On this day in 1916, the great Roald Dahl was born in Wales. You may know him from his children’s stories. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is probably the most famous, but it’s just the tip of the iceberg. His stories are humorous, dark, and scathingly true in their assessment of human nature- in all its kindness and cruelty. Dahl was mischievous, naughty even, and we loved him for it.
But you may not know that this mischievous, naughty man–with a strong sense of who the good guys really are and the ability to cut through the baloney that haughty adults so often peddle– was also a soldier and spy. He flew missions over Africa and Greece with the RAF in WWII. His flying career was cut short, owing to lingering problems from a crash landing in Libya . . . or maybe someone simply realized that his tall and erudite man, with plenty of heart and a strong sense of purpose, had just the right mix of twinkle and trouble to make an effective wartime spy. But a spy of a certain sort.
In 1942, Dahl was assigned to the British Embassy in Washington, DC. He was to apply his charms and intellect to the most important mission at the time– making the pitch for US involvement in the war in Europe.
After the US became involved in the war, Dahl continued his work. He had the strenuous job of wining, dining, and charming both politicians and socialites (whose connections and financial influence often pressured the establishment). Legend has it that Dahl seduced many socialites in service to his country. Don’t take my word for it; read the book The Irregulars: Road Dahl and the British Spy Ring in Wartime Washington.
It seems that Dahl was a scoundrel, but a scoundrel with courage, purpose, and a wicked (but never malevolent) sense of mischief. He was one of the good guys, but refused to take himself too seriously. He fought hard, wasn’t opposed to getting his hands dirty, and still believed that kindness was the greatest quality of all. What’s not to love about that?
And so I leave you with a little morsel for your delight- one of Dahl’s last poems, but one that proves he still had a twinkle in his eye and a ribald sense of humor. Enjoy!
A Hand in the Bird
I am a maiden who is forty,
And a maiden I shall stay.
There are some who call me haughty,
But I care not what they say.
I was running the tombola
At our church bazaar today,
And doing it with gusto
In my usual jolly way
When suddenly, I knew not why,
There came a funny feeling
Of something crawling up my thigh!
I nearly hit the ceiling!
A mouse! I thought. How foul! How mean!
How exquisitely tickly!
Quite soon I know I'm going to scream.
I've got to catch it quickly.
I made a grab. I caught the mouse,
Now right inside my knickers.
A mouse my foot! It was a HAND!
Great Scott! It was the vicar's!