Did I tell you about the time I was a Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army?
I was reminded this week when some marketing arrived addressed to Lt Col Jeremy Morton. I had bought a Christmas present online and had given that as my ‘title’. I usually leave the title box blank – why do you need to know if I’m Mr, Prof, Dr or Ms for that matter. All you need to know is that I’m Jeremy Morton. This particular website didn’t let you leave it blank, so in a fit of pique I ticked Lt Col.
Anyway, as you’ve probably guessed, I wasn’t a real Lt Col, but I was an honorary Lt Col for a few months back in the early 1990s.
I was working for a housing association at the time, which was developing a project to help service leavers buy their own home. Social housing was in short supply back then and it hasn’t got any better in the thirty years since, but that’s another story.
We were invited to help with a series of lectures and advice clinics to help soldiers facing a round of redundancies which had the friendly title ‘Options For Change’. A number of staff volunteered to cover various locations as the roadshow wound its way across the land.
Obviously a senior manager nabbed the trip to Benbecular in the Outer Hebrides. My first stop was Sandhurst – effectively the Army’s university. And it was quite an eye opener.
The New College at Sandhurst is an impressive Victorian red brick edifice, but I was billeted in the Old College. This is a Georgian structure, white stucco and colonnades, and it houses the Indian Army museum, that’s the British Indian Army obviously, not the actual Indian Indian Army.
The stone flagged corridors were lined with memorabilia from India which made me feel uncomfortable, having grown up on stories of what the British got up to on the sub-continent from my Australian mother who lived in India for six years in the 1950s.
My accommodation was a very ordinary study bedroom. I unpacked and headed off to the Officers’ Mess for tea. I had no idea what to expect and wondered if I would have to toast the Queen (tricky for a republican). It turned out I didn’t.
On the way back to my room I turned a corner to face a group of armed young women cadets in full battle gear and camouflage heading out on a night exercise.
At breakfast I was surprised to find The Guardian and the Mirror on the table alongside more right-wing newspapers. It occurred to me that maybe not all army officers were fascists.
The next morning was spent in a lecture hall delivering a scripted section on housing that slotted in with benefits, employment and a medical officer talking about what we would now call wellbeing. I remember he delivered the immortal line: “Now I know the Army always tells you the answer to any problem is exercise, but it’s especially true when dealing with a stressful situation like redundancy.”
In the afternoon we held a surgery where the ‘men’ could ask for advice about their situation. I discovered that the officers weren’t there because they were mostly from Army families and still in denial about being made redundant.
I also discovered that the Army had taken away the men’s ability to think for themselves. I don’t mean this in a bad way necessarily, how else would they follow orders efficiently? But I would explain various options and they would ask “Yes, but what should I do Sir?”
Along with PTSD it’s an issue that many ex-servicemen and women struggle with.
I was beginning to see that whilst the Army was part of Britain, it was also another country.
Another episode that stuck with me occurred one lunchtime at Burford camp on Salisbury Plain. We were stood around in a rundown classroom when lunch arrived. Two large containers, they looked like motorbike panniers, camouflaged (obviously) and insulated. One contained rice and the other an excellent chicken curry. This was then served up on Royal Doulton crockery and silver cutlery – presumably the regimental silver.
It said something about former glories and current spending cuts. But also that we had to treated properly and appropriately.
Which brings me back to being a Lt Col. The army has to know what rank you are so that they know how to treat you. As professional civilians our main contact, a Major, explained we were honorary Lt Cols. He also advised us to watch out for people with red on their collar or shoulder because they were senior to us.
As well as knowing where we fitted in, I think it was a mark of the respect and thanks the Army gave to our presence, which was clearly appreciated – both by officers and men (of whichever sex).
As I say the Army is another country. Familiar in many ways, but quite different in others. Somewhere I was interested to visit, but I don’t think I could live there.
Photo: Sandhurst (Old College). Credit: Shutterstock
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