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Some weeks later, I was facing the results with the officer in command of training.

The OC calmly laid down the law. ‘You failed the test quite considerably. I gather it’s something to do with your motor racing. The remainder of the course will be spent on the hills and we can’t have you being run over by a Land Rover because you didn’t hear it coming up behind you. You need to be signed off with a clean bill of health in order to continue.’

Driving noisy racing cars had damaged the hearing in my right ear at certain frequencies. There was no way I could pass the hearing test without cheating and I determined not to get binned unless I’d broken my neck. A hearing aid seemed like the best solution.

I procured a CIC (completely in canal) earpiece from a firm that supplied OAPs. It slipped deep inside my ear and avoided visible detection. The only trace was a tiny flesh-coloured stem that facilitated removal.

The drawback of the CIC model was that once the battery was engaged, it tended to emit a loud, high-pitched squawk as you inserted it into the ear. The kind of noise an Army doctor might notice.

I practised licking and quickly wedging it in with the battery door open so that I could keep my ear empty for inspection until the very last moment. I went for a medical at another, less suspecting regiment and duly passed.

The moment came to unveil my results before the official medical staff. I waited in line for my fate to be decided. I clung nervously to the hearing aid in case I was tested again, making sure not to drop the tiny battery. I accidentally closed the hatch.

‘BWOOEEEEPP’.

A few heads turned as I reached for the thigh pocket of my DPM trousers and pretended to adjust a prohibited mobile phone. Cold sweat spread across my face. I was rescued by a pair of double doors slamming open to our left and a red-eyed, red-faced, red-haired recruit bursting into view.

Mungo was one of the strongest guys on the course and had just been sacked for some bullshit anomaly with his eyesight. His outrage was evident. Such was the delicate balance we all hung on by.

A young medical officer hopped along the line. ‘Collins, you’re here for a hearing test, right?’

‘I passed it last week, sir. Here …’ I handed him my hooky papers. He glanced at them and moved on.

After an agonising wait, a clerk came out of another door and ordered me into a room to be tested. My heart sank and my clammy fingers cradled the earpiece. As I stepped forward the young doctor reappeared. ‘He’s fine, he’s already passed.’

He turned to walk away, then stopped and added, ‘Even if you fucking bluffed it.’

It was better than a lottery win. I stared blankly ahead and pretended simply to take this news in my stride. My reward was the Fan Dance.

Chapter 13

Chin Strap

It pays to be a winner today, lads,’ the corporal smirked.

Up until this point our training had consisted of tabbing long distances across the Welsh mountains within a designated timeframe. For one of the longer, harder routes, involving a double traverse of a killer peak, candidates were required to double their speed across the hills in a test of willpower, aggression and bloody-mindedness. It was pass or fail. The march was led by the staff, so assuming they didn’t get lost, all you had to do was run.

Bernie was relishing the bleak forecast he’d seen on TV. ‘Gonna be fucking epic. Weather warning says there’s a force 8 gale this weekend.’

We enjoyed the rare pleasure of a night in a bed inside Barracks. It was a welcome indulgence, even though my pillow smelled like a group of piss-heads had wiped their asses with it. Even better, the following morning we had a cooked breakfast followed by the briefing.

‘This is a basic test to see whether you have the physical stamina to pass this course. Anyone wearing a wristwatch will be sacked; you won’t know the magic cut-off time, so you fucking push it all the way. If you notice that your legs are spinning and your bergen has overtaken you, that means you are