by Gary Mead
This ceremony had a profound impact on Victoria and on those who received the medals, the spectators, and the newspaper editors who guided much of what the rest of the country thought. Victoria and the men assembled before her that day saw each other differently – humanly. This personal contact between ruler and ruled helped cement Victoria’s sense, perhaps illusory, that she had a special place in the hearts and minds of individual soldiers and sailors, and that she in turn had a special duty of care over them. At first, Victoria monitored all VC recommendations, normally accepting all, but we know that she denied it to a private.15 Her first cousin, the Duke of Cambridge, who took over as commander of the Crimean army in July 1856 and later became commander-in-chief of the army, reminded the troops on every possible occasion that they were all ‘Soldiers of the Queen’.
Some were more ‘of the Queen’ than others. Social divisions between officers and men in the mid-nineteenth century were deep and rigid; officers usually purchased their commissions, often for thousands of pounds, while the rank and file lived on a shilling a day, with deductions for food and clothing.16 The Crimean debacle fatally undermined the purchase system, lodestone of the British officer class. As one anonymous writer put it in 1860: ‘Indeed, we ascertained, in 1854–5, to the indignation of Belgravia, no doubt, that ancient lineage and military genius were by no means synonymous; nay, that a heavy purse and a heavy head were now and then owned by the same person.’17 But the immediate crisis in 1855 was how to bring the Crimean War to a successful end without further damage being done to the army – or to the reputation of the Crown.
Thus the grand spectacle in Hyde Park on 26 June 1857 was the culmination of two fraught years, during which the monarchy agonized over the obvious failures of Britain’s armed forces and the widespread public condemnation of the country’s political and military leadership, and, by extension, of the Crown itself. The Victoria Cross, created in part in an effort to regain public support for the monarchy, is the greatest legacy of that war. The creation of the VC was mutually beneficial to Crown and the rank-and-file soldier. The latter finally found some individual recognition and public acclamation from those for whom he risked his life, while the Crown used the VC to brighten its tarnished image. The VC strengthened the ligaments that bound citizens and Crown, ensuring the continued ‘reverence of the population’ for the monarchy, as the contemporary journalist Walter Bagehot put it.
Bagehot believed that Britain’s constitutional monarchy owed its continued success to the imaginative weakness of the masses, what he called the ‘vacant many’. In that sense the Victoria Cross was a profound and enduring success; here at last was a mechanism by which heroes could be identified, individualized and rewarded. These same heroes, individually endorsed by Victoria herself, were often one of the vacant many; that they had been granted the Cross named for the monarch was a sign of the monarch’s undying affection. The invention of the VC was therefore a timely stroke of public relations genius, one that was sparked by a vigorous and independent-minded press, without which the British public would never have become aware of the suffering, the stoicism, and – on occasion – the individual courage of the soldiers stuck in the Crimea. Carefully preserved over succeeding years, the VC has evolved into a fetish of remarkable talismanic power.
The VC owes its existence to many factors: deepened public sympathy for the common soldier, born out of greater awareness of his miseries; a monarchy anxious to retain what authority it still had over the army; and the democratizing example set by Britain’s allies during the Crimean War. In 1852, in France, the emperor Napoleon III, desperate to burnish his poor popular image, created the Médaille militaire, an individual decoration to be awarded to privates and non-commissioned officers who had particularly distinguished themselves in battle. The British press noted the distribution of the Médaille Militaire in the Crimea, and asked why Britain had no such decoration; did the country want for courageous men? By the time the war ended, more than 500 Médailles militaires and 700 Légions d’honneur had been sprinkled across the French contingent in the Crimea, and also over the armed forces of France’s allies, Britain included.18 Traditionally, Britain gave relatively fewer orders, decorations or medals than other comparable powers. King Edward VII was to prove considerably more generous than his mother, Victoria, but by comparison with other monarchs even he was tight-fisted. Frederick Ponsonby, an Assistant Private Secretary to both Victoria and Edward, who was closely involved in royal decisions about orders and decorations, said: ‘Whereas in Germany they gave yearly thirty thousand, in England the most that were ever given at that time was about eight hundred, and therefore a British decoration was far more difficult to get . . . British decorations became like a rare stamp or rare egg, and were much sought after.’19 The lack of something British to pin on the breast of valiant marines, soldiers and seamen who had served in the Crimea – the campaign medal, and clasps for particular battles during the campaign, gave no recognition to individual courage – became a public embarrassment, giving rise to questions in the House of Commons, angry letters and leader columns in the press – and invidious comparisons with the French way of doing things.
