The only good reason for fighting

     A sudden, odd thought struck Mr Franklin, and it seemed doubly odd that it had only just occurred to him.
     ‘D’you think England will win this war?’
     ‘Ask them,’ said the General, and jerked his thumb at the window, grinning. Then he considered, the eyes narrowing in the flushed, ancient face. ‘Probably— yes, on balance, we ought to win. Germany can lick Russia, but not Britain and France together. But they’ll take a lot of beating, if it’s a fight to the finish. Yes, I’d say we were odds on to win — not that it matters all that much.’
     Mr Franklin stared at him in astonishment. ‘You can’t mean that — it doesn’t make sense!’
     Sir Harry turned to look at him, then glanced out the window again.
     ‘It isn’t important whether you win or lose,’ he said, ‘so long as you survive. So long as your people survive. And that’s the only good reason for fighting that anyone ever invented. The survival of your people and race and kind. That’s the only victory that matters.’


Mr American, p.525, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Death, destruction and national catastrophe

Of course, this was supposedly in the national character; it was proverbial that the Englishman displayed emotion only when faced by some truly earth-shaking crisis, like a cricket match, or the ill-treatment of an animal, or a rise in the price of beer; for such trivia as death, destruction and national catastrophe he was supposed to reserve an indifference that bordered on insanity.


Mr American, pp.510-11, Pan Books, paperback edition 1982.


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Belgravian sisters

It was being borne in on me that the moral climate of Abysinnia was not quite that of our own polite society — not that Uliba’s Belgravian sisters are averse to a cut off the joint from time to time, but they know enough to keep quiet about it.


Flashman on the March, p.86, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.



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A pint and a pie

. . . it wasn't a sufeit of debauchery and the high life, although there does come a time when you find yourself longing for a pint and a pie and a decent night’s sleep. And it was partly that I was beginning to miss English voices and English rain and all those things that make the old country so different, thank God, from the Continent.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.191, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Rolling up the Peiho

Fifteen thousand horse, foot and guns rolling up the Peiho, not to fight or hold or to conquer, but just so that the Big Barbarian could stand before the Son of Heaven and watch him put his mark on paper. “And when he does,” says Elgin, “the ends of the earth will have met at last, and there will be no more savage kings for our people to subdue. We’ve come a long way from our northern forests; I wonder if we were wise.”


Flashman and the Dragon, p.168, Fontana Paperback edition, 1986.



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Sins so blacker

Why? Because we were Christian, and supposed to know better? – and becaue England contains this great crowd of noisy know-alls that are forever defending our enemies’ behaviour and crying out in pious horror against our own. Why our sins are always so much blacker, I can’t fathom.

Flashman in the Great Game, p.253, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.

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Flashy on selecting military targets

It struck me then, and still does, that attacking Sevastopol would be rather like an enemy of England investing Penzance, and then shouting towards London: ‘There, you insolent bastard, that’ll teach you!’

Flashman at the Charge, p.52, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.

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bristle up the courage

…a strange recklessness had come over me. I was beyond caring, I suppose, but I remember I stood muttering to myself before a mirror as I brushed my hair: ‘Come on, Flashy, my boy, they haven’t got you yet…. you’re still here ain’t you? Your backside is better enough for you to run again, if need be – bristle up the courage of the cornered rat, put on a bold front, and to hell with them. Bluff my boy – bluff, shift and lie for the sake of your neck and the honour of Old England.

Flash For Freedom!, p.257, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.

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Free man or fool.

We like to think we are above that sort of thing, of course; the Englishman, however miserably off he is, supposes that he’s a free man, poor fool, and pities the unhappy foreigners raging against their rullers. And his rulers, of course, trade on that feeling, and keep him underfoot while assuring him that Britons never shall be slaves.

Royal Flash, p.252, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.

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Half panic, half lunacy

This myth called bravery, which is half panic, half lunacy (in my case, all panic), pays for all; in England you can’t be a hero and bad. There’s practically a law against it.

Flashman, p.276, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.

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A variety of jails

I have been in a variety of jails in my life, from Mexico (where they are truly abominable) to Australia, America, Russia, and dear old England, and I never saw a good one yet.

Flashman, p.209, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.

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