Not Just Numbers.
“S8176606 – Sir!” Indelibly printed on the aging brain cells. Not needed in any practical sense since 1992 but can be recalled faster than a greyhound out of the stalls. But it was so much more; they were only like little flags which identified the individuals to whom they were attached.
Any military service, in my case the Royal Air Force, has many ‘core values’ to use modern parlance. Friendship, camaraderie, a bond like an invisible thread, that ‘in it together’ mantra is, to me, what makes it all work; the glue which binds thousands of very different individuals. People might say you didn’t have a choice who you were with and that is a truth. With only a few exceptions during my fourteen years, I came, by and large, to adapt, work out and develop friendships from total strangers. Some were instant, some only realised after a length of time.
I’m a self-labelled ‘nomad’ and given how much I had already moved around before I joined in 1978, it was definitely a bonus because friendship is an absolute nebulous concept. When the dictionary definitions are put to one side, there is no literal shape or form which defines it. I could be friends within twenty minutes, spend a couple of weeks with that person and then, with the nature of the work, never see or hear from them again. Others I have known for more than forty years, still pop up on social media with varying regularity or the once a year Christmas card. It takes little, a scene, a voice, a location, a piece of news to bring things back with startling clarity; a smile happy, or sad, joy or regret like being unexpectedly shoved under an ice-cold shower. A couple of months ago, someone I hadn’t seen since 1980 who completely by chance, heard my name during a meeting he was having. He thought it must be me, found out, contacted me and organised a coffee. Within a minute, four decades had been folded up and put in drawer. It wasn’t looking back. It was going back, as if we had been transported in time.
There is another common perception, which is because of the nature and danger of being in the military one shouldn’t get too friendly. I argue the opposite. That constant, possible or real, threat means that friendships should be forged and cherished, even after one has lost touch. I remember my best friend of several years so clearly because of that. It was curtailed. A letter arrived when I was on active operations. It was only two-sides, the writing weak, pleasure rapidly turning to grief. He was in the UK, mid-thirties and had six weeks to live. I had no chance to see him or be at the funeral. I remember him at my wedding, too shy to ask my cousin, one of our bridesmaids, to go out with him. The six evenings a week, hammering out three mile runs around Lossiemouth in under eighteen minutes, though more than seventeen meant it hadn’t been the best. The mad-monk (him) and 17th century priest (me) fancy dress. The steely eyed-killer leaping around like a frightened rabbit on the top of a missile trolley on detachment in Florida, because there was a snake on it. That’s when I found out he was terrified of them! If I had stayed distant, not made friends, those memories, which don’t need photographs, wouldn’t be the same.
So that is another aspect with friends in communities. It is not the sole preserve of the military, there are many organisations whose members will feel and understand the same. It is situational friendship, frequently rooted in the bizarre, or the needs must, and often sparked by that most precious of military commodities - KOBO (Keep On Bashing On) and the humour invariably attached to it. These moments can be the most transient and starkly remembered of all. On a promotion course; wet through, cold, soggy clay making every step feel like a ball and chain attached, hungry, tired and moving on every six hours. One of the staff approached. “Have you all got your magazines, clean and dry?” He meant the ones for the rifles. One of the airmen in my section pulled out a copy of Playboy with a big grin. It lifted morale, pulled the section tighter and made every step of the next mile in the rain lighter. That was always the secret; finding something humorous or funny, no matter the circumstance.
Maybe, that is the other secret ingredient. When the community itself is ‘the friend’. Of course, within it there are any number of others; those that you worked with, or socialised. Small groups testing and checking a live-armed aircraft before it flies a mission, or brought together groups for parades. Encompassing all, however, is the belief that that community, often described as the military family, will look after you and much more than that, will actually understand you. Sadly, it is not always the case but, in the main, it remains true. Do I miss it, over thirty years on? Of course I do, that kind of career is intrinsically meshed into the heart, mind and soul. As soon as you meet someone else, even transiently, and you find out they have also been in the military it is like an instant friendship. The ice is broken, both knowing that there will be a certain mindset, sense of humour, and ways of doing things.
That brings me to my final thought. This year I was fortunate enough to attend the 80th VE Day concert in the Usher Hall, readily admitting that tears sometimes welled the eyes. It wasn’t community friendship present, those attending that night or even in one’s own past. As the last post played, I was in a community of friendship which extended to and from those long before I was born and whom I would never meet.