a British Soldier by Anon

A British Soldier

The average age of the British military person is 19 years. He is a short haired,
tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by
society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, just old
enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He  would rather wax his own car than wash his father's, but he has never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent Comprehensive School graduate; he was probably an average
student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old
jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when
he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world
away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing
and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he
is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. Letter writing is a pain for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the
dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade
launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a
professional.

He can march until he is told to stop, or stop until he is told to
march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without
spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.

He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He
keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, he’ll share
his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of
battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were
his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and
still find ironic humour in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short
lifetime.



He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in
combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body
while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to
'square-away' those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove
their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends the rights of others
even if they are disrespectful to him.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is
paying the price for our freedom.

Beardless or not, he is not a boy.

He is the BRITISH Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over
200 years.

He has asked nothing in return, except friendship and understanding.

Remember him, always, for he has earned respect and admiration with
his blood.

And today we have women over there in danger, doing their part in
this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to sleep in your comfortable warm bed tonight, picture this person as he/she defends your peace, resting during a short lull, under a little shade and a picture of their loved ones in their helmets.

Prayer
'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands.
Protect them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts
they perform for us in our time of need. Amen.'


ANON

Brilliant Michael.