My favorite hammer has accumulated a few battle scars over the
years because it’s been well-used.
Do me a favor? Stop reading this and go find your favorite hammer. I can wait.
Got it? Good.
Now check the finish. Does it have any scuffs, mars, or dings? Does the rubber grip have any wear? How about the original paint on the head? That’s all factory new, right?
Nah, just kidding. If you’re anything like me, your favorite nail pounder shows some hard-earned mileage. My go-to hammer is an Estwing I bought some 25 or 30 years ago, best I can remember. As you can see, it’s been around the block, and I’m not even a professional builder using it to pound hundreds or thousands of nails per day. I’m arguably far short of a professional carpenter, managing to bash my fingers only several times per building session.
However, my hammer has driven enough nails to build a couple of docks, several wood decks, and even a few Bluebird houses. Come to think of it, it’s done its share of demolition too, and that’s always a crowd-pleaser. Old docks and decks had to be smashed and broken to make room for the new. A quality tool is tough enough to handle such work, as it should be.
The scars on my hammer present no accusation of intentional abuse, just lots of use. It’s discolored here and there showing a tiny remnant of the original label and typical dings and dents from an impact-filled life. Once useful for preventing slippage on nails, the checkering on the hammer face is mostly flattened from steel-on-steel collisions. The grip is worn smooth and offers little of the original shock resistance. These scuffs, marks and dings are battle scars, simply a byproduct of using it for the job it was designed for. If a hammer could have a purpose in life, this one would earn “well done, good and faithful servant” praise one day, even considering its not-very-skilled owner-operator.
Sadly, this Colt 1903 crosses the line from mileage scars to abuse.
Someone let rust do its nasty work.
Helicopter Gun Owners
I have friends, more than one, who treat their guns much like modern parents raise children, making valiant, though misguided, efforts to protect them from the hazards of their environment.
“No, honey, you can’t have a skateboard. They’re dangerous. Imagine what could happen if you fell off!”
“No, I can’t go to the range today. It’s raining, and I don’t want my guns to get wet. Besides, the magazines might get muddy.”
You know the routine. At the range, they meticulously open the original factory shipping box, carefully removing the pistol or revolver from the original non-corrosion sleeve. Thankfully, most don’t wear white gloves during the ritual. The magazine is stored in its foam cutout, or maybe under that impossible to re-shape cardboard storage area in less-expensive corrugated packaging. A clean towel is laid out on the range bench to protect against dust and scratches.
Once removed and displayed, the gun is cover-girl-ready. Even Rob Jones, our professional photographer extraordinaire, would be tempted to spare his alcohol wipes before setting up the cameras for a cover shoot. And they’ll stay that way because the slide or barrel will never abrade on the inside of a holster, and the magazines will never touch the ground. Heck, an unscrupulous owner could sell these guns as unfired for years after the original purchase.
This Springfield 1911 TRP is a well-loved and well-used tool for me and has the thumb and holster wear to show it. No “abuse” damage, just proper mileage.
This SIG P229 Legion has held up well through thousands of holster draws;
only the sights show mileage signs.
Safe Queens, Safe Dreams
Being somewhat libertarian, I don’t have any issues with safe queens. In fact, I have a couple myself. One is a Series 1 Colt Woodsman, bought by my grandfather in 1936. He rarely, if ever, shot it, so to this day, it remains in pristine condition. He did toss the original packaging, choosing to store this gem in a lightly oiled rag, but in all other respects, it looks fresh out of the box some 86 years after its birth date.
I don’t bring this on rainy days, nor do I use it with a holster or drop magazines on the ground. It’s the firearm equivalent of that classic restored car one only drives on sunny spring days. Then again, I don’t plan to use it for defensive purposes. And therein lies the rub. The Woodsman is not a tool; it’s an heirloom.
If one intends to buy a gun for defensive use, it darn well better develop some battle scars. I’m not talking about dents and gouges; I’m talking about “mileage” scars.
If your carry or home defense firearm doesn’t have any finish wear marks on high-traffic areas like safety levers, decockers and the like, it hasn’t been … used. If your carry gun doesn’t have some scuff or wear on the slide or sights from thousands of holster draws, it hasn’t been … used. These guns are safe dreams. One dreams of a satisfying cowboy movie ending should they ever be called for defensive duty.
Okay, there are some wear and tear exceptions. That Tenifer stuff on GLOCK slides seems as indestructible as Maxine Waters, and I know there are a couple of other equally wear-resistant finishes. But you get the idea.
Scars Have Stories
My worn hammer brings back memories every time I use it. Sore arms from 10 trillion nails the day before, but also happy times swinging in a half-submerged hammock under that new dock.
Guns with scars carry their own stories, hopefully, happy ones. Good times at the range. That time when an instructor humbled an overly cocky student (yours truly) by getting him so confuzzled, he was dropping full magazines in the mud. You know, good times.
Scars mark significant stops on the subway of life. It’s okay for your “tool” guns to have some.
