Talavera Monument History

Tuesday, 2 October, 1990, started with a light breeze and sunshine over the quiet ceramic town of Talavera de la Reina, 115 kilometers west of Madrid. The newly opened motorway above the town now took all the traffic; a constant flow of heavy-laden lorries, coaches and cars travelling to and from southwestern Spain and even over the border into Portugal.

However, this was not going to be just another normal day for the people of Talavera. Even before the town clock struck eleven, a steady stream of locals had begun making their way up the country lane towards a landmark known as  `El Medellin’ the tallest of the hills around. Gossip had spread through the town that Spanish soldiers and others from European countries were coming, but  for what purpose?

As the locals got closer they saw soldiers not only in karki combat gear but also some in white uniforms with bi-corne hats from two hundred years ago; some in bright red with black bearskin headwear and even  some wearing Scottish kilts “Dios mio!”. Nothing like this had ever been seen here before.

The same book I took to Talavera 50 years ago

I had only arrived in Madrid three months before, April 1975, and had just finished my teaching course at the Inlingua school on Calle Arenal 24, when I decided to visit my first Peninsular War battlefield. By chance it coincided with the anniversary of Talavera, 28 July 1809. I took a train from Atocha station and by the time I reached my destination the sun was beating down.

 Any idea I may have had about heading straight out to the battle site was gone and I sheltered under a big, creaking fan in the RENFE station bar drinking red wine with a fizzy water called gaseosa. I read and reread my only Wellington book I had brought with me by an American and friend of the 8th Duke of Wellington, Jac Weller.

Like Weller who had toured Franco’s Spain in 1960, with a camper van and visited the battlefields which had hardly changed, I was doing the same 14 years later before housing development, motorways and construction work started to destroy these famous historical sites.

While sheltering against the sun in the comfort of the station bar, I thought of how both the poor British and Napoleon’s soldiers suffered from the heat on that bloody day in July a hundred and more years ago.

“Finito! Finito!” yelled the barman in a kind of friendly way as he clasped his hands together indicating he wanted to go home to sleep. It was getting dark and much cooler now as I paid and said “Adios” to the yawing barman. I crossed the railway bridge and with my backpack I made my way up the deserted country lane leading up to the highest hill around Medellin. I had already decided back in my Madrid pension that I would sleep on the battlefield just as Sir Arthur Wellesley had done along with his army. His victory here would earn him the title `Wellington’ (the nearest name the Government could find as close to his family name).

It was very dark as I unrolled my sleeping bag near the top of the Medellin, but before falling asleep I wondered what Napoleonic general would launch a night attack on this steep hill in pitch darkness and covered with brambles?  His name was Claude Victor, a close friend of the Emperor who had started his military career out as a drummer boy, rose through the ranks and became a Marshal of France in July 1807. His attack failed with a needless loss of men left dead and wounded on the slopes of the Medellin.

Marshal Claude Victor

 Marshal Victor ordered a second attack on the Medellin hill in the morning. When other officers objected he said pointing at the Medellin, “If our army cannot take that hill we should renounce war!” Well, there was a second attack and that failed too.

The original monument erected in July 1909

I slept that first night on the opposite side of the Medellin, woke up soon after dawn and sat by the old monument which had been erected on the 100th anniversary of the battle. I  found out later that it had initially been on the top of the Medellin exactly where Wellesley had directed the battle, but was moved in the late 1950s by the landowner who had his villa built along with a panoramic view. It is said he paid off the town’s mayor a lot of pesetas to get the monument moved without any opposition.

I mention this because in the 1990s, I was giving private English classes to a business director, Señor Blanco. During one conversation I just happened to mention the Talavera Monument, and he told me that the land owner’s youngest daughter later became his wife, and would I like to visit one day and have lunch there. A coincidence to what would happen in the future!

Every time I visited the battlefield, mostly on the weekends, I made a little pilgrimage to go and sit by the lonely, weather-worn monument. There I would read published memories from British soldiers who had fought at Talavera. Never did it enter my mind that one day in the future that a Spanish Minister and a British Ambassador would  ask me about a new Talavera monument and that this one would flash into my head.

