harrytheheid
A Fixture
The Allies have finally crossed the Rhine into the industrial heart of Germany proper, and the British sector sees an unprecedented volume of modern tanks that are proving to be exceptionally effective against hitherto invulnerable Nazi Tigers and suchlike.
Backing them up are the capable and extremely fast Cromwell tanks of the 7th Armoured Division.
Catching a ride on one of the Cromwell’s are five braw laddies from the King’s Own Scottish Highlanders, informally and rather appropriately known as ‘The KOSH’. Revealing an astonishing lack of parental imagination, they’re called; James Beaton, James Seton, James Fleming and James Livingstone. The fifth one is called James Hepburn, but he’s not a member of ‘The James Gang’.
Three of them are proudly wearing the traditional ‘Tam o’Shanter’ bonnet. The other two tank riders prefer to forgo comfort and opt for the inherent safety of their Mk3 steel helmets. As do the remaining members of the section, Jimmy Stewart and Jamie Fraser, who’re bringing up the rear, plodding along behind the Cromwell and hoping to hitch a lift upon one of the brand-new, and rather excellent, Comet tanks. According to the veteran Pte Stewart, “If only we’d had them back in 1940, then we would’ve sent proud Jerry hameward tae think again – wi’ a richt sair neb.”
Trans: Nursing a really excruciatingly-painful broken nose.
Nudging Seton, Beaton says, “Hey Jimmy, tak a squint at yon bonny lassie ower there by the Jeep, checkin' whut a mess the regimental barber made o’ her hair. She reminds me o’ the quine in yon wifey’s film wi’ Robert Taylor.
Trans: In the thick dialect spoken by these particular Scots, a quine means a bonny lassie. A wifey is a generic term, loosely used as a title for any married or single female over the age of around 25.
Aye, the yin aboot a bonny dancin’ quine that gings tae work in a great big workin’ man’s pub when Taylor gets kill’t at The Front – an’ then it turn’s oot he’s nae been kill’t efter awe, so the daft bizzum jumps in front o’ a bus cos she wuz fair black-affrontit when his snooty Maw found oot she’s jist a common barmaid.”
“Och away wi’ ye,” responds Pte Beaton derisibly, “the only bonnie lassie ye ken onythin’ aboot is Lassie the Sheep-Dug.”
Trans: Unfortunately, providing an accurate translation of this confusing exchange appears to be way beyond Google. It may refer to a situation experienced by the extremely embarrassed leading actress in the movie the troops are discussing, and there seems to be something about a faithful Border-Collie Dog that's gainfully employed by a Shepherd. But who really knows what they're saying?
“Surprisingly enough he’s quite correct,” intercedes pretentious tank commander, Lt-Col Giles Vandeleur, “she certainly looks like Dear Larry’s wife, although it was an Army truck caused her sad demise in that particular film,” and somewhat superciliously adding, “for your further education, Taylor also appeared with Dana Winter in what to all intents and purposes amounted to a follow-up film, ‘D-Day, The 6th of June’, although I do admit there isn’t actually that much footage of D-Day in that one. It’s mostly set in London and the Shires, and really ought to have been more accurately titled, ‘Mid-Life Crisis Americans Chasing Tail in England During WW2’. However, I must say I far preferred her outstanding performance as a Southern Belle in that film set against the frightful unpleasantness in America around eighty years ago – and it was in colour too. Makes our own Civil War look like a Vicar’s Tea Party.”
Unimpressed, the Jocks choose to ignore this condescending, stuck-up snob, because something far more hilarious than him is going down, quite apart from Sgt Ronson being unable to get his faulty cigarette lighter to work.
It’s Pte Frank Pike and Colour-Sergeant Bourne arguing over the sub-machine gun that some blithering idiot allowed the ex-member of Captain Mainwaring’s platoon of OAP’s to strut around Germany with it ready for action, thus scaring the living daylights out of people. Presumably the conscription board finally caught up with Pike and he’s been enlisted into the Regular Army, instead of Dad’s one.
“No, you can’t have my tommy-gun. Even Mainwaring didn’t try and take it away,” Pike cries, literally on the edge of tears.
“Listen, you stupid boy,” shouts Bourne, trying out his hard-won set of soft skills with difficulty, “I’ve no idea who was daft enough to let you play with that Thompson, but everyone’s sick of you waving the ruddy thing around. Now hand it over. Right now.”
