First Man In

People don’t get annoyed so much when you struggle, but when you fake it, that’s when their walls come up. They get defensive. Then you’re in conflict with that other person. There’s friction and the job is not getting done. People think, ‘If I admit my weaknesses, others will have less respect for me.’ But it’s actually the other way around.

But there’s an exception to all this. Sometimes it’s a good idea to let someone else define who you are. There are times in your life when someone will see something positive in you that you didn’t realise was there. This is exactly what happened to me when, at the age of twenty-four, I was going through Royal Marines training. I’d got to week fifteen of the thirty-two-week course, at which point a new officer came in at the top of the hierarchy. He was an older boy, and everyone respected him. He’d only been there for a couple of weeks when he summoned me unexpectedly to his office. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted: I was coming first in everything and keeping myself to myself, so there was no personal trouble with anyone else, at least that I knew about.

‘Middleton,’ he said, ‘you’re in danger of losing grip.’ Losing grip? No I wasn’t. I took a moment to make sure my face wasn’t betraying my irritated confusion. ‘I’m not quite sure what the problem is,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’re getting a bit too big for your boots or perhaps it’s just that you’re thinking about yourself too much. Well, whatever it is, I’m coming to the conclusion very rapidly that you’re not a team man. You need to understand something that’s crucially important if you want to achieve your full potential in this organisation. The Royal Marines aren’t here to provide you with a pyramid to stand on top of. You, Middleton, are a part of that pyramid. You’re just another brick. Do you understand what I’m getting at?’

‘I think so, sir,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to prove that you’re the best. That’s not what all this is about. I think you have a lot more to offer than merely being number one. You’ve got to think about the bigger picture. You might be leading all the scoreboards but you’re not actually leading. The kind of men we prize here are the ones who bring the others with them. I think you have that in you.’

There was absolutely nothing I could say. He was right. All I wanted was to be the best at PT, the best at exercise, the first man at map-reading, and so on. I used to study alone. If tests were coming up about fieldcraft or map-reading I’d be in my corner, getting my head down, making it clear that no one should disturb me. I’d assumed that that’s what success in the Forces looked like – dominating as many scoreboards as possible. My conversation with this officer was my first inkling that there was more to leading than simply being first. I realised I could afford to take a little bit of a back step and allow myself to be second or third at some things – to go for ninety per cent rather than one hundred.

At the time, all the lads were preparing for an important test that would assess our knowledge of everything we’d learned to date – fieldcraft, marksmanship principles, camouflage and concealment, the whole lot. I was aware that one skill a lot of the guys had struggled with was a particular way of identifying the cardinal directions. It was known as the ‘stick and stone method’. You’d put a stick – a length about a foot and a half would do it – in the ground and mark the tip of the shadow it made with a stone. Then you waited twenty minutes. By that time the shadow would have moved. You’d put another stone where the new tip of the shadow was, and you’d know that the line between your two stones ran east to west.

After my meeting with the officer, I went back to my block, gathered my thoughts for a bit, then approached a gaggle of guys who were chatting in the corner. ‘Are any of you lot struggling with the stick and stone method?’ I asked them. About five men said yes. Then I went to the next block and asked them. When I’d been round all the blocks, I gave a demonstration outside to at least a dozen lads. This was my first experience of true leadership. And I loved it. The amazing thing was, it began to change me. The more I approached people, the more approachable I became.

I’d only been vaguely aware of it beforehand, but my being on my own all the time had been putting noses out of joint. Back in my army days I’d done the same thing and, as you’re about to learn, it had led to disaster. But now, in the Marines, my problem had been picked up through effective training. Not only did that leader give me a new definition of success, he allowed me to enjoy my Marines experience more. Up to that point I’d just been pushing, pushing, pushing, my rev counter constantly in the red. But where can you go from there? And who’s with you? You’re up there by yourself. If you’re alone, who’s going to be there for you? Nobody. In the battlefield, that’s not a trivial problem.

But all these essential lessons I’d learned with the Marines were still a long way off when I was that still all-too impressionable young lad doing Basic Training at Pirbright. The next chapter of my story wouldn’t make itself known until I was in the final fortnight.

I was in my accommodation cleaning my boots when I heard a shout: ‘Middleton!’ I ran to the door and stood to attention.

‘255700 Sapper Middleton reporting for duty.’

‘You’re wanted in the office, Middleton.’

I marched over to the office and found the commanding officer behind the desk, with his mugs, piles of paperwork and little flags.

I had barely banged out a salute before he said, ‘All right, Middleton, come in. We’re going to need you on the parade square in a couple of hours, to go through the drill.’

‘The drill, sir?’

He looked up at me. ‘Yes, Middleton, the drill. For the passing-out parade.’

The passing-out parade? OK. But everyone was going to be at the passing-out parade. Why had he asked only me to go through the drill?

‘You’ll be picking up your awards,’ he said, reading my thoughts. ‘So you’ll need to familiarise yourself with the ceremony.’

‘Awards, sir?’

‘Yes, Middleton. Best at physical training. Best all-round recruit. You know, I don’t remember anyone ever having won both before. So well done.’

I couldn’t help but let off the most enormous grin.

‘Have you given any thought to your next move?’ he asked me.

‘I have, sir,’ I said. ‘I want to join 9 Parachute Squadron.’

‘You want to jump out of planes,’ he said.

I smiled again.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very good, Middleton.’

9 Para. Airborne! I couldn’t believe it. The opportunity to join this legendary squadron, and wear a maroon beret, was a dream come true. All through training, whenever an instructor appeared wearing a maroon beret and parachute wings, everyone worshipped him. The Parachute Squadron were above the regular army. It gave you automatic respect. Actually, it was more than respect. It was godlike. Out of all the challenges I could have taken on next, none would be more thrilling than the ‘All Arms Parachute Course’, which is known as ‘P Company’. I’d never been happier, nor had more confidence in my ability to excel. I had absolutely no idea what was waiting for me.

LEADERSHIP LESSONS

Don’t let anyone else define who you are. People always make rapid judgements about what sort of person you are from their first impressions, and sometimes these first impressions will be negative. It’s so easy to take that on board and simply fall into the mould that other people put you in. Have the strength to realise what’s happening and ensure that you define yourself. Meet that negativity with positivity, every single time.

Always have a plan. And make sure that no part of that plan is ‘give up’. If I’d had to camp out for a week under a hedge outside Pirbright Camp and wash every day in a stream, then that’s what I would have done.

Keep that plan dynamic. Don’t be that stubborn leader who, for reasons of pride, refuses to change his plan when new information presents itself. You might think you’re asserting your leadership by sticking resolutely to your plan, but you’re undermining it. Your team will lose respect for you, and that’s the beginning of the end.

Fear of taking action is fear of the unknown. True leaders don’t underestimate the potential destructive power of what lies behind that door, but neither do they let that stop them bursting through it, as long as it’s done carefully and intelligently.

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