Tropical Brits

After several weeks taken up with household renovations and a few other real‑world distractions, the blog is very much back in business, and normal service is finally resumed. To start things off, here is the beginnings of a new collection of British infantry earmarked for the defence of Britain’s Far Eastern colonies during the 1941–42 period.

For those of us old enough to remember when 20mm reigned supreme in WWII wargaming, this week’s modest output may prompt a pang of 1990s nostalgia (but without the Oasis backing track), if only because it consists solely of figures from Dixon Miniatures, a name that will be instantly familiar to anyone who’s been knocking about the hobby for a while. My own introduction came courtesy of the original Rapid Fire! rulebook which features a half-page advert.

Dixon Miniatures are best known, of course, for their decidedly Marmite‑like 28mm figures, which I can only describe as gloriously animated gnomes armed with expressions that only a mother could love. But their 20mm figures are an altogether different kettle of fish. Anatomically well-proportioned, they are a testament to sculptor Trevor Dixon’s mastery of detail, with straps, bayonet frogs and assorted impedimenta hanging exactly where gravity and common sense suggest they should. Add faces of a quality that could plausibly give Tony Barton a run for his money — heresy though that notion may be in certain quarters — and one is left aghast that the range isn’t more popular.

Even more impressive than the sculpting is the casting quality. Despite the frankly venerable age of the moulds, the results are as crisp and clean as anything you’ll find in any scale, full stop. Flash is conspicuous by its absence. Besides Elhiem, I think these are probably the best cast figures out there in the 20mm market by a very comfortable margin.

The figures were actually finished as part of a large batch completed over the course of four consecutive days (three rather unhinged late-night five-hour sessions and a final bleary‑eyed two-hour brunchtime dash devoted to filling in the final highlights for the wooden and metallic batches), but they are the only ones who’ve actually made it onto bases so far. The rest are still loitering about while I crack on with the next batch of riflemen as I much rather wait until every last figure has been varnished before working out which pose should stand with which, the delayed gratification approach being considerably simpler than trying to pair them up halfway through and muttering rude words at myself later in regret.

Now you’d be entirely within your rights to think me a total muppet for painting this lot the exact same way I had done up the Simon’s Soldiers Australians especially after all the whinging I did about how the latter turned out. But I still had a surplus of Aly’s Brown Liquid knocking about, and I’ll be damned if I let that go to waste, it being undeniably immoral not to squeeze every last drop of value from the stuff, particularly given the extortionate prices Citadel charges for their washes. Besides, there’s a certain aesthetic cohesion to be maintained as I wanted a consistent look among my smaller Commonwealth figures so that they won’t look out of place among each other as part of the same formation. Whereas the larger ones from brands such as Britannia and Lancashire I intend to tackle using my customary block painting method — if I ever do get to them, that is!

Well, that’s the lot until next month. In the meantime, take good care and, as ever, KBO!

RTAF Hawk 75s

The export version of the famous P‑36, the Curtiss Hawk 75 is the aircraft most associated with the Royal Thai Air Force of 1941 even though the actual showstoppers of the Franco‑Thai War were the Mitsubishi Ki‑21s, a last-minute purchase which were flown with considerable flair despite being rushed into combat almost immediately after their arrival from Japan.

But I digress. Thailand in the 1930s was an impoverished agrarian country with no industrial base to speak of. So when it came time to buy fighter planes, thrift inevitably won out, and the Hawk 75 was procured in its most economical form, with a fixed undercarriage and unretractable landing gear.

I clearly have one kit too many for my Rapid Fire! refights, but it seemed only right to part with a bit of extra cash in support of the neighbourhood model shop, especially since their stock leans heavily toward 1/35 armour and therefore carries precious little that would normally trouble my wallet.

