жена солдата XXI век,великобритания (с) Guardian

[babusyatanya]

No medals for those who stay at home

Sam Winston, whose husband is serving in Afghanistan, reveals a side to army life that's rarely spoken of – the immense stress on the mothers and children left behind




Sam Winston
The Guardian, Saturday 22 January 2011


'The bottom line is, you are constantly worried about your soldier,' says Sam Winston. Photograph: Christopher Thomond for the Guardian

My name is Sam Winston. I am a woman, a daughter, a sister, an auntie, a mother and an army wife. My husband has just left for his second six-month tour of Afghanistan in four years.

His departure, just after the children had gone to bed, was gut-wrenching. He has been on many different operational tours, be it Northern Ireland or Kosovo, but only in the last two tours of Afghanistan has he had a family of his own.

We have three children: we can't say much to the one-year-old or the two-year-old, but the eldest is three and the conversation my husband had with her as he was saying goodnight in their bedroom before leaving is one that will stick in my mind for a long time.

We had mentioned Afghanistan several times over the previous week or so and said daddy was going to be away for a while, but this was the first time that she kept asking: "Why? Why? Why …"

My husband explained that he was going out to tell the baddies to "buzz off" so that we could all live in a safer place and the little children could go to school and sick people could see doctors – to which she added "and the sick animals can go to the vet".

Then she asked him to send her pictures so that she could "see what the baddies look like".

Thankfully, she is blissfully ignorant of the danger involved in what her father does and we believe that she is far too young to know the details. We always have the radio on somewhere in the house, especially in the kitchen, and she shouts "Afghanistan" every time she hears it mentioned. We switch off the television if images of fighting in Afghanistan are shown. We don't want her to even glimpse what her daddy may be doing. Once she starts asking questions that can't be fobbed off, we will have to be more honest.

There are many families whose children are older and understand the danger, which is an incredible burden for any child. I'm not looking forward to the time when we will have to explain why daddy does what he does.

I had to stand outside the bedroom while their conversation took place as I found it too emotional. The army welfare does a fantastic job in supporting those of us who stay behind, and those deploying can record a story CD for their younger children. My husband and I decided that it would be confusing for the children to hear their daddy's voice while he is away so we chose not to do it.

All of us in the army know someone who has had the knock on the door that heralds horrific news of death or life-changing injuries and, during a quiet moment together, just before his departure, I asked my husband: "Do you still love what you do because I need to know and need to be able to tell our children that if anything happens to you out there, you were doing what you love and what you thought was right?" The answer was a resounding, categorical yes.

But the strain these circumstances can put on a couple and the family unit is, I believe, an untold story. That is a side to army life that people do not see: how a conflict, especially one such as Afghanistan, affects all those indirectly involved: the wives, the parents and the children. The ones left behind.

When he left on his last tour I'm not sure I had any idea what to expect, other than that I was going to miss him and was worried sick for his safety. Our eldest daughter was then only three months old so the "situation" had no effect on her. I went to drop my husband off, and seeing him walk away in the car park with his kit was heart-wrenching. I was incredibly tearful, but then I got back in the car with my daughter and was surprised to find myself just saying, "Right then …" and I suppose I just got on with it.

Unfortunately, what will always be remembered during my husband's last tour was that a good friend and colleague of his was killed. My husband carried his coffin. When I heard the news I felt stunned, and my heart went out to his wife and family and the harsh reality of it all hit me like a 10-tonne truck.

The second memory of that tour, which to this day brings tears to my eyes, was the welcome our eldest daughter gave her daddy on his return. We went to meet him at the crack of dawn at Brize Norton. She was by now eight months old and I wasn't sure if she would even recognise him. But I needn't have worried – when he appeared, she greeted him with an enormous grin and a long hug.

People have said, "Oh well, you must get used to it, having your husband away, being on your own" – but you don't. You never get used to it, and the men and women who serve don't get used to it either. Some also say that we wives knew what we were getting ourselves into when we married into the forces. Wrong again – you can't possibly know what it is like until you have experienced it. I realise that this is possibly not the best environment for my children, but what is? And we all do the best with what we have. What is rarely mentioned is that before they leave for a tour of duty the soldiers have an extremely charged six-month training schedule, so the impact on families is felt well before they leave for combat. Some may spend as little as 30% of their time with their families during the training period and as a tour lasts six months, this, in effect, means a year of separation and disruption. Inevitably, that takes a toll on everyone.

As the departure date approaches there is a growing feeling of gloom. We try not to argue, try not to upset each other and try to spend as much time together as possible. It's somewhat surreal but all part of the journey.

