Interview: Soldier's tales

TOMORROW morning eight soldiers from 1 Scots will rise at dawn to run 29 miles over the Southern Uplands, raising money and awareness for Poppy Scotland's Hearts & Heroes charity. Who better to illustrate its efforts in healing wounds that are not always physical than two veterans of the Iraq war, who came through it with very different experiences.

'If it wasn't for the charities, I would probably be in jail'

ON THE sideboard of Derek Carruthers' small but immaculate living room sits a picture frame. Inside are four polished medals, one for each of his operational tours on active service as a corporal in the army's Royal Logistics Corps – Kosovo, Afghanistan and two in Iraq.

It is the only clue in the house that this 33-year-old Ayrshire man, who walks with a stick and suffers debilitating nightmares and flashbacks almost daily, had a distinguished military career throughout his twenties which was brought to an abrupt end during his second tour in Iraq.

"I joined the army when I was 18," he says. "I wanted to travel and it was a secure job. Being a soldier had always really appealed to me." Originally training as a Royal Highland Fusilier, he sustained a stress fracture to his leg towards the end of his training and briefly left the services, but rejoined in 2000, this time signing up with the RLC. Before long he was off on a six-month tour of Kosovo.

"You're trained up and well taught about anti-personnel mines and (other] situations that might occur there, but when you get there it's still unlike anything you expect. I always found it hard to describe to people down the pub – what can you say? It's hard to explain an environment like that. But it made me a stronger person."

After a tour to Afghanistan in 2002, Carruthers spent time on exercises in Oman and in Kuwait, before going to Iraq for the invasion in April 2003. He returned there for a second tour later in the year.

"Everybody was stressed," he says. "Everyone suffered, but you just tended to keep it to yourself." Working in welfare logistics support, Carruthers' job involved a lot of heavy lifting and much of the equipment he worked with was kept in a large metal container. "One day, during my second time out there, I tried to open the container door – which was rusty – and when I yanked it forward my back just went, completely. I was taken to a field hospital in Basra, bedded down for a couple of days. The doctors decided I wasn't fit to be in theatre and medi-vaced (medically evacuated] me back to the UK."

But this incident, although painful, is not what caused the nightmares and flashbacks that constitute part of Carruthers' post traumatic stress disorder – a debilitating psychological condition causing heightened anxiety after a traumatic incident. Once known as "soldier's heart" or "shell shock", PTSD is disturbingly common among members of the armed forces. Combat stress, Britain's only ex-services mental health charity, reports a 66 per cent rise in the number of veterans seeking its help since 2005 and expects the figures to keep rising.

"My sergeant and I got lost coming back from Kuwait, driving into Iraq," he says, referring to an incident during the invasion, before he injured his back. His voice quietens and he looks down at his hands. "There was a sandstorm. Everything looked different from when we drove in, and we quickly realised we'd taken the wrong route. Then we saw a checkpoint up ahead. There was no flag, so we had no idea if they were Iraqi soldiers or Kuwaiti. We decided to go up to the checkpoint, where they were standing on guard, and I honestly thought my days were up.

"But, thank God, they were Kuwaiti. After a bit of aggression, where they demanded ID cards, we met up with a convoy about a mile ahead and got to where we were supposed to be. But as soon as I got away from that checkpoint, I was physically sick with fear. I honestly thought my life was over."

At that point, Carruthers' life changed. Still in Iraq, he would wake every night thinking there was an Iraqi soldier with a gun at the end of his bed. His nerves were constantly on edge. "I didn't feel mentally fit to be there. I was walking around with 120 rounds (of ammunition] saying 'I don't want to be here'."

After his back injury Carruthers returned to the UK, suffering from PTSD. In January 2004 he was given the opportunity to put in his papers, and did so, but back at home in Irvine, he couldn't settle.

"I was trying to live with my mum, then my brother. I was getting into fights in bars; totally losing the plot."

It is the only clue in the house that this 33-year-old Ayrshire man, who walks with a stick and suffers debilitating nightmares and flashbacks almost daily, had a distinguished military career throughout his twenties which was b

After travelling for a while, he was in debt with nowhere to turn. His back injury left him unable to walk long distances without a stick, and in constant pain. He was tormented by flashbacks, nightmares and anxiety. "I was practically homeless, sleeping on my brother's floor. I had a counsellor, but she'd never dealt with anyone leaving the forces. I felt incredibly alone."

