The first three months of army
life was spent in, induction and training. The usual thing assault courses,
discipline, marching, Kit and room inspection, physical training. Steven sailed
through this; he had an end of training report. With comments from the two
training officers. He had a good report and one thing they both commented on was
that he had a good sense of humour.
He spent the following 3-4 years
going through a military college to learn the trade of an avionics technician. He was taking exams every seven weeks; I can remember one
occasion Steven phoning me worried he would fail an exam. I remember telling
him, it was normal to feel this way. I thought he would be fine, but if he
failed it would not be the end of the world.
Upon finishing his apprenticeship,
he was made up to a lance corporal at the age of 20 years. Over the following
two years, he seemed fine. Would make regular visits home, keeping in touch with
his friends from school. Went out socialising to the point even when he was home
I would hardly see him.
Steven met a girl called Jenny;
they had known each other for over five years prior to their relationship. A
year later they got engaged. We arranged a party for them; all his friends and
family were there. I remember his speech, when he stood up in front of about
forty people and said how his life was set and how much he loved Jenny. This was
followed by a big round of applause. Steven later told me; apart from the army
there was only one other thing he wanted out of life. This was to be married and
have a family.
In June 1994 Steven was posted to
Northern Ireland, before he went he was sent on a few weeks training for this.
Steven knew I was worried about him going there. Just before he left almost the
last words he said to me was “Don’t worry mum, I will be ok. The best thing
I have ever done is to join the army”
On one occasion while there, I can
remember him phoning me. He was about to go back out on patrol. He sounded
worried about something, but could not say too much because the troops were
warned of the possibility of phone calls being intercepted by the IRA.
September 1994 Steven returned
home for a months leave. I noticed a change in him. He seemed quieter than he
was before, not so bouncy. At first I put this down to the fact of while he was
patrolling the streets and having to be so vigilant, his adrenalin must have
been running high, and suddenly it stopped. Everything had gone flat, like an
anti climax. Not long this fter he gained the rank of Corporal at the age of 22.
Over the following months he did
not go out with his friends so often, Christmas came and he was not really that
interested in going out celebrating. This was not like him he loved socialising.
Over these months he started coming out with stories about what had happened in
Northern Ireland. How children would come up to him asking for money or sweets.
He said he often had sweets in his pocket and would give it to them. Then the
people living in the street would come out, throwing bottles of urine at them,
calling them things like “murdering bastards”
He described how the people would
set dogs onto the troops, in his words “You would not even hear the dogs
coming, and suddenly they were on you. Going for your face, the back of your
head or throat”. Pit bulls, Staffs and the likes. Steven was never that keen on dogs
after being attacked as a child. He told me how he would try to defend himself
with the butt of his rifle, in theory he was not really allowed to do this.
He was trained to watch windows
and black cabs for snipers, black cabs (Hackney cabs) were used by the IRA to
shoot at the troops. He witnessed eighteen-year-old lads that had been knee
capped (their Knee caps being shot away) most likely left crippled. And many
other horrible sights.
One incident he told us about was
when he was put in charge of a street patrol. The sergeant was going to a
function; Steven was the only one in the patrol with a rank. He had never done
this before: There were four in the patrol Steven had the radio. They had a
specific area to patrol near the Falls road. They passed a public house and as
they did so people from the pub came out and started attacking the last member
in the patrol. He was being beaten and kicked. The commotion drew attention from
passing motorist, they stopped and in the road sounding their horns and
shouting. There was a crowd gather around
the troops, they were shouting at them “ Put your guns down and put up your
fist ” One of the troop fired shots over the head of the crowd. This drew the
attention of the local residents; people came out of their houses also shouting
threats and abuse. Steven told me “ I thought I was dead” they were all
going to be killed. (He had heard stories of this happening to other troops) He
radioed for help, when they returned to base; he was told they were not even
aware the group were out on the streets.
This story was told to various
members of our family.
I could see by the past months of
how Steven had changed something was wrong.
