I should have the option on here to just type and publish with the option of just using a default font and whatever other settings it may have. I should be able to copy and paste text exactly as it is without having to insert spaces and returns for that text. I guess I need to publish every day instead of periodically.
A Poem for Miss Lois
Grief is Love’s big sisterNo she’s never invited to
The birthday parties or
The barbecuesShe sits silently in the shadows
Watching Love enjoy the feastsShe draws back
Making herself small
Invisible to the celebrantsNever wanting anyone to be
Aware of her presence
She casts forlorn glances
At her beloveds as
They dance and laugh
Wishing these bright daysCould last forever
She, in the shadows
Love, in the midst
But then that day comes
Love turns abruptly and
Looks her way
Runs into her arms And weeps
Her beloveds sit dazed
She reaches out her long arms
Encircling them all
Absorbing the floods of tears
The furious beatings of Fists against her Scarred and fragile chest
“Let it all out,” she sighs
“There, there,” she whispers
Until finally spent
They lay in her arms
Until one by one
They regain their strength
They get up
And Love leads them gently
Back to their spaces…Grief is Love’s big sister!
I was awake before 7am this chilly Sunday morning. I know I was dreaming very vividly, but now I cannot recall what I was dreaming. But as soon as I was able to rouse myself, the question posed as my title was repeating in my mind. The person I was thinking of most strongly was Joe Rogers upon waking. How did he become so damaged? It was apparent to me in college that he was, but I seemed to have few clues as to why. I know that making a pass at him was further damage, but I know the damage was done long before me. It was clear as roommates that he wanted to separate and be on his own. I had pretty much accepted that and I was making plenty of friends I enjoyed. I really didn’t think of myself as damaged. I felt very free to be me except sexually. I knew I wasn’t “going there” as we say. I must say after all these many years, I am not certain what this subject of damage really means this morning. It is for certain, however, that I will be contemplating this until I have some insight into it.
One thing is for certain, no matter who you are, no matter your race, sex, religion (or lack thereof) or place of origin, we all enter this world helpless and incapable of living on our own. Quite frankly, race is a construct that we have created and it is never a pure science. We have names for every person’s race, but I am certain that this classification is of no use to humankind. We strain to classify one as Afro, African, Anglo, Hispanic, Eastern European, or Asian or any complex combination of these. But genetically speaking, we are all the same. Some humans have taken extreme positions about race that insult the thinking intelligent population. Assertions by white supremacists offend most of us but we have to be cognizant of the origins of such ideas. They have no basis in science or fact. Advanced people must acknowledge our essential sameness. I think almost all of us will agree this is true, no matter how we have been influenced throughout our American history. At some point in life, we have to awaken and cast off these notions. Certainly, we have geographical origins we recognize, and long histories of human development in these locations, languages, religious ideology, political ideology, et cetera. To be sure we have many cultural differences and we have developed highly sophisticated sciences to describe and understand the human race. Anthropology, sociology, psychology assist us in making generalities about humans. Broadly speaking, we have humanities that evaluate and analyze cultural facts subjectively and social sciences which analyze the relationships of humans within communities. It is no wonder that we develop attitudes concerning our differences since we have made such scientific studies of our kind.
Then there is our time period. The forties, the fifties, sixties, seventies and so on. And our most recent designations for generations. We have to be careful with this information. It can offer insight, but I would never want to lump someone into the “narrative” of a time period or generation. We must have a genuine interaction with people. And it something that is sorely missing in our day the way people have stopped conversation and substitute messaging and texting! Or reading from a post that someone has made. Many things need to be discussed!
I am making this post because of an event yesterday that was a bit unusual. I have been a contributor to the web site IMdb for quite a few years. On that site, I was looking back on all of my reviews that I had done over the years. I was astonished to notice the date for my first review:
sawznhamrs-1 30 October 2005
This film had me spellbound this evening. Thanks to Fox Movie Classics for showing it uninterrupted. John Voight, this cast of little known black actresses and most of all, the children, made this a worthy way to spend a Sunday evening. How wonderful to see the early work of this seasoned actor, as well as Paul Winfield’s excellent portrayal of Mad Billy. I can’t see why anyone would say that Hume Cronyn is miscast in the role as superintendent. Who would they have chosen? The shrill character actor, Charles Lane? Although his career is laudable, an actor such as Lane would have cheapened the role. Cronyn was an excellent choice for the part. I will count this film as a true treasure to hold in memory.
