigh-ho, we were off on our balmy cruise across the Black Sea, a huge fleet of sixty thousand soldiers, only half of ’em rotten with sickness, British, Frogs, Turks, a few Bashi-bazooks, not enough heavy guns to fire more than a salute or two, and old General Scarlett sitting on top of a crate of hens learning, the words of command for a manoeuvring a cavalry brigade, closing his book on his finger, shutting his boozy old eyes, and shouting, ‘Walk, march, trot. Damme, what comes next?’



Flashman at the Charge, pp.59-60, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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Wednesday, 29 April 2009

A powder monkey’s a powder monkey




I found myself sharing the view of old General Scarlett, who once told me:
   ‘Splendid chaps the ordnance, but dammem, a powder monkey’s a powder monkey, ain’t he? Let ’em fill the cartridges and bore the guns, but don’t expect me to know a .577 from a mortar! What concern is that of a gentleman – or a soldier, either? Hey? Hey?



Flashman at the Charge, p.16, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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