Prior to the advent of the Victoria Cross, there were three possible ways to recognize and reward individual bravery: the Order of the Bath; a brevet (temporary) promotion; or a Mention in Despatches. The first was for senior officers only, majors and above, while the second two were normally granted to junior officers. CBs – Companion, the lowest category of the Bath – had in any case been distributed so lavishly among senior officers of the military that a CB had come to be a sign not so much of meritorious but lengthy service. The example set by the French led to the creation of two medals for other ranks early in the Crimean War: the Distinguished Conduct Medal in 1854 (for the army) and the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal in 1855 (for the Royal Navy and marines). The CGM and the DCM, which carried a £20 annuity, broke the mould in that they were awarded for individual acts of gallantry, and thus can be seen as necessary precursors to the VC.20 But they failed to capture the public imagination, not least because they perpetuated the existing division within the armed forces between officers and men. The real revolution, one that generated intense public interest, came with the creation of the Victoria Cross. For one thing, it was personally identified with the monarch – it was Victoria’s Cross. For another, it appeared to be a truly democratic award, indifferent to rank or status; suddenly a cook could be the equal of a colonel, an able seaman take precedence (in one way at least) over an admiral. For an armed forces steeped in the traditional divide between officers and men, this was a remarkably radical step. For the other ranks who gained the VC, there was a £10 pension, from which officers were initially excluded.21 This was no mean sum; in 1857 £10 was more than a third of the annual wage of an agricultural labourer.
The first public call for some new military decoration that might be available to all ranks for individual courage came on 19 December 1854, when a former naval officer, Captain George Treweeke Scobell, Liberal MP for Bath, raised in the House of Commons the idea of the creation of an ‘Order of Merit’. In Scobell’s view, such an award would be ‘for distinguished and prominent personal gallantry during the present war, and to which every grade and individual, from the highest to the lowest, in the United Services, may be admissible’. He pointed out that the Order of the Bath was ‘entirely confined to the upper ranks of the Army and Navy, for no one under the rank of Major in the Army, or Captain in the Navy, could partake of the distinctions of that Order’, and, because a campaign medal made no reference to individual bravery, ‘some change was imperatively required’.
Scobell withdrew his motion for his Order after Lord John Russell, foreign minister in the Aberdeen administration, assured the House that the matter was being considered by the government. Russell’s response was, in all likelihood, an attempt to bat aside Scobell’s argument; but Scobell gained the valuable support of the Duke of Richmond in the House
of Lords on 23 January 1855:
My Lords, formerly, in the late war [against Bonaparte], Parliament and the country were satisfied if they gave ribands and stars to the commanding officers of regiments, and to commanding officers of the Army; but, I am happy to say, that system is entirely exploded now . . . What is the use to a private soldier of a Vote of Thanks of Parliament?22
The appearance and regulations of the VC were largely Prince Albert’s handiwork. He led the royal household’s discussions with government representatives about the VC, with Victoria contributing ideas about its design and making alterations to the warrant. Victoria and Albert were united in their wish that the new medal should be plain, simple and unglamorous. On 20 January 1855 the Duke of Newcastle, then Secretary of War, wrote to Prince Albert about the new and as yet unnamed decoration:
I confess it does not seem right or politic that such deeds of heroism as this War has produced should go unrewarded by any distinction outward of honours because they are done by Privates or by Officers below the rank of Major, – and it is impossible to believe that Her Majesty’s Troops fighting side by side with those of France do not draw an invidious contrast between the rewards bestowed upon themselves and their Allies.
