The Battle of Fort Dan (French Indian War)

The Posties Rejects gathered in the Shed-o-War for only our second face-to-face game of the year. Illness has played havoc with everyone’s schedules, but (touch wood) we may finally be turning a corner. If Sunday’s game is anything to go by, it was well worth the wait.

Richard summed it up perfectly on his blog: “This was a very convivial occasion with lots of chat, mickey-taking and laughter amongst friends. Well done to Postie for his superbly rendered table. He always manages to produce a visual feast.” Hard to argue with that.

The game itself was a fictional encounter set somewhere in North America during the French and Indian War (1754–63). For those less familiar, this conflict saw Great Britain and France clash, alongside their respective Indigenous allies, and is generally considered part of the wider Seven Years’ War. Stuart (Postie), never one to think small, laid on a table worthy of the setting: a sprawling 6' by 12' battlefield packed with dense forest, a settler village, and a British log fort guarding a river crossing. And yes, there were trees. A lot of trees. Possibly enough to qualify as managed woodland.

Dan, Surjit, and I took command of the British forces, supported by Provincials and allied Indigenous troops. Opposing us were Richard, Ray, and Colin, leading the French and their own Indigenous allies. The scenario opened with a sizeable French force advancing along the main road, while additional elements—represented by blinds—moved unseen through the forests on either side. Our Provincials formed a thin but determined line across the road, buying time for a chaotic column of settlers, wagons, and livestock to make their escape towards the dubious safety of the fort.

We also had a unit of Rangers and another of Indigenous allies to deploy as blinds in the woods. In a moment of optimism (or tactical overconfidence), we placed both on our left flank. This would later prove… educational.

Along the road, the Provincials conducted a steady fighting withdrawal, delivering volleys before falling back, always keeping just ahead of the French advance. It soon became clear that not all the French blinds were empty. Colin’s troops appeared on the French left, while two units of Indigenous warriors emerged on their right—uncomfortably close to my concealed forces. When the blinds were lifted, it became apparent that I was slightly outnumbered.

At that point, discretion suggested retreat. Unfortunately, speed favoured the enemy, and withdrawal likely meant being run down anyway. So, in the finest tradition of questionable battlefield decisions, I chose aggression instead. Fortune favoured this moment—we had the initiative (a recurring theme throughout the game)—so I pushed forward and opened fire, hoping to thin their numbers before the inevitable melee.

Meanwhile, the main action on the road continued much as before: the Provincials trading space for time, picking off French troops while staying just beyond charge range. A cow did make a break for it into the woods—clearly unimpressed with the chain of command—but most of the civilians kept moving. Dan advanced two units of British regulars along either flank, and by turn five or six, they were nearing the fight, poised to significantly increase our firepower.

Back in the woods, things became… less orderly. My Rangers and Indigenous allies collided with Richard’s warriors in a brutal, swirling melee. Over three turns, both sides tore each other apart in close combat until, eventually, there was almost nothing left. The few survivors staggered away, leaving the forest eerily quiet once more.

The French still had one more move to make. Reinforcements arrived by canoe along the river. Four boats carrying indians equipped with ladders, clearly eyeing the fort as their objective. Unfortunately for them, they may have left it a little late (perhaps the upriver rapids proved more troublesome than expected). The British garrison, ever cautious, had kept a strong force inside the fort, ready to receive them.

At this point, the French commanders made the sensible call. Their advance along the road was closing in, but fresh British troops were arriving on both flanks, threatening to more than double the firepower facing them. With mounting casualties and objectives slipping out of reach, discretion won out over valour. The game was called, and we retired indoors for the far more pressing objective of tea.

Credit to the French players, they were hampered by some truly dreadful initiative rolls, winning it only once or twice all game. That allowed the British to dictate the tempo, maintaining the fighting withdrawal while steadily wearing them down. Dice can be cruel, and on this occasion, they were firmly wearing red coats.

Once again, Stuart delivered a beautifully presented game, rich in atmosphere, full of visual detail, and a joy to play on. And, as Richard noted, the day was as much about the company as the combat: plenty of laughter, terrible puns, and the usual good-natured mickey-taking. As is tradition, the battle ended not with recriminations but with handshakes, congratulations, and plans for the next encounter. Now, if we can just keep everyone healthy long enough to actually play it…

The Truth about Wargaming Scales

For many tabletop wargamers, 28mm has become the default scale, so familiar that it’s rarely questioned. But how did we get here, and what might we be missing by sticking to it? In today’s video, I take a deep dive into the evolution of miniature scales in wargaming, starting with my own early experiences painting true 25mm fantasy figures from classic ranges like Ral Partha and early Citadel. These slimmer, more delicately proportioned miniatures represent a very different era of the hobby. One where scale was less about spectacle and more about practicality, and where the focus was firmly on getting armies onto the table rather than individual figures stealing the spotlight.

From there, we trace the gradual shift toward 28mm and the rise of “heroic scale,” where exaggerated proportions made figures more visually striking and easier to paint. While this change helped define modern wargaming and undeniably made the hobby more visually appealing, it also subtly reshaped how games are played, often favouring smaller, more narrative-driven encounters over large-scale battles. In many ways, the scale itself began to influence the kinds of stories we tell on the tabletop.