He’s a national icon and hero to many a politician, but much of what people know about Winston Churchill’s life concerns his later years in politics.
In contrast, what follows is a look at Churchill’s earlier military service by historian and writer Jacob F Field, whose book ‘D-Day in Numbers’ featured in our coverage of D-Day 75.
This coincides with the publication of his new book, ‘The Eccentric Mr Churchill’, which you can get here.
Article by Jacob F Field
Winston Churchill’s long involvement with the British Army did not begin well.
His father had pushed him towards a military career because he believed he was not bright enough to study law. It took Winston three attempts to pass the entrance exam for Sandhurst and when he did pass, in August 1893, he did not get enough marks to qualify for training as an infantry officer, so was placed into the cavalry.
This irritated his father because cavalry cadets required an additional £200 of kit per year.
Luckily, as a result of other candidates dropping out, Winston was offered an infantry training place after all and he passed out with honours in December 1894, finishing eighth out of 150 classmates.
He was supposed to serve in the prestigious 60 Rifles but Winston was more attracted to the glamour of the cavalry, where promotions tended to be quicker and his small status would not be an issue. As such, Winston switched to 4 (Queen’s Own) Hussars, a socially elite regiment based in Aldershot.
However, Winston’s first taste of combat came not as a soldier, but as an observer, during the Cuban War of Independence.
In November, 1895, Winston travelled across the Atlantic, arriving in Havana via New York and Florida. He was given permission to join the Spanish forces. Officially a ‘guest’, he could only use his weapons in self-defence.
Winston spent seven weeks in Cuba, and experienced being under enemy fire for the first time, as well as witnessing a pitched battle.
(In fact, the US and Britain had a brief dispute over the Venezuelan border that year, before the US went to war with Spain in 1898, invading Cuba in the process).
The next trip abroad would be to India; in October 1896 Winston arrived at Bangalore, the new base for 4 Hussars.
He was largely restless and unhappy there; his official duties were undemanding, taking only three hours per day and usually completed by 10.30am. His main priorities appeared to be playing polo (he was part of the victorious team in the Inter-Regimental Polo Tournament in Hyderabad), reading, rose-gardening and collecting butterflies (sadly his terrier ate the sixty-five species he had gathered).
Winston was also unhappy about the officers’ mess, complaining it needed new carpet, cleaner tablecloths and better-quality cigarettes. His attitude annoyed many of his fellow officers, and culminated in him being squashed under a sofa in the mess (he escaped.)
Winston would experience some combat, but once again it was not as a soldier. This time it was in the North West Frontier Province, on the border between British India and Afghanistan.
The region was inhabited by Pashtun tribes who often rebelled against British forces. In July 1897 they attacked the British garrison in Malakand. A field force was dispatched to stamp out the uprising.
Winston managed to join the Bengal Infantry, which was part of the field force, but he was attached as a journalist. He spent six weeks with them, filing fifteen dispatches for the Daily Telegraph.
He came under fire ten times, and was mentioned in dispatches for bravery.
During this time Winston developed a taste for whisky; at the time it was out of fashion in England and on the few occasions he had tried it he had not enjoyed the smoky taste. However, it was the only drink available in Malakand so Winston learned to appreciate it by the end of the campaign, and it became his habitual beverage of choice.
In March, 1898, an Anglo-Egyptian army was sent out to defeat the Sudanese Mahdists, followers of the religious leader Muhammad Ahmad, who proclaimed himself the ‘Mahdi’, a messianic figure who would redeem Islam.
As Britain had not fought a major war in over decade, every soldier in the Empire wanted to join the expedition.
Winston was no different. From India, he requested a transfer to a regiment bound for Sudan, 21 Lancers.
This was approved by the War Office but rejected by Herbert Kitchener, the leader of the expedition.
Winston took leave to return home to lobby for the transfer, arriving in London in June. Friends and family spoke up for him, and even the prime minister supported his appeal.
Kitchener, the son of an Irish army officer, still refused, possibly because he resented the young aristocrat’s entitlement and social connections.
Winston finally forced his way into 21 Lancers when Sir Evelyn Wood, a high-ranking general in England who had authority over appointments to the regiment, named him as the replacement for an officer who died in Sudan that July. Winston was with his new regiment by August.
He had arranged to write reports for the Morning Post to finance the trip, as the War Office would not pay his expenses (as well as declining any liability if he was wounded or killed.)
On 2 September Winston took part in the decisive engagement of the war, the Battle of Omdurman.
Kitchener’s forces, though outnumbered two-to-one, were armed with modern artillery, rifles and machine guns. These new weapons cut through the Mahdist lines, killing thousands.
When they retreated, Kitchener sent 21 Lancers, including Winston, to pursue.
After the battle, wounded Mahdists were left to die or shot and bayoneted where they lay. This was approved by Kitchener, shocking Winston, who criticised the decision in print.
He returned to London in October before travelling back to India that December.
Shortly afterwards the British Army instituted a regulation forbidding serving officers from simultaneously working as war correspondents. This contributed to Winston resigning his commission so he could pursue writing, as well as politics.
