Edinburgh loves men in uniform

In an early test of our attire's effectiveness, we were approached by a local old boy in the shop where we had hired our uniforms. He enquired where exactly we were to be shipped out to. "Just around Edinburgh," we replied. "Well as long as you are not off to Iraq or Afghanistan," he said. Indeed, the gent was particularly concerned that we had a fun time around the city, advising that we would prove what he termed a "hit" at the local strip joint of which he was a patron. Clearly, our self-appointed guide was less concerned by political talk than sexy chat. Needless to say, the tone was set for an evening around Edinburgh which would turn out to be immeasurably less hazardous than any trips to Iraq or Afghanistan—or Peterborough—that other young people dressed in our uniforms might embark upon.

We were treated to some finishing touches from the staff at the Army surplus stores: after each acquiring the rank of Lance Corporal—a very fast promotion indeed—we were offered some parting advice from the ex-serviceman store attendant: "I used to get grief because of my uniform, even my haircut 'cause I've always got a short back and sides. But in Edinburgh? Nobody will pay any attention. You won't get into any pubs, though."

In fact, people did pay attention: walking up Leith Walk we were aware of receiving a more than usual number of looks – none of them remotely aggressive. Oddly enough, it was agreed that we both felt more conscious of our camouflaged apparel than people around perhaps were. It was the same story heading down George IV bridge on out way to the Edinburgh's Grassmarket.

Eager to test out the former sqaddie's warning, we decided to make Edinburgh's pubs our first "theatre of action," and so entered Maggie Dickinson's – without trouble. Stomping up to the bar in our polished boots and ordering a drink appeared to raise no more eyebrows than any other punter. The barmaid, originally from near RAF Boulmer in Northumberland, suggested to us that, where she comes from, tensions usually stem from the uniformed men's uncanny success with women compared to the local lads.

On leaving the pub, however, we received what was to be the first example of our most common reaction: a faux salute, accompanied by a less-than-original, "didn't see you there, mate!" in reference to our camouflage. The accompanying chant of "ooh, camouflage, ooh camouflage" while inventive, was about the rowdiest behaviour directed towards us all evening.

Moving across Edinburgh—and finding that not all pubs were as eager to welcome servicemen—we arrived at the University of Edinburgh's student union, eager to ascertain student feelings about service personnel. While undoubtedly more out of place than in any of our previous destinations, we were approached here by a friendly fourth-year student from South Africa who, as it turned out, was a member of the university's Officer Training Corps. More eager to learn about our badges—a lesson, if anything, in the importance of preparing a back-story—than to give us grief, she revealed that, back in 2004 during the first stages of the Iraq war, cadets had been advised against wearing uniforms in public: "Crossing the meadows we had a few things thrown at us, but now we never get any trouble."

It was when heading back to the Cowgate that we came the closest ill-treatment: a slightly drunk young man feigned pistol fire and pleaded: "don't shoot me, please." Of course, we didn't. Nor did we feel threatened by his anti-war motivated jibe.

Our last stop as squaddies was outside a popular Grassmarket pub, where the doormen greeted us with a refrain we were, by now, used to: "You'll not get in looking like that, lads."

It turned out that the bouncer blocking our progress was a former soldier himself, having served for five and a half years in the 3rd Airborne Assault Regiment. We too were apparently members of the "Screeching Eagles," though we had been ignorant of the badges whose meaning he decoded for us.

So, was there a blanket ban on soldiers in uniform or did we look particularly troublesome? "Troops don't usually go out dressed like that, although you can tell the squaddies apart, even in civilian dress. One of them will come up in the lead and say, 'there are about ten guys wanting to get in, is that alright?' As long as he's about, they won't cause any trouble."

However, the reputation of off-duty soldiers didn't emerge untarnished. The former soldier was quite willing to describe the numerous scrapes he used to get into: "We were always getting arrested and chucked out of places, mostly for drunk-and-disorderlys, but also for fighting, pissing on each other. If there was a balcony, nine times out of ten there would be an arse hanging over shitting off it."

Pointing to our rank-badges, he added: "I got made Lance-Corporal twice and lost it twice – once for beating up my regimental sergeant major; I knocked my group leader out cold, the other time." In Edinburgh, it seems, the reaction to service-people in uniform has more to do with their own behaviour than political issues.

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