ALWAYS A LITTLE FURTHER…One man’s SAS Selection in the mid 70s.

A student tabs with his Bergen and rifle to the next RV. Mid 70s.

It was this time 50 years ago that I began seriously preparing for 22 SAS Selection.

I was stationed 6 miles from the great city of Bath, England in an RAF camp named Colerne. It’s primary role was the overhaul of the C130 fleet from RAF Lyneham.

In one corner of the airfield was an old aircraft hanger containing No 2 Field Squadron, RAF Regiment. We had a parachute role, and sometimes we’d mount into the C130 along with our containers and weapons as it backed up to the Squadron’s hanger, saving us the journey to Lyneham. The Colerne airfield was constructed on top of a plateau on some of Western England’s most beautiful and undulating scenery.

I was just back from a tour of Dhofar (the secret war), it was my second tour in two years. It was there that my mind was finally made up, aged 19…having seen the SAS in Dhofar….for me now it was the place to spend the rest of my military career.

So on my return, every spare minute I had was preparing for SAS Selection. A Bergen, good Dubbin’d broken in boots, 2 pairs of socks, one thin pair and one slightly thicker, allowing for the socks to rub together and not my feet breaking out in blisters, and off I’d’ go. Anything from 5 to 15 miles, mostly roads and very undulating ground…some of it seriously undulating. About a third of the route would be through the cross country course, a large wood adjacent to the camp…I can smell the wild onions that grew there to this day.

Back then, only 3 people had passed 22 SAS Selection from our Regiment (two from our Squadron)…an officer, and two JNCOs. So getting the knowledge for a head start was difficult.

I would turn up on Selection not having experience of the Brecon Beacons’ routes, unlike many students on my course…but I was a decent navigator, and that alone gave me strength.

I remember arriving at Hereford railway station and hailing a taxi to take me to Bradbury Lines, para bag over my shoulder containing all my worldly possessions for the next phase of my life…which I was hoping wouldn’t be a short stay.

When I told the taxi driver where I was going, he asked me what my unit was. I assumed that he was an old civilian SAS groupie and was asking purely out of interest. However I told him, and I was shocked to hear him tell me that if I’d pass selection that I’d only be the 4th to do so from the RAF Regiment. Wow, he listens well I thought!

He began to give me some advice. He told me to be the grey man, take it easy physically to begin with, then give it my all come test week. Boy…he really does listen to what’s being said in the pubs of Hereford.

We pulled up at the main gate of Bradbury Lines. I thanked him and paid him for the journey. He wished me all the best for selection and hoped to see me when I get to a squadron. As I was pulling my para bag from the back seat of the taxi, I heard the MOD policeman chat quickly to the taxi driver calling him Geordie…they appeared to know one another well.

As I checked in with the policeman I asked him how well he knew the taxi driver. “Geordie” he said, years now, Geordie was the SSM (Squadron Sergeant Major) of one of the squadrons, he was in for years until retirement…now he’s on the taxis.”

I can’t believe that I’d be so naïve as to not switch on to what Geordie was trying to tell me…boy have I got to learn quickly if I’m to get through this course.

Having checked into Training Wing, signed for my Bergen and contents and made my way to the students’ basha, I met half a dozen lads who had arrived before me. They were from all arms and units, Signals, Engineers, Paras, Marines…and now me with the RAF BERET AND CAP BADGE…boy did I get a piss taking.

“What are you doing here?” “Are you here to make the brews?” Are you here to keep the basha clean while we’re on the hills?” It didn’t stop for hours.

There were about 20 beds in the spider of the old wooden second world war basha. I chose a bed next to a radiator. My plan was for every day to get back, stand in the shower fully clothed, strip off by washing through each item of clothing, wash myself, wring out the clothing, spread it out on the radiator to dry, and throw it on each morning. Boots re Dubbin’d the night before too.

