Iconic Columns

The concept of the column is quite varied. One of the varieties which is arguably going out of fashion is the newspaper column. As the beloved internet thrives, the hard copy of print on a sheet of paper seems to be losing appeal daily. Although readers can now access their favourite columnists in various online formats, there is still no substitute for the real thing. When I think of my favourite columnists, several names spring to mind. But what of iconic? Iconic is defined as being something very famous or popular, especially being considered to represent particular opinions at a particular time.

Many famous writers cut their literary teeth as columnists before making a splash in fiction. Evelyn Waugh and Graham Greene spring immediately to mind. Interestingly, both were overtly Catholic writers albeit in rather different styles. Greene was a genius. Of that there can be no doubt. But for my money, Waugh remains one of the most underrated writers of the twentieth century. Although Brideshead Revisited (rightly) has become almost more famous than him, novels such as “A handful of dust”, “Decline and fall” and the excellent “Sword of Honour” trilogy never seem to garner the recognition they merit.

But back to columnists. Like Graham Greene, another British born writer was born in 1904. Alistair Cooke emigrated to America and forged a career as a brilliant commentator on twentieth century American affairs and life. Great journalists need a bit of luck and in 1968, Cooke was standing just yards away from Robert F. Kennedy to witness his assassination. But he had made his name in journalism many years earlier writing for such publications as the Manchester Guardian. But it was probably his “letter from America” for the BBC for which he became most synonymous. I remember being forced to listen while travelling in car with my late father. My father had great taste. Those pastiches of American life were top drawer.

For many years, I had a subscription for the Spectator; not so much for its political content as for the quality of the writing. I adored the matchless sarcasm of Rod Liddle and the pithy cynicism of Petronella Wyatt. But putting aside the excellent wine column of the late Simon Hoggart, my favourite columns in the “Speccie” were “High Life” and “Low Life”. When I first started reading it, Taki wrote the former and Jeffrey Bernard the latter.

Taki, or Taki Theodorakopolus to give him his proper title, has never been a stranger to controversy. The wealthy son of a Greek shipping magnate, Taki charts the activities of the international jetset to which he has belonged since its inception. It was usually the first column I read when I received my copy of the “Speccie” if only because he is by far the most honest writer on the block. Its not that I concur with his views; it’s just that he expresses them with a conviction and honesty which seems to be sadly lacking in many areas of journalism.  I can understand why some people might be secretly jealous of his lavish lifestyle but that part has never held any particular attractions for me. It was always just a joy to read the words of a man with such obvious confidence in his own view of the world.

It has always been a matter of incredulity that he and Jeffrey Bernard would be writing for the same publication at the same time. Barnard famously had a West End production named after him, “Jeffrey Bernard is unwell”. Both Bernard and Taki were famous for their love for and consumption of alcohol. Bernard was from a middle class background being the son of the English architect Oliver Bernard and the opera singer Dora Hodges. That his Soho social circle included Dylan Thomas and Francis Bacon perhaps illustrates the sort of man we are dealing with. His Spectator column was rather unkindly referred to as a “suicide note in weekly instalments”. Here was a man on a collision course with the alcohol which eventually killed him aged 65. He wrote with great passion and knowledge on his other great love – horse racing. If ever a man kept his health at a safe distance from his life, Bernard was that man. The West End play was named after the countless occasions on which the Spectator had a blank page with a one line apology due to the writer being too drunk or hung-over to produce the requisite copy. Like it or loathe it, his was a real life – warts and all.

The writers I have alluded to are truly iconic as per the definition given at the beginning of this piece. Whether Michael Gove (erstwhile columnist of the Times) could be considered iconic is a moot point. If you voted to leave the EU, it is possible that you may view him as an icon. But even for many who did, his behaviour after the outcome of that vote would perhaps have put them more in mind of the last honest man to enter the House of Commons, Guido Fawkes.

