Hello and welcome to another episode of London History
Podcast. I'm your host, Hazel Baker,
historian, tour guide, and CEO of londonguidedwalks.co.uk.
Today, we're venturing beyond the typical tales of battles and
politics to explore a rather extraordinary side of one of
Britain's most celebrated military heroes.
When we think of Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of
Wellington, we picture the Iron Duke commanding at Waterloo,
defeating Napoleon, or perhaps striding through the corridors
of power as Prime Minister. But what if I told you that
tucked away in his London home wasn't walking stick with a
deadly secret, a concealed sword built right into its handle?
Wellington's sword stick wasn't just some Victorian oddity, it
was part of a fascinating collection of practical
innovations and cutting edge gadgets that reveal a man far
ahead of his time. From revolutionary footwear to
battlefield telescopes, from pioneering military aids to
military communication systems, Wellington embraced technology
in ways that would surprise those who knew him only as a
military commander. So let's begin.
We need to understand the remarkable man himself and the
turbulent world that shaped him into both Britain's greatest
general and one of history's most practical innovators,
Arthur Wellesley. He wouldn't become Wellington
until 1798, was born into the Protestant Ascendancy of Ireland
on the 1st of May 1769 in Dublin.
To understand Wellington's later embrace of practical innovation,
we need to grasp what his background meant.
The Protestant Ascendancy was a small Anglican ruling class that
dominated Ireland socially, economically and politically
from the 17th century onwards. These were descendants of
English and Anglo Norman settlers who had received
confiscated Irish Catholic lands from the Crown.
By the late 18th century, this elite group of perhaps 10,000
families controlled virtually all of Ireland's landed wealth
and political power. Wellington's father, Garrett
Wesley, was the first Earl of Mornington, and the family
epitomised this Anglo Irish aristocracy.
But here's the crucial detail that shaped Wellington's
character. The family was perpetually short
of money when his father died in 1781, leaving debts of over
20,000 lbs equivalent to about £2.5 million a day, the
financial crisis forced harsh choices.
Young Arthur was withdrawn from Eton, where he reportedly had
been involved in incidents such as barring out, which is student
rebellion, and sent to a less expensive schools in Belgium and
France. His mother, Anne Hill, famously
despaired. I vow to God I don't know what I
should do with my awkward son Arthur.
He is food for powder and nothing more.
Which reflected her disappointment about Arthur's
perceived lack of academic success and social Polish
compared to his siblings, and her belief that he was destined
for a military career where he might only serve as cannon
fodder. This wasn't mere maternal
exasperation, but reflected the harsh realities facing younger
sons of impoverished aristocratic families.
The military was literally seen as the last resort for boys
deemed unsuitable for more prestigious careers.
This early experience of financial constraint would
profoundly shape Wellington's career.
And like many aristocrats who lived in cushion luxury, he
learned from childhood that resources were limited and must
be used efficiently. This practical mindset would
later drive his innovations in everything from military
equipment to personal gadgets. The social context here is
crucial. In 1787, when Wellington was
commissioned as an Ensign in the 73rd Regiment of Foot, the
British Army operated on the purchase system.
Wealthy families could literally buy their sons commissions and
promotions. An ensigns Commission in
infantry cost £450, probably equivalent to about £52,000
today. A Lieutenant Colonel C cost 3500
more than 400,000 in modern money.
But this wasn't just about wealth.
Regimental colonels could refuse commissions to men that they
deemed socially unsuitable, preserving the officer class as
an aristocratic preserve. Wellington's family scraped
together the money for his initial Commission, but each
subsequent promotion required fresh loans and financial
juggling. By 1793, when Wellington became
Lieutenant Colonel of the 33rd, but he had spent over £4000,
nearly half £1,000,000 in today's money, on his military
career. This constant pressure to
justify expenses through results would become a hallmark of his
leadership style. He couldn't afford failure,
either financially or professionally.
To understand why Wellington would later carry a sword stick
through London streets, we need to appreciate the extraordinary
turbulence of the age he lived through.
Wellington's career spanned the Regency period, that fascinating
era from 1811 to 1820 when the Prince of Wales ruled as Regent
during his father George the Third's madness, but also the
broader transformation of British society from 1790 to
1850. This was an age of sharp social
contrast that would challenge any leader's ingenuity.
The wealthy Regency elite lived lives of unprecedented luxury
and refinement. They patronized the arts, built
magnificent houses in the new neoclassical style, and created
what we now call Regency fashion.
