accepted his offer and joined him.
Once back in his room, a few floors above my own, things started to progress. His room was quite standard for a soldier in Knightsbridge: Abi Titmuss posters, his favourite football team standing behind their silverware. The room smelt every bit like a young man’s space, which, I noticed, he didn’t share with anybody else. I could tell he was nervous, but so was I every time this happened with a so-called straight soldier. He took his top off and started to undress me. In an instant, he had a change of heart and, instead of pulling my boxer shorts down as I had expected him to, he reached for an iron pole and whacked me across the back. I fell to the floor and he started kicking me, mostly in the face. In the few moments I lay huddled on the floor, trying to protect my face, the thought of how this scene would look in a movie played out in my mind. There was absolutely nothing I could do to stop his relentless attack on me and I think I just gave up all hope of trying to find the strength to fight back. Somehow I managed to crawl to the door and out into the corridor, but his kicking and beating with the bar continued. I thought someone would hear the commotion and come rushingto my aid as soon as I got myself into the corridor. The lad was screaming words like ‘queer’ at me but nobody seemed to hear or, if they did, they decided to leave me to it. By the time somebody finally came to help, the fight, even though it was never in me from the start, had completely left me, as had all energy to stop the ordeal. I think if he’d have continued on for just a few minutes more, he’d have faced a murder charge. I looked horrific. The blood was oozing out of me. The guard room was called and the guy was detained on the spot; meanwhile an ambulance was called for me. I have no memory between being rescued and waking up in Chelsea and Westminster hospital. I was in a very bad way.
Nurses treated the cuts and bruises while doctors examined me and sent me for many scans. Faulkner and another guy, Seamus, had heard the news and rushed to see me at the hospital. I was really embarrassed to see them both, but they were worried about me and wanted to know everything that had happened. They told me that the lad had been arrested.
I was released from hospital a day later, quite black and blue from the episode, and was taken into the regimental corporal major’s office. Incredibly, he wanted to double-check I definitely wanted to take the incident further. I couldn’t help feeling at that moment that the chain of command wanted the whole thing swept under the carpet. I stood my ground and told him I wanted to make a full complaint. There was absolutely no compassion in his voice and he felt thoroughly inconvenienced by the whole event.
The thing that hurt me most was knowing that, yet again, the whole regiment was talking about me. Although I was the victim in the incident, I felt as though I’d brought it upon myself by agreeing to go along with his advances and by joining him in his room. I had to recollect the entire story again and again for people in the regiment: the colonel, the squadron leader, theSCM, the RCM, my troop leader. Each would want to know the full circumstances leading up to the event. When the military police turned up, again I found myself answering some very personal questions. This was very new ground for them, and I felt almost as guilty as my attacker was. Incredibly, if this had happened six years prior, it would have been me facing discharge from the army, regardless of the situation. It was clear the police were dealing with an incident that they had had little to no experience in tackling. These were, after all, the same officers who had arrested suspected gay soldiers in the past.
I was given a week off to rest and decided to stay with my auntie and uncle in East Grinstead, who looked after me excellently . I was very lucky to have close family nearby.
The
Once back in his room, a few floors above my own, things started to progress. His room was quite standard for a soldier in Knightsbridge: Abi Titmuss posters, his favourite football team standing behind their silverware. The room smelt every bit like a young man’s space, which, I noticed, he didn’t share with anybody else. I could tell he was nervous, but so was I every time this happened with a so-called straight soldier. He took his top off and started to undress me. In an instant, he had a change of heart and, instead of pulling my boxer shorts down as I had expected him to, he reached for an iron pole and whacked me across the back. I fell to the floor and he started kicking me, mostly in the face. In the few moments I lay huddled on the floor, trying to protect my face, the thought of how this scene would look in a movie played out in my mind. There was absolutely nothing I could do to stop his relentless attack on me and I think I just gave up all hope of trying to find the strength to fight back. Somehow I managed to crawl to the door and out into the corridor, but his kicking and beating with the bar continued. I thought someone would hear the commotion and come rushingto my aid as soon as I got myself into the corridor. The lad was screaming words like ‘queer’ at me but nobody seemed to hear or, if they did, they decided to leave me to it. By the time somebody finally came to help, the fight, even though it was never in me from the start, had completely left me, as had all energy to stop the ordeal. I think if he’d have continued on for just a few minutes more, he’d have faced a murder charge. I looked horrific. The blood was oozing out of me. The guard room was called and the guy was detained on the spot; meanwhile an ambulance was called for me. I have no memory between being rescued and waking up in Chelsea and Westminster hospital. I was in a very bad way.
Nurses treated the cuts and bruises while doctors examined me and sent me for many scans. Faulkner and another guy, Seamus, had heard the news and rushed to see me at the hospital. I was really embarrassed to see them both, but they were worried about me and wanted to know everything that had happened. They told me that the lad had been arrested.
I was released from hospital a day later, quite black and blue from the episode, and was taken into the regimental corporal major’s office. Incredibly, he wanted to double-check I definitely wanted to take the incident further. I couldn’t help feeling at that moment that the chain of command wanted the whole thing swept under the carpet. I stood my ground and told him I wanted to make a full complaint. There was absolutely no compassion in his voice and he felt thoroughly inconvenienced by the whole event.
The thing that hurt me most was knowing that, yet again, the whole regiment was talking about me. Although I was the victim in the incident, I felt as though I’d brought it upon myself by agreeing to go along with his advances and by joining him in his room. I had to recollect the entire story again and again for people in the regiment: the colonel, the squadron leader, theSCM, the RCM, my troop leader. Each would want to know the full circumstances leading up to the event. When the military police turned up, again I found myself answering some very personal questions. This was very new ground for them, and I felt almost as guilty as my attacker was. Incredibly, if this had happened six years prior, it would have been me facing discharge from the army, regardless of the situation. It was clear the police were dealing with an incident that they had had little to no experience in tackling. These were, after all, the same officers who had arrested suspected gay soldiers in the past.
I was given a week off to rest and decided to stay with my auntie and uncle in East Grinstead, who looked after me excellently . I was very lucky to have close family nearby.
The
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