Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (7 page)

I rarely slept for the entire month of kit ride. I was just too busy ensuring my kit was immaculate enough. My jackboots, breastplate, state helmet and my white leather buckskins had to gleam for the morning inspections. I also had my own horse, Agincourt, to care for and keep in pristine condition.

Soldiers had been broken during kit ride and we’d all been told the horror stories from the past. The equipment we were using was so expensive everybody was told to take out private
insurance
, just in case a sword was stolen or lost.

One of the early stories passed onto us in the bar at Knightsbridge was about a young lad who, a year before,
somehow
lost his state helmet, sword and scabbard and even his red plume while trying to get ready for the following morning’s inspection. He didn’t raise the alarm and report the loss; without insurance he knew he’d be met with a bill which would run into the thousands. Instead, he decided to throw himself out of the
seventh-floor window in an effort to make all his problems go away. How could things possibly get that bad? How could things be
allowed
to get that bad?

We heard lots of awful stories like that. I often wondered whether they were just tall tales from the older boys, trying to scare us kids. These days I laugh at some of them although I can vouch for a lot of them, too. I’ve told stories myself to the younger lads who are new to the game which I’m sure are probably just as intimidating.

At the end of each week of the kit ride, a large formal
inspection
took place on the regimental square, each more important than the last. The first of these hurdles was an inspection by the kit ride officer, a junior officer in the regiment who was
administratively
in charge of us while in kit ride. We sailed through his inspection and he gave us the nod to progress through to the second week, at the end of which would be our first major challenge: the riding master’s inspection.

The riding master was the most feared man on camp. He was ultimately in charge of all things equine, which in the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment was everything. His name was Captain ‘Dickie’ Waygood and he went on to train the British Olympic equine team for the 2012 games after leaving the army.

Up until that point I’d been doing rather well and had been appointed the coveted position of ‘Leading File’, meaning I rode at the front of the ride with everyone else following on behind. I was so chuffed and Mum used the news as ammo back home in Wales.

During the week leading up to the RM’s inspection, things started to get very difficult when one or two of us stopped
achieving
the standards expected and the riding staff cranked the heat up on us. People started to break. When the RM’s inspection dawned, we were all hanging on to what little morale we had left.
Without morale we were dead in the water. No sleep, not much food, certainly no free time to relax. Morale was the only thing keeping us going. Well, that and Pro Plus. On that morning, my morale finally went.

After twelve long hours of cleaning my jackboots (and paying
£
100 to one of the older lads to finish them off for me) I walked into the square for inspection, holding Agincourt’s reins as I went. Without warning, someone dropped something making an enormous noise, spooking my beautifully groomed horse. In an instant I found myself crawling on my hands and knees in a puddle of dirty rainwater and horse crap. I was gutted.

Once back on my feet, I stormed out of the main gate and into Hyde Park. The guards on the gate watched in utter surprise at the sight of a young soldier marching off into the busy London park in full state uniform. I had completely blown my top. All my hours of sleepless kit cleaning had been trashed. I thought my career in the Household Cavalry was over before it had even begun and it wasn’t even my fault.

I sat myself down on a park bench next to an old man and his dog. He looked me up and down. I had tears rolling down my face, a sword in one hand and my now water-stained state helmet in the other. ‘Don’t let the bastards get you down, son,’ he said.

I’m not at all spiritual but right then it felt like I was
talking
to my granddad, Jimmy. It was as if that old man on the park bench was always meant to be sat there waiting for me that Friday morning.

I pulled myself together and walked off back towards camp, from which a member of the guard was now running. When he reached me he checked I was OK and I was taken to the doctor. Although I felt like I’d calmed down, I was still visibly shaking. I had no control over my emotions. The doc told me to relax over the weekend and think of other things apart from horses and
jackboots, which he then extended to everyone in the ride. As glad as I was about being granted some downtime to
recuperate
from the heavy pressure of kit ride, I was sure I’d blown my chances of passing out and joining the men of the regiment. If anything, I’d proved that I couldn’t handle the pressure. I’d failed at keeping a calm head on my shoulders and taking everything in my stride, two hugely important traits for a soldier. Fortunately, Tim assured the riding master that I would have passed the inspection had it not been for the horse being spooked by the loud noise and the rain water. He believed him and allowed me to progress through.

That weekend, all the loose ends of my life came together.

Dean, Jamie, Josh and I headed out to forget about the stresses of kit ride on the Saturday afternoon, finally settling in Fulham where we watched the opening match of the 2005 Six Nations rugby tournament with Wales taking on England. Wales beat England before going on to win the grand slam the following month. I got drunk celebrating with my three English friends after the victory. Later, and after many beers, we got into a
discussion
about the events leading up to that evening, in particular the riding master’s inspection the previous day.

They asked me if anything was wrong and why exactly I had snapped before the inspection. I told them that it was just the stresses of kit ride and not to worry about it, but they had an agenda. I knew this conversation had been coming my way for weeks. Some time before, Jamie had passed an innocent comment to me about my lack of interest in women. He didn’t linger on the thought at the time, but I now realised that he wasn’t just making an off-the-cuff remark. He was trying to let me know that he understood I was different.

Dean, who knew me so well, pointed out that my actions the previous day were completely out of character and Josh spoke
about how very different he thought I’d been acting in general. They kept asking me if I wanted to get anything off my chest, at which point Dean just announced he thought I was gay and that I was struggling to come to terms with the fact.

I couldn’t believe someone was actually saying those words to me. Nobody had ever mentioned such a thing. A bit of me wanted to take offence but the other side of me felt something quite different. Something I hadn’t really felt before. Liberation.

The three sat there in silence, staring at me. I couldn’t find the words I thought I should respond with; instead, I found the words I’d longed to say for years. ‘Yes. I’m gay.’

