The Uses of Captain Tom

Why Captain Tom Moore became the face of Britain in the age of Covid says a lot. I'm reminded of what old Plekhanov wrote about the role of personality in history. Figures of historic import rise from the multitude because they cohere and personify the blur of social forces that make them. Ordinarily, this fate is reserved for political figures and we've had reason to write on Jeremy Corbyn in this regard as well as other, um, well known personalities. But Captain Tom? Not a politician by any stretch, but someone whose role has proven indespensible for managing the politics of this crisis.

Capt Tom's celebrity was an accident. His journey into the nation's hearts began with the sponsored walk for NHS Together. One hundred strolls back and forth in his (massive) garden before his 100th birthday to raise them a grand. Desperate for some good news stories, BBC Breakfast got wind and featured him regularly on the show throughout April. This captured the public imagination and the donations flowed in. Nearly £40m poured into the coffers for supporting NHS workers, so not a bad job by any means. Then came the inevitable charity single, which went to number one, a parade of visiting celebrities, and a heap of honours. These included a Pride of Britain award (previous winners: the inventors of Viagra, JK Rowling, and the entirety of the RAF), a gold Blue Peter badge, two honorary doctorates, the Freedom of the City of London and, inevitably, a knighthood. No word for now on a state funeral and interment in Westminster Abbey.

What was it about Captain Tom? He embodied the best of British. Here was one of the few surviving combat veterans of World War II who returned to duty to pull the country through. He was the living link between two existential crises and acquitted himself with the unshowy and modest fortitude one might expect of a wartime officer and gentleman. He put himself out so NHS workers could carry on putting themselves out. It was as if Britannia put her arm around Tom as he waddled backwards and forwards with his frame, and striking out from her trident was the admonishment of younger generations of Britons for failing to live up to his example. Undoubtedly, some of the 1.5 million people who ponied up the cash did so with a sense shame.

Traipsing up and down the garden, Capt Tom was the craving for national unity made flesh, of never giving up and certainly never surrendering. As such he played his part in depoliticising the crisis. While the old boy was winning plaudits and raising cash, no one thought to ask - least of all Keir Starmer, the nominal leader of HM Opposition - why we have NHS charities in the first place. As the media cooed and flattered and splashed his face everywhere, the column inches and the broadcast minutes couldn't be found for Boris Johnson's corrupt funnelling of procurement contracts to Tory donors. And while politicians clapped their hands to Capt Tom's messages of positivity and hope, they buddied up to force children back to schools and people back to work. A certain level of community transmission was a-okay with them, and their negligence has helped along the Kent variant. Capt Tom's efforts made it rude and inappropriate to talk about politics. Now was not the time to carp and criticise, but to get stuck in and do our bit to beat the unseen nemesis.

Capt Tom came across as a lovely old granddad who wanted to help. Both mascot and national treasure, we cannot escape the uses to which his example was put. His example did help some people during the pandemic. Unbeknownst to himself, that list includes a government frantically wriggling out of any responsibility for the catastrophe that, in the end, claimed his life as well.

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