The death of Lieutenant-Colonel Rupert Thorneloe, who was commanding my old regiment, the Welsh Guards, in Afghanistan, is a tragedy that all the soldiers under his command will be feeling deeply. All British soldiers are equal in death but there is something peculiarly shocking about the death of a commanding officer. He is more than just the most senior officer in a battalion of six hundred or so; he embodies the regiment, and to the young officers and soldiers he is often a father figure.

A commanding officer has more or less absolute authority within a battalion. Some are loved, but all are respected. Unlike the modern civilian world where it is often difficult to work out who is in charge, particularly when things go wrong, the buck really does stop with him. He is in charge of everything and he makes the decisions about more or less everything.

He alone represents the battalion farther up the chain of command and the best ones conspicuously have no other loyalties. He seeks advice from others but once he has made a decision there is no dissent.

The position is surrounded by different customs throughout the Army that underline the importance of the position. In Foot Guards regiments he is the only officer called “Sir” by the other officers, who stand for him when he enters a room. In the third person he is invariably referred to by his rank and first name.

When his voice and call sign are heard on the radio the receiving sub-units go immediately silent. But he leads essentially by example. It does not work otherwise. Generals and brigadiers often get trapped in their offices but commanding officers, especially infantry commanding officers, are always out and about. They still, in these complex times, practise a personal style of command that would be recognised by their counterparts in the Roman Army. The position has an almost totemic quality.

In difficult situations the commanding officer’s leadership can be crucial in keeping the show on the road.

I can still remember the reassurance I felt at the calmness and authority of “Colonel Johnny”, our commanding officer during the Falklands conflict, when he arrived on the scene after the disaster on the Sir Galahad, when so many Welsh Guardsmen died. “You all right boy?” he asked me, completely ignoring a second wave of enemy aircraft as they screamed low overhead. Somehow I felt all the better for it. At regimental occasions he still calls me “boy”, although I am 50 this year.

All of the young officers and guardsmen of the 1st Battalion Welsh Guards will have to show disciplined endurance in the next few weeks. They cannot allow the fact that the Taleban have killed their leader to reduce their military effectiveness. Spare a thought for the battalion’s second-in-command — his leadership skills will be crucial to morale in the days ahead.

The author joined the Welsh Guards in 1981. He last served with them as second-in-command during their 1997 tour of South Armagh.

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