Military veterans march to fund £200,000 statue
The 12ft (3.65m) bronze sculpture of a paratrooper will be installed outside Merville Barracks in Colchester if they reach their funding target.
Maj Curt Vines, of the Parachute Regimental Association, said veterans taking on a 25-mile (40km) trek on Sunday would help fundraising efforts.
"This statue is going to really resonate with a lot of people," he told the BBC, saying it would celebrate 25 years of 16 Air Assault Brigade being based in the city.
The brigade is the British Army's global response force.
Maj Vines hoped to unveil the statue, which would consist of a 6ft (1.8m) plinth and a soldier of the same height, on 27 June 2026.
Veterans will carry backpacks of no less than 25lbs (11kg) during the fundraising march, which kicks off at 08:00 BST and is expected to take eight hours.
The route will take them past sites of military significance in Colchester, including Wivenhoe House - home to an SAS base in World War Two.
"We really want to expose and further inform the people of Colchester and wider UK about the impact of the garrison and its history," Maj Vines said.
"Over the last 25 years, we have had some amazing times but also some real down times as well and lost lots of loved ones.
"Once this statue is in place it really will be a fitting memorial and one we hope will resonate with younger people as well."
The statue has been designed by sculptor Amy Goodman and will be illuminated at night.
Maj Vines said its prominent location near Abbey Field would ensure it was a "beacon" for the community.
"Those lights will be spectacular," he added.
Follow Essex news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X.
Soldiers given AI to help them shoot down drones
Armed Forces trial hydrogen charging at bases
Monument will harm Roman site say Historic England
16 Air Assault Brigade
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Los Angeles Times
7 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
Jim Crow meets ICE at ‘Alligator Alcatraz'
A few years ago I came across a profoundly unnerving historical photo: A lineup of terrified, naked Black babies cowered over the title 'Alligator Bait.' As it turned out, the idea of Black babies being used as alligator bait was a beloved trope dating back to the antebellum South, though it didn't really take off until after the Civil War. The image I saw was created in 1897, just one year after Plessy vs. Ferguson established 'separate but equal' as the foundational doublespeak of segregation. With formerly enslaved people striking out and settling their own homesteads, the prevailing stereotypes deployed to justify violence against Black people were forced to evolve. We were no longer simple and primitive, in desperate need of the civilizing stewardship of white Christian slave owners. After emancipation, we became dangerous, lazy and worthless. Worth less, in fact, than the chickens more commonly used to bait alligators. White Floridians in particular so fell in love with the concept of alligators hungry for Black babies that it birthed an entire industry. Visitors to the Sunshine State could purchase souvenir postcards featuring illustrations of googly-eyed alligators chasing crying Black children. There was a popular brand of licorice called 'Little African,' with packaging that featured a cartoon alligator tugging playfully at a Black infant's rag diaper. The tagline read: 'A Dainty Morsel.' Anglers could buy fishing lures molded in the shape of a Black baby protruding from an alligator's mouth. You get the idea. When I first learned of all this, naturally, I was unmoored. I was also surprised that I'd never heard of the alligator bait slur. Why doesn't it sit alongside the minstrel, the mammy and the golliwog in our cultural memory of racist archetypes? Did it cross some unspoken line with the vulgarity of its violence? Perhaps this particular dog whistle was a tad too audible? Or was it the plausible deniability? Did people (including historians) wave it away because babies were never 'really' used as alligator bait? It's true that beyond the cultural ephemera — which includes songs (such as the ragtime tune 'Mammy's Little Alligator Bait') and mechanical alligator toys that swallow Black babies whole, over and over again — there are apparently no surviving records of Black babies sacrificed in this way. No autopsy reports, no court records proving that anyone was apprehended and convicted of said crime. But of course, why would there be? The thing I found so unnerving about the