Never Broken (4 page)

Despite my efforts, unfortunately things didn’t always go to plan. During another inspection limescale was spotted in the shower cubicle. I spent all day Saturday and Saturday night scraping it off the plugholes and ancient floor tiles and grout, which were clogged with years of grot. To complete the task I was unceremoniously handed a toothbrush and a bottle of bleach and told to scrub away, which was all very Private Benjamin! It was a grim and thankless task and I realise now, with hindsight, I was never going to get it spotlessly clean: it was the principle of making you work for it and ensuring you took pride in your kit and room.

One of the other ‘tricks’ I learnt was to never use the soap in your locker – that was your ‘for show’ soap. During locker inspections if you had used it they would find a micro bit of dust and oh, my God, if they found a body hair in your locker you were just annihilated! A positive effect of the punishments was that all the new recruits bonded over a shared hatred of the instructors. We also learnt that you were only as strong as your weakest link: if you were rubbish at something, not only did you get shouted at by the instructors, but as soon as they left the room, your platoon then shouted at you as well as everyone was dished out the punishment. That, in turn, made sure everyone pulled their weight, worked together as a team and had each other’s backs. Ultimately, that’s how I was able to cling on in the wreckage of the building after I’d been blown up, for I never doubted for a second that the lads,
which is how we referred to both male and female recruits, would come for me.

At the six weeks’ mark you were allowed to wear your beret for the first time, which was such a privilege. You also had to face the Army obstacle course, which everyone feared, as the punishment for failure within a set time would be severe. After weeks of PT, I was the fittest I’d been in my life and my final preparation consisted of a good night’s sleep and an extra dash of waterproof mascara and a bit of lipstick to give me confidence. It started brilliantly. I tackled the three-foot wall, was given a leg-up over the six-foot wall, pulling myself up and over, walked the plank, rope swung over a muddy, watery ditch without falling in the murky water, and crawled on my hands and knees under a cargo net. It was incredibly tough but I kept up with the lads, partly due to the fact we were all getting screamed at by the officers to ‘go harder and go faster’. Working as a tight-knit team, everyone encouraged those at the back to push themselves. One girl fell by the wayside, dislocating her kneecap halfway round, so they started rushing us over the rest of the obstacle course as quickly as possible.

Dripping with sweat, I remember facing the twelve-foot cargo net, which after my tree climbing as a kid was a doddle for me. When I scrambled to the top there were that many of us on there that someone swung their legs over the top, just as I was going over, and booted me so hard, they sent me flying off. I remember whizzing through the air before landing like a sack of spuds with a horrible thud. Then I lay there, feeling really winded and groaning in pain. A normal cargo net is supposed to be wider at the bottom so you will hit the net and roll down, but this one wasn’t wide enough so instead
of hitting the net I crashed into the ground. As the minutes passed, I still struggled to catch my breath and the pain of being winded didn’t get any better. I realised that I must have injured myself. At this point I was put on a backboard by paramedics and taken by ambulance to hospital, where they discovered I’d fractured a vertebra in my back and fractured my sternum.

I was sent home from Basic Training on sick leave, which was gutting. I had to wear a big ‘doughnut’ neck brace and I couldn’t return to Basic Training for six weeks. When I finally healed, I initially went into the rehabilitation unit to get me back to standard. There’s a stigma surrounding being in the rehabilitation platoon in Basic Training. It’s not the same as Headley Court, where men and women begin their often-heroic fight back from terrible injuries. Instead, in Basic Training the rehab unit is perceived as an easy life, where the worst you’ve faced is PT and the assault courses, not IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) and mortar attacks. Because of that, I knew I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so I passed all the fitness tests within three weeks. Then I was ‘back-squadded’, meaning I rejoined my Basic Training where I’d left off with a different platoon, who had just reached week six. That was the platoon I passed out with.

That incident on the cargo net was definitely a sign of things to come!

