Giddy up! A quick trot round seven Scottish equestrian statues

By Elizabeth McQuillan and Dave Hewitt On the day that a famous old equestrian statue was put back on public display in Edinburgh, here is The Caledonian Mercury guide to that plus six other metal horses – The oldest – and best? – is back So one of the great-ancestors of equine statues – Charles II astride a solid-looking metal horse – has returned to its rightful place, in Edinburgh’s Parliament Square, following a six-month, £60,000 restorative sojourn in the wilds of Kent. Amid talk of cutbacks, there were fears he would re-emerge with just three legs, or a docked tail, but everything appears to be present and correct. That “he” is said without having had chance to examine the undercarriage, but there is more than a whiff of testosterone about the strong crest of the neck and the general demeanour. The big lead cuddy was first put on his plinth on 16 April 1685 (at a cost of 2,584 of your Scottish pounds), making him possibly the oldest equestrian statue in the UK. He was reckoned to be the work of Grinling Gibbons – who, despite sounding like something that finished next-to-last in the 3:30 at Musselburgh, was actually a Dutch-born, English-based sculptor also known for his work on St Paul’s Cathedral and Hampton Court.

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In spite of indignities such as having been painted white for much of his life, and having a garland draped, nailed or generally attached to him each 4 June to mark – curiously – George III’s birthday, Charles’ 326-year-old steed is wearing well. He looks to be of Portuguese or Spanish origin: short-coupled and elevated in his movement. His rider was an avid fan of racing, and it was during his mid-17th century reign that the phrase “the sport of Kings” was coined. Charles managed to secure some fabulous mares as dowry when marrying Catherine of Braganza, the King of Portugal’s daughter. Whether Charles ever described Catherine as “a fine-looking filly” is lost in the mists of history, but don’t discount Prince Philip coming out with something similar about Kate Middleton in a week or so’s time. The Bruce at Bannockburn A strange creature, long-eared and narrow of face – that’s the horse, not the fabled Scottish king. It's on – or near – the battlefield at Bannockburn, adjoining Stirling, that you can find Robert the Bruce astride an enormous charger. It’s an odd creation – the king himself appears slightly too small and very rigid of back and leg, like a massive Lego figure, while the sharp-eared horse snorts through flared, almost demonic nostrils. Quite whether you would want to cross battle-axes with the Bruce is one matter, but you certainly wouldn’t mess with the horse. Its long cloak – or is it armour? – is curious, too, as you would think the horse might catch a hoof and pitch its noble rider into the glaur. Perhaps the sculptor “couldn’t do legs”, and used the covering cloth as a crafty way of avoiding embarrassment. Together, the pair bear a certain resemblance to the Lewis chessmen (which not all in Scottish chess-playing circles believe to be chess pieces at all). A sort of composite chess piece, a bishop astride a knight – which would presumably move in elongated diagonal zigzags. At risk of damning the king-plus-horse combo with faint praise, it is at least a whole lot better than the unlamented “Freedom” statue of Mel Gibson that used to stand, much mocked, beneath the Wallace Monument. The Heavy Horse Standing 4.5 metres high – that’s about 44 hands – many will have seen this big galumphing lump of galvanised steel as they approach Glasgow from the east via the M8 – it stands near junction 9 on the outskirts of Easterhouse. Installed in 1997 by Glaswegian sculptor Andy Scott, the Heavy Horse is an unexpected apparition, especially when backlit, and appears to be more popular with the locals than another of Scott’s works, yon Arria woman near Cumbernauld. Thus far, no one has tried to drive straight through the Heavy Horse, the fate that recently befell one of Scott’s more flimsy, sprite-like sculptures on a roundabout at Tullibody. That was taken out by nothing more hefty than a Citroën Xsara, but even a timber truck travelling full-tilt into the M8 horse would surely come off second-best. Forged from steel bars, the horse flexes powerful limbs, hindquarters, neck and shoulders, and is made for hard graft. But, despite his heaviness – over 800kg – he looks dignified and even a little playful. Clydesdales are the result of breeding native horses with Flemish stallions (the first of which was imported by the Duke of Hamilton), and were able to pull harder and carry greater weights than ever before in Scotland. This particular heavy horse, however, is free from lorinery and leather and is presented in his showing finery with a carefully plaited mane and tail – the artist’s metaphor for Glasgow, a city with agricultural and industrial ancestry but now decidedly more showy. Copenhagen A war horse which endures great indignity, forever clambered upon by Glaswegian revellers and ridden by a man with a traffic cone balanced on his head. Assuming it is indeed Wellington’s favourite battle-charger, Copenhagen, on which the Iron Duke sits outside the Glasgow Gallery of Modern Art, the original flesh-and-sinew version was a hot-blooded chestnut horse, brave under cannon-fire and infantry attack. An Arab thoroughbred, he had the best of genes, having been a grandson of the famous 18th-century racehorse, Eclipse. Copenhagen was known to be feisty and ill-tempered, and after the final battle of Waterloo nearly landed a “savage kick” on his master for having the temerity to fondly pat his rump. However, the duke and his horse were a team, and remained so until the end. With a nod towards Caligula and Incitatus, Wellington rode Copenhagen into Downing Street when he took up his position as prime minister in 1828. When the horse died in 1836, aged 29, he was given a funeral with full military honours. The incessant coning of the statuesque duke – which can’t be easy in technical climbing/mounting terms – is believed to have begun in the 1980s and has been the subject of periodic council pleas for it to stop. This seems unlikely to happen, however. Glasgow does play host to occasional alternative after-the-pubs-shut diversions – such as removing Donald Dewar’s glasses – but Copenhagen continues to be the main attraction. Silly Billy Also in Glasgow, on the west side of Cathedral Square Gardens, stands an equestrian statue of a powerful horse, anatomically correct and graceful, with King William III – King Billy – up top. There is irony in this, as the king died in 1702 from complications following a fall from his real-life horse, Sorrel (which supposedly threw him "after stumbling into a mole's burrow").

