Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       7 Letters home – Lyn

       8 Stay safe. Love you loads, son xxxx

       9 Take one soldier and his warrior dog

       10 The man and his dog

       11 In the line of duty

       12 Not again?

       13 Repatriation: the final journey home

       Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

       About the Publisher

Chapter 7

       Letters home – Lyn

      I could always tell when Kenneth was unhappy because his letters gave him away. If he was happy he would be all chatty and newsy and asking for all kinds of treats things to help him and Diesel be more comfortable. When he was unhappy I would read the letter and picture him sitting in the dirt, knees raised, writing paper resting on his legs. I could feel his words. I know he enjoyed a good whinge and moan, but then who doesn’t? The thing is Kenneth’s moans didn’t last long. Once he had let them out, they were gone.

      I remember one of the letters he wrote to me in April, about a month after he arrived in Afghanistan. It was a great letter because he had written it in diary style. It took me, it took us all, to a dirt hole in Afghan. I was with Kenneth and 3 Para in the desert. He took me through two days from the early morning into the night, so I knew when he was sleeping, washing, feeding Diesel, watching DVDs, waiting for things to happen and thinking of home. For the first time I saw a side of my son that really didn’t get a chance to materialise day-to-day at home, in Newcastle.

      For someone who I don’t think ever bought a pen, Kenneth suddenly thought it was worth mentioning the bargain price of the pens and paper he was using. Very funny, as he was always taking my pens and paper and never thinking about the cost! And asking me to pass on the letters he sent to other members of the family, asking me because ‘it’s good manners’, because as Kenneth would say: ‘I was brought up, not dragged up!’ It was nice to know that some things I had said stayed with him, even in the desert thousands of miles away.

      Saturday 19 April

      07.50hrs: Breakfast was a boil-in-the-bag sausage omelette and beans with another really shite cup of tea …

      08.05hrs: The temperature’s really starting to pick up now so will write more later … By the way, I’m starting to like drinking water now without the cordial. Honest! Mam, tell Dad we might have to get a fridge in the garage with one of those water dispenser thingies for when I get home. Now that’s what I call proper English, like!

      10.20hrs: Hi, back again. Just been mortared. Two mortars missed the location by 100–150 metres. The Taliban really should practise more, plus the bastards woke me up! It’s really hot now … even in the shade. That’s all for now folks! xxx

      I’m back again … We have to stand-to every night and morning at 05.05 and 19.10 just in case the Taliban decides to attack – 200 squaddies with 40 vehicles, 10 .50-calibre machine guns, 10 grenade launchers, let alone about 10,000 rounds of 5.6s, but, hey, that’s the Army for you!

      It’s long days here but some are longer due to not moving around a lot. Can you and Dad remember a picture I sent Dad on his mobile of my lil room on exercise? Well, this is worse than that. Ha! Ha!

      Dug in about two feet with three rows of sandbags stacked up. Desert basher on top to give me and Diesel some protection from the sun. Got my roll mat that’s broken and won’t inflate and my sleeping bag then my Bergen to one side with my rifle and body armour positioned for easy access. This is my home.

      Sunday 20 April

      06.00hrs: Good morning Afghanistan! I’ve been asleep for four hours, just went to the toilet, picked up my daily rations and to my amazement at 06.35 some guy came round to my little house on the prairie and handed me two parcels … I think they have been sitting here a while. That’s what happens with all the moving around. I will make sure you have the right addresses as far as I can. Love ya! xx

      07.30hrs: That’s scoff eaten, baby-wipe wash done, teeth brushed, parcels opened, letters read and all packed away in my Bergen … waiting out on either another attack or orders to go and do some