Wellington on Tinder came about as the result of a recent conversation on Twitter about how the Iron Duke would have coped with modern dating apps, and follows on from my entirely frivolous look at Wellington on Twitter. My thanks to Andrew Bamford, Tansy Kelly Robson and Rohan Gandhy for giving me the idea. You’re all to blame.
No actual history was harmed, or indeed involved, in the writing of this post.
Freneida, Portugal, 1813
“Ah, Fitzroy, come in. Where the devil have you been?”
“Working, my Lord. You gave me…”
“Never mind, never mind. I require your help with something of a personal nature.”
“My Lord?”
“With a few months in one place, I am in need of relaxation, Fitzroy. I have my hunting of course, and dinners with my ADCs and staff members, and there are plenty of social events, most of which I would gladly avoid. But I require more. Something of a more intimate nature. In short, I am in need of…I would like…I wish for…”
“Are you looking for a girl, sir?”
“Possibly. I mean, yes. Definitely. I am aware that a number of my young officers, you included, have had some success on Tinder.”
“You want to set up a Tinder profile, my Lord?”
“If that is what it is called.” Pause. “You have an expression on your face, Fitzroy.”
“Do I, my Lord?”
“Yes. Explain it or remove it.”
“Well…Tinder is a dating app, my Lord. And it occurs to me that you are…well, I mean, you have a…”
“A wife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who is not here, Fitzroy, nor likely to be. Do not tell me that every one of my officers who have been hooking up with the local beauties through Tinder is a single man. I happen to know for a fact…”
“Don’t tell me, my Lord.”
“Why not?”
“If it’s the story about Colonel Cadogan, I’ve already heard it once, and I don’t need to think about it again.”
“As for Lieutenant-Colonel Barnard…”
“He isn’t married, my Lord.”
“Just as well. If even half those stories are true, he would not have the energy for a wife. Anyway, how do I go about meeting an attractive female on Tinder?”
“Well…first you have to set up your profile. Are you sure I’m the best person to help you with this, my Lord? I wondered if General van Daan…”
“Certainly not. He is definitely a married man in every sense of the word, and has no reason to know anything about Tinder or any other way of meeting women, it would be most inappropriate! What do I need for a profile?”
“Well, you need an image. More than one is best.”
“Hmm. There are very few satisfactory portraits of me, but I suppose I could use the Goya sketch, although it makes me look somewhat wooden.”
“It’s generally considered best to have a picture where you’re smiling, my Lord.”
Pause.
“Smiling.”
“Yes, my Lord. I read in GQ that it makes you look more friendly and approachable.”
“Fitzroy, are you feeling quite well?”
“That’s a very good point, my Lord. Let’s just work with what we have.”
“What other advice about portraits?”
“I seem to remember reading that it is not a good idea to take your shirt off.”
“TAKE MY SHIRT OFF? Have these people gone completely mad?”
“Well, as I said, my Lord, best not to. The thing to do in images on Tinder is always to be yourself.”
“Who else am I supposed to be, in God’s name? This is nonsense, Fitzroy. Let’s get on with this.”
“Yes, my Lord. Right, I think that will do. Now, I’ve been told that it is often a winning strategy with the ladies to show your softer side. Are there any portraits with children, or animals?”
“I have several on horseback.”
“I was thinking of more sweet, cuddly animals, my Lord.”
“So not Copenhagen, then?”
“Best not, I think. Why don’t we move on to your bio? Now the article I read said to keep it short and to the point.”
“Like my correspondence?”
“Perhaps not exactly like that. What would you like the ladies to know about you?”
“My name. My station. Possibly my titles, although we should leave out the tedious Spanish ones, they go on for ever.”
“What about your interests, my Lord? What do you enjoy?”
“Hunting.”
“Anything else?”
“I have no time for anything else, I command an army. What else do they need to know?”
“What do you look for in a woman, my Lord?”
“Attractiveness, intelligence and availability.”
