Courage

I remember reading about Russian soldiers during their darkest days of WWII. For every man that went into battle, they would have one gun. The battle plan was to keep on advancing and when the bloke with the gun got himself killed, his nearest unarmed comrade picked it up, and so on.

Of course, they had the NKVD trailing on behind ready to add some lead ballast in the back of the brain of anyone who thought this was brainless. As some wag said: It took a brave man not to be a hero in the Russian army. Even so, it was something to admire.

But it was enforced courage. The real, real courage I witnessed today, on tv at least, was the folk in Iraq who went out to vote. This wasn’t just turning up at your nearest primary school-cum-polling station like we do (or don’t because we can’t be arsed.)

This was queuing up for hours with the real threat of being blown to kingdom come by a suicide bomber. And still they queued. That is what I call courage. The sort that gets you freedom and democracy.

The sort we take for granted. The sort that can’t tempt us out our comfortable lives if polling day clashes with Eastenders. Sheesh. Sorry: SHEESH.

Nobody’s prefect. If you find any spelling mistakes or other errors in this post, please let me know by highlighting the text and pressing Ctrl+Enter.

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