I hate colonialism.

[FierceKitty]

Not for the usual PC reasons, but because my better half is practising muay Thai on my donkey (as it were). 17th lancers and 54th Hampshire foot have been overrun, 42nd Highlanders are out of ammo, and the rest of my foot are pinned down in square.

Following a brief break, the Scots Greys have been overwhelmed by Ansar camel-riders too. Queen Victoria will be getting bad news over Her kippers tomorrow.

[von Lucky]

Do they have travel insurance?

[FierceKitty]

A few shots. The Mahdist morale broke up and they retreated, but leaving an imperial force with no prospect but retreat as well.

[Andrei1975]

Good luck my friend. God keeps the queen!

[Harry Faversham]

17th lancers and 54th Hampshire foot have been overrun, 42nd Highlanders are out of ammo, and the rest of my foot are pinned down in square.
Following a brief break, the Scots Greys have been overwhelmed by Ansar camel-riders too. Queen Victoria will be getting bad news over Her kippers tomorrow.

Steady on old chap, stiffen that upper lip, this might help...

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night—
Ten to make and the match to win—
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The sand of the desert is sodden red,—
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind—
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
 

[RichBliss]

Looks and sounds like fun. I'm very jealous. Better to play and lose then never to play at all.

[FierceKitty]

Steady on old chap, stiffen that upper lip, this might help...

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night—
Ten to make and the match to win—
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The sand of the desert is sodden red,—
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind—
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
 

Did you note the caption to the second-last picture?

[Plynkes]

Saints preserve us from turgid Victorian poetry.



(Said the man with some of it in his signature.)

[FierceKitty]

My taste is far more 18th century, I must say.

[Arundel]

I actually rather like that poem. Ah well...

Kitty, I really do like the look of your game. It might sound strange, but I think part of it is the felt (?) you use; the nice bright colour pops the figures and terrain nicely. Smashing stuff, old man!

[FierceKitty]

 

It's a type of light canvas; home-dyed with the patient assistance of me old mum. I use it for ancients (barring Chinese), medievals, and everything after 1763.

[Arundel]

Mothers do come in handy, don't they? 

[Patrice]

Nice table!

...but I suppose that you "sloshed them with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair' " 

[FierceKitty]

Most of the Martini-users got skewered on Fuzzy spears. We won, but had almost no army left at the end. Coldstream Guards, Scots Greys, Black Watch, the Sussex regiment, Queen's Own Lancers, and all my artillery - wiped out. Only the 54th Hampshires, the Egyptian regiments, and the rough, tough, jolly sailor-men, reeking of rum, tar, and parrots, and rotten with pox and scurvy, survived, and they were rather battered too. Sir Percy MacHogg would have had an embarrassing letter to write that evening, had he not been turned into a human colander himself.

[Harry Faversham]

Did you note the caption to the second-last picture?

Serpently did, old bean!