EX-TEFL TEACHERS DON'T MAKE GOOD SOLDIERS - PART 1

Being commissioned into The Army is not an obvious career move for a TEFL teacher, but it is a measure of my desperation to scale the wall of the TEFL Graveyard and bolt that, for a time, I considered it the most propitious. In a life replete with many a poorly planned venture, this was, by several furlongs, the most gloriously preposterous. Fortunately for the defence of the realm, the assembled officers at the Regular Commissions Board in Westbury concurred wholeheartedly. Indeed, I suspect that, twelve years on, more than a few of them are still dining out on my laughably limp performance during the gruelling three-day selection process.

My unhealthy obsession with all things military started when I was a child. Whilst my contemporaries were into Marvel comics, 2000 AD and superheroes, I used to read Warlord, which was full of Second World War battles and other assorted slaughter. I also spent vast amounts of time and money on the quite pointless hobby of military modelling.

By the time I reached University, I hadn’t grown up any. As a Fellwalking Club stalwart, I loved nothing better than to rise early on Sundays, don a backpack, galoshes and a souwester, and wander around the north of England for four or five hours in appalling, miserable weather. Becoming a military officer seemed the obvious next step. Conveniently ignoring the fact that I could well be coming under a fatal hail of heavy machine gun fire or a lethal mortar barrage, I fancied that a career in the armed forces was nothing more than a heavily-armed form of rambling.

I never managed to convince myself one hundred per cent of my suitability for earning the Queen’s shilling, however – another case where my endearing leaning towards procrastination was given full rein. However, in an uncharateristically enterprising moment, I did once arrange an interview with the Royal Navy Careers Officer – I’d always fancied travelling around the world, and of course there was the added bonus of routinely being piped on board ship.

My interlocutor was an athletic blonde who seemed to fill the entire room, as most forces types do. I was feeling unaccustomedly buoyant.

“So, how’s the course going?” he boomed.

“Excellently,” I barked back, “to be honest, I’ll be disappointed if I don’t get a two-one.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded approvingly.

“I’ve worked hard and I think I deserve it,” I added, exuding an alien self-confidence that almost, but not quite, spilled over into self-satisfaction.

“So, are you going to apply?” he bellowed as we wrapped up our no-nonsense shouting match.

“I think so,” I retorted.

We exchanged a bone crushing handshake, I took the forms he proffered, turned on my heel and marched purposefully home. When I arrived I went upstairs to my room, inexplicably put the application forms straight in the bin and had a lie down for the rest of the afternoon.

But that was far from the end of my martial ambitions.

PART TWO TO FOLLOW SHORTLY...