WHEN Private Johnson Beharry looked at the contract lying on the table in front of him, he could have been forgiven for reflecting that his life was about to change for ever. With top London literary agent Mark Lucas at his side, Beharry nervously lifted his pen, took a deep breath and began to sign his name. Seconds later, the 26-year-old soldier who once walked barefoot to school in Grenada was a millionaire. His autobiography, Barefoot Soldier, is set to be a bestseller when it is published by Little, Brown next year. The inspirational story of the handsome young war hero's journey from poverty on the Caribbean island to heroism in Iraq was deemed so incredible and inspirational that it sparked a bidding war. Lucas demanded - and got - a £1 million advance, easily dwarfing sums paid to more famous soldiers such as former SAS man Andy McNab and Colonel Tim Collins. But Beharry's life story was already remarkable even before he won the Victoria Cross for twice saving comrades under fire and became a national hero. The Queen summed up the nation's sentiments as she awarded him his medal in April. "You're very special," she said. "It's not very often I'm able to present this honour." Beharry is the first living British recipient of the VC for 40 years. But what makes his achievement all the more amazing is the journey he's travelled to get here. As a child he lived in a tiny two- bedroom hut, coated in peeling blue paint and surrounded by rickety wooden steps. He shared it with his parents, Florette, 53, and Michael, 50, and seven brothers and sisters - Jude, 30, Jackie, 28, Jill, 27, Jamilla, 22, Jeffrey, 21, Jeffon, 19, and Jade, 14. It was perched high on the hills of Diego Piece, near the shanty town of St. Mark, and their only shelter from the torrential tropical storms and scorching summer sun was a flimsy corrugated tin roof. There was no running water. Michael scraped a living as a farmer and they survived on meagre meals of beans and rice. Family friend Johnson Richardson, 37, says: "St Mark is the poorest village in Grenada, and the Beharrys' house was one of the worst equipped in the area. "Johnson spent his childhood hunting wild animals as a hobby. His parents couldn't afford many clothes or even proper shoes for him. That's why he had to walk the three miles to his primary school and back barefoot, wearing just trousers." The sweet smell of cannabis pervades the island, and some of Beharry's school friends started dabbling in drugs. But he conquered the temptations that so many of his 500 peers at St Martyn Presbyterian School succumbed to. His mum Florette says that in spite of the desperate environment he was a "peaceful, kind and thoughtful boy and everyone loved him." But behind that quiet exterior lay a fierce ambition to make something of his life. Ken Gangadeen, 52, Florette's former husband, who left the island after daughter Jackie was born and now lives in Croydon, South London, explains: "He was focused. He quietly made it obvious he wanted to escape the poverty cycle." At 13, Beharry quit school with no qualifications and worked as a decorator. One local recalls: "He went everywhere on his rusty old bike, whistling while he rode." When he turned his hand to labouring he couldn't afford lunch unless he got a lift and saved his bus fare. Otherwise he had to go hungry. Love for his childhood sweetheart Lynthia, now 23, kept him focused. They met at church when he was 16 and immediately became inseparable. She was the driving force behind his decision to leave the island for a new life in Britain. "Lynthia came first, come what may," says Florette, who worked as a cook and cleaner. "Supporting her is what mattered most to him." Arriving in London in 1999, aged 19, after scraping together the cost of his flight from his savings, he set to work as a labourer. He slowly saved money until he could afford to fly Lynthia over to join him. A year after his arrival he made the momentous decision to join the Prince of Wales's Royal Regiment. "I wanted to change my life," he says. "It was a good decision to make. I have never regretted it." But it caused his parents heartache - especially when he was sent to Iraq. "He just rang one day to say he had joined the Army," remembers Florette. "We didn't even know he was going to Iraq until the day before he left. He said: 'Don't worry, Mum',but I was worried. We saw that soldiers and civilians were dying every day. People told me to prepare myself for the worst and I prayed he would be OK." Her prayers seemed to be answered when he survived a terrifying ambush by insurgents near al-Amarah on May 1 last year. Beharry was part of a British operation to rescue a foot patrol pinned down by insurgents. He was driving at the front of a convoy of six armoured vehicles when suddenly his Warrior was hit by several grenades. The fiery explosion concussed two men inside and wounded several others. Beharry drove through the line of fire in a desperate attempt to save his crew, but then his vehicle was hit by an even more deadly grenade. This time it burst into flames. As he opened his defensive hatch to try to clear the thick black smoke, yet another grenade blew it away. He drove 1,500 metres with his head exposed to enemy fire - and was hit by a bullet which penetrated his helmet. But still he drove on, determined to lead his platoon to safety, before climbing on top of his burning vehicle to haul out his platoon commander. Again and again he returned to rescue the rest of the platoon before driving out of danger. A month later a grenade exploded in front of his vehicle in another ambush. Blood streaming down his face, he reversed it to safety before falling into a coma. Back home, Lynthia, who had married him two years earlier and worked with the Ministry of Defence, was beside herself with worry. "An Army major knocked at my door to tell me," she says. "I felt like the bottom had fallen out of my world. He was given just a 50 per cent chance of surviving." She was flown to Kuwait to be by her husband's side. It was three days before he regained consciousness. He was flown back to the UK to have fragments of his skull removed from his brain and had a metal plate implanted in his forehead. The VC citation said: "Beharry's level-headed actions in the face of heavy and accurate enemy fire almost certainly saved the lives of his crew." But he insists: "I was just doing my job. If I found myself in that position I would do it all over again." His road to recovery has been rocky - and the repercussions have been shattering. He separated from Lynthia in May, just 11 days after accepting his VC. His family believes his bravery cost him his marriage. His aunt, Joan Ganesh, who lives in Streatham, South London, says: "His injuries were very bad and he was in an awful lot of pain. The collapse of his marriage was something to do with what he went through after being injured." Florette - who has flown to England to be with her son - says: "He has been different since the war. Before, he was helpful, playful and friendly, always even-tempered and kind. Now the pain is very bad. Sometimes he can't concentrate and he gets annoyed at people." Lynthia - still living at the couple's MoD house in Tidbury, Wilts - is unwilling to talk about the marriage. But Ken Gangadeen says he's moved on: "I think he has a new girlfriend now." Florette adds: "I don't want him to go back to war. I'd like him to leave the Army." But Beharry is determined to carry on making a difference. He has just set up a unique deal with his publisher. Time Warner will donate a six-figure sum to help Grenada, ravaged by Hurricane Ivan last year. And every secondary-school child there will be given a copy of his book. Because despite his fame, his war heroics and that £1million deal, the Barefoot Soldier hasn't forgotten his humble beginnings. Reprinted from mirror.co.uk