Winston left India for the final time in March 1899; that July he stood as a Conservative candidate in the Oldham by-election but was unsuccessful.
In October, 1899, war erupted in South Africa between Britain and the independent Boer Republics of Orange Free State and Transvaal.
Winston would cover the conflict for the Morning Post but his journalistic enterprises were interrupted on 15 November, when his train was ambushed and derailed by the Boers. Winston was captured and held at a POW camp in Pretoria, the capital of Transvaal.
On 12 December, he scaled the walls and escaped, stowing away on a freight train.
Without any supplies, he disembarked at the mining town of Witbank to look for food. By this time he was wanted dead or alive and there was a £25 bounty on his head.
Fortunately, Winston came across the home of an English mine manager who agreed to feed and shelter him.
He was hidden first down a mine, then in an office, and, after six days, was placed aboard a train hidden in a consignment of wool bound for Portuguese East Africa (modern Mozambique), where he arrived on 21 December.
Winston then sailed to Durban and joined the South African Light Horse regiment as a lieutenant. He took part in the Relief of Ladysmith before joining in the capture of Pretoria.
After the fall of Pretoria, the war transitioned to a guerrilla conflict between Boer commandos and British and Commonwealth forces that went on until May 1902.
Meanwhile, Winston had left South Africa and on 20 July 1900 arrived home.
Reports of his escape had made him a national celebrity, helping him to be elected MP for Oldham that October.
Whilst pursuing his career as a politician and writer, Churchill decided to volunteer for a yeomanry regiment, and in January, 1902, Winston joined the Queen’s Own Oxfordshire Hussars (QOOH), as a captain. In 1905 Winston became a major in the regiment, and until 1913 commanded its Henley-on-Thames squadron.
In September, 1906, whilst still a junior minister, Winston travelled to Silesia (a region now mostly in Poland, but then part of Germany) and spent a week observing the manoeuvres of the German Imperial Army.
He stayed in Breslau (now Wrocław) and with other guests and officials and was taken by train out to the countryside to view the assembled ranks of 50,000 soldiers going through their exercises.
The evenings were spent at official banquets. Winston would even meet Kaiser Wilhelm II.
He reported that the Germans were very well-organised and disciplined, although he noted that Wilhelm had little conception of the power of modern weaponry.
The next year, Winston attended the manoeuvres of the French Army; he adored their bright uniforms and the pageantry of the occasion.
It made him a firm believer in the recently-established Entente Cordiale, an alliance that would hold steady throughout World War I, which broke out in 1914. By this time, Winston was First Lord of the Admiralty.
He still played close attention to his reserve regiment, the QOOH. Shortly after the war started he intervened to ensure they would be sent to serve on the Western Front.
The regular army did not hold them in high regard, nicknaming them the ‘Queer Objects On Horseback’ or ‘Agricultural Cavalry’.
Winston fell from power following the disaster of the Gallipoli Campaign, which he had been a major supporter of, he was forced out of the position in May 1915, and was demoted to being Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, a post with no real power or influence.
That November, Winston resigned from government and returned to the Army, hoping to play a role in the fighting.
In December, Winston went to the Western Front for one month of training with the Grenadier Guards infantry regiment.
By the new year he was a (temporary) lieutenant-colonel commanding 6 Royal Scots Fusiliers, an infantry regiment posted at Ploegsteert (known as ‘Plug Street’ by the British) in Flanders, a fairly quiet sector at the time.
He made sure he was well-provisioned, taking with him food boxes from Fortnum & Mason, corned beef, stilton, cream, ham, sardines, dried fruit, steak pie, peach brandy and other liqueurs. He also brought a gramophone to put in the officers’ mess, as well as a portable bath.
Winston’s first major initiative was a campaign of delousing, as well as encouraging sports days and singing while marching. He then focused on building and repairing the trenches his battalion was stationed at. He proved to be popular with his men; attentive to wounded soldiers but perhaps over-lenient on disciplinary matters.
In total, Winston made thirty-six forays into No Man’s Land, often placing himself at some risk. However, with little chance of a promotion or a transfer to a more active sector Winston returned home in March.
He eventually returned to government in July 1917, serving as Minister of Munitions (a post formerly held by then PM David Lloyd George) and playing an important role in securing victory for the Allies.
Winston would carry on serving as a reserve officer until 1924, when he resigned from the Territorial Army.
By this time, the QOOH had converted into an artillery force. For much of World War II they served in England and Northern Ireland, until in October 1944 Winston, by now Prime Minister, personally requested they be sent to fight in France.
He was the regiment’s Honorary Colonel until his death, and left instructions they be given a place of distinction in the procession at his state funeral, immediately in front of his coffin.
That procession would take place on January 30, 1965, six days after Winston’s death.
For more on ‘The Eccentric Mr Churchill’, including his time in the military, read Jacob F Field’s book.
The Queen’s Own Oxford Hussars were present at Churchill’s funeral parade, though they are most likely ahead of the camera in this footage
