They told us courage wore a smile,
With polished boots and steady hands,
But fear walked with us every mile
Across those broken, blood-soaked lands.

We nodded when the speeches came,
Though none could grasp what lay ahead,
For courage was not glory’s flame —
It lived beside the silent dread.

It trembled in a soldier’s breath,
In shaking hands that held the line,
In boys who marched toward certain death
Still believing they’d be fine.

A strange courage filled the air,
Not loud, not proud, not shining bright,
Just weary souls still standing there
Against the endless weight of night.

Paul Baldry

Inspired by John Masefield’s reflection on “a strange courage,” this poem explores the quiet bravery carried by ordinary soldiers during wartime. Not the fearless heroism of propaganda, but the silent endurance of frightened young men stepping into darkness together — uncertain, vulnerable, yet still finding the strength to keep moving forward through fear and loss.

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