Dear Bel,
I was wondering if you can help me. You see, I am a killer. At least in some people’s eyes. To others, I am a hero.
I am a 42-year-old Scot who joined the Army at 21, after college, and saw active service in a war zone.
There is one memory that keeps haunting me from those days, years ago.
I was hidden in a building with a sniper rifle when I saw him. An overweight terrorist carrying a gun and riding a bicycle. He got off the bike and looked around.
I let him take a draw on his cigarette, he smiled, and then I shot him under the chin. I felt nothing.
But then I saw her. A young girl maybe eight or nine years old, she ran round the corner crying, shaking the body of the man I had killed.
I watched through my telescopic sight, heart pounding, as she wailed and cried. It was clearly her father I had just shot. I swear I didn’t know she was nearby when I pulled the trigger.
My own daughter is now about the same age as this girl was then and I’ve found myself haunted by this memory, unable to sleep.
What happened to that girl? Did she live? She would be in her 20s now, I keep dreaming of her. Would she ever forgive me? Will God forgive me?
Any advice would be appreciated.
JAMIE
Yours is such an unusual letter, that I contacted you myself with some private questions, as a result of which I decided to omit specific details of the conflict you describe.
The central issue here is a soldier’s guilt — a universal problem. No matter what your race, religion or nationality may be, a man (or woman) on active service may have to confront the reality of what duty demands.
You pose the intolerable moral question: how can killing (humanity’s greatest civil crime) be seen as heroic in the context of war?
Since Homer’s Iliad, writers and philosophers have asked whether war can be just. In War And Peace, Tolstoy’s Prince Andrew says bluntly: ‘The aim of war is murder.’
Freud was in no doubt that ‘the warring state permits itself every such misdeed, ever act of violence, as would disgrace the individual man’.
Yet many British people still recall Winston Churchill’s stirring words (‘We shall fight on the beaches’) with pride, convinced that the evil of Nazi Germany was so great that the end justified the means.
Even if the cause seems right, a soldier who has watched another human being die at his own hand may be forever traumatised.
Wilfred Owen’s great poem Strange Meeting was written in 1918, but published after his death one week before the Armistice.
It describes the killer, the soldier, coming face to face in death with his victim, who says: ‘I am the enemy you killed, my friend…’ No wonder Owen summed it all up as ‘the pity of war’.
It’s no surprise you are haunted by that terrible memory. You should of course talk to your GP if you think you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (and there is no timescale for this); but you could also attempt to help yourself.
A good start would be to research the issue, for example, by reading a brilliant online essay (aeon.co/essays/how-do-soldiers-live-with-their-feelings-of-guilt), which attempts to answer some of your questions. Another useful American website (makethe connection.net/symptoms/guilt) shows videos of veterans talking about their guilt, some of the stories dating back to the Korean War in the Fifties.
I think these resources will help because hearing what others have experienced and how they have dealt with their feelings will make you realise that you are far from alone.
Those serving or those who have served in the British Armed Forces can call Combat Stress’s helpline on 0800 138 1619. The charity Ssafa also has a helpline: 0800 731 4880.
You ask if the daughter of the man you shot would forgive you. Who knows?
Forgiveness is possible (see theforgivenessproject.org.uk), if perhaps unlikely. All you can do is read and think and — since you ask about God — perhaps seek confession and absolution.
The fact that you have such empathy now (helped by being a father to your own little girl) is a credit to your growth as a human being.
My lazy husband’s left me and my baby
Dear Bel,
I am heartbroken, rejected and confused. My husband has decided he no longer wants us to be together.
Once, we couldn’t believe we were lucky enough to find one another. We planned our first baby, but (a few months in) I detected subtle changes to his behaviour. He was less involved in the pregnancy than I expected, but was attentive after the birth and I felt secure.
Breastfeeding was tough and I didn’t feel like me. It was not post-natal depression, I just lost my spark. He didn’t get up at night or do nappies and it didn’t help that he said he was hands-on with his children from his first marriage.
During the pregnancy, I got very angry three times when he stayed out late drinking. A year later, I got mad because he was out till the small hours again. Why should I do everything? I thought he was being lazy and immature.
Over the months, he became distant. He didn’t seem to want to bond with his baby and would hand her back to me if she cried.
At a social function his mask slipped, he was cold and walked away. I asked why and eventually he said he was struggling. I said I’d stop nagging him about saving up to buy a property and asking for help with the housework. He didn’t say his feelings for me had changed.
He continued to drift away, but refused to see a doctor. At last, he said he’d fallen out of love when I was pregnant. I cried a little, but stayed strong saying: ‘You’re not leaving us, we’ll get through this.’
He moved out of the bedroom. Finally, I sought help from his family. He needed a doctor and I knew they could help. They had their suspicions that he wasn’t well and he eventually got the help he needed.
A couple of months ago, he moved into his parents’ house and started to take the children out with them, saying our baby is better when I’m not there. Now he says we’re over and marriage counselling isn’t an option. He wants me to move out, and will take our baby two nights a week when he sees his other children.
I’ve confided in friends, who suspect there’s someone else. I still love him and can’t believe this. I’ve booked to see a counsellor to stay strong for my baby. I need to look after myself and think I’ll contact my vicar. How do you cope when your love doesn’t want you?
ANGIE
Other women who have given birth might remember how hard those first months are — when you’re sleep-deprived and feel you’ve been hijacked by a little alien you love. Or think you love.
Some might also recall petulant husbands who complain of being left out and wrinkle noses in disgust at mucky nappies. It’s easily to sentimentalise this period in a woman’s life, but many find it very hard.
Your original email was so long it would have nearly filled three pages of this newspaper, so let me fill in readers that you had problems breastfeeding and briefly suspected your husband was unfaithful.
You also say you regret losing your temper with him — although plenty of women will think you had just cause. Bewilderment and loss drip from your frantic outpouring and I feel very sorry for you, indeed.
You tell me that it comforts you to read other people’s problems each week on this page, and I hope that through them you are able to see how people can and do survive.
You say nothing about your husband’s first marriage, or how old those children are or whether he was still married when you met. So I’m wondering how he dealt with the end of that union and also how much he really, truly wanted the baby you say you planned together. I suspect he had doubts. Many men do.
Since you had such a wonderful relationship, he may not have wanted that to change. And a baby means Big Change. Romance and sex are hard to sustain when there are three (or more) of you in the marriage.
It sounds as if you have accepted his decision, which is (I’m sorry to say) probably wise. He has refused counselling and chosen to leave, so I’m not sure what you can do except rebuild your life without him.
This is key to answering your final question, to which I say that you ‘cope’ by deciding not to be a victim of the situation but attempting to wrest back some control. You tell me you are saving up, thinking of getting a dog and intend to seek spiritual counsel.
I approve of all those, and wish you the best of luck in the next phase of your life with that precious baby daughter.
Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, W8 5TT, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.