In the run-up to the election, the government’s latest brilliant pledge is to reintroduce a form of National Service for 18-year-olds. We know our Armed Forces are under-funded and under-resourced, but it seems unlikely that throwing thousands of unmotivated, disgruntled teens at them will fix those problems. If our son is at all typical of this age group, then I’m guessing it’s going to be well beyond the reach of military intelligence to get any of them out of bed before noon never mind dressed and standing to attention.
Also, there’s our son’s skincare regime to consider, so he’ll need at least one extra locker for all his toiletries, plus he can’t function unless plied with an array of delightful breakfast options: Greek yoghurt with chopped fruit and honey, smashed avocado on sourdough, or smoked salmon and cream cheese on a proper Jewish bagel from a kosher bakery (not supermarket bagels, which – as we all know – are pappy goyische substitutes not to be mistaken for the real thing). He can’t go on training manoeuvres because he doesn’t really like to carry anything aside from his phone and he can’t do orienteering unless he has a good phone signal because, obviously, you can’t expect Gen-Zers to read a map.
My father (born 1931) was of the generation who had to do National Service. Unsurprisingly, he and the army were not a match made in heaven.
He failed basic training initially and, as it became clear that he might never pass, in the end they rubber-stamped him – they needed him in the education corps to teach literacy and maths to new recruits. Later, Dad recalled that National Service taught him – a nice Jewish boy from Stamford Hill – to lie, to cheat and to swear, skills he had never had need of before. When he was allowed off-base, where other men might have gone in search of booze and women, my father sought out an old-fashioned tearoom in the nearest village so that he could have a nice pot of tea and poached eggs on toast (the greasy army food played havoc with his digestion).
As an alternative to the government scheme, I have come up with my own plan to offer more relevant skills to make the youth of today fighting fit for the demands of adult life. Some key strands of the training are outlined below.
l Public transport. Many young people in this cohort have been chauffeured everywhere by their parents and never go anywhere on their own until they attempt to back-pack around south-east Asia. Challenges include: travel from Bethnal Green to Golders Green using only a paper Tube map, buy a Young Person’s Railcard without going online.
l Bathroom cleaning. My attempts to teach our son basic cleaning skills have not gone smoothly. We are lucky enough to have a cleaner once a week, but this seems to have instilled in him the belief that cleaning is essentially a job for someone else – anyone else, someone who isn’t him. My training scheme will take them through the basics: cleaning a loo, polishing a mirror, squeegee-ing a shower screen, through increasing levels of difficulty until they reach the pinnacle: removing clogged hair from a shower trap.
l Being on hold. A huge part of an adult’s life is spent on hold to call centres and “help” lines. New recruits will have to listen to annoying, repetitive music while on hold for the following: a GP appointment – “you are currently number… 45 in the queue”, a bank helpline – “most queries can be more speedily answered using our online portal” and a broadband provider – “your call is important to us”. No successful result is expected: the only objective is to see how long you can last before hurling your phone across the room.
l Pan scrubbing. While any fool can mess up every pan in the house when making a meal, some offspring seem to balk at cleaning up after cooking. Recruits will be locked in with a stack of pans, a scouring pad, and a pair of rubber gloves and not allowed out for lunch until the pans are gleaming.
l Booking a plumber to fix a blocked drain. Advanced students only. Recruits will need to find a qualified plumber, fix a time for him to come, chase when he doesn’t appear, not become enraged when he says he was on his way but the van broke down, then make a new time. Students need to remember not to offer tea as time spent drinking it/chatting will be chargeable, and be able to stay calm in face of plumber’s views on politics/immigration/Nigel Farage. Repeat the whole process the following day when it turns out that the drain is still blocked.
Rishi Sunak claimed that the government’s scheme would inculcate “a shared sense of purpose among our young people”, and he’s almost certainly right.
No doubt we will note an unprecedented shared sense of purpose in Generation Z on July 4 when they suddenly are all driven to get up unusually early – to vote.