From folk music to Kalashnikovs… well, not really Kalashnikovs, but second world war rifles and Sten guns.
Today was re-enactment day at Crownhill Fort, when questionable men in ill-fitting uniforms cavort with guns and grenades for the delectation of the milling throng.
And we were among that throng.
I learned a few things, which I’m not sure I needed to know.
The rifles used at the start of WW2 were the same ones they were using at the end of WW1. Such dilitary progress would be unheard of now, when a six year old PC (like mine) is considered ancient junk and will doubtless command no re-sale value when I eventually get around to replacing it.
Allied soldiers used to dig a hole big enough to hide in when they knew German tanks were approaching, then when the tank passed by they’d leap out and drop a cluster of grenades into the back of the tank. They were awarded badges for each tank they took out.
One re-enacter told us how his uncle had died, aged 21, when he was a gunner on a British plane. He was hit by German anti-aircraft fire over Hamburg, by American guns stolen from American planes that had been shot down over, yes, you guessed it, Hamburg.
We went to Hamburg last year to visit some relatives. It’s a very wealthy city, lots to do, lovely waterways and canals, great train service, admirable recycling facilities, plenty of bicycle lanes that allow primary school kids to cycle to school on their own – cars have to give way to bikes BY LAW.
But I digress.
Crownhill Fort is always a good way to spend a couple of hours, and we even managed a pinic without being rained on, a welcome bonus on a bank holiday weekend.
Now it’s chucking it down. Some friends have invited us to join them for a day in Cornwall where they’re camping – in heavy rain and high winds.
I think we may be checking out the cinema listings tomorrow.
Even the guinea pigs are looking bedraggled.