Masterstrokes Of War by Nigel Cawthorne

I’ve something of an interest in history, and wars tend to be the most accessible thing in the field by television. We’re spoilt for choice in the UK with television series about WW2 and the Nazis, and I’ve collected magazines (the 20-part series things, though I rarely got to the end) and bought a few books on Hitler, the camps, and so on. By the standards of my generation, I’m pretty knowledgable, though I freely admit that that doesn’t actually mean very much.

However, if the subject is wars prior to 1914, my brain is disappointingly bereft of knowledge. Sure, I know that Nelson won a sea battle at some place called Trafalgar (”England expects” and all that), there was a major slaughter at Antietam in the US civil war (I got that from buying a wrestler’s book), and William The Bastard successfully invaded Englalond in 1066. That’s about it though, so I resolved to improve the situation on the small count that I get annoyed if I realise that I don’t know things, and the larger that this was pretty important stuff.

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By Bernard Cornwell

A stand-alone story, Gallows Thief is set in 1817 Regency London following the collapse of Napoleon.

Our hero is Rider Sandman, formerly a captain of the 52nd Foot and a distinguished combatant at Waterloo. He also happens to be a very good cricketer, which is where we first find him, throwing his match fee back in the face of the owner, since he just realised the blackguard had fixed the match and bet against his own side.
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By William Shawcross

Released in 2002 to commemorate the 50th year of Elizabeth II’s accession to the British throne, this is an impressive-looking book at first glance. Initial impressions count, and those experienced here could not be bettered, the cover minimalist with a greyscale photograph of a highly attractive young monarch, the pages thick, lustrous, and adorned with large and glossy photographs.

I’m a republican at heart, so this choice of book ought to seem strange. Stranger still is that irrespective of my sentiments in this field, I’m a big fan of the Queen, and this book has done nothing to change my take there, save intensify it.
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By Alan Moorehead

Published in 1969, this book was magnificent fun to read, getting itself read from start to finish with only a few hour’s sleep in between.

One would imagine that there’s nothing new about Darwin. Rare must it be to encounter an idiot who couldn’t place the name, even if they persist in denying what Darwin proffered.
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(To Mention Nothing Of The Dog) by Jerome K Jerome

I hold my hands up; I’d never heard of Jerome K Jerome and had gone out of my way to avoid picking up his book when I’d seen it. A well-known discount bookstore has had an offer for the last six months where you can buy “X in 1”s by famous authors. Through this, I’d got my hands on such niceties as three books by Robert Louis Stevenson brought together as one for the sum of £1.99.

Often travelling between Birmingham and Leicester and never sure whether what I have on me will last the length of the journey, I have a habit of dipping into this store and picking up the bargains, which has so far netted me works by Twain, Conan Doyle, Verne, and Kipling. I had made a point of avoiding Jerome K Jerome though. Not only did I not know the name, I harboured some kind of inherent prejudice against it.
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Political Correctness And The Corruption Of Debate In Modern Britain by Anthony Browne:

Talk about making a wrong judgement.

I was given this book by a friend as a Christmas present. I thought the title somewhat pretentious, and wasn’t impressed that it was published by a group calling itself the ‘Institute For The Study Of Civil Society’. I was expecting a rant from a Little Englander, something that I wouldn’t agree with, coming across as spiteful, small minded, and risible.

Boy, was I mistaken on that one!
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By Frederick Forsyth

I’m struggling to think how I heard of this book. As best I recall, Forsyth was interviewed for something political on TV once, which introduced me to his name, and the death of ‘Carlos The Jackal’ and the subsequent reporting of where the name came from, even if this turned out to be untrue, gave me an awareness of the book.

And that was that. I’d never felt a need to get a hold of a copy, I just knew that it was one of those supposed must-read books. (It placed 103rd on 2003’s ‘Big Read’ national survey in Britain to rank literature by popularity.)
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We tend to think that those that can do so pass the buck onto the next person in line, such that the “little people” cop the flak on someone else’s behalf.  On the flipside, those at the top of the totem pole are thought to reap the credit of those lower on it.

I can’t help but think that this is not always the case though, and that all of us will quite happily apply blame to the very highest echelons rather than accept that we’ve been at fault ourselves.

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By Arthur Conan Doyle

Radio and I were casually walking through the streets of Berne, the capital of Switzerland. No really, it *is* the confederation’s principal settlement. I never get that answer correct in Trivial Pursuit either.

Anyway, we were wiling away some time, in pursuit of cheap bookshops. It’s my undoing. (I’ve bought another five from an antiquarian dealer today. I only chanced upon his shop because I followed the directions for ‘cheap framing’.)

Anyway, my German is woeful. Pitiful. I’m sly enough to work out a solution that makes it appear that I’m being modest: Anytime I need to speak German, I always think ahead so that I’m prepared, and start my conversation with “Hi there, ever so sorry. I’m not from around these parts, so my German’s not good.” That’s fine for getting around conversations, but it doesn’t help with books.

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By Kirsty McLeod

An excellent book, this details the lives of two young brothers but a year apart in age. One is garrulous and confident, the other shy and retiring. They both grew up to be kings of the United Kingdom.

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