Whoever said that Army wives have it easy has obviously never had to tell their children that Daddy is going away for months on end and will miss their birthday or Christmas, or some important school activity that he had promised to go to. Whoever said it was a simple life for the women who married the soldiers has never had to manage juggling his work schedule around any kind of work of their own, or face the judgement of being a housewife or stay at home mum because it’s easy. I can’t tell you the number of times I have heard the phrase “Well you’re lucky, your house is free, and you don’t have to work.”
Well, here’s the thing for everyone who has ever said that to an army wife… Our houses aren’t free, yes we get them at a lower rate and it is taken out of the military pay straight away but, and it’s a big but… the houses, if we are lucky, were built just after a World War, where you end up in the world depends which war it was, and this also dictates how bad the problems are that the housing company employed by the MOD have painted over. Yes painted over.
In our short time within the military married quarters, and there have been 5 in the last 7 years of our marriage, we have come across walls being held together by the awful woodchip wallpaper, every time a military spouse sees woodchip little alarm bells start ringing in your head. We have had damp in the bathroom that the walls have had to be stripped back to the breeze block and left for weeks to dry out before any type of normal looking house is given back to you.
We have had kitchens that are older than me and in need of replacement before our eldest child was born but because there is no money in the budget for that type of thing they are held together with whatever screw could be found at the time and a little prayer every time you open that draw or cupboard.
We have had walls thick with black mould in every room of the house, when reported to those who are meant to act as our landlords, your simply told to leave the windows open all the time… in 0c winters, I would rather take cleaning the mould every week so that my sleeping babies didn’t get sick, not really caring about myself, just them.
We have had carpets thick with ingrained dirt, apparently cleaned before we ‘marched in’ to take the house, never seen before that day, the original colour of the carpet is unknown, and they have had to be replaced after a long drawn out process of cleaners and housing officers have trooped through, each tutting and agreeing its bad but unsure if there is money to replace the carpets.
We have had quarters that are scheduled for refurbishment, to be told that it would be one date, that lapses, another is given and again lapses until you are finally given a date that actually happens. A life lived in limbo until you have the keys in your hands for the promised ‘done up’ home, only to find that cheap plasterboard has been clad over the previously mentioned woodchip and the wonder of if the newly fitted kitchen, that looks lovely, will actually remain on the wall or fall off at some god forsaken hour.
And breathe, sorry that turned into a bit of a rant. Believe it or not the housing is not the worst part of being a military spouse, oh no. That comes with the limbo of exercise, training, deployments and operational deployments.
Within my husbands branch they have 3 levels of tension for families and soldiers alike, High readiness to move. On high readiness = very high tension, the guys are of 24 hour call back for anything the army is called in to deal with, preparing for high readiness = medium tension, they are next in line if a major disaster happens but mostly they are checking everything to make sure they have it all for their turn on high readiness, just off high readiness = the tension is over for a year, they have done their stressful time and are on wind down, waiting for the preparing stage again.
There is always the delicate balancing act, however, of the training and exercises that take him away from the home. You don’t often get given a lot of notice that they will be away, rarely are you given exact dates and times until a day or two before, not many employers are OK with you taking time off on such short notice or frequency as can sometimes be the case to cover childcare issues. This is another reason that some military wives don’t work when they have children, the hassle of finding reliable childcare is forgotten as trusty Mum is always there, giving some stability to the home while Dad is away.
The operational tours are the worst of all. You stand in the kitchen a false smile gracing your lips as your husband happily informs you that he has been told he is going on tour for months, all the while calculating what that means for you, the one left behind, left to keep the home fires burning as they say. Going over a list in your head or a diary of all the things in the months of seperation that are planned, things to be amended or cancelled. The birthday parties you will now have to go along to rather than enjoying those blissfully quiet two hours with a hot cup of tea and the latest Love Island catchup, or actually being able to read a full page of your new book without the interruption of a little voice asking for something. The girls nights that you had planned that you need to find childcare for or cancel all together while hoping your civilian wife friends understand the issue and the enforced life you have to live while being a temporarily single parent.
There is also the other side of your brain writing a list of things that you can do while he is gone, start that diet with all the food you like without having to cater to his tastes too, exercise properly because you don’t have to think about him walking in to find you a hot sweaty mess, the days you can sit and just ignore the mess being created around you in your PJs because you just can’t face picking up the one doll for the 5th time that morning and so you don’t.
That is where you find me currently. My family is about to be split up for the next few months, and as it is an operational tour I have to live with the knowledge that I am unable to share with those around me that I love the most. I can’t tell my parents where my husband is going, the only support system that I have while my rock is gone has to be left in the dark.
They can’t know why my ears prick up at the mention of a certain place or part of the world, why I hold my breath at the mention of anything to do with the military abroad until that news story says where it is and my sigh of relief and silent prayer of thanks leaves me body.
The mix of emotions that flow through you constantly like a riptide threatening to pull you under is almost enough to make you crack, or at least crack open the gin as soon as it is reasonable to do so.
I’m not going to lie to you, there are moments that I wish he would go away sooner, get out of my hair, let me start to find my routine without him. The times he frustrates me, the moments his simple presence is enough to annoy me. We all have those moments don’t we.
Then I see the way my daughter laughs with her father, her favourite person in any room at any time, or the way that my son calls for his Dad when he is scared from a nightmare and my heart breaks for them and all the little moments he is going to miss with them both, a heavy sadness settling in my heart. Taking up residence until the countdown to his return is over.
Whoever said this was easy...LIED! 