I scrambled to find my suicide note to see if the year was 2005. YES it was! So the day BEFORE I wrote my suicide note I wrote THIS review of Conrack. In reading the review it would seem that no notion was in my head of suicide, particularly the last sentence. Yet, on the next day, October 31 2005 I crashed into a deep depression and a complete sense of hopelessness. I knew in my heart and mind that day that after all I had been through, I had NO desire to live further. I have never in my life before or since been as resolute as I was about this. In fact, the few times I have ever spoken of the attempt, I have used the word RESOLUTE!
No one but me will ever understand exactly what I was going through!
Because of what took place the last night or two, I took anxiety med again last night because my sister and niece , Jill, shut me out. I can’t stand silence. Why we can’t just have a conversation on the phone is beyond me. Susan says, no more drama. Well MY life is not drama. Drama is something people and families manufacture over nothing. Oh yes, the resentment may be real, and squabbling is real. But it doesn’t have its basis as shared value, or shared experience good or bad. People are unhappy and don’t even know why. I know specifically what upsets me and why. I deal with things upfront and honestly. Other people huddle by themselves and wonder why they are not understood. At least I talked to Susan and she says she will talk to Jill.
They act like I am just fine by myself and they both know the pain got so bad I tried to kill myself 15 years ago. Then lived for many years after that serious resolute attempt still not wanting to live. I prayed to die when I was having my heart attack five years ago. But apparently all my friends and family think I am just fine alone. Some people who are NOT my family understand more about me than family. I love them, and especially our mother, but they don’t love her the same way I do. I never seem to be able to do anything about how things are. I reach out to whom I can and will listen and respond. I am so very thankful for them.
One favorite film of all time for me is Swedish with English subtitles, The Best Intentions (1992). The story of Ingmar Bergman’s parents lives. A group of us went to the Innwood in Dallas to see a movie, but it was sold out. We quickly decided on another and with subtitles I was not really in favor of it! Little did I know how I would love this film over the years and eventually obtained it on VHS. When it finally was available on DVD, I purchased that! I love to watch it in Winter when it is cold because much is in Winter.
Places in the Heart (1984) is another film I love and will be glad to view it almost any time. It is a timeless classic of 1930s Depression years in Texas, and a white woman’s struggle to continue farming cotton after she is widowed.
Tender Mercies (1983) has been one of the most haunting stories of Texas life ever. Horton Foot, the writer of the screenplay has soared in my admiration since this film’s debut.
These are just three all time favorites with a family as a theme. I will write about others soon!
I want to explain a few things that are more important to me than anything else on this earth. It has been challenging during the past 12-15 years caring for my mother. What you need to understand is the grateful heart I have for my mother because of how she protected Susan and me growing up. I don’t say (Cindy) in this because she could not be protected from things that had already happened to her. Just last year I broke down weeping, completely overcome, in describing these past years to my Aunt and Uncle in Austin when Susan and I visited. Through many tears and sobbing I described to them how I continued to drive to Kaufman and take care of my mother past a point of really being able.
But the WHY of why I did it is what I want to be crystal clear about. It goes to the time of our childhood and our father. Susan and I grew up never knowing what all really happened. Our father was abusive to us and our mother and we remember that. What we did not know was that he molested our Cindy. It damaged her in so many ways. But our mother protected me and Susan from knowing this. She felt at the time she was the only person in the world this ever happened to because in those years, such things were not known widely in society in small-town USA. We didn’t understand Cindy’s emotional issues as a teen. But our mother protected us from knowing and allowed Susan and me to have our near idyllic childhood.
This realization came with explaining my devotion of taking care of my mother to my aunt and uncle last year. I wept at the realization of how difficult it was for our mother protecting us by never revealing the complete truth.
