The Battle of Irthlingborough

How a small town in rural Northamptonshire took on Hollywood... and lost.

Citations and source material for my documentary film 'The Battle of Irthlingborough' which is available for viewing on YouTube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A7OHw4nq0vA

A Cinema Waterloo

The Evening Telegraph and Post. 12th June 1913.

A CINEMA WATERLOO

4000 Players Engaged

One of the army of actors engaged in the production before the cameras of the B. and C. Cinema Company of the “Battle of Waterloo” at Irthlingborough, (Northamptonshire) was seriously injured on Monday.

Four thousand players, 3000 cavalry horses, and 50 large cannon are being employed in this picture play, and it was during an incident in which ten horses fall into a river that the incident occurred, the unfortunate player falling into the water under the animals. He was conveyed to hospital in a serious condition.

IRTHLINGBOROUGH WAS ONCE BRITAIN'S "HOLLYWOOD"

Mercury and Herald. 26th February 1954

A Letter Mentioning Charles Weston

The Bioscope. 4th February 1915.

Napoleon Himself Again

Evening News. 10th June 1913.

NAPOLEON HIMSELF AGAIN.

RECONSTITUTING THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

By W. G. FAULKNER

“They’ve had three casualties.” The postman with the rubicund countenance laughed as he announced from his high seat on the mail-cart the latest news “from the front”. He had heard me ask the ticket collector at Wellingborough when the next train left for Irthlingborough, some five or six miles away, and catching me up on the road, for the train service was useless, he imparted the news to me – the stranger – guessing that no one would be going to Irthlingborough except to see the “battle of Waterloo” which had roused half the county to a pitch of excitement that made work impossible.

“Any killed?” I asked as he pulled up to continue his conversation.

“No, they haven’t killed anybody yet, but I shan’t be surprised if they do afore they’re done.”

* * * * *

I arrived on the scene of the action. “The cannon’s opening roar” had begun at seven in the morning, and the rattle of musketry had been going on all day. Trap and wagonette, “bus and cart, motor-’bus and motor-car were laden with people all going in the direction for which I was making. In the little town the schools were closed; the children would not attend. The workmen had laid down their tools, the factory wheels had stopped, the housewives had “put the key in the door,” and had left the house to take care of itself. Two factories in a neighbouring town had shut up to allow 800 employees to witness the battle.

“The battlefield” consisted of three meadows sloping sharply to a brook. Full of small ravines, bog holes and hummocks, it presented an ideal spot for a miniature battle. On the open plain which “crested” the French side, one of some 200 scenes had been taken that morning, when, although real deaths had occurred – deaths of half a dozen poor old horses which had been dropped in various parts of the field to give the necessary touch to a fine finish, the “fight” had ended in a repulse of the French.

Right round these meadows was a crowd from twenty to a hundred deep in places, keeping the ring by the aid of a few policemen, and some super soldiers of the French and British armies.

The generalissimo of the “battle” which will be fought all this week, was Mr. Weston, a noted American producer of battle pictures for the cinematograph. Armed with a megaphone he did great works.

American producers are strong in language, but waste no words. Some army officers watching operations greatly admired the way Mr. Weston gave his orders. Even the curate was so fascinated by the scenes of excitement and “carnage” that the lurid language of the producer did not move him from his point of vantage – very near the camera.

Hairbreadth ‘Scapes.

The day was a day of hairbreadth ‘scapes for some of us in the very centre of the fight. At one time a charge of a hundred lancers drove us to shelter, and we escaped the onrush by a few feet. At other times “shells” burst close to our feet.

The producer, a little man five feet nothing, with a big head under a plaid cloth cap, wearing breaches and gaiters, called out his instructions from a typewritten paper he had in his hand.

“Now then, boys, put some ginger into this. Get a move on. Let ‘em know you are there. You – turning to a mixed regiment of foot – git round that cannon. Look you here, you’ve got to fire at that cavalry which will charge right on you. Don’t you run away or you’ll run home for good.

“You boys that have got to die, mind you do, or I shan’t want you to-morrow. Now then, where’s that Union Jack? Stick it against that cannon. When I shout, “Fire,” you let go; let ‘em have it.

The infantry round about the cannon felt for their ammunition. “More ammunition,” shouted a soldier, “we ain’t got no cartridges.”

“Lie down you!” replies the producer. “Here, Bill, take round more cartridges and see that all have some. Don’t you waste them cartridges,” he shouts down the megaphone.

“Charge you there,” he shrieks through the megaphone. “Shout, and come full gallop.”

Rush of Cavalry.

And down the hill a hundred or more cavalrymen dashed pell-mell in the direction of the poor infantry round the gun. It was a fine sight, and the marvel to me and to all of us was that in the melee no one was hurt. The foot soldiers fired point blank right at the heads of the cavalrymen, whose charge was, by the aid of the guns, repelled. Then they rode back – the whole of the hundred.

It was now time for Napoleon to get a show. He had been careering in the background on a white charger, and he was very glad to come into the picture without the horse.

“Bring that state carriage down,” roared the producer through the megaphone. “Come on thar quick.” Down the hill came the Napoleonic state carriage, which once belonged to a City sheriff. Drawn by four prancing horses, it bowled along until it came to a piece of ground which slanted at a fearful angle. This safely negotiated by the Napoleonic coachma, the producer roared for Napoleon’s aides de camp. Down the field they came at full gallop.

“Get in Napoleon,” shouted the producer. “You know what you’ve got to do.” Napoleon turned –and he was a wonderful representation of “the Little Corporal” – put his right hand in his white waistcoat and bowed. He got in the carriage, but the horses refused to move. Supers pushed and shouted. “Come here, you aides,” shouted the producer, “ride alongside the carriage. We’ve got to get it up that hill to the troops if you’re all killed at the job.”

Napoleon Amazed.

At last the fearful journey began. Napoleon, seated inside, was clinging to the seat with a look of wonder as the carriage tore past the camera. On the crest his soldiers greeted him with cheers. A little bugler rushed about blowing a bugle furiously until his face became purple. A couple of haystacks near to the French caught fire and there was a terrible stampede, horse and foot getting mixed together.

Napoleon was followed by Wellington and his officers. They came to watch a Highland regiment holding a position. “Steady, boys,” shouted the producer. “Don’t fire until you see the man in the white jacket drop his handkerchief. You cavalry at the rear keep on the crest of that hill watching the scene here.” A few more directions, and an orderly gallops up with a dispatch. Just as he hands it to Wellington there is a roar of artillery and a crack of rifles. The orderly drops from his horse dead, his body rolling down the hill into a ravine. Wellington turns to go, followed by his officers. The position is too hot.

“That’s good, boys,” said the producer. “That’ll do for to-day.” Just as he said so a cannon placed on top of the hill, where it had been taken out of sight of the camera, broke from its position and dashed down the hill. Leaping over the crest it dropped into the ravine near to where Wellington had been but a minute or so before, and crashed, it seemed, to pieces. “Film it,” said the producer, and it was done.

Then the troops rode off the ground. Three hundred mounted men, a hundred or more of regular troops, dressed in Waterloo uniforms, passed up the main street of the little town. The people lining the streets cheered, the yards of the public houses emptied, in the process of draining every barrel dry – to see the strange sight.