CITY HISTORY

Bristol has got form for making a statement with its statues –and the moving of them. Just rewind back to before living memory, says Andrew Swift

On the evening of 23 March 1813, after attending a rally outside the Exchange to hear Henry ‘Orator’ Hunt make an impassioned plea for parliamentary reform, a group of men made their way to Portland Square, where they toppled a statue of King George III which had been unveiled to commemorate his golden jubilee three years earlier. Although one of the perpetrators was apprehended and sentenced to 12 months’ imprisonment, the statue was never restored and the matter seems to have quickly been forgotten about.

Although this was probably Bristol’s most ephemeral statue, others have had equally dramatic careers. Take the statue of William III. When Queen Square was laid siege to during the Reform Riots of 1831, and many of its buildings were destroyed, the authorities probably feared it would suffer a similar fate. Instead of destroying it, however, the rioters rebranded it to become an emblem of their cause, with one of them climbing up to plant a cap of liberty on William’s head. The authorities weren’t prepared to tempt fate a second time, however, and during the Second World War it was entrusted to the care of the Duke of Beaufort at Badminton, only returning to the square in 1948.

William got away lightly with only one move. The honour of Bristol’s most peripatetic statue must go to Neptune, first erected over the reservoir of Temple Conduit in Redcliffe in 1723. It was later moved three times to other locations in Redcliffe, before crossing the river and being set up at the head of St Augustine’s Reach in 1949. Fifty years later, when the Centre was pedestrianised, it was moved a little further north. Given all that shifting about, Neptune has survived remarkably well –something that can’t be said about Bristol’s medieval High Cross.

The High Cross stood in the heart of the medieval city, at the east end of Corn Street, and featured statues of King John, Henry III, Edward III and Edward IV. In 1663, statues of Henry VI, Elizabeth, James I and Charles I were added, but only 70 years later the High Cross was declared ‘a ruinous and superstitious relic’ and dismantled. Such was the outcry that a crowdfunding campaign was launched, and three years later, in 1736, it was re-erected on College Green. The Dean and Chapter of Bristol Cathedral were clearly unhappy with this arrangement, however, and in 1757 ordered its removal on grounds of public safety, claiming that improvements needed to be made to the area. The stones were moved to the cathedral for safe keeping, but two years later – to pre-empt calls for it to be reinstated once the improvements were complete – they were offered to Henry Hoare, who carted them off to his estate at Stourhead and re-erected them there. A poem published in Felix Farley’s Bristol Journal shortly afterwards summed up the indignation felt by many Bristolians:

Samuel Morley shortly before his move from Bristol Bridge Queen Victoria

Neptune, erected over the reservoir of Temple Conduit in Redcliffe in 1723. It was set up at the head of St Augustine’s Reach in 1949

Ye people of Bristol, deplore the sad loss Of the kings and the queens that once reigned in your Cross Your great men’s great wisdom you surely must pity Who’ve banished what all men admired from the city

That should have been the end of the story but, almost a century later, in 1850, a replica of the original cross was erected at the east end of College Green, thanks to another crowdfunding campaign. Unfortunately, this fell short of its target; not only did inferior stone have to be used, but the statues had to be dropped from the design. One statue was added five years later, but the other seven had to wait until 1888, when the replica cross was moved to the centre of College Green to make way for a statue of Queen Victoria.

There it remained until 1950, when Emanuel Harris, the architect of the new Council House (now City Hall), insisted that College Green should be lowered, the trees cut down and everything else that impeded the view of his building cleared out of the way. So it was that the replica High Cross and the statue of Queen Victoria were unceremoniously bundled off to a council yard on Redcliffe Wharf.

Three years later, after trying – and failing – to come up with an alternative site for Queen Victoria, the council bowed to public pressure and returned her to College Green, where, apart from being moved a few metres in 1994, she has remained ever since.

The replica cross was less fortunate. Repeated calls for it be reinstated were ignored, until it was finally revealed that, as it had been damaged beyond repair, this would be not be possible. At this point the Civic Society stepped in, salvaged what they could and reerected the top of the Cross in Berkeley Square, where it languishes today. As for the original High Cross, although it still stands by the lake at Stourhead, the statues were removed in 1981 to the Victoria & Albert Museum in London. Another statue whose lustre has faded somewhat is that of Samuel Morley, industrialist, philanthropist and Liberal MP for Bristol from 1868 to 1885. This originally stood at the north end of Bristol Bridge – probably the most prominent site in the city. When it was moved – to improve traffic flow – in 1921, the Western Daily Press lamented that ‘the statue of Samuel Morley no longer adorns Bristol Bridge, with extended hand and familiar smile to welcome visitors and citizens as they enter the city’. It was relocated to the Horsefair, moved again in 1954 when Broadmead was redeveloped, and finally, in 1997, stuck on a leafy traffic island in Lewin’s Mead with very little footfall.

After such banishment, it’s hardly surprising that most Bristolians have no idea who Morley was. So it comes as something of a surprise to read, on his plinth, that the statue was paid for by ‘more than 5,000 citizens of Bristol… to preserve for their children the face and form of one who was an example of justice, generosity and public spirit’. Of his many achievements, there is one that may strike a chord today, for Morley was an ardent abolitionist, and led the campaign to support Josiah Henson, an escaped American slave. Henson was the model for the central character in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and, when he published his autobiography (under the title Uncle Tom’s Story of his Life), he invited Morley to contribute to the introduction.

The fate of Samuel Morley’s statue may have been less dramatic than that of others, but, given the ringing endorsement he once received and the inclusive nature of his philanthropy, it seems a pity that it has been banished to such an unfrequented spot. ■

Replica High Cross on College Green