Of further concern was the decrease in horsemen and the decline in the breeding of horses. A famous soldier of the time, Sir Edward Harwood, said of this: ‘And for horse, this kingdom is so deficient that it is a question whether or not the whole kingdom could make 2,000 good horse that might equal 2,000 French.’
For these reasons, Parliament refused to give way to Charles’s demands to wage war. In response, Charles dissolved Parliament a number of times in an attempt to get his way. Two disastrous wars with the Spanish and French followed, resulting in Charles again dissolving Parliament in 1629 in an attempt to centralise power.
However, eleven years later he would have to go crawling back. In the interim, religious disputes between Protestants and Catholics had continued to tear the kingdoms apart, and, when war erupted with Scotland, Charles had no choice but to recall Parliament in 1640 in order to fund the ongoing conflict. To his surprise, Parliament again refused to offer any support. Once more, his underfunded, undisciplined, inexperienced forces were humiliatingly defeated on the battlefield. Such was the sorry state of affairs that a band of Devonshire men had even murdered their lieutenant because they suspected him of being a Papist. In short, the English army was more an armed mob than a professional outfit.
Matters worsened for Charles in 1641 when Catholic forces revolted in Ireland. Once again he went to Parliament to ask for taxes to be raised and still he was refused. Relations were now so bad between them that Parliament had become concerned that, if they were to give Charles the funds he required to build an army, he might then use it against them. With this in mind, Parliament instead raised its own army to fight the Irish Catholics. For Charles, this was nothing more than an affront to his sovereignty.
Soon Parliament and the king were at loggerheads, which saw MP John Pym take the highly provocative measure of placing guards at Westminster. As plots of rebellion grew, the king marched to Parliament with a body of soldiers, intending to arrest five leading members of Parliamentary opposition. Yet the five MPs managed to escape, leading to the king’s authority being further damaged.
Sensing that civil war was now inevitable, the king fled to York, while his Catholic wife, Henrietta Maria, sailed to the Netherlands in order to buy arms and armour. Thus began the English Civil War, with both sides now having to improvise an army out of masses of untrained men.
When the king, through his Commission of Array, and Parliament, through its Militia Ordinance, summoned the trained bands to fight on their behalf many did not know which side to choose. Indeed, many had no interest in the war. One such family that was split on the matter was my very own. William Fiennes, Lord Saye, and his three younger sons sided with Parliament. Fiennes was even made Lord Lieutenant of Oxfordshire, with the power to call out and command militia, while his three boys went on to become Roundhead generals. All were subsequently present at the first real battle of the civil war in Edgehill, upon which they lost the family’s castle at Banbury days later in a crushing defeat. Yet, while they put their lives and fortunes on the line for Parliament, Fiennes’ eldest son, James, tended to side with the Cavaliers. Moreover, one of William Fiennes’ daughters even married into a Royalist family. One can only imagine the awkward conversations around the Fiennes dinner table at this point.
However, even when a trained band did choose a side, many often refused to march out of their county. Each regional association pictured itself in the mould of a self-contained unit rather than as part of a wider cause. When Sir William Waller discovered that his London-based units were refusing to campaign further afield, he wrote, ‘An army compounded of these men will never go through with your service, and till you have an army merely your own that you may command, it is in a manner impossible to do anything of importance.’
On the rare occasion they could be persuaded to fight beyond their counties, they were almost impossible to command, which moved Waller to say: ‘They are so mutinous and uncommendable, that there is no hope of their stay . . . Such men are only fit for the gallows and a hell hereafter.’
It was only the trained bands of London that could be relied upon and as such Parliament turned to them in every emergency. But, while discipline was always an issue, most in the bands seemed too accustomed to good food, and good beds, to endure too much hardship on any long campaign.
As the trained bands in general were unserviceable, each party attempted to raise an army by voluntary enlistment, urgently appealing for men and horses. Yet the zeal of their supposed supporters was insufficient to fill the ranks and both sides eventually had to resort to impressment.
