Strictly speaking L16 shouldn't have been called a Zeppelin, since it had a wooden frame, and wasn't designed by Graf Zeppelin. But we live in a world where we clean the floor with hoovers Hoover never knew.
There is a short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (though unfortunately not among those available for free download on www.gutenberg.org), which I think is called "A Surviver of 1815". It is about a soldier of Waterloo who lives to see his granddaughter marry a progressive young soldier of late Victorian times.
I heard my grandfather's rank mentioned by someone else, I know, since he was undemonstrative about his elevated status. I know about the rank of bombardier in field and garrison artillery, and that it was at some point used by horse artillery, but do you know if it always was? I know a lot of their customs and millinery were borrowed from the cavalry, which is what "Horse" meant in the days when all artillery had horses, if you were outside elephant country.
I also remember reading in his newspaper (unillustrated text columns at the age of seven, but it was a media-deprived age) of an old man who had scratched at a growing wen on the back of his neck, till he picked out a smooth but entirely blackened German rifle bullet, which was thought to have exited forty years before. It didn't surprise my grandfather, who though the army doctor had done for his finger. He said "I've nothing o'the kind mysel', but some of my pals gie a wee rattle noo and then." I still wonder if he meant it.
For the benefit of foreigners and that class of person, British sergeant-majors being treated as gods by all ranks, doesn't just mean by all lower ranks. There must be some piece of paper somewhere that says a lieutenant wins an argument with a sergeant-major. Well maybe he does, but things probably get said to him quietly afterwards. One of the most telltale things about some First World War memoirs, including those of Harry Patch which everyone British should treat like Mao's little red book, is the haemorrhage of manpower producing sergeant-majors who were little better than ordinary people.
Here is another picture I have always liked, showing Buffalo Bill making the big time by meeting survivors of the Light Brigade.
There is a short story by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (though unfortunately not among those available for free download on www.gutenberg.org), which I think is called "A Surviver of 1815". It is about a soldier of Waterloo who lives to see his granddaughter marry a progressive young soldier of late Victorian times.
I heard my grandfather's rank mentioned by someone else, I know, since he was undemonstrative about his elevated status. I know about the rank of bombardier in field and garrison artillery, and that it was at some point used by horse artillery, but do you know if it always was? I know a lot of their customs and millinery were borrowed from the cavalry, which is what "Horse" meant in the days when all artillery had horses, if you were outside elephant country.
I also remember reading in his newspaper (unillustrated text columns at the age of seven, but it was a media-deprived age) of an old man who had scratched at a growing wen on the back of his neck, till he picked out a smooth but entirely blackened German rifle bullet, which was thought to have exited forty years before. It didn't surprise my grandfather, who though the army doctor had done for his finger. He said "I've nothing o'the kind mysel', but some of my pals gie a wee rattle noo and then." I still wonder if he meant it.
For the benefit of foreigners and that class of person, British sergeant-majors being treated as gods by all ranks, doesn't just mean by all lower ranks. There must be some piece of paper somewhere that says a lieutenant wins an argument with a sergeant-major. Well maybe he does, but things probably get said to him quietly afterwards. One of the most telltale things about some First World War memoirs, including those of Harry Patch which everyone British should treat like Mao's little red book, is the haemorrhage of manpower producing sergeant-majors who were little better than ordinary people.
Here is another picture I have always liked, showing Buffalo Bill making the big time by meeting survivors of the Light Brigade.