Free Out in the Army: My Life as a Gay Soldier by James Wharton Page A

a favour.
    While I was taking Agincourt’s kit off and feeding him his breakfast, some of the older lads in 2 Troop – to which I belonged – asked me if it was true what they’d heard. I wasn’t sure how to handle this sort of question and I’m grateful to the troop corporal who overhead and told the boys to leave me alone and continue on with their work. But that corporal wasn’t there all day and, though I hadn’t been beaten up yet, which a little bit of me expected on that Monday morning, I was anxious about any further reaction. Was this how it would be forever, now? Would my sexuality be the only thing people would think about when they heard my name? I really worried that my entry to the regiment would be completely marred by this recent run of events.
    As I was walking along the square to the lift, somebody I didn’t know opened his window from many floors above and shouted, ‘Hey! Are you the gay guy?’
    The whole of the barracks, and probably half of west London, heard his shout. I felt crushed by the audacity of his question. The lad in question, known as Pikey, had been at Knightsbridge for some time and was someone I knew harboured a lot of influence among the lads. If he was picking on me, everybody would pick on me. By the time I’d got out of the elevator and into my room, I’d been asked five times if the rumours were true. I collapsed on my bed trying to make sense of it all. How should I respond?
    And then there came a knock at my door.
    On opening, I found one of the older lads from my troop stood holding two cups of coffee.
    ‘Alright? Can I come in?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m Faulkner. I’m in your troop!’ Faulkner handed me a coffee as he sat and made himself comfortable.
    Faulkner, whose first name was Michael and who was originally from Wimbledon, had a year’s experience on me, having left Harrogate just before I’d arrived. He’d settled well into the regiment and was a soldier with a reputation for high standards. I’d already eyed him up as a bit of a role model within the Blues and Royals, and now here he was sat in my room.
    He’d heard the rumours like everyone else and had taken it upon himself to come and talk to me. I was touched by his early concern. He asked me if it was true what he was hearing in the stables. Once I’d confirmed it, he told me to admit it to the lads who were asking.
    ‘They’re only asking because they’re interested. It’s probably new to a lot of them. No one will pick on you if you just tell them the truth.’
    I told him how the events of the morning had played out, andeven about Pikey shouting down to the square from the highs of the barrack building, but he squashed all my concerns and gave me a pat on the back. His words struck a resounding chord and I decided to follow his advice.
    I hadn’t really made any new friends since getting back to Knightsbridge. Like everywhere, it took time to become integrated . Dean had been set to work in 1 Troop and Josh was sent to 3 Troop. Jamie and I had been kept together, which was something I was delighted about. He had a lot of life experience and a very natural ability to turn any potentially difficult situation on its head. While the regiment was going about its business we still had to finish our kit ride training; we just didn’t have the time to mix with our new colleagues. When Faulkner brought himself into my life and my problems that Monday morning, checking I was OK and offering support, I was genuinely grateful. I really liked him and I’ll never forget his early thoughtfulness.
    I returned to work and started telling the many curious soldiers that yes, I was the gay guy, to which most replied ‘Cool!’ with surprised expressions plastered on their faces.
    Week three passed by and, with the added endless questions from the lads – ‘When did you find out you were gay?’ ‘Have you ever slept with a woman?’ – as well as the dreaded adjutant’s inspection on