Jac Weller’s rough sketch map I used in  1975

The River Tagus is on the left( where I once drenched myself to cool down). Fifty years ago Talavera was not a very pretty town, due mostly from the pollution caused by the heavy traffic having to pass through and traffic jams the narrow road caused. It was always a relief for me to be out of the place and into the fresh air and county-side  and on the battlefield.

Many times I would sit on the French held hill, the Cascajal and look opposite as Marshal Victor and the ‘Unwanted  King of Spain’, Napoleon’s elder brother Joseph did during the height of the battle. The white blocks in the centre indicate the main French attack which took place between 2pm & 3pm. Like the night and morning attacks they failed but at a terrible cost in British lives. The black and white markers are the Spanish forces

I am still amazed that I found myself around the battle sites of these unmarked now vegetable fields just using the map above. I only had a few  eye-witness accounts to guide me (now my library includes ninety plus first hand accounts). Sometimes I would sit in the shade on  the  British side and read a letter sent by a combatant home to his loved ones. Did I ever feel as if the dead were watching me? Yes, on a number of occasions, and I could sometimes picture the writer after the battle feeling elated at surviving. There was, however, a time which I experienced and hope never to experience ever again. It was down by the Portina stream which divided the two armies (which can be seen on the map above).

British and French soldiers share the Portina

An informal truce was agreed between the opposing armies during a lull in the fighting and they made their way down to the Portina stream to quench their thirst. There were even exchanges of French brandy in return for British tobacco and the odd shake of hands between the foes.

I mention this episode because on one cool Spring morning I was sitting up on the Casajal ridge and decided to wander down as far as the Portina with my metal-detector. As I got very close to the stream I stopped in my tracks and fear struck me. I have never been so frightened in my life. It was as if invisible people were all standing still and staring directly at me. The back of my hair was standing on end as I turned quickly around sensing that some presence was close behind me. Somehow I had the nerve to start edging back up the hill but still shaking.

As soon as I reached my backpack I took a swig of wine from my wineskin and stared back down at the Portina. All fear had gone, but whatever energy or spirits lingering down there which scared the life out of me, I made a promise to myself never to venture again down to the Portina, and I have kept it thirty years on.

Fast Forward to August 1988 and an alarming discovery.

The Battle of Talavera Friday, 28 July 1809

In this painting dated London 1812, General Sir Arthur Wellesley in blue on horseback with Staff officers, views the battle through his telescope from the top of the Medellin.

In the late summer of 1988, I took my then girlfriend/partner for a picnic on the Cascajal ridge. She was an accomplished photographer and I had hoped that she would take some first class photos of the battlefield with her very expensive camera, much better than my pocket-size kodak one. Once there I saw the massive roadworks underway to build a new motorway. As it was a Sunday there was no work in progress, but there were the giant yellow monster machines; bulldozers, giant earth removers and trucks all parked and waiting for Monday to continue their work.

I managed to get down to the side of the works and right there I saw a bone protruding from the soil. I had found one similar at another Peninsular War site and a friend back in Madrid told me it was part of a human leg and he had it dated at a clinic to more than 100 years old. I dug deeper with my entrenching tool and I found more human remains. This was a part of the communal graves dug to bury the dead after the battle. On the insistence of my ladyfriend I reburied the remains a safe distance away from the construction works and said a silent Irish soldier’s prayer which is “Oh God, come down and save me, but don’t send  your Son. This is no place for a child.”

Photo taken from the Cascajal, the bones were found  bottom left

The view is looking north west in the direction of Madrid, with the light sandy coloured at centre right is as far as the motorway had reached before tarmacing. This is the only photo I now have although at one time I had a dozen or more. Sadly, my moving home, stuff in and out of storage, all others have been lost.

I did return on numerous occasions but the one  mass burial site I did find  was no more. Now just part of the motorway. I did read eye-witness accounts of the days after the battle when the burial parties had the inevitable job of digging pits, collecting the dead from both sides and then simply dumping them into these makeshift graves to rest for eternity, or at least that was the belief then.

