In the introduction to Lest We Forget, Tessa Dunlop writes: “Monuments and statues are inanimate, static entities that depend on their relationship with human beings for relevance and agency.” This statement goes to the heart of this brilliant book. Each monument is viewed through the perspective of an individual or group that has a personal connection to the memorial or the event it commemorates. This intimate approach to national monuments brings with it many fresh insights into ideas of war and peace as well as a better understanding of why so many monuments are contested.
Lest We Forget examines not only the memorials to specific individuals and conflicts but also the context in which they were erected. That the first great era of military monument-building belonged to the Victorians is no particular surprise; heroes from King Alfred to the Black Prince were pressed into service to reflect the glories of Empire. Every so often, though, a defiant underdog will pop up to represent the British love of a heroic freedom fighter – William Wallace, Owain Glyndwr and Simon de Montfort.
The book is set out chronologically and within that, there are themes that fit the broader historical narrative. We start with the Roman Conquest of Britain and the statue to Boudica and her Daughters at Westminster Bridge in London. Boudica, leader of the 60 – 61 AD revolt against the Romans feels an appropriate person to kick things off, but this is a rare commemoration of a woman in statuary. Although Mary, Queen of Scots gets a nod at the Langside Battle Monument (1568), Catherine of Aragon is written out of the story of Flodden Field (1513). Some four hundred years later, Florence Nightingale was the first named non-royal female to be granted a statue and it took another hundred years for Mary Seacole to receive recognition.
Also missing from British memorialisation until the twentieth century are statues to the “common soldier” as opposed to their military leaders. Whilst it might be assumed that Britain had to wait until the First World War for there to be a widespread and inclusive commemorative movement, Tessa Dunlop points out that this actually happened after the Boer War. However, that conflict’s complicated legacy has kept it a sideline in Britain’s history. The book is full of such fascinating details as these.
Conflict and memorials are never far apart. Even in the nineteenth century they could be a focus for public discontent. The Duke of Wellington’s statue in Hyde Park was defaced by mobs who objected to his political policies. One-time heroes of the Spanish Armada, Hawkins and Drake, now have legacies tainted by slavery. The contestation of much more modern memorials such as the Enniskillen War Memorial demonstrate just how much words as well as statues matter.
One of the great strengths of the book is the different types of memorialisation it examines, from the conventional statue to obelisks, cairns and the living landscape of the National Memorial Arboretum. There are many human stories here as well as stories in stone, and Tessa Dunlop weaves them into a compelling examination of war and peace with great skill and poignancy.
Nicola Cornick is a bestselling novelist and the author of .
