Pretending they were there
From time to time those of us who live relatively straightforward and uncomplicated lives come across media stories that seem to come from another (alien) world altogether. It’s one in which con artists, fraudsters, fantasists and Walter Mitty-types ‘live out’ lifestyle scenarios which they have invented – either in order to dupe or scam others, or because they’re mentally unwell, or possibly even because because, unhappy and unfulfilled in their humdrum existences, they feel emboldened to create a personal ‘narrative’ for themselves in order to gain the self-esteem and respect from others to which they aspire.
In the field of human warfare, such issues can become blurred, obscured and complicated.
Take, for example, the celebrated case of Harry Patch, who died on 25th July 2009 at the age of 111.
For the last decade of his life he gained a significant celebrity for being one of the last – and then the last – British surviving veteran of the First World War. He was conscripted into the Army in 1916 and was severely wounded at the Third Battle of Ypres (more famously known as Passchendaele) – of which the centenary is currently being commemorated – on 22nd September 1917.
But – my point is – the fundamental factors in his ‘celebrity’ status (and the genuine affection and regard in which he was held by the British nation) for the last thirty years of his life were that (1) he had fought in WW1, and (2) he managed to live as long as he did. To be fair to Harry I don’t think he ever claimed to be anything special, but that is how he was viewed, primarily because he represented a last surviving symbol of our modern society’s connection with the awful Century-defining conflict.
On two or three occasions in the last fifteen years or so – there’s probably a ‘syndrome’ to describe of this sort of thing – I have seen instances where middle or late-aged gentlemen, some of them even in public office of some sort or another – have been ‘exposed’ for fraudulently masquerading as much-decorated veterans of WW2 when in fact they were nothing of the sort.
You know the sort of thing. They manage to pick up a few medals from an antiques shop, possibly buy a trademark red beret and/or uniform from an army surplus store, and begin turning up at Armistice Day parades, marching proudly to and from some village war memorial and basking in the received respect and sometimes awe given them by the watching crowds.
No doubt – as instances when they ‘get away’ with it proliferate, they begin to invent stories or actions in which they long ago ‘took part’ … perhaps initially just for the benefit of interested onlookers who ask … but (perhaps more dangerously) when genuine veterans also attending a ceremony or commemoration notice their campaign medals etc. and seek to share their experiences with a ‘fellow vet’.
‘More dangerously’, of course, because such encounters may lead to the discovery of their secret. And indeed, occasionally does do so – i.e. when said ‘exposure’ later makes page three or four of the Daily Mail, or similar.
All that leads me to present to Rust readers today the following link to a report that appears today on the website of The Daily Telegraph – which (I don’t quite know why) in some respects prompts me to feel some sympathy towards its subject – detailing another example of this genre – see here – DAILY TELEGRAPH
