‍This is an astonishing true story that no work of fiction could ever match: A brave soldier is blown up by the Taliban, losing both legs, part of his left hand and his lungs are crushed. There is, seemingly, no hope of survival. Except that death hadn't reckoned on the fortitude of Cayle Royce underpinned by the all-embracing love and dedication of his remarkable mother Bronwyn. A triumph of the human spirit.

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‍That is the foreword I wrote for Bronwyn's book One Step in a Poppy Field, beginning with the moment two strangers knocked on her front door in Dartmouth in 2012 to tell her that her son, serving with the Light Dragoons in Afghanistan, had stepped on an IED in Helmund and was not expected to live. He was being airlifted to Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham and they would arrange transport to take her there. To say goodbye.

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‍Royce was in an induced coma for 48 days and, less than two years after his life was changed forever, he rowed the Atlantic in exactly the same time that he had spent in the coma, 48 days of little sleep and 60-ft waves. It was a record time and in the 12 years since he has raised millions for military charities by repeating the Atlantic challenge, shaving two days off the first time, and by paragliding and kayaking along the Pacific coast of the US.

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‍I was introduced to Cayle and Bronwyn by a mutual friend and wrote about him for the Mail on Sunday. Despite our age difference — he's half mine — I am honoured to call him a friend. At the launch of his mother's book I asked him to follow Lord Dannatt, his former boss as head of the Army, to say a few words. He gave me the evil eye because I rather sprang it on him but then did so for 15 minutes in front of an audience which included military top brass, and all of us  were enthralled.

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‍Compare and contrast this truly heroic and modest man with the monstrosity in the White House who claimed last week that NATO troops failed to step up when called upon by their American allies “and when they did, they were a little way back from the front line”. Cayle Royce was never a little way back from the front, he did what he knew was his duty and did it with pride. And when he wasn't on duty he had fun, something I can never imagine Donald Trump enjoying.

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‍Cayle grew up with his brother Seth in the great outdoors of South Africa where fresh water came from a well on their land. Trump's childhood was in Queens, New York in a 23-room house with his multi-millionaire father Fred who paid all his kids $20,000 a year (the equivalent today of $265,000). Cayle joined the Light Dragoons when he arrived in England aged 16. Trump, commander-in-chief of all US forces, dodged the draft five times claiming bone spurs on his feet, poor dear, (no doubt money changed hands at some point).

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‍Following being blown up serving his country, Cayle has lived on his army pension while raising much-needed funds for Service charities. Trump, on the other hand, has earned an estimated $1.5 BILLION from 'sidelines' outside of the White House in the last 12 months and everything he does involves 'the deal'. He treats the presidency as the family firm in the way of a Mafia godfather. 

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‍In his determination to rid 'aliens' from American soil Trump has presided over the cold-blooded murder of two US citizens in Minneapolis, a mother who wrote poetry, and a male critical care nurse. Both were gunned down by the chillingly named ICE force who have little or no training. The only good thing to come out of their deaths is that America is finally waking up to the brutality of Trump's near-fascist regime. 

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‍Yesterday I watched One Life, the superb and moving film chronicling the efforts of Sir Nicholas Winton to bring children here from Prague in 1939 under the Kindertransport scheme. Early on, one scene graphically shows the horror of the Nazis moving into Prague and beating up anyone who stood in their way. The shocking thing, I realised, was that it was exactly what ICE agents have been doing in the last few weeks in Minneapolis. It was a sinister reminder of the way America, under Trump, is edging towards Nazification.  A mad leader who thinks he can subsume other countries at will, colleagues who are as mad — or madder — as the leader, slavish followers, untrammelled power and hatred of the 'unpure blood'. 

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‍The next time this odious monster demeans his allies, think of people like Cayle Royce MBE who has done nothing but good since he stood up for his country and almost paid the ultimate price.

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‍*****

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‍I mentioned One Life earlier and if you haven't yet seen it, I urge you to do so. Be warned, this really does require super-strength tissues, much more so than the wonderful Hamnet which I wrote about last week. Another fine film we have been absorbed by in the last week is I Swear, the true story of Tourette's sufferer and pioneer educator John Davidson and I am pleased it is in contention for a best actor BAFTA for Robert Aramayo who plays Davidson.

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‍Tourette's afflicts more than 300,000 people in the UK and you may have encountered someone with the syndrome. I last saw someone late at night while waiting for a train and at first assumed he was somewhat more than pissed. It soon became clear that it was nothing of the kind: the poor chap had Tourette's. In the case of Davidson, his came at the age of 14 and neither his parents nor headmaster understood why he swore so much. 

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‍But he was rescued by a mental health nurse (played by the superb Maxine Peake) who understood the condition and by the kindly community centre caretaker (Peter Mullan, up for a best supporting actor award). Only about 10 per cent of Tourette's sufferers swear uncontrollable (a much smaller number than most journalists!) but have a range of uncontrollable tics including twitching and spitting. There is, as yet, no cure but it can be moderated by medication and, crucially, understanding. It is that sympathy which helped John Davidson become an ambassador for the condition, giving  talks to schools, police and potential employers.

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‍I Swear is sad, hilarious and profoundly moving and tells a great story compassionately. Davidson was awarded an MBE for his pioneering work in 2019. And yes, just before meeting the late Queen, he shouts "Fuck the Queen".

‍Has there ever been a more nauseating picture than this? Suella deVille and the spiv Farage are welcome to each other as are the rest of Reform's collection of failed Tories.  

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‍AND FINALLY

‍My old friend John Edwards, one of the globe-trotting stars of the Daily Mail in its former great days who died four months ago at the age of 91, left £30,000 to his beloved cat, the rest to his nephew Hugh Whittow, the former Express editor. 

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‍Alas the poor moggie followed his master to the beyond a month later.  

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‍ALAN FRAME

‍28 January 2026