Read Online Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier by James Wharton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Wharton
Ads: Link
become friendlier with a few of the other guys. The thing about constantly meeting new people, moving around the country with the army and making new friends, is that mates sometimes drift apart. I was starting to become used to it.
The end of riding school was fast approaching and Tim turned up the heat for the final few weeks to ensure we were all at the required standard before handing us back to the regiment in Knightsbridge for ceremonial duties. We’d nearly made it.
Riding school is followed by a final four weeks of training back at Knightsbridge, known as the dreaded ‘kit ride’, which teaches the soldier how to ride a horse in full state uniform, as opposed to the traditional riding style learned at Windsor. It’s a horrible experience. The four-week package is considered one of the most gruelling phases of a soldier’s career, with daily inspections ensuring turn-out is to the required standard for state occasions.
In the weeks that passed in the run-up to kit ride, I’d become quite down about things. It wasn’t the job, not at all. I reallyenjoyed riding and being part of a great organisation. But something was amiss. Over the winter months I’d joined in with the fun of being one of the lads, but had been uninterested in some of the activities Jamie, Josh and Dean were getting up to while out on the town, mostly involving girls. I’d started to think quite a bit about one of the guys, after hearing a rumour about him apparently involving some gay men’s magazines that were spotted in his room. Once I’d heard the rumour, I realised that my interest in him was more than just the usual curiosity. Those feelings I’d hoped were just part of a teenage stage hadn’t actually gone anywhere. Of course they hadn’t. I was fed up of pretending not to feel a certain way. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to or where to look for help. But with so much work to do preparing to finish riding school, I just couldn’t deal with it all. I continued on and attempted to pick myself up. But it wouldn’t be long before everything came to a head.
I rarely slept for the entire month of kit ride. I was just too busy ensuring my kit was immaculate enough. My jackboots, breastplate, state helmet and my white leather buckskins had to gleam for the morning inspections. I also had my own horse, Agincourt, to care for and keep in pristine condition.
Soldiers had been broken during kit ride and we’d all been told the horror stories from the past. The equipment we were using was so expensive everybody was told to take out private insurance , just in case a sword was stolen or lost.
One of the early stories passed onto us in the bar at Knightsbridge was about a young lad who, a year before, somehow lost his state helmet, sword and scabbard and even his red plume while trying to get ready for the following morning’s inspection. He didn’t raise the alarm and report the loss; without insurance he knew he’d be met with a bill which would run into the thousands. Instead, he decided to throw himself out of theseventh-floor window in an effort to make all his problems go away. How could things possibly get that bad? How could things be
allowed
to get that bad?
We heard lots of awful stories like that. I often wondered whether they were just tall tales from the older boys, trying to scare us kids. These days I laugh at some of them although I can vouch for a lot of them, too. I’ve told stories myself to the younger lads who are new to the game which I’m sure are probably just as intimidating.
At the end of each week of the kit ride, a large formal inspection took place on the regimental square, each more important than the last. The first of these hurdles was an inspection by the kit ride officer, a junior officer in the regiment who was administratively in charge of us while in kit ride. We sailed through his inspection and he gave us the nod to progress through to the second week, at the end of which would be
The end of riding school was fast approaching and Tim turned up the heat for the final few weeks to ensure we were all at the required standard before handing us back to the regiment in Knightsbridge for ceremonial duties. We’d nearly made it.
Riding school is followed by a final four weeks of training back at Knightsbridge, known as the dreaded ‘kit ride’, which teaches the soldier how to ride a horse in full state uniform, as opposed to the traditional riding style learned at Windsor. It’s a horrible experience. The four-week package is considered one of the most gruelling phases of a soldier’s career, with daily inspections ensuring turn-out is to the required standard for state occasions.
In the weeks that passed in the run-up to kit ride, I’d become quite down about things. It wasn’t the job, not at all. I reallyenjoyed riding and being part of a great organisation. But something was amiss. Over the winter months I’d joined in with the fun of being one of the lads, but had been uninterested in some of the activities Jamie, Josh and Dean were getting up to while out on the town, mostly involving girls. I’d started to think quite a bit about one of the guys, after hearing a rumour about him apparently involving some gay men’s magazines that were spotted in his room. Once I’d heard the rumour, I realised that my interest in him was more than just the usual curiosity. Those feelings I’d hoped were just part of a teenage stage hadn’t actually gone anywhere. Of course they hadn’t. I was fed up of pretending not to feel a certain way. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to or where to look for help. But with so much work to do preparing to finish riding school, I just couldn’t deal with it all. I continued on and attempted to pick myself up. But it wouldn’t be long before everything came to a head.
I rarely slept for the entire month of kit ride. I was just too busy ensuring my kit was immaculate enough. My jackboots, breastplate, state helmet and my white leather buckskins had to gleam for the morning inspections. I also had my own horse, Agincourt, to care for and keep in pristine condition.
Soldiers had been broken during kit ride and we’d all been told the horror stories from the past. The equipment we were using was so expensive everybody was told to take out private insurance , just in case a sword was stolen or lost.
One of the early stories passed onto us in the bar at Knightsbridge was about a young lad who, a year before, somehow lost his state helmet, sword and scabbard and even his red plume while trying to get ready for the following morning’s inspection. He didn’t raise the alarm and report the loss; without insurance he knew he’d be met with a bill which would run into the thousands. Instead, he decided to throw himself out of theseventh-floor window in an effort to make all his problems go away. How could things possibly get that bad? How could things be
allowed
to get that bad?
We heard lots of awful stories like that. I often wondered whether they were just tall tales from the older boys, trying to scare us kids. These days I laugh at some of them although I can vouch for a lot of them, too. I’ve told stories myself to the younger lads who are new to the game which I’m sure are probably just as intimidating.
At the end of each week of the kit ride, a large formal inspection took place on the regimental square, each more important than the last. The first of these hurdles was an inspection by the kit ride officer, a junior officer in the regiment who was administratively in charge of us while in kit ride. We sailed through his inspection and he gave us the nod to progress through to the second week, at the end of which would be
Similar Books
