Free Darkest England by Christopher Hope Page A

the struggle for little Dicky’s life so overwhelmed Minehost that his sorrow broke in a flood.
    Following on the successful salvation of Dicky, it was felt by the general public that soldiers might also be used for the occasional relief of human suffering, always providing they operated within strict rules of engagement which would protect troops on the ground.
    So it was that when yet another beastly war broke out ‘over there’, memories of the glorious victory of Dicky the Donkey stirred the nation to a frenzy of compassion.
    As it happened, at about this time it was reported in the newspapers that a girl in some distant city suffering in that beastly war, a pretty, innocent little ten-year-old, had been shopping with her family when an incoming shell exploded, killing all but the child. Her name was hard to pronounce, her injuries complicated but of her bereavementthere could be no doubt. She became known to the whole nation as Alma, that being as close as English tongues came to wrestling with the extraordinary sounds of her real name. Alma lay unconscious in hospital. And although many unconscious children lay alongside her in hospital, they lacked something extra, something special, that made the public take Tiny Alma to their hearts. It was a horrible fact that children had been dying each day beneath the rain of shells exploding in that city, but only Alma prevailed. Only Alma was chosen.
    Why Alma alone? I asked.
    Native pragmatism, came the reply. Concentrating in a single victim rather than dissipating one’s compassion on the dozens about whom one could do nothing.
    Just as they had taken the donkey to their hearts, now it was Alma, Our Alma, Tiny Alma, who moved the country to tears. Alma, unconscious in a primitive hospital in a city on the verge of collapse, where people were eating grass. Tiny Alma, dying by degrees. And it was agreed by press and political leaders and people everywhere that Something Must be Done!
    A great debate began across the kingdom. The question was as follows: if it is right to save suffering animals, could one not argue that military assistance should be offered to help Tiny Alma? After intense debate there followed the rough and tumble for which the country is renowned – with some saying, ‘Yes!’ and others saying, ‘No! – and people displaying yet again their genius for compromise by arriving at a position with which almost everyone agreed, namely, that children probably had as much right to national compassion as did suffering animals.
    Thereafter action followed swiftly. Tiny Alma was declared ‘an orphan of opportunity’ and other nations werewarned that if they attempted to interfere with plans to rescue her, they would be severely dealt with. If others wished to find their own deserving cases, that was their privilege. But Tiny Alma was spoken for.
    Though ignorant officials in her own country tried to thwart the rescue. Tiny Alma was plucked from her hospital bed and evacuated to the very hospital where Dicky had been saved. When she arrived, children cried in the streets and people queued for hours with gifts and flowers, hoping for a glimpse of her. The nation took her to its heart, vowing that England would do her duty by the Tiny Almas of this world, wherever they suffered, and solemnly condemned butchers in God-forsaken places for being unable, or unwilling, to put an end to their unspeakable bloodshed. They were urged, said Mr Geoff, to take a leaf from our book.
    As so often happens, when we have shown the way – he nodded, quiet, modest, as always – others have followed. For a brief while, at least, those across the water forgot their politicking and their beastliness and flocked to follow the example which they had been given, ashamed now of their tardiness.
    As we sat on the ground I clapped my hands and cried out that this was surely good for the world!
    Alas! What was good for the world, Minehost shook his