There was only one reason for me to read this: it was where my devotion to reading began.
Although there was a brief, earlier period in which I got through a fair amount of young person's literature, mainly the Jennings novels by Anthony Buckeridge and things like Just William, Biggles and Billy Bunter, and a few dubious youth-cult pulp-novels about skinheads and bikers. Then I stopped reading recreationally.
Throughout "big" school, my only connection to books was whatever title was set for English lessons. The Gun was one of the last set books before my final exam in English Literature. I remember it was a hot summer's day and I'd taken to revising in the garden, sitting on the dry lawn with my exercise books and text books scattered about me. I was supposed to be revising Geography but was fed up with it; it proved to be my worst subject, a resounding fail. In the heat of the afternoon, I stopped cribbing about oxbow lake formation, limestone seams and strata. Casting my eyes around the lawn at the books, I picked up the only one which remotely promised entertaining distraction from boring revision, and I did something that we never did once in class, when studying prose: I started reading the first sentence on page one, chapter one.
Any prejudice I may have harboured towards literature fell away. This was really reading!; I remembered doing that, experiencing enjoyable escapism. I kept reading for a while, forgot about geography, took the exam, failed the exam, but I rediscovered books. And it's all down to The Gun.
My tastes have probably developed over the years and I cannot say I liked The Gun as much as I imagined I might. It's a no angles, period military yarn featuring heroes and battles. The writing is engaging enough, and I dare say it's well informed with detail about regimental uniforms and terminology, but the subject isn't my cup of tea. Still, I'm grateful to it for turning me on to regular and continuous reading, and I'm satisfied to have revisited The Gun and ticked a box.