“As far back as I can remember I have been fascinated by men and women of courage. Stories of people who took brave decisions in the service of great causes enthralled me, especially when more comfortable and far less dangerous alternatives were open to them.

But what separates these people of courage from the rest of us and makes their lives and achievements so remarkable is that they were prepared to endure great sacrifices and persist, some of them for many years, against the odds and in the face of the greatest adversity. They are for us exemplars and icons, at once daunting and cherished. Their stories live on and inspire us.

They chose to act when others stood by, and made sacrifices that were worthwhile and noble. Social disapproval, danger, physical pain, and even the risk of death mattered far less to them than personal belief and moral purpose. Quite simply, they seemed to be driven and sustained by higher ideals.

The kind of courage that fascinated me went beyond physical bravery, though almost always it did involve that admirable quality. It was not just risk-taking, and definitely not risk-taking in a doubtful cause. Here was altruistic courage: sacrifice and determination for a higher purpose; the courage that endures and prevails, and eventually dignifies all humanity. It was an expression of both strength of character and strength of belief.

In preparing to write this book I read widely about such heroism and learned much: sudden deeds of near-incredible valor by combat soldiers, some being recognized with a VC; the cool, selfless courage demanded of bomb-disposal officers almost routinely, as part of their daily task; the selfless heroism of individuals such as the passengers who took on the hijackers of United Airlines Flight 93; and the high courage displayed and the constant dangers and awful sacrifices endured by those who fought more covertly in Europe and Asia as members of the Special Operations Executive.

Hugh Seagrim served with the SOE in Burma from early 1943, and was awarded the George Cross posthumously. His remarkable story was summarized in the “Action for which commended,” which tells how an SOE party was ambushed, with only Seagrim and a Burmese colleague escaping; how the subsequent Japanese manhunt involved brutal reprisals against the Karen hill people, and how Seagrim agreed to surrender simply to end the torture and the killing of the people who had sheltered him. When, with eight companions, he was sentenced to death, he argued that he alone should die since the rest were only obeying his orders. He failed in this, but comforted and sustained his men as they faced death and was steadfast to the end, which came in September 1944 in Rangoon.

All these heroes–civilians, soldiers, and secret agents, called in sudden and unforeseeable circumstances to acts of bravery and even heroism–command our highest admiration and gratitude; already the wars and uncertainties of our still-young century show these qualities are needed still, and are still there when they are needed.

Courage has fascinated me for many years now. I remember being given, when I was ten, an encyclopedia of twentieth-century history. In it were recorded great deeds: the daring of Shackleton, the sheer determination and inspired improvisation that took his expedition across the Antarctic; the bravery and ill-fated amateurism of the Mallory and Irvine attempt on Everest in 1924; Scott’s expedition to the South Pole in 1912, and Captain Oates and his last sacrifice. All of them I admired, but the page that I turned to again and again was the one that surprised me most: the story–and picture–of Nurse Edith Cavell. It made a deep impression on me.

Cavell, the daughter of a Norfolk vicar, was working in Brussels at the start of the First World War. She could have left but chose to stay, a British national in a country first threatened then overrun by German forces. Behind enemy lines, she set up secret routes home for escaping Allied prisoners but was eventually arrested, tried by court martial and executed. She had continued amid growing danger to tend the wounded and help prisoners on their way to freedom. She could have chosen not to, or she could have got away herself, but she did.”