The Clear Prop kit is a small marvel of modern injection‑moulding, being entirely free of flash and fairly painless to put together. That said, I’ve rather let it down, however, having been in something of a rush and possessing only limited patience for glue-setting and paint-drying. Sharp‑eyed readers will note that I have made a complete mess of the white stripe on both planes, proving that I am nothing but a numpty when it comes to handling masking tape.

A bout of over‑enthusiastic spring cleaning meant I could lay hands on only one of the decal sheets originally supplied in the box. Happily, said neighbourhood model shop is amply supplied with offerings from aftermarket producer Siam Scale, which not only saved the project from an undignified halt but also had the agreeable side effect of giving me a choice of alternative markings. And while we are on the subject, it would be remiss not to mention that Thai tactical insignia of the period were steeped in legend and therefore magnificently cool, featuring characters from the Ramakian, the national epic in which a plucky human prince sets out to rescue his beloved from the clutches of a ten‑headed demon king, aided by an army of extremely violent apes. In this instance we’re treated to the monkey warriors Sukhreep and Champoowarat.

As might be expected, the decals were anything but cooperative, and I’ve duly made a complete dog’s breakfast of the rudder stripes.

The three-tone camouflage scheme comprises VMC US Tan Earth, VMC German Cam Dark Green, and VMC Refractive Green. Weathering was kept to a minimum, although, as usual, the drybrushing proved to be my undoing, veering wildly between far too much and not nearly enough. Still, from a sensible viewing distance, it all hangs together rather nicely, I think.

Vichy DCAs for Indochina

Those seeking défense contre-avions elements to shield their Pétainist forces from aerial harassment need look no further than Early War Miniatures, from whom all the 1/76 delights featured here were procured.

First up is a humble Hotchkiss Mle 1914 perched rather optimistically on an AA mount. Just the sort of thing to keep those pesky Thai Hawks at bay! Or maybe not? Still, it’s a fine piece of kit, and the set includes no fewer than five crew members, along with a veritable cornucopia of accessories: rifles, ammo boxes, and all manner of bits and bobs. All of which exceeds my requirements and would probably have been the cause for some fiscally-informed resentment had I needed more than one.

Truck-mounted anti-aircraft guns practically saved the day in the wake of the collapse of the main French counter-offensive against the Thais on January 16, 1941, with the regimental AA platoon of the all-white 11e Régiment d’Infanterie Coloniale being credited with shielding the French retreat from aerial harassment. Lieutenant de Pins’s chaps may have operated 20mm Oerlikon guns but the excellent kit by Early War Miniatures is based on a photograph of a Vietnamese regiment, so what we have here is a Hotchkiss 13.2mm Mle 1929 machine gun in a twin mount configuration instead. Strictly speaking, none of the softskins in Indochina sported camouflage schemes but I wanted this lorry to fit in with the rest of my Vichy motor pool, so creative license once again trumped historical accuracy with the help of VMC Buff and VPA Italian Tank Crew.

Rounding out today’s entry is the Hotchkiss 25mm Mle 1938. Though I have yet to come across evidence of its presence in Indochina, I thought a smidge of creative licence was hardly grounds for a public flogging given that we live in a world where Bolt Action players cheerfully pit US Marines against the Waffen SS without so much as a blush.

Now, it bears saying that I have a love-hate relationship with EWM insofar as their figures are concerned. From across the room they’re unimpeachable terrific, being nicely proportioned, with naturalistic poses that exude a certain grace. Look a little closer, though, and that impression wobbles. The detailing is more implied than precise, with belts that appear to have been feverishly carved rather than carefully sculpted. Naturally it’s during painting that the flaws take centre stage, and what should be a pleasant evening at the painting desk turns into a stern test of one’s resolve. That I managed to finish the truck crew at all is nothing short of miraculous,and credit where it’s due: all hail the two great global empires of cola, whose offerings were consumed with heroic dedication throughout the painting process. Even more improbably, both companies have recently unleashed limited‑edition flavours of genuine quality. Someone of a more spiritual bent might suspect that while the figures were doing their level best to test my endurance, the gods were making sure I wasn’t suffering without some small recompense. As for which of the two came out on top, well surely Pepsi’s Strawberries ’n’ Cream takes the biscuit. Without a doubt it’s the finest sugary tipple I’ve sampled since that utterly bonkers cheesecake‑in‑a‑bottle concoction Asahi released in the winter of ’24.