Ask any army wife how she copes while her husband is away and we all have our own system. We start to think about our "deployment coping mechanism". I try not to let my emotions affect my children and to keep a check on my temper, which is often on a short fuse. This is sometimes difficult when it has been a long day and I haven't heard from my husband for a week or so. Communications are touch and go, and it's something I choose not to focus on. As far as I am concerned, no news is good news and a short phone call or one handwritten bluey (forces airmail letters) is a bonus.

I know that many wives find the limited contact extremely difficult, but I find that letting it get to you just makes the six months separation more difficult to deal with. The bottom line is, you are constantly worried about your soldier (my first grey hairs appeared during my husband's last tour to Afghanistan) and I suppose to have contact gives a moment's relief to the endless worry.

During a six-month tour, soldiers take two weeks' leave. Ironically, many wives agree that this can actually come as an unwelcome break in a carefully planned routine. I'm not suggesting that we are not overjoyed to see them back, it is just that 10 days later you have to explain to the children why daddy is leaving again.

As the one staying behind, you have to take yet another deep breath to start again and it sometimes highlights the separation even more than the first departure. It is only when they come back that you realise just how tense and worried you have been throughout the entire tour. The overwhelming relief I felt upon his return from his last tour almost knocked me sideways. I hadn't quite realised the strength of the emotional tension.

There's a briefing before the troops come home, reminding us to try to be considerate, to give each other a bit of space and not forget what the other has been through. It is impossible for us at home to understand or visualise the horrendous experiences the soldiers have had to endure.

But when you have been coping by yourself for six months, trying to keep "normal life" going, and your husband comes back with mountains of dirty kit and leaves his filthy boots by the front door, it's amazing how something as trivial as that can spark an almighty row. It is a difficult balance to strike … On one hand you are elated to be reunited and to have your loved one home safe and sound but once the honeymoon period is over, the pressure cooker lid can blow off and little things can become big issues.

It's not as easy as you might think to slip back into normal life. The soldiers have been out in the wilderness, cut off from everyday life and all the things they enjoy – but equally we have been here with our heads down, keeping the plates spinning, and we need time to let go and have someone else be part of that. But there are no medals for those who stay at home. There is a serious time of readjusting – on both sides – not least because there is a very strong possibility that one, if not both of you, is not quite the same person you were six months ago.

We have a saying: "Home is where the army sends you." We have moved house four times in four years, and we are by no means unique within the army. This becomes more complicated when you have children. The upheaval that goes with having to start afresh each time with schools, nurseries, friends and work is significant. Each time we move and we have emptied the last box, my husband goes for his first day at work, and it is almost entirely left to me to get out there and meet people and make new friends – basically, to make a life for myself and my children.


And I have had to put my professional life on hold, which is not entirely due to the fact that I have children. I have learned not to mention that my husband is in the forces when I go for job interviews as it raises questions of commitment and continuity. After four years of moving, my CV has taken a battering. When I next go for an interview, it will take some explaining. Going back to work is difficult for any mother, but in army culture the decision is even harder. My role in life is to try to facilitate my husband's career, to keep myself sane and fulfilled, to ease my children through life with as little disruption and as much happiness as possible, but not to lose my own identity and independence. There are times when I want to scream that my every move is dictated by the army and I feel suffocated. Thankfully, I have a husband who respects that for my happiness I need to keep people, experiences and a part of life non-army-related. He fell in love with an independent woman with a mind of her own and wants me to stay that way. It cannot be 100% army all the time or he, too, would suffocate.

Many families send their children to boarding school to give them some continuity. Others opt to have one half anchored in one location while the partner moves around and becomes a weekend lodger. What are we going to do when the children get older? We don't know. I do know that we have enough enforced separation as it is. Both my husband and I went to boarding school at a young age and believe that we are extremely independent because of it. I do, however, remember that there were always a couple of children in the class who were not suited to it. If I felt my children fell into this category then we would have to reconsider our family's situation and my husband's job. Our children come first.

We live on a family army patch in close proximity to many of my husband's colleagues. It does mean that we are living in a fishbowl to a certain extent; nothing goes unnoticed and it can be claustrophobic at times. On the other hand, we are surrounded by people in the same boat who understand our situation. We all come from different walks of life, with different backgrounds and stories, and in civvy street our paths would probably never cross. But there is one fierce link that connects us all: it is this unique experience we share – we all desperately want our loved ones to come home safe and sound.


Sam Winston is a pseudonym

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/jan/22/afghanistan-iraq-army-families