My Bergan

A Bergan is a name for a military rucksack, I have had mine for over 35 years. It sits in the shed full of kit that will never be used again; relics and reminders of my military past. It has iconic lettering on the hidden spaces like Blood Gp O Neg Zap No 020 and OC B. It smells of damp nights in forests and amongst eucalyptus tree’ s in Germany, Canada, Cyprus and Northern Ireland. It is heavy duty Special Forces type of covering – completely waterproof, containing a goretex bivvy bag and arctic sleeping bag. Each has a completely different feel so necessary because the only time it would be unloaded would be at night. It reminds me of many places,
some good: – the Amphitheatre at Curium in Cyprus, on a balmy night with a sky overhead that would have been familiar to a roman centurion – sipping chilled St Emelion wine from the cool box whilst wearing a Union Jack Bowler hat and draped in a 10 ft square Union Flag listening to the Last Night at the Proms show
some bad: – the aftermath of another atrocity in Ireland and the troubles.
It is my formative life – that which made me and that which reminds me, I only have to move it after a chiding from my wife and a different memory comes winging back. It is a cornucopia of happenings and values and more importantly, it is a scrapbook of people those I knew and worked with, liked and hated, laughed and cried with. I suppose you could say its my soul.