Far East Indians

The first batch of Indians for this year are done and dusted, at least for the moment, pending a sudden attack of “on second thought” that might yet see an extra layer of paint slapped onto the webbing. As it stands, they’ve turned out a shade darker than I’d envisaged, largely because Army Painter have quietly tweaked their infamous Strong Tone quickshade dip over the last fifteen years, nudging it into rather grimier, more burnt‑umber territory since I last cracked open a tin. This necessitated additional highlighting, an unwelcome chore that rather defeated the original purpose of this exercise in speed painting, which is to get the figures table-ready with roughly half the usual effort.

The original pot has sadly long since dried out, but a side‑by‑side comparison using figures painted all those many moons ago during that first foray at least reassures me that it’s the dip that’s changed, not my eyesight (and for the record, my 2011 email receipt confirms the figures on the left were painted with Strong Tone).

I’d earlier noted that the webbing felt a bit too dark for my taste. Being someone possessing little patience for hypotheticals, I naturally went straight in and tested highlights using VPA US Tanker Highlight on three of the figures. The outcome, I regret to report, only further muddled the issue.

And in case you were wondering, with the exception of two Early War Miniatures interlopers, these splendid figures hail from SHQ Miniatures, sculpted by Michael Percy at the very peak of his form. Naturally I don’t for a minute think I’ve done the figures justice, but the simple fact is that had I attempted to adhere to the Dallimore method they would still be sitting on the painting desk in a state of perpetual, well‑intentioned incompletion.

In an effort to get myself suitably fired up for the next batch of Indian figures, I treated myself to a copy of Alastair Shephard’s War in the Tenasserim, which covers the first few weeks of the Burma Campaign. It certainly proved to be an engaging read — if by engaging one means that it had me spluttering into my beer and muttering darkly to myself before I’d got halfway through.

With a title this good, it’s hard not to ask why the book wasn’t published by an established house like Pen & Sword or Helion. A cursory leaf through the book is sufficient to confirm one’s worst suspicions. The pages are bulked out with maps lifted without so much as a flicker of embarrassment from the finest study ever written on the Japanese invasion, Burma 1942 by Ian Lyall Grant and Kazuo Tamayama. However, a moment’s inspection of the foreword reveals that this wholesale borrowing was done with the blessing of General Grant, who coincidentally died the same year this hardback was published at the ripe old age of 104.

Sadly the maps are not the only cause for indignation. For one then discovers that Mr Shephard is a Japanese speaker who spent years teaching as an Associate Professor at Fukuoka University. A background that ought, at the very least, to have encouraged some engagement with the relevant primary sources. Yet one looks in vain for any sign of it. There is not a single citation of Japanese‑language material anywhere in the book. It’s not like such sources are hard to come by. Memoirs and regimental histories are quite plentiful, to say nothing of the multi-volume official history which were compiled with the help of commanders who were directly involved in the operation. Their complete absence here simply reflects a failure to do even the most the basic spade‑work.

And just when you think it can’t really get any worse, it’s soon very evident that the British side has been given the same superficial treatment. No war diaries are cited; Mr Shephard appears to have settled comfortably for the standard secondary sources and left it at that. This all fares rather poorly when you compare it to the Herculean efforts of Steve Rothwell, whose meticulous reconstruction of the 1942 campaign is not only richer in detail and rigour, but has the additional impertinence of being freely available online.

To be fair, Mr Shephard does have one card up his sleeve. Being married to a Burmese wife, he’s one of the very few writers on the subject who’s actually bothered to walk the ground where it all happened. His photographs of the battlefields are genuinely useful and, frankly, they’re the book’s one real saving grace. Or perhaps the chief one, assuming you’re feeling charitable enough to argue that the book manages to scrape together two good points rather than one.

