I love discovering long-ago battles that everyone seems to have forgotten, such as the Great Northern War between Charles XII of Sweden and Peter the Great of Russia in 1700.
The Sweden of today is known more for being a peaceful nation full of healthy people and natural resources, but back then the young, handsome but very religious King Charles had made his underpopulated kingdom into a warrior state. Every community was expected to provide its best and strongest men for the army and they did, creating a small but swift force with a first-rate cavalry. Charles ruled over the best ports in the Baltic, which maddened the Russian czar Peter, whose only entry point was the distant Archangel. So he formed alliances with Poland and Denmark, which both hated Charles for being the neighbourhood bully.
Instead of being terrified by this state of affairs as most of us would have been, Charles moved quickly, giving both of Russia’s pals bloody noses in quick succession, forcing them to retire from the field of battle while suing for peace. Nobody could move like Charles. Then he attacked the lumbering Russian forces, which were still trying to put their socks on, so to speak, and butchered them.
Peter was so humiliated that his vastly larger forces had been bested by this tiny army, he had several of his generals tortured to death while he reconsidered this Charles fellow. Peter appears to have been a torturer by nature and he provided such sport after many dinners, which made for dreadful dessert courses. Everyone was nervous, and none more than his son, whom he had whipped to death.
Still he was a pragmatist and knew how to play the game of a long war against a tiny country. He waited for Charles to make a mistake and he did not have long to wait, for Charles thought God wanted him to take Peter’s head and would not listen to his anxious advisors, who suggested he consolidate his new-found territories.
The Swedish king threw caution to the winds and charged further into Russia. After many battles Peter’s weight of numbers began to show, and Charles found himself upon a sticky wicket. He sought asylum in Turkey but after five years, they tossed him out. He was brave, of that there can be no doubt, but also reckless. After returning to Sweden he sought revenge but he realized Russia had too large an army now, so he attacked Sweden’s age-old enemy, Denmark.
In addition he thought he could grab southern Norway in passing. He rashly decided, against advice again, to look over a trench wall in front of his stunned men. A Norwegian sniper was waiting for just such a chance and potted him between the eyes. It has always been said that his last word was “meatballs,” but I think that might have been a silly rumour.
Sweden went home with its tail between its legs, carrying the dead king, Denmark and Norway were saved and Peter got his Baltic ports. Charles was, sadly, not the last one to regret an attack into the heart of Russia.
Anyway my point is that around the club there have been one or two battles, also long-forgotten and unlike the Great Northern War, some for the best. No one who was here when women forced their way into our sleepy all-male club at our weakest point, through the kitchen, led by four moustachioed grief counsellors, wants to remember that war of the sexes. New club mems approach me all the time to tell them about it, but I just look demurely away as if listening to a distant dog whistle of some interest. There is no point of raking over old coals.
There was a time when mems would mention others’ wardrobes if they found them wanting, which could create a war. A chap once wore green socks within these walls and General Bottoms-Up told him loudly what he thought of him.
“What the devil is the meaning of this? Cannot an innocent member of this club sit quietly reading his paper without being assaulted by the sight of green socks nearby? I won’t have it.”
Several mems resigned over that, and not a few more never spoke to the malefactor again. He sat miserably in a corner of the senior reading room for some 20 odd years, never wearing colourful socks again before passing away unnoticed and unloved. Now there are women wearing green trousers in the club!
All these things should be water under the bridge and if remembered, clearly categorized as being from a former time; things are not like that anymore. Which is exactly what Sweden has brought about. However if the story is true about Charles’s last words, would he now have said “Ikea”?
Copyright Christopher Dalton 2015
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