Deepcut Blackdown Bks (2)
In the office about three meters directly in front was a huge desk, and at its helm sat a dad’s army character, huge frog eyes, rimmed with thick framed glasses and odd puffy lips, this turned out to be my new OC ( Officer commanding). To my left was the Welsh voice, a tall man, with a wo2 patch on his wrist. This was to be my Sgt Major. Happy days! My new surrogate Mother and Father. The Sgt Major asked me my name, so I replied as one would. “ Hello, Kevin, Kevin Skinner, pleased to meet you?” Well this caused the OC to laugh out loud, I got a visual image from Black adder at that moment, he was almost in tears, then a voice of thunder boomed down on me. “ Kevin, is it, Kevin, Hallo, pleased are we? Who the fuck do you think you are boyo” This ranting went on and on along the same lines, it seemed never ending. Then he stopped, just like that. “ I shall rephrase that boyo, Rank, name and number, you are a Pte, the bottom of the shit barrel, you are a tea boy in a big company, understand?” It was time to swallow my pride get my head down and go with the flow. I stood ridged, hands glued to my sides, thumbs pointing downwards, and gazed above the head of the OC. This stopped aggression, a little like dogs, never look them in the eyes, especially when displaying or showing you the power they have been granted. From what I have seen so far, the odds were far too great, and I did not plan on staying here more than a couple of weeks. I was glad that this was only a pit stop, however I did not know how many laps were to be involved. Well this was welcome. Within the space of half an hour I had been screamed at no less than two times, beasted, and the third of either was starting. I received a long winded lecture from the OC, and of course I standing to attention. His very roundabout lecture broke off as he gazed out the window, and was distracted by something more important, at this point the Sgt Major told me to leave and go my new block, and report to the training staff. Through the confusion I made an attempt to salute the officer, but managed to restrict myself, remembering I was wearing civilian clothing. However the Sgt Major picked this up, and again I was screamed out the office at double pace. I was going to ask where the block was situated, but I thought finding it on my own would be far more relaxing, and a healthy option. My first day, was an eye opener. No single rooms as promised, no real job, nor any indication on how long I would be here. I shared a room with four other soldiers, all members of “Holding Platoon” It changed to a 12 man room at one point. It was a place that depression led to a full scale riot, here the recruits ran amok one night, jumping from roofs, breaking and smashing what they could. It was mayhem, utter madness. I thought this could only happen in a film. Right before my eyes the place had exploded. It was a place where female recruits were targeted by NCO as sexual conquests, although NCO’s were married. I met one female recruit 5-6 years later that had married of the NCO’s she was having an affair with at that time. She did not look like that happy go lucky young woman I knew back then, she had new friends now, they all loved mixing with Vodka. This was a place where I got crabs from the Guard room. A NCO gave it to one of the female recruits that then spread it to the covers in the Guard room. That week I managed to get a two week break, parachuting, I was scratching all week, and was not sure what it was, I asked a mate. He told me CRABS! I freaked. It was only on my return I had found out why it had happened. Black Down was a place of odd ball personalities that were supposed to teach new recruits to serve Queen and country. In fact this place took in relatively normal people, and pump out semi psychotic problem children. Although not all, one lad I knew he managed to be taken by the Intelligence corps, and go to Sandhurst to become an officer. So some do progress, although when I knew him he like a smoke, and only fine herbal tobacco. So any pot head wants a career, just don’t get caught and you could lead men into battle. Although a decent bloke at the time, when it came to the crunch he had no moral bottle. I liked Pte Proctor, like myself we grew up in Africa. One NCO a reject from his previous unit, that shot his hand in Ireland. It was rumored he shot one of his own oppo’s. He should have been in a ward not here, but the system needed a place that was safe for him. What about us? This man worried me, his eyes, you have seen the shinning? Well freeze that moment at the end of the film, and place that look on a feeble skinny geek, that had a complex. This man was Billy no mates and it was clear as day, although older, and years in the Army, he was desperate to impress anyone. I can read most people from the eyes, this guy shifted and blinked in rapid bursts if he felt his ego was being deflated. This was a place where the bar and binge drinking gave the only escape. However silence would fall if in walked people like Cpl Smith, half cut and anger or frustration shining in his eyes. This is a place where were constantly used setting up offices functions and later served as waiters, a six pack or open wine bottle dregs our reward. It was a work house come camp, it was not the army, and I was not being a soldier. It was a degrading gap, and for some the end of the line. Don’t get me wrong, in basic training, life was harder, but it was hard because it was training, you were punched, degraded, punished, beasted. It was enjoyable, pain was pleasure. To this date if I hear the song by the hothouse flowers, my skin has goose bumps and I think back with a proud smile. I remember we had to serve the offices for a function; this