But beneath this glittering surface lay desperate poverty
and social unrest. Napoleonic walls which raised
from eighteen O 3 to 1815 broad economic hardship, mass
unemployment and inflation that quadrupled food prices.
The industrial revolution was simultaneously transforming
Britain, creating immense wealth whilst generating urban slums
where life expectancy could be as low as 22 years.
In Manchester the average working class person died at 15,
in Liverpool at 17. An East End London labourer 19
years? Well, the overall London average
around the mid 19th century stood at just 37 years.
Political power remained firmly in the hands of perhaps 300,000
property owning men. That's less than 3% of the
population. The Tory party, which dominated
from 1783 to 1830, represented these landed interests.
But revolutionary change was sweeping Europe.
The French Revolution had executed a king, abolished
aristocracy and spread democratic ideas across the
continent. For Britain's ruling class, this
created an atmosphere of constant existential threat.
The spectre of revolution haunted every political
decision. When food prices soared in 1819,
the government's response was the Peterloo Massacre, where
cavalry charged a peaceful reform meeting in Manchester,
killing eleven people and injuring over 400.
The statistics of violence are telling.
Between 1811 and 1831, there were over 600 food riots across
Britain. London experienced frequent
bread and food riots, especially in years of bad harvest or war,
spiking in 1800 to 1801. Throughout the 1810s and again
in the 1820's, the Luddites destroyed textile machinery in
coordinated attacks. The Swing Riots of 1830 saw
agricultural labourers burn hayricks and destroy thrusting
machines across southern England.
Capital Swing letters threatening notes sent to
farmers and magistrates numbered in the thousands.
In 1820, a group of radical activists in London led by
Arthur Thistlewood hatched an extraordinary plot now known as
the Cato St. Conspiracy.
Their goal was to assassinate the entire British cabinet,
including Prime Minister Lord Liverpool, and decapitate the
most hated figures, displaying their heads and spikes at
grizzly trophies to incite the London crowd to rise up.
On 23rd of February 1820, the police raided their meeting
place in a hay loft on Cato St. catching most of the plotters
before they could act. Five were later hanged and
publicly decapitated for treason, the last public
beheadings in Britain, while others were transported or
imprisoned. It was a Small wonder, then,
that political figures felt the need for personal protection.
The line between legitimate political opposition and violent
insurrection seems perilously thin in a world where prime
ministers could be shot dead in parliament and kings could lose
their heads to revolutionary mobs.
Inton's transformation from awkward younger son to military
genius began in India, where he served from 1796 to 18 O 5.
His elder brother Richard had been appointed Governor General,
providing Arthur with opportunities that would have
been impossible otherwise. But Wellington sees these
chances with characteristic determination and innovation.
The numbers alone tell the story of his Indian success.
At the Battle of Assay in 18 O3, which he later considered his
finest victory, Wellington defeated A Maratha army of
50,000 with just 7000 troops. His casualties were severe, 1566
killed and wounded from his tiny force, a loss rate of over 22%.
But the enemy suffered far worse, 6000 casualties and the
complete destruction of their army.
As an effective force, India taught Wellington lessons that
would prove crucial throughout his career.
He discovered the value of secure supply lines after
marching with bullocks carrying sixty days provisions.
Most importantly, he developed his gift for defensive warfare,
choosing strong positions and forcing enemies to attack him on
the ground of his choosing. But India also revealed
Wellington's innovative approach to military technology.
He was among the first British commanders to systematically use
rockets, weapons derived from those used by Tippu Sultan
against earlier British forces. He experimented with new forms
of camp equipment, developing portable bridges and improved
artillery carriages. The statistics of Wellington's
Indian commands reveal his organizational genius.
Between 1798 and 18 O Five he commanded forces totalling over
50,000 men across multiple campaigns.
His logistics network required 120,000 bullocks, 30,000 camp
followers and supply depots stretching across hundreds of
miles. Yet his forces never suffered a
major supply failure or epidemic, remarkable in a
theatre where disease typically killed far more soldiers than
enemy action. When Wellington returned to
Britain in 18 O 6 he brought with him prize money worth
42,000 lbs, which is about £4,000,000 today, but more
importantly he returned with a reputation for competence and
innovation that set him apart from other commanders, as he
wrote to his brother. I have acquired a local
knowledge of the country and of the enemy's resources and mode
of warfare, which may be valuable.
