Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier by James Wharton Read Free Book Online Page B

afternoon.
    The corridor was a flurry of activity and someone, as is always the case in the army, had found it necessary to play extremely loud and inappropriate music. Like us, most had chosen to wear what was visibly a new suit but, alarmingly, a few had turned up to their new job in jeans and polo shirts. One or two, very worryingly, had tracksuit bottoms on. I hadn’t worn tracksuit bottoms since I was thirteen. Warren had turned up by the time we returned and was unpacking his belongings in the room Dean and I had thrown our bags down in hours before. It was nice to see him after our three weeks apart.
    That evening I met lots of new people. Most had little impact on me but a few of the new guys became amazing friends to me, and one or two of them over the course of the following months would change my life.
    Shane Ibbetson, one of the boys in a tracksuit, was from Leeds and had apparently turned up to Hyde Park barracks earlier in the day in a police car, having got completely lost in London and needing help. I could tell immediately he was quite a character.
    Another new face was Jamie McAllen. Jamie, from Romford originally, became one of my closest friends in the four or so years I knew him. We’re still in touch but he called it a day on return from Afghanistan in 2008. The army lost one of its most mature soldiers when Jamie left. He was some years older than the rest of us and it felt unusual to be equal to somebody who was eight years my senior, having only served with recruits my own age in Harrogate.
    Also settling into Hyde Park barracks that Sunday evening was a Mancunian called Josh Tate. Josh was only a few days older than me and we hit it off straight away.
    The final notable additions to our initial meetings that night in 2004 were a couple of Fijians who had travelled across the planet to join the British Army. Trooper Babakobau, who heldsome authority in his native village, and his close friend Trooper Torou were incredible giants of men. Both had found themselves in the Household Cavalry and were looking forward to learning to ride. I remember them saying that they’d never touched a horse in their lives. Amusingly, neither had I!
    When I think back to that autumn night all those years ago, I remember fondly how it felt meeting the guys I’d inevitably be spending my career with. I realise now that we were blinded. I thought we’d all stay together and ride horses, possibly going to somewhere like Iraq in the many years that would follow. What came to pass was something quite different. Some of us would certainly see war; some of us wouldn’t. Some would find the army not for them and, very sadly, one of us would be killed in action. If someone had told me that on that Sunday evening, an evening of new introductions, I’d have probably reconsidered my future on the spot.
    The course was due to last about seven months, finishing the following spring. By then we’d be capable Horse Guards, riding to a high standard on state occasions for Her Majesty and immaculately turned out for visiting heads of state and dignitaries.
    It all sounded wonderful, but I had no idea what exactly lay ahead of me throughout those cold and dark winter months. It would prove to be the most testing stage of my young life.
    The first part of our training was based in Knightsbridge and was all about wearing state uniform correctly and learning how to clean it for parades. It was all quite straightforward stuff, but I was amazed by just how much of the uniform there actually was. Everything needed cleaning and shining, even bits that couldn’t be seen. There was utter confusion on all our faces when the corporal told us that the inside of the state helmet needed to be just as shiny as the outside. Why on earth? The point became known to us as the ‘backs of brasses’, and would basically earnyou brownie points on inspections if you’d bothered yourself to make the hidden brass as shiny as the visible brass.
    By the end