EnviroSpin Watch

Windfarms at Agincourt? Non!

A new affray looms over the renowned battlefield of Azincourt (Agincourt) in Northern France! Windfarms! Never! (See 'Welsh bowmen aiming to win Agincourt battle again' [The Western Mail]):

"The people of Monmouth are again planning to send 5,000 Welsh longbowmen to Agincourt, just as Henry V did more than 600 years ago. But instead of the French Army, the opponent this time is a windfarm development near the battlefield. The Monmouth-born king famously used the devastating power of his outnumbered archers to destroy a huge French army in 1415."

Go lads, get 'em! "Cry 'God for Harry! NO WINDFARMS and Saint George!'"

"O for pity,--we shall much disgrace,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill dispos'd in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt."

The first Battle of Azincourt was, of course, famously fought on St. Crispian's Day, October 25, 1415, as part of the Hundred Years' War between the small army of King Henry V of England (Hurrah!) and that of Charles VI of France (Boo!), the latter under the command of The Constable, Charles d'Albret, and French noblemen of the Armagnac party.

Before the battle, Henry V gave a soul-stirring speech to rally his troops - a speech triumphantly adapted by Shakespeare in King Henry V (and somewhat less resoundingly by nearly every battle-theatre commander ever since). The English prevailed against the heavily-armoured French cavalry (Hats in the air!), which floundered in the cloying mud and which was scythed down under a hail of arrows (a bit like those from Legolas and the Elvish bowmen in 'The Lord of the Rings').

The battle was fought out in a little defile formed by the wood of Agincourt and that of Tramecourt.

But today, a second rash assault afflicts these quiet fields. So here, with consumate apologies to the Bard, I have re-written the wondrously dark speech made on the night before that first memorable battle.....

"Now entertain conjecture of a time
When whirring turbines and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From pile to pile, though the foul womb of night,
The hum of bladed beating's noisy sounds,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The sleepless thumping of each other's watch.
Blade answers blade, and through these, sharpened, slice
Birds, small and large, slash-slaughtered in a trice;
Turbine faces turbine, in high and boastful whines
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the land
The despoilers, accomplishing the towers,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation."

Thus, once more into the breach! It seems we must have "stomach for the fight" to halt these "four or five most vile and ragged foils" from ruining so famous a landscape. Again: "Cry 'God for Harry! NO WINDFARMS and Saint George!'"

Philip, stiffening his sinews (mainly with age, I fear!). Luncheon - "Hi! Falstaff? Bardolph?" "Oh dear! They're dead!"