The Peninsula War from Eighteen O 8 to 1814 became Wellington's
laboratory for military innovation.
Here, leading British forces against Napoleon's marshals in
Spain and Portugal, Wellington developed the tactical
brilliance and technological sophistication that will
culminate at Waterloo. The scale of Wellington's
Peninsula command was unprecedented for a British
general. By 1813 he commanded over
100,000 troops across multiple nationalities, British,
Portuguese, Spanish and various German contingents.
His intelligence network employed hundreds of agents from
Spanish guerrillas to French deserters.
His supply system stretched from Lisbon to the Pyrenees,
requiring coordination of ships, mules, oxcart and local
contractors. The casualty statistics from
Wellington's major Peninsula battles reveal both at the
intensity of the fighting and his growing tactical
sophistication. Lavera 18 O 9 his first major
victory. Wellington suffered 5365
casualties from 20,000 engaged, a 27% loss rate that horrified
him by Salamanca in 1812. He achieved decisive victory
with only 3200 casualties from 48,000 engaged, just 6.7%
losses, whilst inflicting over 14,000 casualties on the French.
More remarkably, Wellington never lost a major battle, the
only commander in the Napoleonic Wars who can make that claim.
This military fame, however, came with genuine dangers that
extended far beyond the battlefield.
Wellington returned to Britain in 1815 as the Hero of Waterloo,
but also as a target for political violence that was
becoming increasingly common across Europe.
The assassination of Spencer Percival on 11th of May 1812
sent shock waves through the British establishment.
Most disturbing for Wellington and other leaders, Bellingham
had acted entirely alone. There was no conspiracy to
uncover, no network to root out. Wellington himself faced
increasingly direct personal threats throughout his political
career. His support for Catholic
Emancipation in 1829 made him deeply unpopular with Protestant
extremists. Angry crowds regularly gathered
outside Upsley House, and on several occasions windows were
broken by stone throwing mobs. The iron shutters Wellington
installed gave the building its nickname, the Iron Duke's House.
The most dramatic personal confrontation came in March 1829
when Wellington fought his jewel with George Finch Hatton, 10th
Earl of Winchell. See, the Earl had publicly
accused Wellington of an insidious design for the
infringement of our liberties and introduction of potpourri
into every department of the state.
Despite being Prime Minister, Wellington felt honour demanded
satisfaction. But before peaceful conclusion,
both men had loaded pistols and taken their positions 12 paces
apart, fully prepared to kill or die over their political
differences. So when Wellington carried his
sword stick through London streets, that concealed sword
wasn't paranoia, it was prudent preparation for documented
realities. Wellington's armed walking stick
was part of a much wider Victorian tradition of concealed
St. weapons that flourished amongst the upper classes.
The purchase system had brought officers.
Their commissions also created a culture where gentlemen were
expected to defend their honour personally.
Duelling remained legal until 1844 and even after it's formal
prohibition, affairs of honour continued in modified forms.
Sword sticks, umbrella daggers and similar implements were
popular amongst the aristocracy and Gentry who needed to
maintain respectability whilst ensuring personal protection.
These weapons were ingeniously designed to appear as ordinary
walking accessories whilst concealing substantial steel
blades that could be deployed instantly when circumstances
demanded. A well made sword stick could
fool even experienced eyes. The trigger mechanism was often
concealed in the handles, carving or metalwork activated
by twisting or pressing hidden catches.
The blade itself was usually a substantial steel rod rather
than a decorative toy, typically 18 to 20 inches long and
sharpened to a lethal point. Contemporary accounts reveal how
sophisticated these weapons have become.
The Art Journal of 1851 described sword sticks as
marvels of mechanical ingenuity, combining utility with the most
perfect concealment of their deadly purpose.
Many were made by the finest cutlers and featured high
quality steel blades that could penetrate clothing and cause
fatal wounds. The umbrella as a weapon had
serious academic advocates who developed comprehensive fighting
systems. Baron Charles Random de
Beringer, writing in the 1830s, promoted umbrella self defence
in his influential books Helps and Hints How to Protect Life
and Property and Defensive Gymnastics.
He viewed the umbrella as invaluable for defence, capable
of being converted into a weapon during emergencies or opened
quickly to serve as a shield against multiple attackers.