It wasn’t until sometime after 1981 when our father Milton Land died that Susan and I learned all that had happened. I don’t recall exactly when it was that our Cindy finally revealed it to us, but we spent many hours talking and crying about it once we learned over the next several years. It took years for us to process this, and for years I asked my mother questions. My mother continued to have nightmares about his physical and emotional abuse up until even the most recent years. She had been essentially his hostage. He threatened to harm her parents if she told or tried to leave. She was trapped and alone. She knew if she told her father, Nolan Wiser, that he would in fact murder Milton Land. Cindy was Papa’s first grandchild and that baby was precious to him—to both grandparents of course.
At the time in 1981, our Cindy was the only one of us who went to Milton’s funeral. Yes, we were all grown, but she had a vested interest in seeing him dead. Yes, a sad thing for a person to feel that way, but in the end, we understood why. His physical and mental abuse had faded from Susan’s and my memory, but Cindy had memories she could never expunge from her mind and heart. One of the most painful memories she had was made known to us. Milton had held little Cynthia’s leg to the hot bathroom heater after a molestation to warn her that she was to never tell. It was a long grieving period to now know these things and the emotional cost they had. My mother wanted to protect Cindy all her life from it ever being known.
It took a great deal of courage for our mother to leave Milton. My last recollection of us together was of Milton snapping a broom handle and throwing the sharp broom at my mother, piercing the wall as she dodged. I was four, Susan was six, Cindy was eight. Our journey with our grandparents began on Grove Street in Kaufman under the water tower.
My mother cried herself to sleep, not knowing what a woman with three children with not even a school diploma would do to get by. She told one story to me of working at Duke and Ayers for a day, pretending to be busy, but she just couldn’t do that. She soon saw an ad in the Kaufman paper for an opening for an aid at the Kaufman Hospital evening shift. She jumped at the chance. My mother found she liked working with people this way. I’m sure she knew many of them in the hospital. It was a way of caring for people and my mother really took to it. Yes, it was menial work, emptying bedpans, changing sheets and cleaning up after patients. After a few years Dr. Shaw had seen what a worker she was and he needed help at the clinic. She worked a combination of the clinic and Friday night shift at the hospital in the ER. She excelled working in the ER. It was busy and she could hold up in a crisis. Such was the ER, even in Kaufman in the early 60s.
Our mother always held her head high when in the 1960s divorce was looked down upon. She was not just a pretty face. She was so strong.
So please understand our devotion to our mother. We were bonded at an early age with her through the abuse, and were bonded extra close to each other as kids. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
From PBS an American Experience: The Pilgrims
The story of William Bradford comes directly to us from his writings of the early history of America, from the time he grew up in England, to his time in Amsterdam and Leiden, Holland, to his journey aboard the Mayflower, concluding with the first thirty years of the Plymouth colony in America. The sounds of the New Testament echoed in the ear of William Bradford before he ever made the voyage. Bradford was keenly intelligent and aware of his part in the history of Plymouth colony. Pieced together over twenty years, the story developed with these passages from the New Testament as its strongest theme:
Hebrews 11: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it, the elders obtained a good report. Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear…. Abel…Enoch…Noah…Abraham… Sara… these all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek another country. And truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to return. But now they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he hath prepared for them a city.
William Bradford had read this account in the New Testament and envisioned such a kingdom on this Earth. He and the other separatists caught a vision of what could be. They wanted to see a new sort of life, unhampered by monarchy, and what they saw as Roman Catholic hierarchy that beset the Church of England. This tiny but determined group of people went forward with plans that would affect the world like no other. They would be the founders of a new nation, even in spite of the disunity of the passengers aboard the ship Mayflower– a speculative group in its broadest sense, sent to establish a profitable colony in America. Intertwined are the stories of the religious persecution and the voyage to become a profitable colony in the new world. The writings of William Bradford almost never survived intact, but for the effort of a few in later American history. We must digress to learn of William Bradford and Kings James I of England to understand the pilgrims of this journey, which was both physical and spiritual.
Bradford was born and baptized in Austerfield in 1590 in the county of Yorkshire, England. His family was neither wealthy nor among the poorest in his day. But by the time he was twelve, all his immediate family had died and he was left orphaned. Sent to live with his uncle Robert Bradford where he would work the fields, an illness took him away from the work day world of the fields and delivered him to months of intense study of the New Testament. His eyes were opened to the simplicity of the early church, which inspired him greatly. The world that he experienced around him was far from this vision of purity. Immoralities in the church, an overbearing monarch and a what he saw as a Roman Catholic inspired church hierarchy would engender in him the desire to see the church separate from the worldly forces that threatened it. Private religious meetings were banned. The king had ultimate authority over the church and its parishioners.
