I say, toy soldiers! What fun! What’s this fellow’s name?

Colonel Robert Kekewich? Who’s this chap? General Jan Kemp?. He seems to have a lot more horses, that doesn’t seem fair.

Oh I see, silly me, you are discussing the situation in Southern Africa and that snuff tin is the British Camp.

Mmm, yes I see, yes… Yes it is, somewhat. You know, it reminds me of a decision I had to make once. Did I ever tell you the time I was faced with the Complexing Conundrum?

Well, if we are going to talk tactics, then we need officers’ drinks. You, young sir at the bar, fetch us some gin and tonics, will you?

As you are well aware, I promised my mammy I would never fight for the English, but father insisted (with the exception of Caligula) that all us O’Donnells would do service. I did a year as a mercenary within the Royal Austrian Hungary Imperial Calvary. However, my tale does not stem from here, but a few years later, when I went to visit an old cavalry chum in his hometown of Montespertoli, Italy.

Our regiment had been a right mixed bag of potatoes, mainly made up of Saxons and Hungarians and a group of Italians, including my chum, Marco. He had joined the mercenary core to raise money to start his own vineyard. We kept in touch, and I promised one day I would come out and visit him. Roll on five years, and I happened to find myself in Florence – a day’s ride away – and I decided to pop in.

When I arrived, I was most shocked. Expecting to find a merry hamlet in the glorious Tuscany countryside and wine flowing freely, I instead found a dusty, soulless shell, and not a wine barrel in sight.

I seemed to attract hidden stares from behind closed blinds, which made one feel most awkward – like when you accidentally step in a puddle and have to put up with a wet shoe. I was nearly about to leave, when who should appear… not my friend Marco, but another from my regiment, a Bavarian fellow called Hermann.

After we exchanged hails and hellos, I enquired what he was doing here and why the place was so glum. He said two words which changed the taste in my mouth.

“Capitano Vittore.”

I had the displeasure of serving under him and he was a vile man. The kind who moments before parade, picks up a large handful of mud and wipes it all over your Shabraque.

Turns out he was now the Mayor – Vae Victis! No one was allowed to make any wine in the village except for him, and having tasting a bottle of the stuff, it was as foul as his nature. Next, he had taken everyone’s horses in the village and kept them locked up in a huge barn on his estate. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

He had resurrected Jus primae noctis, the right to take the virginity of the maidens of the estate. It was then Hermann revealed why he was here. Turns out the old Hun had fallen hopelessly in love with Marco’s daughter, Letizia. The Capitano had taken her to his villa and was keeping her locked up. It had nearly ruined Marco, and Hermann was on the point of breaking himself.

If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is a bully, and with all bullies, one must confront them straight on.

I went straight up to his villa, jumped over the wall and barged my way in. I found the Capitano, lying down eating grapes.

“I will not call you ‘sir’, for you do not deserve such a title. You have made my chums Marco and Hermann quite sad. I will not leave here until you learn your lesson and release Letizia into my custody.”

Do you know what he did then? He had the nerve to pass wind, and defiantly at that. Well, I made to walk straight past him so I could find Letizia, but before I got halfway across the room I was stopped by a sabre that flew past and embedded itself in the wall. I turned to see the Captain, now standing. He belched, then called, “En guard!”

For a whole hour it was clash, clash, clash, and our fight took us out onto the balcony. He had grabbed Letizia and was holding his sabre to her throat when he said:

“You have proved to me that you are my equal when it comes to the sabre, but are you my equal when it comes to the mind? You can continue to fight me for the girl, or you can rescue the villagers’ horses.”

There was a small fire pit on the balcony, and he kicked the lit contents over the edge, onto the roof of the barn. It caught instantly.

As you can see, it was quite a complexing conundrum. Would I put the happiness of my chums before an entire village?

Never let your heart rule your head, gentlemen. I rationalised that like most bullies he was full of codswallop, and would not harm the girl. He would, however, allow a stable of other people’s horses to burn, so I jumped down from the balcony and let the horses out.

It was quite a sight – the flames leaping high in the air and all the horses running down to the village. So much so, that this sign of freedom was enough to rally the entire village! Soon there was a mob at the gates and the Capitano Villa was being torn down brick by brick. Letizia, Hermann and Marco were all reunited and I stayed on for the wedding, which was a right hoot!

As for the Capitano? He was locked up in his cellars, and was not let out until he had drunk all of his foul wine. The last I heard of him, he had re-enlisted in the French Foreign Legion and was last seen on a slow boat to Indochina.

Now, let’s say we stop talking about the Boer crisis and have a proper game of toy soldiers.