'Wow! Sounds like fun.'
'Yes. We're looking forward to them but most of us are really just thinking about getting out on operations as soon as possible.'
'Patience, Bertie,' says Dave Nicholson. 'Everything in its own time.'
'Yes, sir, I know,' smiles Bertie. 'My mother would say the same thing.'
'What would she think about your going to Afghanistan?' I ask.
'She wouldn't be at all happy about it. I'll face that one if and when it happens.'
The more I find out about Bertie the more interested I am in his own story. The son of a Royal Navy admiral, he has wanted to be a Royal Marine since he was five years old. The fact that he is a keen sportsman does not surprise me but that he has A levels in economics, maths and theology as well as a BSc in economics and philosophy from Bristol University I find intriguing. Clearly Bertie Kerr is a deep-thinking YO at the threshold of a massive life adventure – especially if he gets his wish and is deployed to Afghanistan when he passes out in just under six months. His could be a compelling story to contrast with that of 924 Troop.
22.00
Still contemplating the idea of following Bertie through the rest of his training I walk back down to the Foundation Block to catch up with 924 Troop. When I get there I find the recruits are still hard at work ironing and polishing. Wenners is wandering around making sure that creases are sharp and toecaps sufficiently buffed.
'Simple beginnings,' he says to me with a grin. 'Two weeks of spit and polish is really just to get them used to the military way of life. In a way this is the most difficult part for them because it is all such a shock. We call it the "shock of capture" because many of them have probably left home for the first time in their lives and feel like they've been taken into custody or incarcerated like a prisoner of war.'
'Do you feel sorry for them?'
'Well, up to a point, but my job is to knock them into shape and I'm not going to do that with sympathy and kid gloves. This is a disciplined environment so people have to learn how to take orders and obey them – without question. I mean, I do feel for some of them who are so clearly ducks out of water but even they can come round eventually. I am firm but fair – with the emphasis on firm.'
I go and start chatting to the recruits. At the moment, because they are all living in a single large dormitory, there is little scope for them to personalise the space. There are no boards for posters, pin-ups or photographs, for example, so their sleeping and living space does appear unusually stark and formal. They will have to stay here for an initial two-week period, but then they will move to a different accommodation block where they will live in more congenial six-man rooms.
'How is it living here?' I ask Adam Collins, the somersaulting stuntman.
'It's just something to put up with really. I mean, it's bloody horrible but it's all part of their plan to bond us and rebuild us from scratch. It won't be forever so it's just a matter of gritting the teeth and getting on with it.'
'It's a far cry from being a stuntman on a film set though, isn't it?'
'Yes, that's true, but it's necessary if I want to be part of an elite force like the Royal Marines.'
'Including serving in a war zone?' I say.
'Including serving in a war zone,' he repeats with emphasis and a wry smile.
James Williams from Kent is, at twenty-four, older than the average recruit and has an air of confidence and fun about him – as well as a fine collection of tattoos on both arms.
'What made you want to join up, James?' I ask as he presses a razor-sharp crease into his CS95 (Combat Service 95) trousers.
'Because it was doing my bloody head in being a bloody plasterer and decorator,' he says. 'I just couldn't imagine doing that for the rest of my life.'
'Yes, but why the marines?'
'Cos they're the best and I want to be part of the best. Also my grandad was in the army and I remember listening to all his war stories when I was a kid. He was a big influence, I reckon.'
In the next-door bed to James is Jordan Slatter, a sparky seventeen-year-old from west London.
'I've wanted to be a Royal Marine since I was eight years old,' he tells me. 'I joined the Royal Marines cadets and became a sergeant. I really enjoyed that and, so far, I'm really enjoying this.'
'It's early days . . .' I say.
'Yeah, and it's the bullshit days as well! It will only get better as we stay longer, I reckon. And at the moment none of us really know each other. In thirty-two weeks' time we'll all be best mates but, for me, the only bugger is that I won't be able to go to Afghan with the rest of the lads because I still won't be eighteen and they won't send you to war till you're eighteen.'
