Among the later memorials in Wells Cathedral is one that caught my attention for its mixture of local pride and global history: the plaque to Captain Andrew Foster of the 24th Regiment of Foot. Born in Somerset around 1769, Foster was killed in the opening clash of the Battle of Blaauwberg, near Cape Town, on 8 January 1806. His Grenadiers had been ordered to haul a field gun up the slopes of Kleinberg to secure the high ground overlooking the valley. The manoeuvre brought them under fire from Hottentot Light Infantry sharpshooters and Batavian cannon, and though reinforced by Highlanders of the 71st, the Grenadiers were met at the summit by the Swellendam Dragoons. The skirmish that followed became the first major conflict of the battle, witnessed even by ships anchored offshore. It also claimed the life of Captain Foster, one of the first casualties of the campaign.
Recent battlefield archaeology has suggested the likely discovery of his grave, though confirmation is still awaited. What is certain is that his memory was honoured at home. In 1818, twelve years after his death, his fellow officers erected a monument to him in Wells Cathedral, not only for Foster but also for the fifteen soldiers who fell with him. The inscription is striking in its blend of military pride and personal esteem, describing him as a “Brother Officer whose life was as honourable as his death was glorious.”
Inscription on the memorial:
XXIV Infantry
Sacred to the Memory
ANDREW FOSTER ESQUIRE
A Native of this City
Captain in the twenty fourth Regiment of Foot
Who, at the Capture of the Cape of Good Hope
By the Forces under the Command of
Lieutenant General Sir DAVID BAIRD Bart CCB KC,
Fell in Battle on the eighth day of January 1806,
At the head of the Grenadiers of his Regiment.
He had dislodged from a commanding eminence
A very superior number of the enemy,
When he received a mortal wound,
In the thirty eighth year of his age,
After zealous service of sixteen years.
In testimony of esteem for a Brother Officer
Whose life was as honourable as his death was glorious,
This monument has been erected by his companions in arms, 1818.
The Battle of Blaauwberg, fought on 8 January 1806, was a short but decisive clash near Cape Town that secured British control of the Cape Colony. Though modest in scale compared to the great Napoleonic battles in Europe, its consequences were far-reaching, shaping the history of southern Africa for more than a century.
At the time, the Cape was under the Batavian Republic, a client state of Napoleonic France. Britain, determined to control the sea route to India, dispatched an expeditionary force of around 5,400 troops under Lieutenant General Sir David Baird, supported by a naval squadron. Their goal was to seize the Cape from Dutch control and deny its use to France.
The defending Batavian force, commanded by General Jan Willem Janssens, numbered about 3,100 men, including Dutch regulars, local militia, and allied units. The first clash came at Kleinberg hill, where the Grenadiers of the 24th Regiment—Captain Andrew Foster among them—were ordered to haul a field gun up the slopes. They faced heavy fire from Batavian cannon and sharpshooters, and though reinforced by Highlanders of the 71st, they were met at the summit by mounted militia. This skirmish marked the opening of the battle and claimed Foster’s life.
The main engagement unfolded on the plain of Blaauwberg. After about two hours of fighting, the Batavian line broke under British pressure. Janssens retreated inland but, outnumbered and cut off, surrendered a few days later. British casualties were around 200, while Batavian losses ranged between 300 and 700.
The outcome gave Britain permanent control of the Cape Colony, later confirmed by the Treaty of Paris in 1814. For Britain, it secured a vital naval base on the route to India; for South Africa, it marked the beginning of more than a century of British rule. For Somerset’s Andrew Foster, remembered in Wells Cathedral, it was the final chapter of a career cut short in the very first clash of the campaign.
Seen today, the plaque is more than a record of one man’s service. It links Wells to the wider world of empire and war, while also reminding us of the personal cost. The lion carved above the inscription, with the words Vivi Animi (“the living spirit”), seems to suggest that courage and memory endure even when lives are cut short. In a cathedral filled with medieval saints and Jacobean brasses, this early nineteenth‑century memorial adds another layer: a story of Somerset men carried far from home, and remembered with pride in stone.
