REGRETS? OH YES I HAVE A FEW
Guy Grieve harks back to his Black Watch days
Once upon a million years ago I telephoned my girlfriend (now my wife) from the Officer’s Mess of the Black Watch in Catterick North Yorkshire. I was calling from a little woody cubicle during a break from being put through tests, over a few days, to see whether I might be deemed suitable to join the regiment once I had passed selection for Sandhurst and then Sandhurst itself. It was not long before the Black Watch was about to be deployed to provide ceremonial duties during the Hong Kong handover.
That call remains vivid in my memory to this day, the reason being that I was so completely happy. Purely and without reserve. I liked the fact that the men around me spoke of their ‘brother officers’. I enjoyed the quiet banter and camaraderie. The unspoken code of understatement, modesty, humour and fair play. The history thrilled me too. The colours, frayed and worn and patched with battle honours. Paintings and regimental silver depicting stirring images of bravery and sacrifice.
Yet there was also a great freshness to the place. A wholesomeness, I suppose, which I was reminded of recently when I fetched my eldest son from rugby training on a frosty night. As he folded his big frame into the passenger seat a scent of cut grass, mud, open air and vigour came with him, taking me straight back to those few days with the Black Watch.
I was 23-years-old and had trained hard in the hills of Mull for the physical tests. I arrived as fit as a Sherpa and more than held my end up during the various runs and assault courses. The commanding officer, Lt Col Loudon, was a softly spoken and highly capable man, intelligent and genuinely interested in the potential that might reside within us little squibs.
His wife had been an anthropologist and I remember that she spoke with great insight about life in the clan of her husband’s regiment set within the extraordinary tribe that is the British army.
And then there were the sinewy NCOs and soldiers of the regiment, sharply turned out and proud. Hob-nailed boots on the parade ground and pipes being tuned. Jokes and piss taking and straightforward camaraderie. What appealed to me most was the sense of a world not dominated by money, but instead motivated by a different currency. Honour, comradeship, love of country and a spirit of true self-sacrifice.
Of course it’s all as old as the hills. The regrets of a man in his forties. In the end I failed my regular selection board and the army asked me to come back for another try. It was a common test of resolve. Sadly, I was waylaid and listened to those literally begging me not to try for the army. Instead of taking the long view, I joined the rest of the working world.
But what if? Certainly life with the Black Watch would have been difficult and dangerous. No regimental silver in Iraq and Afghanistan. And a high chance of death or injury. And yet? And yet?
What got me thinking about all this recently was that over the last few years I’ve met a few men around my age who did follow through on their dream to join the army. And on balance they’ve had rich and rewarding lives. There’s not much money about, not too many fancy cars or houses, but I can’t help but feel that they’ve been able to lead the ideal kind of life for a man.
In a world where multi-million pound marketing budgets persuade us endlessly that we are the centre of the universe, they have been part of something far older than money or even concepts of ‘self ’. Of course I’m being hopelessly romantic about all of this – but then again, can there be anything more romantic than being prepared to risk everything? Even one’s life? Motivated not really by king or country but on a deeper level by love of one’s fellow soldier.
On a lighter note – during the Hong Kong handover the Chinese army challenged the Black Watch to a game of rugby. A team was picked from the regiment and was duly wiped out by the Chinese who had prepared and trained a crack team of Special Forces soldiers. I suppose I should be glad I escaped that.
‘I enjoyed the banter and camaraderie; the unspoken code of modesty, humour and fair play’