They say fortune favors the bold—but sometimes, it favors the sentimental too.
In the mud-soaked trenches of the First World War, a young soldier named Private John Trickett stood shoulder to shoulder with fate. A German bullet, cold and heartless, tore through the chaos with his chest in its crosshairs. But destiny, it seems, had tucked itself into his uniform that morning.
Nestled in the breast pocket of his jacket—a humble British penny, minted in 1889. Not rare, not golden. Just a coin. But it carried more than copper; it carried hope, memory, maybe even love. And when that bullet came calling, the penny answered. Bent, battered, but unbroken—it turned death away.
That penny didn’t just spare John Trickett’s heart. It saved a family, a future, and generations yet to come.
He came home with scars—deaf in one ear, his balance off-kilter, pain hidden behind proud eyes. But he came home. Unlike his two brothers, Horace and Billy, who never returned. He married Clementine, raised eight children, worked humble jobs, and lived long enough to be remembered by a granddaughter who now tells his tale.
That very penny—still bearing the bullet’s kiss—is up for auction now, alongside his medals and memories. It’s not just metal. It’s a monument to all the moments we’ll never know we were spared.
“But for that penny,” his granddaughter says, “I wouldn’t be here.”
Think on that the next time you find a coin in your pocket.
— J.W.
