In the thirties the kid who later became my grandpa had a curious neighbour. A genuine war hero with a medal from the First World War. It was obvious from the fact that he possessed the honorific "valiant" (vitéz in Hungarian) in front of his noble name. One could glimpse it on the doorbell nameplate, one could glimpse it on the envelopes. He was tall and handsome like a dashing prince. He was gentle, intelligent and cowardly like hell.

One day my grandpa and other baffled kids next door asked him to shed some light on the puzzle. They questioned him head on how he became a hero as a coward. He answered that it was a very simple tale.

He was a gunner in the Austro-Hungarian army fighting on the Italian front. One day they were overpowered by the enemy during a skirmish; all his fellow soldiers fled into hiding. He was too cowardly to leave his post and his shaking hands kept feeding his cannon with cannon fodder. Blood rushing through his ears he was so absorbed in his task that the only thing he noticed was his returning pals cheering him and lifting him up in the air. With his constant fire he made his enemy flee.

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