alligator bait phenomenon wasn't its literal veracity. There's no question human beings are capable of that and far worse. Without a doubt, 'civilized' people could find satisfaction — or comfort, or justice, or opportunity — in the violent slaughter of babies. Donald Trump's recently posted AI clip 'Trump Gaza,' which suggests the real world annihilation of Palestinians will give way to luxury beachfront resorts, is a shining example. The thing that haunted me about alligator bait was the glee with which the idea was embraced. It was funny. Cute. Harmless. Can't you take a joke? Now here we are, 100 years after 'Mammy's Little Alligator Bait,' and the bigots are once again using cartoon alligators to meme-ify racial violence, this time against immigrants. Just like the title 'Alligator Bait,' the Florida detention center name 'Alligator Alcatraz' serves multiple ends: It provokes sadistic yuks. It mocks. It threatens. But most crucially, it dehumanizes. 'Alligator Bait' suggests that Black people are worthless. By evoking the country's most infamous prison, 'Alligator Alcatraz' frames the conversation as one about keeping Americans safe. It suggests the people imprisoned there are not vulnerable and defenseless men and women; anyone sent to 'Alligator Alcatraz' must be a criminal of the worst sort. Unworthy of basic human rights. Fully deserving of every indignity inflicted upon them. 'Alligator Alcatraz' cloaks cruelty in bureaucratic euphemism. It's doublespeak, masking an agenda to galvanize a bloodthirsty base and make state violence sound reasonable, even necessary. It has nothing to do with keeping Americans safe. Oft-cited studies from Stanford, the Libertarian Cato Institute, the New York Times and others have shown conclusively that immigrants, those here legally and illegally, are significantly less likely to commit violent crimes than their U.S.-born neighbors. If those behind 'Alligator Alcatraz' cared at all about keeping Americans safe, they wouldn't have just pushed a budget bill that obliterates our access to healthcare, environmental protection and food safety. If they actually cherished the rule of law, they would not deny immigrants their constitutionally guaranteed right to due process. If they were truly concerned about crime, there wouldn't be a felon in the White House. As souvenir shops and Etsy stores flood with 'Alligator Alcatraz' merch, it's worth noting that none of it is played for horror. Like the cutesy alligator bait merchandise before it, these aren't monster-movie creatures with blazing eyes and razor-sharp, blood-dripping teeth. The 'Alligator Alcatraz' storefront is cartoon gators slyly winking at us from under red baseball caps: It's just a joke, and you're in on it. And it's exactly this cheeky, palatable, available-in-child-sizes commodification that exposes the true horror for those it targets: There will be no empathy, no change of heart, no seeing of the light. Dear immigrants of America: Your pain is our amusement. The thing I keep wondering is, would this cheekiness even be possible if everyone knew the alligator bait history, the nastiness of which was buried so deep that 'Gator bait' chants echoed through the University of Florida stadium until 2020? Would they still chuckle if they saw the century-old postcards circulated by people who 'just didn't know any better'? My cynical side says: Yeah, probably. But my strategic side reminds me: If history truly didn't matter, it wouldn't be continuously minimized, rewritten, whitewashed. There's truth in the old idiom: Knowledge is power. Anyone trying to keep knowledge from you, whether by banning books, gutting classrooms, denying identities or burying facts, is only trying to disempower you. That's why history, as painful as it often is, matters. Remembering the horror of alligator bait isn't about dwelling on the grotesque. It's about recognizing how cruelty gets coded into culture. 'Alligator Alcatraz' is proof that alligator bait never went away. It didn't evolve or get slicker. It's the same old, tired cruelty, rebranded and aimed at a new target. The goal is exactly the same: to manufacture consent for suffering and ensure the most vulnerable among us know where they stand — as props, as bait, as punchlines. And no joke is more vulgar than one mocking the pain of your neighbors, whether they were born in this country or not. Ezra Claytan Daniels is a screenwriter and graphic novelist whose upcoming horror graphic novel, 'Mama Came Callin',' confronts the legacy of the alligator bait trope.
