That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
My coursemates are often surprised when I tell them my age. Yes, sometimes I do feel a little old. Nonetheless it's not usually a noticeable age gap; I'm really only a couple of years older than most of the people in my year.
The reason for my (relatively) advanced age is that I had to do compulsory military service back home. In essence, I took the equivalent of three gap years - two years serving in the army, one year working and waiting for uni to start. It was a bit weird getting into academic study after three years away, although I'm fully into the swing of things now.
Looking back, the army seems like a world away.
I can still remember my time in basic training vividly. We had just arrived in our bunks when a loud-voiced sergeant entered effing and blinding. Over the next few months I would learn the finer points of jungle warfare, tactical movement – and some extremely colourful swear words.
For most of these activities I was, to put it bluntly, terrified, with the result being that I ended up one of the worst recruits ever. Those three months were some of the worst of my life. I frequently felt stupid and useless and thought I was bringing my platoon down. If I could re-live any moment in my life I'd want to go back and try and do a better job than I did when I was first there – to not wallow in self-pity; to not be so sensitive to criticism and punishment: to be more positive about the whole thing.
Then again, I guess it was part of a greater learning experience. I remember there was a banner that used to greet us outside the training school. A banner telling us that the army was a place where "boys would enter and men would leave" or words to that effect. I don't know about whether the army made me a better person, but I certainly learned a lot about myself – not all of it positive. At least it made me want to endeavour to change.
And I was glad for the opportunity to meet different kinds of people; to step outside the bourgeois, middle-class bubble I had been living in for the past eighteen years. There was a silver lining at the end of basic training too: I got posted to the school of military medicine where I received formal instruction in first-aid and clinical practice.
One of the most interesting things I learned was how to perform intravenous injections on patients. We practiced on each other, and because of my extremely prominent veins I was a popular choice as an "IV dummy". I still have numerous needle marks on both my arms, so much so that I have to occasionally explain to people that I'm not actually a heroin addict. Nonetheless, I felt extremely lucky to have been assigned to a place where I could apply myself best and gain some useful skills.
The day I graduated and received my Red Cross insignia was one of my proudest moments ever.
I finished my term of service as a medical orderly, attaining the rank of Corporal. I learned many things, not just in the medical/nursing sphere but also about working with different kinds of people. Again it wasn't entirely a smooth ride, but I'm grateful for the experience. At the very least it gave me time to consider my post-secondary options; I really only decided to study abroad somewhere towards the end of my first year of service.
I've not yet fully paid off my debt to my country, so to speak, as I'm still on the active reserve list. Since I'm studying overseas, I've been granted a disruption, but when I finish uni I'm liable to be recalled for at least three weeks a year until the age of forty for refresher courses, mobilisations, field training and the like.
Still, my army experiences were put sharply into perspective shortly after I arrived in the UK. A young man I spoke to at a blood donation drive had recently enlisted into the TA and told me he was going to be deployed in Afghanistan after his basic training in Germany.
I hope my country never ever goes to war. I don't think I have the bottle to fire a rifle at someone, enemy or not, which is why I'm glad that I'm a medic - a healer rather than someone deployed to cause the injuries.
Still, I guess I'll never really know unless something awful happens.
I'm so glad we don't have military service in this country! I'm not sure how I'd cope if I had to enlist but I know it would be anything but good! Although I guess if I'd been brought up to expect it, and if we weren't at war, things might be different.
This is such a good blog, it talks so much of issues that some of us will never experience. Such a good insight and really interesting to someone, like me, who came straight from sixth form, and in that sense has never really lived much.
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