was a medieval night, we were instructed to wear only long Johns, tight fitting underwear, issued thermals. It was almost perverted, we had beer thrown on us, and food slung at us. However this was basic training, programming the divide, introducing the structure. This was not Deepcut or Blackdown Bks this was Arbofield Garrison. This was basic training, it was accepted. And yes we had our share of suicide cases, or breakdowns. Some people got beaten, and bullied. It was great, it was a triumph to know out of sixty odd people you were one of twenty that made it, and to know you were the winner of the march and shoot, while your new found best friend was best recruit, we were both top dogs. On passing out I did a martial arts display, the spectators thought I was a professional soldier brought in for this event. I was recruited from my martial arts club, and with the promise that my Tae Kwon Do could be continued, and I would get army sponsorship, and it would be possible to go to the Olympics. This was a tragic lie, that to this date angers me, I was coned, duped, tricked. I remember the recruitment office and the aptitude test, I had the choice of 155 trades, I had a high score, the top 3% percent. I wanted to be military police, and move into SIB. He said no you don’t you want that, and steered me into a trade that gave him recruitment points, and I had no passion for. It was a numbers game, clever or dumb, go left go right. A totally bias and unfair system, but at that point in time you are naďve towards, all the attention and praise blinded you and you took the Queens shilling. I remember my recruitment officer paying a visit and asking how was everything, I remember telling him it was good, but I still wanted to change to be a MP. He said get the training done and you can always change later. I remember our platoon song at the time, singing as we run for miles in the worst weather “I can see clearly now the rain has gone” I remember the friends and what we went through. I remember the passing out parade, and my girlfriend, that I had met on adventure training, watching. That was a special moment, I became a soldier, and we did have it hard, it was the last platoon to be passed out of that barracks. We were soldiers. Then I remember none of what I expected or was told would be true, I passed out, and I was a soldier, I was fit, intelligent, and resented the fact that no Tae Kwon Do training was available. I could not change my career as promised, and I was stuck in a technical college doing class work I had long ago accomplished. They told me this training cost 60,000 pounds of tax payer’s money. I said it is not what I wanted, why waste my time and tax payers’ money; this was perplexing and a deliberate mobbing tactic to fill numbers. I was then subsequently sent to a holding platoon in Blackdown Bks, Deepcut. Deepcut: This was the situation just before the event: I was sitting in the TV room, with about ten to twelve other recruits. The TV room was situated on the second floor above the passage way that gave access to the accommodation blocks left and right. The TV room itself was rectangular and had two doors with little ship like windows on either end, the rear end was raised and had steps leading towards the door, this was used by the NCO’s to check the room without disturbance when required. Inside it was filled with about four or five rows of chairs and a large window that faced towards the Naafi, or as you sat on your right side, and naturally a TV with a VHS recorder. This room was used for casual meetings and the regular insurance salesmen, flogging kit insurance. We were told that we must get this and from him, it was an order. Later in life I found out that someone got a kick back, a favor for a favor. Well done Sgt Major. Our limited pay subsidizing your nights out. I entered somewhat frustrated escorted by my friend, who suggested that we leave the Naafi function. In the Naafi here I was attacked twice, by one NCO, a Cpl Clark. This was a NCO that I must admit I had no respect for; he was a coward hiding in Wolf’s skin. He often abused young recruits, and often socialized in camp, ending up drunk and rampaging through the camp. The man was an utter idiot, his home life in tatters, and clearly had an alcohol problem. I remember seeing him one freezing night, drunk as usual outside the accommodation block. This was late at night about 11 pm, he was ragging a young recruit. The recruit was only dressed in underpants and shivering, I heard him repeat “Yes Cpl”, I asked what was going on. Cpl Clark gave me a cynical eye and told the recruit to get to bed, he sneered at me, and said “ I’m watching you”. I asked the lad what was that all about, he just said, he was pissed again. I could see that he was crying and in shame and shivering just wanted to get his head down. I let him go. On this one night in question I remember entering the Naafi function, It was fancy dress. I initially walked in the entrance, to my right was the shop, I bought a packet of cigarettes and a few other articles, and of course with the easily obtainable Naafi card and its amazing interest rate that was deducted from your wages. From the shop I proceeded straight down the corridor which led to a large open area, this was not normally open, the bar was to the left, and that was our normal haunt. Walking in the opposite direction was Cpl Clark, to my left side. A Naafi white bag in one hand and a can of beer in the other. I remember talking to someone, in a jovial mood, and at that point I was nudged, I turned and was hit with abused by Cpl Clark with words to the effect, “ Watch where your going cunt” I told him it was a accident, and to calm down. The response was the bag and its contents, ( Boot