I wish I could express what it felt to finally say those words. I’d said something that I’d never said before, although I’d known for some time. The biggest problem in my life was accepting the fact that I was gay. Since the age of sixteen I’d known for sure, but had convinced myself upon joining the army that it was a phase that might pass as I became a soldier. Every time my repressed sexuality came to the surface, I’d swallow it down and keep it locked up. At last I’d opened the door – and I was out!

Jamie still to this day insists he’d known for months about my hidden sexuality. I’d often play it down but it was obvious: Jamie had known all along. The truth was out. What next? Was I about to be beaten up? Was I about to find myself alone in west London, deserted? In the ten or so seconds of silence that we all found ourselves in, each trying to capture our thoughts, hundreds of possible outcomes flashed through my mind. Loneliness. Bullying. Rejection. Loathing. Repulsion. What was going to happen now?

Dean stood up and opened his arms to hug me. To me, he was the greatest person in the world at that moment. I was glad to have someone like him. He and the others promised to stand by my side. They reaffirmed their friendship with me and
congratulated
me again and again for coming out.

The night continued and we all agreed to hit the following week and the dreaded inspection on the Friday head-on. We were going to finish this course together and become fully trained Household Cavalrymen.

Right then, I felt empowered by my announcement and the support my close mates had displayed to me. Thoughts of the remaining weeks of kit ride disappeared off my radar. I felt on top of the world. My recent anxiety was inextricably linked to my unhappiness in myself. I had been unhappy since my early teens, ever since I’d hidden my real self. I was finally ready to embrace who I was. I wanted to be gay.

The third week started with a bump on that very early Monday morning. The riding staff had decided that, after our weekend off, they were really going to put us through some pain, riding in the indoor school in full state kit at 8 a.m. By the time I’d sweated it out in the saddle for a few hours and returned to the stables, the gossip from the weekend had started to circulate. Initially I was a little upset that my closest three friends had somehow let slip the news but I knew them well and I was sure they wouldn’t have done it maliciously. In the end, they were probably doing me a favour.

While I was taking Agincourt’s kit off and feeding him his breakfast, some of the older lads in 2 Troop – to which I belonged – asked me if it was true what they’d heard. I wasn’t sure how to handle this sort of question and I’m grateful to the troop corporal who overhead and told the boys to leave me alone and continue on with their work. But that corporal wasn’t there all day and, though I hadn’t been beaten up yet, which a little bit of me expected on that Monday morning, I was anxious about any further reaction. Was this how it would be forever, now? Would my sexuality be the only thing people would think about when they heard my name? I really worried that my entry to the
regiment
would be completely marred by this recent run of events.

As I was walking along the square to the lift, somebody I didn’t know opened his window from many floors above and shouted, ‘Hey! Are you the gay guy?’

The whole of the barracks, and probably half of west London, heard his shout. I felt crushed by the audacity of his question. The lad in question, known as Pikey, had been at Knightsbridge for some time and was someone I knew harboured a lot of influence among the lads. If he was picking on me, everybody would pick on me. By the time I’d got out of the elevator and into my room, I’d been asked five times if the rumours were true. I collapsed on my bed trying to make sense of it all. How should I respond?

And then there came a knock at my door.

On opening, I found one of the older lads from my troop stood holding two cups of coffee.

‘Alright? Can I come in?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m Faulkner. I’m in your troop!’ Faulkner handed me a coffee as he sat and made himself comfortable.

Faulkner, whose first name was Michael and who was
originally
from Wimbledon, had a year’s experience on me, having left Harrogate just before I’d arrived. He’d settled well into the regiment and was a soldier with a reputation for high standards. I’d already eyed him up as a bit of a role model within the Blues and Royals, and now here he was sat in my room.

He’d heard the rumours like everyone else and had taken it upon himself to come and talk to me. I was touched by his early concern. He asked me if it was true what he was hearing in the stables. Once I’d confirmed it, he told me to admit it to the lads who were asking.

‘They’re only asking because they’re interested. It’s probably new to a lot of them. No one will pick on you if you just tell them the truth.’

I told him how the events of the morning had played out, and
even about Pikey shouting down to the square from the highs of the barrack building, but he squashed all my concerns and gave me a pat on the back. His words struck a resounding chord and I decided to follow his advice.

I hadn’t really made any new friends since getting back to Knightsbridge. Like everywhere, it took time to become
integrated
. Dean had been set to work in 1 Troop and Josh was sent to 3 Troop. Jamie and I had been kept together, which was
something
I was delighted about. He had a lot of life experience and a very natural ability to turn any potentially difficult situation on its head. While the regiment was going about its business we still had to finish our kit ride training; we just didn’t have the time to mix with our new colleagues. When Faulkner brought himself into my life and my problems that Monday morning, checking I was OK and offering support, I was genuinely grateful. I really liked him and I’ll never forget his early thoughtfulness.

I returned to work and started telling the many curious soldiers that yes, I was the gay guy, to which most replied ‘Cool!’ with surprised expressions plastered on their faces.

Week three passed by and, with the added endless questions from the lads – ‘When did you find out you were gay?’ ‘Have you ever slept with a woman?’ – as well as the dreaded adjutant’s inspection on the Friday morning, it was an incredibly stressful time. Even so, for the first time in months, even with everything going on, I felt amazing. The lads, Jamie in particular, made a point of telling me how much I’d cheered up. Clearly coming out was very healthy to my well-being. I felt like a new person, with a new lease to go on and do whatever I wanted. I felt free from a lifetime of lies.

The final week of kit ride was a little different for us. Due to the low number of soldiers in the regiment at the time, us new boys were required to up our game somewhat and fill the empty
spaces in a state escort for the Italian Prime Minister’s visit on the Tuesday.