Harry's Unusual Courage

Courage, as you might know, comes from cœur, the French word for heart. That comes from France like Uncle Henry did … after he went there. But it wasn’t like a holiday for him. Like, he really didn’t want to go, see, but they’s had this God Almighty stupid war, like he called it. He said all his frightened and excited mates were running off to kill theyselves just so some rich sods could get richer. He couldn’t see the point but they could.

An’ they thought they’s really brave all kitted up with their uniforms, waving guns and hoping to kill people. All that brothers in arms thing, with arms, losing arms, some of them.

But me Uncle Harry … well, he was different. His heart just wouldn’t let him kill anyone. Actually, it wouldn’t even let him hate people. A chicken they called him. A baby, coward, yellow, a girl. But none of them names touched his heart and none of them even touched his feet.

See, he wouldn’t go to that God Almighty stupid war, despite being banned from his local pub, despite being spat on, and stoned by them who used to be his mates. His landlord kicked him out and he was on the street for a couples of nights till the army caught him and took him in. But they didn’t just give him free food and lodgings, oh no! Fact is, he’d rather not have been there.

They tried to turn him, and six others like him, into a killing machines and made them march naked in the snow an’ clean the stinking toilets with their hands and beds with no blankets in that freezing English winter. Lots of other embarrassing and tough jobs the army gave them but him and his peaceful lot weren’t becoming killing machines that easy. They weren’t doing it at all, he told me. But the army thought the chicken seven would eventually give in. They didn’t know my Uncle Harry.

See, his heart wouldn’t listen to ‘em. He just smiled, nodded, didn’t argue, shivered and eventually those seven dumb mules – as they called them, amongst other things – were herded onto one of those overflowing troop ships and carted off to France, not that they knew where they’s going till they got there. They were tossed in the frigid water to swim the last hundred yards in their uniforms, boots and packs.

But their hearts kept the seven going, freezing till they dried out, being abused, having guns thrown at them. They just caught them and put them down, caught them and put them down, caught them and put them down. Stupid bloody cowards, they was called, and then hauled off in them army trucks, Bedford RLs, and taken up to the trenches where all the brave soldiers were hiding, thousands on each side. They’d pop up and shoot at the enemy, day and night, and the enemy would shoot back, from their hundred yards away. But they all stayed in their hidey holes, in their trenches. No one dared to go up and into the middle, into no man’s land.

But, after a few days, the frustration blew up. Couldn’t be contained. The yelling bosses – sergeants, staff sergeants or whatever – thought they could get these stupid seven to convert to killing ways but they wouldn’t budge. Smiled, never complained and refused to hold a gun or a grenade. These weapons just dropped out of their hands when they’s handed them. The bosses weren’t used to being disobeyed and especially not by some weak cowardly types who never argued. They thought quiet people were weak but these quiet people wouldn’t budge. Not one bit. So, the final, like, conversion tactic, was tried.

Uncle Henry and his cowardly mates were marched, at gunpoint, to the top of the trench and made to stand in no man’s land. They knew they’d be shot if they didn’t, the fury of their bosses was so crazy. Everyone watched and waited for them to be mown down by enemy fire and more than a few of the spectators vomited onto the dirt. But they didn’t need to.

See, as Uncle Henry explained, something weird happened. No one expected this at all. Like, all this constant noise of firing guns and exploding grenades and yelling men … well, it just stopped. Just like that. Not a sound, except the clatter of guns being put down. No other sounds at all, from either side. It was as if God dropped a white handkerchief and everyone obeyed on the spot. There were no orders to obey – men on both sides just stopped trying to kill and watched over the edges of their hideaway holes.

Uncle Henry said he was surprised but, in a queer way, he wasn’t. See, he always listened to his heart and it had always kept him safe. So why not now? Cor, I wouldna’ had the heart to just stand there and trust but, really, they didn’t have any choice. Maybe they could have ducked down or something, but the seven just stood there, easy targets for the enemy.

So, yeah, there’s nothing they could do, really – be shot or not be shot. They stood there for five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. They could feel the fury of their bosses, behind them, turning to confusion. After half an hour of the completest silence in the war, they’s ordered back.

No one said a thing. Not a bloody thing and, two days later, they’s back on a troop ship for England to spend the next four years in a gaol. They was moved from solitary confinement to ordinary gaol to open gaol and, there, Uncle Harry started listening to other prisoners, turning terrified men into calm ones.

He couldn’t go back to his village because his name was dirt but, after the war, he became a psychologist and invented good treatments for battle fatigue or PTSD, as they call it now.

He’s never got no medal or anything but there’s thousands of men thankful for the big heart that teached their big hearts.

And that’s what I call courage.