The morning of the Battle dawned authentically - cold, wet and rainy. Arriving at the site, I watched the troops forming up. With grey skies above, the troops were subdued, yet on alert. In the distance, drummer boys beating out a battle dirge could be heard.
Drawing closer to the field, I encountered that most
dangerous of combat conditions . . . . .
Crowds of rubberneckers with cameras! Alas, your intrepid reporter could not resign herself to being left four or five deep behind the crowd. It was imperative that I find higher ground and a better vantage point. But where? Where could one find a spot that would afford a birdseye view of the Battle?
Hmmmm, let me see . . . .
Gulp.
WWWD (What Would Wellington Do)?
Gulp.
Left with no choice in the matter (I could just hear His Grace's sneering tone should I chicken out at this juncture) I took my life in my hands (not exaggerating) and climbed to a precarious perch upon the Mound. In the rain. With thunder rolling.