“For the last time: No, I won’t hand over my tommy-gun, it’s mine! I’m telling my Uncle Arthur about you and he’ll have you cashiered Sarn’t,” answers the distraught Pte Pike at the top of his voice.
And, oh dear, this noisy altercation has attracted the unwelcome attention of the absolutely terrifying RSM Gunn. A truly fearsome Ogre that no-one in their right mind would choose to cross.
Upon release from Aldershot glasshouse five years later, Pte Frank Pike re-enlisted for the conflict in Korea, where he inexplicably rose to the heady rank of Lance-Corporal. ‘Uncle Arthur’, the laid-back to the point of comatose Home Guard Sergeant Wilson and his not-so-secret ‘friend’ – the WW1 widow, Mrs Mavis Pike, threw a joyous street party on his safe return to Walmington-on-Sea.
His regiment threw a joyous mess party in sheer relief upon realizing they were finally rid of him.
Meanwhile, and being somewhat inexplicable after that entirely avoidable disaster in Holland last September, the extraordinarily incompetent and not quite compos mentis, Lt-Gen Frederick Arthur Montague ‘Boy’ Bogarde is still in a job. Never let it be said that the old school tie network doesn’t look after its own in spectacular fashion. In actual fact it stands to reason, as they all use those ‘funny handshakes’.
Breaking off his conversation with Maj-Gen Urquhart for a moment, he arrogantly shouts out, “Colour-Sergeant Bourne, where the blue blazes have you got to now?”
“Yes Saah. Sorry Saah, some utter cretin issued Pte Pike a Thompson Gun and I was busy confiscating it before he hurt anyone, or more likely, himself.”
“Hmm, it was me who gave him that sub-machine gun as his zealous martial bearing impressed me so much that I appointed him to be my new Batman. Oh well, not to worry, there’s plenty more where he came from.”
“Now, where was I? Oh yes. Please be so good as to order the great-unwashed to vacate their seats on that Cromwell. It’s one of his Majesty’s tanks not an omnibus and they’re all most likely Bolshie Red-Clydesider’s anyway.”
“Very good Saah. Shall I tell the lads to give them a taste of cold steel Saah?”
“Hmm, perhaps that’s going a tad far even for me Colour-Sergeant and the papers would have a field day. Some judicious kicks and a few discreet blows from the butt of a rifle ought to suffice.”
Ignoring the interruption, Urquhart, who’s getting astonishing longevity from the duffle coat that Mummy bought for him years ago when he was one of the most ineffective prefects at Eton, continues, “Well Freddie, it seems that both us and the Yanks will be up against units of crack SS tank troops fairly soon. Word in the NAAFI is that they’ll be fanatical Nazi’s from the Hitler Youth.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about them old chap,” replies Bogarde. “I have it on good authority that the Hitler Youth are all with Field Marshall Model in East Prussia and giving Uncle Joe’s chaps a jolly good thrashing for their impudence. Which means we’re only going to face doddering old men and hysterical teenage girls.”
“But what does worry me is Lieutenant-General Edward Fox over there, and the fact he’s brought along one of his lady-friends as his driver. It’s entirely against regulations you know and bound to upset the chaps in the Officers Mess, and – Oh My Giddy Sainted Aunt – she’s wearing a perishing side-arm as well! We really can’t have that sort of thing Roy!”
With a surreptitious sideways glance at his commanding officer, Urquhart replies, “I don’t know about all that Freddie, but Fox’s driver happens to be Second-Lieutenant Fae Summersby of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, many of whom are members of the shadowy organization known as SOE, and chances are she’s deadly as a cobra with that weapon. As for her being here as a driver, well Fox takes the view that if Eisenhower can get away with it, then so can ‘Fast Eddie’. Mind you, and speaking off-the-record, I wouldn’t like to be in Ike’s shoes if his self-righteous wife, the formidable Mamie, ever finds out about him and Fae’s older sister. After all, Mamie’s supposed to be something of a grim tyrant with a hair-trigger temper – and even a good sight worse than that other aggravating busybody Eleanor Roosevelt, or so I’m told in the NAAFI.”
“Hmm, the SOE indeed? That’s just another of Winston’s wild fantasies Roy.”
