Blue Is The New Plaque
by Becky Clark
January 2024
On the sanctity of Britain’s blue plaque scheme—and the delightful hoaxes it inspires.
I recently noticed a news release published by the Department for Culture, Media and Sport, which, as the name doesn’t suggest, is responsible for England’s fine and varied heritage. The announcement, which garnered little notice at the time it was made, concerned the extension of the capital’s blue plaque scheme to the whole of England. The new version of the 150-year-old programme will, according to the DCMS, “recognise that every place has a unique story to tell, and help to showcase the importance of heritage everywhere.” Mighty generous of them, non-Londoners rejoice.
The Blue Plaque team at English Heritage, which at the time I worked there fell into the broad arms of Properties & Curatorial, was always the most ferociously academic branch of the organisation. PhDs lay liberally amongst the august staff, who worked in the most historically intact part of the Waterhouse Square headquarters (which they had to move out of a few years after I had left). After the regulatory side of EH split off into Historic England in 2013, the scheme was threatened with extinction, but saved from becoming history itself by what are described demurely on the current English Heritage website as “generous private donations”. This unabashed leap into the world of potentially grubby and certainly uncertain philanthropic funding led to two resignations from the Blue Plaques Panel, but ten years later it seems the goods were worth the price. The scheme remains well-respected and its expansion via an equivalent scheme to the more blighted parts of England speaks for itself.
The only way to get an official blue plaque, of which there are somewhere in the order of 1000, is to meet a range of criteria, including having been dead for at least 20 years, which rather puts the kibosh on the self-nomination idea, and (prior to September 2023 at least) to have occupied a street address in Greater London on which said plaque could be affixed.
Personally I am not sure how many people previously realised the existing blue plaque scheme did not extend beyond Greater London. This lamentable lack of awareness is one explanation for the plethora of hoax, fake and facetious plaques, of all colours but invariably of proper circular plaque shape, that continue to spring up across England. In a previous role at EH I was often tasked with tracking down these pranks through media reports, then handing over whatever damning evidence I could to gimlet-eyed members of the our in-house legal team, who I assume would assess them for copyright infringement and/or actionable breaches of good taste, and respond accordingly. Let us merely say that I never saw the same hoax perpetuated twice.
The Historic England website acknowledges that the original and best scheme, established in 1866, has “inspired many similar schemes in the UK and around the world” and this is undoubtedly true. But we do not concern ourselves here with these often worthy and engaging programmes run by councils, civic societies and other interested groups, which tend to unearth exactly the sort of people you wish that you had learned about in history class. No, my quarry was those sneaky blighters who failed to recognise the sanctity of a serious and dedicated scheme.
Search the internet for “blue plaques” and you will immediately be offered your very own personalised version, for everything from graduation to retirement. Ladies and gentlemen, accept no substitutes. A gold watch/flat rental guarantee will be far more authentic and appreciated by both ends of this spectrum than these false prophets.
Some hoax plaques are truly a delight. The very-official-looking version dedicated to Jacob von Hogflume, originally sited in Golden Square, London, reads:
ENGLISH HERITAGE
JACOB VON HOGFLUME
1864-1909
INVENTOR OF TIME TRAVEL LIVED HERE IN 2189
Others appear to channel the spirit of writers who may not yet have their own plaques (Douglas Adams, can you hear us?), such as one in Whitworth Park, Manchester:
METEOR FALL
HERE IN THIS PARK ON THE NIGHT OF FRIDAY 13 FEBRUARY 2015 A METEORITE LANDED AND WAS LOST
This effort, disappointingly, seems to have been linked to an exhibition at the nearby Whitworth Art Gallery, but one rather hopes urban legend forgets this prosaic fact.
A really quite impressively-solid-looking plaque was affixed to a house in Crofton Park, dedicated to the mother of Ambassador Spock, Amanda Grayson, who lived here 2210-2258, erected by the Vulcan High Council. So far it has survived several years, although whether its once and future inhabitant will see it in person seems doubtful given the state of the brickwork around it.
No harm, no foul, right?
Let us move, then, to the more risqué end of the spectrum, those that may threaten the persistence of memory.
In May of 2023 protestors fixed a fake plaque to Suella Braverman’s office with the title WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY, gently suggesting that criminalising the processes by which desperate people could safely seek asylum was not the best way to reduce their numbers, but was an incredibly effective way to demonstrate one’s position on the human decency scale. No word yet on whether it has been granted retrospective planning permission, although in this case one assumes there would be no legal route to that.
In 2022 the campaign group Led By Donkeys put up multiple blue plaques on the houses of Russian oligarchs, including Roman Abramovich, who apparently is well-known for some reason. The plaque suggested his Kensington home is “worth £150m but the government won’t seize it”. Which is a shame, because the London housing market needs more affordable housing up for sale.
Sunderland MPs were criticised by fake plaques that stated they had gone “against the wishes of the good people of Sunderland” on the matter of Brexit. The owners of the shop to which it was fixed back in 2019 claim they have no idea who put it there, or why a clothing-repair shop was chosen. A stitch in time, perhaps?
Ysenda Maxtone Graham wrote a piece for Spectator Australia about imitation blue plaques, eventually landing on the fact that in most cases imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery. Unlike this author she did some actual research rather than relying on hearsay, and got a quote from the current head of the official scheme where he explains there is no copyright on the colour of the London plaques: “but we do say to others, “Try to make your style of plaque a bit different from ours”.”
Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone were nice? YMG’s conclusion on the matter of fakes and imitations is this: “Other people do copy the style, however, just as people copy Prada handbags. It takes a discerning eye to tell a genuine English Heritage plaque from a copycat one.”
Well, quite. And now me and my genuinely genuine Birkin are popping off down the shops, to see who used to live next door to Poundland.
