One in, all in should be our new Blitz spirit
Stiff upper lips are out of fashion, but the London Bridge attack proved they can come in very handy
Hurrah for Thomas Gray! He was driving his mini across London Bridge last Friday when he saw a terrorist being chased by some men with a fire extinguisher: he jumped out of his car and joined them as they pinned the fanatic to the ground. They stomped on Usman Khan’s wrists till he dropped his knives, then the police shot Khan dead. “One thought was going through my mind,” explained Mr Gray. “Stop the dude. I’ve played rugby for most my life and the rule on and off the pitch is: ‘One in, all in’.” What did he do after helping to save the day? “The British thing,” said Mr Gray: he went to the pub.
Well, boom, bash, bosh: doesn’t that make you proud? Somebody is fighting back against these lunatics!
One of the worst things about terrorism is that it makes you feel vulnerable in your own home – and the coddling of big government almost encourages it. The official advice in the event of a terror attack is “run, hide, tell”, which is sensible but depressing. We’ve come a long way from the Blitz spirit.
By coincidence, I’ve just finished a magnificent book by James Bowman on the history of “honour”, in which he argues that standing your ground used to be regarded as natural and virtuous, until the mindless slaughter of the First World War. Revulsion at the consequences of jingoism turned us against chivalry, duty, the military and, I’d suggest, against men as a species, because we’re the one who tend to start the fights. Mr Bowman notes that during the First World War, men were dishonoured if they didn’t join the army. By the time of Vietnam, and the draft-dodging movement, they were dishonoured if they did.
Which begs the question: has a century of “make love, not war” changed us? No. You can’t rewire human instinct. Just ask Lukasz, the Polish chef who, when he saw what Khan was up to, grabbed a 5ft antique narwhal tusk off the wall and used it to push him against a railing.
This is not to say that if you don’t fight back, you’re not a “real man”
– a silly turn of phrase – and there are other qualities just as noble and practical, like having the wit to call the police or the compassion to help the victims. But risk-taking and stiff upper lip can be virtues, though our culture is reluctant to promote them. It’s as if we’re frightened of letting primordial spirits out of the bag: things that the therapeutic state has decided are bad for your health, like “getting stuck in” or “soldiering on.”
Bravery, says nanny, is talking about your feelings. It is. But so is cornering a terrorist with a narwhal tusk.
When things like this happen, we all like to imagine what we’d do. I fear I’d be about as useful as a Bakewell tart, and I’ve good reason to think that. I occasionally travel to conflict areas, so two years ago I was sent on a hazardous environment course in Surrey to undergo training for what to do in the event of a kidnap, etc. Pease Pottage was redecorated to look like Chechnya, and it was jolly authentic, but I suffer from that very English sense of detachment from everything that’s happening around me. It makes me a terrible actor. They’d simulate a bomb going off and I’d stand there smiling like an idiot. “You’re dead!” shouted an instructor. “Righty-ho!” I called back and, very arthritically, laid down in the grass.
According to the course, there are four classic psychological responses to danger – fight, flight, freeze and appease (“polite confusion” wasn’t on the list) – and part of the goal was to discover what your instincts are. It quickly became apparent that I’m an appeaser. In fact, I was the Neville Chamberlain of journalism. There wasn’t a scenario I wasn’t convinced I could appease, bargain or, if necessary, flirt my way out of. And I suspect I turned on the charm because it gave me an illusion of being in control.
That’s why, on the other hand, I’m absolutely terrified of planes: things are out of your hands. I’m a mess in the air; I can only do it drunk. It’s a silly phobia, but sometimes useful. I visited Iraq in the summer and everything that happened on the ground seemed like a breeze after flying BA – and at least in a conflict area, you can smoke. Everybody generally does.
I call the ability to keep your head when the world’s gone mad “British” – and I hereby declare that all the heroes on London Bridge are British, whether that’s what it says on their passport or not.
Britishness, to me, isn’t an ethnicity, it’s a character and a virtue – and one you can learn. When I was a boy, if I got all weepy or pathetic, my mother would say: “Pull yourself together. Remember you’re British.” The implication wasn’t just that you were letting yourself down, but the entire team too. And, God forbid, what if a foreigner was watching?
Yes, the idea of the British leading by example is Victorian nonsense, and yes, it was probably put to the advantage of imperialism. But you know what? When the chips are down, thinking about the team comes in handy. The goal of terrorism is to spook us, to split us apart. But it’ll never succeed so long as we remember the motto: “One in, all in.” follow Tim Stanley on Twitter @Timothy_stanley