Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (26 page)

‘Well, you’ve heard ours,’ I said, turning to Harry. ‘What about you? When did you pop your cherry?’

Harry told us both an extraordinary tale about what exactly happened in the lead-up to the first time he’d had sex. It was fascinating. Afterwards, I considered what diverse backgrounds the three of us had, but how we’d all completely accepted the differences in our lives and shared our stories. Dan’s was
interesting
because of the environment he was raised in; mine was
different
as it involved both boys and girls, and Harry’s was unique simply because he was born into the royal family. Class went out of the window, as did upbringing and sexuality. While we shared our personal stories, the three of us leaned on an unspoken pillar of respect that bonded us as a team. It was incredible.

The exercise team resurrected our vehicle overnight and at six the following morning we were ready to embark on our
penultimate
day of hunting. We had no idea if we still held the lead on the kill front, but we desperately wanted to take the crown upon the call of ‘end-ex’ the following day. The usual
excitement
surrounding ‘end-ex’ was fairly insignificant to me on this occasion; I knew it would mark the end of mine and Harry’s time working together.

The day started off well. I’d consciously made an effort to rid myself of my repeated mistake behind the gun. Our enemy were as professional as they’d been throughout – so, not very – and we tallied our way through the morning.

After one such battle, Harry decided we could have a break and I dropped into the turret to make the three of us coffee, using the boiling vessel stored inconveniently in the corner. Harry’s
thermal mug was bright orange and I joked that it matched his hair.

Over the radio, while enjoying the lull in activity, the three of us heard a call for help. Harry answered, stating our position. The call was for medical assistance after a crash of some sort.

‘They need a medic!’

‘I’m a team medic if that’s any help?’ I returned.

A team medic was a soldier who wasn’t a professional medic but trained as much as possible to step up into the medic role if the situation ever called for it. They were introduced for the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts as a way to deal with the endless streams of casualties and the fairly small number of ‘proper’ medics on hand at the time.

‘I’ve got a team medic here, we’re 2 km away from you,’ Harry told the worried person over the radio.

Suddenly we had our green flag flying and were on our way to help somebody. The pair of us mentioned that it was far from what we’d have wanted, but ultimately the right thing to do. We got to the stricken vehicle and spent about thirty minutes with them, giving what immediate care I could. Soon enough a safety vehicle came and took the injured guy, and his crew, away.

The day was over not so long after. The battle had purposely ended early to give everyone the chance to rest ahead of the final push. Harry had been briefed and found that we were completely level pegging with the Tank Regiment call sign and the
competition
for Top Gun was going to run right to the end.

The vehicle in question, our nemesis in the running for the Top Gun award, parked right up next to us that night. It was a nice opportunity to talk with the guys from the Royal Tank Regiment. They teased that we might as well forget about winning the prize and we returned with, as expected, like-for-like comment. I had somewhat forgotten about the status of our crew with our very
special commander, but seeing the jubilant faces on the visiting Royal Tank Regiment crew’s faces, at once I was aware of our situation again. I wondered if Harry knew how important and proud a moment it was for people to see him and serve with him? Harry’s – and William’s – story was one the whole nation had been caught up in. Every single person in the country had a vested interest in their livelihood. We’d all seen them grow up on our screens, in our papers, and to suddenly be thrown into the middle of that whirlwind of a life was simply remarkable.

Our final day started early. We were to lie in ambush awaiting the passing of the enemy troops. They appeared right on time and we opened up on them, claiming an easy three kills in the process. We dampened our own celebrations, knowing that our rival call sign would have probably had the same success from their vantage point. A little after our ambush we carried on the hunting game and took out another two vehicles. I imagined the pride of marching out and collecting our medal. It was my first time in the turret and I might be awarded from the start.

Out of absolutely nowhere, our sirens started to sound and our lights began to flash. We’d been hit. I dropped down into the turret to read the display screen. We’d been destroyed. Our fight was over. I stood back up and saw Harry swearing at someone. A sneaky enemy Challenger Two tank had crept up on us from behind a hill. It took one shot. Our running for Top Gun was over. We were in the hands of the gods as far as victory was concerned.

In an incredible turn of events, our rival vehicle drove straight into our area and entered a battle with a group of infantry soldiers who were heavily armed with anti-tank weapons. The three of us sat on our doomed vehicle and watched as they drove right into the path of the waiting troops. In a flash, they’d been destroyed.

From the distance we could see their commander throw his
headset off. He was having a right go at his gunner, who just stood there looking sheepish. Harry and I laughed. They reversed and pulled up next to us.

‘How many kills did you get?’ the young commander shouted over. I was about to reply with the truth, but Harry beat me to it.

‘About twelve!’ The face on the commander dropped. They drove off and settled in the spot they’d been destroyed in. Defeated, the commander displayed his green flag.

