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With their camouflage Bibles and combat crosses, the forces’ 278 chaplains are outsiders in the church and the military The Rev James Francis was travelling in an armoured vehicle north of the Bowri desert in Afghanistan, accompanying the Brigade Reconnaissance Force during the stopping and searching of vehicles for insurgents, when a Royal Marine interrupted his chat with a gunner to ask if it was right to kill. “That was a direct question,” says the padre for 30 Commando, “but it’s quite normal for these things to occur to people out here and it’s vital that when difficult decisions are being made we have direct answers, that as Christians we don’t retreat into some kind of holy huddle.” Francis is the archetypal Church of England priest – cheerful, polite, with James Herriot DVDs and a lavish tea collection – but his congregation is extraordinary: British forces who on Friday will have been engaged in operations in Afghanistan for 10 years in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. Chaplains – there are 278 serving in the British military – have also been in the country for a decade to minister and give comfort when the war exacts terrible costs. There have been 382 UK military fatalities in Afghanistan since 2002 – 35 of them this year. Camp Bastion and other British military bases in Afghanistan hold vigils, overseen by padres such as Francis, to commemorate those who have died. These have come to represent the most formal face of collective worship here, but much of the work of the chaplains is in smaller gatherings, perhaps over a cup of tea. The men and women are forced to deal with mortality at a far younger age than most of their civilian peers. “For when you need someone to pray with” is the motto for a dedicated military telephone prayer line. Combat crosses Wherever UK forces are, padres will be found. They have military and medical training but no weapons. The tools of their trade are camouflage-cover Bibles and they wear combat crosses – small, metallic discs with a punched-out cross – alongside the standard military-issue dogtags bearing their surname, blood type, service number and religion. While Francis’s digs are in Lashkar Gah, a military base so well-appointed it is nicknamed Lash Vegas, he and other chaplains regularly find themselves on the frontline in the war against the Taliban and al-Qaida on patrols and operations, and Francis’s foray into the Bowri desert was not untypical. So, back to the marine’s question. Is it right to kill? Sometimes, says Francis, force is necessary in situations to counter what would otherwise be worse. “Not to provide them with an element of spiritual direction and support would be seriously negligent. We have a role to serve those who are there to pull the trigger. We help them negotiate the moral maze,” he says. The padres are something of a tribe of outsiders – outsiders in the church (many of their peers just don’t understand how they can do the job they do), and outsiders among the military men and women they support. Against a backdrop of an increasingly secularised Britain, it might jar that troops still have chaplains, or that the Ministry of Defence employs them – at a cost of £22m a year – when it is slashing jobs elsewhere as part of its strategic defence spending review (the funding status of chaplains is “currently being assessed”, the MoD says). But clergy have served men and women in the forces for almost a century, with padres rising to prominence during the first world war, offering support not readily available at the frontline or from the chain of command. It was a first world war chaplain nicknamed Woodbine Willie – real name Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy – who had this tip for newcomers: “Take a box of fags in your haversack, and a great deal of love in your heart, and go up to them, laugh with them, joke with them; you can pray with them sometimes, but pray for them always.” The advice still holds true. Then, as now, many troops show little interest in religion. Petty Officer Hamish Burke, 28, says the only time religion enters his life is when he is in theatre – the area of military operations. He does not go to church. He is not baptised. None of his family goes to church and he only went to midnight mass at Buckfast Abbey because he wanted to go to the abbey. He married in a register office and says he doesn’t “even have the bare minimum religious affiliation”. While he feels “ill-placed” going to a church service, he feels differently about vigils. “Right at the start they talk about what that person left behind. While you think about that, you think what you have to lose yourself. My little boy is 14 months old. It’s a time to reflect on where you are and what people back home are going through.” Remembrance Hours before the Guardian arrived at Camp Bastion, thousands of troops had gathered to remember the life of 24-year-old Lieutenant Daniel John Clack, from 1st Battalion the Rifles, who was killed by an improvised explosive device on 12 August. The vigil for Clack was the 32nd to have taken place in 2011. The 33rd was being organised as the Guardian prepared to leave. Sergeant Barry Weston, from 42 Commando Royal Marines, died on 30 August. Commanders fully recognise and appreciate the work of the padres, even if their contribution is not always understood elsewhere. Major Nigel Jordan-Barber was a rifle company commander with 3 Scots (the Black Watch) in summer 2009, a particularly bloody period for British troops in Afghanistan. Several 3 Scots soldiers died during the battalion’s six-month tour of Musa Qala, Helmand province. Jordan-Barber says: “We were unable to participate in the remembrance services or repatriation because my company was so far away from the rest of 3 Scots. I asked the 3 Scots padre [Duncan Anderson], to prepare some words for me to say in remembrance, of Gus Millar in particular.” Millar, 40, from Inverness, was killed by a rocket-propelled grenade alongside Private Kevin Elliott, 24, while on foot patrol in the Babaji district. Jordan-Barber says: “Millar was very popular and his death came as a shock to most of my company. Being able to call on a padre who knew the deceased, and knew my soldiers, to advise me how to manage their grief, was of immense importance. “This is not mawkish sentimentality, but essential in my role as commander to make sure that they had the time and the resources to get their thoughts in order before they went back to their operational tasks.” There was another death at the end of the 2009 tour that Jordan-Barber remembers well. Acting Sergeant Michael Lockett of the Mercians was killed by a roadside bomb days before he was due to leave Afghanistan. Once again, the padre helped the men through the ordeal. “It was one of the most contradictory and moving events I have experienced,” says Jordan-Barber. “His coffin was paraded past the battlegroup on to the tailgate of the aircraft which was to fly him home. Padre Duncan said some quiet prayers before the aircraft taxied away. I discussed it with some of my soldiers