But scale isn’t just about size, it’s about experience. Drawing on my time playing Epic-scale games in true 6mm (roughly 1/285–1/300), along with dozens of later historical 6mm games, I explore why smaller scales remain my personal favourite for mass battle gaming. At that level, the focus shifts away from individual figures and onto formations, manoeuvres, and battlefield tactics, offering a very different, and arguably more “historical”, feel. Instead of a skirmish, you get something that genuinely resembles a battle, with space to think, plan, and react at a higher level.

I also touch on more recent experiences with 10mm miniatures, particularly from Pendraken, which sit in an appealing middle ground between detail and spectacle. They offer enough visual character to satisfy the painter, while still allowing for battles that feel expansive and dynamic. And while I make a strong case for smaller scales in gameplay terms, I’m equally clear about the strengths of 28mm, especially when it comes to painting, where larger figures offer more room for creativity, experimentation, and expression. There’s a reason so many of us keep coming back to it, even if we occasionally wander off into smaller scales.

One of the key topics covered is the often confusing difference between wargaming scales and traditional model scales. While model makers use precise ratios like 1/72 or 1/285, wargamers tend to rely on approximate figure heights, and even then, we can’t quite agree whether that’s measured to the eye line or the top of the head. The result is a system that’s flexible, but not always consistent, and it’s something that has caused confusion for generations of hobbyists trying to mix ranges or understand what they’re actually buying.

In fact, it’s exactly that confusion that led me to create a dedicated scale guide on my blog many years ago, which has remained one of the most consistently visited pages ever since. If you’re curious, you can find it here. It compares wargaming scales alongside model-making and model railway standards, and judging by how often people still land on that page, it’s clear this is a topic that continues to puzzle hobbyists across all corners of the miniature world.

Ultimately, this isn’t about declaring a “best” scale. It’s about recognising that each scale offers a different way to experience the hobby. Whether you prefer the detail and character of 28mm, the sweeping scope of 6mm, or something in between, scale is less a hierarchy and more a toolbox, one that gives you the freedom to shape your games, your projects, and your enjoyment of the hobby in whatever way suits you best.

What do toy soldiers and tabletop wargaming really have in common?

In my latest video, I take a trip to the House on the Hill Toy Museum, home to one of the largest private toy collections in the world—and, crucially for us, an extraordinary display of toy soldiers spanning decades of history. From traditional lead figures to mass-produced plastics, the collection offers a fascinating glimpse into how generations before us experienced what we now call wargaming. For many tabletop wargamers, the journey into the hobby didn’t begin with rulebooks or organised games. It started with imagination. A handful of figures. A battlefield improvised from whatever was available. Romans fighting cowboys. WWII infantry clashing with medieval knights. It wasn’t historically accurate—but it was creative, immersive, and endlessly fun.

Walking through the museum, that sense of creativity is everywhere. The displays aren’t just about accuracy or completeness—they’re about storytelling. And that’s a powerful reminder that, even in today’s hobby with its focus on realism and detail, the core experience hasn’t really changed. We’re still telling stories. We’re still creating moments. We’re still playing.

The museum itself is more than just toy soldiers. It’s an “Aladdin’s cave” of nostalgia, featuring everything from pop culture exhibits like Star Wars to classic British television icons such as Only Fools and Horses and Doctor Who. It’s unpredictable, packed with personality, and full of surprises around every corner.

But for wargamers, the real value lies in what it represents. This is where the hobby began—not in carefully balanced systems or competitive play, but in imagination and playfulness. It’s a reminder that you don’t need perfect miniatures or terrain to enjoy wargaming. All you need is the willingness to create a story and see where it leads.

If you’re passionate about tabletop wargaming, historical miniatures, or the history of the hobby itself, this is a place well worth exploring. 

Is Wargaming a form of Experimental History?

Can tabletop wargaming really help us understand history, or are we simply creating the illusion of insight with dice and miniatures? This video explores the idea of wargaming as a form of “living history” and asks whether the hobby offers something that books alone cannot provide.

For many historical wargamers, the appeal of the hobby goes far beyond painting miniatures or playing games. It is about stepping into the role of a commander, facing the same kinds of decisions, uncertainties, and pressures that shaped real historical events. Unlike reading, which presents history as a structured narrative, wargaming allows us to interact with it. It turns history into a problem to be solved rather than a story to be absorbed. Through gameplay, we encounter friction, imperfect information, and the unpredictability that defined real battles, offering a different perspective on events we may already know well.

At the same time, this video takes a step back and questions whether we sometimes overstate the value of that experience. Wargaming relies on rules, abstractions, and models that simplify reality. While these systems can help us explore historical ideas, they can also create a false sense of understanding. It is easy to feel like we have “solved” a historical problem after a successful game, but real battles were shaped by factors far beyond what can be represented on the tabletop, including human emotion, political context, and logistical complexity.

The discussion also explores the limitations of focusing on battles alone. While wargaming can deepen our understanding of tactical and operational decisions, history itself is much broader, shaped by culture, economics, and long-term societal change. This raises an important question about how much wargaming can truly teach us about the past as a whole.

Ultimately, the video argues that wargaming is at its most powerful when combined with reading, research, and discussion. Rather than replacing traditional study, it enhances it by encouraging us to ask new questions and engage more actively with historical material. It is not about finding definitive answers, but about exploring possibilities and developing a deeper appreciation for the complexity of the past.