Protestantism had risen up particularly in the area where he lived and he sought connection with the people who he believed had the correct interpretation of scripture. Even at age 12, William Bradford saw elements in the church in his day that sharply contrasted with those in the early church. Among them were ministers who became spiritual leaders of Bradford’s–John Robinson who was leading some of these puritans. A friend invited Bradford to hear the Rev. Richard Clifton preach ten miles away. Clifton believed that the Church of England ought to eliminate all vestiges of Roman Catholic practices, and that this would result in a purer Christian church. Bradford was inspired by his preaching and continued to attend his sermons, even though he was forbidden by his uncles. During one meeting, Bradford met William Brewster, a bailiff and postmaster who lived at Scrooby manor, four miles from Austerfield. During frequent visits, Bradford borrowed books from him, and Brewster regaled him with stories of the efforts toward church reform taking place throughout England. King James I had enacted strict laws whereby parishioners would be fined for missing church. And if the fines didn’t work, they were sent to prison to reflect on their waywardness. Ultimately, the result could be banishment from the kingdom. This group decided that reform of the Church of England was hopeless and they would sever all ties. Their weekly meetings eventually attracted the attention of the Archbishop of York, and many members of the congregation were arrested in 1607. Brewster was found guilty of being “disobedient in matters of religion” and was fined. Some members were imprisoned and others were watched “night and day”, according to Bradford, by those loyal to the archbishop. Adding to their concerns, the Scrooby congregation learned that other dissenters in London had been imprisoned and left to starve. They decided in 1607 to leave England unlawfully for the Dutch Republic where religious freedom was permitted, and Bradford determined to go with them. The group encountered several major setbacks when trying to leave England, most notably their betrayal by an English sea captain who had agreed to carry them to the Netherlands, but instead turned them over to the authorities. Most of the congregation were imprisoned for a short time after this failed attempt, including Bradford. By the summer of 1608, however, they managed to escape England in small groups and emigrate to Amsterdam in the Dutch Republic
Nothing could be clearer. The monarch was the mediator between the Christian and God, even above the clergy. King James I was single minded in this persuasion. Even by 1603 Bradford had been convinced that complete separation from the Church of England was the only way for the church to purify itself. Even the meetings of these few became illegal and were not to be tolerated by the King. Looking over into Amsterdam, Holland, these puritans had seen what might be the place where they could worship and separate from the society that seemed so damning.
Their new home in the Dutch Republic was much more difficult than they had ever imagined: harsher climate, language barrier, the daunting work they had to take as newcomers in a new land. Since they were finally allowed to leave, King James considered them good riddance.
By this time, William Bradford was 18. From Amsterdam, they eventually made their way to Leiden where they felt they could worship as they chose but, as immigrants, took jobs that no one else wanted and worked long days, sometimes seven days a week weaving and making clothing. After ten years in Holland, it was clear that this was not the place they had hoped it would be. It was time to make a plan. Their children were becoming Dutch right before their eyes. The first attempt to escape to Holland in 1607 was disastrous. Word of the plan to escape reached authorities and the ship was seized and the group of people were arrested.
Even in Holland, they needed permission to leave. The group encountered numerous issues that would hinder their goal to make a new life in a new world. Bradford and his wife made the decision to leave their only son in Leiden, as well as the pastor and a large portion of the congregation. Eventually they obtained permission to emigrate to the new world. They would organize the journey with a legal charter. But how were they to finance the journey, who would lead them militarily? Many questions remained. Early in 1620 a broker from London, 35 year-old Thomas Westin, offered to arrange financing and obtain a ship to take them to the new World. The group venture was called The Fellowship of the Merchant Adventurers. In due time, they boarded the aging Speedwell, which was to rendezvous at Southampton with a ship called the Mayflower–which, by the way, was not a unique name–25 other English ships bore the name Mayflower in England at that time. The first plan was for both ships to make the journey to the new continent. August 5 1620 both ships set sail. The Speedwell proved to be an unworthy vessel and twice returning to the port delayed them further. As a last-ditch effort, members of the religious group on the Speedwell boarded the Mayflower– a group of 50 joined the other 52 persons the investors had secured to make the journey for the business venture. Some of the separatists were forced to return to their homes in Holland, including the son of William and Mae Bradford. They had married in Holland in a civil ceremony, which would symbolize a foundation of separation of church and state. The rest on board went ahead.
