Why some want to give Wellington statue the boot (original) (raw)

IT began with an American visitor, full of indignation about the figure on the tall column in the town of Trim, Co Meath.

He had discovered, on approaching the monument, that the imperious likeness, 75 feet high in the sky, was that of Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, victor of Waterloo.

"I was greatly amazed," wrote the visitor, who described himself as an American student of Irish history.

In a letter to newspapers, he called on the Irish "to remove this reactionary figure and replace him with a son or daughter of your own country".

The ensuing spirited correspondence has illuminated our views of history and relations with the old colonial power.

The original protest was supported by a west Belfast woman who exclaimed: "As a northern nationalist I was appalled to see the imposing statue."

She questioned whether locals wanted "such a pompous bigot each day on their horizon".

Other letter writers rallied to defend the duke.

Local man Peter Clancy responded to the American: "As a native of Trim and a Catholic Irishman, it is insulting that he feels we should want the statue torn down."

During further exchanges it was pointed out that a far larger memorial to the duke stands in Dublin's Phoenix Park, embellished with bronze plaques cast from cannons captured at Waterloo.

Yet although this granite obelisk is, at 205ft tall, the largest in Europe, it excites little comment or controversy.

The statue of Nelson in O'Connell Street was dynamited in 1966, the damaged head later stolen by students. Yet the obelisk has not come under any attack, apart from the person who has scrawled "Tracy loves Joe" on one of its massive flanks.

Meanwhile, in the letter columns, the correspondents continued to attack and counter-attack: it was, as Wellington said of Waterloo, hard pounding.

Wellington was not a bigot, it was contended: he disapproved of the Orange Order and showed, for his day, considerable religious tolerance. But another complained that Ireland "is awash with colonial hangovers".

In British and European history, Wellington was a colossal figure, one of the greatest military commanders of all time and Prime Minister, revered in Britain as one of the greatest of all national heroes.

Yet although few emphasise it, and although he is regarded as a quintessentially British warrior, statesman and aristocrat, Wellington was an Irishman born and bred. This explains why he was placed up there in the sky in Trim.

The current debate is about his particular brand of Irishness. He was born in Ireland and raised on the family estate in Meath. He was for several years a councillor, assiduously attending meetings in Trim, where his signature can be seen on the Corporation minutes.

He was also MP for Trim in the Irish parliament, and later helped run the country as Chief Secretary. Before going to Eton he was educated in Trim and at Drogheda Grammar School, as well as attending a French military academy whose register described him as a "gentilhomme Irlandais".

Much later, as British Prime Minister, he pushed through Catholic emancipation, allowing Catholics to sit in the Westminster parliament.

Wellington's people had been in Ireland under a variety of names since 1226, when they arrived on "king's business".

But while many immigrants assimilated and inter-married, his ancestors had what Elizabeth Longford described as "six centuries of a strikingly homogenous past".

She explained in her magisterial Wellington biography: "Behind him stretched an embattled English race who had occupied an alien land, marrying strictly with their own kind and becoming not only a ruling caste but a ruling garrison."

While this helps explain why he is not acclaimed in Ireland, there is also a very specific and personal factor which is widely held against him.

When asked once about his Irishness he is said to have retorted: "Because a man is born in a stable that does not make him a horse."

Many have taken this as a calculated, contemptuous affront.

Back in Trim, local historian Tommy Murray said he thought Wellington meant the remark as a joke.

Tommy has lived only yards from the monument for all of his 70 years and sees it every time he steps outside his front door.

"It's a lovely monument. I think it has an affectionate place in most people's minds," he said.

But Caroline ni Loingsaigh of Sinn Fein would like to give Wellington the boot: "He did nothing really for Meath, he was a member of the aristocracy."

But her sentiments were an exception. More typical was a man who said: "I think it would be a shame and a disgrace to take it down. It's part of the town. I'm 32 years old - I grew up with him, wouldn't like to lose him."

An old lady waiting for a bus agreed: "I don't know much about it at all but I wouldn't like to see it go."

Trim, it seems, is generally content to go on living with the town's towering figure.

And Wellington himself stands aloof, his position on his elevated pedestal testimony to the view of him as an outsider, a man from Ireland but not wholly part of it.