“Set Occupied Europe aflame indeed? Do you recall that abysmal episode during the last show when he persuaded the War Cabinet that invading the Dardanelles would knock Turkey out of the war?”
“That’s Winnie for you – and I hear that he wants us to poke our nose into the appalling mess in Greece and Yugoslavia now. The Whitehall wallahs need to keep supplying him with cigars and plenty brandy. That tends to keep him quiet for an hour or two.”
“Hmm, all the same, Eddie’s latest interest does look familiar. Isn’t she Dear Larry’s wife, Viv….”
“Oh no Sir, that’s not Vivien Leigh,” cuts in Urquhart, who just happens to be a close family friend of Sir Lawrence Olivier and would prefer not to have him embarrassed by the dubious acting career of his unpredictable spouse – especially as he’s seen the full uncut cinematic version of ‘Waterloo Bridge’ that the wartime censors cut to ribbons before allowing the troops to watch it; reasoning that it would sap morale if they were given the slightest clue what their sweethearts were getting up to while keeping the home fires burning.
Having been put back on the straight and narrow by Urquhart, Lt-Gen Bogarde forgets all about Dear Larry and skips off to resume interfering with the smooth progress of Operation Varsity.
Spotting the unrepentant Lt-General Edward Fox, who’s having a Sit-Rep with Lt-Col John Ormsby Evelyn ‘J.O.E.’ Vandeleur and some American fellow he doesn’t recognize, he again arrogantly shouts, “Colour-Sergeant Bourne …”
“Saah.”
“Aah, there you are Bourne. Very good. Now who’s that foul-smelling tramp that Eddie and Joe are chatting with? It looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Can’t you put him on a charge?”
“Saah, at first glance I thought he’s Eisenhower’s boss, the American Chief of Staff and 4-Star General, George C. Marshall, who’s been on a fact-finding tour of the American sector, and I assumed he’d decided to pop over here to see if Washington can offer a few additional clapped-out destroyers in exchange for getting their greedy hands on some more of our Caribbean bases.”
“Well that’s Winston’s job to sort out Colour-Sergeant, after all he’s half-American anyway.” “However, I rather fancy you ought to leave the politics to me, although I’m inordinately pleased to hear you’re clear on one somewhat touchy subject; these unbearably loud people are our Allies, and not our especial friends. Well, at least it’s not Patton, thank goodness. So, who is he then?”
“Saah, the lads were saying he’s most likely that Major ‘Butch’ Redford, the hero of Nijmegen Bridge. Best keep Lord Carrington scarce Saah. Maj Redford doesn't like him very much.”
“Jolly good Clr-Sgt and who’s the adolescent brat he’s got with him? Are they shipping college students across the Atlantic to act as Aides these days? I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be the usual exercise in nepotism. You know what they’re like about that kind of tosh. Exact opposite to the way we do things, of course.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, the long-suffering Clr-Sgt takes a deep breath and replies, “Begging your pardon Saah, but that’s no Aide-de-Camp. The lads are saying he’s a Jerry POW.”
“Oh? Is he? I’m afraid I didn’t recognize his school uniform. Can’t say that I’ve seen many like that swanning around in my London Club. But why bring him here? Surely the Americans must have their own facilities for processing prisoners of war?”
“Saah, the lads were saying that Major Redford just wanted to show General Fox the exact reason why the Yank advance has slowed right down. He says they’ve come up against fanatical units of crack SS tank troops – from the Hitler Youth!”
“Umm, really? Well, imagine that. Err, just so. Carry on Colour-Sergeant.”
“Oh, and Bourne,” he continues, “Please be so kind as to get rid of that ghastly sign the Americans put up without my express permission. It’s bringing on one of my migraines. I see some of our chaps have already shown what they think of it. Jolly good show.”
“Yes Saah. I’ll get the lads onto it right away. Shall I order them to give it a touch of cold steel Saah?”
“No need to disturb the men Colour-Sergeant. Just ask one of those tank commanders to oblige.”
“A round of HE ought to suffice.”
The 1:35 scale figures are in plastic or resin from several different manufacturers. Most are converted from standard.
The Comet and Humber Scout Car are from Bronco Models. The mantlet cover on the Comet is home-made. All other vehicles, including the Cromwell, are from Tamiya.
