An Angel with a Gun Page 2

  Table number 13 had three very tough, but very smart looking soldiers sitting behind it. I had never seen boots that looked so black or so shiny. They all had tattoos on their arms and I was sure that they must have killed many enemy soldiers. I thought about my granddad killing Germans in the Second World War. I walked up to table number 13. The table was covered with glossy brochures that all had photos of soldiers doing all sorts of things. They were beautiful brochures. I didn’t really know what to say so I just saluted. The soldiers all just looked at each other and I saw one of them put a finger to the side of his head and whirl it around. I had seen people making that sign at me all of my school career. Teachers can be so cruel!

  The soldier with the stripes on his arm ignored the laughter from the other two soldiers.

  “Sit down son” he said, with no emotion.

  I sat down and I was feeling nervous. I thought that this was my first job interview, but I was later told that it actually wasn’t one.

  “What’s your name son?”

  “Steven West, sir.”

  “And why do you want to join the army Steven West?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it, but my careers teachers gave me this card. I’m not allowed to go to any other tables.”

  I looked around the assembly hall and all the other tables looked exciting too. There were policemen, firemen, nurses, men in suits, men in tracksuits, men in boiler suits. All the tables had lovely brochures. I wished that I could have been allowed to go to some of the other tables too.

  “What do you like to do Steven?”

  “Mostly I sit in the cellar.”

  “Do you like sport?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What hobbies have you got?”

  “I haven’t got any really.”

  “Do you like guns?”

  “My granddad was in World War Two.”

  “That will do then son. You can follow in the family tradition. You finish school in July when the summer holidays start. Right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, take some of these brochures home to show mum and dad and next Monday go to the Army Careers office on the High Street. You’ll be able to start basic training at the end of July. Now what’s your date of birth and address Steven West?”

  “My mum is dead. She died when I was ten years old. Does that make any difference to me joining the army?”

  The soldier with the stripes on his arm shook his head.

  I gave him my details and he wrote them down. He got me to sign my details and gathered up a selection of brochures and handed them to me. He gave me a piece of paper with a time to visit the army place on Monday. With my arms full of the colourful brochures and the appointment paper crushed up in my hand I walked out of the assembly hall. We had been told that we could go straight home after we had finished in the assembly hall. I was the first one out of the hall and I walked home feeling a bit excited, but also a bit confused about what had just happened.

  I wasn’t allowed to have a house key so I sat in the front garden and looked at all the brochures while I waited for dad to get home from work. It was a few hours wait. I really liked all the colour photos in the glossy brochures. Everyone was either laughing or gritting their teeth when they had black boot polish on their faces. In the army you seemed to be either competing in sports all over the world or sneaking around in long grass with a rifle, a blackened face and twigs in your hat. It all looked so exciting. I don’t know how my careers teacher knew that this was the career for me, but she was absolutely right. I was practicing marching up and down at the side of the house when dad got home with a packet of fish & chips, which he always did once a week.

  “What are you doing now daft lad?”

  “I’ve joined the army dad.”

  Dad just flicked his head in a short of half nod and unlocked the front door and went inside the house. I gathered up all my army brochures and ran in after him. Dad was unwrapping the newspaper and white paper from the fish & chips. I could smell the fish & chips and the salt and vinegar that were steaming up out of the paper. He always had a carton of mushy peas too. Dad separated the paper into two halves and shared the fish & chips. He always had a bigger share than me, but then again he was older and he had paid for it. He poured the mushy peas over the two meals and I got two forks from the kitchen drawer. We sat at the Formica table and ate the fish supper, which was as delicious as anything I can ever remember eating. I wasn’t allowed to talk at the table and so I had to wait until dad finished eating and just hope that he would ask me about the army job. He made two cups of tea with tea bags in the cup. He put one of them in front of me before he sat down and picked up the army brochures. He looked at all of them for several minutes before he spoke.

  “So you’ve joined the army?”

  “Yes, I think so. I’ve got to go to the army office place on the High Street on Monday and I start in July when the school closes for the summer holiday.”

  “What are you going to do in the army?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I have to march around and do some sports and put boot polish on my face. If there is World War Three then I think they will teach me how to kill the enemy and I’ll be like granddad.”

  Dad shook his head very slowly.

  “You’ll get killed within a year. Somebody will either shoot you or blow you up.”

  I didn’t see anything like that in the brochures and I thought that dad was just being negative. I understood how he was feeling. His only son was going out into the big wide world and he was worried about losing me.

  “Have I got to sign anything?”

  “I don’t know. Can you come with me on Monday?”

  “No lad. I’ll be busy. You can go by yourself.”