I would have described it more like he was slipping into depression. Both
his dad and myself thought he might need counselling. I kept on to Steven to
seek help, go and tell somebody how he was feeling. His answer to me was “
they do not have time for sickies in the army) February 1995 I became so worried
about him, I phoned the army welfare. Told them what I thought, in the hope they
could organise counselling for him locally away from the army. The person I
spoke to insisted Stevens commanding officer was informed. I did not really know
what to do, only that something needed to be done. I spoke with his CO and told
him of my concerns. I also added that something happened in Ireland and he had
not been the same since his return.
His answer was “ If anything
happened in Ireland, I would know about it” I found out later he had called
Steven to his office, with Stevens workshop officer present. He asked Steven
what was wrong with him and that I had phoned. Steven said he was all right and
that I worried too much. There was a further conversation His CO then said to
him, have you ever thought of having a gender test? You know what I mean don’t
you.
Steven came home the following
weekend, he told me what was said. He then said they think I am gay. Can they
see something I can’t see? He sat there and cried his eyes out. I felt both
bad and angry. I was trying to help him but the way it was dealt with, had only
made things worse.
I started thinking back to
incidents Steven had mentioned in the past with other soldiers who had committed
suicide on camp. One had shot himself in the head, the evening Steven was on
guard duty. Did they ask for help, were they treated the same way?
Over the following months, I
became more and more concerned about Steven. I would keep asking him to seek
help. June 1995 he was posted to the Falkland Islands. About six weeks after he
arrived there, Steven phoned me and said he had decided to seek help. This
decision followed an incident that had occurred while he was there. He said he
heard an officer say that his mother and father were dead. Steven hit the
officer. Three weeks later I had a call from a doctor in the Falkland Islands,
saying that Steven was being transferred to a psychiatric unit in Swindon. He
was being sent there for geographical reasons, because it was the closest unit
nearest to where we lived. Although it was still four hours drive away. He also
commented that I did not sound very surprised, I then told him why. That he had
not been the same since his return from NI.
Steven arrived at the unit in
August. A few days later on the Saturday we went to visit him with one of his
brothers. He seemed a little quiet, but was talking to us. We went around the
grounds of the hospital had coffee in the café. We spent six hours with him. We
left and promised to visit the following weekend. On the Wednesday evening
Steven phoned, it was around teatime. Something was wrong, he was begging me to
go to see him that night. He was talking about past events and when referring to
what a specific person said his voice would change, for each person. I was
really worried and could not understand how he could have changed so quickly in
only a few days. I told him we could not come straight away. But promised we
would leave early the next morning, which we did. We arrived at the hospital
9.30am the next day. When I set eyes on him, to say I was shocked was an
understatement. I could see he was drugged; he was shuffling when he walked.
More like a zombie walking around.
I then heard what had happened and
how he ended up on medication. Trainee psychiatrist interviewed him. He was
asked if it was all right for more than one to be present. Steven agreed. It
turned out to be four; they started firing questions at him one after another.
In his words, not giving him chance to finish one question before asking
another. Going by the contents of the questions, I got the impression they
thought he was pulling a fast one, to get home more quickly or to work his
ticket out of the army. Some civilian doctors have said it sounded more like a
grilling.
Steven said while he was being
questioned in this way, it felt to him as if the inside of his head exploded and
everything was rushing up and out of the top of his head.
Going by the state he was in and
other things that came out regarding other incidents that had happened to him
while in the army, all of which came out that day. Things that I was unaware of,
I was both upset and furious. I asked the psychiatrist what was going to be done
about it. Her answer was nothing. Steven would have to do that. Steven was
too ill to do anything. Inside I knew I could not do anything but in anger I
told her I was going to see a solicitor, her answer to me was you can see as
many solicitors as you like. You will never get access to his medical
records. Funny, I never asked to see his medical records. Apparently the armed
forces do not even release medical records to civilian GPs.
Later that day I was approached by
the psychiatrist and told Steven was being transferred to a unit in Yorkshire.
