Chapter 13

The Cambridge University Officer Training Corp annual camp in 1984 was everything that the cadets thought, and worried, it would be. There were two unusual things that stood out for Andrew from that week. How ‘their’ training staff turned on ‘them’; and watching the carnage of the real Army training all around them. Bassingbourn was the infantry depot for the Queens Division which meant that all the new recruits joining the regiments of the Queen’s Division underwent basic training there. So there was ‘real Army’ training going on that they were able to witness.

Andrew had no way of knowing whether the following was true or not, but based on the way the training staff acted that week it seemed very likely. ‘Their’ training staff, especially the NCOs that ran the training, acted like they got a whole lot of shit from the Queen’s Division training staff at Bassingbourn. And so they took it out on the OTC cadets. There was nothing that was outrageous about anything they did but rather it was the attitude, the change in demeanour, all those small things that made it different. It was more full-on, a lot more ‘shouty’, more petty bullshit, just lots of regular Army crap and it was a shock at the time. Within the first day or so, there was a general sense of ‘keep your head down, work hard, get through this without standing out’. As to why? OTC cadets are not soldiers, not even reserve soldiers. They could not be called up in the event of war or anything like that. So a lot of the Army thought they were a waste of space. The overwhelming majority of squaddies and NCOs thought they were a waste of space, a complete waste of oxygen. Finally although they were all of 10 miles away from Cambridge they were in a different world.

That difference showed up in his second memory of the week. How the students lived such a sheltered life both as a group and he did as an individual. His middle-class life had him in this sheltered economic bubble, and for Andrew’s whole life, even from before he made some money, he felt like he had options. Even before leaving primary school Andrew had wanted to go to university, and he had spent more time worrying about what he was going to study and where, than if he would be able to attend. So seeing and listening to the recruits was frightening and fascinating in equal measure. He couldn’t recount endless grim stories of basic training, he didn’t go through it and only saw small snippets of it. But regardless of his surprise and shock at the training, it was standard Army new recruit training and was repeated at all the other depots. And the squaddies, and their mindset, was going to be the same across the Army. There would be inevitable differences between nations, regions and even regiments but the basic mindset was the same. Andrew came away from the week thinking about what he had seen, and the imposition of iron discipline by the NCOs. He would come back to what he observed that week, again and again.

The four of them got to the end of the week, wet and tired but relatively intact. The shouting was universal and every person there was called a ‘useless cunt’ at least once but they, the four of them, had no punitive punishments and also managed not to get into any altercations with the Queen’s Division men. Some of the Company were not so lucky and there were a few bruised heads and knuckles, nothing major but still unnecessary. Everyone was ready for the week to be over, not just from the endless field craft, map reading etc. that they had been doing but also getting away from the oppressive atmosphere of Bassingbourn. About 80% of the Company were off to Germany with the rest of them scattering across the south of England to various speciality arms; Artillery, Signals, Engineers etc.

So the whole Company was trucked back to Cambridge where Andrew was given a final ration of shit from Matt, Jack and Rollie for not going to Germany with them and then it was a day of multiple trains before arriving at Brompton Barracks in Chatham for the second week. The next day was all spent on personal admin, Army speak for getting all the Cambridgeshire dirt off his gear and making sure he was in proper order for the following morning. Looking sloppy on the first parade was a sure-fire way to get yourself noticed, and not in a good way. There were a group of them, all in the same situation so the day passed quickly as they all compared their experiences from the previous week. Andrew listened as one of the blokes recounted how there had been six separate units at Otterburn so there had been a lot of banter back and forth between the Scots, the three units from northern England as well as the one UOTC from Northern Ireland. It was a good way to get to know a bunch of other cadets, all dealing with the routine, even mundane aspects of Army life.

It was as if the Army knew how long it would take for them to get themselves back into a semblance of order because right before dinner they were called out on parade. After all the bullshit at Bassingbourn Andrew didn’t need another couple of hours being told he was useless but in fact it was nothing like that. They were splitting the assembled OTC cadets into groups based on previous Royal Engineer courses attended. 90% of the assembled cadets were off to sunny Chattenden across the Medway from Chatham, while the remaining 30 of them were to be trucked off to Salisbury Plain again. After a quick dinner in the mess they hauled all their kit out to three four-tonners and suffered the three-hour drive in the back of these slow, noisy, smelly trucks. Opportunities for conversation were gone and they all just zoned out.