But I have so far only alluded to literary columns. There are of course the more solid varieties. In the town where I live (and where I was born), there stands a truly iconic column. Originally unveiled on November 23^rd 1876, the column is a monument to Dr. Evan Pierce, a physician of Denbigh whose achievements merited recognition. An eight foot Sicillian marble statue of the great man bestrides the top of a seventy-five foot column boasting three bronze plates which signify his huge contribution to public life.

The first bronze plate refers to mercy interceding with justice. He had been a magistrate and a Justice of the Peace during his varied life. Accounts from that period refer to him being an unwaveringly fair man. The second bronze plate reflects his work as a physician healing the sick. But he did rather more than that. In 1832, it was Dr. Pierce who saw the link between the water supply on Henllan Street and the emerging cholera epidemic. Just as John Snow had done in Soho later in 1854, Dr. Pierce had the vision to see the link between a spate of deaths and the water supply which they had in common. Snow is now known as the father of epidemiology but it was arguably the Denbigh doctor who set the ball rolling – even if he might not have fully realised the enormity of his actions. The final bronze plate refers to his feeding of the hungry. During his life, he was a great philanthropist who did what he could for his fellow man be they rich or poor. It is a fitting statue to a man whose achievements are too often forgotten. He also served as Mayor of Denbigh and was justifiably held in the highest esteem by the local population. In short, Dr. Evan Pierece’s monument in no less than the great man deserved. It is now sited in a garden where people can spend a few moments in an area of tranquillity and great beauty to reflect on their busy lives. As they do so, the great man towers imperiously above them still looking out for the town after all these years.

Nelson’s Column stands over twice the height of Dr. Evan Pierce’s monument. Standing at a whopping 169 feet (and 3 inches), it stands as a tribute to Admiral Horatio Nelson who died at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Built from Dartmoor granite, the column is built in the Corinthian style and the statue is made from Craigleith sandstone. The base of the column sports four bronze lions and four bronze plates to depict the four battles with which he became synonymous; the battle of Cape St. Vincent, the battle of Copenhagen, the battle of the Nile and of course, the battle of Trafalgar which was to cost him his life.

Nelson’s Column is situated in Trafalgar Square and looks south toward Whitehall and the Palace of Westminster. It continues to draw the crowds. It is reported Hitler was so in awe of it that had he won the Second World War, he intended to transport it to Berlin. But Nelson’s contribution to British life meant that monuments to him were also built in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Birmingham, Liverpool, Hereford and Portsmouth.

Do we need to be told that a particular structure is iconic or is it just obvious? For the structures mentioned, they are iconic for a number of reasons. They have been around for centuries and are of national or local historical importance. This brings me to the last, alleged, iconic column.

Here in Denbighshire, the public have recently been informed that the “iconic sky-tower” in Rhyl is to have a make-over to include a redecoration of the exterior with a new lighting scheme. Quite what all that means remains unclear but it is instructive to consider what this sky-tower is. It used to be ride in which people occupied a doughnut shaped structure which ascended the tower to provide a vista for tourists and visitors. But it was closed as an attraction in 2011 due to safety concerns. It was deemed too expensive to save as a viable ride. Since then, it has just stood as a rather boring metal tower with no function save for a bit of income from some mobile phone network providers. It is perhaps a sign of our times that we have to be told by an unelected body what is iconic. Sadly, if this assertion is repeated often enough, there is every danger people will start to believe the rhetoric.

And on the subject of rhetoric, it was on an early November day in 1968 that I made my acquaintance with the world at Denbigh Infirmary. That day saw Joe Cocker reach the number 1 spot in the UK with his cover of the Beatles’ song, “With a little help from my friends”. It was and remains a truly iconic recording (Jimmy Page played guitar on the studio recording). On the same day, America voted in a new President. Despite the assassination of the Democrat Robert Kennedy, the Americans instead plumped for the Republican candidate, Richard Nixon.

Far from being iconic, Nixon has gone down in history as being the most notorious of all American Presidents. Having to leave office after the infamous Watergate Scandal, Nixon never recovered from the deep shame and ignominy. Nixon though, is beginning to look positively inspired when compared to the latest Republican President, Donald Trump. ith baited breath to learn who will enter the White House this time.