This other redeeming feature of the book is of course a cracking two‑page spread devoted to David Rowland’s painting of the Battle of Sittang Bridge. It’s the very same image that adorns the cover of Burma 1942 and, yes, you can peer at it online via the artist’s website if you’re so inclined. That said, I’ve never had it under my nose quite like this before, and seeing it blown up to this size reveals all sorts of lovely detail.

As for the beer itself, should you be curious, it’s a perfectly inoffensive IPA that does what it claims and very little beyond that. There’s the obligatory bitterness, tucked away rather neatly behind a deceptively fruity nose (apparently derived from dragon fruit extract). It all works well enough, but not so well that you find yourself leaning over the bar insisting on a second pint. That said, the label is another matter entirely. A mecha enthusiastically thumping a kaiju is not the sort of thing to unnoticed, and it may well be sufficient to cultivate a devoted following among the weebs amongst us. Though you can safely count me out.

Thai cavalry

So here’s a post that’s taken four leisurely years to publish, all because I could never quite summon the mojo to finish painting four blasted cyclists. But we’ll get to that later.

Though they were nowhere near the sharp end of things on December 8, 1941, when Japan and Britain simultaneously invaded Thailand, cavalry battalions were a fixture of the Thai campaigns in Burma and Indochina. But since no one produces Thai cavalrymen for reasons of financial probity, I had to settle for the next best thing, namely their Polish counterparts.

To be clear, these are by no means dead ringers for the Thais. But being the sort who sleeps soundly despite my Cambodians brandishing Mausers rather than Berthiers (a target of some derision over at the French Bolt Action forum, if you can believe that), all I wanted were figures that would cast the right silhouettes at arm’s length. And these Poles in their Adrians and riding breeches ticked the box.

While the choice of FAA as the supplier of my stand-ins was a no-brainer, there nevertheless was a painting dilemma to overcome. Days of endless fretting and muttering ensued. In the end I chose to forsake historical accuracy and proceeded to paint the webbing straps canvas instead of leather so as to match my infantry figures, who would in any case double as dismounted troopers. It may not pass muster with the purists, but the approach is one that ensures visual coherence on the tabletop.

This was my first crack at painting horses, and I must say it was tremendous fun. Naturally it helped that I had to hand a number of paint triads cooked up by Mark Hargreaves, whose splendid books provided precisely the sort of step-by-step hand-holding a neophyte to all things equine such as myself needed.

Time for some gratuitous crowing. The battalion commander is a conversion I am thoroughly chuffed with, considering he constituted my first ever attempt at a headswap using the age-old technique of drilling and pinning. In fact, the success of the operation so emboldened me that I also had a go at repositioning his right arm, filling the gap with a small dollop of putty (another first). Most pleasing, though, is how dynamic yet dignified the resultant pose is, projecting a certain sangfroid thoroughly befitting a haughty Guards officer overseeing a firing line. In fact, I’m so besotted with the figure to the extent that I’ll probably duplicate the conversion when I get round to doing a tankette squadron as this particular officer would look just as good on a Harley as he does on horseback.

The heavy weapons squadron was created using the more static of the horse poses coupled with equipment loads obtained from the Chindit ranges of FAA Miniatures and Platoon 20. Luckily for me, both brands provide pack saddles featuring Vickers machine gun barrels. Talk about a readymade solution!

Right then, back to the culprits that held up this post. They’re meant to represent the battalion bicycle reconnaissance platoon. A touch of creative licence, I’ll admit, as the 1943 establishment contains only three bicycles, and those technically belonged to the supply platoon. Still, the 4th Cavalry Battalion did house such a unit during its deployment to the Cambodian border during the war with Vichy, which to my mind is enough of an excuse for their placement on the tabletop, even if it doesn’t quite make sense in Rapid Fire! terms. But you know, I’m not altogether sure whether it was worth the palaver, as the kits themselves were an absolute faff to assemble. The arms needed pinning, which devoured a huge chunk of time that would have been far more profitably spent at the pub. While FAA figures are generally beyond reproach when it comes to the quality of their casting and sculpting, cyclists are very clearly not their strong suit.

