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After I Faked My Mum's Signature for the T.A

When I was at college I faked my mum’s signature to get in the Army. My parents wouldn’t give their consent as I was under 18, they wanted me to go to college and get qualifications and all that. But I had different ideas.

There was a whole load of paper work which I dont think that most people understand that they have to fill in to join up in the Forces. Well, I was one of them people. I didn’t have a clue and at first it was pretty daunting. Coz of what went on with my parents I had to store and hide all the application forms and keep them out of sight.

To be quite frank it was bloody hardwork hiding stuff from your parents when they know all the tricks in the book themselves. It was not an easy task, it felt more like a mini-operation. I was actually scared that they’d find out. One day when they were both out at work I signed all the forms: application form, official secrets act, and rehabilitation form (if you have had any drink or drugs problems, convictions etc the form just asks if you have or haven’t).

Well finally, I was given a medical and a Barb test and was well on a roll. Then after all that I was given an army number and that was my proudest moment.

I started the 9 weekends of training and in them weekends you learn all the skills required to be a solider, like field craft, skill at arms and firing a weapon, marching and drill, Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Warfare, and First Aid. These weekends aren’t easy and some of them found it very difficult. Once I completed the 9 weekends I was then on to the final stretch and that was CIC Cattrick in the winter season. It was snowing and bitterly cold but you can’t have it both ways? I mean it was ****ing cold, I’ve never been so wet and cold in my life. But the trainers help you (THAT depends on you!) by making you run through obstacle courses and well generally just put you through you the paces and push you to new limits. The best part for me was the FISH (Fighting in Someone Else’s House) combat training in what they call FIBUA (Fighting in a Built Up Area) training course – you run around with blank rounds and shoot anything that moves. There’s also objectives for example, attacking and holding a house, extracting casualties and all in all playing a game of paint ball, just with tactics and well, with blank rounds. You’ve gotta do it to experience the adrenaline.

But all the fun bits aside, in training you have your highs and lows. Some days you just wanna get the hell out of there because when you have lows you have real lows, and at points I did question myself and basically thought what the **** am I doing here and why am I in a muddy trench when I could be in a bed?

Questions like that I found answers for and thought if I would have been in a bed it would have meant that I’d be doing a crap job somehwere. When you get to that stage or have similar questions, you find your own answers to why you’re doing it, why you’re there. Are you going to stay or leave out of a class of 53 when people constantly drop out? But in my opinion if you’re there, you know you want it and just dig in and give it 100 percent and well, when they want more give them more. It’s all character building and I do believe it makes you a better person.

Once training was over I was transported back to my company and from there on I turned up every week, got paid to go and well, all the courses were open to me from doing a PTI (Physical Training Instructor) course all the way to becoming a HGV driver. The courses are endless.

When you join the Army, ok I know this is the TA but the systems are so similar, and pass training you then become part of a unique club or family in which your mates will always look out for you when you’re in trouble or fix your car whenever if you don’t know what do. And once you’re in you realise you’ve made friends for life and that the whole thing isn’t just a job, it’s a whole new way of life and one that become addictive.

If you missed Adam’s first article then read it: An Application To The Armed Forces – My Story

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