Not content with poking fun at the Prussian army, in particular Field Marshal Moltke’s enthusiasm for train spotting, I have now decided to have a pop at the valiant French forces. Not in a malicious way though. And as you will see, this is, in a roundabout way, sort of linked to the earlier stuff about the Prussians’ use of trains for rapid deployment.

On a recent edition of Mastermind, a question arose about the Battle of the Marne, which took place in late August 1914. This was an attempt to prevent the German army from taking Paris. Ultimately, this objective failed, but the events on the Marne did at least delay Paris’s fate for a short time. The French fought alongside the British Expeditionary Force and casualties were high, as they apparently also were for the Germans.

Here’s what caught my attention though. At one stage the French 6th Army came close to defeat and were only saved by the use of Paris taxis to rush 6,000 reserve troops to the front line. Whatever the exact question was (intermittent dodgy memory, see? which is why I’m not a Mastermind contestant) the required answer was ‘taxis’.

Just think though, if the action had taken place in London and the British army had needed to hire a load of London’s famous black cabs. “Sorry guv, I can’t take you sarf of the river”, may well have been a common response and could easily have tipped the scales in favour of the Hun (although Londoners’ legendary patriotism might possibly have kicked in sooner rather than later).

London cabbies would have had lots to talk about though, for years afterwards. “You’ll never guess who I had in the back o’ my cab last week. Go on, ‘ave a guess! Give up? It was the King’s Own Light Infantry.”

Come to think of it, those cabbies would have ended up becoming unbearable. Perhaps it’s just as well it all happened over in France. I’d hate to think what the final fare was though, especially if a few of the more enterprising Gallic drivers decided to milk it a little, e.g., by going round via Dijon. “How much! And you want a tip as well? Zut alors!”

Sometimes the simplest technology can have a huge influence on how the human race develops. Take the humble tin can, for instance. Without the tin can we probably wouldn’t have had World War II (or ‘World War Eleven’ as I am given to calling it these days). As Saul David explained on his fascinating series Bullets, Boots and Bandages, when Wellington and his eighty thousand troops were fighting Napoleon’s forces in the Peninsular War, they had to carry thousand of bricks with them for the purposes of building small brick ovens so that they could cook their food; without adequate sustenance, the guys would have been in no state to fight anyone. The men were followed (presumably at some distance) by large herds of cows, slaughtered en route to provide beef for the soldiers. No vegetarian option on the menu back then, alas!

When the tin can was invented, this huge baggage train could be drastically reduced, thus making an army in theory much more mobile. Of course, we had to wait for the invention of aircraft in the 20th century before we (or the Americans) could send armed forces to trouble spots anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice. But the tin can was a big step towards freeing the military from having to spend weeks waiting for its luggage to arrive.

One thing did puzzle me, though, in the second episode of Bullets, Boots and Bandages. The invention of the train meant that troops could be deployed much faster. And the first time the railways were used for this was in the Franco-Prussian War (1870-1), and here’s what’s bothering me: Saul David gives the background to the conflict and spells out how the Prussian Field Marshall Moltke apparently spent one hell of a lot of time poring over train timetables before embarking his men on their way to France. Are you there yet? You see, what I’m wondering is why Moltke spent any time at all checking all that data, when he could just have marched up with his Prussian army and commandeered a few trains. I doubt anyone would have argued much with him, would they?

But no, Moltke presumably wanted to do it all properly and by the book. You can just imagine all those Prussian officers milling around the cancellation boards (chalked signs rather than electronic readouts in those days, I assume) and finding they couldn’t start their war yet because of leaves on the line at Baden-Baden. Just like a Monty Python sketch, isn’t it? At least they weren’t using dear old British Rail; otherwise, they’d likely have all deserted in protest at the stale sandwiches and lukewarm tea on the buffet car.