What was I to do to keep the  memories of the dead who had fought and died here? I did think of writing to the Archbishop of Toledo, after all, this was part of his diocese. I pictured him or a local priest coming, saying a blessing for the departed then away. Then it suddenly came to me! A letter to The Times of London. Their readers would enjoy a mention of the future Duke of Wellington fighting in Spain against Napoleon’s Legions. With that decided I sat down, wrote a letter and posted it from Madrid’s Central Post Office at Cibeles and then patiently waited for a reply.

________________________________________

A call from the British Embassy

In 1988, I was living in the elegant Salamanca neighbourhood of Madrid, but not in an elegant apartment, rather a rambling old-fashioned one storey flat which backed onto the courtyard of a convent. I remember this because I enjoyed listening to their Sunday morning choir service from my bedroom.

I loved that home except for one thing, the very old fashioned black telephone (even in the 1980s it looked old)  was down a long hallway on a little polished table by the main door. When it rang I would stop whatever I was doing and dash down the hallway praying I’d get there  before the ringing stopped. This morning Monday 15 August I sensed who it was, the British Embassy. I had bought Friday’s edition of The Times and read with great joy my letter and expected some sort of reaction from them.

“Good morning Mr Drake-Jones, Ambassador Lord Nicolas Gordon Lennox’s private secretary here. Would you be free to have lunch with him later this Wednesday? It is about your letter in The Times.”

“Oh yes, I’d love to have lunch with our Ambassador!”

“Splendid, 2pm then!”

I can’t remember the name of the restaurant but I did put a circle around Wednesday 17 August. Today just happened to be Monday 15 August, Napoleon’s birthday. What? Another coincidence!

Lord & Lady Nicolas Gordon Lennox

A smart green Rover car with diplomatic number plates was parked outside the restaurant and the chauffeur was standing on the pavement chatting to a hefty looking chap who could only have been the bodyguard. They both nodded and directed me inside. How do you address a Lord and also the Ambassador? Well, his Lordship soon put me at ease, insisting I call him “Nicky”. I told him that I prefer to be called Stephen.

“Well Stephen, you’ve caused a right old stink with the Spaniards!”

“That was my intention Nicky.” I replied, trying to look serious.

This luncheon took place 36 years ago as I write this, so I must paraphrase. The conversation was all about Talavera, Nicky’s love of the Peninsular  War and of course Wellington.

“Well Stephen, you’ve started something so how do we go from here?”  I didn’t know how to go as I didn’t have a plan only to bring attention through The Times of the plight of the disturbed remains now under a motorway. Shortly after our meeting I was invited to the Ambassador’s residence, a long taxi ride outside the capital which I had to pay for both there and back to the centre. That was the first time I met his wife. She was standing by a polished Georgian dining table and we shook hands and again I was unsure how to address a titled woman. Should I say My Lady? She gave me a broad smile and said, “I have heard so much about you Stephen! I’m Mary.”

Letter from our Ambassador to me in 1988

Spanish Ministry of Defense, Madrid

Another luncheon, but this time at the Spanish Ministry of Defense. I met our Ambassador at the Embassy and we drove up the Castellana in the Rover. I sat in the back with him while our driver kept looking in the rear-view mirror and our security man sitting in the front passenger seat kept passing on codes with his walkie-talkie. This was a time when the Basque ETA terrorists were coming to Madrid to bomb and assassinate chosen targets which just might include those traveling in a diplomatic car up the Castellana right now.

“Nicky” briefed me on the way up as to who would be at the meal and that the “Stink” I had caused had embarrassed the Ministry of Defense who had in turn blamed the Army for not telling them about the battle of Talavera. The Minister of Public Works would be at the lunch as well, although in no way blamed for the Talavera burial desecration.

As we neared the imposing grey ministry building our bodyguard blurted out a series of numbers and seconds later the steel bars of the gate slid open and immediately after we passed into the open court-yard they were closed again and armed guards quickly back at their posts.

I clearly remember that as I got out of the car I was feeling a little queasy, and thinking why did I write that letter to The Times? Here I am, a possible ETA target, and now going to have a luncheon with Spanish Government officials pissed off with me for making them look incompetent and foolish!

