The smell of the whisky and Baileys inside ‘The Potty’ stung my nostrils and throat as I took three deep breaths, followed by three deep gulps of the horrendous brew.
This was the Army I grew up in. It’s the Army many have grown up in. An isolated life behind the wire, plus tax-free, subsidised booze in the Mess (our living/socialising quarters, the hub of which tends to be a bar).
‘The Potty’ is a large, solid silver trophy cup with a hinged lid. It’s a traditional part of regimental life. This drum-sized trophy goes around the table until the contents are gone. Of course you don’t have to drink, but nobody likes to be the odd one out.
Camaraderie, family and belonging are the lifeblood of the Army. We create that by socialising and bonding. Gritty military training and sporting events tend to be punctuated by – or permeated with – alcohol. We rely on these bonds to support each other in times of separation, crisis and, of course, conflict.
Of course you don’t have to drink, but nobody likes to be the odd one out.
In my view there’s nothing wrong with alcohol in healthy moderation. Only, once you quit partaking of ‘The Potty’, as I did in September 2017, you come to realise just how normalised drinking has become, and how unusual not drinking looks and feels. It’s just normal to come into a Mess and see a table laden with booze; it’s normal to only offer coke, lemonade or orange juice, like it’s the 1980s; and you still get sideways glances during the Loyal Toast because your glass is filled with water rather than port.
Critics may say, “You’re more likely to find a junior soldier in the gym than the bar,” and I’d agree with that, but we shouldn’t be naïve to the long shadow alcohol has cast. Such alcohol-biased events are now anachronistic to the body-, mind- and soul-conscious generation of today. But those of us who came up through that environment, and mixed it with tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan, are now in our late 30s and 40s. Many of us shouldn’t pretend we have a ‘normal’ relationship with drinking, because we don’t.
Alcohol remains an aggravating factor in most military discipline cases, as well as an accelerator in poor mental health and relationship breakdowns. Meanwhile, we recruit from sections of society where risk factors for addiction are arguably higher - incomplete education, difficult family situations, social deprivation and early exposure to drugs and alcohol. Army recruits tend to be natural risk takers and in some quarters we still have an overly masculine culture. ‘Excess’ becomes a relative term.
We recruit from sections of society where risk factors for addiction are arguably higher - incomplete education, difficult family situations, social deprivation and early exposure to drugs and alcohol.
But the Army has now committed to positive change. We have ten years’ experience of developing triage and support for mental health in the wake of conflict. That same expertise is being used to tackle the modern challenges of anxiety regulation, emotional control and the prevention of stress and alcohol misuse converging. Our junior soldiers undertake mental resilience training through ‘Op SMART’. We draw on expertise from the King’s Centre for Military Health Research and the NHS. Army Units are self-generating their own network of Alcohol Awareness Advisors. We are making steady progress, but it’s a big culture shift that will take time.
One of the biggest changes is: we now talk about the dark side of drinking. Recently one of our highest ranking, most decorated Generals described how after a combat tour in Iraq he withdrew from life, over-worked and self-medicated with whisky. It’s a confession that leaves you breathless. General Patrick’s film breaks hard ground and gives space and legitimacy to others who have experienced the same. Twenty years ago, this was unheard of.
Talking is important, as is finding community through ventures like Sober Spring (you can join the online community). During my own journey, I found Catherine Gray’s book to be a decent compass. I found AA to be too stark, but my colleagues at the Ministry of Defence were magnificent. I’d also be nowhere without the patience and compassion of my wife, who described it as “having [her] husband back.”
We now have a working environment in the Army where you can tell the truth about your addiction, whatever it may be, and get help. That doesn’t make it any easier, but it does mean we’re in a better position to understand and support you.
At a Christmas function in 2019, one Army Unit offered a 0% beer alongside traditional beer. The zero-proof offering sold out more quickly than its full fat version. Just think about how powerful that change could be. I certainly feel like I have an unburdened, clearer mind without.
The Army’s alcohol awareness ‘nudge’ initiatives expect to be busier than ever in the aftermath of the pandemic. People’s mental health has suffered, drinking has soared and a ‘return to normal’ isn’t just about travel and cinema, it’s about booze too.
We now have a working environment in the Army where you can tell the truth about your addiction, whatever it may be, and get help. That doesn’t make it any easier, but it does mean we’re in a better position to understand and support you. Together we’re stronger and the Army slogan of ‘Fail Learn Win’ applies.
Those in the Armed Forces are not perfect and we do make mistakes. We may be heroes to some, but we also may not be saints, and that’s OK. Let’s keep talking.
