David Olusoga’s Hidden Histories
It’s not at all surprising that Giuseppe Garibaldi is a national hero in his native Italy. Arguably the pre-eminent figure in the struggle to unify the Italian
peninsula, his statue is everywhere and most Italian towns and villages seem to have at least one street or square named after him. What is more unexpected is that Garibaldi was also regarded as a hero here in Britain.
In the middle decades of the 19th century, he was feted and lionised by our Victorian ancestors in a way and to an extent that was arguably unprecedented.
The relics of Britain’s Garibaldi craze can still be found today. On a street corner in the centre of Newcastle, for example, is a plaque marking his 1854 visit to the city. The shelves and display cabinets of numerous museums and private collections feature Staffordshire pottery figurines of Garibaldi in heroic poses, which were produced in their thousands.
A brilliant military commander, Garibaldi won battles across Italy in the cause of unification, and did so in the gaze of a European press that was booming in response to growing literacy. Yet the sheer scale of his celebrity stemmed from more than his military exploits: it was furthered by his windswept and romantic image. If you set out to design a romantic revolutionary hero from scratch, you would probably come up with something similar to General Giuseppe Garibaldi. The closest figure the 20th century had to him was perhaps Che Guevara.
From the 1850s onward, what we would now call a ‘personal brand’ developed around Garibaldi. Having served in military campaigns in Europe, he was exiled in South America, where he became known as the ‘hero of the two worlds’ – the old and the new.
It was during his time in South America that Garibaldi acquired a distinctive personal style. As well as tasselled hats, he famously wore loose-fitting red shirts, later adopted by the volunteers from across Italy and throughout Europe who flocked to fight under him. Influenced by the fashions of the South American gaucho, these red shirts marked Garibaldi out as a uniquely dashing figure. They became an item of popular fashion for women, and Nottingham Forest football club – established in the 1860s just after Garibaldi had visited the city – chose ‘Garibaldi Red’ as its team colour.
The apex of the Victorian cult of Garibaldi came during his 1864 visit to Britain. In London, half a million people were estimated to have gathered in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. Some historians believe these were the largest crowds that had ever taken to the streets of the capital. He was honoured with a 15-gun salute, and on a trip to the opera at Covent Garden flowers rained down upon his head and huge crowds chanted “Garibaldi for ever”. The make-up of those crowds was testimony to Garibaldi’s unique ability to appeal to both the elites and the masses, and be as popular with women as with men. A reporter from The Guardian noted that “the female portion of those present were even more eager than their male companions to reach Garibaldi, and, if they could not shake hands with him, at least to touch the grey cloak he wore”.
Remarkably, though, perhaps the most enduring legacy of the incredible celebrity that Garibaldi achieved in Victorian Britain is not a statue or a heritage plaque but a biscuit. The Garibaldi biscuit was invented in London in 1861, the year that the man himself achieved his lifetime ambition – leading his army to victory and unifying a nation.