Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (28 page)

A few weeks went by and I was seeing Thom on an almost daily basis. Eventually he asked me if we were going to get on with it and get back together. It was a very easy answer for me. I wanted to be the main person in his life, forever. From the moment I first laid eyes on his profile on the internet when he was seventeen, I wanted to be the only person in his life. For whatever reasons, life had taken us both on a different course, but right then we were back in each other’s worlds. We were back together, and it was the start of a very happy and enduring romance. I hope Ryan will understand one day that had I have left him on a whim for anybody off the street, his anger and frustration would be
understandable
and right. I left Ryan for the only man in the world I preferred to be with: my first love and, honestly, my only love. I know Ryan will find the right person in life, but unfortunately I wasn’t that person.

I
n the three months leading up to Christmas 2009, I settled in to my new role as a troop corporal, dealing with the day-in, day-out tasks of middle-managing a troop of twenty
eighteen-year
-olds and thirty, mostly grumpy, horses.

I’d been promoted and sent to a new working environment, which made my transition from trooper to lance corporal fairly straightforward. I didn’t know any of the boys who were junior to me, so they listened to what I said and gave me little grief in return. Often, soldiers are promoted and sent to work over the lads they’ve spent three or four years with as fellow troopers, causing obvious difficulties.

Working in 2 Troop, where I’d served as a trooper during my first time at the ceremonial regiment, my corporal of horse was a chap called Geoff. Geoff embodied the remnants of the Victorian era of values and discipline that were gradually being ironed out of the regimental make-up as it slowly embraced modernism. I really liked the guy, despite his robustness with the boys. I personally preferred his style of management, because you knew exactly where you stood with him. Rule-breakers were punished severely and seeing a young trooper in tears was a common sight. Geoff had turned 2 Troop into the pride of the regiment and flaggers were dealt with accordingly, often being removed
and re-trooped somewhere else if they continuously failed to adhere to Geoff’s strict rules.

During my three-year break from all things equine, save the four days I’d hitched a ride on the back of a horse up the Rocky Mountains in Canada, I’d not really had much to do with the creatures at all. People kept telling me that horses were like bikes, one never forgets how to ride one, but from the very start I
realised
I’d lost a sense of fearlessness in handling the animals.

When Dean and I were in riding school, and even when we’d joined the ranks of the regiment escorting the Queen along the Mall, we were both completely fearless when it came to riding. We’d both go into Hyde Park and kick the hell out of horses, each trying to go faster than the other. No horse was too fast for us and we’d often fall off or just bounce out of the saddle before simply jumping back on and carrying on as before. Now, alone back in London, I’d gained a sense of fear and wariness around the creatures born from being away at the armoured
regiment
. Even standing behind a horse or lifting a foot up to pick clean took a lot of bravery. Geoff had his work cut out with me for some weeks trying to re-instil that sense of confidence and professionalism. In good news, however, after some years apart I finally had the opportunity to work closely again with my old friend Faulkner, who was also a troop corporal in Knightsbridge. It was just like it used to be, although we’d both grown up considerably since our days as troopers. He’d recovered from his blast injuries, now over two years old, and was enjoying love with a lady called Charlotte.

Outside of work, Thom and I saw each other when time allowed. Sometimes he’d be away flying with work or I’d be on Queen’s Life Guard as the guard NCO, essentially the
second-in
-command of the Queen’s Life Guard, but otherwise we’d both be together, either in my seventh-floor room overlooking Hyde
Park or at his Chiswick townhouse which he shared with two of his girlfriends. My room in the barracks wasn’t ideal at all, with the 200 or so eighteen-year-olds who lived both below and above me constantly blasting music. Thom’s house in leafy Chiswick was very much the opposite.

The weeks disappeared as Christmas drew closer and my two roles carried on without much excitement. In the day, I’d ride to and from Horse Guards Parade, passing Buckingham Palace as I went; in the evenings, I’d sometimes find myself at a posh dinner or drinks party in the city talking about my experiences as a gay person in the army. Some nights Thom and I would just sit in and watch a movie. I was much happier in life now things were continuing with the guy I loved.

