Teddy Bears and Childhood Toys Tucked Into Packs
War zones are rarely associated with softness—yet tucked between ammunition clips and ration tins, some soldiers have carried teddy bears. Not for tactical advantage, but for something arguably just as vital: emotional survival. The idea of a grown adult soldier carrying a childhood toy might sound odd at first, even whimsical. But delve a little deeper, and these objects reveal a profound truth about the human need for comfort in chaos.
During the First World War, space in a soldier’s kit was at a premium. Yet some made room for small stuffed animals or toys, often gifted by family or kept from their own childhoods. These weren’t just sentimental relics—they were emotional lifelines. As noted by the Imperial War Museums, soldiers often customized their kits with personal items, even as they faced the dehumanizing machinery of modern warfare. Fast-forward a century, and the tradition persists. Modern troops in Iraq and Afghanistan have similarly carried “childlike” tokens—Command Sgt. Maj. Philip Johndrow, for instance, kept a novelty “Twinkie the Kid” keychain sent by his wife as a joke, which became his personal talisman during Operation Iraqi Freedom.
So why do these objects matter? Psychologists suggest that such childhood items act as emotional anchors—symbols of innocence, safety, and unconditional love. In a world where nothing is certain, a small bear or toy can become a private sanctuary. Like the bullet-stopped Bible that saved Gunner John Dickinson’s life in 1915, or the shrapnel-dented cigarette case that spared Rifleman W.S. Main, childhood toys remind soldiers that they are still human. And sometimes, that’s enough to keep going.
Playing Cards and Poker Chips from Home
For soldiers far from home and deep in the chaos of war, even the most mundane items can become powerful talismans. Take playing cards and poker chips—on the surface, they’re just tools for passing time. But in military history, they’ve often served a dual purpose: entertainment during downtime and luck-bringing relics tucked into rucksacks and uniform pockets. During the American Civil War, decks of cards were nearly as common as rifles in camp life, used not just for gambling but also for teaching strategy and building camaraderie. By the time of the Spanish-American War in 1898, the Consolidated Playing Card Company was producing inexpensive decks and poker chips for U.S. troops, embedding these games even deeper into military culture.
But there’s more than nostalgia at play here. Some soldiers believed certain cards—like the Ace of Spades—offered protection, while others carried poker chips from a favorite casino or hometown bar as a symbolic link to life before deployment. These tokens, often marked or scuffed in recognizable ways, acted as psychological anchors amid uncertainty. As noted in the Science Museum’s collection of wartime charms, the practice of carrying small, personal objects for luck was widespread during World War I, even if cards weren’t specifically listed. Whether slipped into a helmet liner or sewn into a jacket seam, these objects offered a tiny, tangible sense of control in a world otherwise ruled by chance.
Rabbit’s Feet and Other Animal Charms
For centuries, soldiers have clung to the belief that a rabbit’s foot could tip the scales between life and death. It sounds peculiar today—carrying a severed animal limb into battle—but this superstition has surprisingly deep roots. The tradition likely stems from African American folk magic and Celtic mythology, both of which imbued the rabbit with mystical qualities: fertility, speed, and, crucially, survival. By the early 20th century, rabbit’s feet had become widely commercialized good-luck tokens, readily available in shops and often dyed bright colors. But on the battlefield, their symbolism was far more personal.
During World War I, rabbit’s feet were tucked into uniform pockets and hung from chains, sometimes accompanied by small rituals. Some believed the charm worked best if the rabbit was killed in a cemetery or during a full moon—rituals that added a layer of magical insurance. And it wasn’t just rabbit parts. According to the Science Museum in London, soldiers also carried black cat medallions, miniature horseshoes, and even carved animal bones. One particularly curious WWI artifact? A soldier carried two rabbit pelvic bones—one for luck and the other, reportedly, to ward off venereal disease.
These charms weren’t just superstition—they were survival psychology. In the chaos of trench warfare, where 6,000 men died daily, any token that offered even a sliver of control became a psychological anchor. As Stewart Emmens, curator at the Science Museum, explains, such objects were “tangible symbols of hope” in a world where fate could turn on a bullet’s trajectory. Even today, animal charms persist in military circles, a quiet nod to the enduring human need for meaning amid mayhem.
Pieces of Shrapnel from Survived Explosions
In the chaos of combat, survival is often a matter of inches—sometimes, millimeters. For many soldiers, those razor-thin margins between life and death became tangible in the form of shrapnel they carried with them afterward. These jagged metal fragments, torn from artillery shells or grenades, weren’t just battlefield debris. They became deeply personal relics—tokens of survival, luck, and, oddly enough, protection. Soldiers who’d been wounded or narrowly missed by explosions often retrieved the very shrapnel that could’ve ended their lives and kept it close, as if the object held some kind of mystical immunity from death.
Take Rifleman W.S. Main of the London Rifle Brigade, for instance. During World War I, a piece of shrapnel tore into his metal cigarette case—a case that just happened to be resting over his heart. The impact dented the case but spared his life. Main not only survived but returned to service, and the damaged case became a permanent companion, a battered badge of fate’s strange mercy. His story, preserved by the Imperial War Museums, isn’t unique. A bullet-damaged Bible carried by Gunner John Dickinson stopped a round in its tracks in 1915, transforming scripture into a literal life-saver.
