Britain Loves Its Soldiers Until They Stop Being Useful
I’m ex‑army. Like so many UK veterans, forgotten the moment the uniform comes off, I did my time. I gave my back, my body, my head, my youth. I stood on the square with polished boots and a brain wired for discipline. I marched. I trained. I deployed. I did the job most people salute once a year, then forget exists the other 364 days. I lived on rations and rain. Slept cold. Missed birthdays, Christmases, and normal life. I watched the lads break. I watched some never come home. We served because that’s what soldiers do. No glory seeking. No applause required. Just fairness when we come home broken.
And now here I am decades later, spine damaged, nervous system shot, still paying the price. Some mornings, I wake like an old wardrobe hinge protesting. A screwdriver between the vertebrae. Pain isn’t a visitor; it’s a tenant. A permanent shadow that moves when I move, rests when I rest, punishes when I push. Yet in Britain, we’re celebrated when we’re strong and forgotten when we’re broken.
Because let’s be honest
Britain loves soldiers when we stand straight and strong. When we’re symbols, not stories. We’re good PR for Remembrance Sunday, for poppies, parades and political speeches. But what happens when the service ends? When does the uniform go into a cupboard? When does the body break? The love evaporates like morning mist.
When we break, when nightmares stay longer than visitors, when pain becomes life, suddenly we’re invisible. Support becomes a labyrinth of assessments, phone queues, and forms thick enough to stop a bullet. “We need more evidence.” “You don’t meet the criteria.” It isn’t support, it’s endurance. A second tour – but this time against our own government.
I’m living with a long‑term prolapsed disc from service. MOD acknowledges it. Universal Credit acknowledges it. The Government pays me a pension because my body is damaged. Yet PIP looks at the same evidence and says:
No points. No support. No issue. Apparently, I’m fine.
How does that make sense? How can three departments agree I have a disabling condition, but the one designed to support daily living pretends I could run a marathon? How is a veteran assessed by someone who’s never felt nerve pain putting on a sock? It’s degrading. It’s cruel.
I went to war for this country. Now I’m going to war against it, just to get the help it promised. The Armed Forces Covenant? Words on brochures. A badge politicians wear when cameras roll. But where is that covenant at 3 am when pain keeps you awake? Where is it when veterans sleep on sofas, homeless, battling trauma? Where is it when showering risks falling, when bending triggers nerve lightning, when cooking feels like climbing Pen‑y‑Fan with a pack full of bricks?
The truth is simple. The system works perfectly – for them, not for us.
Praise us when we’re assets. Discard us when we’re liabilities. Use us. Drain us. Replace us. Fresh backs, fresh knees, fresh recruits. Veterans become figures in paperwork, statistics on funding sheets.
Meanwhile, this country houses illegal arrivals, feeds them, gives them phones, lawyers, and warm beds. Yet a veteran with 40 years of pain must prove and re‑prove he’s not lying. Prove injury. Prove pain. Prove need. Prove worth – as if decades of service weren’t enough.
We are treated as problems, not people. Costs, not contributors. Burdens, not brothers.
Yet we keep going. Veterans push through agony. We laugh at dark humour to survive it. We get up slow, but we get up. We don’t quit – even when the system hopes we will. Because many do give up. The forms drain them. The questions shame them. The decisions gaslight them. And no assessor has ever felt the pain we feel just tying boots.
I’m tired. Physically. Mentally. Soul‑deep tired. But not silent. My body took the hits, but my voice didn’t. Every veteran knows this story. You can spot another broken soldier at a glance. In the silence. In the humour most civilians find uncomfortable. It’s not negativity. It’s a lived experience.
Why UK Veterans Are Still Fighting for Support
Veterans in the United Kingdom are still failing long after discharge. Injuries recognised by MOD and UC, yet PIP returns zero points. That’s not a mistake. That’s a system built to deny first and hope we give up.
Here in Wales – Pontypool, Torfaen and beyond – veterans like me are forgotten. Left to fight DWP paperwork like it’s an enemy patrol. Left to pace rooms at night, seeking a position that doesn’t sting. Planning trips around pain and toilets. Avoiding long walks because 20 metres feels like a march under fire. I fought for this country. Now the fight is with it.
Armed Forces Covenant Failing Veterans
We were promised support. Promised priority. Promised we’d never be left behind. Yet here we are. Veterans with chronic pain, PTSD, spinal injuries, bodies worn out from service, now carry painkillers and paperwork instead of rifles.
Politicians talk about duty and honour. Honour means helping the broken, not applauding the unbroken.
Why This Matters for UK Veterans and Wales
This story isn’t mine alone. It’s thousands. Across the UK, men and women who gave everything receive scraps. Evidence ignored. Pain dismissed. Tribunal after tribunal. Disability is denied unless dramatic. You wouldn’t tell firefighters to prove burns every year. Or police to replay trauma to earn help. But veterans? Jump. Higher. Again.
The Conversation We Need to Start
If Britain respected soldiers, support would be automatic. If sacrifice meant more than PR, veterans wouldn’t bleed again on paper to be believed. No more hoops. No more disbelief. No more justifying pain.
Veterans shouldn’t fight PIP, DWP and MOD at once. This shouldn’t be combat.
This Is My Stand – I Won’t Go Quiet
I’m taking this to the tribunal. I’m not folding. I speak for those who quit because pain won, because forms stole their spirit. I speak for lads who aren’t here to speak anymore.
We deserve support, not applause. Action, not slogans. Help, not hashtags.
If you’re a veteran reading this – I see you.
If you’ve been shafted by PIP – I hear you.
If you’re tired of being treated like a problem – stand with me.
Final Words
If this hit you, do one of these:
• Share this post – the truth spreads when we do
• Comment on your experience – stories carry weight
One voice is ignored. Thousands shake buildings.
Britain thanks us for our service, then forgets us when pain arrives. We won’t stay quiet anymore.
