I can think of two examples: Dunkirk, and Tory Boy’s first time on a ballot paper.
The two are not comparable, of course: I have nothing but admiration for the men at Dunkirk and those who spent days ferrying them to safety. I once met a Dunkirk survivor. He lived next door to my Nan, and took my teenage self in for a cup of tea because she was out when I arrived. I spotted his certificate and he told me all about it. I very much regret not keeping a notebook back then, because all I remember is the dim light in the flat and the certificate in the frame.
I admire my son, too. He was asked to stand as a candidate where he lives, in Thursday’s council elections, knowing that he would not win. He did stand; he didn’t win; he didn’t mind: it was his duty.
He did rather better than might have been expected, though; of the three Conservative candidates, he polled the most votes:
|Liberal Democrat||202||Not Elected|
|Liberal Democrat||130||Not Elected|
|Liberal Democrat||98||Not Elected|
He laughed when I congratulated him. It was an alphabet accident: of the three, his name came first on the ballot paper.
Makes you despair of the electorate, doesn’t it?
Anyway, well done, Tory Boy: I’m so proud that you were willing to fall on your sword for the party.