It was now September 6, 1620 as the 102 souls left for America. The Mayflower lay anchor at Plymouth, England, the name they would give the place where they landed in America. The passengers were already weary before the ship set sail, having been aboard for two months, and much of their provisions were depleted. The voyage would be fraught with cramped quarters, damage to the ship which had to be repaired enroute and the discomfort the church members felt with the ragtag group of strangers that the investors had insisted accompany them. But the plan came together. The journey would begin.
For all practical reasons it was really too late in the year to be making the journey, and, as a result, they encountered extra tempestuous seas. Its passengers were tossed violently about. At one point, an indentured servant named John Howland had gone out on deck to get fresh air when the ship lurched and tossed him overboard. He lay hold of one of the ropes attached to the ship. He hung on, and the crew aboard were able to hoist him back on the ship. We know that he would marry Elizabeth Tilley and have ten children, from whom nearly 2 million people in the new world would descend. Among their descendants we know were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Joseph Smith, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Humphrey Bogart, Chevy Chase and both George Bushes. It was a slow and arduous journey, with animals aboard, the birth of a child, sickness and even the death of two passengers.
When the Mayflower finally arrived November 9, 1620, rough seas forced them to land 200 miles north of their intended destination, a site which had been specified in their contract with the investment company. In fact, it seemed that all would be lost in shipwreck at their arrival because of choppy seas. But Captain Jones decided to save the ship rather than chance trying to sail to the original destination and was able to anchor in place. Some of the secular group were talking of going their own way once ashore because they had not reached the approved destination. However, the idea was raised to make a simple written compact to govern the group and the settlers signed on, making the Mayflower Compact, the very first document to bind a political group outside the bounds of monarchy. A search ensued for a place to settle. The first month they lived on the Mayflower as scouts rowed ashore to find fresh water and a suitable place to live. Since the Mayflower was unable to get close to shore the men ferried to shore in the freezing cold for at least a month. Myles Standish, William Bradford and a group of fourteen other explorers repeatedly scouted out the land and returned to the ship with loads of firewood.
In December, the bitter winter had iced over the deck of the Mayflower. William Bradford’s wife Dorothy fell overboard and drowned. There was no explanation of the event, whether she slipped on the ice, or whether she had borne all she could and jumped to her death. It was such a devastating loss that Bradford was unable ever to write about the despair of this event. It was the end of December before they finally began making their homes in the new world.
So many died the first winter, everyone remaining was in grief. They propped up the dead against trees so the natives would think they were guarding the settlement. They buried the other dead at night so as not to be seen by the natives, and even planted corn on the graves to disguise the losses. They were attacked one night in the dark. Clashing of weapons and arrows met with explosions of muskets. Much was the damage and death the immigrants experienced before cooperation was established with the Wampanoags, a loose confederacy made up of several Indian tribes. It became apparent that an alliance would serve both groups under the harsh conditions that first year. The immigrants would occupy some of the remaining homes of those who had died from the winter. Disease. Extreme cold. Attacks by the natives. The dead could not even all be buried, because none were left to bury them.
The first ‘thanksgiving,’ which we often praise as a great showy event, was never as we have envisioned it for generations. William Bradford did not even mention it in his diary. But we know the immigrants along with about 90 Indians joined together for a few days of celebration and the natives killed and brought deer to the gathering. They had been in such misery, had experienced such great losses, there was a sense of relief and gratefulness. Alliance, abundance and great loss formed the tapestry of our first thanksgiving story.
On April 5, 1621 the Mayflower set sail returning to England. Within a year, its Captain Jones died. Indeed, the Mayflower itself made few more journeys and eventually was sold for scrap, ever to be lost to history.
