What Oxford's forgotten war memorial tells us about the British Empire

This article is written by local historian and former school-teacher, Duncan Taylor, from Oxford. His new book, 'Lest We Remember: what Oxford’s war memorial tells us about the British Empire and why that matters', is available in local bookstores and online.

Like many people, I never really paid much attention to the often-overlooked pointy obelisk opposite the entrance to the Westgate Centre in the heart of Oxford. It doesn't seem like a very inviting spot to linger, surrounded by pigeons and other figures drawn to city centres. However, one November day, I came across preparations for the Remembrance service at the war memorial in St. Giles. I began to wonder why the monument in St. Giles is so well-maintained and serves as the centre for civic and religious remembrance, whereas the other memorial in Bonn Square is ignored and falling into disrepair. One seemed to be a monument to remembering, and the other, a monument to forgetting.

The Tirah Memorial

I decided to explore the history behind the extraordinarily tenacious memorial in Bonn Square. Erected at the height of the British Empire, it commemorates those from the Oxfordshire Light Infantry who died in military campaigns in 1897, the same year as Queen Victoria’s Jubilee. This is only 17 years before the outbreak of the 1914 war, a shorter gap than between the First and Second World Wars, both of which are commemorated at the St. Giles Memorial. All of these wars involved Britain fighting under the Empress or Emperor of India, were fought in and for the British Empire, and relied heavily on the use of foreign troops and funds. So why the difference in the respect they are afforded and in the public memory?

Plowden, Owen and Fielden of the Oxfordshire Light Infantry

The memorial was commissioned to mark the end of the Tirah Campaign on the north-west frontier of India, in what is now the border region between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The area is familiar from more recent wars, where Britain has a long history of military engagement. Though the campaign is now largely forgotten, it was of immense public interest at the time. One particular action prompted a flood of poems, commemorative pottery, musical compositions, theatrical tours, and even a sell-out tableau at Madame Tussauds.

Tirah Commemorative Pottery

However, while the storming of Dargai was presented as a triumph, it actually masked a disastrous campaign in which British troops were soundly beaten by guerrilla tactics for which they were unprepared and unable to counter. Moreover, it was a campaign that relied on the wholesale destruction of civilian villages, agriculture and water supplies to make any progress. Atrocities were committed by British Imperial forces, shocking one young reporter named Winston Churchill. Logistical support for the troops was disastrously organised, with both men and animals dying in large numbers from poor diet, cold, and water-borne diseases. The overwhelming majority of those named on the Tirah memorial died from disease in this way.

British Imperial Troops

Destroying an Afridi Village

This raises the broader question of why men from the Oxfordshire Light Infantry were sent across the world to fight in a notoriously inhospitable, treacherous, barren, and mountainous terrain. Then, as now, there was nothing intrinsic to Afghanistan to attract an occupying power. The answer, of course, was to defend India, which was enormously lucrative to Britain. Britain also relied on Indian troops to enforce its Empire worldwide.

Shinwari Children

Oxford too benefited from this militarised global engagement. Not just the University, local firms in the city and across Oxfordshire gained from the markets which opened up and were defended by men such as those commemorated on the memorial.

However, the monument doesn’t only commemorate those who died in the Tirah campaign. It is topped by a plaque for Major Thruston, who is recorded as "having been killed by mutineers in Uganda." This simple entry masks a fascinating and disturbing history that is well documented in archival sources and newspaper reports.

Major Thruston

Unlike the campaign on the Indian frontier, the military intervention in what is now Uganda was driven by popular opinion, despite opposition from a reluctant British government. Events such as a major exhibition in Oxford’s Town Hall encouraged missionary intervention in Africa, which was often intertwined with speculative commercial ventures that frequently required government bailouts.

Despite his background and nominative-deterministic name, Major Thruston came to despise British intervention in the region. As a fluent Arabic speaker, he became very close to the Sudanese troops under his command. His personal diaries, along with those of other British men operating in the harsh tropical climate, provide insight into a very different imperial world from that on the north-west frontier. These men were lonely, faced with almost impossible challenges, and endured enormous mental and physical suffering. Too often, however, they followed the same tactics of village destruction and agricultural devastation, committing atrocities to maintain or gain control over hostile territory. The global expansion of Europeans resulted in a devastating combination of geopolitical, local-political, and religious rivalries that had tragic consequences for all involved.

Sudanese Troops of the Ugandan Rifles 1897

The fate of the local kings of once-proud and prosperous independent nations is especially haunting, and the subsequent history of the Ugandan state, created by British authorities, bears witness to Major Thruston’s cynicism.

The defeated Kings Kabalega and Mwanga on their way to exile

It is hard to follow this history and not be astonished that it is not remembered, especially given the major monument to it in the centre of the city. Of course, the Tirah memorial commemorates a British Imperial campaign, and few today take the same pride in it as the city did in 1900. However, ignoring it—and by implication, the British Empire—in the hope it will be forgotten, is like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. In the twenty-first century, many of the descendants of the peoples the men of the Oxfordshire Light Infantry encountered are now part of the Oxford community. After 125 years, now would be a good time to reconsider how the memorial is framed and presented.