This week we welcome a new blogger to the Army Chaplains site, Padre Cole Maynard. Padre Cole will be sending us regular updates from Afghanistan over the coming months, but first he had to get there:

`What a mixture of raw emotion! Sunday night saw my wife and I deep in battle with the pain of separation. No matter how many times you do this – for me the fourth occasion since 2003 – leaving your life’s partner for six months is a huge emotional tear, and so I spent a fitful night, shoulder damp from my wife’s expression of grief.

Monday morning arrived and following the final goodbyes I was off to Brize Norton. A beautiful spring morning, my eyes eagerly feasting on the white, yellow and pinks of spring blossom, fully aware that such colour will be a rarity in the coming months. Having checked in and put my battle box with the Air Movements Cell, I made my way across the camp to have a final dinner with some good friends. The path cut through the trees and the young adolescent leaves whispered their exuberance in the gentle breeze. I smiled at their song, appreciating the beauty of this season, sucking to the very marrow the familiar scents and birdsong. Finally I reached the home of my friends, and enjoyed a meal followed by banter and prayer, all washed down with a refreshing and much needed G&T.

I woke at 04.50, shaved and exercised briefly before a quick breakfast, much improved since my last visit to the Brize Norton Hilton. I assembled with a mixture of service personnel waiting for the transport to the terminal. A mixed bag of uniforms and emotions from those just flying out to start their tours and those returning from a short break at home. The atmosphere is subdued and a little flat.

The terminal building proves to be the usual rush-to-wait scenario, but now mitigated by huge flat screen TV’s broadcasting Sky News and other programmes to ease the pressure. I relax once I have placed my huge bags on the rollers and then move to the departure lounge. Then the joy of a familiar face, an officer from my days with 3 PARA, now a Lieutenant Colonel we exchanged greetings and then talk about shared experiences in the deserts of Iraq during the 2003 war. We embark the plane together and continue the recollections.

After a first class in-flight meal, well done RAF, I try to read but find myself overcome with the weariness of the past 36 hours and succumb to a deep sleep serenaded by my iPod. I awake several hours later and find myself flying high above Cyprus where I spent a very busy but pleasant two years from 2003-2005. The aircraft circled the isle like an eagle in search of its prey and I could clearly see the familiar peninsular of Akrotiri with the various tracks that I would run along early in the morning to escape the heat of the day. The old light house which would be my half way point on my run along the cliffs and the venue of my 2005 Easter Sunrise Service, where I led a moving vigil that was only spoilt by a squadron of insatiable mosquitoes. I smile to myself, and reflect on the blessings that God has given to my family and me, remembering the vibrant church, baptisms in the sea, family days at the beach and holidays on the Isle. It was a familiar and welcome distraction from the long road ahead.

The long flight continues, the skies darken and again I surrender to the weariness of travel. Finally the aircraft descends to our destination and we arrive very early in the morning and exit the aircraft into the heat of Afghanistan. It is dark yet the residue of the day’s heat hangs heavy in the air. Familiar smells greet me and senses long forgotten are kindled as I descend the aircraft steps.

In the large tent I go through a series of checks before being greeted by my predecessor. He grasps my hand in earnest, pleased to meet his relief after six weary months. We talk and wait for my bags before he takes me to my new home and it aint half bad! Things have certainly improved since my last sourjorn in this land. My bags are dropped in the corner and following a quick shower to wash away the fatigue of the past 48 hours, my head hits the pillow. I have arrived and dream of home.’

Padre Cole Maynard