How former soldiers from Carlisle are fighting civvy street battles

Both spent time in war zones and still feel the psychological strain. Now they are working together, at Alan’s security company Guard-A-Force UK, and calling for greater support for forces’ veterans who struggle on civvy street.

This interview takes place at Guard-A-Force’s premises off James Street, near Carlisle city centre. The office contains an electric fire, a large dog, and photographs of Stuart and Alan on horseback in their Household Cavalry uniforms, looking remarkably similar.

Alan joined up in 1979 and stayed for 20 years. Stuart joined in 2007 and left a year ago. For Stuart, 28, the army was never a childhood ambition. “When I was younger I became a bit of a tearaway. Just messing around with the wrong crowd. I joined the Army Cadets at 15. I thought it would be a laugh. When I walked through the gates of Carlisle Castle I was greeted by Alan.”

Alan, 56, was working for the cadets by then. His smile suggests that Stuart found it harder than he had expected.

Stuart says: “I stuck it through. It instilled some much-needed discipline. I thought of the places I could go and the things I could see.”

Hence his decision to join the army. The Household Cavalry wasn’t his first choice but Alan persuaded him to apply. “I’m glad he did. He’s been a major influence throughout my life.”

Neither man had been on a horse when they joined the Household Cavalry. Stuart had never even stroked one before his 14 weeks of intensive training.

“Getting on a horse for the first time was probably more terrifying than my first day in Afghanistan. You’ve got to create a bond. I took to it quite quickly. I’ve always liked being taken out of my comfort zone.”

As well as its mounted regiment, the Household Cavalry has an armoured division. Stuart’s time with it included seven months in Afghanistan from 2010-11. “We were monitoring the main supply routes through Helmand Province. A lot of it’s hearts and minds. Engaging with the local population. Helping train and mentor Afghan forces to sustain themselves once we’ve left.

“You think it’s going to be bullets flying all the time. It wasn’t. It was quite eerily quiet. That’s always a sign that something is wrong. Once or twice a week there’d be some sort of contact with the enemy. The biggest threat was IEDs [improvised explosive devices].

“There was a vehicle blown up. All three guys survived but with serious injuries. One lost both his legs from the knee down. Another had to have a leg amputated. The guy that lost his legs was the gunner. Forty-eight hours previously I was the gunner on that vehicle. You do get an overwhelming feeling of guilt. It sounds callous: luck went my way that day.”

He adds: “My dad’s been through it all before. Northern Ireland and suchlike. I’ve always had a fantastic support network around me. If I’ve ever needed to talk there are plenty of people.”

Back in the UK Stuart excelled in the mounted regiment. He was promoted to Lance Corporal, helping to run a troop of horses and men, and taking part in spectacular ceremonies. He rode in the Lord Mayor’s Show twice; Trooping the Colour twice; the state opening of Parliament twice, and investitures at Windsor Castle and Buckingham Palace.

Millions watched around the world. “That never seemed to cross my mind. You’ve got so many things to concentrate on. Keep in your ranks. Keep your dressings perfect. As a corporal you have to command your row of men. And there’s the kit cleaning until three or four in the morning. People only see the glamorous side.”

Stuart applied to join the Musical Ride: a Household Cavalry mounted display team which performs complex manoeuvres to music. Only the best of the best are accepted. “I got onto it. Soon after that I got hit with ‘By the way, you’re performing for the Queen’s 90th birthday at Windsor Castle.’”

Participants from around the world performed at this 2016 pageant. Stuart led one of the Musical Ride’s two rows of eight riders in intricate formation. “One of the proudest moments of my life,” is his summary.

“That’s where I really learned to ride properly,” he says of the Musical Ride. “It’s not just trotting down the Mall. It was proper technical riding to music, in full ceremonial kit while carrying a lance, in time with each other.”

Stuart and Alan both stress that the Household Cavalry’s mounted regiment is more than decorative. Stuart says: “The main role isn’t to look pretty. It’s to provide protection.”

Alan adds: “When you’re riding down the Mall with the Queen, it’s at the back of your mind that something could go wrong. I was there when the Queen got shot at by a kid with a starting pistol [during the 1981 Trooping the Colour]. We surrounded her carriage - make sure we get shot, not the Queen. It was that quick - by the time we got around her, the foot guard had got him.”

