CHAPTER 8 - CONTROL THROUGH RANK

When one has been alive for a number of decades, in my case over seven, it seems to some that ancient stories are somehow always fiction. Yes, I can really make up stories and make them seem untrue and sensational, but the few I have chosen from days long ago when I was serving as a soldier are very true, give or take a few sentences.

The following story is written to act as a breather from those specifically centred on carp and marlin. It is about how to find a way out of a trap, to find a way of taking a step out of the army when a soldier has served enough time and come to his senses, so begins to plough the furrow in which to walk away from soldiering and into civvy street.

Just after my daughter Maxine was born, when she was only a few months old, I was sitting by a lake with my brother Bill, talking about his time at the end of WWII in the Royal Navy. Bill was slightly built and was a heavy smoker. It was that habit that was to eventually take him from me, aged 79.

What he told me was instrumental in helping me to come to my senses and consider what I was doing in the Royal Military Police when I had had a very fine education, had twice turned down Sandhurst and even a place at UCL to study medicine through circumstances beyond my control. Bill encouraged me to be proud of having served but he was adamant that I had to come to my senses. “You can do better than that, bro” Bill said.

During my seventh year of service, I asked my regimental sergeant major, Regimental Scary Monster Bill Baker, for an interview with the commanding officer at the depot. Major John Blakesley, who had been an MP for over forty years was quick to oblige his non-commissioned letter writer! The major looked old, and his lined face told many stories of his service life!

I then asked the RSM to arrange a meeting with Lt. Col West, the overall boss of the Training Depot, for advice about taking a step towards civvy street. Bill Baker was very quick to remind me that I had signed up for 22 years, had already turned down a commission, and told me in no uncertain terms that when a soldier makes a commitment, he must keep it. If he didn’t, he would be a laughingstock!

I was stunned and with no compassion or empathy it seemed to me at that very moment that there was absolutely a deadened soul inside that experienced warrant officer, and I looked at him in a very different way to what I had before from that time onwards. He was kind enough to give me some time with my CO, so I had attended the interview hoping for respect and compassion, or at the very least a little bit of understanding of my situation, but it was Bill Baker who had the last word, as RSMs always do!

I entered the office and saw the CO sitting in full uniform behind an empty desk, pen in hand. I stood rigidly to attention, saluted, and waited to be asked to speak.

The colonel was clearly keen to engage with me and perhaps knew a little from the regimental sergeant major, whose loyalty was to him.

‘Sir, I think I have served my time and have nursed my terminally ill wife for many years. I want to create a life out of the army so that her last few years can be peaceful with me and my new baby daughter. I want a discharge by buying my way out of the army, Sir?”.

The air was silent, and the CO sat bolt upright, his mouth twitching and his moustache bristling. There was absolutely no compassion or understanding on his face, and he suggested that I was throwing away a very good future with three stripes now and a commission available when and if I wanted to take it. He told me lots of things to put me off and after the interview was finished, I went home and coveted my family, feeling rather disillusioned.

It was bedtime and I always read Maxine a bedtime story, so I had to prepare the bedtime scene as I always had done. Rosemary was quite well at that time and was waiting for me to come home after the interview, standing waving at the window with Maxine in her arms.

That evening was rather a tough one as I looked into Rosemary’s eyes and told her of the greeting I had not received from the CO.

We sat and talked and at that time we never really thought she would die as she had given birth and seemed fit. Also, I had engaged her in a tough physical regime suggested by a doctor friend, so it was daily exercise, horse riding, cycling and trampolining in the depot gymnasium, after hours. We planned our way out of the army together.

I was worried about what I might do when I left the army and so we slept on it for several nights. My main concern was how I would manage to father Maxine and be a husband to Rosemary, as I was about to take a huge step into the unknown; but I had to do it because I saw so many elements of army life with which is disagreed.

The next day a young officer passed me in the barracks and asked me to write a letter for him as his grammar was not that good. I went to his tiny and quite grubby office and wrote the letter for him.

It was his letter to resign his commission because he had, so he said, suddenly come to his senses. We chatted for a while, and I told him my dilemma. He offered to help me and although he never knew it was my pathway out before serving my time, he behaved like an officer and a gentleman.

The colonel made it known to everyone in the company office and from the next day onwards I was ‘sent to Coventry’. Even my PTI friends saw some changes in me, and it soon became clear that it was such an unusual thing to want to get out of the army early when one had signed up for twenty-two years! No matter what the reasons for wanting to leave my corps, there had to be some strong action by those senior to me to set an example.

