The story
Welcome to the heart of Glasgow’s Royal Exchange Square. Stand here for a moment and look up at the imposing bronze figure mounted on his horse, Copenhagen. This is Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington—the man who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo.
Standing before the grand, Corinthian columns of what is now the Gallery of Modern Art, this 1844 masterpiece by Baron Marochetti was intended to be a symbol of stoic British triumph and Victorian gravity. But as you can see, the Duke is wearing something the sculptor never intended. Perched precariously atop his noble head is a bright orange-and-white traffic cone.
To a stranger, this might look like a fleeting act of late-night revelry. But to a Glaswegian, that cone is a sacred emblem. The tradition began in the 1980s, likely as a dare after a few pints in a nearby pub.
For years, it was a game of cat and mouse. The city council would send workers with cherry pickers to remove the cone, only for a fresh one to appear by the next morning. It became a testament to the city’s legendary "gallus" humor—a word that means bold, cheeky, and full of spirit.
The real drama, however, unfolded in 2013. The Glasgow City Council, weary of the "vandalism" and the sixty-five thousand pound annual bill for cone removal, proposed a plan to double the height of the statue’s plinth to stop the pranksters once and for all. They didn't expect what happened next.
Within twenty-four hours, an online petition titled "Keep the Cone" gathered over ten thousand signatures. The people of Glasgow argued that the cone had become more famous than the Duke himself. It represented a city that refuses to take authority—or itself—too seriously.
Faced with a public outcry that reached as far as the international press, the council surrendered. The cone stayed. It has since been changed to gold for the Commonwealth Games, replaced with a European flag during Brexit debates, and even featured a blue and yellow design in solidarity with Ukraine.
Even the world-renowned artist Banksy famously declared it his favorite work of art in the UK, choosing the gallery right behind the statue to host his first exhibition in fourteen years. As you walk around the base of the statue, notice the contrast: the formal, neoclassical architecture of the square and the ridiculous, plastic hat on the Great Commander. It is the perfect metaphor for Glasgow itself—deeply historical, unapologetically gritty, and always ready to have the last laugh.
Keep your eyes peeled as you wander; in this city, the art isn't just inside the galleries—it’s often sitting right on top of history.