Memory, especially in its collective or codified forms, is a weapon of immense cultural and political power. There is, one might think, scarcely any significant act or influential belief that is not founded, whether explicitly or otherwise, on memory – that is the conventionalized perception of past experience. No social or political actor can escape the necessity to frame his or her preferences in relation to the ‘past’ – distant or immediate. Hardened into ‘memory’ or its close relative ‘history’, past experience is the basis on which people act or claim to act. The shaping of memory or even control over its public expression is, in consequence, of the greatest interest to states and to those that seek to shape their behaviour. In free societies, it is invariably a field of intense competition. As observers of the events surrounding the recent funeral of Margaret Thatcher will have noticed, her death occasioned a sharp set of skirmishes in Britain's ‘memory wars’.

But, why should the memory of empire play any part in those British ‘memory wars’ or concern us here now? Perhaps the answer is obvious. Britain was once a great power and possessed a huge global empire. Many of the connections which the empire created persist to this day, even if in a much altered form. A plausible case can be made that the vision of Britain as a global actor continues to exert a powerful attraction on its political leaders. The size and shape of Britain's armed forces (until the recent downsizing) arguably reflected their longstanding role (briefly interrupted – by two World Wars) as the guardians of empire. The baubles and titles of post-imperial Britain retain the language of empire. Thus, the Queen still appoints ‘Commanders of the British Empire’ and awards ‘Orders of the British Empire’ and his strangely antiquated vocabulary has resisted all modification.