This week I realised, as I nattered with my TAs after class, that I had just uttered the phrase 'back in my day' without the slightest sense of irony. I was (and still am) distraught - surely this is the first step down the slippery slope that ends with me in carpet slippers on a rocking chair telling stories about the good ol' days? I made myself feel better by listening to Radio 1 all the way home and not throwing up once. What has this got to do with history or re-enacting

I am, as you may have gathered from previous postings, a massive Civil War and Sealed Knot geek. I've been a member of the Sealed Knot since I could walk, since I could talk, and certainly long before I could make any sense of what was going on around me. And all throughout that time, I've heard stories of 'the Brig'. Most of these stories are hand me-downs, some (sadly less and less) were from people who had actually met the great man, all of them were hilarious. I am talkin

The early days of the Sealed Knot have taken on a kind of legendary air within the modern society. It seems unreal, certainly unlikely, that so many people could come together in such a short time to celebrate history in so unique a way. From the origins in February 1968, when Brigadier Peter Young hosted a garden party in cavalier fancy dress, to 1970, 1000 members had joined the Royalist Army (I believe that there was short wait until the Parliament Army split off to manage