A Little Bit About Me

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a soldier.

Not in the way you see a contestant on the X Factor saying they've been singing since they were 20 minutes old, but I genuinely can't remember a time when I didn't want to join The Army.

I've gone through various phases, as most people do when they are growing up: astronaut, fireman, Jedi. All the classics.

But it always came back to soldiering.

One of my earliest memories was going to The Royal Variety Performance, and seeing a demonstration put on by the Royal Armoured Corp. Seeing and hearing the main gun on a Challenger tank fire scared the hell out of me, but it must have stirred something inside me.

The only thing ever to rival being a soldier was becoming a truck driver.
Not very glamorous, I know.
Some people come from military families, I come from a haulage family.

Both of my Grandfathers were drivers, my Dad was (and still is, the nutcase. He even drove to Iraq once, with a lorry full of mattresses ) and my Mum worked for her Father's haulage firm.
I grew up around trucks, in them, even. I've been lucky enough to travel all around the UK and Europe. Both trucks and the industry still fascinate me.

I'm from a small village in Essex, ( unfortunately one that features on that god awful TV programme, but I'll leave it there) and I lived there until the age of 13.
I was a good kid, I think. I struggled with dyslexia growing up, but never let it beat me.
I spent most of those 13 years running round in camouflage and generally being a nuisance.

After visiting friends that moved to Lanzarote in the Canary Islands, my parents got it into their head to move out there and retire early. The UK road haulage industry is a stressful one, and they were both burning out because of it.
It all happened pretty quickly, but in 2001 we took the plunge and moved.

I hated it at first.
Intensely for the first year, and probably didn't begin to enjoy it for at least the first two.
Now, looking back, it was amazing to have grown up there.
My family's firm expanded to supplying the many English supermarkets and wholesalers in the Canaries. We also took the ever consignment of food by road and began moving peoples personal effects over.

I had other jobs after leaving school, but in around 2005 I began working for my family.
But the idea of joining The Army didn't leave me.

I took part in on a four day "insight course" with The Parachute Regiment when I was 17.
It didn't turn out all that well. My fitness was poor and the Paratrooper Ethos didn't really appeal to me.

So I put things on hold.
I enjoyed working with my family immensely. I think I did Ok to shrug off the stigma of being "the bosses son" and I was trusted with a lot of responsibility for my age.
I also began writing for the island's main English magazine, The Lanzarote Gazette.
I'm a big video game fan and I did a monthly games review, that got quite a good response.

But, by the end of 2007 the idea of joining resurfaced for the last time.
I began to get myself into shape and undertook another insight course with The Paras.

This time around it went pretty well.
By the end of it, I knew I wanted to join, but it wasn't going to be with The Paras. They are superb soldiers and the best airborne troops in the world (don't tell any Paras I said that) but they have a very specific ethos. Upon finishing the course, I knew it wasn't for me.

Now I was at a loss of which Infantry Regiment to join. I told the career's office to put me with the unit that would get me on tour the fastest.
According to the recruiters it was The Coldstream Guards.

As I needed to travel backwards and forwards from the Canaries, the process took a while.
One day back in Lanzarote, I did some research on the unit I would hopefully join.
As soon as I saw the ceremonial side to The Guards, I told them it wasn't for me.

Back in the UK and a week or so before my selection date, the recruiters (no doubt getting annoyed with me) asked me "What about The Rifles?".

This time when I did my research, I was annoyed I hadn't come across them myself.
The history, the ethos, the way they stood out from the crowd and dared to do things differently.It all appealed to me.
I had watched Sharpe as a kid, and when I put two and two together, it sealed the deal.

My two days of selection went well. I passed the medical but, while the doctor had a pair of rather important male organs in his hands during the "cough test" he asked:
"So, looking forward to wearing a busby?"
It didn't really seem like the time for polite conversation. Plus I thought they had me down to be a Guardsman after all.

I went on to pass all of the fitness tests, icebreakers and team tasks.
In the final interview, I was given an official offer of a place to begin training with The Rifles.
The interviewing officer shook my hand and told me:

"Don't ever give up."

 I'll never forget those words, and I've drawn on them many times.

I was given a date to start training at The School Of Infantry in Catterick, in October '08.
It was 9 weeks away, so I returned home.

I knew my parents didn't want me to join, especially with the amount of casualties we were taking in Afghanistan at the time.
But credit to them, apart from my Dad offering to give me his pick up truck if I stayed, they didn't try to stop me. Even with everything that's happened to me since, they have been nothing but supportive.

I had met my future wife earlier that year, and despite thinking I would go off to join The Army single, we began going out around 6 weeks before I left. You just can't choose, can you?

She would be a rock during training, Afghan and throughout my injury.
Along with my family, I am confident I would not be where I am today without her.

And so with my life packed into a suitcase, in late September 2008, I left Lanzarote.
I had come to adore the island, the memories and friends I made there.
Even though I am fiercely patriotic towards Britain, I will always regard it as my home.
(Don't think I wasn't wondering what the hell I was doing, freezing my arse off in 2ft snow in Yorkshire instead of being on a beach.)

One year and one day after arriving in Catterick for training, I would be in Afghanistan.
Exactly a month after that, A Company would lose our first man to enemy action.

But before all of that, I would have to get through 6 months of one of the hardest training programs The Army has to offer, The Combat Infantryman's Course.