Soon everybody’s favourite time of the year was upon us. I was happy to have Thom with me for almost every aspect of regimental Christmas life. As the nights continued to draw in, the days ticked down until leave: two weeks of festive fun culminating in a trip to New York which Thom had organised for the Christmas holiday.

We’d made the plans earlier in October. It was a place I’d always wanted to visit, though Thom had been there many times. We flew out on the twenty-third, spending the three days of Christmas in the city before flying home late on Boxing Day.

We walked up and down the streets of Manhattan for hours and hours. My eyes rarely looked down from the magnificent skyscrapers that make up the skyline of the Big Apple. We ate in fabulous places and even found ourselves in an Irish bar late on Christmas Eve singing ‘Fairy Tale of New York’. I couldn’t have asked for a grander way of spending Christmas with the one person in the world I truly loved.

New York was significant for one other reason, too. On Christmas Eve, stopping off in Grand Central Station for
cocktails
while enjoying our whistle-stop tour of the city, Thom and
I had a deep conversation about ourselves as a couple. Neither could deny that since the moment we’d rekindled our friendship and then romance earlier in the year, we’d both fallen head over heels for each other again. We’d been far closer and stronger as a partnership since our reprise than we’d ever been before. I was glad things had worked out as they had done. It felt like nothing could tear us apart now. We’d been through a lot together.

‘Why don’t we go all out and get married?’ I said it with an air of humour, but he knew I was being semi-serious, too.

‘Ha! Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘Why not? We love each other.’

We both sat in silence on a raised balcony overlooking the vastness of the open hall inside Grand Central Station, watching the thousands of people go by.

‘When?’

‘Well… There’s no rush, is there?’

Thom sipped his cocktail and I continued looking down at the huge hall below us. It was like a scene from the movies. I didn’t panic about the conversation we found ourselves having, I just worried a little that Thom hadn’t taken me seriously enough. I really wasn’t joking.

‘OK then. Let’s do it!’

And, as simple as that, Thom and I were engaged. No ring, no tears, no over-emotion. Simply put, we were very serious and extremely happy about the impending future that was awaiting us around the corner. We were to plan a civil partnership and we’d begin almost immediately.

We both automatically made plans for a ‘wedding’. I
remembered
just how very long my sister Liza had planned her wedding for; we’d had a lengthy three-year countdown to her big day. Thom and I visited hotels and locations we liked and soon we both came to the same, eye-opening conclusion: weddings were
mightily expensive and regardless of how long you wanted to prepare for the big day, the cost was still significant and rather instantaneous.

We realised that to get married in eighteen months’ time we’d still have to pay the same amount of money straight away. I decided that I didn’t want to wait around for a year and a half for something to go wrong having spent a fortune on a ceremony that might never come to pass, and we changed our plans, paid the balance required and suddenly found ourselves on a
countdown
to marriage that was only three months long.

Three months. Thom had three months to plan the day of his dreams. I knew from the start that I would have little involvement. I knew I’d just need to arrange my uniform. Thom assumed all command of the occasion, and though I knew he really loved doing it, the stresses of the short time frame would often get to him.

A Household Cavalry tradition that has survived a century too long in my opinion is that a soldier has to ask permission to marry before he can commit to the occasion and, indeed, to his partner. Geoff sat me down in his office and congratulated me on the news, but added that I needed to write a formal letter to the squadron leader asking for his blessing.

It was something I knew I’d have to do, even if I didn’t like the fact. For the first time in the history of the Household Cavalry, a letter was drawn up between a soldier and his superior officer formally asking permission for him to ‘marry’ his partner of the same sex. The letter was submitted and I continued with my duties while I awaited the response. I was really peeved that in an instant our wishes could be ignored and we’d be unable to go on with our plans.

Major Twumasi-Ankrah, the squadron leader of the Blues and Royals, a man I’d long respected from his early days as a junior officer in the regiment, called me into his office to hear
more about my relationship with Thom and our plans for a civil partnership.

I told him that Thom and I had met some years before (true) and that we’d been very happy together as a couple (almost true). I didn’t want to offer him any chance of rejecting our wishes so I ironed out any details of our past that might have given him an opportunity to deny us our potential married life.