So much for geographics, it would be impossible to make a day trip to Yorkshire
and back on a regular basis. On the same day another lad arrived at the unit he
was brought in from Bosnia, I remember his name was Peter. (I have mentioned him
for a reason that will become apparent a bit later) Peter was quiet and
obviously in distress, but refused any medication. Steven had been persuaded
into taking meds. They were both transferred to Catterick Hospital in less than
a week later.
Steven phoned from the unit quite
often, wanting to come home. I would phone the unit asking the same question. Or
leave a message asking to speak to the person in charge of Stevens care. More
often than not I was ignored and nobody bothered returning my calls. I
approached SAFFA armed forces welfare and support for families and servicemen. I
told them what was happening, they contacted both the hospital and Stevens CO.
Within half an hour I had a call from Yorkshire and Portsmouth. Steven
was allowed home for some leave, only for a few days, under the condition that I
went to collect him and return with him. The journey on the train and getting to
the hospital from the station took eight hours each way. I stayed over night at
the hospital, when I got to the ward Peter was there in the same room as Steven.
I remember speaking to him, asking him how he was.
While Steven was home the army
changed their mind about me returning with him, he went back on his own. On his
return Steven phoned me and told me Peter was dead, he had committed suicide. He
had been released from the ward and returned to duty within the hospital. Peter
had gassed himself with a hosepipe linked to the exhaust of his car. This made
me feel really sad, such a young lad and a waste of a life.
During all of this, my mother was
seriously ill in hospital. We were not too sure she was going to pull through. I
was torn between leaving my mother, who I was visiting, everyday and on my days
off from work would often spend 6-8 hours sitting with her. I felt as if I was
being pulled in two ways and did not know whether to stay with my mother or go
to my son. My mother made the decision for me and told me to see to Steven.
Steven returned home on sick leave
a few weeks later my mother passed away. By this time Steven had returned to his
duties. Within two weeks of the burial, I had a call from Steven, he had been
feeling suicidal and had told somebody about this. The previous night he had
been kept in the guardroom over night. He was being taken back to Catterick. He
was there for about a month, he returned home on long-term sick leave. He spent
time with Jenny but one of the side effects of the medication was affecting
their relationship. Jenny persuaded Steven to come off the medication. I must
add it was against the psychiatrist wishes but with his help.
Steven was medically discharged
from the army in October 1996 there was not a lot to identify what was wrong
with Steven upon reading his discharge papers.
As far as anyone was aware Steven
had been suffering from depression, nobody had told him any different. Steven
came off the meds slowly as he did so, so the relationship between him and Jenny
deteriorated. He started acting differently, was becoming more and more stressed
and paranoid. He could sense the change in their relationship, got the feeling
she was seeing somebody else. Steven was going down hill fast he got down to
half a tablet and then Jenny dropped the bombshell their relationship was over.
Steven was so ill, his voice
raised little above a whisper, and you could barely hear him speak even if you were
sat next to him. His behaviour became more and more bizarre. I became more and
more concerned about him and realised this was something more than depression.
A while later a letter dropped
through the door from the war pensions department, stating he was not entitled
to a war pension because he had schizophrenia. When Steven read this, the first
words that came from his lips were “ I am not a murderer” and he stormed out
of the house. I could not understand why they sent this because he had not even
applied for an army pension.
I phoned war pensions and told
them what had happened and asked them if they had any idea what he has been
through. I also referred to the link to Northern Ireland. Because of this phone
call they reopened the case, a case Steven did not even know existed until this
day.
Going back on the story, I later
discovered upon Stevens return from Ireland, he could not switch off. He was
still vigilant and kept checking upstairs windows for snipers. One evening while
out socialising he left a nightclub and came face to face with a hackney cab.
This seemed to trigger his paranoia; instead of catching a taxi home he walked
home. He told me he thought he was being followed and had a fear he was going to
be shot at.
He was experiencing nightmares of
war situations, not all about Ireland. One dream I remember him telling me about
was where the enemy captured him and other soldiers. They were all put into a
cage in the middle of a field. All the other soldiers still had their guns
excepting him. He had nothing to protect himself.
He was also experiencing visual
hallucinations, seeing the faces of those he had served with in Ireland.