The Cyprus cash airdrop is just another military contingency plan

RAF air-lifted in one million Euros in cash.

A drop in salary took on a whole new meaning for members of the British Armed Forces deployed in Cyprus, when the RAF air-lifted in a million Euros in cash.

The emergency measures were designed to ensure troops don’t run out of cash if cash machines empty, as banks are closed until Thursday in the aftermath of a controversial plan for a one-off levy on savings, which has since been rejected by the Cypriot government.

Is it usual for British service personnel deployed abroad to be paid in local currency, and does the Ministry of Defence (MoD) regularly have to deal with the dramatic local effects of an increasingly destabilised global economy?

An MoD spokesperson said that the way soldiers are paid is up to them. Generally, for European deployments to permanent bases such as in Cyprus or Germany, personnel choose to have the majority of their wages paid into their regular UK bank account, with some “spending money” paid into local accounts in Euros.

In the case of mid-term operating bases, a unique local micro economy can spring up. At Camp Bastion, the pound can be exchanged at a favourable rate with the local currency the afghani, and Bastion shops and food outlets deal seamlessly with Euros, US dollars and pounds.

Locals are encouraged to set up shops and stalls in the camp to sell local craft mementoes and gifts, and are very keen to get their hands on dollars, the de facto universal currency. However, with the Danish military working closely with Afghanis to deliver training, the Euro is catching up in desirability.

For short-term operations like Libya with no in-country base, the MoD makes no local financial arrangements.

With the global economy struggling and the banking system of some countries teetering on the verge of collapse, does the MoD have a regular plan in place to ensure at least the military economy continues to thrive?

“Not really,” says the MoD spokesperson. “It’s the job of the MoD to react to a rapid change in any situation with a contingency plan, and the potential shortage of cash in Cyprus is just another example.”

This blog first appeared here.

Photograph: Getty Images

Berenice Baker is Defence Editor at Strategic Defence Intelligence.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood