Marching to a Fantasy Tune

Left, right, left, right, left, right, left. No, that’s not the commentary track to a game of political ping-pong between Labour and the Tories, but the tune to which Rishi Sunak would have the nation’s youth marching. The only problem is that, while it sounds simply spiffing, it’s utterly out of step with reality. And I should know.

A Teenage RAF Experience

Over forty years ago, you would have found the teenage version of me miffed and down on my knees, but it’s not just the smell of metal polish getting up my nose. What is it with the military’s obsession with cleaning products and spotless ablutions? I’d be scrubbing and polishing for hours. I imagine it was some kind of rite of passage. Next, I’ll be whistling “Colonel Bogey,” humming “Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder,” and drumming the Dambusters March on the tiles.

It’s not a well-known fact, but back in the early ’80s, as an extension of the existing Youth Opportunities Programme (YOP), the government ran a parallel scheme in the Armed Forces. And in 1981, at the tender age of 17, one of my most formative years was spent with the RAF.

The Thrill Amidst the Chores

As it happens, janitorial duties aside, I loved it. What self-respecting teenager wouldn’t have loved hanging out of helicopters on aerial assignments or working alongside a couple of squadrons of Hawk T1 trainers—getting high on the smell of Brasso and scorching aviation fuel? The sight and scent of both squadrons burning and turning on the apron was utterly awe-inspiring. But that’s all in the past.

A Different Military Era

It’s almost lost in the mists of time, but back when I was cleaning their toilets, the RAF was an impressive beast. We also had a proper Army and Navy, and the mighty British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) stood as a backstop between the UK and the Warsaw Pact. Put bluntly, we had many more boots on the ground than we do today.

That simple arithmetic meant that the resources used to train and oversee—not that there was much to see, as health and safety had yet to be invented—were, by comparison to the total strength, a drop in the ocean. I was the only YOP in the Photographic Section, and the total number of YOPs at RAF Chivenor, where I trained, could have been no more than around six teenagers.

The Myth of National Service

My experience was a “Boy’s Own” adventure because it was well-resourced and not bogged down by political doctrine.
Sadly, this new vision of National Service is based on a fantasy version of the 1960s, as seen through those distorting Tory rose-tinted glasses. In reality, lots of bored young men marked time physically and metaphorically, waiting for the clock to run down and return to civvy street.

A bit like those sunlit uplands of Brexit infamy, it’s the same kind of ideal. After the vote, the clock would have been turned back, and a cheerful Nick Berry, dressed as PC Nick Rowan in Heartbeat, would be on his bicycle whistling down streets now empty of undesirables. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The Real Challenges Ahead

We all know that any new scheme would be under-resourced, underfunded, undermanned, over-subscribed, bogged down in red tape, and a minefield of inclusion issues. Yet living the dream is a bit like Marmite. When so young, and first exposed to all things military, you will either love it or hate it. And I’m assuming the idea is that not only do we want youth to love it, but also sign up and join as adults at the end of their National Service.

Why It Matters

I accept I was one of the lucky ones. I am where I am today because I was a Yoppy and the RAF. Not only did it teach me how to swear (a legacy that endures to this day), but it gifted me the photographic portfolio that got me into art college without the required qualifications (art college in the ’80s was like winning the lottery), and the rest, as they say, was history. With the right resources, this scheme can give young people one of the greatest gifts of all—a future. But you either do it properly or don’t do it at all.