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
Staff at ex-BBC site are 'custodians of legacy'
Staff at a former BBC radio transmission station that opened 100 years ago say they are "custodians of the legacy". The station on Borough Hill in Daventry, Northamptonshire, opened on 27 July 1925. It beamed the BBC World Service across the globe for 60 years before closing in 1992. The site is now occupied by telecommunications firm Arqiva and maintains transmitters across the country. The landmark site once had 40 masts and towers, but now one solitary 100m (328ft) mast remains, transmitting digital radio. The transmitter halls at Borough Hill look very different now, too. They were once home to huge racks of equipment, with glowing water-cooled valves, flashing lights and indicator needles in glass cases. Now they are now full of metal shelves and look very like any of the dozens of warehouses that have sprung up in Daventry since the BBC arrived. But the Arqiva staff here have not forgotten the role played by this hilltop encampment in the BBC days. Stuart Turpin, warehouse and logistics lead at the site, said he was "a custodian of the legacy - you're looking after the place, you're doing your best to maintain it as well, and keep the legacy going". The warehouses hold spares for transmitters across the UK - anything from a small lithium battery to a giant antenna. A small team of engineers repairs broken transmitter components and tests them thoroughly before sending them back out. Phil Critchley, a senior engineer, said: "This is vital - this is what keeps the broadcast network on air. "Anything that's out in the field, at a transmitter site, is replicated here at Daventry so we can make sure it's working, ready to be used again." Mr Critchley said he lived in Daventry as a child and would "look up at Borough Hill thinking 'what a wonderful place it would be to work'. "So here I am." Another key part of the site's role now is what is called disaster recovery (DR). If a transmitter collapses, catches fire or just refuses to work, there are mobile cabins that can be sent out with all the equipment needed to get TV or radio services back on air, including temporary masts. Alan Storer, an engineer, was involved in restoring services when the Bilsdale mast in North Yorkshire caught fire, disrupting TV and radio for a million people. "We got most of the services up and running within the first week," he said. "We had DR containers placed in places so that work [on a permanent replacement] could carry on but services would still be broadcast." He added that the history of Borough Hill was one of the things that inspired him to get a job there. "It's a dream come true for me," he said. Follow Northamptonshire news on BBC Sounds, Facebook, Instagram and X. More related stories Town marks centenary of making radio history B BC centenary marked at first national radio transmitter Transmitter fire disrupts TV and radio signals Related internet links Arqiva Daventry Museum 100 Years On exhibition


New York Post
2 days ago
- New York Post
Amateur metal detectorist's ‘feeling' helps archaeologists uncover 2,000-year-old Roman settlement
Archaeologists uncovered an 'extensive' Ancient Roman settlement in an idyllic tourist destination in England – all thanks to the chance discovery of an amateur metal detectorist. In a press release shared with Fox News Digital, Cotswold Archaeology announced the discovery of the Roman settlement in Gloucestershire, a county within the Cotswold region of England. Advertisement The settlement dates back 2,000 years; it was inhabited between the first and second centuries A.D. The excavation near Willersey was done as a joint effort with Historic England. Among the recent discoveries were a Roman villa, remains of limestone buildings — and at least three Iron Age ring ditches. Excavators also found the remnants of Roman building materials, including ceramic roofing, painted wall plaster and box flue tiles. 'Once Historic England has the final report on the archaeological work, it will be able to consider whether to recommend to the Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) that the site be protected as a scheduled monument,' the statement said. Advertisement 4 Cotswold Archaeology announced the discovery of a Roman settlement in Gloucestershire, thanks to an amateur metal detectorist. Cotswold Archaeology / Historic England The recent excavation was all thanks to an amateur metal detectorist who found two iron Roman cavalry swords in the same location in March 2023. The hobbyist, Glenn Manning, reported his finds to the government, and they were subsequently donated to the local Corinium Museum in Cirencester. Advertisement 'The X-rays show that the swords were constructed differently: one has evidence of decorative pattern welding running down the center, whereas the other sword is plain,' Cotswold Archaeology explained in its statement. 'The pattern-welded sword would have been more expensive to produce and therefore higher status.' 'We turned a plowed field, the swords, and geophysical anomalies into the story of a settlement spanning hundreds of years.' The long swords likely belonged to cavalrymen in the second century, the organization said. Advertisement 4 Glenn Manning reported his findings of two iron Roman cavalry swords to the government, which were donated to the Corinium Museum in Cirencester. Cotswold Archaeology / Historic England 4 Painted wall plaster pieces were found. Cotswold Archaeology / Historic England 4 Pieces discovered at the Roman settlement. Cotswold Archaeology / Historic England 'They are contemporary with the villa,' its statement added. 'How they came to be there, though, is currently unknown.' Near Willersley, archaeologists also uncovered a burial of a skeleton that still retained an iron band around its arm. A horse skull was also found – but whether the remains date back to the Roman settlement is still unknown. In a statement, Cotswold Archaeology onsite project officer Peter Busby said he was 'very proud' of the achievement. Advertisement 'We turned a plowed field, the swords, and geophysical anomalies into the story of a settlement spanning hundreds of years – the first stage in telling the history of these fields and their cavalry swords,' the archaeologist said. 'This was only my second time metal detecting. I'm excited to find out more about them.' Glenn Manning, the metal detectorist who found the swords, described his experience as 'amazing.' He recalled, 'The morning before the rally, I had a feeling I would find something special. This was only my second time metal detecting. I'm excited to find out more about them.' Advertisement The Romans occupied the British Isles from 43 A.D. until 410 A.D., and many remnants of the era still emerge today. In May, British archaeologists announced the discovery of an unusual eight-sided Roman ring in a former drainage ditch in Lincolnshire. Before that, a Roman grave filled with gypsum was found during a highway construction project in England.