On the subject of inconveniences, I would be remiss in omitting mention of the varnishing mishap that nearly spoiled the completion of the horsemen. Thanks to a moment of inattention, I managed to spray the whole unit with gloss varnish, which then condemned me to spending the rest of the day trying to knock the shine back down again. A once-over with Mr Hobby Premium Topcoat Flat achieved precisely nothing, and repeated applications of AK Interactive Ultra Matte Finish merely succeeded in pushing the sheen into an unhelpful satin. But as fortune had it, a prolonged rummage through one of my hobby desk’s drawers unearthed a bottle of Ammo by MIG’s Ultra-Matt Lucky Varnish which for once did what it promised on the label.

In the end, what really nudged this project over the finish line was my unearthing of a few sample Thai figures Paul at Early War Miniatures had kindly gifted me some time during the pandemic lockdown. As the Elhiem range is bereft of kneeling riflemen, they struck me as just the ticket for dismounted cyclists. The basing takes its cue directly from the brilliant work of João Pedro Peixoto, Europe’s most ardent Rapid Fire! fan. I’d originally planned to use the Hät bicycles I’d picked up in Singapore, but they turned out to be absurdly soft and rubbery, so I ended up using two of the FAA one. These were basecoated in Vallejo Dark Sea Grey and given a drybrush of AK Sky Grey. The upholstery meanwhile was painted with Vallejo Game Colour Charred Brown and highlighted with AK Deep Brown.

At this stage you’d be forgiven for thinking it was all beer and skittles, job done, photos in the bag, medals all round. But no, the household spirits, capricious blighters that they are, had other ideas. No sooner had I finished the photo shoot than my brain piped up to remind me that the heavy weapons squadron is still missing its mountain gun, which I have evidently waylaid somewhere in the Basement of Doom. C’est la vie, as the posh folk say.

News from the front

I’m not generally one for publishing on-the-workbench updates, largely because they have an unfortunate habit of turning into archival evidence of enthusiasm vastly outpacing follow‑through. But on this occasion I did feel justified in bending my own rule as these shelf queens do actually fall into the rare and slightly miraculous category of things that are actually on the verge of completion. With the base colours all blocked in, all that remains is a coat of Army Painter’s infamous dip. The home straight this certainly is!

The blog has admittedly been rather quiet of late. A good deal of this is to be blamed on my splitting the week between a city‑centre condo and a house in the country. This traffic-induced arrangement may sound terribly civilised, but in practice it’s a wonderful way of ensuring that painting projects never quite find their rhythm. I have a deep‑seated aversion to carting paints and models back and forth, and matters aren’t helped by the need to pack everything away whenever it’s time to decamp. Add to that a regular regime of exercise classes and monthly bouts of international travel… well, you get the picture. But let us hope that this can of Army Painter Quickshade will be enough to launch a new streak of blogging. Onwards and upwards, as they say.

Australians for Malaya and the East Indies

The primary impetus for this post is to be found in the inspiring brushwork of Ryan Davies, whose Blackforce Aussies on display at The Wargamers’ Forum so impressed me that I couldn’t help but knock on his virtual door to meekly request his recipe for khaki drill. Being the absolute legend that he is, Mr Davies didn’t just scribble a quick note back. No, the man went full-on chef mode and whipped up a proper step-by-step video tutorial.