‘I’m not letting on to those cunts!’ Harry said afterwards, a grin on his face.

Shortly after, the ‘good guys’ had defeated all of us ‘baddies’. The war was over. End-ex!

We had a long journey back to Suffield, which took about two hours. Nobody spoke about the result; we were left brewing for the entire journey. Upon finally reaching our hangar, Harry dashed away to sniff out a potential result, leaving Dan and me to unpack our kit and put the vehicle to bed. He returned some time later, expressionless.

‘Well… Did you learn anything?’

‘WE GOT IT!’

The three of us jumped up and down with joy. It was like winning the FA Cup. I couldn’t believe it. Trooper Wharton: Top Gun at the first attempt. I put it down to the winning
combination
of a prince and a commoner from North Wales.

Danny and Scoffy were both chuffed for us. Danny bought lots of drinks at the bar that night and referred to me as ‘Top Gun’ constantly. I was over the moon.

The following day, the entire group of enemy troops was pulled together. The colonel from the infantry regiment wanted to say a few words about the exercise and, of course, present me with my Top Gun award. I was extra smart that day and walked with a spring in my step.

All 200 of us formed up. Harry, Dan and I stood together, so the three of us could lap up praise when the right moment came. The colonel began with the usual spiel about effort and congratulated us all for performing well throughout. Then it was on to the prize.

‘The crew with the most kills has performed far better than anyone ever expected. They showed grit and determination throughout.’ I was struggling to keep the smug grin off my face. ‘So I’d like the commander of 9.1 to come out and collect this award, Lieutenant Wales!’

Harry sprang to attention and marched out. I couldn’t believe he was being rewarded for my skill behind the gun. Where was the justice? He accepted the award and the entire enemy force applauded. No award for me!

Afterwards, the squadron leader came to congratulate me and patted me on the back. I thanked him but moaned that I’d not received a medal, to which he laughed. ‘That’s how it works, Trooper Wharton. The commander always takes the glory.’

And he was right. It was, of course, Harry’s strong leadership – far stronger than most of the officers I’d ever worked with before – that had got us to the level we were at. From his relatively short experience, I’d learned a hell of a lot about commanding. He’d shown me how to navigate best with a GPS, how to ‘sneak’ around hillsides and land features without exposing the vehicle and, more than anything, he’d shown me how to command with real leadership. Without his motivation and attributes as a boss, undoubtedly we’d not have achieved the Top Gun status we had.

I knew that Lieutenant Wales wasn’t staying with us for our final exercise in Canada, but had to head back to the UK to be a prince again for a while. Throughout our time together in the turret of 9.1, there wasn’t a single moment that I didn’t cherish. I’ll probably never meet him again but I enjoyed every bit of the
exercise with him. I appreciated his openness, the way he spoke with personality on almost anything, the way he almost stripped his royal title off himself every time he entered the turret next to me. Most of all, I admired his kindness. I’ll never forget the four weeks we worked together and the incredible conversations we shared. Today, whenever I see him on TV, I want to tell the person next to me that I ‘knew him once’, but every time I do, I stop myself. The four weeks I spent with him were, of course, professional and part of my duty as a soldier. On leaving the service and moving into the civilian world, the experience lives on in my memories as the single most stand-out period of my decade in the military. I will never forget the time I spent with Prince Harry.

I
returned from Canada on 11 November 2008 to some very pleasant news. Ryan, the mysterious guy from Gay Pride four months earlier, the chap who was in a relationship with a sailor from the Royal Navy, had tracked me down on Facebook and sent me a very nice message. The message was quite short and to the point: He and his boyfriend were no longer an item and he’d very much like to go out for dinner with me. I was thrilled.

Ryan was studying journalism at the University of Winchester, a whole hour away by car from Windsor. Initially I didn’t mind the prospect of driving the distance to meet up with him, but in the weeks that followed, when it became more obvious that we both really liked each other, the driving became quite heavy, day in day out. But, it was certainly worth it. Ryan was the first person I’d been seriously keen on since my short-lived experience with Sammy in southern Iraq over twelve months ago.

We didn’t rush anything, indeed it took two whole months before we made it ‘official’, but with Ryan I found a character with lots of charm and with a lot of love to give.

In March, after Ryan and I had been together for nearly three months, I was pulled into a meeting with some high-ranking
officials within the army, a meeting that would change my future in the military and, to an extent, my life in general.

The army, apparently, just didn’t look gay-friendly enough. Someone, somewhere high up in the chambers of power within the Ministry of Defence, had been put under pressure to make the British Army more appealing to the gay community and, in turn, make it more gay-friendly overall. They wanted my help.