While being ‘back-squadded’ wasn’t unusual, joining a new platoon was daunting. Yet, it led me to meet two people who taught me life-lessons that have shaped the person I’ve become. The first was another fresh-faced new recruit, Nikki Jarvis, who took me under her wing and who is the best friend I ever made in the Military. I ended up sharing a room with
her and she immediately made me welcome and helped me settle in, introducing me to everyone.

At the six-week point you also go on the first of a series of all-night exercises, which is a real bonding experience with your platoon and culminates in an exercise called ‘Final Fling’ that you have to complete in order to pass out. Luckily, I was paired with Nikki, who shared my wicked sense of humour. We were taught to use Hexi-blocks, which are like large firelighters on which you cook your Army rations or boil-in-a-bag meals. You must also dig a hole for two people, then you have a piece of camouflage tent material called a ‘Basher’ and you must pin it up above your hole at a slight angle so any rain rolls off it; the two of you live in there during the exercise. You have a roll mat you put in the mud hole and you sleep on top of that in your sleeping bag. It was freezing cold and the weather was wet and miserable but we were like two naughty schoolgirls at a sleepover. During the exercise we had to change socks and powder our feet and there was a foot inspection to ensure everyone was looking after their health and had changed them. It’s an essential part of Army life to look after yourself – you can’t fight or work if your feet are in a mess.

The first night out also meant you’d be doing ‘Stag’. This is another term for sentry duty. Hearing the dreaded words ‘You’re on Stag’ on being woken in the dead of night minutes after you’d only just finally managed to drop off as it was freezing and uncomfortable isn’t the most pleasant experience. There’s also a practice enemy attack using bangers that produce smoke to make it as realistic as possible. I relished every moment of it and by the end of the exercise Nikki and I were firm friends.

Nikki had a way of making some of the worst experiences in training a laugh – and throughout our friendship when things got tough she’d be my panacea. The first time I saw it was when we had to test our gas mask in a room full of CS gas. We were down the queue and so we had to endure seeing everyone else come out with their eyes streaming, desperately trying to waft the gas off themselves. Then we both entered the room together with our masks on, walked round to stir all the CS gas up and then took them off and got a nice taste of it as we shouted out our name, rank and number. It was horrible! The first sensation was of burning in my nostrils and eyes, then tears poured down my face so hard I couldn’t see. Nikki dragged me outside and laughed at me crying at how awful it was, while coughing, gagging and spluttering until I was in stitches, too.

We also learned to fire a gun together for the first time in our lives. You are initially taught on an electronic range and then you complete a weapons handling test: how to prepare to fire, make it safe, load and unload. Following this you are issued with a gun with live rounds. Part of passing Basic Training is passing your range test – hitting targets at different distances from a variety of firing positions during the day and night. The fundamental rule is to always keep your weapon facing down the firing range and never at someone else. The first time I ever fired a live round I thought: ‘Oh, my God, if I fuck up here I could actually kill someone!’ It felt like a real weight of responsibility, having a live round in my rifle, and we weren’t just firing blanks. Everyone feels like that at first and it’s vital never to lose that. It was very much at the forefront of my mind that one day I could be firing at a person, yet if it was a choice between my life and someone who was going to kill
me I wouldn’t have hesitated. You always need to justify to yourself that if you were to take a life then you’ve done so for the right reason.

As well as the hard work, during the second half of Basic Training there are chances to have the odd night out. One evening in particular cemented my bond with Nikki. We joined some of the lads on a night out in Portsmouth, which was notorious for trouble between Navy and Army personnel and the locals. I don’t know why, unless it was the fact we were with a group of lads, but without any warning, when Nikki went to dance, a civilian girl came up behind her and smashed a glass bottle over her head. She fell to the floor, somehow managing to land a Frank Bruno-esque right hook on the girl’s nose as she went down. Immediately, I ran over and joined in to stop her getting a kicking.