Being woken at 4.00 let them know that this was not going to be a cushy week of boring lectures. The previous year they had observed the start of an exercise, infantry, tanks, artillery, a whole combined arms exercise, supported by signals and engineers. Andrew had watched a Sapper Captain deal with the chaos of the exercise, both assumed attrition, vehicles designated at lost to enemy fire, as well as the real and unplanned breakdown of equipment. An equivalent exercise, although on a smaller scale, was scheduled for the following week and the small group of cadets got to observe the tail end of the planning process. In contrast to prior camps they had exposure to more senior officers. They were allowed to attend briefings where staff presented the plans for the exercise, although memorably they were asked to leave once when the briefing was not going well so that a needed bollocking could be administered.

The training staff used a real exercise as the basis for their training. For the first two days the cadets took endless notes, tried to keep up with the acronyms and jargon and hung on as everything happened round about them at a frantic pace. On the Wednesday they were walked through what they had observed for the previous two days and shown the purpose of the various aspects of the orders. It was an interesting way for them to learn, throw them to the wolves and see if they coped, not really explaining anything at the time but just let them soak it all up and maybe learn some things by osmosis. Then spend the time going through it and starting to fit it all back together and let them see the purpose of everything. By the end of Thursday the cadets had a better understanding of what the exercise objective was, and the Royal Engineers’ role in it.

One of the great things that attending camps like this was that they spent time with real members of the regiment. Now that sounds idiotic and self-evident but the training staff at the UOTC in Cambridge were there to emphasise the positive aspects of the military. Out on exercise, in a mixed group like they were, they got unfiltered opinions. This exercise was an example. The cadets from the various OTCs were struggling to keep up with the planned exercise, and were impressed by the scale of it, in an embarrassingly school boyish manner. In the mess one evening they were soundly disabused of this notion. There were six of them sitting there trying not to stand out too much; fat chance.

In 1984 the Cold War was very cold. Reagan and Thatcher were in power and the Soviets were on their third leader in two years (soon to be four in three years but that was the following spring). The British Army had a collection of minor postings around the world, Hong Kong, Brunei, Falklands, Cyprus, relics of empire one and all, but the overwhelming majority of the fighting strength of the British Army was in Germany. Probably half the soldiers were based there but all the tanks, artillery, and armoured fighting vehicles were stationed with the British Forces in Germany, called the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR). Sure there were reserves in depots around the UK as well as equipment used for training but the active deployed equipment was nearly all in West Germany. So what they were seeing out on Salisbury Plain, and being so impressed by, was just a small training exercise. Sitting drinking with a couple of regulars they then found out that this was nothing more than a tune up exercise with limited forces. There was nowhere in Britain, or even in Germany, where exercises on the scale anticipated if the Soviets attacked could be held. The British Army flew its soldiers all the way to a bleak empty part of the Canadian prairie so that they could have realistic training exercises. 30 years later they still do. Now a collection of 18 to 21 year olds were sitting there lapping all this stuff up. They were getting answers to questions that they didn’t know to ask. Now there is nothing that soldiers like to do more than spin tall tales and exaggerate what happened, their role in it, and what was really going on. But these two were low key and resigned about the whole thing. Leave and training time was strictly managed, as 85% of each unit had to be ready to deploy at all times. It was another anvil dropped on Andrew’s head in terms of waking him up to life’s realities. He had seen the exercise the previous year and had been hugely impressed by the scale, and the performance of the officer in charge of the Engineering Regiment that they observed. They then spent that week, being deluged with information about another exercise which seemed similar to the one from the previous year. Speaking personally Andrew sat there somewhat stunned that what they were seeing was small potatoes compared to the reality of life as part of the Combat Engineering Regiments in Germany. It was a growing up moment, not a moment too soon, where he gained a better, or more realistic, understanding of what he was doing. It was a step function moment, nothing gradual just suddenly into a new state.

