One side of the soldier's stone face has been ravaged, the, cheek pockmarked, the nose devoured by time. Like a piece of fruit left too long in a ditch, gnawed by scavengers.

He knows about duty, Despite his wounds he stands at attention atop the cenotaph, as he has for eighty years, surveying the plains beyond the town, hollow gaze cast over Bridge Street towards the car park of the new shopping center; a land fit for heroes. . . . He and his pillar have become mossy; microscopic plants thrive in the etched names of the dead. . . . No wonder he is crumbling. It is a lot to ask of one man, to bear The strain of countless tragedies, bear witness to countless echoes of death.

But he is not alone: there is one like him in every English town. They are the nation's scars; a rash of gallant scabs spread across the land in 1919, a spate of determined healing. — Kate Morton, The House at Riverton (2006)



Westmacott's Nelson Monument

St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin, Ireland

Other locations

Last modified 1 March 2020