Unfortunately, after landing a few punches and pulling the girl to the floor by her hair, we were both unceremoniously kicked out of the club by the bouncers and then the police were called. I was terrified. Getting caught fighting in the Army is the worst thing ever – you can end up not only getting charged under civilian law, but also being charged under military law, so it was a massive deal. On top of that, I was even more terrified my parents would find out. Luckily, the police believed us when we told them what had happened and after a stern ticking-off, they drove us back to camp without telling our Commanding Officer or the Military Police. It did earn us kudos with the other Army girls once word got out, though, so after that no one wanted to mess with us. And the truth is, even though I’m ashamed of being involved in a cat-fight, at the same time I wouldn’t have left my best mate in trouble and taking a beating. You don’t want to ever mess
with the Military as they always look after their own. Since then Nikki has repaid my favour in spades.

The second person who had a massive impact on my younger self was an instructor, with whom I had a torrid fling during Training. It’s a fundamental rule that trainee soldiers and instructors do not have interpersonal relations. Being caught risked a strict punishment or at worst, a Court Marshall. But after I was ‘back-squadded’ I had new instructors and there was an instant chemistry between one of them and me. I’ve always been incredibly shy when it comes to men and I wear my heart on my sleeve, but he showered me with attention at an age when I had never experienced anything like it before. The painful truth is, I was like a lamb to the slaughter and it was actually quite pitiful with hindsight. Six foot four, he was dark, broad, achingly masculine and extremely good-looking – and he knew it.

Funnily enough, if I met a Lothario like him now as thirty-year-old me, I wouldn’t go for him. But at seventeen, a cocky, sure-footed guy taking an interest in me made him all the more attractive. My only other relationship had been with my childhood sweetheart, who I’d met at school. We’d both been shy, innocent and fumbling teenagers from the age of fifteen to when I joined the Army, so a worldly man in his late twenties seemed incredibly sophisticated.

Right from the outset he made it very clear he wanted me, and he made his move at the earliest opportunity, when we were allowed to leave the barracks for the first time for a group meal, two months into Basic Training. We were only permitted two pints each but they went straight to my head after months without an alcoholic drink. After chatting me up, we shared a surreptitious kiss and the excitement was
added to by the fact it had to be clandestine. Then he invited me back to his room, saying: ‘Would you like another drink?’ and I nervously agreed. After sneaking across the parade square to his quarters I ended up snogging the face off him. It was intoxicating and it would have been so easy to let myself be seduced, but I said: ‘No, I’m not happy to take things further yet.’ He was used to having young recruits as putty in his hands so he seemed taken aback that I wasn’t willing to sleep with him there and then, but I was adamant and I left, creeping back across the parade ground to sleep alone in my bed. From there it was a really slow-burner. He’d steal me away for a kiss whenever he could and he charmed me, taking me out for dinner several times a week and buying me small gifts.

It was an exciting and heady courtship and to me the whole star-crossed lovers’ thing seemed incredibly romantic. For him, with hindsight, it was all about the thrill of the chase. After a few weeks he suggested taking a weekend’s leave at the same time. I stayed with a friend and he came and stayed in a nearby hotel, taking me out every night and wining and dining me while remaining the perfect gentleman. Though I still kept him at arm’s-length, I was falling head over heels for him. I was genuinely flattered and it was the first time in my life I had been treated like a lady and wooed. Back on camp, at every opportunity he would whisk me away for a snog. Even when we were getting our final measurements taken for our dress uniform for the passing-out parade he called me to his office for a clandestine kiss and a cuddle under the pretence of getting my belt for my uniform.

Straight after my passing-out parade, instead of going home with my parents who had come down to watch, I went to
London with a group from my platoon to consummate our relationship. Because the instructors get leave at the end of every passing out, he came to join me and we stayed in a luxury hotel. That night was memorable for what it was, as he taught me what sex without love could be. Although I thought I was in love with him, it wasn’t until I met my husband Jamie that I discovered how special that was. But for the first time in my life I knew what it was to desire a man and to be desired and charmed. A big part of the attraction was also the danger of dating a fickle charmer – he was like a kite on a blustery day. I also thought I was different and I could change him.