The ruined farmhouse and shot-up sign are by Reality in Scale and the bust fence comes from MiniArt.
Cheers
H
Backing them up are the capable and extremely fast Cromwell tanks of the 7th Armoured Division.
Catching a ride on one of the Cromwell’s are five braw laddies from the King’s Own Scottish Highlanders, informally and rather appropriately known as ‘The KOSH’. Revealing an astonishing lack of parental imagination, they’re called; James Beaton, James Seton, James Fleming and James Livingstone. The fifth one is called James Hepburn, but he’s not a member of ‘The James Gang’.
Three of them are proudly wearing the traditional ‘Tam o’Shanter’ bonnet. The other two tank riders prefer to forgo comfort and opt for the inherent safety of their Mk3 steel helmets. As do the remaining members of the section, Jimmy Stewart and Jamie Fraser, who’re bringing up the rear, plodding along behind the Cromwell and hoping to hitch a lift upon one of the brand-new, and rather excellent, Comet tanks. According to the veteran Pte Stewart, “If only we’d had them back in 1940, then we would’ve sent proud Jerry hameward tae think again – wi’ a richt sair neb.”
Trans: Nursing a really excruciatingly-painful broken nose.
Nudging Seton, Beaton says, “Hey Jimmy, tak a squint at yon bonny lassie ower there by the Jeep, checkin' whut a mess the regimental barber made o’ her hair. She reminds me o’ the quine in yon wifey’s film wi’ Robert Taylor.
Trans: In the thick dialect spoken by these particular Scots, a quine means a bonny lassie. A wifey is a generic term, loosely used as a title for any married or single female over the age of around 25.
Aye, the yin aboot a bonny dancin’ quine that gings tae work in a great big workin’ man’s pub when Taylor gets kill’t at The Front – an’ then it turn’s oot he’s nae been kill’t efter awe, so the daft bizzum jumps in front o’ a bus cos she wuz fair black-affrontit when his snooty Maw found oot she’s jist a common barmaid.”
“Och away wi’ ye,” responds Pte Beaton derisibly, “the only bonnie lassie ye ken onythin’ aboot is Lassie the Sheep-Dug.”
Trans: Unfortunately, providing an accurate translation of this confusing exchange appears to be way beyond Google. It may refer to a situation experienced by the extremely embarrassed leading actress in the movie the troops are discussing, and there seems to be something about a faithful Border-Collie Dog that's gainfully employed by a Shepherd. But who really knows what they're saying?
“Surprisingly enough he’s quite correct,” intercedes pretentious tank commander, Lt-Col Giles Vandeleur, “she certainly looks like Dear Larry’s wife, although it was an Army truck caused her sad demise in that particular film,” and somewhat superciliously adding, “for your further education, Taylor also appeared with Dana Winter in what to all intents and purposes amounted to a follow-up film, ‘D-Day, The 6th of June’, although I do admit there isn’t actually that much footage of D-Day in that one. It’s mostly set in London and the Shires, and really ought to have been more accurately titled, ‘Mid-Life Crisis Americans Chasing Tail in England During WW2’. However, I must say I far preferred her outstanding performance as a Southern Belle in that film set against the frightful unpleasantness in America around eighty years ago – and it was in colour too. Makes our own Civil War look like a Vicar’s Tea Party.”
Unimpressed, the Jocks choose to ignore this condescending, stuck-up snob, because something far more hilarious than him is going down, quite apart from Sgt Ronson being unable to get his faulty cigarette lighter to work.
It’s Pte Frank Pike and Colour-Sergeant Bourne arguing over the sub-machine gun that some blithering idiot allowed the ex-member of Captain Mainwaring’s platoon of OAP’s to strut around Germany with it ready for action, thus scaring the living daylights out of people. Presumably the conscription board finally caught up with Pike and he’s been enlisted into the Regular Army, instead of Dad’s one.
“No, you can’t have my tommy-gun. Even Mainwaring didn’t try and take it away,” Pike cries, literally on the edge of tears.
“Listen, you stupid boy,” shouts Bourne, trying out his hard-won set of soft skills with difficulty, “I’ve no idea who was daft enough to let you play with that Thompson, but everyone’s sick of you waving the ruddy thing around. Now hand it over. Right now.”