Q The Kingsman Of course, Wellington's most enduring
invention was the Wellington boot itself, an innovation that
emerged from the same practical mindset that produced his sword
stick. In the early 1800s, during the
height of the Industrial Revolution, when steam power was
transforming British manufacturing and precision
engineering was creating new possibilities, Wellington
approached his Shoemaker with characteristic attention to
practical detail. Mr. George Hobie of Saint
James's Street, London, was perhaps the most prestigious
bookmaker in Britain, serving royalty and the highest
aristocracy. When Wellington commissioned his
boot modification, this represented a significant
investment. A pair of Hobie's finest boots
cost 8 to 12 lbs, equivalent to 800 to £1200 a day.
For a man still struggling with debts from his military
promotions, this was a serious financial commitment that had to
deliver results. The original Hessian boots worn
by British Army officers were an inheritance from the 17th
century European military fashion.
These tall, soft boots made from calfskin reached above knee
high, decorated with tassels and featuring a small heel.
They'd originally been worn by German mercenaries during the
American War of Independence and become standard dress for
British cavalry and Light Infantry officers.
But Wellington identified specific problems with the
existing design that Hanford military effectiveness.
The tattles caught on stirrups during mounted action.
The high cut restricted leg movement during long marches.
The soft leather provided insufficient weather protection
during extended campaigns. Most critically for an officer
who spent hours daily on horseback, the boots were
uncomfortable during prolonged riding.
Wellington's specifications to Hobie were precise.
Remove the tussles entirely. Make the boots fit more closely
around the leg to prevent chafing, cut them lower to allow
greater freedom of movement, yet maintain sufficient height for
protection against brambles and mud.
The leather was to be treated with additional wax for
increased weatherproofing, whilst the heel was to be
reduced for better grip. The resulting Wellington boot
represented a masterpiece of functional design.
Fabricated in soft calfskin leather with low cut heels and
calf high tops, they provided the perfect balance between
protection, comfort and appearance.
The close fit prevented the boots from filling with mud
during marches, whilst the weatherproofing kept feet dry
during Spain's notorious winter campaigns.
Wellington's attention to practical details extended to
the boots construction. He specified that the seams
should be positioned to avoid pressure points during long
rides. The leather thickness was
carefully calculated, substantial enough for
durability but not so heavy as to cause fatigue.
Even the boot pulls were designed for rapid dressing,
essential for an officer who might be called to action at any
hour. The timing of Wellington's boot
innovation coincided perfectly with his rising fame after
Peninsula victories. When he triumphed at Victoria in
1813, capturing King Joseph's entire baggage train and
effectively ending French control of Spain, Wellington
became a European celebrity. His practical boot design spread
rapidly through military and civilian society.
By 1815, after Wellington's victory at Waterloo established
him as the most famous soldier in Europe, the Wellington boot
had become essential fashion among British gentlemen.
Contemporary accounts describe how quickly that style spread.
Captain Rees Hal Grano noted in his memoirs Every Faster All man
had his boots made in the Wellington pattern.
The boots popularity reflected deeper social changes occurring
during the Industrial Revolution.
Precision manufacturing was making high quality leather
goods or widely available improved transport networks
allowed London's passion to spread rapidly across Britain
and throughout the Empire. Most significantly, Wellington's
heroic reputation gave his practical innovations enormous
social cachet. By the 1830s, political
cartoonists were depicting Wellington simply as a
Wellington boot, with a head, so closely associated had he become
with his footwear innovation. The satirical magazine Punch
regularly featured caricatures showing the Duke as an animated
boot, emphasizing how completely his personal brand had merged
with his practical invention. Wellington himself remained
ambivalent about this association, as he Riley
observed when asked late in life what was the most inane remark
he'd ever heard. When someone said to me, Do you
know, your Grace, that your name will be immortal even if you had
never fought a battle? I said How?
And he replied, I through the Wellington boat.
The boots remained popular among the aristocracy throughout the
1840s, long before the rubber versions we know today.
It wasn't until Charles Goodyear's vulcanization process
in 1839, and here I'm Hutchinson's licensing
arrangements in 1852, that the transition to waterproof rubber
boots became commercially viable.
Wellington's technological innovations extended far beyond
personal accessories into sophisticated military equipment
that represented the cutting edge science of his era.
His telescope, made by Matthew Berg of London around 18 O2,
became one of history's most consequential military
instruments, a device that may have changed the course of
European civilization. This 7 draw telescope could
magnify images. 30 * A remarkable achievement for early
19th century optics. To appreciate its significance,
consider the tactical challenges Wellington faced at Waterloo.
