Blair Mayne: Posthumous Victoria Cross

John Cooper Excerpts

Tuesday 8th April 2025 Commons Chamber

[John Cooper (Dumfries and Galloway) (Con)]

I congratulate my neighbour the hon. Member for Strangford (Jim Shannon) on securing this important debate—we could almost smell the cordite in his opening remarks.

My first encounter with the Special Air Service was when, just as we were getting to the good bit, the John Wayne film on TV was interrupted, and it was over to Kate Adie as men in bug-eyed respirators ended the Iranian embassy siege on 5 May 1980, amid the thunder of flashbangs and the staccato rattle of small arms fire. As a journalist, I later met John “Mac” McAleese, who really was the man on the balcony, not—I hate to break it to Members—that bloke down the pub mumbling about the colour of the boathouse at Hereford, as Walter Mitty characters do. I also became friends with Colonel Clive Fairweather, second in command of the regiment. Sadly, both men are no longer with us, but in life one thing was obvious: neither was a reckless psychopath. They were hard men—yes, of course, for theirs is a lethal business—but rather more planning and preparation goes into tier 1 special forces than novels and TV would have us believe.

Controversy reigns over television’s brilliant “SAS: Rogue Heroes” and Blair “Paddy” Mayne’s depiction, but it is nothing new. There were all sorts of claims about the book “Bravo Two Zero” when it emerged after the first Gulf war. Was it fact or fantasy? Peter “Billy Rat” Ratcliffe, former regimental sergeant major of 22 SAS, told me, “Life in the regiment is not really about garrotting 200 sentries, you know.” “But you do know how to garrotte a sentry, don’t you?” I asked. In his Salford accent, he told me, “Oh, yeah, but I’d rather shoot you from a mile away—less chance of being compromised.” That was uncompromising, but careful, thoughtful and cunning too.

As such, these men are surely the inheritors of the spirit of Blair Mayne. For certain, he could be a wild man, especially in drink—there is a cottage on the Isle of Arran pockmarked yet by rounds fired from his service revolver after a surfeit of whisky—but it fell to Mayne to protect and indeed nurture the nascent SAS when its founder, Sir David Stirling, was a prisoner of war in Italy and the infamous Colditz. If Mayne were as unhinged as he is portrayed, he would not have been able to apply the quiet discipline needed to forge a bunch of rogues into an effective and elite fighting force. It strikes me that the only recklessness Blair Mayne displayed was for his own safety, never that of his men—his “Blades”, as SAS troopers are known.

Concerning us today is the action at Oldenburg on 9 April 1945, but let me be clear that this is not football-style VAR for gallantry medals; we are not reopening cases by the dozen, just this oddity. We may never know what precisely happened there almost 80 years ago to the day. We do know that Mayne was recommended for the VC, and his audacity was the only thing said to have kept him alive. We may also never learn what made the authorities downgrade that VC. Was it professional jealousy? Special forces face that today: the sobriquet “the Hereford hooligans” is unfairly appended to the SAS in many a mess, and SF officers who ought to be generals somehow do not make the cut.

Mayne’s hand shaped the SAS, and the regiment has in turn guided special forces around the globe. US Major Charles “Blisters” Beckwith raised the Delta Force—he promised it “Will get you a medal, or a body bag. Maybe both”—after time spent with the SAS. Mayne’s legacy is secure, and there is no doubting his courage.

We are not here to critique “SAS: Rogue Heroes”—it is fun and it has a great soundtrack and great acting, although the accents are as sketchy as the history. Instead, we should coolly examine the real Major Mayne and ask why the VC was approved by all who mattered but rescinded in murky circumstances.

I am a student of military history, having undertaken a distance learning MA with the excellent University of Birmingham. One of the first lessons learned was that history is not fixed—it is not preserved in aspic—but shifts and changes as new details and perspectives open up. Look at the so-called château generals—men who in life were highly rated by their troops, only later to be accused of being donkeys leading lions. Aside from the few who think that “Blackadder Goes Forth” is a documentary, that trope is happily being revisited. We should have courage enough today to look again at the Mayne case, too. Eighty years on, we can sense something odd about the lack of a VC—“signal”, rather than “single”, perhaps?

The military is split in two into ratcatchers and regulators, and we need both. We need regulators with their rulebooks and procedures in times of peace, and we need maverick ratcatchers in times of war. Mayne was a fine ratcatcher, and regulators then and now should not stand between him and this country’s premier gallantry medal.