The value attributed by soldiers to a little bit of ribbon is such as to render any danger insignificant and any privation light if it can be attained, and I believe that great indeed would be the stimulus and dearly-prized the reward of a Cross of Military Merit.
There are some Orders which even Crowned Heads cannot wear, – and it would be a Military reward of high estimation if this Cross would be so bestowed as to be within the reach of every Private Soldier and get to be coveted by any General at the head of an Army. Such a reward would have more effect in the Army than the grant of Commissions, – and the sight of one of these Crosses on the breast of a Soldier returned home invalided would bring more Recruits than any of the measures we can now adopt.
Of course, great care would be required to prevent abuse, – but I am sure Your Royal Highness will not consider the dangers of abuse a sufficient reason to reject this proposal if there appears sufficient good in it to justify its adoption.23
On 22 January 1855 Prince Albert outlined in a memorandum to the Duke of Newcastle his own view as to the parameters of the new decoration:
It is now proposed to establish a mode of reward, neither reserved for the few nor bestowed upon all, which is to distinguish on a liberal scale individual merit in the Officers of the lower Ranks, in Sergeants & in Privates . . .
1./ That a small cross of Merit for personal deeds of valour be established.
2./ That it be open to all Ranks.
3./ That it be unlimited in Number.
4./ That an annuity (say of £5) be attached to each cross.
5./ That it be claimable by an individual on establishing before a Jury of his Peers, subject to confirmation at home, his right to the distinction.
6./ That in cases of general actions it be given in certain quantities to particular Regmts, so many to the Officers, so many to the sergeants, so many to the men (of the last say 1 per Company) & that their distribution be left to a Jury of the same rank as the persons to be rewarded. By this means alone could you ensure the perfect fairness of distribution & save the Officers in command from the invidious task of making a selection from those under their orders, which they now shrink from in the case of the Bath. – The limitation of the Number to be given to a Regmt at one time, inforces [sic] the necessity of a selection & diminishes the pain to those who cannot be included.24
A week later, Newcastle felt sufficiently confident that the new decoration was going to happen that he could inform the House of Lords:
Her Majesty has been advised to institute a Cross of Merit, which shall be applicable to all ranks of the Army in future. It is not intended, my Lords, that this new Order shall in any way affect the present Order of the Bath, but that a separate and distinct Cross of Military Merit shall be given, which shall be open to all ranks of the Army, and which, I hope, will be an object of ambition to every individual in the service, from the General who commands down to the privates in the ranks . . . the Order will be somewhat analogous to those existing in some countries of the Continent . . . while I may also state generally that its distribution will be so arranged as to obviate the invidious task of selecting the individuals upon whom it is to be conferred from devolving upon officers; for in all cases the principle will be adopted of adjudicating the distinction according to the verdict of a jury of the peers of the individual who is to be distinguished; that verdict, however, will have to be confirmed by the decision of the home authorities.25
But a day later Newcastle was out of office, the result of the fall of the Aberdeen administration, toppled by public outrage over the mishandling of the war – a turn of events that would briefly delay the establishment of the VC.