The battlefield measured only 2.5 kilometres long by 1.3
kilometres wide, yet contained over 200,000 soldiers from three
different armies. Without effective observation,
commanding such forces would have been impossible.
The precision optics industry was experiencing revolutionary
development during Wellington's era.
Companies like Jesse Ramsden and his successor Matthew Berg were
pushing the boundaries of what 18th century technology could
achieve. Machine tools themselves,
inventions of the industrial Revolution, were making economic
manufacture of precision metal parts possible for the first
time in history. Berg's workshop at Piccadilly
represented the pinnacle of scientific instrument making
when he took over from Ramsden in 1800.
He inherited techniques from grinding lenses to polishing
mirrors that have been perfected over decades.
Wellington's telescope provided unprecedented tactical awareness
of the battlefield at various distances.
He could observe critical distances that gave him decisive
advantages over enemies who lacked such sophisticated
equipment. 300 metres. He could discern flag designs
and thereby identify specific enemy units.
Crucial intelligence for threats and opportunities.
At 450 metres, individual figures and uniform colours
became visible, allowing Wellington to distinguish
between different types of troops and assess their quality
by their bearing and equipment. At 600 metres, formations of
troops became clearly visible, enabling Wellington to
understand enemy tactical deployments and anticipate their
likely actions. The ability to observe enemy
preparations before they were fully developed gave Wellington
precious minutes to position his own forces advantageously at 800
metres. Individual movement patterns
suggested possible enemy intentions, allowing Wellington
to predict our attacks before they were launched.
This early warning capability proved crucial at Waterloo,
where Wellington repositioned his forces multiple times based
on observations of French preparations.
At 1200 metres, Wellington could assess artillery positions and
judge troop quality by observing the smartness of their
formations. Experienced units maintained
precise alignments even at distance, while less reliable
forces showed gaps and irregularities that revealed
their weakness. Contemporary accounts reveal how
Wellington used his telescope through the Waterloo campaign.
Captain Alexander Gordon, his aide de Compreve, recorded the
Duke was constantly using his glass, scanning the enemy
positions and our own lines. He seemed to see everything that
was happening and crossed the entire field.
The telescopes effectiveness was enhanced by Wellington's
systematic approach to battlefield intelligence.
He positioned himself on high ground whenever possible, using
church towers, hills and even tall trees as observation posts.
His staff carried detailed maps marked with distance
calculations, allowing him to coordinate telescope
observations with artillery ranges and troop movements.
As Wellington himself noted about the challenges of command,
all the business of war, and indeed all the business of life,
is to endeavour to find out what you don't know by what you do.
That's what I call guessing what was at the other side of the
hill. His telescope was an essential
tool in this constant quest for battle intelligence that
separated great commanders from merely competent ones.
After Waterloo, Wellington's telescope became a treasured
historical artefact. The Duke presented it to Sir
Robert Peel, future Prime Minister, with an inscription
reading telescope by Berg of London, used by the Duke of
Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo.
Presented by the Duke to Sir Robert Peel, this gift
represented both personal friendship and a recognition of
the instrument's historical significance.
The telescope now forms part of the Royal Armouries Collection
at the Tower of London, where Wellington later served as
constable for 26 years. It's fascinating to think that
this single optical instrument may have influenced the course
of European history by giving Wellington the situational
awareness he needed to coordinate the coalition that
finally defeated Napoleon. Even more ingenious was his
hearing aid walking stick, which served the dual purpose of
mobility aid and hearing enhancement.
Perfect example of Wellington's preference for multifunctional
solutions. The stick contained a hollow
chamber that acted as a resonating cavity with a
carefully designed mechanism that could be activated by
twisting the handle to amplify conversations or other sounds.
These ivory and metal contraptions, whilst primitive
by today's standards, are the finest available to a man of
Wellington's stature and represented significant
technological achievement. The craftsmanship was exquisite.
The ivory components were carved by specialists who normally
worked on scientific instruments, whilst the metal
parts were made by precision engineers who created telescope
components and chronometer mechanisms.
Wellington's characteristic approach to problem solving was
evident here. Practical, no nonsense and
completely unashamed, as he once remarked about facing
challenges. People learn when they can.