President Felipe Gonzalez & Minister of Defense Narcis Serra

The dining room at the Ministry of Defense was on the top floor and could have been easily mistaken for a 5 Folk Restaurant for its splendor. A very large round table, seating for maybe a dozen and waiters in white jackets and dark navy blue trousers all standing to attention as we entered.

Our Ambassador said that in his capacity as representing Britain he  would answer all questions, and that I was to reply only to questions about the battlefield, or more precisely what is left of it.

Seated were officials in dark suits, two in uniform “Nicky” as smart as ever and myself with blue blazar and wearing my Yorkshire Regiment tie. Narcis Serra was clearly in charge as he started the proceedings during the first course. He turned to one person at the table and said something in Catalan then back to speaking in Spanish. The conversation moved from how to address the error, to the costs of making a picnic area by the lower part of the Medellin, Then Serra pointed his fork in my direction and said in perfect English, “Mr. Stephens what do you propose?” I quickly thought of that little old monument which I had often sat next to on my visits, and said in a commanding voice which surprised me, “Well, I think that we should have three new monuments built representing the nations that fought there; Spain, France and Britain”. 

My simple answer to the Minister turned into something more than I could have ever have envisaged in my wildest dreams!

Artist’s impression of the Talavera Monument

I got a phone call from the Ministry of Defense to come and enter by the side of the building. They wanted me to see the planned drawing of the Talavera Monument. I went and was  led to a long room with low hanging lamps. There I shook hands with a draftsman who unrolled a wall-paper size drawing and I must have just stared at it for there was the Talavera Monument.

“Twenty-seven meters high.” he said.

I just nodded and complimented him on having such an ability to interpret my idea of three little monuments for the three countries which had fought at Talavera, then I took a bus back home in a daze.

Sr. Leopoldo Stampa – Spanish Diplomat & friend

On every occasion I was invited to official luncheons or Talavera Project meetings, Leopoldo Stampa was always there and we soon struck up a close friendship. He also had a metal-detector just like me and we spent weekends off to search lesser known Peninsular War sites. I had some wonderful photos taken of us two on our knees digging the unfinished motorway at Talavera discovering musket balls and other artefacts from the battle, but as I already mentioned they are all now gone.

Leoplodo was the instigator behind the official scenes who solved all the problems rising from petty arguments with Spanish bureaucrats and even ministers. He never went into any details, just telling me unofficially that things have been sorted. In return I kept him informed of what the British Embassy was doing about sending the Guards, Highlanders and VIPs over.

At the unveiling he held up a card printed on it that said: WE’VE DONE IT!!!

 First delay in 1988

I was kept up to date by Leopoldo about delays in 1988. He explained the problems with the ministries of Public works, Defense and Treasury. The good news, he said, was that the land where the monument was to be raised had been bought from the owner whose villa stood on the top of the Medellin. I was in touch with the 8th Duke of Wellington, Honorary President of my Wellington Society, and doing my best to reassure His Grace that although progress was slow it was moving ahead.

From the Duke of Wellington in 1988

On a delicate mission with  the French Military Attache

Another taxi ride out to the British Ambassador’s residence, another lunch and another problem that only I can fix. The good news: the French Military Attache was going to drive me back into town at no taxi cost. Our Ambassador led me out to the rear, spacious gardens and in a low, quivering voice said that the French might not attend the Talavera unveiling as they consider the battle a defeat. Me, an acknowledged expert on the Peninsular War had to reassure their Attache it was not a defeat and I had a twenty minute drive back to convince him otherwise!

I accepted the challenge from my country and after lunch got into the passenger seat of the French official car and took a deep breath. I began with facts unknown to the Attache: the Allies’ objective was Madrid but Wellesley never even crossed the nearby Alberche River! Days after the battle the British retreated to Badajoz leaving their wounded in Talavera.  A week afterwards the French reoccupied the town and looked after the hundreds of British wounded with great care.

Yes, Wellesley was created `Wellington’ in September but that was  to hide the fact that his Army suffered thousands of casualties. The Attache listened with interest and we shook hands as he dropped me off. I called “Nicky” and said that the good news was that the French are coming!

British Embassy Madrid in 1989

It was all change at the British Embassy; Nicolas Gordon Lennox had gone and a new Ambassador was now at the Residence, Mr Robin Ferner and as I remember a very friendly diplomat but not an enthusiast of Wellington.