“For the last time: No, I won’t hand over my tommy-gun, it’s mine! I’m telling my Uncle Arthur about you and he’ll have you cashiered Sarn’t,” answers the distraught Pte Pike at the top of his voice.
And, oh dear, this noisy altercation has attracted the unwelcome attention of the absolutely terrifying RSM Gunn. A truly fearsome Ogre that no-one in their right mind would choose to cross.
Upon release from Aldershot glasshouse five years later, Pte Frank Pike re-enlisted for the conflict in Korea, where he inexplicably rose to the heady rank of Lance-Corporal. ‘Uncle Arthur’, the laid-back to the point of comatose Home Guard Sergeant Wilson and his not-so-secret ‘friend’ – the WW1 widow, Mrs Mavis Pike, threw a joyous street party on his safe return to Walmington-on-Sea.
His regiment threw a joyous mess party in sheer relief upon realizing they were finally rid of him.
Meanwhile, and being somewhat inexplicable after that entirely avoidable disaster in Holland last September, the extraordinarily incompetent and not quite compos mentis, Lt-Gen Frederick Arthur Montague ‘Boy’ Bogarde is still in a job. Never let it be said that the old school tie network doesn’t look after its own in spectacular fashion. In actual fact it stands to reason, as they all use those ‘funny handshakes’.
Breaking off his conversation with Maj-Gen Urquhart for a moment, he arrogantly shouts out, “Colour-Sergeant Bourne, where the blue blazes have you got to now?”
“Yes Saah. Sorry Saah, some utter cretin issued Pte Pike a Thompson Gun and I was busy confiscating it before he hurt anyone, or more likely, himself.”
“Hmm, it was me who gave him that sub-machine gun as his zealous martial bearing impressed me so much that I appointed him to be my new Batman. Oh well, not to worry, there’s plenty more where he came from.”
“Now, where was I? Oh yes. Please be so good as to order the great-unwashed to vacate their seats on that Cromwell. It’s one of his Majesty’s tanks not an omnibus and they’re all most likely Bolshie Red-Clydesider’s anyway.”
“Very good Saah. Shall I tell the lads to give them a taste of cold steel Saah?”
“Hmm, perhaps that’s going a tad far even for me Colour-Sergeant and the papers would have a field day. Some judicious kicks and a few discreet blows from the butt of a rifle ought to suffice.”
Ignoring the interruption, Urquhart, who’s getting astonishing longevity from the duffle coat that Mummy bought for him years ago when he was one of the most ineffective prefects at Eton, continues, “Well Freddie, it seems that both us and the Yanks will be up against units of crack SS tank troops fairly soon. Word in the NAAFI is that they’ll be fanatical Nazi’s from the Hitler Youth.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry about them old chap,” replies Bogarde. “I have it on good authority that the Hitler Youth are all with Field Marshall Model in East Prussia and giving Uncle Joe’s chaps a jolly good thrashing for their impudence. Which means we’re only going to face doddering old men and hysterical teenage girls.”
“But what does worry me is Lieutenant-General Edward Fox over there, and the fact he’s brought along one of his lady-friends as his driver. It’s entirely against regulations you know and bound to upset the chaps in the Officers Mess, and – Oh My Giddy Sainted Aunt – she’s wearing a perishing side-arm as well! We really can’t have that sort of thing Roy!”
With a surreptitious sideways glance at his commanding officer, Urquhart replies, “I don’t know about all that Freddie, but Fox’s driver happens to be Second-Lieutenant Fae Summersby of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, many of whom are members of the shadowy organization known as SOE, and chances are she’s deadly as a cobra with that weapon. As for her being here as a driver, well Fox takes the view that if Eisenhower can get away with it, then so can ‘Fast Eddie’. Mind you, and speaking off-the-record, I wouldn’t like to be in Ike’s shoes if his self-righteous wife, the formidable Mamie, ever finds out about him and Fae’s older sister. After all, Mamie’s supposed to be something of a grim tyrant with a hair-trigger temper – and even a good sight worse than that other aggravating busybody Eleanor Roosevelt, or so I’m told in the NAAFI.”
“Hmm, the SOE indeed? That’s just another of Winston’s wild fantasies Roy.”
“Set Occupied Europe aflame indeed? Do you recall that abysmal episode during the last show when he persuaded the War Cabinet that invading the Dardanelles would knock Turkey out of the war?”
