The Russian obsession with World War II LONDON - Last week Prime Minister David Cameron described what distinguishes Britain from other European countries: "argumentative," "strong-minded," "an island nation." This was in a speech in which he promised a referendum on whether Britain should stay in the European Union and discussed how the great trading bloc should be reformed. For a talk about the future, Cameron spoke an awful lot about the past. He opened with World War II and then dropped references to Winston Churchill and keeping "the flame of liberty alight." Never mind that the war happened more than two decades before he was born. Hearing his speech on the radio made me think that in Europe, and possibly the world, no one talks more about World War II than the Brits. Except for maybe the Russians. I was reminded of the Russian obsession with the war on Monday night at a reception hosted by Rossotrudnichestvo - the Russian state agency whose tongue-twisting name means Rus-Cooperation and which is tasked with befriending foreigners. It had invited veterans of Britain's armed forces to drink vodka and watch a film about Anglo-Soviet cooperation in World War II. The event was the latest in a long line of Russian acts of recognition for the veterans of Britain's Arctic Convoys, which braved appalling conditions to ship supplies to the north of the Soviet Union. The more distant World War II becomes, the more Russians seem to commemorate it. Military parades in honor of the Victory are far larger now than they were 20 years ago. There are now 37 Cities of Military Glory and 12 Hero Cities - up from just four Hero Cities when the war ended. Being a Hero of the Soviet Union was once a rare distinction. By the time the Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev died in 1982, he had accumulated four gold stars - four birthday presents that had nothing to do with his distinctly inglorious military career. Almost anyone seems to get a medal in Russia these days. Former Chechen rebels are labeled Heroes of Russia just for having changed sides at a judicious moment. Russia tried to include Britons in the award bonanza by offering surviving British veterans its Ushakov medal. But it was blocked last October by British rules that limit foreign awards to within five years of an operation. The right-wing Daily Mail was outraged: "Fury as government bars Britain's Arctic heroes from accepting Russian bravery medal." Conservative British politicians found themselves outflanked in honoring the country's military heroes, and by foreigners at that. The Russian Foreign Ministry twisted the knife by expressing "deep regret" at the "particularly lamentable" decision. Of 32 members of Parliament who then signed a letter to Cameron demanding that the veterans get a medal from the British government, 30 were from his Conservative Party (the other two were from his Liberal Democrat coalition partners). In December, Cameron caved, promising a special acknowledgment. Perhaps he was worried because half of the signatories had joined a rebellion a year earlier that tried to force him to hold a referendum on British membership in the European Union. (He's now caved on this, too. That was what last week's speech was about.) Glorifying World War II and diplomatic isolation seem to go together for Russia, and many British hawks wish Britain would adopt a similar stance. I wish they would learn a little of the dignity shown by Jimmy Pitts, 88, a veteran who clutched a shot of vodka as we chatted at the reception Monday. He wore a white beret, a tie bearing the words "Arctic Convoys" in Russian and a chest lined with medals. He was looking forward to getting the new medal from Cameron. After the war, for 20 or 30 years we never spoke about it. It was only in 1995 when my boys took me up to an exhibition marking VE-day in London that my daughter-in-law sewed my medals onto a ribbon for me," he said. Self-effacement is a good principle, and one that David Cameron should follow. We in Britain can be proud of what our grandfathers achieved, but we should start worrying more about what kind of country we are building for our grandchildren. But then, considering the state of the public finances, perhaps medals and memories are the only things we can afford.