Unable to claim benefits because he had not paid National Insurance during his brief travels abroad, and facing long delays on claiming a war pension, he was destitute. Finally, his counsellor put him in touch with the forces support charity SSAFA, which gave him Asda vouchers so that he could feed himself. They also introduced him to Combat Stress, which has a short-term residential care home at Hollybush, near Ayr. There he was treated for his anxiety, given relaxation therapy and introduced to a support network of forces veterans who had gone through similar experiences. The charity helped him find a house.

"They helped me fill in the forms and within four weeks I had this house. I couldn't afford any furniture and that's when SSAFA got in touch with PoppyScotland. They raised over £2,000 for me so I could get some carpets down, get furniture, my bed."

PoppyScotland now gives him a grant every three months, so that he can clothe and feed himself and to "make life a wee bit easier" until the money from his war pension comes through after a recent appeal. He is immensely grateful for all the help he has received.

"Before these charities stepped in I was going downhill. If it wasn't for them I would probably be an alcoholic by now; probably in jail. But now I've realised there are people out there who do care about me."

He would love to work again, but for now is focused on simply getting well. He has huge admiration for his former colleagues who are tackling the 29 miles of the Southern Uplands Way tomorrow to raise money for PoppyScotland. "There are so many guys coming back injured; every serviceman knows what might happen to them one day," he says. "It's good to know they're still thinking of us, even though we're not in uniform any more."

'It's good to know these guys are here to look after us…'

STEVIE Dawson couldn't wait to join the army. So much so that he tried to join the cadets when he was nine, only to be told he had to wait until he was 13. "I was so disappointed," the 33-year-old Edinburgh native says with a laugh. "It was in me from an incredibly early age."

At 18 he joined the Royal Scots and was posted at Fort George in Edinburgh. "At the time, it was only really Northern Ireland that was active in terms of operational tours. As a young laddie that was scary, but at the same time it was exciting. That's what we join up to do – to serve."

And serve he did, in no fewer than five tours of Northern Ireland, the last of which lasted for two years. But it was his first tour that was the hardest. "We were there over Christmas, and my family loves spending Christmas together.

"It was hard, trying to phone home to your mum and dad when you knew you had to go out (on] patrol later that day. It was really surreal being away from home for the first time."

By the time of the invasion of Iraq in 2003, however, Dawson – who climbed the non-commissioned officer ladder and is now a Colour Sergeant – was an old hand. Based at Basra Hotel in the final six months of 2003, Dawson and his battalion – now known as 1 Scots in the Royal Regiment of Scotland – had what he describes as a "reasonably quiet" tour.

"My job out there was mentoring the local police, trying to get their standards up, getting them new equipment and weapons.

"It was enjoyable. We hardly saw any violence or shootings; the only thing we saw was tribal fighting and that was something we never got involved in."

But when Dawson returned to Iraq late in 2007 for a second tour of the country, this time based at Basra Airport, it was to a completely different landscape.

"We were flying in at night-time, in helmets and body armour, and we were getting a lot of IDFs (indirect fire] into the camp. That was a real culture shock – you could hear the rockets being fired and you didn't know exactly where they were going to land. All you can do in a situation like that is protect yourself."

Although the battalion sustained no fatalities during the tour, there were injuries. It was at times like that, he says, that the men had to pull together.

"It definitely affects everyone's mood," he says. "We're such a close-knit group in our platoons. The guys need to get on and they need to be able to trust each other. You're asking a lot from the guy next to you.

"In a dangerous situation, it's not necessarily going to be you who saves your life. It's more likely to be the guy next to you."

It is this mentality that has persuaded Dawson, along with seven others from 1 Scots, to form two teams to run the PoppyScotland Hearts & Heroes Challenge, a charity walk along 29 miles of the Southern Upland Way, tomorrow. "It's important for people like me to do events such as this. PoppyScotland helps so many people – the same with Help For Heroes and all these other organisations – so we try and do our little bit. It's a way of giving something back."

With a seven-week trip to Kenya planned for the battalion in July, before they prepare to deploy to Afghanistan in April 2010, what might happen in the future is something that plays on many of the soldiers' minds.

"Everyone thinks 'touch wood, it won't happen to me', but every time you go out to a warzone you know there's a chance of something happening.

"It's good to know these guys are here to look after us if something does."