Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (15 page)

‘And you, Ronald… For a poof, you’ve got some fucking aggression!’

Ronald had become my nickname somehow. It is my middle
name, of course, but during one of Mr Olver’s intense
interrogations
he’d discovered it and decided to apply it as my name. It stuck. Everyone now called me Ronald – even Prince Harry.

I didn’t take any offence at all at what Gibbo had said. In fact, I took it completely the opposite way. It was like a dad telling his youngest son that he was proud of him. In the exhaustion of that final day of exercise, hearing those words made me feel accepted.

That night, we weren’t to return to Windsor; instead we had to stay put in the middle of Salisbury Plain. We were all gutted about the extra night of inconvenience and especially frustrated once somebody realised it was Bonfire Night. In the distance we could see the occasional flurry of fireworks and the odd whizz and crack in the air. It didn’t do much for morale.

Prince Harry, probably as frustrated as the rest of us at being made to stay out on exercise for a pointless extra night, decided to do something that would cheer us all right up. Hearing the distant noise of fireworks and feeling the general mood among the lads, he and his close-protection officer drove to the nearby town of Salisbury to buy a stockpile of fireworks.

An hour later they returned and the entire squadron gathered with hot tea and coffee to watch the most exclusive fireworks display in the world: Prince Harry’s personal fireworks party. It was fabulous. If anybody had anything against the prince before that gesture, I’m sure they changed their minds sat in the cold that night in the middle of Salisbury Plain.

The remaining weeks of the year were spent conducting fairly low-level training at the barracks in Windsor, with the occasional day out somewhere, either firing our weapons on a range or
practising
how to react in NBC (nuclear, biological and chemical) situations. Soon we were celebrating the Christmas period, my favourite time of the year.

At the beginning of the final week before Christmas leave, a
rumour began to circulate that an announcement was coming about what the regiment would face in 2007. We knew we were going somewhere, but the question was where? Were we off to Iraq? Were we off to Afghanistan? Nobody really knew for sure, and nobody really had a preference. They were both pretty awful places at the time. I was being asked constantly by Mum and Thom what was going on. It was as nerve-racking for them as it was for us.

The day before leave, a Wednesday, the entire regiment
gathered
in the gym to enjoy a Christmas lunch served by the seniors and officers, as always. We donned our colourful paper crowns from the inside of Christmas crackers, and the RCM, the most senior NCO in the regiment, told us all to be quiet and to sit up while the colonel said a few words.

After telling us to relax, the colonel took his beret off and looked very sombre.

‘In the spring of next year, A Squadron will deploy to Iraq on Operation Telic 10.’ This was the news we’d been waiting for. We were off to the Middle East. Every day of my life since I had joined the army cadets had been in preparation for this very moment. We were getting our marching orders. The feeling was difficult to explain and the half-bottle of wine I’d drunk with dinner didn’t help as I tried to process this historic announcement.

The colonel told us what to expect but made it clear that there was still ‘great uncertainty’ about what would actually happen. He did tell us, however, that we’d be preventing smugglers from getting into Iraq across the Iranian border. B Squadron would be deployed at the same time but operating in a different part of the country – Faulkner would be in Iraq at the same time as me. Training would start once we returned from leave.

We celebrated our Christmas dinner even more vigorously after the announcement and afterwards 1 Troop went out as one
large family to drink the news away. Led by Mr Olver and Gibbo, we’d all be heading abroad on operations. Me, Scoffy, Danny, Matt, Smudge, Shagger, Kirky… We were about to become brothers-in-arms and the challenges that lay ahead would test us all as soldiers, as comrades and as human beings.

Christmas was a bit odd that year. It was my first Christmas with Thom and, though I was swept up in the whole romance of being with him, I couldn’t help but think it might be our last.

Mum, by then, had completely got over my sexuality and had become a bit of a gay rights spokeswoman in the local community, especially in the social club where she played darts on a Thursday. If she overheard anybody saying anything remotely homophobic, she’d immediately ask them to explain themselves. I found this quite hilarious. She was also wholly supportive of Thom and me, and treated him like everybody else.

That Christmas, Dad was just settling into his new living
environment
at a care home that specialised in support for people who had suffered some kind of brain injury, just across the border in Shropshire. It was a huge relief when he moved into his new surroundings and they looked after him brilliantly.

Thom was always quite out of place in the countryside of North Wales. It was obvious to me from the start that he needed so much more out of life than the rural setting of Wrexham could offer. He wasn’t hugely different from me in that respect and over the course of the three weeks I spent with him that Christmas, he told me that he really wanted to leave the town and be nearer to me.

He’d thought through his plans quite thoroughly before letting me know of his wishes, and had looked into work near Windsor.
He was entering his last few months as a trainee hairdresser and I worried that he was about to throw away all that training and skill he’d worked hard for in Wales, but it seemed he’d already made up his mind. He wanted to move to Windsor with me.

If I’m honest, I loved the idea. I’d lived in barracks my entire army career – and indeed my whole adult life. I envied those soldiers who were married or living off base with their
girlfriends
. I hated that I didn’t go anywhere once work was done, just sat around in my room watching DVDs or playing on my Xbox. But I was worried. I was going away, possibly never
returning
. I worried that he’d need support. I worried he’d get fed up waiting for me. Life was pretty stressful as it was without this new development.

