It is time for the Ministry of Defence to right a wrong and award a posthumous VC to Paddy Mayne
4 min read
Lieutenant Colonel Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne, a founding member of the Special Air Service (SAS), stands as one of the most decorated yet controversially overlooked soldiers of the Second World War.
Despite a career defined by exceptional courage, including the destruction of over 100 enemy aircraft and the rescue of fellow soldiers under intense fire, Mayne was denied the Victoria Cross (VC), Britain’s highest award for gallantry. Decades after his death in 1955, the case for awarding him a posthumous VC remains compelling, grounded in his indisputable heroism, the injustice surrounding his original denial, and the precedent set by recent posthumous awards.
Mayne’s wartime exploits are the stuff of legend. Born in 1915 in Newtownards, County Down, Mayne was a towering figure, both physically and in reputation. A solicitor by trade, a rugby star for Ireland and the British & Irish Lions, and an amateur boxing champion, Mayne brought his athletic prowess and fearless spirit to the battlefield. Joining the SAS in 1941, Mayne quickly distinguished himself. In Libya, he led a raid on the Tamet airfield, personally destroying 24 aircraft after storming an enemy officers’ mess with guns blazing. In Italy and Sicily, he earned further accolades, and by 1945, as commander of the 1st SAS Regiment, he cemented his legacy in Germany during Operation Howard. Under heavy fire, Mayne single-handedly rescued wounded men trapped in a Nazi ambush, cutting a machine-gun position and clearing a path for the Allied advance. Senior officers and eyewitnesses endorsed a VC citation for this “brilliant military leadership and cool calculating courage”, yet it was inexplicably downgraded to a fourth Distinguished Service Order (DSO).
The reasons for this denial are inexplicable, a procedural mystery that has fuelled decades of debate. Some speculate that Mayne’s sometimes abrasive personality and the SAS’ habit of challenging authority earned him enemies in high places. Others point to the army’s unease with the unorthodox tactics of the SAS, a unit that defied traditional military norms. Whatever the cause, the decision puzzled contemporaries, including King George VI, who reportedly questioned why the VC “so strangely eluded” Mayne. The alteration of his citation, as noted by SAS founder David Stirling, suggests prejudice may have played a role. This was not an isolated oversight. Mayne’s four DSOs mark him as one of Britain’s most decorated soldiers, yet the VC, a recognition of singular valour, was withheld.
The argument for a posthumous award is not just sentimental, it’s a matter of justice. The Ministry of Defence has long resisted revisiting such cases, arguing that retrospective awards undermine the judgement of commanders at the time. However, this stance ignores the evidence of a flawed process that has marked Mayne’s case. The original VC recommendation was a carefully considered endorsement from a raft of senior commanders, only to be overturned by an anonymous “faceless bureaucrat”, as historian Damien Lewis has described it. Furthermore, precedents do exist; in 2024, Australia awarded a posthumous VC to Private Richard Norden for actions in Vietnam in 1968, nearly 56 years later. Norden’s heroism, rescuing a wounded comrade under fire, mirrors Mayne’s in 1945, proving that time need not obstruct recognition.
Public and political support for Mayne’s VC continues to gather momentum. In 2025, as MP for Strangford, I tabled an Early Day Motion calling for the award, backed by former defence secretaries and SAS veterans like Colonel Tim Collins. Campaigns on X and public petitions reflect a groundswell of sentiment that this ‘historical wrong’ must be corrected. Mayne’s death in a car crash aged 40, after a life marked by both brilliance and personal struggle, only highlights the tragedy of his unrecognised valour. Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne was a hero not only to me as a young boy, but to countless others, and awarding him the VC posthumously would honour not just the man, but the legacy of the SAS, and affirm that courage, not bureaucracy, defines a hero.
