At last, I feel the lure of the Army
By Sarah Sands
(Filed: 04/09/2004)
When Charles Moore, the former editor of The Daily Telegraph, appointed me as his deputy, Conrad Black dryly described us as the bishop and the actress. Charles embodied the sacred values of the paper, while I provided the entertainment.
Telegraph Crossword Society
Despite my hot protests that I had sprung not just from local papers, but from Tunbridge Wells, there was some truth in the coinage. I did not know a single colonel. My family were liberal and musical. Of course, to say that The Daily Telegraph is read by colonels from Tunbridge Wells is like saying that all Englishmen are bowler-hatted homosexuals.
It is an absurd caricature, but there is also a kind of atavistic truth to it. The paper does have military roots. One of its most admired figures is Sir John Keegan, but other less well-known reporters, some quite scruffy and socialist, know more than is common about the composition of the Armed Forces.
There are more volunteers for battle anniversary stories than for those concerning supermodels. During wars, we seem to have more journalists on the ground than troops. Even our former magazine editor, Emma Soames, who continued to wear high heels even after her tibia snapped, owned up to being the sister of the shadow defence secretary.
Of course, I always wanted our side to win, but I had no feel for how or whom. My two journalistic blind spots have been titles and rank. A disadvantage of editing the Saturday Telegraph is that this is the day the birthday honours fall. I have had to learn the pecking order by rote. And then master heredity and royalty. I was rather relieved about the downsizing of the Lords, not for constitutional reasons, but for subbing ones.
As for the Army, what was the point of learning ranks when you then had something called Other Ranks? The whole hierarchy was impenetrable.
A popular definition of a Conservative is a liberal who has been mugged. In my case, it is a social liberal whose son announces out of the blue that he is joining the Army. My son's father is a Hollywood-based actor. If I look at childhood photographs of the boy, he is slumped asleep on airport trollies or wearing 10-sizes-too-big rapper trousers and obscene T-shirts. The Army was not a childhood dream. It was never once mentioned.
Then, a couple of years ago, the Army went on a recruiting drive. Strapping Paras wearing shades arrived in schools. The feminisation of our education system has been underestimated. Boys know they have to sit still and to express themselves at all times with emotional sensitivity. So the sight of a swaggering male in combat gear creates a frisson.
My son's hand crept up. Was he physically big enough to join the Army? The Para lowered his glasses. "Hey, I was a little f----- at your age, too." The boys exchanged disbelieving glances. They have never heard such excitingly extra-curricular language.
A couple of years later, as my son became a bigger f------, the Army was back in touch. Again, I must emphasise the context. There is a bias against physical exuberance in our schools. I don't believe the selling-off of playing fields was inspired by Thatcherite zeal. I think there was a subconscious intention to repress children. They are much easier to control sitting down than racing around. The simmering energy, particularly of boys, releases itself where it can. They will sit down, but in a fidgety way.
Sometimes, while we were, say, driving to Tesco or listening to a classical concert, my son would suddenly plead with me to wrestle with him. I shouldn't think David Miliband has considered wrestling as an educational strategy, but it is paramount for adolescent boys.
The feminisation of education is physical as well as cultural. There are far more women teachers than there are men. A rising number of boys will return home from school to single-mother households. Where, oh where, are the men in our lives?
The Army, even adorned by figures such as Kelly Holmes, is masculine by nature. When my son was asked by yet another visiting action-man what the Army was for, he replied studiously: "For peacekeeping?''
The soldier shook his head, and held the boy in his gaze: "No, for fighting."
The appeal of the Army is simple and brilliant. It is the antidote to an affliction in our education system. While we wring our hands over the lack of self-discipline, the frightening increase in child obesity and the compromise of standards, the Army is, by contrast, fighting fit. Its motto rings clear and true: Be the Best.
After a tough series of physical trials and initiative tests (with no reference to coursework), my son was introduced to his regiment and given some preparation notes. They included a painful number of daily sit-ups. It is difficult to convey the beauty of this instruction to a boisterous 18-year-old.
What the Army offers is the physical activity and adventure that has been eliminated from everyday life, as well as larkiness, camaraderie, pride and wrestling on demand. Then there is the graver purpose, euphemistically described as "getting the job done".
A few weeks ago, Tatler phoned me, tracking down examples of the upsurge in middle-class boys wanting to join the Army. The editor had noticed that, after years in the social wilderness, the Army had become fashionable again. Forgotten virtues of physical courage and patriotism were being rediscovered by a generation of boys whose parents were milky liberals.
The young were joining the Army because their parents didn't, rather than did. Across England, teenagers were glued to the redemptive programme Bad Lads Army. The most inspiring role model of the year is not a glamorous, indulged footballer, but a female Army sergeant with two gold Olympic medals.
The other day, my son picture-messaged photographs of his new uniform from his mobile phone. My husband and I responded to type: "Ooh, is that the British Rail sandwich trolley?'' or "Oh no, please, traffic warden, we have only been a minute."
But the blurry image of a young man saluting in his bright red jacket or his khakis also pierces the heart. I now revere the Army as much as my colleagues do.
