Stuart Anderson

It is a pleasure to serve under your chairmanship, Mr Mundell. I thank all the residents of South Shropshire who signed the petition or came to see me, and all the veterans who have come down today. My dad was one of the first SAS troops to serve in Northern Ireland in the ’70s, and I served 18 months during the troubles on Op Banner, so I have first-hand experience of that. How do I share some of that experience to set out the reality of what it is like to be a soldier on operations? I was a teenager when I deployed on my first tour to Belfast. I had little understanding of the big political situation, but I knew everything I needed to do, what I could and could not do, and all the rules of engagement, and everybody on the tour followed those. Our pre-deployment training, which the hon. Member for Plymouth Moor View (Fred Thomas) mentioned, was extensive. For months we covered every possible scenario that we could face when in Northern Ireland on operations. I was a rifleman with the 2nd Battalion the Royal Green Jackets. They were tough soldiers, but professional and knew what they could and could not do. Let us throw a little context on what it can be like on operations in Northern Ireland. Let us imagine patrolling what could be a normal housing estate in the UK—some areas would be more rundown than others, but the structure is the same. When we walk past somebody, we do not know if that person is going to buy something from a shop, pick up their children, or plan to kill us. We do not know what their intentions are. When a car speeds around the corner, as we see every day on our streets, we do not know if that person is late to pick something up, going to an event, a joyrider, or somebody driving past to kill me and my colleagues in a drive-by shooting. We do not know that, but these things happen all the time. We never really knew anybody’s intention. In 1996, in the middle of my tour, there was a decision not to allow a march to go through Drumcree, and what was a semi-stable environment turned within a matter of hours into complete carnage, with rioting and people being burned out of houses up and down the whole area. All of a sudden, law and order—the whole rule of law—had completely broken down. In about four days, I believe some 750 RUC were injured, of whom four were shot on patrol with us in one night. So whatever people thought it was like, when discussing this many years later people have to add the extreme pressure, the mental pressure, that we faced as we looked under the vehicle every single day to see whether it was a car bomb. When we were in the riots and somebody goes to throw a brick or a stone, we have a split second to react: is that a grenade? Is it an improvised weapon? Every one of those is designed to cause harm and some are designed to kill. We have a split second to decide whether to open fire—or do me and my colleagues get killed? We do not know. There is pressure. We might have been out for many hours with very little sleep, but we knew what we had to do. Many soldiers who served in Northern Ireland spend every day remembering their colleagues who did not return, trying to forget what they saw and what they witnessed, and are woken at night by screams. That has not left many people. We asked them to do the most extreme things in the most difficult conditions. I was proud when the previous Government—too late, in my mind at least—introduced the legacy Act. I sat on the Bill Committee. The Act meant protection for our veterans, which is what I had campaigned for. I had spoken about that many times before, and I had seen new colleagues who were facing prosecution, or the threat of prosecution, for their time. I believe the whole veteran community at the moment sees the repealing of the legislation as a body blow. I do not think the Government realise the anger that the community will feel.