It’s important to note that a large part of this process of asking permission to marry is because a soldier will leave the barracks upon marriage. Before formalising a relationship, a soldier is still expected to live in the barracks with the remainder of the regiment. Upon marriage – or, in my case, civil partnership – a soldier is free to leave the barracks and set up home with his new wife – or, in my case, husband.

Major Twumasi-Ankrah sat forward in his chair and leaned across his desk.

‘Corporal Wharton, nothing would make me more happy than seeing you marry Thom. You have my 100 per cent blessing. Congratulations!’

I could have kissed the major on the head, I was so delighted. He’d gone a stage further than just approve my wishes, he’d added his personal feelings to the blessing at the same time. It was an incredible moment for me, and the major became my favourite squadron leader. Nothing was going to stop us now.

I really wanted to enjoy my big day within the walls in which I’d spent so many happy times. Yes, I’d also had my fair share of unhappiness within Hyde Park barracks but, on the whole, the place was the centre of the universe as far as I was concerned. I wanted my reception to be there, in the mess I’d recently become a member of after my promotion. This required further
permission
, but this time from the regimental corporal major, the most senior non-commissioned officer on camp.

He gave his preliminary blessing but warned that if a fellow mess member raised a complaint at the monthly mess meeting, he’d have to listen to that complaint and put a stop to the event. Again, I was grateful for his initial blessing, but annoyed that someone had the right to complain about it and then halt the proceedings. I asked him how many heterosexual weddings had been stopped due to a complaint in the past, to which he returned, quite sheepishly, that none had. I pushed him slightly more and asked how many weddings had even been brought before a mess meeting for discussion, and again he said none.

I wanted to get on my box and scream discrimination, but I thought better of it. These were still progressive times and,
actually
, I honestly couldn’t think of a single person in the mess who’d be bothered at all about the event. I thought it more likely most mess members would quite enjoy gatecrashing the reception and having a good time – something that any mess member was
entitled
to do. I bit my lip and kept quiet about my annoyance and, as I’d expected, nobody in the mess cared one bit, in fact, almost everyone was delighted.

In the weeks that followed, as the clock slowly counted down, Geoff became more of a friend than a boss. He’d been married twice and knew just about everything there was to know about getting married from a groom’s point of view. He was invaluable, and one afternoon over a beer, he told me something that really underlined to me how far the army had come in a relatively short amount of time regarding gay equality.

‘All my life I’ve been homophobic, James.’ This was a little uncomfortable.

‘Well, why?’

‘You have to understand, when I joined the army, it wasn’t allowed.’ This was a similar conversation to the one I’d had with Warren two years ago. ‘If someone was gay, they got beaten up and the army,
instead of helping them and stopping the bullying, turned their backs on them and kicked them out. It was basically encouraged.’

Geoff was making a point I’d heard before, but what struck me was that he showed real emotion while talking about it. He’d come to the conclusion that for most of his life he’d thought wrongly about gay people and the reason for that was that the army had told him to. The homophobic image the army had me working so hard to change was caused by the army itself to suit a time when being gay wasn’t acceptable.

‘Before I met you, James, I honestly couldn’t even bear the thought of homosexuals. I’ve completely changed my opinion on the matter.’

Was it any surprise the media had made a big deal out of my
Soldier
magazine feature? The army had created its own image of homophobia through decades of overt discrimination and now, after being forced to change their rules, desperately needed to change their image. But why had it taken so long?

As my impending civil partnership became more widely known among the senior ranks of the military and, in particular, the PR department that had put me on the cover of
Soldier
a year earlier, so it spread among the media. Two weeks before the ceremony, it was arranged for a national newspaper to have their own photographer and reporter come to the event. That
newspaper
then had the exclusive on our wedding, which was preferred by the army and, to an extent, Thom and me.

Both our families were descending upon London for the big day, as were friends from both sets of families, some of whom Thom and I hadn’t seen for a long time. The plan was to put everyone in the same hotel and keep our home for just the two of us. In keeping with the army rules, we were given a property in south-west London, a reasonable distance from the barracks, to live in as a married couple.