But wouldn’t you believe it, my own mettle took a bit of a tumble the moment I glimpsed behind the curtain at how the sausages are actually made. For Ryan had decided to give washes a try for the very first time in his painting career, claiming they’re a nifty shortcut to speed things up. There’s no denying it left me rather startled and dismayed. Washes for me occupy much the same place as thermal immersion circulators do for the steak enthusiasts among us — a marginally useful gimmick reserved for special occasions rather than an essential tool of the craft. I know Lard fanboy John Pilatos of Australia swears by their transformative magic, and it’s impossible to argue with the sheer artistry of his figures. But I remained steadfast in my preference for the straightforward elegance and hard contrasts of the classic three-layer Dallimore technique of block painting, so the project languished.

Fast forward three months when Mark Hargreaves’s latest painting guide landed on my doorstep here on Phahonyothin Road, having made a rather impressive four-day dash all the way from Caliver Books in Nottingham. The book itself is every bit as smashing as its predecessors, but goodness me was I in for a bit of a jolt. It seems Mr Hargreaves himself has fallen under the spell of washes, using them far more freely than ever before. Where once they were mostly reserved for headgear and puttees, his washes now cover the entire figure. Faced with this about-turn by our betters, what’s a chap to do but fall into line?

Right then, here we find ourselves with an oversized Rapid Fire! battalion of Aussies (sans 3-inch mortar and with a complement of machine guns drawn from the divisional pool) comprising figures from the AIF and 8th Army ranges by Simon’s Soldiers. The figures are the handiwork of Andrew Stevens, a woefully underappreciated sculptor who in my book stands shoulder to shoulder not only with Tony Barton but also those heavyweights of 28mm sculpting, Paul Hicks and the Perry brothers.

Andrew’s attention to detail is second none, and nowhere is this claim better justified than in the platoon leader (never mind the misaligned moulding), whose rank pips and revolver lanyard can be clearly made out. Truly, a master craftsman whose work deserves far more recognition among grown men who like to play with toy soldiers.

As you can see, Ryan’s palette is perfect for diggers in Malaya, especially when you compare his colours with the paintings done up by the official war artist attached to the 8th Australian Division, Murray Griffin.

I must confess I didn’t follow Ryan’s instructions to the letter. The helmets I painted VMC Olive Grey, the boots VMC Mahogany Brown, and the canteen VMC US Field Drab. But where I most veered off the golden path was my use of Aly’s Brown Liquid, a mythic concoction much-lauded by many a talented painter whose existence I only recently became aware of thanks to the discerning guidance of the Hargreaves tome.

One other tweak I’ve made is painting the puggarees to match the hats, a call drawn straight from photographic evidence. Doing so also provides me a neat way to keep my Aussies visually distinct from the Gurkhas and Burifs I intend to do further down the line.

Now, whether I’ve inadvertently flipped the colours of the divisional patch is a matter I shall graciously leave to the more pedantic among us who delight in the finer points of historical fidelity. For my part, I’ve followed the colour photograph snapped in Kuala Lumpur shown above and the relevant Osprey volume on the Australian Army which Ryan also referenced, both of which show the white-inside-black arrangement.

While we’re on the subject of historical accuracy, it’s worth noting that what sets these stout little chaps apart as members of the Australian Imperial Force — aside from the iconic slouch hats — is the colour of their footwear: brown, not the regulation black sported by the rest of the His Majesty’s forces. Does that mean I’d hesitate to field the helmeted lads in Burma and Hong Kong? Not a chance. Life’s too short, plus I’d wager half the anoraks who would take me to task for brown-booted Brits are likely the same people who paint their Japanese helmets and artillery equipment green (instead of brown).

So what do I make of the wash-centric process favoured by the Painting Panzers channel? Well, having put the method through its paces, I’m convinced the best course is to tread the iconoclast’s solitary trail in ignorance of today’s fads, because washes simply don’t cut the mustard for me. A timesaver and boon to efficiency they are not. Instead they introduce an additional chore into the otherwise straightforward business of block painting, the only alteration being a repetitive layering of the same colours before and after the wash itself. That notably prolific and gifted Yorkshireman, James Roach, was undoubtedly on the money when he asserted there simply isn’t a speed painting shortcut to producing figures of decent quality. Furthermore, I remain unconvinced by the final effect, as the figures strike me as having come out much muddier than if I had simply adhered to my customary approach. It seems, then, that the Emperor’s New Clothes syndrome is alive and well in this hobby after all.

