Duty Calls

I have come to this conclusion rather late in life, but I want to join the army. The discipline appeals; so does the adventure and sense of purpose. The killing I would have to learn to deal with. This week's news that 100 Territorial Army specialists have been called up to join the war against terrorism has finally convinced me to do what I should have done 20 years ago. A friend of mine at university was sponsored by the army and is now a brigadier. I may not rise to those dizzy heights, but surely I could make lieutenant. I feel I was born to command.

Joining the TA has always appealed more than the regular army: Saturday night's all right for fighting; warfare on wet Tuesday mornings appeals much less. This government is very keen on part-time soldiers: having initially cut their numbers, it reversed that policy after September 11. "There may now be more people who want to play their part," said defense secretary Geoff Hoon. I want to play my part.

The closest TA unit to the Guardian is the 68 (Inns of Court and City Yeomanry) Signal Squadron, which occupies a large building just off Chancery Lane, on the edge of the City. The staff officer there is Captain Ian Wadley, a delightful man who joined the army at 15 and served in the Coldstream Guards for 30 years. He used to be a regimental sergeant-major at Sandhurst and has the voice to prove it. The fact that he is using a grenade as a paperweight immediately endears him to me.

The Inns of Court and City Yeomanry can trace their antecedents back almost 500 years (they used to be called "the Devil's Own"). Today their principal function is communications - setting up extempore systems in the event of a nuclear attack, that sort of thing, says Captain Wadley cheerily. I volunteer the information that I have yet to master setting a video. "No problem," says Captain Wadley, "we will train you up." The TA has a very can-do attitude. Captain Wadley mentions that one of the pluses of joining the squadron is that you get to ride behind the regimental band in the Lord Mayor's Show. Since I used to ride but have lapsed recently, the prospect of a free refresher course with the Household Cavalry is of considerable appeal.

"Why do you want to join?", he asks me. What you mustn't give is the Arlo Guthrie answer - "I want to kill". Instead, I stress my desire for a challenge, adventure, comradeship. He looks suitably impressed. I don't mention how much I want the extra cash, the free riding lessons and access to the officers' mess upstairs, where the half-drained bottles of port on the table make me regret even more my decision not to join up 20 years ago.

There is, however, a problem: my age. The Inns of Court and City Yeomanry are looking for recruits up to about 32; I can barely remember being 32. Bang go my riding lessons and jolly evenings in the officers' mess (I was assuming I would be an officer, but Captain Wadley says all recruits start in the ranks). "Don't despair," he says, noting my crestfallen expression. "Where there's a will, there's a way. There are openings for more mature recruits." (I appreciate the terminology.) "Try the Reserve Forces and Cadet Association. The TA is very short of chefs." Unfortunately, my cooking rates even lower than my ability to preset a video. I could single-handedly disprove the maxim that an army marches on its stomach.

But where there's a will... I head for the HQ of the Honorable Artillery Company, a crack 400-strong TA regiment in the heart of the City, to be interviewed by Major Simon Garrett, the HAC's second-in-command, who in "real" life is operations director of Earl's Court exhibition center. Major Garrett, who is 42, was a regular soldier for seven years and has been in the TA for 15. He is wiry, intense and has those Ashdown-type narrowed eyes, ideal for looking through gun sights.

"So, why do you want to join the TA?" he asks. Despite the fact that I have been through this once already, my head is suddenly empty: the major's directness and the fact that he is wearing fatigues have thrown me. I wish I was 15 years younger, three stone lighter and had a reply better than "I want to test myself". I sense that I am responding in terms of what the TA can do for me, rather than what I can do for the TA. "So you are looking to find yourself," he says, not too unkindly.

The HAC is part of Nato's rapid reaction force. A quarter of its members are designated "patrol soldiers", whose role is to infiltrate enemy territory and "acquire targets for depth-fire weapon platforms." This is no picnic, and I can suddenly see the advantage of joining as a chef. About 80% of those who start training to be a patrol soldier drop out. Those that don't are eventually set the final test: to cover 45 kilometers of the Brecon Beacons in 15 hours carrying a 45lb pack. "We are looking for Gladiator-type individuals," says the major. I think I may have gone very pale at this point, because the recruiting clerk suggests I could drive a truck instead.

In truth, I am too old even for that. But still all is not lost. The woman who does PR for the HAC is attached to the army's media operations unit, based in Wiltshire. All TA media ops recruits have to be commissioned, and the HAC is putting her through her officer training. The media ops unit will accept me as long as I apply before my 45th birthday. The pen may yet be mightier than the sword and, more important, I may yet make field marshal. It's worth a shot, anyway.