With the men’s lack of discipline, little faith in their cause and haphazard pay, two years of indecisive fighting followed, and the conclusion of the war seemed no nearer. It appeared that each side could raise a body of troops strong enough to defeat its opponents in battle, but neither side could then keep them together to carry a campaign to a triumphant and decisive conclusion.
Yet, after routing the Royalists at the Battle of Marston Moor in 1644, Parliament’s vastly superior forces of 19,000 men, compared to the Royalists’ 10,000, now looked to finish things at Newbury. While Edward Montagu, 2nd Earl of Manchester, was in supreme command of Parliament’s forces, it was the commander of the cavalry whom the Royalists feared more than any other. His name was Oliver Cromwell, and, despite having no prior military experience before the war began, he had gained a reputation as a formidable commander, whose men were among the best trained and most disciplined in all of England.
Unlike many of his peers in the House of Commons, the middle-aged MP for Cambridge did not come from noble stock. Rather than relying on wealth or privilege, it was through sheer force of personality and fierce intelligence that saw Cromwell rise to serve in Parliament.
As was the case with many MPs, on the outbreak of war, Cromwell was charged with raising an army from his native East Anglia. Subsequently assembling a cavalry, Cromwell was more interested in the ability of his men, and their belief in the cause, than their social origins, stating: ‘I’d rather have a russet-coated captain that knows what he fights for than what you call a gentleman and nothing else.’
However, his religion also played a big role when selecting his men. Before serving as an MP, Cromwell had appeared to be washed up. Suffering from depression, and in poor financial circumstances, he subsequently underwent a religious conversion that was to propel him from middle-aged obscurity to national power. Inspired by his fierce Puritan beliefs, Cromwell ensured that his ranks were full of like-minded men. The Presbyterian minister Richard Baxter has said of this:
At his first entrance into the wars, being but a captain of horse, he had a special care to get religious men into his troop: These men were of greater understanding than common soldiers, and therefore were more apprehensive of the importance and consequence of the war; and making not money, but that which they took for the publick felicity, to be their end, they were the more engaged to be valiant; for he that maketh money his end, doth esteem his life above his pay, and therefore is like enough to save it by flight when danger comes . . .
While the Royalists might show devotion to their king, Cromwell believed his men would show far more loyalty, and determination, to their God. Yet such was his force of personality that many were more than happy to be led by Cromwell himself.
Just a few months previously, Cromwell’s cavalry had displayed its brilliance at the Battle of Marston Moor. While Royalist cavalry tended to pursue fleeing enemies off the battlefield, Cromwell’s cavalry did the opposite. Instead, they broke the enemy formation, quickly reformed, and were ready for their next target. Such tactics saw Cromwell destroy Prince Rupert’s infamous horse, and saw his men, now named the ‘Ironsides’, lauded throughout the land.
With far superior forces at Newbury, including Cromwell’s Ironsides, it looked to be an opportunity to deal the Royalists a decisive blow. However, what followed was a disaster. With ill-disciplined bands, and a chaotic command structure, Parliament
’s attempt to outflank the Royalists was a disjointed mess. Even Cromwell’s cavalry failed to live up to its reputation as it was uncharacteristically drawn into battle on boggy ground, where it quickly floundered. Matters weren’t helped either by the Earl of Manchester delaying his attack until it was too late, and then allowing King Charles to slip past them at night. Cromwell, frantic at this lost chance, set out in pursuit, but Manchester refused to support him with his infantry, claiming they were exhausted. Against all odds King Charles made it back to Oxford and was once again able to regroup, with the war set to rumble on.
Cromwell was furious at the Parliamentarians for failing to press home their significant advantage. He put the blame on a disorganised army and cowardly, unprofessional commanders, not least the Earl of Manchester, who had let the king and his army escape. This issue soon exploded. Never one to hold his tongue, Cromwell made serious accusations against Manchester, charging him with being less than enthusiastic in his conduct of the war, as he was a Presbyterian and therefore inclined to favour peace with King Charles.