polish tins, brushes and a few cans) clocking me across my head. I grabbed him smashed him into a wall, he could not move. I asked him what the fuck he was doing, at this point the situation was defused by other recruits and a NCO, we parted ways. Later, about 20 minutes I went into the main function area. While seated Cpl Smith attacked me again, but I managed to throw him to one side even though I was at a disadvantage. Again the situation was defused, this time by a Para trained NCO, Cpl Wilson, he was a scouser and was one of the good NCO’s, he was a respected NCO. He said it would be best if I disappeared, back to the accommodation block. At this point Clark was ranting; I vented my disgust, and called him a pathetic wanker, then left. The function had a static atmosphere Back to the TV room, I recall changing my cloths, and had a little paranoia, I knew he would be coming back. This is why I thought it would be better with other people as opposed to being alone. I was buzzing, and nervous. I remember a Bruce Lee film playing, how apt! Well the paranoia had ground, the doors flew open, the light went on and all were told to leave apart form me. Cpl Clark was not alone, it seemed he had the whole gang. They closed the door, and I saw the eyes gloating through the port holes. I was scared, but ready, one on one is OK. Then one of the NCO’s said it’s between you two, we are staying out of it. I was relived; at least I had a fair chance. The NCO who was the mediator was a cockney, he was in holding from injury and was a NCO without being a NCO, this was because he had his stripe ( Lcpl) and he had earned his wings. I could never figure out his role or why he was here. It was he and I, alone. His attire the norm, rugby shirt, jeans and dessy boots. At first he pushed, while trying to verbally wind me up. I made myself go against the wall, I waited, knowing he as going to try and give me a kicking, and he went for a head but, I read this well in advanced. I slipped my head to the side, grabbed his head and started kneeing him. This became a grapple, he was screaming and lashing out sporadically. He was strong, and a keen rugby player, so I had to ground him fast or he may get the upper hand. I lifted him and half throw him over a chair, he still had a grip on me and I fell on top of him, I placed my hand on his chin trying to wrench his head back, ready to launch my attitude adjuster in his pathetic face, at this point he bit into my hand, I still have the scar today. Left hand digit next to my pinky. At this point I was not going to try and pacify or detain him, he was out for the kill! This was not being broken up? I knew my only option; it was time to step up a gear and pummel this wanker. His face was a snarl and trying to grab me, but I had him off balance and in no position to aurge. I kicked out, forcing my weight on him, spread his arms, and gave him two or three headbut’s, I remember being straddled across his chest as he bucked in vain, I was punching his head, each blow connecting, and blood started to splatter. We had slipped off the chair and onto the ground by this time. This is when I was wrenched away. I was shouting, “ You want some!, you want some!” My adrenalin was pumping, and I am glad that I was dragged off, it took five people to hold me, and even then they had fear, and panicked, I could feel it, I wanted to lay a punch for every recruit he abused, I saw only red, I was at the brink of loosing it, I gripped myself and broke free, I stood unchallenged, and watched the NCO with hands open, begging me to stay calm. Cpl smith lay on the floor, he was sprawled open and his face covered in blood, his face already disfigured. I felt a great sense of satisfaction and believe it or not relief. To my surprise the Sgt Major, had been watching with the others. I was told it was over, and to calm down. He was a large Welshman, but I knew his soothing words were just to stop the situation before it got out of hand. He started capping the events. Told me I’ll be OK, and not to worry, go to bed. I did not sleep that night as you can imagine. I waited every night until I left for a revenge attack, and I was prepped. The next day, I was hauled here and there, told to shut my mouth and this never happened. I went to the OC, who more or less said if you say a word, you are fucked. I went to the CO and he said if you say a word your career would be over. It was made clear no charges would be made, and they made me feel as if they were doing me a favor. It was insanity, but I had one thought, get out of here and fast! I had to visit the hospital to have my finger attended. One of finger tendons was ripped and a one inch gapping hole to the bone could be seen. On my return, I saw Cpl Clark for the first time. His head was a black and blue, swollen like a balloon; I really gave him a leathering. I thought to myself “ One for the Boy’s”. I was a hero to the weak, and young, not the hero I imagined I wanted to be, fighting your own, that was the hypocrisy of the whole situation, a very sad hero, to a very dejected minority. I had some good times, but they were generally away from this place. Netherhaven, and parachuting. This was freefall, two weeks of fun! A mixture Army, Navy Marines having a blast. Although one night was a little dodgy. Hanging one handed over a motorway bridge playing dead arm with trucks flying beneath. We awoke in the morning in pain and trying to recollect what we did. One Marine was wearing a metal dustbin, apart from that stark bullock naked. After this I was treated well, very well. I felt uneasy. I knew this was the way to stop the lid on a can of worms, but I kept my mouth shut, as you do. I very soon got posted, and from that day on arrival to my new