Fools learn when they must. Contemporary accounts reveal how
Wellington's hearing loss affected his daily routine and
social interactions. Missus Harriot, arbut not close
friends who kept detailed Diaries of the conversations
with the Duke, noted His Grace has become considerably deaf
since his accident, but he bears it with remarkable patience.
Wellington's hearing loss also affected his most famous wit and
conversation style. Friends noticed he became more
sharp tongued in social situations, probably because he
was straining to hear or became impatient with unclear speech.
Wellington's embrace for innovation extended far beyond
personal gadgets into systematic patronage of scientific and
technological development that helped shape the early Victorian
era. His position as Master General
of the Ordinance in the 1820s placed him at the centre of
military technological development, whilst his social
prominence made him a natural patron for inventors and
researchers seeking support. The scope of Wellington
scientific correspondence preserved in Southampton
University archives reveals remarkable breadth of interest.
His papers include correspondence with Charles
Babbage about his calculating machine, an early mechanical
computer that anticipated modern programmable devices.
Wellington also received detailed reports about
discoveries in magnetic compass variation and proposals for new
medical apparatus to treat everything from headaches to
rheumatism. As Master general of the
ordinance, Wellington described his department as being
specially charged with all military equipments, machines,
inventions thereof, and their improvement.
This wasn't merely administrative oversight.
Wellington took interest in technological development and
personally tested new weapons and equipment systems.
His correspondence with Colonel Henry Shrapnel, inventor of the
explosive artillery shell that bears his name, reveals
Wellington's detailed understanding of Ballistics and
metallurgy. Wellington personally supervised
trials of shrapnel shells at Woolwich Arsenal, analysing
their effectiveness against different targets and suggesting
improvements to the design. Similarly, his extensive
correspondence with Sir William Congrave about rocket
development shows Wellington's appreciation for innovative
weapons systems. In a letter of August 1822,
Congreve wrote, Under your Graces Patronages and
Protection, I feel confident of giving complete perfection to
the rocket system in a very short time and making it not
only the most powerful but also the most economical weapon that
can be used. Wellington's careers spanned
from 1787 to 1852, from the pre industrial world of his youth to
the high Victorian era of his death, making him perhaps one of
the best positions observers of the most rapid period of change
in human history to that point. The timing of Wellington's death
marked the end of an era in more ways than one.
The Great Exhibition of 1851 had showcased Britain's industrial
supremacy to the world, displaying technological
innovations that would have seemed miraculous to the young
Ensign who had received his first Commission 65 years
earlier. The Crystal Palace itself
presented a pinnacle of Victorian engineering, a
building that embodied the same principles of practical
innovation and systematic problem solving that are
characterised Wellington's entire career.
Wellington's various innovations, from his
revolutionary boot design to his practical umbrella weapon sword
stick, from his battlefield telescope to his pioneering
hearing aids, remained influential long after his
death. His boots evolved into the
rubber Wellington boots that became essential equipment for
farmers, gardeners and outdoor workers throughout the British
Empire and beyond. The sword stick, whilst losing
its Marshall applications as Victorian society became more
peaceful, established a tradition of multifunctional
personal accessories that continues today.
Modern travellers carry umbrellas that serve as walking
sticks, whilst outdoor enthusiasts use equipment that
combines multiple functions in single devices.
Direct descendants of Wellington's practical approach
to personal gear, his telescope contributed to the development
of military optics that would transform 19th and 20th century
warfare. The precision manufacturing
techniques developed for Wellington's era of scientific
instruments laid the groundwork for modern optical systems, from
camera lenses to microscopes to the complex optical devices used
in contemporary technology. Perhaps most significantly,
Wellington's hearing aids helped establish acceptance of assisted
technology amongst the upper classes.
His open use of mechanical aids to overcome physical limitations
demonstrated that technological solutions could enhance rather
than diminish personal dignity. Perhaps the most fitting tribute
to Wellington's legacy isn't found in monuments or memorials,
but in the everyday objects that still bear his name.
Every time we put on Wellington boots to face the British
weather, we're using technology he pioneered.
Every time we open an umbrella, we're following in the footsteps
of a man who understood that practical preparation could be
the difference between success and failure.
That's all we have for today's episode of London History
Podcast. I've hope you've enjoyed
discovering the innovative and practical side of the Duke of
Wellington, the man behind the legend, who understood that true
greatness often lies in the details of daily life and the
systematic application of good ideas to real problems.
I'm Hazel Baker from londonguidedwalks.co.uk.