Albert’s memorandum is notable for the emphasis he gave to two points – no limit on numbers of the Cross and the ‘elective peer principle’ – that have since been lost sight of. From the outset, the Crown wanted men and officers on the ground to be able to choose individuals from their own number to be rewarded and recognized. Yet this principle – though embodied in all the warrants pertaining to the VC, including the current one – has not been invoked since the Zeebrugge naval raid on 22–23 April 1918, and was only used on eight occasions prior to that. It is regrettable that this method of VC selection has become dormant, both because it seems, prima facie, a more equitable and immediately just method of VC selection, and also because it would mean that more VCs would be distributed. As the Liverpool Mercury commented when the VC first appeared, the suggestion that officers and men should choose VC winners from their own ranks was sensible: ‘an admirable provision, which at once precludes all possible jealousies, and leaves a difficult question to be decided by a tribunal which may safely be regarded as next to infallible’.26 There is no obvious reason why the elective peer principle has been so little used, but the suspicion must be that ceding control over such a potent symbol has become increasingly distasteful to both military and civilian authorities.
By the end of 1855 the proposed new decoration had taken definitive shape.27 In the Royal Archives at Windsor Castle there is a document from December 1855, entitled ‘Copy Memorandum on Proposed Victoria Cross’.28 It is peppered with revisions, crossings out and suggestions by Victoria and Albert.29 From this it is clear that alternative names were considered. ‘The Military Order of Victoria’ was deleted, while ‘The Victoria Cross? The Reward of Valour? The Reward of Bravery? For Bravery?’ were suggested. On 5 January 1856 Victoria wrote to Lord Panmure, who had been appointed Secretary of State for War in the new government formed by Lord Palmerston, marking with a cross the design sketch she preferred, a cross pattée. She added an eminently sensible point: ‘[The] Motto would be better “For Valour” than “For the Brave” as this would lead to the inference that only those are deemed brave who have got the Cross.’30 Every soldier was expected to be brave; to be valorous was to be exceptional.
On 5 February 1856 Victoria wrote again to Panmure, revealing the minute interest she took in an early mock-up of the Cross:
the metal is ugly, it is copper & not bronze & as such looks very heavy on a red coat with the Crimson Ribbon. Bronze is properly speaking gun metal, this has a rich colour & is very hard; copper would wear very ill & soon look like an old penny. Ld Panmure should have one prepared in real bronze & the Queen is inclined to think that it ought to have a greenish varnish to protect it.31
By 26 February 1857 The Times was able to report the names of the first recipients, noting that ‘this decoration shall be given only for courage displayed in the presence of the enemy. Skill or conduct does not entitle a man to the distinction, nor can the soldier earn it by extinguishing a fire in a powder magazine at home, nor the sailor by gallantry in saving his vessel in a storm at sea.’32 This bar against being able to earn the VC by a brave de
ed carried out not in the ‘presence of the enemy’ was to be overturned in later years – only to be reasserted even later. The newspaper also welcomed the award’s classlessness: ‘It is a happy thing that in a country with such disparities of rank and fortune the display of great qualities is able to unite the noble and the low-born, the rich and the poor, in a common honour.’33
The ceremonials in Hyde Park that June day in 1857 were therefore the culmination of a remarkably profound revolution in British social attitudes. Up to that point few questioned the fiction that officers were natural gentlemen, born to lead, while the other ranks were brutes in need of regular flogging to punish drunkenness and generally maintain discipline. Under the pressure of widespread public anger, fed by detailed newspaper reporting of events in the Crimea, this fiction was rent apart. In the Crimea, Britain’s political and military leaders had revealed themselves to be incompetent and, on occasion, selfishly callous, while those whom they led endured unnecessary hardships and sometimes demonstrated remarkable individual bravery. Of course, this had long been true; there was qualitatively little difference between the rank and file of Waterloo and their successors at Balaclava. What had changed was that newspapers sent to the Crimea skilled professional reporters, such as The Times’ s William Howard Russell, whose colourful writing brought home starkly the appalling conditions endured by officers and men. It became impossible for the monarchy and Parliament to remain in ignorance, and, in turn, it became politically useful to elevate some of the rank and file to hero status. The lasting importance of the VC is that henceforth individuals from the ‘brute’ class could claim a place alongside the most elevated peer of the realm, as decreed by the highest rank of all, the monarchy, driven by political pressure, exercised beyond the ballot box through newspapers.34
