This feature first appeared in March 2024 on Londonist: Time Machine, our much-praised history newsletter. To be the first to read new history features like this, sign up for free here.
“Never heard of her? Who chooses these plaques?”
I’ve overheard words like these so many times on the streets of London. Someone looks up at a plaque hoping to see a ‘Dickens woz ere’ or a memorial to Anne Boleyn. When it turns out to be a Czech diplomat or a classical linguist they act as though they’ve been cheated. “Who cares?”
Well, I care. In fact, I get a buzz every time I spot a plaque to an unfamiliar name. Each one is a portal through ignorance, if only we choose to take it.
I stumbled across this English Heritage blue plaque recently.
I’d never heard of Lilian Lindsay. “The first woman dentist to qualify in Britain”. That’s a big deal. I immediately got out my phone and started googling. And — wow — what a life.
“First woman dentist,” doesn’t begin to cover it. Lilian Lindsay was the first woman to be accepted by the British Dental Association (BDA) and would eventually become its President. She spoke six languages (including Old English). She founded one of the most respected dental libraries in the world, which still carries her name along with that of her husband Robert.
Lindsay was also the first female President of the Medical Society of London, a Commander of the Order of the British Empire and a prolific author. Not to mention her many victories over male gatekeepers who did everything they could to stymie her early career.
Her plaque also comes with a shameful backstory. It was originally erected in 2013 on her childhood home at 3 Hungerford Road, Holloway. Just four years later, the house was demolished without planning permission. “We were shocked to hear that the house has been knocked to the ground,” a BDA spokesperson told the Islington Tribune. “Imagine the outcry if a developer had bulldozed Charles Dickens’ house in Doughty Street.”
The plaque was later re-erected in its present location at the north-west corner of Russell Square — the building where Lindsay established her library. This is one dental plaque that should never be scraped away.
I felt humbled by the plaque but also ashamed of my ignorance. I’m from a science-medical background, yet I’d never before heard of this towering figure. It’s an experience I’ve had on many occasions. Would any of us remember Britain’s first Black train driver or the first African woman to be published in English, if their plaques did not tug at our cognizance? Recently, the people of Ilkley, West Yorkshire gained a plaque to nurse Daphne Steele, in the first expansion of English Heritage’s blue plaque scheme outside of London. She will be remembered.
So I disagree with those who sneer because they’ve never heard of the person on one of those distinctive blue discs. Even worse are people who cry “wokery” whenever a new plaque is unveiled to someone who isn’t white, straight and male. These are the most compelling memorials of all. They benefit everyone by garnishing the common pot of knowledge. But, more importantly, they speak out to the people and communities who are otherwise poorly represented by existing memorials: “One day, this could be you with your name on the wall.”
In just 12 words, Lilian Lindsay’s plaque sent me down a rabbit hole of discovery, and inspired me to write this article. I will now remember her name and achievements forever and I hope you will too. That is the power of the plaque.