With Cromwell and Manchester at each other’s throats, the Parliamentarian Eastern Association of counties announced that they could no longer meet the cost of maintaining their forces. This represented a disaster for Parliament since this band provided around half of its field force. Things could clearly not continue in this manner. After years of underinvestment, a full-scale review of Parliament’s forces was now urgently required.
Unsurprisingly, when Parliament convened on 9 December 1644, the ever-combative Cromwell had plenty to say on the subject, telling the Commons:
It is now a time to speak, or for ever hold the tongue. The important occasion now is no less than to save a nation out of a bleeding, nay almost dying condition, which the long continuance of this war hath already brought it into; so that without a more speedy, vigorous and effectual prosecution of the war – casting off all lingering proceedings like [those of] soldiers-of-fortune beyond sea, to spin out a war – we shall make the kingdom weary of us and hate the name of a Parliament.
He then proceeded to list all the issues, as he saw them, with the current Parliamentarian forces:
Enlargement upon the vices and corruptions which were gotten into the army, the profaneness and impiety and absence of all religion, the drinking and gaming, and all manner of licence and laziness; and said plainly that, till the whole army were now modelled and governed under a stricter discipline, they must not expect any notable success in anything they went about.
In his mind, it was clearly time for a reorganisation of the army and a change in its commanders. The MP Zouch Tate then put forward a controversial suggestion that would have far-reaching effects. He proposed that, ‘during the time of the war no member of either House shall have or execute any office or command, military or civil, granted or conferred by both or either of the Houses [Commons or Lords]’.
This was to be known as the ‘Self-denying Ordinance’. It prohibited anyone who was serving as an MP from also serving as a general in the army. This was highly controversial but soon the House of Commons, and the less receptive House of Lords, realised it had no choice but to totally reform its armed forces and embrace what was to be known as the ‘New Model Army’. My ancestor, William Fiennes, Lord Saye, was said to be particularly crucial in persuading the Lords to back the ordinance.
With the Self-denying Ordinance coming into effect, Members of Parliament reluctantly renounced their individual military commands, including the Earls of Manchester and Essex, as well as Oliver Cromwell himself. As for the army, several major changes were now implemented.
Raising funds was crucial if Parliament was to build a professional army. Therefore, a levy of £6,000 a month was issued on all the districts under the control of Parliament. This allowed all soldiers to be paid reasonably well by the standards of the time, and, perhaps of more importance, they were finally to be paid promptly. This helped to reinforce the sense of discipline vital to the army and to maintaining morale. Men knew that their pay was coming and this ensured they remained motivated and focused.
Central reorganisation also created the opportunity to resupply the army, providing troops with up-to-date equipment. For the first time, infantry regiments were uniformly equipped and all given adequate weapons and armour for the job. Alongside this, a single uniform of red jackets was introduced – the first time in English history that an army had shared one uniform. It was a step that also helped create an air of professionalism, although red was chosen because it was the cloth that could be obtained cheaply in large quantities.
In a further bid to ensure a unified and motivated front, the officer corps were mostly inclined towards Puritanism and adopted a rigid stance against the king. As with Cromwell’s Ironsides, this allowed them to present a united front and push the enemy hard.
Where armies had previously answered to a haphazard network of commanders, all now answered to one command structure, which itself was ultimately answerable to Parliament. And the man Parliament chose to lead its New Model Army was Sir Thomas Fairfax.
Commander of the Northern Association, Fairfax had not only fought an effective war for Parliament in the north, but he was also regarded as a competent officer of unquestionable loyalty. Indeed, as the son of Lord Fairfax, Sir Thomas was also a good political choice. The nobles in the House of Lords had grown increasingly concerned at their waning power over the military, but Sir Thomas was seen to be one of them. He was close enough to the peerage via his father, but by virtue of not being a member of the House of Commons he was also still eligible to lead the army. This satisfied both Houses.