An entire year passed with no sign of any other Europeans. November 9, 1621 a ship was spotted and approached the colony. The arrival struck fear in the colonists immediately but it was a ship sent by Thomas Westin called the Fortune, with 35 additional recruits, who were, according to Bradford, not welcome. He described them as “profane and disorderly outsiders”. Along with the ship came a scathing letter from Thomas Westin for sending the Mayflower back empty. They struggled to stay alive, from warfare, economics and demographics. For eighteen months they struggled to accrue beaver skins and to ship back to the dismayed investors. When the Fortune attempted to return to the investors, the ship was pirated and all the cargo was lost. That made two years with no success by the colonists to pay down their debt.
Pressures rose from the rumors that the natives had plans to wipe out the entire colony once and for all. Leaders of the Pilgrims went on the pretense of making trade to these Indian chiefs, and murdered them with their knives, taking the severed head back to the colony placing it on a pike. It remained there for years as a grisly reminder to would be attackers.
Then, to their utter discouragement, Westin sent in two additional ships, loaded with immigrants who would be a competing colony and who had no desire for spiritual freedom, but only a stake in the investment. By 1623, other challenges ensued. The pilgrims had come for religious freedom, and everything had worked against their desires. Bradford could only report disappointment, time after time, in his journal.
By 1625 Bradford reports disunity and disappointment. In 1626 news came from Leiden that John Robinson had died the previous winter.
Finally, in 1626 Merchant Adventurers declared bankruptcy and disbanded the venture. The beaver skins had not initially been that valuable. In 1627 and 1628 prices grew for them back in the homeland. The colonists managed to trap many beaver skins to sell back to the homeland.
John Winthrop arrived in 1630. A thousand puritans were sent. Bradford and the puritans finally saw success economically. But spiritually, the vision of a unified group of Christians never materialized.
Bradford’s friends moved off, moved on, died away, as he wrote in his journal. The spiritual reality of what had happened with the pilgrims who searched for a new city was fortified in his mind. It became part of the story of America, but the story of the pilgrims remained at the center of it all. Bradford turned his remaining years toward learning Hebrew to attempt a closer understanding of his God.
After he died at 67 years of age, he was lamented as a father to them all. In the years to come, the world would be utterly changed. May 9, 1657 William Bradford died having outlived all his contemporaries. Within 15 years of his death, there were seventy thousand settlers, in 110 cities, and served as governor for 31 of the thirty seven years. And fewer than twenty thousand natives along the New England coast in half a dozen tribes. And perhaps less than a thousand Wampanoags.
King Phillip and his natives fought from 1675–1678 to put an end to the colonists’ stronghold. It was between this large group of natives and the New England colonists with their Indian allies. The war is named for Metacomet, the Wampanoag chief who adopted the name Philip because of the friendly relations that had been between his father Massasoit and the Mayflower pilgrims. Bradford’s journal was almost lost to history, but later found its way to a church in England. The story of this early sect in American history was finally returned to its origins in America and America adopted it as the founding story of all stories of the beginning of these United States.
Here is a passage of writing I have found on my ancestry search, which takes us back before the Revolutionary War.
“Frederick Burtz came to this country sometime around 1770, and settled first in Newberry District, of a section of Newberry and Lexington counties known as “Dutch Fork.” He was born about 1750 in Germany and came to this country as a Hessian soldier**. Like many Hessian troops, he liked the country and settled here after the Revolutionary War, living in South Carolina. He is buried in the Burtz Cemetery nearby Lauren, South Carolina, not in Cherokee County, Geogia as some have supposed.”
taken from findagrave webpage for his burial memorial.
**Hessians is the term given to the 18th-century German auxiliaries contracted for military service by the British government, which found it easier to borrow money to pay for their service than to recruit its own soldiers. They took their name from the German state of Hesse-Kassel. The British hired Hessian troops for combat duty in several eighteenth century conflicts, but they are most widely associated with combat operations in the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). About 30,000 German soldiers fought for the British during the American Revolutionary War, making up a quarter of the troops the British sent to America. They entered the British service as entire units, fighting under their own German flags, commanded by their usual officers, and wearing their existing uniforms. The largest contingent came from the state of Hesse, which supplied about 40% of the German troops who fought for the British. The large number of troops from Hesse-Kassel led to the use of the term Hessians to refer to all German troops fighting on the British side, a form of synecdoche. The others were rented from other small German states.
Taken from Wikipedia