Not a new story but one I haven't seen before:
www.bbc.com
1916, German Prison Camp. Captain Robert Campbell of the British Army had been a prisoner of war for months when the Red Cross letter arrived.
It was from his family in England. His mother was dying.
Campbell made a decision that seemed impossible. He would ask the Germans to let him go home.
Campbell wrote to the camp commandant explaining his situation. His mother was gravely ill. He was her only son. He was asking for temporary parole to see her one last time. In return, he would give his word—his solemn oath as a British officer—that he would return to captivity.
To his fellow prisoners, it seemed hopeless. This was war. The Germans weren't going to release a captured enemy officer just because his mother was dying. But Campbell sent the letter anyway.
What modern readers often don't understand is that WWI—despite its industrialised horror—still operated under older codes of military honor, especially among officers. "Parole d'honneur"—parole of honor—was a real practice. An officer could be released temporarily if he gave his word he would return or not take up arms. His word, as a gentleman and officer, was considered binding.
Weeks passed. Campbell heard nothing. Then, incredibly, the commandant summoned him. "Your request has been considered," the German officer said in careful English. "You may have parole to visit your mother in England." Campbell stared at him in disbelief. "But you must give your word—your solemn oath—that you will return to this camp when your visit is concluded." Campbell didn't hesitate. "You have my word." The German commandant studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you."
Campbell traveled from Germany through neutral Switzerland, then to France, then finally across the English Channel.
When Campbell reached his family home, his mother was still alive—barely.
She died shortly after his visit. Campbell attended her funeral. He spent time with his family. He walked the streets of his hometown as a free man.
And then, as impossible as it seemed, he prepared to return to Germany.
Campbell's family begged him not to go back. But Campbell had made a promise. More than that, he'd staked his honor—and the trust of his fellow prisoners—on his word. If he didn't return, the Germans might never grant parole again. Other men might never get to see their dying loved ones. His fellow officers in the camp might face retribution. And he would have to live the rest of his life knowing he'd broken his oath. So Captain Robert Campbell said goodbye to his family, traveled back through France and Switzerland, crossed into Germany, and presented himself at Magdeburg prison camp. "I have returned," he told the commandant. The German officer shook his hand. "I knew you would."
When word of Campbell's return spread—both among German guards and British prisoners—it caused a sensation.
German newspapers wrote about the "honorable Englishman" who kept his word. British newspapers praised him as a symbol of integrity in a war that had become increasingly brutal and dishonorable.
It was a reminder that honor still existed. That humanity could survive even in the worst circumstances.
That some things—like a son's promise—still mattered.
Campbell survived the war. When armistice was declared in November 1918, he was released and returned to England.
He lived a quiet life afterward, rarely speaking publicly about his wartime experiences.
In a war that destroyed almost everything, honor survived—at least for one man, for one promise.
Sometimes, keeping your word costs you everything.
Sometimes, it's still worth it.
The British WWI prisoner of war who returned to captivity
A British officer captured during World War I was granted leave to visit his dying mother on one condition - that he return, a historian has discovered.
www.bbc.com
1916, German Prison Camp. Captain Robert Campbell of the British Army had been a prisoner of war for months when the Red Cross letter arrived.
It was from his family in England. His mother was dying.
Campbell made a decision that seemed impossible. He would ask the Germans to let him go home.
Campbell wrote to the camp commandant explaining his situation. His mother was gravely ill. He was her only son. He was asking for temporary parole to see her one last time. In return, he would give his word—his solemn oath as a British officer—that he would return to captivity.
To his fellow prisoners, it seemed hopeless. This was war. The Germans weren't going to release a captured enemy officer just because his mother was dying. But Campbell sent the letter anyway.
What modern readers often don't understand is that WWI—despite its industrialised horror—still operated under older codes of military honor, especially among officers. "Parole d'honneur"—parole of honor—was a real practice. An officer could be released temporarily if he gave his word he would return or not take up arms. His word, as a gentleman and officer, was considered binding.
Weeks passed. Campbell heard nothing. Then, incredibly, the commandant summoned him. "Your request has been considered," the German officer said in careful English. "You may have parole to visit your mother in England." Campbell stared at him in disbelief. "But you must give your word—your solemn oath—that you will return to this camp when your visit is concluded." Campbell didn't hesitate. "You have my word." The German commandant studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I believe you."
Campbell traveled from Germany through neutral Switzerland, then to France, then finally across the English Channel.
When Campbell reached his family home, his mother was still alive—barely.
She died shortly after his visit. Campbell attended her funeral. He spent time with his family. He walked the streets of his hometown as a free man.
And then, as impossible as it seemed, he prepared to return to Germany.
Campbell's family begged him not to go back. But Campbell had made a promise. More than that, he'd staked his honor—and the trust of his fellow prisoners—on his word. If he didn't return, the Germans might never grant parole again. Other men might never get to see their dying loved ones. His fellow officers in the camp might face retribution. And he would have to live the rest of his life knowing he'd broken his oath. So Captain Robert Campbell said goodbye to his family, traveled back through France and Switzerland, crossed into Germany, and presented himself at Magdeburg prison camp. "I have returned," he told the commandant. The German officer shook his hand. "I knew you would."
When word of Campbell's return spread—both among German guards and British prisoners—it caused a sensation.
German newspapers wrote about the "honorable Englishman" who kept his word. British newspapers praised him as a symbol of integrity in a war that had become increasingly brutal and dishonorable.
It was a reminder that honor still existed. That humanity could survive even in the worst circumstances.
That some things—like a son's promise—still mattered.
Campbell survived the war. When armistice was declared in November 1918, he was released and returned to England.
He lived a quiet life afterward, rarely speaking publicly about his wartime experiences.
In a war that destroyed almost everything, honor survived—at least for one man, for one promise.
Sometimes, keeping your word costs you everything.
Sometimes, it's still worth it.