The officers had a plan that involved me talking about my positive experiences as a soldier with the press. To be fair, on the whole, I’d had a reasonably pleasant time, but just in case I was thinking of talking about the time I was beaten up for being gay or my first day in the army when I was told ‘faggots’ wouldn’t be tolerated, I was completely banned from talking about any
negative
experiences I might have had.

The whole thing was billed as being an exercise that would score the army more points in the equality league tables, but the results of the PR work would turn out to be far more significant.

I went along to the offices of
Soldier
, the British Army’s internal magazine, read by every soldier every month, to do an interview and have my picture taken a few times. Like the officers who’d arranged the interview, the journalists there were playing the whole thing quite calmly, suggesting that it might be half a page or, at best, a full page in the middle of the magazine where I’d discuss and explore my experiences.

The afternoon went fine and the questions were pretty general on the face of things. When did you realise you were gay? When did you come out? Has it ever affected your ability to be a soldier? Do you have a boyfriend? Is he a soldier? I answered the
gentleman’s
questions, posed for a few shots and went on my way. I met Ryan after the interview and we both headed off to London to see Britney Spears in concert.

Three weeks went by without a word. Day after day, I
wondered what the article would look like and if anybody would even notice it. Maybe they wouldn’t even run it. The guys at the magazine said it wouldn’t be possible to send me a copy before publication due to time constraints, so I had to just sit patiently until it arrived in camp. Then, all of a sudden, it did.

I walked into the NAAFI to see about thirty soldiers sat around all holding copies of the magazine, which had, to my huge surprise, me on its front cover. I couldn’t believe it. There I was in my ceremonial uniform holding my cap in one arm with the word ‘Pride’ below me.

I grabbed a copy and began flicking through. Three whole pages about me and my life! All the guys were reading it with interest, which was a little too much for me at that point, so I dashed out of there and headed to my room, clutching a copy close to my chest.

The interview was great. It wasn’t unfairly written, which I have to admit was a worry of mine leading up to publication, and the pictures were very professionally done. I very much liked the whole thing, it was just the thought that everyone in the regiment was, at that time, reading it and probably making comments that worried me.

The magazine hadn’t just turned up in Windsor that day, it had been delivered everywhere and the constant text messages and Facebook comments I received reminded me of the fact. It seemed the magazine had been received rather well. More so, at the end of the interview it had a contact number for information, including a plug for London Pride, which was fast approaching. As far as I was concerned, I’d done my bit and, potentially, a few more gay people might find the confidence to be themselves as a result and perhaps even turn up and march at Pride. But it wasn’t to be the end of my role in improving the image of the army.

The day after publication I received a phone call from one of the officers who’d been responsible for the press work. He said
that a lot of newspapers had seen the magazine and that they wanted to interview me. My number was passed on and I spent an entire morning giving interviews to a number of British newspapers.
The Independent
even sent a journalist to the barracks in Windsor to question me.

I was the first openly gay person ever to appear on the cover and within the pages of
Soldier
, a historic publication serving members of the army since the Second World War, and that very fact was what the newspapers were mostly interested in. By the end of the week, my story had been in almost every major newspaper in the country and, all of a sudden, I was of interest to important people and large organisations. The
Daily Mail
, renowned for taking a somewhat right-wing approach to liberal matters, even dubbed me ‘The Poster Boy of Modern Equality’. It was all very flattering.

The attention was surreal and I kept thinking that somewhere, someone who was not in a great place personally, or who was struggling to come to terms with their own sexuality or situation, would read about me, my good-news story, and somehow feel a little better about who they were.

I soon became aware that the publicity had caused a bit of a rift in some areas of the forces community. The Army Rumour Service website, aptly nicknamed ARRSE, became the centre of all things homophobic and hateful.
Soldier
was inundated with negative feedback and, quite frankly, hurtful letters about me and gay people in general. Much to my annoyance,
Soldier
concentrated
on publishing these letters in the issues that followed, rarely mentioning any support that had been given. I could also tell that within my own regiment, the Household Cavalry, the senior echelons were taking a slightly dim view of the barrage of publicity the regiment was receiving as a result of my story. The boys, and the people I was surrounded by day in, day out, thought it was brilliant, but I was aware of some of the comments that
were being made by colonels behind closed doors. The most traditional regiment in the entire world was suddenly in the media for also being the most gay-friendly.

Across the pond in America, much unknown to me at the time, my story had been picked up and repeatedly republished online and in newspapers all over the States. The positive story about me and my service, my frank account of how life had been, although missing some facts that it hadn’t all been easy, was being used to apply pressure on the US government. Bloggers and gay rights campaigners lobbied the Senate to act on ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, using me as their tool. As I became aware of this, I kept thinking about Sammy. I wondered if he’d seen the coverage. A little bit of me fantasised that I’d log onto Facebook and be greeted with an out-of-the-blue message of support from him, but it never came to be. I hoped he was OK and doing well.