  We didn’t talk about the army anymore. Dad took some fig biscuits from out of the tin and went up to his bedroom. I looked at the brochures all weekend. I had decided that I wanted to join the Marines because I liked the inflatable rubber boats and they seemed to carry lots of equipment when they went camping. Not just guns and knives, but compasses, and little cooking tins, torches, all sorts of pouches on their belts. I stuck the photo onto my bedroom wall with tape and went to sleep looking at it. I was going to be a Royal Marine.

  Dad always went to the pub on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon. I didn’t really know what went on in pubs, but my dad liked them. He always came home with stuff. Sometimes it was a bag of bananas or some other fruit. Sometimes it was nice ham, or some eggs or bacon. Sometimes it would be something unusual like razor blades or a pair of shoes. I know that he would drink a lot of beer and get a bit drunk. It always made him love me more. He would come home after the pub and ruffle my hair with his hand and tell me that I was going to be okay. I thought that I was already okay, but my dad knew more about these things than I did. We’d share the ham or whatever he had brought back from the pub and I would always feel very close to him at those times. I loved the weekends.

  It seemed to take forever for Monday to arrive, but at last I was walking into the army recruiting office. It had a large glass window frontage and had posters stuck up on the windows. I thought that they looked fantastic. I recognized the soldier with the Sergeant stripes on his uniform and I waved to him as I walked into the shop. He didn’t wave back, but pushed a chair out with a shiny boot and told me to sit down.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “My mum is dead.”

  “Oh yes! I remember. Where is your dad then?”

  “He is too busy to come.”

  “He has to sign a form for you, but you can take it home and bring it back tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I have decided that I want to join the Royal Marines.”

  “The Royal Marines?”

  “Yes. I like the
black inflatable boats and I like the sea.”

  “Well you can’t join the Marines, because they are full up right now. But you can always transfer later.”

  “Shall I just wait until they have a vacancy?”

  “No. You’re going to be a Sapper.”

  “What’s a sapper?”

  “You’ll build roads, clear minefields, build bridges and airfields. It’s a very important job.”

  “But I can’t do any of that stuff.”

  “The army is going to teach you lad. You will be a Combat Engineer - a soldier who builds things to make everyone else’s job easier. Tanks will be able to cross rivers because of the bridges that you build. Aircraft will be able to land because of the landing strips that you build. Soldiers will be able to advance because you have cleared minefields. Soldiers will sleep safer in their beds because you have built the surrounding defenses. And besides all that you will also be front line and get to kill people.”

  “If there is a war, you mean?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  I liked the sound of being a Sapper or a Combat Engineer. It was such an important job and the army was going to teach me everything that I needed to know. I could always transfer into the Royal Marines when they had a job vacancy for me. I could feel my chest expanding with pride and I felt taller. The sergeant filled in some forms and I signed them. I had to take them home for dad to sign too. He signed them that night without making any comment. I told him about all the things that I would be doing and I explained that I was going to get paid and all about them feeding and housing me and the pension. It all sounded too good to be true, but it was true. I was going to work for the Queen and be one of her soldiers. I had to go along for a two day assessment first. The assessment centre that I had to attend was Whittington Barracks near Lichfield, Staffordshire. I had a list of instructions about what to take and what not to take, so I would be able to complete the assessment. I caught the train down to Lichfield. It was the first time that I had ever been anywhere by myself and I wasn’t even scared.

  I was actually a bit scared by the time I walked into the barracks. Some people were marching around and some other people were shouting at them. I showed the soldiers at the gate my papers and they directed me to where I had to go.

  The place I had to go was a reception area in the dining room, which had been made into a reception area by placing some tables together. Some sergeants sat behind them and standing behind them were some officers. I walked up to the first table and gave my name and address. The sergeant checked his list and ticked my name off and gave me my room number.

  “Sit down.”

  I sat down as quickly as I could.

  “What are you doing, Twat?”

  “I’m sitting down.”

  “Not there on the floor dickhead. Over there on the chairs.”

  It was my first mistake in my army career. I hoped that nobody had noticed, but as I stood up I looked around and I think everyone in the room had witnessed it. Some people were laughing. Others just looked and shook their heads. I went over to the rows of chairs and sat down with my fellow would be soldiers. When nearly all the chairs had been filled up the sergeants and officers stood around talking to each other and checking their lists. They looked at us all sitting in the chairs as if we had committed some crime. Eventually one of the sergeants told us that the commanding officer of the barracks was going to come and talk to us and when he walked into the dining room the sergeant would shout ‘Attention’ and we were all to stand up. A moment later a tall man in an army jumper and an army cap walked in. The sergeant shouted and we all jumped to our feet. I felt a strong hand push me in the back and I went down taking half a dozen people down to the floor with me. The clatter sounded really loud in the big room. We got back to our feet and then the commanding officer told us about the proud history of the army and warned us that only the best would be able to serve, but with hard work and dedication we could become the best. His speech didn’t last very long and he walked out when he had finished. One of the sergeants told everybody to go to their rooms and get changed into their gym kits. He also pointed to the six or seven of us who fell over and told us to stay behind. It was the same sergeant who had told me to sit down and then called me a ‘Dickhead’.