There is something Shrek-like about the composition of the statue. When Donkey announced “Look at me! I’m a stallion!” in Shrek 2, he looked rather dapper while retaining the daft facial features and flared nostrils. Well, this horse is the same. It’s laughing while jogging along – and here’s perhaps the reason why. Erected in 1735, the Prince of Orange looks ridiculous, dressed in full Roman military dress. Perhaps modern-day Rangers fans might find more favour with UEFA were they to sing their songs of praise and tribute while dressed in togas and tunics. A nice Tennent’s-sponsored red-and-white-striped away tunic, that’d look lovely, eh? Certainly the horse sees the funny side of things, despite having been – presumably – intended to provide an air of authority and nobility. In a nice touch, its tail is designed to move in the wind courtesy of a ball-and-socket feature. There are jokes to be made involving Super Ally, but best leave those for another day. Polly Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens features an equestrian memorial that most recognise due to the rider sporting a bearskin. Quite how much protection this might offer in the event of a fall is unclear, but it would have been the least of the chap’s problems. The Boer War Memorial depicts a Royal Scots Greys (2nd Dragoons) cavalryman in full review of 1899, mounted on his battle horse. The bronze statue was modelled on Sergeant-Major Anthony James Hinnigan of Jedburgh astride Polly, on their return from South Africa. Polly would have been efficient in her role as a warhorse, with compact conformation and a workmanlike look. Sinew and muscle. The top brass might have preferred to ponce about at the rear on more finely bred beasts, ordering the cannon-fodder further forward, but Polly would have been a proper equine soldier. She looks a good all-rounder, with Heinz 57 breeding credentials, built for power and speed – and William Birnie Rhind's handiwork is the only statue of these seven that looks like a real horse. El Fideldo This pony is a character, quite literally, as the forebear of the little bronze statue on Woodlands Road in Glasgow wasn’t a real horse but a cartoon creation by Bud Neill.

Funded by public subscription and installed in 1992, the statue shows Neill’s bewhiskered sheriff of Calton Creek, Arizona, Lobey Dosser, astride the strange one-eyed – or is he winking? – El Fideldo, or Elfie, with arch-villain Rank Bajin riding pillion. While Elfie wouldn’t win any showing classes – or, indeed, be effective at any level as a real horse – in his original form he did provide great amusement to Glasgow kids in the 1950s and 60s. The Glaswegian vernacular and strong local influences, however, made the cartoon strip – which ran in the Evening News and the Sunday Mail – almost incomprehensible to anyone else. Elfie is that rare creature, the fully functioning two-legged horse – which perhaps suggests that government cutbacks in the fetlock department might yet be feasible.

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