At the Embassy I was introduced to the new Military Attache, I believe of the Guards. Very tall, polished black shoes and crossed the road as if he were on a parade-ground. We had our Talavera Project meetings in the Embassy or less informal in a little bar opposite. This was very convenient for me as I was teaching at a US college just round the corner so no more long and expensive taxi rides.

After Easter in 1989, we had another meeting and the Attache told  me that the monument was being built (which I already knew from Leopoldo) and that he was going to add all the British regiments present at the battle and the generals, to be then copied and inscribed on the monument. I  had been told that I was being given that honour  and one I had looked forward to compiling.

I felt angry  when our Attache  praised me for my efforts but now it was the turn of the British authorities to take over. Although this was so long ago, I recall feeling both crestfallen and hurt. But as we shall see, when it comes to all things Peninsular War, best leave it to the expert, in this case me and not someone who thinks he is an expert. 

The two French Colour parties marching at Talavera

The Spanish Government allowed the French to send two companies of infantry with their colours to the inauguration but stipulated that without ammunition in their weapons. How can we French defend our colours without loaded machine guns? The Spaniards finally backed down and permitted each French soldier to have one round each loaded in his rifle!

Leoplodo Stampa stands in the middle of the photo and I believe that he was deeply involved in settling the dispute. He never actually told me, but there was a twinkle in his eyes when he related the story to me.

The French officer on the left with arms folded was in the 24th Line Infantry regiment and part of Marshal Victor’s 1st Corps sent up the Medellin at night. The regiment suffered a dreadful 567 casualties during the battle, a third of their initial force. The other officer in the centre was in the 2nd Hussars whose cavalry regiment faced the town of Talavera and protected the Army’s left flank throughout the day’s conflict. They only suffered minor casualties. But more of these two French regiments later.

From Wellington dated 1990

His Grace letting me know that he would be attending the unveiling of the Talavera Monument, and that he would be wearing the uniform of the Colonel-in-Chief of the Duke of Wellington’s regiment. By coincidence I was going to wear the tie of the same Regiment.

His Grace 8th Duke of Wellington opens proceedings

The Spanish soldiers stood to attention as the Duke of Wellington passed by in his dark blue uniform, turned and walked along the red carpet to the centre of the Talavera Monument .

Moments before, the British Guards Band played and Spanish troops in period uniforms of blue and red with white cross-belts and others in all white with yellow bi-corne hats stood to attention in the background.

Coldstream Guards Band and Highland Pipers

General John Chapple & 8th Duke of Wellington

His Grace in the uniform of Colonel-in-Chief of the Yorkshire Regiment as he promised. Standing next to him is the Commander of British land Forces, Sir Cohn Chapple at the unveiling of the Talavera Monument.

The day before the event I was charged with taking the British VIPs on a bus visit to the battlefield and later a lunch at a quaint village. I was invited to sit next to Sir John and found him quiet, soft spoken with a southern English accent. He quizzed me about my visits to Peninsular War battle sites and what I had found with my metal detector.

He told me that during his military career he had traveled extensively and had once been Commanding officer of the famed Gurkha Regiment. The conversation turned to his hobby which was collecting British regimental buttons from the Napoleonic era and wondered if I had ever found any. I said that I had found some from Salamanca and other battlefields.

He seemed quite excited at this but just then a Staff Officer whispered something in his ear, he apologised and said it was time for him to make a speech. It appeared that he had taken up too much time chatting to me!

Watching from the VIP Stand

All around me the officers were saluting, then soldiers walked to the Spanish, French and British sections of the Monument and laid wreaths to the fallen on  that Friday, 28th of July in 1809. There followed a one minute silence, then it was all over and soon the VIP stand was emptying, and people’s attention were focusing on lunch.

The sun shone brightly as the Highlanders in full tartan uniforms marched slowly into the centre of the Monument. halted a minute and then right on cue began to play the Last Lament on their bagpipes. I was suddenly  overcome with emotion standing up there on the VIP stand and tears  streaming down my cheeks.

