The School of Infantry.

In October 2008, around 50 recruits were inducted into Rifles Training Platoon 1, or Rifles1.

6 months later 28 Riflemen passed out of The Infantry Training Centre ( ITC ), Catterick.

To this day, 25% of us are dead or wounded.

It takes 182 days to create an Infanteer.

While ITC is physically demanding to the extreme, the hardest part for me was the length of the course.It's a progressive course, and like every course in the Army it's designed to be passed.

The first 6 weeks are designed to break you. This is where the vast majority of recruits drop out, or are dropped from the course.

Many, like myself, were leaving home to join the Army and the culture shock was a big one.

In those first six weeks you work up to 18 hours, 7 days a week. There is no respite. 

You are not allowed off camp, or even allowed to walk freely around it. Mobile phones are collected in the mornings and often not returned in the evening.

Training to be an Infanteer involves so much more than many people think.

For every practical lesson we did there was a theory one. We had weekly military knowledge tests and all of our notes were copied out into "best books".

Map reading, comms training, vehicle recognition, and becoming totally proficient with 4 weapon systems; we would need to pass tests on all of the above to continue the course.

6 months sounds like a long time, and it is, but the amount a recruit has to learn about his trade is barely crammed in.

And it is a trade, despite what anyone says.

Then there's the physical side of life.

Infantry soldiers also need to have a high level of fitness.

We carry heavy loads in Afghanistan, anywhere up to 60kgs of gear depending on the task.

We are expected to assault enemy positions, and there is little else that takes it out of you in quite the same way.

But a high level of fitness also saves lives. Many soldiers ,including friends of mine, who have lost limbs have only survived the massive blood loss because of their strong cardiovascular system. 

Assault courses, cross country runs, loaded marches and "Battle PT" took place daily, often twice daily.

For these first six weeks you do not wear a beret or cap badge. 

Me, during a demo for Families Day.

They sit in your locker, proudly on display, to remind you what you are working for.

At the end of week four, there is a families day, where you put on demonstrations for your relatives, to show them what you are learning. You are then allowed off camp for one night.

At the end of week six you take your "beret test".

The platoon must pass a drill test along with an in depth locker inspection by the officers of the Training Company. Re-shows for poor drill are not uncommon, and Rifles1 narrowly avoided one.

But at the end of our sixth week, we lined up in the corridor of our accommodation and were presented with our berets by the platoon commander and saluted him for the first time.

We had only completed just over a quarter of our training, but we had passed the first major milestone. 

Around 3/4's of our dropouts had had done so before this point.

Now our training really began. 

The instructors had broken us, it was time to build us back up again- in their own special way.

"Back-squadding" was now on the cards for anyone that did not meet their high standards. 

This meant being sent to a training platoon further behind you in the course.

Now I look back on it, time flew past. But during the course itself, it seemed to slow to a crawl. The weeks dragged by, but slowly but surely we began to turn into soldiers.

I'd love to go into detail about my time in Catterick, but there's just too much to fit into a blog post.

One for the book maybe.

At week 12 we took our shooting test, and were allowed to wear our regimental stable belt. 

We also had our Sword ("bayonet" to most people) training. 

This was especially brutal, to prepare us for having to assault an enemy position with nothing but a sword. 

It lasted all day, constantly being "beasted" to keep our aggression up.

The instructors asked "What makes the grass grow?" and 30 screaming voices answered:

"BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD!".
The aggression that poured out me that day would only be equalled in actual battle.

I had Christmas leave, and returned home. I had not seen Abi (my wife) or my family for months.

I would only see them twice in that 6 month period. I didn't feel much different in myself, but to them, the changes were apparent.

My bed towards the end of training
Luckily, I'm a fan.

Upon returning, training settled into a steady rhythm.

Most other cap badges,and even other Rifles Platoons, allowed their recruits to have "luxuries" like duvets and TVs.
While it doesn't sound like much, it makes a big difference to morale.

We had no such luxuries. Duvets were eventually allowed towards the end of the course.

But with a catch.

We had been having weekly interviews with our section commanders, so they could give us feedback on our progress. 

From around the half way mark, I was told that the "Best Recruit" award at the end of the course was mine to lose. This was a surprise to me as I was convinced I was going to be dropped.

I couldn't tell you why, but towards the last month of the course I went off the boil. 

Perhaps as I had adapted quite well at the beginning of training, all of the stress and changes I was going through caught up with me. 

I would not win the award, and I regret it immensely. Not for me as such, as things like that aren't really my thing. 

But I had been thinking about the moment on my pass out parade that I could surprise Abi and my family by marching out with the other award winners and see the pride on their faces.

Our final exercise came and went; two weeks in the Scottish highlands and after this point, baring illness or injury, we would pass out. 

The last two weeks was almost purely practising drill for our pass off parade. This was something Rifles1 still had not got very good at.

"Killers Not Drillers" we told ourselves.

We wound down, packed our things and handed our kit back in. 

As the parade drew closer, couldn't quite believe I had made it.

6 months is a long time and our training was tough. 

We were told, at the very end that the staff had tried something different with us.

We had joined shortly after an undercover reporter, posing as a recruit, has exposed various things about the training process. 

They tried a new style of training with us, one not reliant on discipline by force.

We had been truly tough to break, they told us. But through their superb training and our force of will, Rifles1 was one of the best platoons to pass out ITC Catterick in long time.

Rifles1 on parade in No.2 dress.

On a freeing morning in Yorkshire, we took our place on the parade square, with a shot of Port to calm the nerves. 

We stood next to the other platoons of our intake; those belonging the other Infantry Regiments.

Our tiny platoon standing out with our uniforms and unique drill. 

But also by our attitude, our pride at what we had become.

We marched onto that square as recruits and we doubled off as Riflemen.

A few weeks earlier, we had learnt which battalion we would be posted.

Not dissimilar to the scene from "Full Metal Jacket" I learnt I would go, as I had wanted, to our 4th Battalion.

By passing out, I now knew I would deploy to Afghanistan later that year. 

Another 6 months of Pre deployment training awaited me at my unit.

I told my family I was going on exercise to Norway; I had no idea how to tell them I was going to war.

Rifles1 said its goodbyes. Most of the platoon went to either 3 or 4 Rifles for the up coming tour.

There were guys I would later see in Camp Bastion preparing to go "outside the wire". 

Some I would see again on the battlefield.

There were others I'd see over a year later in Headley Court; horrifically wounded.

Others I would never see again.

Rifles1 doing "The Double Off" the parade square.