camp followers?

Please tell me all about camp followers for the sake of this here Maggie Evans (whose man was a soldier but he's dead, God rest his soul, and now I'm stuck in this wretched country with all these soldiers). And will anyone else be a camp follower with me? Talkin' to the baggage is going to be awfully dull.

And ain't we ever gonna get some real ladies in here? Not that they'd wanna talk to the likes of ME. (But maybe my writer could become one. My writer has great aspirations to becoming someone with a bit of stature and class at some point, someone who's allowed to talk to other high-class characters here as an equal. Someone perhaps like Saint-Laurent without being a villain.)

PS - Under my icon it says I'm a chosen man! I am NOT a chosen MAN. *laughs derisively*

You will not be a Chosen Man for long, Maggie, nor will I remain a Captain. I am destined for greater things (quite soon, probably).

Only a few 'official wives' were allowed for each Regiment/battalion from the other ranks. So camp-followers will not be on the books, for food or transport home. And will have to feed themselves, as best they can, which probably normally only meant one thing. They kept up with the baggage train, if they could, but might be abandoned without mercy. Well, so were soldiers if it came to that. It's a hard life you've chosen, but you might find that your dead man's comrades help you out. Even if you married one, though, you wouldn't necessarily be accepted as an official, on-the-books wife.

Higher class ladies? From Georgette Heyer I would love to see Sophia Stanton-Lacy, pistol in her cloak pocket, facing down the bandits. She'd have to be the age she will be in The Grand Sophy, of course. Travelling with the army, accompanying her father Sir Horace. Sir Arthur/Sophy? Edrington/Sophy?? Even Sharpe/Sophy??? (Sorry, Vickery and Padstowe, but you can worship her if you like.) But she's nothing like St-Laurent

*flatly* I can assure you, my lord, that I am not in the habit of worshipping women, even if they are pretty and with lots of money.

And nor, do I believe, that I would take anything more than a passing interest in the woman - so you can take the the Sir Arthur/Sophy down for a start!

So how am I supposed to get home??? Your not saying that I'm stuck here...?!

Calderon, take me away!

You don't know Sophy, then. 'Pretty' is definitely not the word - and not 'beautiful' either. And I think she did say that she was not one of your flirts, Sir Arthur, now I think about it. So that leaves it between Sharpe and me, I suppose. If he's ever heard of her.

Maggie - you have to pay for your transport, one way or the other.

Pay... how much, I wonder?

You still want to buy some coffee?

Well that's a relief, then!

Um... what's she like again? I'm just curious, that's all.

Sophy? Not a beauty - but once you've seen her, you won't remember that - not the shape of her face, nor the colour of her eyes nor the fact that she's too tall, and her mouth is too wide. You just won't be able to forget her. And she'll organize your life for you, so that you get what you want, even if you don't know what that is yet. A noteable horsewoman, and a fine shot and... Well, she's The Grand Sophy to the young officers of half the Regiments in Portugal.

It's not for me to correct a Colonel, but some women WERE on the books. Each company was allowed to take up to six women when the Regiment sailed to war, and they were entitled to half the rations the men got.

Well that's a blessing. First come, first served, I hope.

*shakes her head*

I hope I ain't gonna regret this. It were different when I had Jem... He was my man! I don't want to become the company whore. But who's gonna look out for me now? Maybe I should stay in Lisbon.

Well, the way Cotton's been acting lately, you probably won't have to worry for too long.

*sniffs a bit, wipes her nose discreetly*

What you mean? Sir? Gabe Cotton? He were just mates with my Jem, is all.

[What a horrible situation to be stuck in. Not with Cotton, but just... camp follower, your man's just died, no money, stuck in a foreign country... And Hakeswills roaming about! ]

Well, bein' as me and Jem were mates, it's me duty to keep an eye out for ye, Maggie. Not that I wouldn't anyway, of course.

And stick with us. You'll be all right.

Oh, well hello there Gable. I didn't hear you come in.

Hmm, well, that's very kind of you, but... maybe we'll talk about this later. In a real thread, like.

How easy would it be to get onto the 'official wives' quota, once the Regiment/company were overseas? I imagine a waiting list. First you had to qualify (married, not immoral etc) then you moved up gradually as the 'official wives' died. Dead women's rations, that's what Maggie would have to wait for.

Which, Captain, is the point I made in the first place. [Honest, read my post again. Though six per company is probably more than 'a few', it still isn't every wife.] Maggie is not on the list of official wives, so she doesn't qualify for rations from the regimental budget. And must beg, or steal, or be paid for services rendered. Even if she had been married to Jem, I assume her status would change if she didn't remarry pdq.

Maybe some wives will have to start dyin'.

When the regiment was ordered abroad, all the women from each company were gethered together for a lottery. There was a ticket for each woman put in a shako, six 'To go' and the rest 'Not to go' and each woman drew a ticket out.

And true, Maggie wasn't on the official list. Or shouldn't have been, so you're quite right there. It's this getting used to bivouacking again; it's playing merry hell with our sleep, sir.

So - I'll have to fend for meself then.

Maybe I can knit and dress a giant doll man. Just so's people won't think I'm a woman alone. I can use Jem's old uniform!

Bivouacking without a plastic bivvy bag - terrible idea. Though sleeping in a giant bin-liner in the rain wasn't much fun, either. [That's not true, it was great fun, but only for one night, and it was quite warm!]

Rifleman Cotton wrote:When the regiment was ordered abroad, all the women from each company were gethered together for a lottery. There was a ticket for each woman put in a shako, six 'To go' and the rest 'Not to go' and each woman drew a ticket out.

Do I have to play this lottery? When? Maybe it's a good thing I didn't give you an answer yet, Gabe. If I get left behind, you might go away and change your mind about it all. I'm just sayin'. I don't want you to feel beholden is all.

Once, a friend and I made an epic bivouac, in Ireland. It could fit three people, four at a pinch, and we thatched it, so it was completely water-proof. We slept in in that night (It was in Ireland. Of course in rained.), and came out dry - never a plastic bag in sight. Though when we did the Duke of Edinburgh Award we had to carry bivvy bags.

*sigh* Well maybe if my name doesn't get drawn, I can just follow at a discreet distance and make my own thatched-roof bivouac.

Orrrrrr, I can take up life as a prostitute and die an early death from violence or disease. It's a toss-up.