“That’s Winnie for you – and I hear that he wants us to poke our nose into the appalling mess in Greece and Yugoslavia now. The Whitehall wallahs need to keep supplying him with cigars and plenty brandy. That tends to keep him quiet for an hour or two.”
“Hmm, all the same, Eddie’s latest interest does look familiar. Isn’t she Dear Larry’s wife, Viv….”
“Oh no Sir, that’s not Vivien Leigh,” cuts in Urquhart, who just happens to be a close family friend of Sir Lawrence Olivier and would prefer not to have him embarrassed by the dubious acting career of his unpredictable spouse – especially as he’s seen the full uncut cinematic version of ‘Waterloo Bridge’ that the wartime censors cut to ribbons before allowing the troops to watch it; reasoning that it would sap morale if they were given the slightest clue what their sweethearts were getting up to while keeping the home fires burning.
Having been put back on the straight and narrow by Urquhart, Lt-Gen Bogarde forgets all about Dear Larry and skips off to resume interfering with the smooth progress of Operation Varsity.
Spotting the unrepentant Lt-General Edward Fox, who’s having a Sit-Rep with Lt-Col John Ormsby Evelyn ‘J.O.E.’ Vandeleur and some American fellow he doesn’t recognize, he again arrogantly shouts, “Colour-Sergeant Bourne …”
“Saah.”
“Aah, there you are Bourne. Very good. Now who’s that foul-smelling tramp that Eddie and Joe are chatting with? It looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Can’t you put him on a charge?”
“Saah, at first glance I thought he’s Eisenhower’s boss, the American Chief of Staff and 4-Star General, George C. Marshall, who’s been on a fact-finding tour of the American sector, and I assumed he’d decided to pop over here to see if Washington can offer a few additional clapped-out destroyers in exchange for getting their greedy hands on some more of our Caribbean bases.”
“Well that’s Winston’s job to sort out Colour-Sergeant, after all he’s half-American anyway.” “However, I rather fancy you ought to leave the politics to me, although I’m inordinately pleased to hear you’re clear on one somewhat touchy subject; these unbearably loud people are our Allies, and not our especial friends. Well, at least it’s not Patton, thank goodness. So, who is he then?”
“Saah, the lads were saying he’s most likely that Major ‘Butch’ Redford, the hero of Nijmegen Bridge. Best keep Lord Carrington scarce Saah. Maj Redford doesn't like him very much.”
“Jolly good Clr-Sgt and who’s the adolescent brat he’s got with him? Are they shipping college students across the Atlantic to act as Aides these days? I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be the usual exercise in nepotism. You know what they’re like about that kind of tosh. Exact opposite to the way we do things, of course.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, the long-suffering Clr-Sgt takes a deep breath and replies, “Begging your pardon Saah, but that’s no Aide-de-Camp. The lads are saying he’s a Jerry POW.”
“Oh? Is he? I’m afraid I didn’t recognize his school uniform. Can’t say that I’ve seen many like that swanning around in my London Club. But why bring him here? Surely the Americans must have their own facilities for processing prisoners of war?”
“Saah, the lads were saying that Major Redford just wanted to show General Fox the exact reason why the Yank advance has slowed right down. He says they’ve come up against fanatical units of crack SS tank troops – from the Hitler Youth!”
“Umm, really? Well, imagine that. Err, just so. Carry on Colour-Sergeant.”
“Oh, and Bourne,” he continues, “Please be so kind as to get rid of that ghastly sign the Americans put up without my express permission. It’s bringing on one of my migraines. I see some of our chaps have already shown what they think of it. Jolly good show.”
“Yes Saah. I’ll get the lads onto it right away. Shall I order them to give it a touch of cold steel Saah?”
“No need to disturb the men Colour-Sergeant. Just ask one of those tank commanders to oblige.”
“A round of HE ought to suffice.”
The 1:35 scale figures are in plastic or resin from several different manufacturers. Most are converted from standard.
The Comet and Humber Scout Car are from Bronco Models. The mantlet cover on the Comet is home-made. All other vehicles, including the Cromwell, are from Tamiya.
The ruined farmhouse and shot-up sign are by Reality in Scale and the bust fence comes from MiniArt.
Cheers
H