That same year Alan also rode at Prince Charles and Lady Diana’s wedding. Stuart knows their sons. William and Harry were Household Cavalry officers during his time in the regiment. He used to have a video on his phone - he deleted it when he left the army - of them playing a game in which everyone present tried to balance a spoon on their nose. “It was breakfast on Christmas morning. There were about 20 of us around the table.”

Who won the spoon-balancing game? “I won! They weren’t too bad at it. That’s the only time I ever really met them. It was just like talking to my mates.”

Alan recalls regularly meeting the Queen at Windsor. “Every morning we’d take our horses for exercise. We’d bump into her when she was on her horse. We’d have a quick chat, salute and ride off.”

At some point, army life must end. Alan says: “You come out. You don’t know what to do with yourself. The regiment is like a comfort blanket. I left the gates and thought ‘What do I do now?’”

He struggled to adjust to civilian life. Working with the Army Cadets was a useful compromise. He set up Guard-A-Force two years ago, determined to improve the security industry’s sometimes questionable image.

Stuart joined him only a month ago. “I’ve been out of the army for a year. I wanted to come back home and settle down with my wife, Chloe. She’s from Carlisle. All I’ve known, lived and breathed since I left school was the army. Coming back to civvy street was a massive shock. I applied for 75 jobs. I got offered one.

“People want qualifications on paper. You don’t get a chance to show what you’re capable of. When I first came out I was a bailiff. That’s the only job I got offered. I didn’t agree with it. I didn’t like it. They were wanting to fast track me through training. But it’s not a great job.

“When I first came out I worried so much. You take that step out of the gates for the last time. Straight away you feel isolated. It’s a confidence knock when you get constantly knocked back. You’re not used to it. It’s just the little things. I went to get my first prescription as a civilian. I went to walk off. ‘Excuse me, sir - are you not going to pay for that?’ That’s embarrassing. I’d never had to pay for one before.”

Military charities say they are not coping with the increased demand from veterans for mental health support. Campaigners estimate that last year at least 58 British veterans took their own lives. The struggle to adjust to civilian life is in some cases magnified by trauma.

“A guy I served with in the regiment killed himself a month or so back,” says Stuart.

“A guy I knew killed himself and his two kids,” says Alan. “He just couldn’t cope. Nobody recognised the signs that he couldn’t cope. It’s sad when people get to that stage. I found it difficult. I’ve got to the stage where I thought ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ One time I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognise my face. I’d let myself go. The world was crap and no one cared. Too many squaddies have fallen through the cracks because they’ve done their service and now nobody cares.

“I’ve had PTSD [post-traumatic stress disorder] since Northern Ireland. I’m pretty sure Stuart has since Afghanistan. I’ve watched him break down in front of me. It’s hard to go to someone and say ‘I’ve got a problem.’ In your eyes it’s seen as a sign of weakness. Civvy street is better than it used to be. But more support is needed. There are a hell of a lot of homeless soldiers.”

Several Guard-A-Force staff are former soldiers. If they are troubled Alan hopes he can see the signs and offer support. He doesn’t employ them out of charity, but because he believes they make excellent employees. “You can jump into any role because you’ve been trained that well. But people don’t see it that way. I haven’t taught Stuart this job. On the first day I told him what I expected. He hasn’t come back to me and said ‘Am I doing this right?’ He’d know if he was doing it wrong because I’d jump on him!”

Stuart says: “I just wish more people would give guys coming out of the army a chance to showcase their skills. A lot end up going into lone working, like transport. It is hard to integrate into a group as a civilian. This job is fantastic for that. I’m surrounded by people that are the same as me. By ex-soldiers.”

Stuart is Guard-A-Force’s operations manager with duties including marketing, hiring staff and drumming up business. “I’ve gone from security to security. That’s what the army does: security. The skills I learned like managing men and the confidence the armed forces gave me will help me progress in this job. A paper certificate doesn’t really tell you what someone can do.”

For all that he enjoyed his army years, Stuart finds civilian life preferable in at least one way. At his exit interview he was asked “What are you looking forward to?” His reply: “Never shaving again.”