From the other side of the
Fence by Alex Ford I
have been out of the military for just under three months. I am enjoying my work and enjoying my life. I don’t miss the
military life, don’t miss living behind the wire, don’t miss the community of other people who work in the same place as you, living in the same place as you, doing the same things as you. Well, I thought I didn’t… But the other day I drove past RAF Cosford, where I lived and worked as an instructor and that afternoon I felt a sudden pang of pain…
The fence at the edge of the camp was no different from when I was on the other side of it, but it suddenly seemed a million miles high. And thick. As I sat at the traffic lights waiting for the green light, the perimeter changed, in my imagination, from a chain- link fence to a thick high wall. Impassible and impenetrable.
Automatically, I checked my wallet was in my pocket, as I would have, if I was going to get my ID out, as I passed through the gate. But it was pointless. My ID was not there. As I am no longer in the RAF, I have no ID. None, other than a driver’s licence and a couple of bank cards. And my library card.
And I felt empty. I felt alone. As the lights changed I pulled around the corner and sat looking through the fence at the Med Centre, the Dentists. The All Ranks Club. The building I used to work in. Just 50 yards away. 50 yards might as well have been 50 million miles. It was unobtainable, separate, distinct. I saw trainees marching
www.raf-ff.org.uk
about. An instructor parked his car outside the Med Centre and stared through the fence at me. Looked at me and must have wondered why was I staring through at him. Maybe he took a mental note of my description and my car details, thinking of security. A different culture, a different life. I was no longer part of that. I had no right to go on that camp anymore.
And my detachment from the RAF became complete. I am an ex-airman. I am a civilian. I am no longer special like those people in there.
And I missed it. Missed the ability to just go in there, to go to the gym, to just walk around as part of something big. I felt alone. Because you see the RAF, the military, the Armed Forces is about being part of something bigger than just yourself. About being part of something with a history, tradition and meaning that is more than just one person and more indeed than the sum of all of it’s parts. It’s about belonging. Your very identity is given from what you are and what you do.
And I was part of that, but now I am alone. What I stood for once was pride and uniform and honour and comradeship and serving others and putting my own needs behind those of the wider community and the country. But now I am just me.
I might still personally embody those values but the visible symbol of that is now gone. When people looked at me once, they saw a serviceman, but now they just see a person. They might be kind and say veteran, but I am
no longer a serviceman. I have handed that on to the next generation. I can do what I want, go where I want, when I want, think what I want, say what I want, but that is no compensation for the fact I am no longer part of all that.
But then.
I got home. And I realised something. It hit me like a bolt from the blue. It hit me like a four year old running through the dining room to bash into me and hug my leg when I arrived in the house.
I still am part of something bigger than just me. I might miss being part of the RAF, but I still am part of this family. And I am always going to be part of it. It will always be there.
As will the RAF. I might have physically left the RAF. I might no longer have the card that allows me access to a free gym and to free medical prescriptions and to not have to worry about what clothes I was going to wear to work – but I will always be part of the RAF, like I will always be part of my family. I will always have my brothers and sisters – my colleagues. I will always have those who served before me – my parents. And I will always have my children – those who will follow.
Life goes on. And even though I am not in the RAF, it will always be part of me, and the material things that showed I was part of it are just that, material things that tarnish, fade, rust and decay. But my memories will be with me, all around me, inside me, like my family is. And will always be.
Envoy Summer 2013 13
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64