We would begin our phys and instruction around the area of the camp in week one…never far away. We then ventured out to the Malvern Hills, then the Black Mountains…the groups getting smaller and smaller, then the Brecon Beacons…and out on our own, only seeing other students fleetingly during the day and mainly through the rain and mist as we crisscrossed one another heading to different RVs.

A while back now the piss taking stopped. No more was it about cap badges, as we all knew that we were all in the same boat so to speak. Some lads would remain in their beds, when it was time to shine at 4.15am in the cold of winter. Red and green berets along with others as the days wore on doing the same.

No matter how I tried along with others to convince them to get up, their minds were made up…they were going back to their units, the SAS was not for them.

We would learn quickly from one another about cap badge rivalry. It’s one thing to make it a piss take, but it’s quite another when making it a serious issue. Any one of us at any time can have a change of heart for any reason, and I respect that.

Some of the stuff that I did on Selection out on the hills that gave me an advantage over others is as follows: I was a good navigator, I would never doubt myself, I would never follow someone through the mist hoping that he’s off to the same RV as myself…as he probably isn’t, even though he appears to be following the same bearing. When I came to a fence, I would put one foot on the top of the fence and use my balance to transfer myself over, taking just a handful of seconds. I saw lads remove their Bergens, throw them over, pass over their rifle, and then climb over, Bergen back on, re-adjust and carry on taking maybe four or five times the time that I took. I’d jog on the flat, downhill and even the slight inclines, making up minutes after minutes on others, and normally coming in as the fastest of the day. I had a folded paper cup from the cookhouse in my smock pocket, ready to pull out and fill with fresh running water from a small stream running through the rocky ground, far quicker than straining to turn and pull out my water bottle which we all had to carry on a webbing belt around our combat jackets or smocks.

All of the above would help me on my way as slick as anyone can be slick tab/running in the deep pan pizza of the soaking wet Beacons.

Into the latter part of the last week I had a few bad moments. On Endurance I was going so quickly that I almost hit the wall like a marathon runner. I was set off last with the others being set off in 5 minute intervals. By the time I’d got over the Fan I was second into the RV…the SAS instructor told me that only an officer was in front of me and only by a few minutes. Naivety would get the better of me yet again…I was only just 20 after all, ha ha. Of course, I thought that I could catch the Rupert before the next RV…we weren’t even half way through endurance at this point. Around Fan Fawr and the weather cleared for a while…I could see the Rupert, he was about 400 metres in front of me, I knew that he was a flyer…but then so was I! About 20 to 30 minutes of really bad boggy ground I decided that if I’m to progress without being caught up myself, I’m going to have to have a hot brew and something to eat. I stopped, and spent about 15 minutes getting a brew on and having a hot meal. It would be one of the most sensible things that I would do on Selection at this point. It gave me time to think rationally too, alone…it’s up to me to pass this, no one else, self motivation…do I really want it!? There were even a few tears, I heard myself in the valley crying, wondering what the noise was…it was me! At one stage I would wonder if I had taken the best route, and the fact that I hadn’t seen anyone pass me, was I now last. Thankfully the negative thoughts would pass, yes the fuel stop did me good.

Fueled up now, off I went, and I remained in the manner of the early tab to the fuel stop for the rest of Endurance.

I never did catch up with the Rupert, but I did have a faster time than him given that he was one of the first to set off and that I was the last.

I’m sure that the instructors were toying with me to see if I was daft enough to try to get in first…they were sadly right!

At the end of the full phases of Selection, 6 of us passed out of just under 100…5 and the Rupert who became an amazing troop boss in B Squadron.

I’m proud of the fact that at the tender age of just turning 20, I would be the first RAF Regiment Gunner (none NCO or officer, so just a Tom) to pass 22 SAS Selection.

In B Squadron’s Amphibious Troop doing some small boat navigation in the mid 70s.

Most of us that are alive and kicking today are all still in touch…awesome memories…I loved every part of selection.