I'm just back from an enjoyable BAAS conference in Nottingham, having given my talk on Robert Frost and the First World War.
Apparently, a skilled marksman could angle a 20kg rock through a tiny window at a distance of several hundred yards. You'd get a shock if it was your bedroom it landed in. The rock which I helped to launch travelled 200 metres down a field, threatening only rabbits. And unlike the one in the video above, mine wasn't on fire.
Are there any poems about trebuchets? There should be. If there aren't, I'll write one myself.