Lee Smith – a muscular twenty-two-year-old from east London – is, like James Williams, keen on tattoos. He has the Tottenham Hotspurs crest on the underside of his right forearm, his name, 'Smithy', in elaborate letters etched on his chest and, on his back, the huge face of a snarling lion.
'I've done every job under the sun,' he tells me. 'Bar work, electrician, bricklayer, decorator – you name it. Then I thought about the military and really liked the Royal Marines ads – "99.99% Need Not Apply"! Well, that's a challenge, ain't it? I want to be one of the 00.01%.'
'One day nearer now, Lee,' I smile.
'That's right. Just thirty-one weeks and six days to go!'
By all accounts, 924 Troop is a particularly young intake but I am already discovering that there is a huge range of characters and types within it. As I wander among these new recruits, getting to know them, I ponder on the fact that none of them would have met each other if they had not come to Lympstone. It was their separate, individual decisions to become Royal Marines Commandos that have led randomly and serendipitously to the formation of the troop – soon to become, I suspect, a second family for everybody.
It is with this in mind that I suddenly think of the troubled Terry John and wander over to his section of the dormitory to find him. Of all the recruits he is the one experiencing the greatest 'shock of capture', as Wenners would put it, and I feel huge sympathy for him. This is not just because he is clearly suffering from a combination of homesickness and utter confusion, but because there is something incredibly likeable about him. He may be subdued, distracted and shy but I sense there is something special about Culdrick Terence John.
I find him in the reception area talking to Wenners.
'I just feel like trash,' I hear him saying. 'I keep thinking what if I fail or get injured or something and thirty-two weeks is such a long time . . .'
'You have to take one day at a time, Recruit John,' says Wenners. 'You're probably not the only one feeling like this. Talk to the others. You have to get the bad thoughts out of your head and start to get used to the military lifestyle. It's not easy – it's hard because it's meant to be. To become a Royal Marine takes a lot of guts and determination. Do you have that, Recruit John?'
'I . . . think so, Corporal.'
'Well, remember this as well. It won't always be about polishing and ironing. You will travel the world, have amazing adventures and you'll make some of the best friends you will ever have in your life. I promise you that.'
Terry John nods gently.
'One day at a time, OK, Recruit John? Plenty of confidence. Smash it!'
'Yes, Corporal. Thank you,' says Terry as he turns and scampers back to the dormitory. I follow him and find him sitting on his bed looking thoughtful.
'How's it going, Terry?' I say. 'This must all seem such a long way from St Vincent.'
'Yes. It is. Everything is so different.'
'I know St Vincent well,' I tell him. 'I lived there for about four months some years ago, up in the rainforest area.'
'Really?' he says – a huge smile spreading across his face.
'Yes. Fantastic place. And I climbed La Soufrière volcano. Amazing.'
'What were you doing there, Chris?'
'I was doing research on voodoo. It was when I was working as an anthropol
ogist.'
'Wow, and now you're here. Like me.'
'That's right. And I will be here for the full thirty-two weeks and I am going to try and do the training with you guys as well.'
Terry pauses for a moment and purses his lips.
'I am an adventurous and determined young man,' he says eventually. 'I thought I really wanted to become a Royal Marine. I imagined going back to St Vincent to see my mum in my Royal Marines uniform wearing my Green Beret. But now I'm here thirty-two weeks seems such a long time.'
'Well, it's all relative, Terry,' I say. 'It is a long time compared to a day but it is very short in terms of your whole life. It's less than a year, isn't it? The officers have to train for fifteen months – that's sixty weeks.'
Terry considers what I have said for a moment but then shakes his head.
'I have written a letter saying I want to leave. In it I say that I am asking respectfully to terminate my service as soon as possible because I don't think I am mentally fit for it. I think I will give it to Lieutenant Rogers in the morning . . .'
21 June
07.00
I am standing in the reception of the Foundation Block with Corporal Weclawek and listening to Orlando's trapping stories from the night before – or lack of them.
'So, you didn't actually trap anything then, sir?' says Wenners with a snigger.
