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Tankard Tales: Live in Ljubljana |
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Written by Matthew Hartley
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Sunday, 31 October 2010 00:00 |
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"The hearts of our despised, deceived, hundred-times-swindled
nation were overcome by bottomless despair and greatest sorrow"
Slovenec on 12.11.1920 in a commentary on the Treaty of Rapallo I write this Tale, as befits this blog’s title, on a Serbo-Croat keyboard in a bar in Slovenia’s capital, Ljubljana, with a flagon of mulled wine on one side and an unidentifiable, and certainly unpronounceable, local dish on the other. It has been raining for the last 36 hours, however the temperature has suddenly dropped below freezing and snow threatens to extend my stay, both in this hostelry and in the country.
Slovenia is the state at the extreme west of the former Yugoslavia, and borders both Austria and Italy. In many ways people, place and history are similar to Wales. Slovenia has been around for an awfully long time: the excellent Slovenian History exhibition in Ljubljana Castle acknowledges settlements from 200000 BC but suggests things really got going with the Celts around 500BC. General celtishness was soon subjugated by the arrival a century or so later of the Romans, the first of many, many oppressors of the good Slavonic folk. Indeed the litany of oppression includes pretty much every nation in the near vicinity with a few passing oppressors, such as the Turks, thrown in for good measure. As the exhibition , and quote from Slovenec, makes clear, “we was robbed” is a prevailing sentiment and it is only the restraining hand of the EU that prevents the Slovenes exacting a bloody and terrible revenge on all concerned (and particularly the Italians, who started the whole farrago and were also the last invaders of note thanks to Mussolini). An Englishman on a Friday night in Bridgend will note the same chippiness. The exhibition is in fact superbly good, with excellent, detailed displays with full English text. Moreover, and so unlike British museums, the authors of the text assume readers actually want to know some history rather than be entertained by “history lite”. Younger learners are catered for – and this is the first time I’ve seen this - with touch screen flash games at each section. Games included an oppressed Slovene factory worker running round a platform game repairing a rich capitalist’s factory and being rewarded with a half-eaten sausage; a Slovene patriot running around a town street maze defacing posters of Mussolini whilst being pursued by Italian soldiers; and Marshal Tito driving a car trying to collect the flags of the Yugoslav republics and avoid the flags of other nations! The vandalism game is begging to be converted into a tabletop game.
Physical historic military hardware is a bit thin on the ground in Ljubljana. A quick survey of those museums I found open revealed a Roman helmet, Turkish war hammer, a Hotchkiss MG, a WW2 rifle (can’t remember the make), and an AK47. I also discovered a 9cm breech loading rifled gun date stamped 1891 lurking forlorn and unsigned in a dark corner of the castle. There may of course be a whole military museum of goodies I have failed to discover, but if so, they are like the gun, well hidden.
Gaming has not been forgotten during my sojourn in foreign parts. Selectively Plagiarised Napoleonics (SPN for short) that I am co-writing with my friend Gavin with a successful day long playtest and a series of emails to iron out some definitions. As the name suggests, these rules borrow heavily from other sets and as such are unlikely to see the light of day as a commercial set themselves. As this set is put to bed, my thoughts are turning to Welcome to Helmand and my offerings for this website’s Advent Calendar. More anon.
Now, where’s that barman…Matthew Hartley
October 2010 |