Hobby Bounties of Singapore

I know it’s been yonks since I last posted that some of my readers might have very reasonably assumed I’d packed it in and taken up macramé. So consider this post a flare fired to let you know the blog’s still breathing. That said, this one’s a bit of a departure from the usual fare. Between household repairs induced by the monsoon season, a seemingly endless stream of visiting chums from foreign lands, and work trips abroad, hobby time has been thinner on the ground than I’d have preferred. So instead of workbench achievements I thought I’d offer a spot of tourism advice for the wargamer who likes their sightseeing with a side of sprues and potted paints.

The late, great Lee Kuan Yew was once dubbed by the British Foreign Secretary of his day as “the best bloody Englishman East of Suez”. The sentiment — if not the exact phrasing — applies rather neatly to Hobby Bounties in Singapore. Tucked away in a gloriously crumbling suburban mall that’s positively teeming with maid agencies and photocopy services lies a little gem of a model shop that’s delightfully out of step with its regional peers. While most places from Bangkok to Busan are drowning in Japanese and Eastern European kits, this one houses a veritable supply of Airfix, Hornby, and Dapol. And in place of the usual Spanish and Japanese acrylics, here Humbrol abounds.

Better yet, Hobby Bounties is a veritable treasure trove for the 20mm gamers amongst us: shelves groaning with 1/72 and 1/76 boxsets as far as the eye can see, replete with brands such as Waterloo 1815, Hat, and Pegasus Hobbies that you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in this corner of the globe.

And just when you think it couldn’t get any better, there it is, bold as brass: two boxfuls of oversized Valiant plastic figures from Colin Rumford himself.

But most impressive of all is the septuagenarian shopkeeper, Felix, who’s been manning the counter since probably before half the kits on display were even moulded. He might be getting on a bit, but by thunder, the man’s still got it. Name any Humbrol shade, and quicker than you can say “Grass Green,” he’ll rattle off the number like he’s reading it off the back of his hand. It’s less shopkeeping, more pub quiz sorcery says I.

Lest anyone assumes it’s been all quiet on the modelling front, I’ll have you know I’ve been quietly chipping away at one particular corner of the lead mound during odd snatches of free time and I’m pleased to report it’s now ready for a good flocking. And no, the ginger fizz isn’t getting my vote. Frankly, if something’s going to taste that gingerly, I’d rather it came warm, flat, and in a chipped enamel mug by the fire. You’ve been warned, chaps!

Barracks for Chain of Command

About five years back, I cobbled together a laser-cut HO scale kit of the Kantang train station in southern Thailand. At the time, I didn’t bother recording the paints I’d used, assuming with the confidence of a man who’s never heard of mission creep that it was a one-off affair. Job done, brushes down, pint poured.

Fast forward half a decade and, like a fool returning to the scene of the crime, I found myself acquiring a trio of railway waiting rooms from the same maker, Na.Crafts of Chiang Mai. Naturally this kicked off a frantic rummage through drawers, shelves, and the occasional biscuit tin in search of the original colour scheme.

By some small miracle (or perhaps just poor housekeeping), the original tube of Winsor & Newton Pale Olive Green was still with us, discovered languishing in the basement amidst the hoard of copper planters my mother had procured from a bewildering variety of antique markets across the Benelux countries. Being the only craft paint I’ve ever dared use on buildings, no faffing about with test blotches was required. The Vallejo Game Colour Scurvy Green took a little more time to identify, however, as I’ve got more greens from the Citadel-inspired range than is medically advisable. The roof I couldn’t quite figure out but settled on Vallejo Model Colour Orange Red which is a close enough match in real life if not the pictures.

