From The Balkans To The Band

My father was a colonel in the British Army Air Corps, so during my childhood we moved to a new country every two years. That's why I went to a boarding school—for stability. The Army helped pay, and after that I had to pay it back, so I joined the Army for four years, and ended up staying for two more. I started officer training at Sandhurst in 1996. After the freedom of university, it was the worst year of my life. But it was hysterical at the same time, and we laughed all the way through. If you're told to carry half your body weight up and down a mountain in Wales for a week, it's not fun. But if you do it with a group of people, you start crying with laughter because the whole experience is so bizarre, an exercise in trying to f––– with your mind.

The Army is a good education in world politics. As a soldier I worked with armies from all over Europe, Russia and the United States. I was always being sent to a new country, where I had to learn about different opinions and perspectives. Many people think the Army is just a group of people who follow orders. But it is not just that: you have to read a situation, assess and react appropriately. And you have to be flexible; soldiers have to switch, at one order from a commander, from being an aggressive force to peacekeepers. One is about forceful action, the other about hearts and minds. It's not surprising that I was able to become a musician after my military career, given that in the Army I learned how to change roles in an instant.

I was a reconnaissance officer in the Household Cavalry. It's a job with a lot of variety; the classic line is that you act as the eyes and ears of your commanders. I served in Kosovo before, during and after the conflict of 1999. When NATO ended the bombing campaign, we were told to get to Pristina and take hold of the airport—but the Russians beat us there. The head of NATO forces at the time, Gen. Wesley Clark, gave us the instruction to remove them from the airport—I remember the word "destroy" was involved. I think that gave British Gen. Sir Michael Jackson good reason to refuse and tell Clark, "I'm not going to start the third world war for you." I was the first British soldier to reach that airport, so I can confirm that Jackson really did say it. He also came up with a brilliant idea for defusing the crisis: we simply left, and two days later, when the Russians realized they needed our assistance because they had no water, no food and no means of resupply themselves, they came calling. So then we got control of the airport after all.

After Kosovo I came home and joined the Queen's Ceremonial Guard on horseback. Imagine the shift: from war to a ceremonial London job. Still, I did some amazing things in that post, like taking a six-month riding course. I rode reject Army horses that bucked and kicked and bit—and now I can ride anything. I learned to use horses to move and manipulate crowds and protect individuals.

Having learned so much from the Army, I could easily have stayed on and enjoyed it. But I had another dream, to become a musician, write songs and play gigs, and I didn't want to reach old age and be forced to say, "I wanted to do all these other things but I was either too lazy or too afraid to go for them." So I reached that moment. I left the Army and started performing in the United States and Britain. I had no backup plan. My father gave me some good advice, however, telling me that I was going into an industry that is very tough and it's one where few people actually achieve any level of success. I said to my dad, "Success for me will be to become a musician, to live that life, to write songs and to record." That was my driving ambition: to succeed on my own terms. And I have, though everything else that came along—the success and celebrity status, which I loathe—has been a bit of a surprise.

I went back to Pristina two years ago—but this time as a performer, not a soldier. It brought back all the memories. The consequences of violence and bloodshed there will be felt for generations. Yet when I played in Kosovo, both Serbs and Albanians—whose families had previously murdered one other—came out, and stood in the same room, shoulder to shoulder, singing the same songs. I hope they connected with each other and bonded over a love for music and some common sense of humanity. I found my time in the Army to be a very pure experience. The soldier on the ground doesn't care about the politics or what global statesmen are trying to achieve. Civilian life is different. But I carry with me the flexibility, compassion and tolerance I learned in those days, which I hope is reflected in my music.

Blunt is an award-winning English singer and songwriter.

© 2008