In a quiet Brussels side street, a small bronze boy stands at a fountain. He is not large. He is not grand. Yet he is one of the city’s most cherished civic figures. His name is Manneken Pis — literally “little peeing man” — and what makes him remarkable is his relationship with the public. Several times a month the statue is ceremonially dressed in different outfits — national costume, trade uniforms, festive clothing, even fancy dress. With a wardrobe of more than a thousand costumes, carefully recorded and preserved, Brussels long ago learned that heritage endures best when people are encouraged to engage with it affectionately, not just observe it at arm’s length.
Consett, too, has its small bronze boy. Little Edward has been part of Blackhill and Consett Park since the park was presented to the local community by Consett Iron Company Limited and officially opened on 11 July 1891. Little Edward was installed as a drinking fountain, intended to be both useful and decorative: a place where walkers paused and thirst was quenched.
Today, the statue no longer functions as a fountain, but he is still there — quieter, more symbolic, and carefully preserved. The story is not one of loss, but of continuity through change: a transition from practical park furniture to cherished monument. That shift has brought protection and certainty. Yet it also raises a question. When historic features are carefully preserved, do they sometimes lose the warmth of everyday encounter — seen and respected, but no longer quite engaged with?
In fact, we already know how to avoid this. Across Britain, familiar Royal Mail post boxes are regularly topped with knitted or crocheted creations. Coronations, Remembrance, Christmas, Easter, and local anniversaries all find expression in wool and yarn. These toppers are seasonal, temporary, reversible, and constantly renewed. This is not vandalism. They are acts of care and affection. They show how communities can engage with shared historic fixtures without damaging them, adding warmth and meaning while leaving the object itself untouched.
Which brings us back to Little Edward. He will not return as a working fountain. But is there room for a little more human warmth around a figure that already invites affection? A light-touch approach — perhaps seasonal or occasional — could allow the community to engage with him in much the same spirit: knitted or crocheted accessories, created locally, installed briefly, and removed without trace.
Consett already has the imagination and skill for this. Anyone who has admired local post-box toppers knows there are eager knitters who understand humour, restraint, and weather. A winter scarf. A poppy in November. A touch of colour in spring.
Little Edward would remain exactly what he is — a monument — but one that briefly speaks again to the people who pass him every day. Sometimes heritage does not need to be reinvented. It just needs to be re-introduced.
Why is he called Little Edward?
The Victorian fountain, topped by a bronze boy, became affectionately known as Little Edward in tribute to George J. Edwards, chief engineering draughtsman to Consett Iron Company Limited, who was responsible for the planning and layout of the park in 1891.
