soldier, who admitted everything, was later court-martialled and fined
£
1,200 for his actions that night. He remained in the army and I had to put up with him walking around the barracks for the rest of my time there. I was a little more cautious about who I went home with from the bar from then on. Three months after the event, while out clubbing in a gay venue in central London, I saw the guy who’d attacked me kissing another man in the corner of a dance floor. I realised just how messed up some people were over their sexuality. I just hope the poor guy didn’t meet the same fate at the end of the night that had befallen me.
The summer of 2005 in London started off as a hot one and I spent many an afternoon relaxing in Hyde Park enjoying the rays and the many sights that came with the hot weather, mostly topless men. The summer was shaping up to be quite fantastic when, all of a sudden, things in the capital took a sudden turn for the worse.
On 6 July, many other soldiers of the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment and I crammed into the bar over lunch to watch the live announcement of the 2012 Olympic Games host city. Our main contender was Paris and we were laughing and enjoying many a classic historic put-down of France – our regiment having played a pivotal role in the Battle of Waterloo. Suddenly the Sky News cameras panned live to the key moment.
When the envelope was opened and the word ‘London’ was exclaimed, a great cheer roared throughout the bar, and indeed across the entire city. We’d given the French one final stuffing and snatched the Olympics from Paris’s grasp in the dying seconds. We were all delighted. I remember wondering where I’d be in 2012. It seemed like years and years away at the time.
Londoners raised a glass in celebration that night, and we all took it as a hell of an excuse to head out and have a few glasses, too.
Back at the barracks we were in the middle of a busy period, known fondly in the regiment as ‘silly season’, and, in particular, we were preparing for the forthcoming sixtieth anniversary of VE and VJ Day, which was fast approaching on the Sunday.
The day after the Olympic announcement, on the Thursday, I was in work bright and early, as always. After riding, I was directed by one of the troop corporals to start washing off all the horses with the other lads. We usually washed them off on the rear balcony overlooking the busy streets of Knightsbridge if the weather allowed us to and that morning, Thursday 7 July, was a very bright and sunny morning.
At 8.50 a.m., three bombs were detonated on London Underground trains in quick succession. The first at King’s Cross, the second at Edgware Road and the third at Russell Square. At about that time I hadn’t long finished breakfast and, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding, was just starting my first horse, a grey called Vixen.
Almost an hour later a fourth bomb exploded on a London bus at Tavistock Square. By that time, word was slowly surfacing about an event taking place involving large casualties. No one had mentioned the ‘b’ word yet. The media was mostly reporting that there had been a power surge, as a result of which trains had derailed. When the Tavistock Square bomb went off, everybody knew that London was under attack.
Immediately we were put on the highest alert. Everyone was ordered to their rooms to collect their fighting equipment. Webbing (which holds a soldier’s essential kit, such as ammo, water and rations), combat helmets and even camouflage paint were all collected and taken down to the assembly point on the main square. The commanding officer and his few senior officers were now using the bar and Sky News as their single source for intelligence. Nobody really had a clue what was going on. The images on TV showed hundreds of injured people emerging from a number of tube stations around the capital, causing much confusion and giving the impression that more bombs had gone off
£
1,200 for his actions that night. He remained in the army and I had to put up with him walking around the barracks for the rest of my time there. I was a little more cautious about who I went home with from the bar from then on. Three months after the event, while out clubbing in a gay venue in central London, I saw the guy who’d attacked me kissing another man in the corner of a dance floor. I realised just how messed up some people were over their sexuality. I just hope the poor guy didn’t meet the same fate at the end of the night that had befallen me.
The summer of 2005 in London started off as a hot one and I spent many an afternoon relaxing in Hyde Park enjoying the rays and the many sights that came with the hot weather, mostly topless men. The summer was shaping up to be quite fantastic when, all of a sudden, things in the capital took a sudden turn for the worse.
On 6 July, many other soldiers of the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment and I crammed into the bar over lunch to watch the live announcement of the 2012 Olympic Games host city. Our main contender was Paris and we were laughing and enjoying many a classic historic put-down of France – our regiment having played a pivotal role in the Battle of Waterloo. Suddenly the Sky News cameras panned live to the key moment.
When the envelope was opened and the word ‘London’ was exclaimed, a great cheer roared throughout the bar, and indeed across the entire city. We’d given the French one final stuffing and snatched the Olympics from Paris’s grasp in the dying seconds. We were all delighted. I remember wondering where I’d be in 2012. It seemed like years and years away at the time.
Londoners raised a glass in celebration that night, and we all took it as a hell of an excuse to head out and have a few glasses, too.
Back at the barracks we were in the middle of a busy period, known fondly in the regiment as ‘silly season’, and, in particular, we were preparing for the forthcoming sixtieth anniversary of VE and VJ Day, which was fast approaching on the Sunday.
The day after the Olympic announcement, on the Thursday, I was in work bright and early, as always. After riding, I was directed by one of the troop corporals to start washing off all the horses with the other lads. We usually washed them off on the rear balcony overlooking the busy streets of Knightsbridge if the weather allowed us to and that morning, Thursday 7 July, was a very bright and sunny morning.
At 8.50 a.m., three bombs were detonated on London Underground trains in quick succession. The first at King’s Cross, the second at Edgware Road and the third at Russell Square. At about that time I hadn’t long finished breakfast and, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding, was just starting my first horse, a grey called Vixen.
Almost an hour later a fourth bomb exploded on a London bus at Tavistock Square. By that time, word was slowly surfacing about an event taking place involving large casualties. No one had mentioned the ‘b’ word yet. The media was mostly reporting that there had been a power surge, as a result of which trains had derailed. When the Tavistock Square bomb went off, everybody knew that London was under attack.
Immediately we were put on the highest alert. Everyone was ordered to their rooms to collect their fighting equipment. Webbing (which holds a soldier’s essential kit, such as ammo, water and rations), combat helmets and even camouflage paint were all collected and taken down to the assembly point on the main square. The commanding officer and his few senior officers were now using the bar and Sky News as their single source for intelligence. Nobody really had a clue what was going on. The images on TV showed hundreds of injured people emerging from a number of tube stations around the capital, causing much confusion and giving the impression that more bombs had gone off
Similar Books
