I suppose I was destined to become a soldier, my family had an unbroken line of service in the British Army from the 1780s, thought of nothing else since a very early age.
I wasn't disappointed, lots of travel, bags of adventure, several campaigns, lifelong friends... though my family suffered as a result of constant deployments and my putting service before them.
Divorced and in my mid 30s I decided to resign, thinking if I didn't make the break I'd be in until I was 55.
It was a wrench, though I emigrated to the USA worked like a maniac and was able to retire at 59 with a six figure pension, a 'Cadillac' medical plan and a comfortable lifestyle in a particularly pretty part of rural Connecticut.
Strange to say, despite the trappings of modest success, there was never a day went by that I didn't regret leaving the Army and now, in my early 70s, I find myself being drawn back to the UK to live in a small house I own in a seaside town - to make up for lost time with my son (who also served for a while in my old regiment), to catch up with my grandchildren, and to be able to hang out with old, and valued, friends from those halcyon Army years.
I got a lot out of the Army, the Army got a lot out of me, I'd do it all again though I wouldn't, perhaps, be such the military shit I was first time round!
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