Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier (6 page)

Riding school was full of amusing events like that. As awful as it sounds, there was something very funny about seeing one of your mates being thrown out of the saddle and crashing to the
ground or into the wall with a loud thud. I saw one soldier break his leg on one such fall and even with the horrific screams of pain coming from the man’s mouth, some of the boys still atop giggled in the commotion. I put it down to a nervous thing. We were all quite close to injury and some suffered incredibly; the only thing to do was laugh. If you didn’t laugh, you’d cry with fear.

Drinking was becoming the norm for most of us in the evenings. We’d finish in the stables at about 4 p.m., clean
whatever
kit was needed for the following morning and then head out to the nearby town centre of Windsor for food and drinks at about 7 p.m. Most of us were still underage, but our eighteenth birthdays were each drawing closer. The exception to this was Jamie, of course. I felt a bit sorry for him, being twenty-five and only having a bunch of seventeen-year-olds to hang around with. He was the same age as most of the corporals set above us. He was even older than Tim, who, quite against the rules, would join us for drinks most evenings. How we used to stay out to the early hours and then get up to ride horses with very little sleep is beyond me.

In November, the training wing was tasked to provide a dismounted guard at Windsor Castle for the state banquet celebrating the Entente Cordiale, marking a hundred years of Anglo-French relations. We rehearsed long for this exciting role and spent many hours making our boots shiny.

The event would happen on the same day as the State Opening of Parliament at which we were also tasked to provide a ‘
staircase
party’, lining the stairs at the Sovereign’s Entrance for the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh to walk up before Her Majesty donned the Imperial State Crown and robes. Again, there were many rehearsals involved for the role, and many an afternoon was spent at the Palace of Westminster in the days leading up to the Queen’s Speech. Soon, the busy period was forgotten about
completely as an immense feeling of anticipation shot around us all. This was our first attempt at being professional Household Cavalrymen.

The day before, we carried out a full rehearsal of both the State Opening of Parliament and the Entente Cordiale
celebration
. It went perfectly and the excitement was barely containable among us boys. After the practice, we were treated to a
behind-the
-scenes tour of both the Houses of Commons and Lords. It was a real treat and I sat in the Prime Minister’s seat while our host wasn’t looking, which Dean found rather amusing.

We had to get from the Sovereign’s staircase at Westminster to the entrance of Windsor Castle within a short space of time, something that would prove difficult in the West End and along the M4 at rush hour on a Thursday afternoon. The
solution
was simple: we would be provided with a police escort and rushed through the busy streets and along the motorway back to Windsor. Things were just getting better and better.

I rang home and told Mum of my position on the stairs so she could spot me on the telly easily. The whole family was watching and recording the moment to keep forever.

The day finally arrived. I figured that if the events of the day didn’t go well, or if for any reason I didn’t enjoy what was being asked of me, I might as well resign and think of something else to do. The pressure that went with being inspected to such a high standard, before being placed in front of the Queen’s eyes, was really concerning. Nobody wanted to fall at this first post.
Turn-out
and smartness was supposed to be my bread and butter as a cavalryman. The Queen was going to pass by me and look me square in the eye. I needed to keep cool and calm. Failure was not an option.

We dressed ourselves in the uniform we’d spent the previous weeks preparing. An officer I’d never seen before inspected every
inch of us. The majority of us passed with flying colours; some of us, as was often the case, failed at the early hurdles and found themselves in trouble. Some didn’t have their boots shiny enough; others had forgotten to shine a piece of hidden brass. Everything was expected to be immaculate.

The rest of the regiment was being inspected on the main square while we made our way over to the waiting coach that would take us to Westminster. The regiment would leave after us and make its way to Buckingham Palace to collect Her Majesty. Then they’d escort her to the Sovereign’s Entrance where she would disembark her state coach and walk up the steps to the robing room, passing me on the way. The BBC were capturing every moment of the occasion and any mistakes would be
highlighted
by the commentators amassed in a TV studio somewhere.

I was in position thirty minutes before the Queen was due to arrive. All I had to do was stand perfectly still on my step, looking ahead at the Life Guard, in his sharp red tunic, standing
opposite
me across the staircase. The Life Guards were one half of the Household Cavalry and were formed a year before us in 1660. Because of that fact, they were the senior regiment of the British Army. The clock ticked away as my thoughts drifted to what was about to happen. What would the Queen look like this close? What would she smell like? Would she stop and talk to me?

A fanfare of trumpets burst into life and a hundred horses could be heard trotting along the concrete outside. In an instant the trumpets and horses were silenced. I couldn’t help but picture what was going on just outside: the sound of a carriage door closing; the mutterings of an elderly duke to his dear wife; the sound of the carriage now leaving the entrance to this incredible edifice. The Queen was about to enter the building. I imagined the royal standard flying above Westminster Palace, customary to the arrival of the monarch.