“Right. Possibly we won’t include that. We could put in something about your family.”
“The marital history of my family would make them run for the hills, Fitzroy, it has the same effect on me from time to time. And we can hardly mention my wife. Let us leave it at that.”
“Very good, my Lord. After that, it is simple. You can look at the profiles of girls on the app and if you like them, swipe this way. If not, swipe the opposite way.”
“And then?”
“Women will do the same. If two of you swipe right, you have a match, and you can send them a message.”
“That sounds very simple. Thank you, Fitzroy. I have a number of letters to write, and I have a meeting with Dr McGrigor and then I shall try my fortune. I will let you know how I get on.”
Later that day…
“So how did you get on with Tinder, my Lord?”
“Utterly ridiculous process, Fitzroy, I intend to delete the app.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, my Lord. Did you not get any matches?”
“On the contrary, I was inundated. That was not the problem.”
“Then what…”
“The first one was a French actress, currently touring Europe. She was definitely enthusiastic, and not at all worried about my reticence concerning my previous connections. A very attractive woman.”
“But not local, sir.”
“Oh, I have a feeling she might be at some point, Fitzroy. She, however, was not at all reticent, naming several previous lovers, including Napoleon Bonaparte. She is either deluded or highly problematic.”
“How unfortunate.”
“Then there was a pretty girl called Maria. She was very happy to converse and seemed genuinely interested in my views on the Spanish government, but it would appear that to enjoy her company I would need to be willing to rescue her from the convent in which she is currently incarcerated. I suspect her motives.”
“Interesting, my Lord.”
“There were a number of other brief conversations, which convinced me that the women who frequent this app have no grasp of reality, are afflicted with melancholy or in some cases, actually insane. Finally, as I was about to give up, I struck up a conversation with a young woman who lives in Ciudad Rodrigo. She seemed a delightful person. Attractive, if her portrait is to be believed, intelligent, and understanding. I confessed that I was married, and she admitted that she was in a similar condition, although her husband deserted her many years ago.”
“That sounds ideal, my Lord. What went wrong?”
“She is far too sensitive. We were engaged in a conversation about horse-riding, when a letter arrived from the Duke of York regarding my provisional battalions. I read it while still talking to her, and it infuriated me. He has no understanding of the difficulties I face out here, and writes utter nonsense about the integrity of the regimental system, going so far to suggest that it is my own understanding that is at fault. Naturally I was obliged to end the conversation in order to write to him, to correct his impression that he is dealing with an imbecile. I was perfectly polite about it.”
“What did she say, my Lord.”
“I will read it to you. Wait – here it is. ‘Oh but surely you can talk a little longer. What can be more important than flirting with me?’ There are then rows of emojis, very few of which seemed relevant to the conversation. I replied, and she has unmatched me.”
“What did you reply, my Lord?”
“Nothing offensive. Should I read it to you?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Forgive my bluntness, ma’am, but a large number of things are more important, and if we are to develop a romantic attachment, it is vitally important that you understand that from the beginning. I am in the middle of reorganising my army, after the most appalling end to the previous campaign. I need to secure my supplies, obtain reinforcements and bully London into providing me with enough money to pay my army. The generals they send me are frequently incompetent, and in at least one case, completely mad. The Portuguese have no money and the Spanish do not seem able to get themselves organised, and in the middle of it all, I have the Commander-in-Chief in London trying to take large numbers of my veteran troops and replace them with raw recruits, as though there was no difference in quality. I am sorry if I cannot always be available to pay you compliments, but you will need to understand that my work comes first. I will message you again when I have time to arrange a meeting. Yours, in haste, Wellington.”
“And that caused her to un-match you? I’m shocked, my Lord.”
“Exactly. I cannot have a female with such unrealistic expectations. I shall delete the app and resign myself to a single life until I have more time. Now, enough of this nonsense. Pass me the letter from Hill, I need to reply immediately.”
Aberly, Derbyshire, June 1813
Vitoria, June 20th, 1813
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