This practice wasn’t just about superstition—it was about control. In a world where soldiers had little power over their circumstances, carrying a piece of shrapnel that had already “done its damage” offered a strange comfort. Psychologists might call it “sympathetic magic”: the belief that an object tied to a powerful event retains some of its energy. In the trenches of the Somme or the jungles of Vietnam, that belief could mean the difference between despair and resolve. These shards of metal, once instruments of violence, became symbols of resilience—and reminders that sometimes, fortune favors not the brave, but the barely lucky.
Handmade Tokens from Family and Loved Ones
In the chaos of war, some of the most powerful shields weren’t made of steel or Kevlar—they were stitched with love, carved from memory, or etched with hope. Handmade tokens from family and loved ones became deeply personal talismans for soldiers, each one carrying more than sentimental value—they were emotional lifelines. During the First World War, soldiers often tucked small, handcrafted items into their packs: embroidered pouches sewn by mothers, lockets with a child’s photo inside, or fabric hearts cut from a spouse’s wedding dress. These weren’t just mementos; they were anchors to a world beyond the trenches.
One poignant example is the use of Connemara marble to create four-leaf clover charms, a practice rooted in both superstition and symbolism. These charms, often given by loved ones, were believed to offer protection and luck—especially when made by hand. Soldiers also carried sweetheart jewelry, sometimes fashioned from bullet casings or scrap metal, transformed into rings or pendants and exchanged across battle lines and borders. According to the Imperial War Museums, such items were kept close, often in shirt pockets or inside helmets, and were seen as more powerful than mass-produced lucky charms because they were imbued with personal meaning and the touch of someone waiting back home (IWM).
The emotional weight of these tokens is difficult to quantify, but their psychological value was immense. In letters and diaries, soldiers wrote about drawing courage from the smallest keepsake—a hand-stitched cross, a coin engraved with initials, or a small pouch containing a lock of hair. These humble objects, often overlooked in official accounts of war, provided a sense of continuity and identity amidst the dehumanizing machinery of combat. As Stewart Emmens, curator at the Science Museum in London, notes, such items reflected the universal human need for connection, especially when lives were lived minute to minute under constant threat.
Even today, the tradition endures. Modern soldiers still receive handmade challenge coins or tokens from family members—small, personalized pieces that echo a century-old ritual. Whether tucked into a pocket or worn on a chain, these tokens are more than just lucky charms. They are proof that, even in war, love travels.
Worn-Out Coins Passed Down Through Generations
Among the many curious charms soldiers have clung to in the fog of war, few carry the weight—literally and symbolically—of worn-out coins passed down through generations. These aren’t just bits of metal jingling in a pocket; they’re heirlooms, talismans, and whispered promises of survival. In both World War I and World War II, it was common for soldiers to tuck a sixpence or similarly aged coin into their breast pocket, sometimes sewn into the lining of their uniform or worn on a string around the neck. The gesture wasn’t about wealth—it was about continuity. Carrying a coin that had once protected a father or grandfather in battle created a tangible link across time, a belief that the coin’s survival somehow ensured their own.
The physical condition of these coins told their own stories. Edges rubbed smooth by decades of hands, inscriptions faded by sweat and grime, and metal surfaces dulled by age all spoke of endurance. Some soldiers even believed these coins could deflect bullets—an idea not entirely without precedent, as illustrated by the famed bullet-stopping Bible of Gunner John Dickinson in 1915, now preserved by the Imperial War Museums. Whether or not they held supernatural power, these coins served a powerful psychological purpose. They offered a sense of control in a world defined by chaos, and a reminder that someone had come home before—and that maybe, just maybe, they would too.
How These Objects Offer Comfort in the Chaos of War
In the unforgiving landscape of war—where chaos reigns and certainty vanishes—soldiers have long clung to small, often strange, tokens of luck. But here’s the thing: these weren’t just quirky accessories or nostalgic keepsakes. They were anchors of sanity in a world gone mad. Whether it was a Bible with a bullet lodged in its spine or a piece of coal tucked into a breast pocket, these objects became more than physical items—they were psychological lifelines.
Consider Gunner John Dickinson, whose small Bible stopped a bullet in 1915 during the First World War. Carried in his left breast pocket, the Bible didn’t just save his life—it became a symbol of divine protection and survival. Similarly, Rifleman W.S. Main’s cigarette case, pierced by shrapnel but sparing him injury, wasn’t discarded—it was cherished. These items weren’t just “lucky”; they were proof that fortune, or fate, had smiled upon them once.
But there’s more. Soldiers also carried deeply personal tokens—like a camisole worn by Margaret Gwyer, who survived the 1915 sinking of the RMS Lusitania. It became, for her and others, a reminder of survival against impossible odds. From shamrock charms carved from Connemara marble to worn coins passed down through generations, these talismans offered a sliver of control in an otherwise uncontrollable world. As Stewart Emmens of the Science Museum notes, even black cat pins—typically symbols of bad luck—were worn by British troops as ironic shields against death.
Psychologists today might call it cognitive anchoring: the idea that small rituals or objects can help regulate fear in high-stress environments. And that checks out. Soldiers weren’t just being sentimental—they were building mental armor. As noted in Warrior Allegiance’s breakdown of military superstitions, rituals like spitting on bullets or stepping off with the right foot before a mission weren’t just habits; they were survival strategies cloaked in tradition.
