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It's dusk, 5th of December, 1647 in the Palace of Westminster outside the Houses of

of Parliament and a pretty wet and miserable one at that.

Now, it was the job of the London trained bands to keep things orderly around Westminster and keep out undesirable

a wit like Henry Martin might have suggested that would have meant most of the MPs, but look Henry and Martin wasn't about that evening.

The MPs had suffered a late night session the previous one, so few people were around as the new

city watch turned up to take up evening duty. When they arrived though, rather than

the expected trained band a militiaiaman waiting to be relieved, they found redcoats in their place, the redcoats of the new model army.

Now the trained bandsmen were a bit uncertain about what to do. I mean, the soldiers did their

best to make everything light-hearted telling them that look they could take the evening off

and leave everything up to them. But this definitely wasn't right. This was

their place that trained bands. What these soldiers doing here? They considered

kicking up a fuss. With impeccable timing, their commander appeared out of the

growing gloom, Philip Skippen. He was respected and admired by pretty much all the trained bands and the new model too.

Because there wasn't much he hadn't seen or done.

He'd been at the forefront of countless conflicts for Parliament and the ceramic of his reputation had been fired under fire if you see what I mean

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