Compassion! None of that, and only a refusal to even listen to my aspirations for the future. I learned a huge lesson. The army does not treat soldiers as individuals!

What happened next was a huge blow. I was asked to take up a position in the clothing stores as an assistant to the quartermaster, issuing uniforms and boots and suchlike, with promotion to warrant officer and my future army life was to be a storeman!

I refused, and began much more rapid steps to leave, and I asked my mother-in-law to buy me out of the army on compassionate grounds.

I had asked the regimental doctor if I had enough reason to seek a compassionate early exit from the army, and he told me quite clearly that I had but he would recommend I was charged the going rate for demob. through purchase.

When my intentions were made public, it was prudent for the CO to get me gone sooner rather than later, in case other senior NCOs followed me. It was a rapid route to civvy street, and I never ever regretted it. Had there been time for a conversation, and if I was treated as an individual and thanked for the commitment I had made as a serving MP with several theatres of active service behind me, things might have encouraged me to stay in the army and accept a commission.

Within a week I was offered the opportunity to end my service with a posting to Hong Kong while my demob. was arranged, which could take months. The prized posting was probably offered with a view to encouraging me to stay in the army. There was one condition before I left blighty; that my wife be put in a convalescent home at the army’s expense, and my daughter placed in a boarding school whilst I was in Hong Kong! Heartless, and a shocking way to treat a committed soldier. I was furious.

A bullet comes out of the muzzle of a rifle at a speed of more than one thousand feet per second, but thanks to the Provost Marshall, who wrote to me, and I told him in no uncertain terms that I took exception to the walls that were put up in front of me when I planned to leave. He made it clear that I had been treated with disrespect given my exceptional commitment to the armed forces, and with a quick signature on my discharge form, agreeing to my discharge, I took steps that were much swifter than a bullet!

I still have the letter, and when I eventually handed in my army kit, I received my discharge booklet at the company office.

I was discharged by purchase with an outstanding recommendation and an exemplary army record! Power comes hidden in some mysterious ways!

Three years after I left the army and entered the teaching profession, I was privileged to meet my colonel, the very senior officer who had signed my discharge papers, at a garden party at Dean Close School in Cheltenham, with whom I exchanged many stories of life in the army. He was a true gentleman and I kept in touch with him until he passed away some years later.

He did remember me, and the irony is that I was privileged to teach his grandson and granddaughter at Dean Close School!

In defence of the army protocols, I can see now that it is incumbent on leaders to ensure that soldiers become part of a force, with individuality perhaps only experienced subliminally, or at a time of valour, so I naturally had the views of a young soldier nursing a wife and child and was not then capable of seeing the big picture.

Looking back now I see the great opportunities the army offered me, and I have no regrets. It is always the occasional power-mad soldier with rank that blots the otherwise great privilege to serve our country. Had I felt differently I would not have stepped forward and been commissioned into The Gloucestershire Regiment (1 Glosters) in 1969. I continued to serve as a TAVR officer until 1981, as Training Officer and TAVR Centre Commandant in the 5th. Battalion the Royal Anglian Regiment, which brought my service-tally in years to eighteen!

The Colonel of 5 royal Anglian then was John Tadman who I had a very strong professional soldier to soldier relationship with, and when I joined him, he made me a company commander and suggested in 1981 that I would become second-in-command to a regular Lieutenant Colonel, which I was very interested in.

By 1980 I had decided that in July 1981 I would marry Sarah, so I opted out of continuing as a soldier. I must stress that I found serving with John in the TAVR much more professional and on the ball than when I was a regular soldier. The Royal Anglian’s were a great lot, and I loved my service with them. There was something very nice about 1 Glosters and 5 Royal Anglian, to do with integrity and a very high standard of soldiering.

I resigned my commission. There were strict requirements that all TAVR soldiers had to attend yearly-manoeuvres in Germany as a requirement for promotion, but my school would not release me, so I had no choice but to leave.

On looking back, I think I wanted to continue serving and become a company commander in a battalion I loved. I left the army with another exemplary record and was recommended for promotion to major, which my Colonel suggested was a certainty if I attended the mandatory camp.

I declined and took a giant step out of uniform for the second time, and as a reminder of so many years serving I hung my service dress and still very shiny leather Sam Brown on a hanger outside my bedroom with medals placed neatly, perhaps to bring back the very fond memories of my life as a soldier PTI and Company Commander. Did I miss it? Hell yes!