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Chapter 3
MOBILISATION DAY
16th June 2003
The day has arrived and my bags are packed. I took the kids to school this morning, walking the short distance to their primary school, fighting the tears all the way trying not to get upset in front of the children, and doing my best to assure them that it would be OK. I took no chances and chose to wear sunglasses to cover my eyes. As we walked I forced out some conversation, all the time with a great lump in my throat. As we entered the playground I stopped and got down to give Alex and Georgia one last hug. The three of us just held each other for a moment. Alex was the first to break, with his eyes filling up immediately, “I love you Daddy” he said, just as Georgia began to cry, “Will you be back for Christmas Daddy?” she asked.
“I don’t know Princess, whatever you do, please be good for Mommy when I am gone, she will need your help”
I didn’t want to let go, I just held on tight pulling them towards me as I finally broke and began sobbing quietly as the rain began to fall on us. Other parents around us began to move to get out of the rain; I knew one of us had to be the first to move.
With that I stood up and told them to go into school. They walked across the playground to the entrance door of the school looking back and waving every step. They both paused just before the threshold as I waved my arm telling them to go inside. They both turned away wiping their eyes as they entered the school. I looked across the playground to see other parents dropping their kids off and just giving them a peck on the cheek, they will be back here at 3.15 this afternoon. I don’t know when or more importantly…if I will be back. Luke and Jack, two of Alex’s mates had just been dropped off by their mum Tina, when she saw me standing looking at an empty playground, she knew what was happening today and simply said “Good luck”. We both walked back down the school drive together but I couldn’t speak.
I returned home and prepared to drop Ashleigh off at her school in the next village by car.
Ashleigh, my eldest daughter, waited for a while once she got out of the car, trying to give herself a bit of time for her eyes to clear before entering the hostile and unforgiving territory of the comprehensive school playground. This morning was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and was very upsetting for us all.
Kerry and I hardly spoke as we drove to Nottingham, both putting on a brave face, not knowing what else to say and trying to keep the bit of conversation we did have upbeat so that we didn’t set each other off. I fought back the idea of leaving her a copy of ‘Bravo Two Zero’ to read just to put her mind at rest; maybe she wouldn’t see the irony of that gesture. We pulled through the gates of the barracks and followed the signs to the reception area. I hauled my kit out of the car and after a short goodbye, moved into the building to check in, I didn’t want to make it any harder for either of us when saying goodbye, especially when you have no idea how long you would be apart. For a fleeting moment it crossed my mind that I may never see her again. I chose not to mention that either, I just kissed her for the last time and quickly moved into the building drying my eyes as I walked into the vast reception area. I began looking around in the hope that I would recognise someone, to my surprise, I didn’t recognise a single person. This series of vast buildings formed part of a former munitions factory during the two World Wars and has since been used for a variety of other military uses ever since, with this section being totally refurbished over the last couple of years to form a mobilisation centre for reservists and TA personnel.
As soon as I walked through the great roller shutter door, a Corporal, with his kit immaculately pressed and wearing a badge with his name on, greeted me with his well-rehearsed patter.
“Dump yer kit over there, label it up using these tags, take all your documentation including your I.D. card and passport with you and move over to that cell over there and sit down and wait your turn to be swiped into the system”
By the time he got to the end of his little speech, that, judging by the speed he threw it out, had already said it at least a thousand times over the last few months already, I had forgotten the first bit about where to go and what to do, so, trying not to appear too much of an idiot, I moved very slowly hoping that he would throw me another lifeline. Luckily someone else came in right behind me… saving me the embarrassment of asking as he pressed play in his head and repeated the whole thing again for his benefit, this time I got the gist of it and moved all my kit into the designated area. It’s amazing how much kit you end up taking, including my large Bergen full of green kit, sleep system and webbing plus a small suitcase full of civilian clothes. It’s a difficult thing to try and pack for six months when you haven’t got a clue what you will need.
I cautiously sat down waiting my turn,
“NEXT” shouted the clerk sitting at a long desk with a face pitched somewhere between very stern and bored out of his mind. He then proceeded to slap his hand on the top of each pile of papers as he set off into his little speech:-
“You need to take one of them, one of them, one of them and one of them, take one of these address label sheets, stick one of these bar codes on the front of each one of those forms, start filling them in now and make sure they are all completed and brought with you to the first session tomorrow morning, put this badge on and wear it at all times from now on then move into the next cell,………………NEXT…….”
He got the same blank look as I gave his mate a few minutes earlier. I collected my rainforest and moved into the next area of this former factory passing through the neatly painted wooden partitioning screens that formed the walls for the variety of cells that awaited me. On went the numbered badge, for the next three days I would be in group seven. I found an empty desk, sat down and paused for a moment wondering where to start. Around me were around thirty other mobilised TA soldiers that had arrived before me and were mostly a mix of people either staring around aimlessly, or trying to see what the next person was putting for some of the more ambiguous questions asked for,
“What have you put for the Inland Revenue Question about your employers details? Is that the MOD or my civilian employer” asked one guy who sat down next to me, by his soft Edinburgh accent and tweed blazer I guessed that he was a young officer with one of the Scottish infantry regiments. By now I was getting good at the blank, ‘I haven’t got a clue’ look, he got that as his answer. It all reminded me of starting primary school, surrounded by strange faces and being asked questions that I didn’t have a clue to the answers, all mixed in with a sense of nervous excitement, not knowing exactly what was about to happen. After about fifteen minutes of form filling came the call for groups six, seven, eight and nine to move to the main conference cell for the first of many briefings. They started with the, ‘why we were here’ brief, followed by the ‘what to expect over the next three days’ brief, each time a different person came to the lectern to punch his way through something that was quite obviously very well rehearsed. The strangest thing of all was when we moved into the session for making a will. This is the first time that you get the hard shock that someone here may not be coming back, it’s all very clinical and matter of fact in a way that avoids emotion totally and just gets on with it. We were all handed yet another form and a small brown envelope that was passed from front to back of the room. Then, in unison and precision, over seventy people all made a will together, following the instructions shown on the big screen in front and getting the total stranger sat next to you to witness your signature. It was then placed in the brown envelope, and under where it said ‘TO BE OPENED IN THE EVENT OF DEATH’ you put your name and number on it and that was that. I guessed that this was to be the first of many reminders over the next few weeks that where we were going was not going to be pleasant.
I have come to the end of my first day and after being shown to my temporary accommodation, I lay awake for a while to reflect. So much has happened in my life over the last few weeks. Only six weeks earlier my father was rushed into hospital having had a stroke. This caused untold stress to me to make a decision about my immediate future. My father has always been a strong man, who keeps his feelings very close to his chest, he never said how much stress he was under from worrying about me going, but I knew that no matter how much I tried to put his mind at ease, he would still worry. I called him earlier to let him know what was happening, I told him, “Dad, don’t be worried... be proud” I am not sure what he said exactly as he still hasn’t got his speech back properly yet, but it sounded like he will still worry no matter what. When I asked him a few weeks earlier not to worry he told me “You will understand one day when it happens to Alex” I knew he was right.
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