The Bank of England’s plan to remove Churchill, Turing and others from our banknotes is a statement about what kind of country we want to be

The Bank of England has decided to retire Churchill, Turing, Austen and other major historical figures from future banknotes. What might appear to be a straightforward matter of currency design has opened a far more significant debate about how modern Britain understands its past and chooses to present itself to future generations.

The Bank’s commissioned report, released last autumn, described historical icons as “backward-looking” and potentially divisive. Focus groups suggested that Alan Turing, whose work at Bletchley Park shortened the Second World War and saved millions of lives, carried an “imperialistic” undertone. Nearly 120 participants felt that the figures who shaped the country seemed distant from their own lives. One is left wondering what, exactly, these participants would prefer to see instead.

A response grounded in fact, not feeling

The criticism that has followed has been sharp and, in many cases, well-founded. Veterans, historians and public commentators have argued that sidelining these individuals risks weakening the shared story that holds the nation together. Colonel Richard Kemp put it plainly: without Churchill and Turing, Britain’s wartime outcome could have been unrecognisable. That is not sentiment. It is history.

The Bank maintains that the shift is driven by security concerns. Counterfeiters are increasingly capable of reproducing human faces, and nature-based imagery is harder to forge. A shortlist of native animals, from owls to bumblebees, is now open to public consultation, with a final decision expected later this year. It is a practical argument, as far as it goes. But it does not quite explain why the conversation needed to be framed in terms of division and distance in the first place.

The cultural moment we are living through

Across the UK, and particularly here in the West Midlands, where wartime industry, civic contribution and working-class ingenuity run deep, there is a growing sense that we are living through a period shaped by heightened institutional sensitivity. Some call it a woke agenda. Others see it as a generational shift in values. Whatever label one applies, it is clear that public institutions are responding to a climate in which historical complexity is often treated as a liability rather than a resource.

These moments tend to be temporary. They dominate the conversation for a time, then recede. What endures are the individuals whose decisions carried real weight when the stakes were not theoretical. Churchill’s leadership during Britain’s darkest hours. Turing’s brilliance, which altered the course of global conflict. Austen’s lasting influence on English literature and the novel as a form. Their significance does not disappear because their portraits no longer appear on a five-pound note.

Widening the frame without tearing it down

If the genuine aim is to broaden representation, the answer is not to sideline the past but to expand the frame around it. Britain’s history is richer and more varied than many institutional responses currently suggest. There are figures whose contributions deserve far greater recognition and who could sit alongside, rather than in place of, the names already familiar to us.

Clement Attlee, the quiet architect of post-war reconstruction. Ernest Bevin, a working-class powerhouse who helped shape NATO and Britain’s role in the world. Barbara Castle, a reformer whose legislative legacy still frames modern working life. Harold Macmillan, who provided steady leadership during a period of profound social change. Florence Nightingale, a pioneer of modern nursing and public health. Mary Seacole, a reminder that British heroism has always been broader than its most familiar portraits suggest.

These are not replacements. They are additions. They demonstrate that national memory can be inclusive without requiring the erasure of foundations.

What a nation chooses to remember

Replacing historical figures with wildlife may seem harmless, even charming. But it signals something about how Britain currently sees itself: a country more comfortable with the natural world than with the weight of its own story. The West Midlands, shaped by resilience, industry and generations of civic service, understands the value of remembering the people who carried responsibility when it mattered most.

History has a habit of settling itself. Once the noise of the present fades, societies often return to the leaders who stood firm when failure was not an option. Churchill and Turing will not vanish because their likenesses leave the currency. Their imprint is too deep for that.

But the direction of travel still matters. A nation that grows uneasy with its past risks losing its sense of purpose. A nation that engages with that past honestly, critically and without fear stands a far better chance of understanding where it is heading next.