  “Just one question. Why?”

  He didn’t shout, but he sounded very menacing anyway. The rest of the chaps who had been told to stay behind just looked at me and everyone waited for an explanation.

  “Somebody pushed me in the back as I stood up.” I didn’t even think that I sounded convincing.

  “The rest of you get to your rooms and get changed ready for PT. You should already be in the gym. RUN.”

  They all ran away and I wished that I could. The sergeant walked up to me and leaned forward until his nose was a centimetre away from mine. His breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee. I could feel my legs start to shake. His face was so close to mine that I was unable to focus on his eyeballs, but I knew that he was staring at me and I knew that he was angry.

  “I’m watching you. You horrible little man.”

  He hadn’t shouted, in fact he said it quite quietly, but it still sounded menacing.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I was hoping that my day was going to get better, but I didn’t actually know how to make it better.

  “Go to your room and get your PT kit on and you had better be in the gymnasium before I am. MOVE!”

  I ran as quickly as I could and passed all the other lads who were already changed and jogging the other way towards the gym. I didn’t know which one of them pushed me over, but they all looked guilty and they all laughed as they jogged past me.

  My day got worse. The sergeant was in the gym before me and I spent the next hour running, jumping, climbing ropes and wall bars, before we all went on a cross country run for another two hours. Then we had an hour to eat, shower and change before sitting in a classroom all afternoon to complete tests. They were mostly multi choice type questions, but I’m not convinced that the choice of four answers always included the correct answer. We also had to write one full page of 500 words about our best ever day. I didn’t think that I had had my best ever day yet at that time so I struggled after writing my name and the title. After the classroom we all went swimming. Well, the ones who could swim did. I was with the group who couldn’t swim and we had to do exercises in the shallow end. The second day was pretty much the same, but at the end of the day we all had to go into an office one by one to meet an army captain named Captain Trollop. He was seated behind a rather unremarkable desk in a small office that overlooked the parade square. Sitting on each side of him was a sergeant. All the people who had been for assessment had a buff coloured folder with their name on it and these were in a pile on the captain’s desk. Another sergeant told us each in turn, before we went into the office, to go in and stand to attention until we were told to sit down. We were told not to salute because we were not soldiers.

  When it was my turn I marched in and stood to attention, but then in a panic, I saluted. The captain showed no emotion, but at least he didn’t look angry.

  “Sit down please Mr. West.”

  I had only ever heard people calling my dad ‘Mr. West’. I suddenly realized that I was a grown up now.

  “Sit down on the chair, not on the floor” added the sergeant, who didn’t like me very much.

  The captain had my file opened on the desk in front of him. He read through it.

  “Thank you for coming along to the two day assessment Mr. West. I’m afraid you have been unsuccessful on this occasion. At this point I would normally give you some feedback and give you advice on what areas that you would need to improve on to pass a future assessment. In your case I’m afraid that I cannot do this. I do not believe that you have the capabilities to bec
ome a soldier.”

  “My granddad was a soldier and my careers teacher told me to join the army. I don’t know what else I can do now sir.”

  “That’s all. You can go now, West” said the sergeant.

  “Actually, Mr. West, I might have something for you. My brother in law is the general manager at a plastic mouldings factory near where you live. He happened to tell me that they have a vacancy. I have given him your details and he is expecting you.”

  The captain scribbled down the details on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

  “I am aware Mr. West that your efforts here were somewhat sabotaged by your classmates. But even so, I do not believe that your future is in the army.”

  I took my piece of paper and collected my bag and left the barracks and my army career behind me.

  I started working in the plastic mouldings factory when I left school at 16 years of age. Most of the people working there seemed quite old to me, but they were all very nice. They played a lot of practical jokes on me of course, but that was just factory humour - like the time they tied me to an old crane chain and hung me over the side of the factory. The actual work wasn’t too hard, but it was hot and the fumes were toxic and made my clothes, hair and skin smell like glue. I was happy working at the factory. I made a lot of friends and I had a routine. Every day was the same which felt sort of safe. I got up at the same time. I arrived at work at the same time. I had my cheese & onion sandwiches at the same time sitting at the same table in the canteen. I left to go home at the same time and I watched the same TV programmes. And I was earning a wage!