I was standing in line in my new officer cadet uniform on the parade ground, looking to the front as we waited for our first inspection by our Regimental Sergeant Major. Sergeant Major Lord had a formidable reputation. A distinguished war veteran who had been offered several high positions but had decided to remain in the ranks. His booming voice and direct no-nonsense way was also legendary but his particular talent was his uncanny understanding of each cadet.
As we stood there, on our very first day, he moved ever closer, addressing each cadet by name which he had taken the time to learn and memorise before even meeting us. He came and stood in front of me, looked me square in the face and said, “I like you Officer Cadet West. You will do very well in life but this is not the right place for you,” and moved on.
I listened to his words and, in the silence of my heart, I knew he was right but I was still very puzzled by this statement.
I entered into the life and training at Sandhurst with full vigour. There were some aspects which flattered my already growing ego and, although I seemed to possess a natural confidence which made me bold and forthright in most situations, the discipline and grooming of the academy shaped and polished a somewhat reckless young man and I developed skills which, unbeknown to me, would be invaluable in later life.
I loved the uniforms, the stylish rituals and traditions and I relished the sense of honour and achievement that the training pointed us towards. I sat for French lessons alongside Prince Leka of Albania, one of whose cousins, Antoine Apponyi, later became one of my London friends. I met Cadet Festing, the brother of the Grand Master of the Knights of Malta. Although this may sound like some interesting name-dropping, it is important to understand what was happening in my mind and spirit. As well as princes and sons of foreign rulers who attended the military academy, there were also men of extraordinary courage and character. One was Robert Gainher, or Bobby as he was known, who won the sword of Honour and Brian Terry who later joined Intelligence as he lost a kidney from a bad fall while doing steeplechase at Sandhurst.
These two touched my life for the better and Brian especially in an unexpected way. It was forbidden to talk about religion or politics whilst at Sandhurst. It also followed then that it was not looked kindly upon to encourage another to change their religion. This became a rather important ethical question for me when my friend, Brian, who was not a Catholic, persisted in asking me to take him to the Catholic Chapel. It must be said, I took the risk and gave in for one good reason. Somewhere I had heard that if you are responsible for bringing a person into the church, when you die, you will automatically go to heaven. Now, I had probably got that a little wrong but it did occur to me that it was a pretty good deal and I could sort of put all that out of my mind after that; a sort of ‘Holy insurance’.
I went together with him to the Chapel and I sat patiently watching this serious young man whilst he knelt and prayed. I was greatly impressed by this, especially as I had also heard how he visited and helped people with disabilities. This good example was a lovely gift from the Lord and he remained a good friend, visiting me in London several years later.
I stayed on as a Cadet for the better part of fifteen months but RSM Lord had hit the nail on the head and Major General Urquart very kindly said that he had admired my fighting spirit in the boxing ring and couldn’t understand what went wrong. I did, or at least I could put my finger on some reasons, or perhaps signposts showing me I was not, as RSM Lord had observed, cut out for that type of battle field.
Overall, I had great admiration for most of what went on at Sandhurst and the tremendous fighting spirit of some of my fellow cadets who, in later years, went on to do great work both in the battlefield and in their communities at home. However, there was another side of the picture that disturbed me.
A particular incident during band night, a regimental ceremonial dinner, gave me a glimpse into this darker side. Band night was a show piece of Sandhurst, a time to inspire new recruits and for the Academy to celebrate its status. It was one of the times, for instance, that we all wore our dress uniform or ‘Blues’ as they were called. Both officers and cadets sat down together for dinner at this event, joined also by many other eminent guests; foreign royalty, dukes, famous generals etc. When one of my fellow cadets saw me waving to Peter DeBono, the brother of the ‘lateral thinker’, Edward DeBono, he was surprised to find out that I had been brought up in Malta. The officer who was sitting beside me joined in the conversation saying that I was really an Englishman living in a ‘Wog’ country. It cut me to the quick and unearthed the painful memories of witnessing so much snobbery and discrimination which I hated in Malta. It did not do my career any good when I put down my cutlery and turned to give him a very cutting reply saying, “It is men like you, Sir, that make the British hated in some parts of the world.”
It was not long after that, that I was called into the General’s office and it was decided that I should not continue my army training. I was not at all surprised.
My rebellious spirit emerged for a quick wave on the way back to Malta. I stayed for a short time in Arsenal Barracks and, when told to clean out the toilets, I refused and was put in the guard house. Fortunately I was saved by an officer who knew my family and I was sent to London to wait for a plane to return home.