BRITISH ARMY COMBAT MEDIC VETERAN

How it started.

My name is John Martin, I am a retired soldier with 21 years service and 6 tours of duty of various locations across the world under my belt. I had a career of peaks and troughs with blood, sweat, toil and tears, that lead me from the relative paradise of my home town to a world of various adventures and misadventures. 

Yours Truly: Op Herrick 10 (2009)

I served as a Combat Medical Technician (CMT) in the Royal Army Medical Corps, a job role I really enjoyed, particularly when looking after people... Sometimes in the strangest of places: This is my story. 

As a boy, I always felt a little out of place around my peers, I never really got on with other kids at school, I was more tolerated than accepted.. Then, not long after my thirteenth birthday, my father took me to the local Air Training Corps Squadron in Devizes. I awkwardly joined up to the Air Cadets and I soon found something I loved to do. 

Ok, yes, the Air Cadets was meant to be all about flying but that was few and far between. I really did enjoy the flying side and having mates I could rely on was massive for me but what I loved to do was 'go on exercise'. 

I was issued with two sets of uniform, one blue and one DPM camouflage. All military surplus from some very short soldiers and airmen. Badly fitting, poorly ironed and covered in mud (usually). I remember my first camp at Tilshead   Doing night navigation and military style hide and seek. The ATC didn't get rifles to play with, just vivid imaginations. It was basically playing soldiers for slightly too old kids and teenagers. A bit like Air-soft today. 

The Air Training Corps Crest.

My first summer camp was spent at RAF Northolt about the same time Sadam Hussain invaded Kuwait and a lot of focus was put on the military. I watched the news those few months, boyishly wanting to be out there, doing something, but obviously being only a 13 year old, this was not going to happen. But it was clear I was RAF barmy and I was clearly heading in the direction of a life with Brill cream and blue hats. 

Easter versus Summer Camps.

Life as a cadet in the ATC was split between cadet nights, every Tuesday and Thursday at the TA centre and later, La Marchant Barracks,  Easter Camp and Summer Camps were Green for Spring and Blue for the summer. Our Sqn Commander Flt Lt Gordon was ex RAF, to what capacity I don't remember, but had a huge green streak in him. He used to organise these mega exercises/camps on Salisbury plain often centred around Imber Village. All sorts of military and blank weapons were bought out by the mixed bag of cadet staff and regular service people and the exercise always culminated in a relatively spectacular final 'attack'. With flares, thunder flashes and blanks going off  while the unarmed cadets try and complete some rescue task. Massively fun. 

Summer camps were awesome to, seeing what the RAF got up to, seeing what their accommodation was like, enjoying flying etc. Also enjoyed  the chance to socialise and getting to meet the fairer sex. Dancing at the camp disco, well dancing was not really the word but moving, roughly in time to the music.   

RCAF Chipmunk. 

That said, it wasn't with out it struggles and tragedies: In the summer of 1993, I was on camp at RAF St Athan, I went flying in an RAF Chipmunk aircraft with a officer called Group Capt. Roger Sweatman.(RAF) He allowed 16 year old me to take the controls of the aeroplane, with lots of assistance, I did my first (and only) set of aerobatics. I did my own versions of a stall turn, barrel role and I managed to hit Zero G while doing a loop the loop. With his help I was also at the controls to land it. 

Sadly, the next day a good friend of mine got in the same aircraft (assumed), with the same pilot and crashed while attempting a non-engine landing. The pilot was killed and my friend was maimed for life. Rest in Peace Sir.

I also suffered a lot with bullying during this time, I hadn't learnt to stand up for myself and my social awkwardness was compounded by this. I would regularly find myself excluded socially which hurt a lot. But as I remember, things improved after a lad said the wrong thing to me one day and I snapped. The next thing I remember was being pulled off him and my form tutor taking me into the office while the other lad was lead off, nose bleeding after being rudely introduced to my right knee, to the school nurses office.

The following year, now aged 17, I had a big summer, I had two camps, one at RAF Gibraltar and the other at RAF Halton. Gib, as we called it was an amazing eye opener; for starters our first landing had to be aborted after touch down because of 'pedestrian' on the run way.  We were pretty much left to our own devices outside of 'work time' we explored the island and enjoyed drinking in the local bars and get very burnt on the beach. We were all treated, essentially as adults. A really nice feeling.  We also got a privileged look inside the 'Rock' and see all the defences inside and the hospital. I found the Rock Apes fascinating. Both types. 

RAF Halton was a little different, this was where I started to realise I had out grown the cadets. This camp was the coveted ATC Leadership course that few cadets got to attend. Here we learned about leadership, self-discipline and were taught about the basics of giving orders. 'SMEAC' as I recall. Situation, Mission, Execution, Any Questions, Comms? (I think. Its been 25 years.) anyway, I loved the routine of drill, exercises, fitness and more but blue wasn't going to be my colour.  

While with the cadets I was introduced to a former Search and Rescue helicopter pilot called Mr Brown: he would teach navigation, principles of flight and many other skills.  One day, he told me about how search and rescue operated. If they got a call out, but did not know the exact point of rescue, they would launch anyway and head in that general direction. They would get updates on route. This was a throw away story however it stuck with me and many years later, this would be my source on inspiration for helping change the way the British Army changed their Casualty Evacuation procedures. This I will explain in more detail in a later episode.

Again, 1994 was not without its tragedies, a good friend and one of our senior cadets: Cadet Flight Sgt Stephen Churchill started to act completely out of character and becoming really uncoordinated. We would later find out that Stephen had contracted the new variant Creutzelt-Jakob Disease (CJD). The incurable dementia like disease spread from infected bovine meats. He would pass away at the age of 19 the following year while I was still in Basic training. 

Heading into September and I turned 18, I needed a plan for myself:  I enrolled with the YTS Scheme and started doing training in estate management. One day at collage and four days of sweeping up leaves on an estate just outside of town. At the same time, I had a plan to join the Army and, having signed on the dotted line, I trained as hard as I could, running to work and back. The military being my main goal but keeping the other job as a back up. 

I did my Army selection at the Army Training Regiment Pirbright, a place I would later spend a long time at with two postings there. It was a daunting and cold place in early winter. The medical was a surprise, especially the cough and drop. It was before the days of the Human Rights Act or a need for personal privacy. We were all lined up in front of the doctor in our boxer/briefs and we were told to drop 'em.  

Next was our fitness test, this was pass or fail and consisted of: a three mile run in two halves - 1.5 miles as a squad and 1.5 miles individual. We had ten and a half minutes to complete it.  50 Push ups, 50 sit ups and 10 ten pull ups all within a set time limit. (Learn more about the modern British Army Fitness test here )

We were shown around the living accommodation and it was nothing like the RAF accommodation I had seen in the previous couple of years. Everything had a damp feel to it, all the recruits looked tired and all smoked and a few pretended they did as at the time, smokers got smoke breaks... those who didn't, cleared up rubbish. 

That evening we had a meet and greet with a beer. We all introduced ourselves and said why we all wanted to join the Army... I made something up along the lines of  "I wanted to make a difference" which seemed to impress the instructors. 

The next morning we were woken up early and put through our paces with initiative tests which meant moving objects from A to B via an obstacle surrounded by make believe mines. This was very similar to what I had previously experienced on the leadership course at RAF Halton so it was a breeze accept the shark infested custard had been replaced with a more serious object.

Early on the 9th Jan 1995, my Dad drove me to Chippenham Railway Station and waved me goodbye as I set off on my next big adventure... Basic Training: Destination unknown.... OK, ATR Litchfield, but that sounds less dramatic. 

Follow this Link to Part two of my Blog: