THE old headstone is weathering away. In swirls around the top, it appears to say “En repose”, a French-sounding way of falling asleep.

Beneath the swirls is a French-looking name: Nicolas Hennon.

The next line has been lost to the ravages of time, but beneath it, another French name leaps from the headstone: Napoleon Bonaparte.

This is the headstone of Monsieur Hennon, a French soldier who was captured by the British while he was fighting for Napoleon. Now he lies in the churchyard of Norton-on-Tees, where the word is that he was captured 200 years ago on Thursday, during the Battle of Waterloo.

The Northern Echo: TIME RAVAGED: Nicolas Hennon's headstone in Norton churchyard
Nicolas Hennon's headstone in Norton churchyard

We don’t, in truth, know much about Mons Hennon. The line lost to the ravages of time probably once recorded his rank – a Sous Officier, or Sergeant-Major, in Napoleon’s Grande Armee.

Still legible – just – is that he “mort”, or died, on December 3, 1858, when he was “aged” – the stonemason seems to have swopped languages – 77 years.

Britain was at war with France from 1792 until the Duke of Wellington saw off Napoleon at Waterloo on June 18, 1815. It was a war that spilled around the world, involving many countries and many theatres. In the various conflicts, Britain captured an estimated 200,000 French fighters, many of them sailors, who were brought back to this country.

The lowest ranks were stashed on the infamous prison ships, or hulks, or in large “land depots” – the phrase “prisoner of war camp” hadn’t been invented then, even though that’s what a “land depot” was.

The captured officers were treated better, because they were regarded as gentlemen. They were sent to “parole depots”, which meant they were billeted with the inhabitants of a local community. They were allowed to travel only a mile from their billet, but they were allowed to mix and mingle with the locals as much as they liked, or the locals wanted.

Two hundred years ago, the British public were deeply frightened by the possibility of Napoleonic invasion. You may remember from Memories 126 how places like Stockton and Bishop Middleham drew up elaborate evacuation plans in 1803. If Boney sailed up the Tees, a Minute Gun would be fired from the cupola of Stockton Town Hall, signalling an orderly evacuation through Bishopton and Rushyford to Bishop Auckland. If Boney hoved into view off Hartlepool, the villagers of Bishop Middleham were to be given a signal when “the first division of carts must immediately assemble in the green and draw up their horses fronting the church and when the whole division is ready, the carts to move off, following close after each other, in a line; but on no account must any cart attempt to pass that which is before."

Of course, so frightened were the people of Hartlepool by the prospect of invasion, that they hanged a monkey on the beach after mistaking him as a French spy – an easy mistake to make.

Yet Nicolas Hennon seems to have been accepted in Norton, and he stayed in the village until his mort in 1858. Perhaps he found work there; perhaps he found love there; perhaps he was amid the crowds there in September 1827, when Wellington, “the hero of Waterloo”, visited on a triumphal tour of the North-East...

IN AUGUST 1827, Lord Goderich became Prime Minister, presiding over a government of moderate Tories and Whigs. He made the Duke of Wellington – the man who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo – Commander-in-Chief of the Army, but didn’t offer him a place in the Cabinet.

Wellington was an ultra-Tory. He knew that Goderich’s government wouldn’t last long. He knew that if he could win enough votes, he could become Prime Minister. So he began touring the country, ostensibly meeting the people who wanted to thank him for his heroic military career, but also collecting votes for his prime ministerial push.

His first port of call in September 1827 was the North-East, where he was hosted by Charles Vane Tempest Stewart, pictured below, the 3rd Marquess of Londonderry.

The Northern Echo: THE MARQUIS: Charles Vane Tempest Stewart, the Marquess of Londonderry, of Wynyard Hall

Londonderry had been Wellington’s Adjutant-General during part of the Napoleonic Wars and he, too, was an ultra-Tory – he harboured ambitions of a place in his friend’s Cabinet, should Wellington win the election.

In 1813, Londonderry had married Frances Vane Tempest, pictured below, the wealthy heiress who owned much of County Durham’s coalfield and whose family seat was Wynyard Hall.

The Northern Echo:

She became his marchioness, and the pair began transforming the hall. Their architect, Philip Wyatt, based his design for Wynyard on Waterloo Palace – a lavish house that was going to be presented to Wellington by a grateful nation, but which was never built.