afterwards and they were very clear that although it wasn’t a funeral we all felt we had taken part in a very spiritual event.” Jordan-Barber has had soldiers of varying denominations under him and says padres offer a “ministry of all souls” that is is respected by all. “I have been assisted in my role as a commander by a great number of padres conducting their ministry in arduous and extreme environments. Their presence alongside us as valuable as their role.” Geoff Withers, a Church of England priest ministering to the men and women of the Joint Aviation Group, reckons on spending 90% of his time with people who have no formal practice of religion. “We work hard to be able to walk into a hangar without emptying it. They are reasonably used to your presence.” The softly spoken 48-year-old priest, from Belfast, looks like any other member of the air force save for the discreet crosses on his uniform, and weaves his way in and out of smoking areas decorated with murals of busty women. Withers describes himself as “a nosy beggar” who is interested in human issues “first and foremost”. He adds: “If something difficult happens I’m not a complete stranger. I might be regarded as a weirdo but I’m not a stranger.” The “something difficult” is too often the death of a serviceman. Padres – who earn as much as bishops in the Church of England, starting on more than £37,000 – have their own moral mazes to navigate. Last month the government inquiry into the death of the Basra hotel receptionist Baha Mousa – who was beaten to death while in British custody in Iraq in 2003 – criticised Father Peter Madden, who was attached to 1st Battalion the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment, for not reporting the abuse. The inquiry accused Madden of giving inconsistent evidence and “lacking the courage” to report the “shocking and shameful” treatment of 10 Iraqi men, including Mousa. His conduct shocked serving chaplains. One, who does not wish to be named, says: “The inquiry was very damning. That padre got it wrong. I hope it was a one-off but it will be a marker for us.” Scott Shackleton, a chaplain to 45 Commando, is on his third tour of Afghanistan. His parish consists of Royal Marines who treat his chaplaincy – in an old British fort, now called Camp Shawqat – like a common room, helping themselves to tea, coffee and television and popping outside for cigarettes. Occasionally they will flick through the books on the table, including the camouflage-print Bibles or the Commando Prayer Book. The cover shows a cross above a black dagger – the badge every marine wears on his arm. Men and women, who are in good health, deal with mortality at a far earlier age than their friends back home. A sense of vulnerability among the men and women here sharpens the mind, raising questions that may not otherwise be asked. The consensus among padres is that troops are changed by their experiences, sometimes for the better. Alice Smith, a chaplain for the Joint Fires Group, says: “I’m not suggesting everyone will become an evangelical Christian but people start to ask questions and that’s a start. There’s no support for them back home on this because society does not encourage people to explore their faith in a meaningful way. Obviously any minister will tell you that they would love to have more people come to church. But it would be foolish to expect our guys to come to church.” The padres are aware of the practical and theological challenges they face when working with young, mostly “unchurched” men. “Jesus didn’t have a church,” says Shackleton, a Church of Scotland minister. “He hung around and walked among people. In some ways he spent his time with people who didn’t go to synagogue. But he didn’t say that not going didn’t matter either.” The marines address him as padre or Scott as he wears the same rank as the person he is speaking to. Like the men around him he has a green beret, having completed the commando course. Shackleton’s chaplaincy can be a chat over cup of tea, a formal service or a quiet word under camouflage netting. The topic of conversation is more likely to focus on relationship or family issues than moral guidance or spiritual reassurance. He can be seen in the same places as the commandos – the dining area, Camp Shawqat’s messes, the gym or the makeshift running track, which is basically a dusty path, used by marines of all ranks and ages at all hours. Shackleton can be seen doing laps of an afternoon, although he has yet to adopt the latest exercise devised by marines to stay fit – flipping a massive tyre along a 100-metre stretch or dragging it behind him on a harness. The doors to his accommodation – a windowless shipping container – are always open. The arrangement hasn’t always been this cosy. Shackleton flew into Afghanistan in January 2002, with 3 Commando Brigade as part of Operation Jacana. “It was war fighting. It was about dealing with men getting on to a helicopter, going out to fight. I was also dealing with them when I came back. There’s something straightforward about war fighting because you’re plunged into a survival position. Two sides are fighting, one is going to win and the other isn’t. But the fallout depends on how many casualties you have. We didn’t take any in Jacana.” But they lost 11 people in Iraq. “That’s when it changes. Ever since then that’s been the experience for people in Herricks [the name for the UK's military operations in Afghanistan]. You’re dealing with families who have lost someone and they have to go forward. “The walk up to the family’s front door is the shittiest thing in the world because you know you’re about to change someone’s life for the worst. If the guys have lived when their friend didn’t, they may feel responsible. You realise how fragile your life is. Maybe there’s redemption in that.” Chaplains The majority of the 278 military chaplains across the three services belong to the Church of England and there are civilian chaplains for each major faith group. A Ministry of Defence spokesman has said the spending of £22m a year on military chaplaincy is “currently being assessed”. Groups such as the British Humanist Association argue that religious groups should fund their own chaplains – whether they work in hospitals, prisons or universities – and that the job of providing pastoral support should not be confined to people of faith but open to all “qualified people”. According to figures released last year, the Royal Army Chaplains’ Department is experiencing one of its busiest decades since the second world war. It has deployed 15 padres to Afghanistan and the experience of chaplaincy has left a life-changing impression on some troops. Around 70 men and women from the armed forces are considering military chaplaincy as a result of their experiences with padres on the frontline. The starting salary for a military chaplain is £37,172 on appointment, rising to £55,857 after 15 years’ service. Senior chaplains are on a separate pay scale. The average salary for a Church of England bishop is £39,020. Military Anglicanism Afghanistan Christianity Religion Riazat Butt guardian.co.uk