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Omanis of course, but also with Baluchi, Pakistani, Jordanian, Indian and Iranian
forces. A truly multinational, multilingual force.

I remained on operations in Dhofar until August 1974, when it was time to return to
the British Army, with a wealth of experience and huge affection for Oman and its
lovely people. Shortly after leaving, I learnt I’d been awarded the Wazirat Khidmat
Mumtaaza, the Sultan of Oman’s Distinguished Service Medal for Gallantry, and I
got a letter from the Queen congratulating me and giving me permission to wear
it!
SANDHURST
My next, and as it turned out, last posting in the army, was to RMA Sandhurst,
where not so long before I had been a lowly cadet.
But first! Days after my arrival back in UK, a wonderful thing happened! Chance
led me to meet a lovely lady called Diana Harvey. We got on, we enjoyed each
other’s company, we fell in love and within 6 weeks I had (sort of) proposed to her
and told her parents. The ‘sort of’ is because in my completely un-romantic way,
as we were driving down the A30 to Di’s parents’ house, I’d idly remarked ’Shall
we tell them?’. ‘Tell them what’, Di replied. ‘That we are getting engaged’!
Our wedding took place in the lovely village of Wonston, near Winchester, which
was Di’s parents’ home. It was on 2 August 1975, our wedding day, (and my
nd
commissioning date 7 years previously). My Bride looked radiant. I was in Blues. We
had a fanfare played by trumpeters from Sandhurst and a guard of honour of my
fellow officers outside the church. The reception was in my parents in law’s
beautiful garden. It was by far the best wedding I have ever been to, then or
since!

Two years at Sandhurst training officer cadets was fun, and there was a brilliant
social life. We made many great friends there, some of them for life. We bought
our first house, a 16 C beamed cottage in Yateley. A year later and David, our
th
first-born arrived. And fairly soon I had to think about what I wanted to do next.
After the adrenaline rush and excitement of Oman, anything that was on offer in
the British army felt a bit flat. I had toyed with going back to Oman on contract,
as a mercenary, but meeting Di, and getting married, rightly put a stop to that
idea. Rather destructively I found I was constantly harking back to the ‘good
days’ in Oman. I decided that at 28 years old with a new family, the best thing to
do was to become a civilian, and move into another field altogether. So, I put in
my letter of resignation, received lots of kind words and encouragement from
colleagues, and at the beginning of 1977 was a civvy.

CIVVY STREET
First stop was to retrain. I found a Training Opportunities Scheme course in Derby
that ran for 6 months and for which I could get a grant. Di stayed at our house in

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