He’d found an airline advertising for new talent to work on long-distance flights around the world. Thom had said in the past that it was his dream job to work for a company like British Airways or Virgin Atlantic. Nobody could stop him from
chasing
his dreams and sending off his application – so we didn’t. Everyone who knew him encouraged him. He sent the
application
off just before Christmas Day and began his wait to find out if his future lay in the airline industry.

I enjoyed every minute of that Christmas. I spent the actual day with my mum and Phil, visiting my dad in his care home in the morning, rushing home to visit friends in the village pub and standing up in front of the television to watch the Queen’s Speech. Mum always served dinner at 3.15 p.m. so that the family could all group around the TV and listen to Her Majesty’s message.

Christmas passed in a flash, as did my twentieth birthday, which I spent with Thom and my parents. Enjoying the occasion, and in the slightly intoxicated state I found myself in, I thought again about this being my last Christmas and birthday. I honestly thought it was more than a possibility. Every time I switched
on the news or opened a newspaper, there was someone else dead in Iraq. Since learning that I’d certainly be there from May onwards, it was almost an obsession to scour the media trying to find news of another fatality in the Middle East. I would watch on the news as a distraught wife or girlfriend cried over her dead lover’s coffin. I worried that when it happened to me, people would focus on Thom being another man and him being the first gay guy to lose his partner in the war.

Once leave was over, I drove back to Windsor in the car Mum and Phil had helped me buy to save money on expensive trains week in, week out. I went to work the following
morning
, depressed that leave had passed by in a flash. As expected, the first three months of 2007 were non-stop. The squadron had become very strong and very close as a team. Prince Harry was still very much part of our life. He’d taken a natural approach to commanding men and had taken it upon himself, as had Mr Olver, to learn more about the men he’d be going to war with. The best officers I’ve ever dealt with have always been the ones that have taken a real interest in the men they are
commanding
. Olver and Harry were both very interpersonal men who placed high importance on knowing just exactly who was serving under them.

Our training, which had included everything from learning to use different kinds of weapons, like AK-47s, and handling large crowds in riot training to understanding basic Arabic (particularly phrases like ‘STOP OR WE’LL OPEN FIRE!’) and learning how to administer battlefield first aid finally came to an end. A Squadron was ready to fly to Kuwait, before crossing the border into Iraq.

Three weeks’ leave was granted to every member of the
squadron
to say their goodbyes and make whatever arrangements were necessary before leaving the country. The time had nearly come.

Thom had been successful in getting his dream job in the airline industry. Everyone was happy for him. Supported by his parents and me, he moved to Windsor, moving in with a friend of mine before beginning his training with the airline at Gatwick. This meant we weren’t able to spend the entire three weeks together but we still saw each other a lot. I valued our time and it was a struggle to think how long it could be until we were back together.

Leaving Thom for a few days, I returned to North Wales to spend time with my family and say a few goodbyes to some friends. The day I arrived in Wrexham to start these goodbyes, something on the news had caught the attention of my family, and indeed the whole town. A Wrexham man, serving in the Royal Navy, was part of a group of sailors that had been captured by the Iranians while on patrol in so-called international waters off the coast off southern Iraq and Iran. The sailors had been captured and arrested and were being held inside Iran while, understandably, the world’s media made a meal out of the entire situation.

I watched the events unfold in the news quite obsessively. I was off to patrol the Iranian border. The last thing I needed was an escalation of conflict between us and Iran.

Apart from being glued to the news and constantly checking my phone for missed calls from Windsor, I attempted to sort out the one or two pieces of business soldiers find themselves faced with before deploying to hostile places. I sat myself down in a small coffee shop in the town and wrote my goodbye letters that were only to be opened in the event of my death.

Sitting in the tranquillity of the small Welsh town, it was difficult to imagine events that would lead to these letters being opened by my heartbroken mum or my beautiful boyfriend.

I wrote Thom’s first, which brought me to tears. It was very
short and sweet. I told him how much he’d changed my life and how much I wished we’d be spending forever together. I then wrote Mum’s, which was equally difficult. I told her that she was the most amazing woman ever and that I loved her very much. Again, sealing the envelope, I felt a great shiver run down my spine at the thought that it would only be opened if I were killed. My brother and sister got a letter between them, detailing how great they’d been to grow up with. Dad had one too, to be read by his carer if the worst occurred. I knew that Dad’s would be the one that would be read again daily, possibly for the rest of his life. The final letter was for my wonderful niece, who I loved dearly. It wasn’t to be opened until she was eighteen, but it was just a small note to wish her all the best as she entered adulthood.

The afternoon’s writing was a traumatic experience, but I felt better for it. I knew that some of my fellow soldiers weren’t
bothering
to write such letters and I was troubled by the thought of their loved ones not getting a final goodbye. I almost wanted to write letters for them. As my time in North Wales drew to a close, I visited my dad at his care home and spent some hours chatting away with him. I didn’t mind having to repeat
everything
I told him every five minutes or so, it was just who Dad was now; what I valued was simply the father–son time we were enjoying together.

The night before I was to head back to Windsor, Mum arranged a leaving party for me at the local club, which was attended by just about everyone who knew me in the small village of Gwersyllt. Thom flew home from Gatwick and arrived with his parents just as the party was getting underway, which was a massive relief as at one point I thought he wouldn’t make it.

I hadn’t seen so many of my friends in the same room since leaving school or the army cadets and I was seconds away from tears all through the night, wishing it would never end. Most of
my schoolmates and the friends of my parents had never met Thom before, so I was delighted when he was given such a nice reception by everyone.