'Well, no. There were a couple of likely-looking chicks knocking around in the pub but they were playing hard to get.'
'More like impossible to get by the sound of it, sir.'
Just as Orlando is about to come back at his gently mocking corporal, Terry John walks up, comes to attention and salutes.
'Sir, please can I have a word?'
'Yes, Recruit John. What is it?'
'Well, sir, I . . . er . . . er . . .'
'Spit it out, Recruit John,' says Orlando.
'I have changed my mind, sir. I want to stay.'
'Ha! So you want to stay, eh, Recruit John? That didn't take long, did it?'
'No, sir,' says Terry, smiling widely.
'It was the shock of it all, wasn't it? Right, get stuck into it, Recruit John. Carry on.'
Terry salutes and skips off laughing.
'Is that the same bloke as the meek creature that came to see me yesterday?' says Orlando.
'What a bloody turnaround,' says Wenners.
Yet again I go and find Terry just to make sure I was not imagining what I thought I just witnessed.
'Terry, you're a changed man,' I say to him. 'What happened?'
'I thought it over last night,' he says chirpily. 'I told myself I had a duty to see this through. You see, I had the opportunity to finish school in St Vincent and pass exams. Others I knew did not do that and turned to gangs instead. I realised I have to push myself and if I become a Royal Marine I can go back to St Vincent in my Green Beret and show those gang people that there is a better way to be.'
'So that was what changed your mind?'
'One other thing too.' He giggles. 'The guys were telling me that the girls really like Royal Marines!'
Delighted that the personable Terry John is back on the rails, I leave him chatting away to his friend Theo. I have heard that the other recruit who said he wanted to leave, James Lambley, was due to see Major Paul Mattin, the company commander. I ask permission to film the meeting.
'Well, Recruit Lambley,' says Paul Mattin quietly but sternly, 'why should I let you go?'
James Lambley, standing rigidly to attention, answers slowly, respectfully and in measured terms. 'Sir, I feel nauseous, panicky and claustrophobic. I am surrounded by military items, pictures, posters, et cetera, and have realised that I don't want to be a soldier. I don't want to be a burden to you, sir.'
'Let me be a judge of whether you are a burden or not, Recruit Lambley,' says Paul Mattin abruptly. 'I want you to stay here for twenty-eight days to see what's on offer but I am being strongly advised that that would be a mistake.'
'Yes, sir,' says Lambley. 'I am certain I want to leave.'
'Right,' says the company commander, 'I am therefore going to make the unusual decision to let you go. Frankly I would have liked to have seen a bit more spine because you seem like a very able fellow, but I can't take the chance that you might do something stupid like walk out of the gate of your own accord. Rest assured you will be leaving in the next couple of days, so, meanwhile, keep yourself to yourself and don't bring anyone else down in the troop because a lot of people are probably struggling right now.'
'Yes, sir. I promise. Thank you, sir.'
James Lambley salutes, executes a smart about-turn and marches out of the office.
'Pity,' says Paul Mattin with a shake of the head. 'Could have been a good man but there was no changing his mind. No point in flogging a dead horse.'
'Can you always tell the ones who shouldn't be here?' I ask.
'No, not always. You get surprises but you can generally guarantee that a lot of people have a really hard time over the first few days. This is a pretty weird world they're coming into and it takes some getting used to. Many of these recruits are just boys – straight from home – yet they are walking into a man's world. So, you always have to remember that, but you can't be too soft on them or they will never make the transition.'
Half an hour later James Lambley, already changed out of his uniform and back into his civilian clothes, is sitting alone in one of the anterooms of the Foundation Block.
'You must be happy with the decision, James,' I say.
'Yes,' he says. 'I feel disappointed that I couldn't make a go of it but I had to be true to myself. I felt a bit nervous after we took the oath and then I noticed the other recruits were looking at the war posters, pictures of guns and stuff, and were buzzing but I just couldn't feel the same. And, these days, when you pass out you are straight out there fighting for the cause. It's not for me, but I have to say they're a cracking set of lads and if I had a hat I would take it off to them. I wish them luck.'
