Council in February 1868. For taking a humane stand on their behalf Maxse became something of a hero to the islanders – so much so that they named a street after him. It is still there.
Regardless of the differences some of the island’s elders had with London, the inhabitants were mostly well satisfied with the post-1868 state of things, although naturally there was always likely to be a slight general hankering for the good old times of wrecking, gambling and no taxation. Britain continued to make no attempt to stifle local identity. Indeed, it affably accepted, and indeed encouraged, such distinctiveness. Its benignly disinterested stance towards the territory meant the islanders felt they were enjoying the best of both worlds. On the one hand their relatively strong sense of independence was respected, while on the other, their status as a British colony – unlike all the other Frisian Islands and neighbouring North Sea coastal ports – meant they were uniquely associated with the world’s greatest maritime power. Queen Victoria’s head appeared in the corner of all their distinctive green, red and white stamps. London had no objection to the Heligolanders evolving a flag of their own, depicting the island’s native colours of green, red and white, and formally approved of that tricolour having the British Union Jack motif in one corner. That flag became one of the Heligolanders’ most prized possessions. It tangibly linked their little island with Britain’s immense naval power, and they scarcely missed an opportunity to fly it proudly – if rather provocatively – from the ensign staffs of their fishing-boats when visiting neighbouring ports.
In 1868 the island saw the establishment of half a dozen English coastguards under a Royal Navy officer. The officer was also appointed Wreck Receiver – and thereby, on the subject of wreck and salvage, enabled ship-owners to obtain justice. Instead of being an alleged nest of wreckers, Heligoland became renowned for the order and regularity preserved when wrecks occurred. There was a sense that the presence of uniformed British coastguard officials on the island somehow brought Britain and Heligoland closer together. During gales the islanders used to drag their small lobster boats up to safety among the houses of the Lower Town, while their sloops had to ride out the worst of the storms at moorings that might frequently be carried away. Hitherto the island’s fishermen had lived heroically, often using their boats as lifeboats, manoeuvring them skilfully through the shoals that beset the island to save some schooner or brig driven aground. The arrival of the coastguards to do this work further strengthened the link of common seafaring experience between Britain and Heligoland.
And yet still there were few in Britain who really knew much about the island. Artistic works were made of it, but for one reason or another the British public seldom got a chance to view them. In 1837 a grotesque etching entitled ‘The Death-boat of Heligoland’, of drowning mariners in a tempestuous sea, was created in the style of the seascape artist J.M.W. Turner, although it only appeared as an illustration in a collection of poems by Thomas Campbell. The exhibits displayed at the 1851 Great Exhibition at Crystal Palace and the 1886 Colonial Exhibition in London gave the general public the opportunity to get some idea of the nature of Britain’s colonies. Heligoland, unfortunately, was too diminutive to be considered worthy of representation at such gatherings. In 1856 a sculpture of Alfred the Great clutching a Heligoland-style Frisian boat was unveiled at the Royal Academy. It was then permanently sited within the confines of the Houses of Parliament, but in a spot so obscure that no one had a chance to associate it with Heligoland. In the 1880s Hamilton Macallum, a distinguished Royal Academician, visited the island and was well received at Government House. The many images of it
Regardless of the differences some of the island’s elders had with London, the inhabitants were mostly well satisfied with the post-1868 state of things, although naturally there was always likely to be a slight general hankering for the good old times of wrecking, gambling and no taxation. Britain continued to make no attempt to stifle local identity. Indeed, it affably accepted, and indeed encouraged, such distinctiveness. Its benignly disinterested stance towards the territory meant the islanders felt they were enjoying the best of both worlds. On the one hand their relatively strong sense of independence was respected, while on the other, their status as a British colony – unlike all the other Frisian Islands and neighbouring North Sea coastal ports – meant they were uniquely associated with the world’s greatest maritime power. Queen Victoria’s head appeared in the corner of all their distinctive green, red and white stamps. London had no objection to the Heligolanders evolving a flag of their own, depicting the island’s native colours of green, red and white, and formally approved of that tricolour having the British Union Jack motif in one corner. That flag became one of the Heligolanders’ most prized possessions. It tangibly linked their little island with Britain’s immense naval power, and they scarcely missed an opportunity to fly it proudly – if rather provocatively – from the ensign staffs of their fishing-boats when visiting neighbouring ports.
In 1868 the island saw the establishment of half a dozen English coastguards under a Royal Navy officer. The officer was also appointed Wreck Receiver – and thereby, on the subject of wreck and salvage, enabled ship-owners to obtain justice. Instead of being an alleged nest of wreckers, Heligoland became renowned for the order and regularity preserved when wrecks occurred. There was a sense that the presence of uniformed British coastguard officials on the island somehow brought Britain and Heligoland closer together. During gales the islanders used to drag their small lobster boats up to safety among the houses of the Lower Town, while their sloops had to ride out the worst of the storms at moorings that might frequently be carried away. Hitherto the island’s fishermen had lived heroically, often using their boats as lifeboats, manoeuvring them skilfully through the shoals that beset the island to save some schooner or brig driven aground. The arrival of the coastguards to do this work further strengthened the link of common seafaring experience between Britain and Heligoland.
And yet still there were few in Britain who really knew much about the island. Artistic works were made of it, but for one reason or another the British public seldom got a chance to view them. In 1837 a grotesque etching entitled ‘The Death-boat of Heligoland’, of drowning mariners in a tempestuous sea, was created in the style of the seascape artist J.M.W. Turner, although it only appeared as an illustration in a collection of poems by Thomas Campbell. The exhibits displayed at the 1851 Great Exhibition at Crystal Palace and the 1886 Colonial Exhibition in London gave the general public the opportunity to get some idea of the nature of Britain’s colonies. Heligoland, unfortunately, was too diminutive to be considered worthy of representation at such gatherings. In 1856 a sculpture of Alfred the Great clutching a Heligoland-style Frisian boat was unveiled at the Royal Academy. It was then permanently sited within the confines of the Houses of Parliament, but in a spot so obscure that no one had a chance to associate it with Heligoland. In the 1880s Hamilton Macallum, a distinguished Royal Academician, visited the island and was well received at Government House. The many images of it
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