Joining the British Army in 1984, or in Andrew’s case three years later upon graduation, got you sent to one of three places, all but certainly. You could be based somewhere in the UK with a role, which was endlessly practiced, of reinforcing the NATO forces in Germany in the event of war. You could be in Germany with the whole bloody Soviet Army coming at you hoping like hell for these self-same reinforcements and wondering when NATO would start firing the battlefield nuclear missiles. Or you could be sent to Northern Ireland to be shot at by your fellow countryman. Those were your choices. Sitting at home, waiting to travel to be shot at; sitting in West Germany waiting to be shot at; or sitting in Northern Ireland being shot at. All of the skills that they learned, professionally as well as militarily, all came back to that. It was a week that Andrew would look back on later as a point where he started to mature. Mostly due to getting information but the whole two weeks of the annual camp had punctured the bubble that he had been living in. Interacting with a much wider variety of people, with different skills, different backgrounds, different levels of education, it was long overdue.

As for the last two days of the course they flew by in a blur, Andrew along with most of his course mates, was just trying to process everything. The Royal Engineers did a very good job of presenting an honest view of life in the Sappers both that summer and the previous one. It gave Andrew a lot to think about. There was an interview at the end of the camp where they pushed, moderately, the option of joining the Army as a regular officer upon graduation. He listened and was respectful but it still did not tug at him as something he was going to do as a career, although joining the Territorial Army was solidifying evermore as part of his plan.

Just after 7.00 on the Saturday night Andrew was back in Jim and Freya’s flat. His two-week camp was over and he had 36 hours to get himself sorted out for his first office job on the Monday morning. He allowed himself to be mothered a little bit by Freya, not too much but it was nice to have someone pleased to see him and happy to help him get sorted out. Mostly it involved cleaning his OTC gear, which was markedly less dirty than after the first week. Although Jim and Freya would not accept money from Andrew for rent he did insist on paying his share of the food, especially as he figured he would eat more than they did combined. Andrew had a big chicken pasta dinner with them and finally sat down and relaxed. They were full of questions but he needed the major one answered first.

“Have you selected a date for your wedding yet?”

“We have, September 15^th. That is after you finish at the Ministry, yes?”

“Yes, my last day is the 14^th. I presume there will be things that I need to do and events I need to attend but they can all be sorted out. I better find out what I am doing first.”

“Andrew, the wedding has become quite a bit larger than we originally intended, we just wanted to let you know.”

Freya sounded worried.

“Given your jobs that is understandable. How much larger?”

The pause should have given it away.

“Em, around 200.”

Suddenly Andrew’s mouth seemed very dry.

“So I am walking you down the aisle in front of an assembled congregation of 200 of the great and the good?”

Jim laughed and walked over to get them all a glass of whisky, about three minutes too late for Andrew.

“You will still do it, won’t you?”

Freya sounded alarmed.

“Of course I will still do it. I promised I would. We are going to look like the odd couple though. The day should be about you and Jim not answering questions about me.”

Freya did not even bother answering that concern, just smiled and raised her glass in salute. After that they talked to Andrew about his exams, fortunately just for a moment or two, before asking about the OTC camp.

“It was eye-opening. It was two weeks of, of.”

Here he stopped. He thought about how to put the two weeks into words, into perspective.

“I have lived in this little bubble, not so much sheltered but just oblivious to whole parts of the real world. We did not have anything to do with the recruits at Bassingbourn but we saw plenty of them while we were in camp. It was not just the intensity of their training it was more their mindset, their outlook on life was so different. For me it made me realise that I had options, that I had been lucky. But it also made me understand that my life, both at school and now at university is not the norm, it is more the exception. And then to top it off this past week just reinforced the scale of the challenge if I was to join the Army. What we all took as planning for a major exercise was nothing more than a training top up. The two weeks have shredded some of my naiveté, made me reflect on stuff. It will give me a lot to think about over the summer.”

Jim looked thoughtfully at Andrew.

“When you talk about your experiences, you often talk about them in terms of learning something about yourself, rather than the facts or the activities of the course.”

“That is true, but it is a reflection of the things that I think I need to work on or grow. Planning an exercise is something I am good at. Even last week, a lot of the problem in understanding what was going on was just experience and especially understanding the lingo, the jargon, the slang. I never stress about a paper task, planning something, anything like that. All my doubts and concerns are around dealing with people, leading people. It is slowly getting better, but it is definitely not inherent.”