All this sudden attention blurred slightly the responsibilities I had as a soldier. Whereas I should have been concentrating on my career, getting up early and being fully involved in my duties within the Household Cavalry, for a little while my life became about representing the army at the right events and talking positively about life as a gay soldier to important people. These events were mostly city-based, with large banks hosting receptions for
cross-industry
experts on equality. This was clearly very new ground for the army, but right among the middle of all those suits, well-paid bankers and politicians was me, often feeling like a fish out of water.

Things with Ryan gradually became strained as the weeks went by. It’s a huge shame, because if both our situations had been just a little different, I’m almost certain we’d have maintained a long and happy relationship. He was extremely busy in his last year of university and, not at all to his discredit, often needed to spend evenings and weekends glued to his laptop typing up dissertations and essays. My new-found fame became quite a distraction too.
It’s a very shaming fact that I now realise I was more interested in wining and dining with people in the City than sitting around a house in the middle of Winchester with the person I was supposed to be in love with.

A month later, in early July, the capital was playing host to Gay Pride once again. I was hugely excited for a repeat of the previous year’s events, of the fun and all the friends I’d made. Incredibly, besides Ryan, I’d not seen any of the people I’d met the previous year since then, so I was keen to pick up where we’d left off and continue our camaraderie and support of each other. I intended to march once again, as did a number of other soldiers who’d made the journey to London. There was a notable increase in the number of soldiers who’d come to take part in the
celebrations
and I realised then how great the impact of the media work I’d been doing for the army had actually been.

The day before the march, on the Friday, senior officials in the Ministry of Defence had arranged a conference about lesbian and gay employees within the services. It was only really attended by civil servants who worked within the MOD, but I had been invited along as a guest.

I was delighted to be there and very much enjoyed hearing the stories of other gay and lesbian people who’d spent a long time in the closet. Their stories resonated with my own and, suddenly, the penny dropped. I realised that gay people, particularly in the
military
, performed better as a result of being accepted for who they really were. I realised that my service could have been enormously different if I’d remained in the closet or if I’d come out and not had the support I’d had from the likes of Dean and Faulkner.

At the end of the conference, before the wine began to pour, the gentleman who was hosting the event, a person who is still a very good friend today, informed the audience that the ‘cover star of
Soldier
magazine’, which he held up high in the air, was sat
among them. He encouraged me to stand up, which I nervously did, and I was met with rapturous applause. I was incredibly moved. Everyone at the conference, most of whom I’d never even met, clapped and cheered. I felt honoured. It underlined again just how much of a difference my article had made.

Pride weekend 2009 was significant. The year before had been a moment for the world to take note and see that there were gay people in the military and that those people mattered; 2009 was all about moving forward, cementing support for each other and realising that change does happen, however gradually.

We marched proudly and partied the night away. It was a hugely successful turn-out and I loved meeting so many new people from across the three services. The peak of the day was watching Lady Gaga, who threw a gig for the gay revellers in Heaven at midnight. It was magical.

On the Sunday, a large group of us met at the lobby of the hotel we were staying in. We had breakfast together and, one by one, people said their goodbyes, heading off to catch trains and coaches back home. There was a fairly sombre feeling in the air as each person left; the idea that it would be another twelve months until we’d all see each other again was quite a depressing thought. Soon there were just a handful of us left and it was almost time for me to say my goodbyes. It occurred to me that, actually, there was nothing stopping us from meeting up again before the next Pride. As the person who lived closest to London, and probably knew London best, I realised that I could simply arrange a gathering of people, to just mix and socialise, with relative ease. All I really needed to do was invite people to the city and go with the flow. It was the moment the Gay Members of the Public Services social group was created.

The following month, as easy as that, a group of gay servicemen and women met up at a central London venue and carried on almost exactly as we’d left off. Sensing the general success of the evening,
I repeated the event the following month, booking a proper space in a well-known gay bar, Ku, in Soho and inviting gay people from other uniformed services. The night went brilliantly and it became clear that such social events had been missing from the gay scene. My group was backed by senior support from the three services, with regular attendees including wing commanders and
lieutenant
colonels. The event still runs today. Though I have passed the management of the social group on, I am extremely proud that I created a regular event that has supported hundreds of gay people across the public services, and has also raised thousands of pounds for a number of charities. It’s almost impossible to feel isolated in the armed services as a gay person today, unlike I did when I first came out, and I’m certain that’s due to the huge level of support on offer to servicemen and women that was created by the
establishment
of the Gay Members of the Public Services monthly social in London. An infantry soldier, higher in rank than me, pulled me aside one evening and thanked me personally for creating a culture where he felt able to be himself. The words struck a very deep chord. I was a trooper, the very bottom of the ladder, and I’d implemented this.