unit. I knew my career was marked. My new OC spelled this out. Deepcut cut’s deep, I had a scar on my second diget and the scar managed to rip into a bad boy posting 52 Ord in Germany, now shut down, and a covered hill, beneath it lay garbage, oil, pollutants as our last reminder, men in green hiding our dirt. To think the Germans don’t even know what trash is hidden under the soil. Cpl Clark was posted sharpish, to Cyprus and promoted to Sgt. I spent a further six year in the army, and enjoyed my time. I have met many Clarks, but I had a reputation and was never bothered, but in the same light I could never progress. In effect the system is a small community and if you’re on the first step of the ladder and the boot of some wanker is above you, you are stuck in a rut. The Sgt Major I met some years later, In Gutershloe, Germany, and the hate in his eyes shone! He became this camps RSM I believe. Strange that I seemed to get a sudden interest from a small weedy Scottish 2Lt, the day after, and ever since, the Lt never batted an eyelid before this. He took offence to me saying Aye! I am Scottish after all. I started to get more guard duties, picked up on inspection although I was immaculate. I was very vain, and still am. Again Black down started to haunt. What is frustrating, that a runt, five years my junior, with no life experience can dictate and manipulate your life. That’s life, and I was unmoved by the pettiness. One night I gave him a good leathering, in town. He could not do a thing since he was on the pop ( Drinking) while supposed to be on duty. Aye! It’s people like Clark that give the army a bad name, he affect my persona, and he is still in the system. If it was not for him, I would have been clean, and not always looking over my shoulder. I became a fighter, I knew that if I was compromised, or put into a position where degraded, I could do something. I have IQ above average, and can hold my own in any debate, but naturally this was never allowed, right or wrong in the environment. If you have one bad report, everybody looks for the flaws. It is easy to pick faults; we all have them and make errors. If someone phones and says make this man’s life hard, it happens. One recruit I knew at that time from Blackdown. An Irish lad, he had issues. He was in turmoil, and the NCO’s knew this. One day he decided to pan all the windows of the OC offices, he was venting his frustration. I later met him in Paderbourn, Germany. Outside a Naafi complex in Sennelager, he was in biker leathers. I found out he was using “H”. Strung out on razors. On reflection this was due to that place, god knows what has happened to him? Although a hitch curbed my Army career, at least it never killed me, unlike many I have known. Be it from hiding medical records and dieing of leukemia like a good friend of mine. When I think back, I never could get my medical records back, they seemed to disappear. I sustained a serious injury that if it was not for my decision to go to a civilian hospital, disobeying a direct order from 50 Km away from a Army doctor under the inspection of a medic that had more germs on his clothing and face than the black plague. I would have had two fingers removed to my right hand. Or the many that kill themselves, suicide attempts that I have experienced first hand. People you see everyday, and the next they are gone. It’s only then when you put two and two together you see the big picture, but for them it was too late. The shitter was that that this was not in action, nor defending Queen and country. My last official year in the army was spent in civilian clothes doing VIP duties, this included Royals, but this is how I moved into this type of work I do today. I did not have many options. Why did I decide to write about this now? Well I was not affected by all the events; I took life day by day. I had to wait six year, and on the seventh year I would be out. I studied in the mean time, and achieved my MBA in Business Administration two years later. In the army you would have to study for forty years, so I feel I have gained. Why do I think about this this now? Well the investigation is still ongoing, and parents are angry from what has happened to their children. I saw a TV report on a independent commission that would investigate from 1995-2000. I thought this stinks, the cause of this has much deeper roots, this is a cover-up. Why do I think about this now? this comprimised me, and comprimised the safety of my parents. My parent live in the USA, and I received a call from them in a panic, the FBI have been looking for me. Well not me rather this man, and he is no relation whatsoever to me or my family: The only successful prosecution relating to abuse at the base has been that of Leslie Skinner, an army instructor jailed for four and a half years for sex attacks on male recruits. If I had met this wanker, I know just for bearing my name I would have beaten him to an inch of his life, and only live so I can repeat this pain apon him everyday until he forfitted his right be be human and took his own life. Skinner, who served with the Royal Logistics Corps, admitted five indecent assaults between 1992 and 1997 on four male soldiers. I just cant understand why the MOD cant even distinguish between the above mentioned person and myself? This just shows the phenomenal extent of the cover-up. Simple information is not being passed on, and the fact that the FBI scared the living shit out of my Mother and Father has really pissed me off. The incompetence, the lack of communication and lack of transparent information. The fact that my address and information was passed in this manner compromised my position, and caused a few problems.
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