I shook hands with so many people and I remember a brief chat with the Scottish pipers. Even now, more than three decades later I still get a bit teary  as I think of that moment in my life. The photos I have used in this monograph reminds me that it all really did happen.

Highlanders playing the Last Lament

Spanish soldiers laying the three wreaths

My view of the Parade ground from the VIP Stand

British and French soldiers marching as Talavera locals look on

After Talavera Monument Luncheon

I wear my Yorkshire Regiment tie and hold my Talavera Monument plate which still hangs on my sitting room wall. Next to me is the retired Spanish infantry officer whom I met on so many occasions while walking the Talavera battlefield as the motorway was being built. We agreed to disagree as we discussed the battle and the British mistakes and those of the Spaniards during the battle. He worked with Leopoldo on the list of  Spanish generals and regiments fighting that day to add to the Monument.

Next to him isTom Haigh, still my good friend, who also loved every minute of the great occasion as can be judged by the broad smile on his face.

Standing on the extreme left, whose name I can’t remember, was the head of Madrid Police and in charge of Top Security, who was involved in  making sure we were all safe during that wonderful day. I do however remember getting into his car and driven down to Talavera  with a blue light flashing on the roof. We stopped outside the restaurant big enough to hold the hundred or so guests.

After the meal we were presented with a commemorative ceramic plate made of course in Talavera, famed throughout Spain for its classic ceramic works.

The list of British Regiments on the left column

My brother, Mick, not even thirty at the time, flew over for the event and took all of the photos (my girl-friend cum partner/photographer and myself had recently broken up) and this one of his pictures which captures me looking towards the Monument. In fact at that moment I was staring at the column to the left and the list of the British regiments and officers present at the battle.

The French and Spanish authorities had left the task of preparing the list to their own historians/ experts to do this. Leopoldo Stampa and his retired military friend completed theirs but I am not sure who did the French ones.

Lord Nicolas Gordon Lennox had asked me to compile ours, but he was no longer Ambassador. I was told by the British  Attache that he was now in charge and was doing that honour, not me.

On the columns to the right and centre has the French with all their generals and Marshal Victor; likewise the Spanish commanders both taking up a whole base column. Ours is almost bare in comparison as he only listed the names of the British regiments present and not General Arthur Wellesley nor the Brigade commanders. 

Disastrous charge of the 23rd Light Dragoons at Talavera

The 23rd Light Dragoons had a distinguished career; in Egypt  in  1801 then in Spain  and finally at the Battle of Waterloo in June 1815. Their battle honours were:

EYGPT – PENINSULA – WATERLOO

At Talavera Wellesley ordered them to charge an advancing French column attempting the flanking attack against the British left.. The leading ranks of the 23rd crashed into a hidden dry water-course where many troopers and horses sustained broken bones. The picture above shows the confusion after the incident. The remains of the regiment bravely continued suffering a dreadful 105 in killed, wounded and missing.

General Wellesley wrote in his official dispatch to Viscount Castereagh in London that: `The enemy columns were immediately attacked by the 1st German Hussars and the 23rd Light Dragoons under Brigadier General Anson directed by Lieut. General Payne; although the 23rd Dragoons suffered considerable loss, the charge had the effect of preventing the execution of that part of the enemy’s plan. dated Talavera 29th July 1809’

Unfortunately our Military Attache had forgotten to add the 23rd Light Dragoons to the list on the Talavera Monument, as if they were never at the battle.

An exchange of memorable  between myself and French Colonels

After the meal we went by car up to the French position on the Cascajal heights. There, with Leopoldo’s as  translator, I presented the two French Colonels with musket balls I had unearthed on the battlefield.

There was a long silence then the two looked at Leopoldo and burst out in French. I got the distinct impression that they were angry. But with me? My gift of artifacts? You can see me staring at them at that moment. Leopoldo looked at me and in a low voice explained that they had not been informed of my presentation for their regimental museums and therefore they had nothing to give me in return.

The French Regimental badges 2nd Hussars & 24 Infantry

The two French officers took off their regimental badges from their berets,  then presented them to me, saluted and shook my hand. Yet another emotional moment that day but I held the tears back that time.

At the Talavera Monument in June 2026

THE END