As for the army, Fairfax was certainly someone the men under his command could respect. A fully trained soldier, who had served in the Dutch army, he was also a blunt-speaking Yorkshireman with no airs or graces. His men knew that he would stand shoulder to shoulder with them through the hottest assault, while they also trusted his ability to lead.
As Cromwell had urged, positions in the New Model Army were no longer to be filled by the power of privilege, social standing or wealth. Instead, they were to be filled by those who were best for the job. So, while Fairfax could pick any colonels and other regimental officers he desired, he still had to submit his proposals to both Houses for their approval. In any event, any officers felt to be inferior were now discharged. Amazingly, some corporals and sergeants, unable to find employment elsewhere, stayed on to serve as ordinary soldiers.
With the Houses approving his list of commanders, Fairfax now turned his attention to putting together his army. Yet, after recalling all the armies previously commanded by the likes of Essex, Manchester and Waller, the numbers were insufficient. An ordinance was subsequently introduced to impress 4,000 more men. This soon saw the New Model Army consist of 22,000 soldiers, comprising eleven regiments of cavalry, each of 600 men; twelve regiments of infantry, each of 1,200 men; and one regiment of 1,000 dragoons.
By the summer of 1645, with the New Model Army assembled, Fairfax saw his chance to put his troops to the test. King Charles had split his forces to try to recapture the north of England while also retaining the south. This meant the king’s defences around his base in Oxford would be depleted. For Fairfax, this was an opportunity too good to turn down.
The Parliamentarians besieged Oxford and the king’s army raced to its assistance in large numbers. Suddenly, Fairfax realised that he would be outnumbered if he did not act quickly. He required the help of Oliver Cromwell, but under the terms of the Self-denying Ordinance the MP was not allowed to serve, even though he had continued to fight in the interim. Despite this, Fairfax urgently wrote to Parliament and urged it to appoint Cromwell as temporary Lieutenant General of the Horse, stating:
The general esteem and affection which he hath both with the officers and soldiers of this whole army, his own personal worth and ability for the employment, his great care, diligence, courage and faithfulness in the services you have already employed him in, with the co
nstant presence and blessing of God that have accompanied him, make us look upon it as the duty we owe to you and the public, to make it our suit.
In the circumstances, Parliament agreed to make an exception. Cromwell was to serve under a series of three-month commissions, which could be extended or terminated if the House so wished.
At six o’clock on 13 June, as Fairfax called a council of war at his headquarters in Kislingbury, cries suddenly erupted: ‘Ironsides . . . Ironsides has come.’ Cromwell and 600 of his men had triumphantly arrived, having ridden with utmost haste out of the association counties. With Cromwell’s arrival, the battle plans now moved on apace. Drums were ordered to beat to assemble the infantry while trumpets called out for troopers to horse, with the whole army ready to move on the small market village of Naseby.
Meanwhile, King Charles had called a council of war of his own. There, a debate erupted with Prince Rupert about whether to engage the New Model Army or retreat to fight another day. The decision was eventually made to go into battle, particularly as the king reasoned that the New Model Army was raw and untested in the field against an army of the king’s experience. This was a once only opportunity to destroy it before it had a chance to grow.
Around five the following morning, Parliament’s forces reached Naseby, which was covered in a thick mist, making visibility poor. Despite this, across the field they could make out the Royalist army waiting for them on top of Dust Hill. Cromwell checked out the lie of the land for attack. He realised that his 3,500 cavalry, in their coats of buff leather, distinctive pot helmets, pistols and cutlass swords, were facing a patch of extremely wet and boggy land. Remembering Newbury, he recognised that this would be deadly to any charge. He also didn’t want to lead his men up Dust Hill to fight, as this would give the Royalists a significant advantage. Turning to Fairfax, he pointed to a piece of ground called Red Hill and said: ‘Let us, I beseech you, draw back to yonder hill, which will encourage the enemy to charge us, which they cannot do in that place without absolute ruin.’
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