I wander back to the reception area of the Foundation Block and find Orlando talking to James Williams, the former plasterer and electrician.
'Why are you always smiling, Recruit Williams?' asks Orlando.
'Because if I didn't smile, sir, I would cry,' grins James Williams.
'Is that right? Are you enjoying yourself, Recruit Williams?'
'I am, sir. Because I know that in eight months I will be a Green Beret.'
'Good answer, Recruit Williams! And what are you looking forward to in training?'
'I'm looking forward to becoming a double-hard bastard commando, sir!'
'Excellent. And what are the four commando qualities?'
'Er, not sure, sir.'
'Right, go and find out – look it up, ask someone, I don't care. But then report back to me and tell me what they are. On the double.'
'Yessir!' shouts Williams, running off at speed.
'Good man that,' says Orlando. 'Morale in a box. Just the sort of bloke we need.'
All around us recruits are toing and froing, rushing in and out of the laundry room, carrying ironing boards, steam irons, piles of clothes and clothes hangers. They are getting ready for an inspection, after which they must get changed for their first drill session on the parade ground. Many of them are looking tired and cannot stop yawning.
'Some of them look absolutely knackered,' I say to Orlando.
'Yup. They won't be getting anything like the sort of sleep they had in Civvy Street. That's why we call all recruits "Nods". They are always nodding off- especially in lectures. But they'll get used to it.'
James Williams rushes back, comes to attention and salutes.
'Sir,' he says, grinning widely, 'I have found out the four commando qualities.'
'Yes, Recruit Williams. What are they?'
'Courage, unselfishness, determination and cheerfulness in the face of adversity.'
'That's right! Go and write it on the board, Recruit Williams. And tell everyone to learn them, and
if anyone doesn't know them off by heart tomorrow I will provide the adversity for everyone to be cheerful in the face of.'
3
Trap or Die!
3 July
20.00
It is two weeks later and I am heading down to meet Dave Nicholson at the gym. On the way I bump into Terry John coming back from the camp shop and he is laden with bulging carrier bags.
'What you got there, Terry?' I ask.
'Chocolate, Chris. Loads of it. Do you want some?'
'No thanks, mate. Going to do a bit of phys now.'
'Really?' he says. 'You've already had two sessions with us today.'
'Yeah, I know, but I have to work a bit harder than you young blokes, Terry. Old bones and old muscles, you know.'
Terry giggles his infectious giggle.
'You still OK, Terry?' I ask.
'Yeah,' he says. 'It's good now. I still have some doubts sometimes but the guys talk me through them. They say I must not leave – they won't let me!'
I have seen Terry develop into the troop favourite since his arrival. He wears his heart on his sleeve, an endearing trait, but he also has such an ebullient personality that he is constantly making everyone laugh and feel better about themselves. In return they all provide Terry with the support he needs when his demons return to haunt him. I so hope he will make it through the remaining thirty weeks and win his Green Beret because I now know how much it would mean to him and his family back in St Vincent. My worry is that he is simply too nice to be a rough tough commando or what James Williams would call a 'double-hard bastard'.
'Well, come over when you've finished, Chris,' he says. 'If you want some KitKat or some Bounties or some Twix or some –'
'I might if I thought there would be any left, Terry. I've seen you with chocolate – you're like a Hoover!'
'It's all this exercise, Chris. I'm always hungry. Just can't stop eating . . .'
For the past fortnight the recruits have had to live in the communal dormitory in the Foundation Block learning the very basics of military life and concentrating on their personal organisation and administration skills. They have now been moved to a different accommodation block where they can bed down in six-man 'grots' (rooms). The nature of their training is slowly changing too as they are being gradually introduced to tactical skills and fieldcraft. They are still having to spend hours on their turnout and presentation so are often working into the small hours polishing and pressing. In addition there have been countless lectures, demonstrations, several drill sessions on the parade ground and, of course, daily gym sessions. I observe and film everything except the physical training in which I participate because this is what will eventually lead to the commando tests and the chance of a Green Beret.
Commando Page 6