Wellington began his visit to the Wynyard version of Waterloo Palace on September 24, 1827. He crossed the Tees at Yarm, where 120 men greeted him and the marchioness invited him to take a seat in a specially-commissioned carriage, which had been made by her men at Chilton Moor Colliery, near Houghton-le-Spring.

Pulled by six horses, and followed by two wagons containing a band which played See the Conquering Hero Comes, he progressed into Stockton, passing under a triumphal march made of laurels and evergreens which bore the legend: “Welcome the Hero of Waterloo”.

The Northern Echo: WATERLOO PALACE: Wynyard Hall was built to the designs of a mansion that was to be presented to Wellington
Wynyard Hall was built to the designs of a mansion that was to be presented to Wellington

After fanfares, feasts and speeches at the town hall, his carriage took him to Norton where Londonderry had just built a town house. Perhaps with Nicolas Hennon looking on, Wellington renamed the town house Wellington House, and then proceeded, with huge razzamatazz and vast crowds, to Wynyard.

A “fat ox, divided into two halves, was roasted for the occasion”, and having eaten his fill, he laid the foundation stone for what was to be a triumphal arch in the Wynyard grounds. Undoubtedly, he would have noticed with some pride that “Wellington, friend of Londonderry” had been carved on the stone.

He spent about a week feasting at Wynyard, visiting the collieries, seeing his first steam engine, before venturing to Alnwick to see the Duke of Northumberland in the castle. He breakfasted with Earl Grey at his seat at Howick – perhaps even drinking scented tea – before returning to Durham on October 3. The marchioness met him with the special carriage – “a triumphal car, mounted on springs” – at Framwellgate Moor, and together they travelled into the City, accompanied by more bands playing See the Conquering Hero Comes and passing under more triumphal arches which welcomed “the Hero of Waterloo”.

Everywhere flew pink banners and flags as pink was then the electoral colour of the Tories in the North-East.

There were speeches and presentations outside Durham Town Hall, the Market Place crammed to bursting point, before a short journey to Durham Castle where the Bishop of Durham, William van Mildert, had laid on a sumptuous banquet.

In fact, the Bishop had hired 21 dozen wine glasses for the occasion, and had festooned the castle with crimson moreen and drugget – fancy fabrics which gave the castle an opulent feel. He’d ordered 27.5lbs of Cheshire cheese and he had invited “a galaxy of nobility” to nibble on it.

With Londonderry presiding, and novelist Sir Walter Scott adding a dash of celebrity to the proceedings, they rubbed their hands at the prospect of an ultra-Tory government headed by the hero of Waterloo.

Next day, Wellington ventured into Sunderland, where the 40,000-strong crowd was of such huge proportions that people got crushed in their desire to see the vanquisher of Napoleon.

After a stay of ten days, which were an orgy of excitement and a gluttony of feasting, Wellington said farewell to his hosts the Londonderrys and, via Studley Royal at Ripon, he progressed south to London. He was due to call in on Leeds, but the Queen of Wurtemburg was desirous of his presence in the capital.

As the hubbub died down at Wynyard, the Londonderrys looked at the large, inscribed foundation stone in their park and wondered whether they really liked the idea of a triumphal arch. Instead, they settled upon a 127ft obelisk, the Wellington Obelisk, pictured below, which rose triumphantly from the foundation.

The Northern Echo: WELLINGTON OBELISK: The Iron Duke laid the foundation stone in Wynyard Park in 1827

Less than three months after the visit, Goderich’s feeble government collapsed. With the Irish on the verge of rebellion, King George IV called on the hero of Waterloo, the Iron Duke himself, to form a firm government.

Perhaps Londonderry sat in Wynyard looking at his obelisk and waiting for a message from his old brother-in-arms, whom he had so splendidly serenaded a few weeks earlier, inviting him to join the Cabinet.

But the message never came.

In a fit of pique, Londonderry went to the foot of his obelisk and ordered that the words “friend of Londonderry” should be removed from the foundation stone, leaving just the word “Wellington”, which is visible to this day.

So Echo Memories’ little commemoration of the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo boils down to a story of two stones: a humble headstone that has been edited by the ravages of time and a grand foundation stone that was erased by a marquis who felt betrayed by his best friend.

With thanks to Bob Harbron of Norton Heritage, and to the book Wynyard Hall, The History of a Great House which was published by the hotel in 2011.

If there are any Waterloo connections to your local community, please let us know.