The rest of the evening passed quietly and after so many early mornings Andrew went to bed well before his usual time. But after a solid eight hours he was up at 6.00, and after exercising headed off to Regent Park in the cool of the summer morning. He did four circuits of the park, taking it slow and easy so that he was in decent shape at the end. The walk back cooled him off and Andrew was sitting in the kitchen on his third bowl of cereal when Freya came through.

“I thought I smelled coffee. If this is how I am going to wake up all summer, I could get used to that.”

She made a cup for Jim and took it through to their room before returning.

“He will join us shortly. It is different for us when you visit, having someone up so early in the morning. Neither of us are really morning people, we get up when we have to. Do you have plans?”

“Find a pool closer to here than that place out in Chiswick. It is nice, and it is quiet, but it seems crazy to go that far out just to swim. Plus, and it is a bit embarrassing, but I don’t really know where Chiswick is. I mean I know how to get there on the Tube and how to get to the pool but it just a name of somewhere west of the city centre.”

In the dark ages, before the internet, you had to look things like that up in the phone book. But after a bit of rummaging around and then looking at the A-Z of London they had, Andrew found there was a public pool in central London near Regent Street. So after letting his breakfast digest for a while and chat to Jim, he set off on the Tube to find the Marshall Street Swimming Pool, while Jim and Freya went to church. The pool reminded Andrew of Warrender beside his flat. Victorian, run down but functional, and best of all quiet. He nearly missed it the first time as it was off Carnaby Street. So you had a tourist haven, full of people browsing overpriced shops, recalling the sixties, and down a little side street was this public swimming pool. Despite the long run that morning Andrew swam until he could barely lift his arms. It had been more than two weeks since he had a chance to swim and it was great just slowly gliding through the water. His pace might have been slow and steady but as usual Andrew did his best thinking while he was in the pool. That day his thoughts were of the the last month, from his exams up to that moment, just revisiting events, discussions, everything really.

Andrew knew he had done well in three of the four exams and pretty okay in the final one so was not worried about his course. You were graded at the end of each year at Cambridge rather than overall so he thought he was pretty certain to get a First from the year. His friendship was deepening with Helena, but was fraying slightly with Navya. She had been more of an annoyance during the final term, always seeming to be pushing for gossip and info. Hopefully some time apart would reset this friendship as they had been very close in the first two terms. As for the rest of his friends at College most were now settled. Matt, Keith, Olivia and Andrew were a solid group in the Department and although things would change with the labs and projects going forward they worked well together, studied well together, and most importantly in those groups, didn’t get on each other’s nerves. The different group of four at the OTC were also a reasonably tight group. Without ever sitting down and strategising it they had formed a squad together. They supported each other and watched out for each other as well. They recognised the benefit that would bring from just doing well there but also for the mutual support. They had a routine, got on well, and again didn’t annoy each other. Well other than giving Jack shit about his lamentable dating performance. Finally there were the others on the corridor. There were only ever 10 with the South African bailing within the first weekend. Nigel, Pedro and Justin were good friends and had extended invites to stay. Decent blokes who Andrew got on with despite having little in common other than the randomness of the initial room assignment. David was an obsessive rower, and there were more than a few of them at Cambridge, and would drift out of their lives without a backward glance. Malcolm and Emma were friendly, Malcolm especially given that they saw each other every morning, but it did not extend beyond that. And of course that left Abigail. Andrew had no idea what to make of her, or their relationship. For a start he didn’t think they had much of a relationship but Leslie had been adamant that Abigail liked him. She just had a strange way of showing it, i.e. not at all. The only reason he did not dismiss it out of hand was the few little snippets of conversation that Helena would mention where Abigail seemed very interested in their sex life. She was also the fashionista of the corridor and Andrew knew from her reaction that he had made the right decision to give her one of the Hermès scarves. If they managed to start to talk more then he was pretty sure that Paris would be recounted in minute detail. So life at College was in good shape. When his only uncertainty was whether a beautiful blue-eyed blonde liked him then Andrew knew better than to worry about College life.