Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I've always had a

“Seeing the funny side of life is useful, and I’ve always had a sense of humour.” – Henry Allingham

In the long twilight of life, when the years stretch behind like golden shadows, few words shine with greater simplicity and truth than those of Henry Allingham. A man who had lived through wars, witnessed the rise and fall of empires, and watched generations bloom and fade, he spoke these words not as jest, but as testament. To see the funny side of life, he said, was not a small thing — it was a way to survive the unbearable, to endure with grace the cruel turns of fate. His sense of humour was not mere playfulness; it was a shield forged from wisdom, a light carried through the darkest nights.

To understand these words, one must see beyond their gentleness and glimpse the power beneath them. For laughter — true laughter — is not the sound of ignorance, but of resilience. It is the soul’s refusal to be broken. When Henry Allingham spoke of humor, he spoke as a man who had seen the trenches of the Great War, who had heard the thunder of guns and the cries of youth swallowed by mud. And yet, he lived to smile. He understood what many forget: that to find the funny side is to reclaim one’s power in a world that often strips it away.

There is a story told of soldiers in the bleak winter of 1916, huddled in their cold trenches, faces gray with frost and fear. In the midst of horror, one began to tell a joke — a foolish one, about the generals and the rats that shared their rations. Soon, the line erupted in laughter, and for a moment, the guns ceased to exist. That laughter did not erase the pain, but it transformed it; it gave them breath again. This was humor as defiance, the courage to smile even as the storm rages on. It is what Allingham meant — that laughter, when born from hardship, is not weakness but strength.

The ancients too knew this secret. The Stoics of Greece and Rome taught that when one cannot change the course of fate, one must learn to change the way one sees it. To laugh at life’s cruelty is not to deny it, but to master it. The fool, they said, rages against the storm; the wise man sails with it — and sometimes, he sings. Thus, the sense of humor becomes an art of balance: a way to accept the inevitable without surrendering one’s spirit. It is the mark of the mature soul, who has learned that not all battles are won with swords; some are won with smiles.

But in our own age, many have forgotten this. We drown in worry, in self-importance, in the noise of endless striving. We take offense where laughter would heal, and frown where joy might save us. Yet, as Allingham reminds us, humor is useful — profoundly so. It softens anger, bridges hearts, and frees the mind from its prison of fear. The one who can laugh in the face of trouble does not escape life — he embraces it more fully than those who mourn every misfortune.

So let this be your lesson, passed down as wisdom from an elder who lived long enough to see the folly of sorrow: Do not take life too seriously. It will end, as all things do, and the only lasting victory is to have smiled along the way. When hardship comes, look for the spark of absurdity that hides within it; when the world feels cruel, find the small, ridiculous truth that still makes you laugh. To laugh is not to forget, but to forgive — life, others, and yourself.

Remember Henry Allingham’s simple creed: that seeing the funny side of life is not childish, but divine. It is the laughter of the wise, the serenity of the survivor, the echo of a heart that has endured and chosen joy. Carry this with you always. For the man who can still laugh after tears, who can find humor in his scars, who can greet each dawn with a smile — that man has already conquered life.