Alex Duncan - Sweating the Metal

‘They make up our ranks, they are no less brave, they have done and continue to do their duty. As Field Marshal Montgomery recalled, “every one an emperor.” I salute them and those here, their courage and their sacrifice. I have a soldier’s deep respect for the awards they have received, and know only too well that they have been won by iron hearts in wooden ships.’

After the speech and the presentation of the awards, there were lots of generals wandering around, including Air Vice Marshal Greg Bagwell, who came over to me.

‘So what next for you then, Frenchie?’ he asked.

‘I’m a QHI at the moment, sir, but I’m getting a bit tired of the Chinook thing now having done so many years. I think I’d like to finish my tour at the OCF and then go fixed-wing crossover.’

‘Well, if the opportunity is there, you should take it. I think you’ve done more than enough for the Chinook Force.’

He wandered off and started talking to Alison. ‘You must be really proud of Alex. I understand he wants to look at a different career.’ Alison, having a blonde moment and completely missing the point, said, ‘Yes, he was going to leave the RAF, but the recession hit so there were no fixed-wing jobs outside. That’s why he’s decided to stay.’

AVM Bagwell didn’t even break his stride and laughed as he said, ‘That’s not quite what he said to me but okay, fair enough!’ and that was the end of that conversation.

It’s like walking a minefield when you bring your family or partner to an event like that and all the generals are there. My father has no shame – he has a brain the size of a small planet and he can talk the hind legs off a donkey. As I was posing for the national press, I could see my father in conversation with General Lamb, Rear Admiral Tony Johnstone-Burt (the commander of Joint Helicopter Command) and AVM Bagwell; two two-star generals, a three-star, and my dad. I was dying inside; the press wanted me to pose, but my attention was on my dad and the likelihood of him saying the wrong thing about me to any one of three generals who all have the power to stall my career before it gets off the ground.

I looked at Alison across the parade ground and mouthed to her, ‘For fuck’s sake, sort it out!’ but she just saw me smiling and waved back. I found out later that my dad had said to Graeme Lamb, ‘Loved your speech, can I have it?’ which kind of caught the General on the back foot.

In the end, he said, ‘Okay, one minute,’ and sent his aide-de-camp off to get the speech. I was so embarrassed! What with Alison telling AVM Bagwell that I wanted to leave the Air Force and my dad asking a three-star general for his speech, things couldn’t have got much worse!

Interviews over with, we headed back to Odiham where the boss had organised some drinks at the Mess. I know Ali came with me but I can’t honestly say I remember much of what happened the rest of that evening!

I was looking forward to visiting Buckingham Palace on July 15th 2009 to receive my award. When they first wrote to me with the invitation, I replied by return asking whether they would permit me three extra tickets so that I could bring Alex, Bob Ruffles and Coops – the whole crew – along. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they wrote back and said sorry but space was really tight. They did however let me have one extra ticket; so, as he was my co-pilot on both missions, I invited Alex, along with Alison and my parents.

I’d arranged for us to stay at the RAF Club in Piccadilly and we came up to London the day before so we could go out for dinner to a fantastic restaurant that had been recommended to us by one of Alison’s colleagues. We drove there via the palace, and as we went past I couldn’t see the Royal Standard flying and I thought, ‘Oh no, the Queen isn’t there! I don’t want to get my DFC from Prince Charles; I’ve met him twice already!’ I know it might sound stupid, and even a little pompous, but you can’t help the thoughts that arrive unbidden in your brain.

On the morning of the investiture, I decided to walk across Green Park to the palace with my dad and Alex, with Alex and me wearing our No.1 uniforms and medals. Of course we hadn’t walked more than about fifty metres when the heavens opened, proving that you can never rely on the English summer. Luckily we managed to hail a cab to the palace. As soon as we got out of the car it stopped raining and the sun came out. Just to lift my mood a little further, as I looked up, the Royal Standard was flying, signalling that Her Majesty was in residence.

The main gates saw the usual seething, homogeneous mass of tourists, a crowd two or three deep all craning to get a look inside or a peek at one of the Royal Family. There was a police officer standing there controlling the crowd and, after I showed him my invitation, we waltzed in through the gates. Walking across the main courtyard on the red gravel I had one of those ‘this can’t be happening’ moments, a kind of unbearable lightness of being at the thought that I was actually going into Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen.

It was great having Alison there as, having been before to receive her MBE, she knew the score. She gave me the heads up on where to stand afterwards to get the best backdrop for the pictures. When you’re the centre of attention, you don’t get a chance to think about all the little things; it just feels like everything is moving at a million miles an hour.

Once inside, it was truly breathtaking. Red carpets, huge tapestries, big works of art, gold – it’s quite unbelievable. If you had to design a palace from the ground up, you couldn’t do it better. It’s a fairy-tale place, the sort of image that little girls must have in their heads when they dream of marrying a prince. A short time later, Ali said to me, ‘Okay babe, this is where we part. You go that way and we go this way. We’ll see you later.’ She gave me a kiss and a hug and with that, I was on my own.

I was escorted into another room by one of the footmen and the works of art literally stopped me in my tracks. Priceless works by Degas, Holbein, Cézanne, Monet and other great masters adorned the walls – I could have spent a day just drinking in the view. But there was no time to stand and admire the paintings; an official placed a hook on my left breast just where the corresponding ribbon would go. The Queen doesn’t actually pin the medal on to your uniform – she’d be there all day if that were the case, and she’d never get time to do her ‘Queeny’ things. She simply places it on the hook that sits on your chest; job done.

I was surprised to bump into Squadron Leader David Morgan, a man I feel privileged to call a friend. David flew a Sea Harrier during the Falklands Conflict, where he was credited with shooting down several Argentine fighters and helicopters. Later, while serving on the Chinook OCF, he gave me my check ride. He was at the palace to receive an MBE. In addition, RAF Odiham’s Station Commander, Group Captain Mason, was there to receive an OBE. As it transpired, Dave and I had unknowingly booked adjacent tables at The Ritz for lunch after the ceremony!

We were briefed on what to expect by a retired Lieutenant Colonel, who told me, ‘When the person before you is announced, move up by the door and when you hear, “The Distinguished Flying Cross is awarded for operations in Afghanistan to Flight Lieutenant Duncan,” walk up, bow your head and take your place before the Queen who will present your award, shake hands and have a chat.’

My palms were a little damp as I walked out to stand in front of our Sovereign – who, as monarch, is Commander-in-Chief of the UK Armed Forces – but I remedied that with a surreptitious wipe on my uniform trousers.