Unlike the original building, I didn’t bother giving the new additions a wash. With that many blasted panels, it would have been a descent into madness. Moreover, the Vallejo Model Colour Orange Red has relatively low pigmentation, which meant that even after three coats, traces of the black undercoat still peeked through in places. As such, weathering was only confined to a bit of drybrushing. The Pale Olive Green was highlighted with AK Interactive Pale Sand while the Scurvy Green and Orange Red both were given a touch of AK Interactive Buff.

So now that we’ve gotten the modelling out of the way, it’s time to address what these station waiting rooms are actually for: they’re moonlighting as bungalows for a specific historical scenario I’ve cooked up, all in the name of giving Chain of Command a try.

While I have long been a dyed-in-the-wool Rapid Fire! man, I must admit to having long been intrigued by CoC’s distinctively clever mechanics. It has not helped that I am also an admirer of Mark Bretherton’s blog, which I religiously frequent for modelling instruction and inspiration. It would not be an exaggeration to claim that I’ve spent more time ogling his terrain than building my own. But Mssr. Bretherton’s after-action despatches also rank among the most detailed and engaging wargames battle reports I’ve come across. So clearly the man’s subliminal messaging has worked. Which is how I found myself setting aside time and assorted nibbles for a proper perusal of the rulebook.

But back to the buildings. Though they could easily serve on a tea plantation or in a whites-only sports club, they’re intended for initial use as barracks for Camp Vajiravhud in Nakhon Si Thammarat, where Thailand’s peninsular command continues to be headquartered since its founding on the eve of the Second World War. The site was attacked by the Japanese on the same rain-lashed morning of the Khota Bahru landings in Malaya, resulting in a scrum involving rifle-armed artillerymen, transport troops, and even staff officers that practically calls to be refought as a 1:1 game on the tabletop.

Naturally, all this amounts to a classic case of horse-before-cart syndrome, given that I’ve yet to possess any of the markers the rules actually call for. But you have to start somewhere!

Art Deco station

Though my terrain stash already included two train stations, neither is suitably Art Deco for Cambodia, which didn’t get its first railway line until the 1930s when the colony’s French overlords — never ones to let soggy paddies go untapped — decided it a good idea to boost rice exports by connecting the flood-prone, grain-rich plains in the west to the capital from which agricultural produce could be shipped downriver to Saigon year-round without heed of the monsoonal torrents. And as you would expect, no purveyor of 20mm wargames scenery has bothered producing such a piece. Thankfully a more than passable answer to my needs existed in the form of the Hornby Dublo D1 Through Station that Meccano Ltd. manufactured in the late 1950s. Even better is the fact that there’s an oversupply of this particular diecast gem on eBay, with one listing going for as low as £8.99. Most, however, sit within the £10-£25 bracket, which is still something of a steal considering that the price tag for the Sarissa mdf kit most 20mm gamers are likely to home in on is £17.

You would not believe it, but the condition of the piece shipped by my vendor of choice could only be described as mongrelly, with a preponderance of chipping that made my purchase less of a bargain than I had originally thought it was. Not that the exposed aluminium affected the repaint, which commenced with spurts of Mr Hobby surfacer spray followed by a basecoat of Vallejo Model Colour (VMC) Desert Yellow and a final dry brush of AK Interactive Buff. This sunny hue appears to have been favoured by the Cambodian railways up until about a decade ago when the country’s stations were endowed with a new blue and white scheme as part of their reopening. The rear overhang was painted with Vallejo Game Colour (VGC) Elfic Blue and dry brushed first with VMC Azure and then with AK Buff. The same paints were also employed for the doors. The platform was completed using VMC Stone Grey and a drybrush of AK Buff.

Being OO scale, it is perfect for 20mm use, as the pictures attest. It is also geographically versatile. I can also see it gracing tabletops depicting either Operation Torch and Italian East Africa.