‘Household Cavalry… Royal salute. Carry swords!’ This was the order we’d all been waiting for. My arm shifted instinctively and my sword bolted upright. From the corner of my eye I began to make out the small figure of Her Majesty ascending the
staircase
, the Duke of Edinburgh in his formal naval uniform holding on to her arm as she walked. Every single one of us grew an extra six inches taller with the company we now found ourselves in. My heartbeat accelerated and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The Queen looked amazing. More amazing than I’d ever seen her on TV. She moved herself elegantly and with purpose, taking in all that was going on around her. I felt her eyes drift over me and my uniform. I couldn’t help but watch her as she went, enjoying every millisecond of my time with her. These were my few precious moments with the Queen. I was proud to my inner being and I wanted the experience to last forever. Then she passed by and made her way into the robing rooms to don the state robes and take the crown on her head.

Within forty minutes, the Queen had addressed her Parliament and was ready to head back to Buckingham Palace. The boys outside would deal with that. Before that, however, I had the privilege of standing bold while Her Majesty walked down the stairs and out to her waiting carriage once again.

On the return trip down the stairs, the Queen passed by more quickly. I suppose it was ‘job done’ and she was now looking forward to lunch back at the palace. I enjoyed the few seconds when she passed me by and I wondered when I’d next be so close. Would it be later on that day at the French celebration at Windsor Castle?

Within minutes the Queen had gone, followed soon after by the crown jewels, which would make their way back to the Tower of London under close guard. We were marched off the staircase
and out to our waiting coach. It was full speed ahead to Windsor Castle with blues and twos.

I’ve lived in west London for some years now, but never have I been able to get to the M4 without stopping at a traffic light or some arrogant taxi driver pulling out in front of me. That afternoon, with our flashing blue-light escort made up of two cars and what seemed like endless motorbikes, we set off from Parliament Square and didn’t come to a halt at all for the thirty or so miles to Windsor Castle. It was crazy. I most enjoyed
looking
at the baffled faces of onlookers as they saw us go. Who was in that coach?

When we arrived at the castle I was surprised to see a
medium-sized
anti-French protest going on outside the gates. What were they protesting about? We took up our positions in earnest as somebody came around and touched up our brasses. I stood at the top of the steps next to the main entrance to the area of the castle where the state dinner was being hosted by the Queen. I noticed early on that there were film crews capturing the event from within the castle walls. I overhead one of the cameramen say it was for a BBC project. Thoughts of TV stardom entered my tired head. I’d been wearing full state kit for some hours and my body ached.

It was dark with rain falling heavily as guests began to arrive. Many cars pulled up opposite to where I was positioned and important people disembarked, most of whom I didn’t recognise. Suddenly, another blacked-out saloon pulled up and out of it came Arsène Wenger. Stood there in the pouring rain this
celebrity
sighting raised my spirits again.

More cars arrived and people made their way into the castle from the pouring rain. Then I noticed flashing blue lights on the front of a car as it entered the centre quadrangle of the castle grounds. When it pulled up opposite me, a very smart Tony Blair
stepped out of the vehicle. He dashed up the steps and stood next to me, trying to shelter from the downpour while he waited for his wife Cherie, who I could see was putting a final touch of lipstick on in the back of the car.

‘Good evening,’ he said to me. ‘Terrible weather!’

It wasn’t just a slight shower, the rain was throwing it down, and I’m sure the Prime Minister felt very sorry for me standing there soaked to my skin.

‘Good evening, Prime Minister’ were the only words that came into my head and with them the pair walked past me and into the castle. Unbelievable. I had held a conversation, albeit a brief one, with the Prime Minister. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t wait to tell Mum on the phone.

The guests were to enjoy a full royal banquet in the presence of the Queen and both Prime Minister Blair and President Chirac. We, meanwhile, simply got back onto our coach and returned to the barracks, which was only five minutes away, without any supper waiting for us.

In bed that night I considered just how incredible the day had been. From putting on the kit for our first official occasion to standing on the staircase and catching that amazing first glimpse of our Queen. The excitement of the police escort to Windsor and the surprise of having the briefest of conversations with the Prime Minister. These kinds of things didn’t happen to people like me. I wanted to tell the world and relish the feeling of euphoria for as long as possible, but there wasn’t time. The next morning we were back at the riding school, though there would be plenty more opportunities to mingle with the royals in future. One thing was very clear though: I had loved every minute. I was certain I’d made the right choice. The Household Cavalry was definitely for me.

The nights we spent in Windsor over the winter months were some of the greatest of my life. The entire ride would go out on a Friday to the hotel opposite Windsor Castle, which held weekly karaoke nights. Jamie, Josh and I would sing week in, week out, culminating the evening with a rendition of ‘California Dreamin”. Josh always took the lead.

Christmas was on us soon enough and with it my eighteenth birthday on New Year’s Day. My three friends took me out and we drank the night away in some dodgy bar in Slough. What an eighteenth! The four of us had certainly become close over the winter months, Dean, Josh, Jamie and me. The variety of
experiences
we faced together drew us closer, and this time I allowed myself to get attached because we’d be together in the regiment for the long term. Warren had drifted away from Dean and me slightly, for no other reason than he’d 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 really
enjoyed 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.