The care factor at the heart of Army

By Chap Mick Taylor
The young soldier glared at me. If looks could kill, then I was vapourised! One of his ancestors had to be a Dalek. With enormous energy, he told me how much he hated the unit. In fact, he detested the whole Army.

In the same breath, he boasted how he could easily get a much better job on civvy street – a job that would pay better, with better hours, better equipment, better people, and better everything. He said the biggest regret of his life was that he ever joined the Green Machine.

At another time, and another place, I was at the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital – a young soldier had just been evacuated from East Timor and was fighting for his life. Shortly afterwards, his dad and mum, and his sister, were also there.

I said a prayer for the young soldier, that God would look after him in every way that was possible.The lad’s sister, a young woman in her early 20s, looked at her unconscious brother, struggling for his life, and through her tears, she said “What would the Army care about my little brother? He’s only a private, after all. Why would he possibly matter?”

The hour was late, and emotions were very high. I quietly assured the family that I had no doubt that Maj-Gen Peter Cosgrove in East Timor was himself well aware of this situation, and would be very concerned about it. The young woman looked at me as if I were somehow crazy. “Rubbish! He wouldn’t know my brother even existed,” she said in her upset tears.

Of course, the next morning, when I met them again at the ICU, the family was excited and told me how the phone unexpectedly rang in the motel room just after they got back – and Maj-Gen Cosgrove was calling them directly from East Timor, and he had spoken with each of them at great length. I was not surprised … this is the Army doing its business, the Army at its best.

But in this case, too, it wasn’t just the generals who showed what Army is made of. When the soldier regained consciousness, I kept up my visits, and he told me I had just missed one of his platoon mates.

This other fellow had been sent back to Australia because of a death in the family, and was in transit for a few brief hours before getting a connecting flight home.

But in those few brief hours that he had, this platoon mate resolved to put on wet cams – because time was so short – and even though he had never been to this city before, he got the taxi to take him to this hospital, and he did his best to find his comrade to see how he was. He put aside his own personal griefs and worries to do this. I was so astonished and very moved as I heard this.

This was Army at its finest.

And so, as I looked back at this other, surly digger who was just so sick of his unit, I let him have his say, and allowed him to calm down. Then I let him know something that a wise old sergeant had put to me when I was a new digger, many moons ago.

The advice was this: When you criticise your unit, be real careful. All you are doing is criticising the people in it. In all likelihood, most of them would not appreciate your low opinion of them.

Pte Surly Boots got the point, and I am pleased to say he went on to becoming a more positive (and therefore a more well-liked) member of the unit. The CO gave him the task of helping with the regimental shop, and suddenly this digger was coming up with new and clever ways to promote the unit. His unhappiness was soon forgotten, and I hope that he will continue to use his initiative – like so many others have before him – to make Army something even greater, and that he too could join the ranks of those two soldiers above, for whom the Army was something they were very proud of.