Charlie Barnes felt more comfortable patrolling Basrah in Iraq than starting the Starfish course. Returning from Iraq, he was about to face his biggest challenge.

I've always had a stammer, although I've tried to hide it; after all, we all want to be 'normal', don't we?

I was a covert stammerer, hiding it through run-ups, 'er'/'um', 'actually', long pauses while re-phrasing mentally, eloquence when I was able to, silence when I wasn't. It worked. I managed to be a manager in the call centre industry. I played the ostrich very well and was content to have my head in the sand. Was I content? Not really.
You see, at university I'd wanted to go into the Army. I'd gone through several interviews before the regular commissions board; however my stammer - rather, fear of stammering - cost me a place at Sandhurst. Yet, a month later, I did exactly the same 3-day board, with its group discussions, leadership exercises, interviews and assault course for the TA, and passed. It just happened to be a 'good day(s)'.

When I graduated I was lost. After 'temping' I ended up working in a call centre. I was okay at it, enough that I was made a team leader. My contemporaries from university, however, were achieving what they wanted to: not always high-flying responsibility or wages but contentment, peace of mind and their potential.

'it's not about how much fluency I can have, but about controlling a level of fluency that I can sustain'

That set the pattern for years. The one jewel was that I met Caroline, we got married, we had Harriet. Luckily my stammer didn't cost me that!

In 2001 my company relocated, and we were all made redundant: suddenly, I had to start job interviews. I had some dodgy experiences. One interviewer wouldn't even interview me: 'really - come on!! There's no point, is there!?'

However after three months, I had an offer. Life went on.

In 2003 I was called up through the TA to be the second-in-command of an infantry company-group in Basrah. Having 13 years experience and qualified as a company commander, I was fine about the role... But the stammer? People expect fluency from an army officer. So no matter my competence, I felt humiliated when I stammered and worse when the reaction was dismissive. I started to get worried about the consequences. In the UK, not a problem. But was I, who was patrolling the desert, villages and highways, about to cause the deaths of my men by the onset of a 'bad-speech-day'? It worried me, it really did.

On a weekly phone-call, my wife told me about a programme she'd seen, featuring the Starfish Project and about the change in the featured stammerer. Suddenly I couldn't wait to get back to enrol.

Two weeks after leaving Iraq, I arrived in Eastbourne for the course. Naturally, my arriving late on the night before caused me to avoid going down to the restaurant to meet the others because I would have to explain to the waitress that I was late. I felt much more comfortable patrolling Basrah, frankly.

That's the last time I did 'bottle out' - at least in a big way. Learning to speak by using the costal diaphragm was the key to something special - totally controlled speech.

Aside from the 'physical aspect' I found the atmosphere created by Anne Blight and her 'refreshers' at Starfish so supportive. This support, replicated on a telephone list, is superb.

At first it was difficult and I had to slowly strip away my old 'coping' habits of speech. It's as if I had to turn myself into an overt stammerer before I could address the problem; I wasn't used to the sound of myself stammering. However, when I learned to moderate my pace and treat 'good' and 'bad' days the same it clicked. It took time to learn that it's not about how much fluency I can have, but about controlling a level of fluency that I can sustain. They are not the same thing. Once I'd changed my expectations it was much easier. I also use the telephone list a lot to reinforce my technique - in fact I even used it just before walking into a Civil Service promotion interview, and it made all the difference. Starfish works - and gives me a normal life.

From the Spring 2005 edition of Speaking Out