GEOFFREY: As kids, the main difference between me and Richard was that he liked doing things and I liked pretending to do things. It’s no wonder he ended up being in the army and I ended up on stage. Richard was your classic first child, inasmuch as he was well behaved and didn’t require a lot of attention. I was your classic second child: high-maintenance, liked being the centre of attention, was always winding people up, and had a whimsical perverseness.

Even then, Richard had an incredible level of tolerance. I was forever seeing how far I could push him. A typical example was when we played cricket. Richard was fanatical about the game and I’d take advantage of this by insisting that, because I was younger, he’d have to get me out at least five times before he got a chance to bat. On occasion, he’d end up getting so frustrated with my outrageous demands that he’d lose his rag. But, typically, just as he was about to set on me, I’d go screaming to Mum, acting like a tortured victim to get him in trouble. Clearly, I was already getting a feel for the theatre.

We had quite a traditional upbringing, inasmuch as we spent a lot of time out of doors, weren’t allowed to watch much TV, and always sat around the table at meal times, when our parents would encourage us to discuss topics in the news and air our views. Our father, who was a barrister at the Middle Temple, was committed to social causes, and that had a huge influence on Richard’s attitude towards fairness in society. Certainly, when it came to secondary schools, Richard thought private education was socially divisive and insisted on going to the local state school — while I went to a private one.

One of the things that shaped Richard then was Dad’s epilepsy. For years Dad suffered badly from it: he’d collapse maybe once a month, and it could be anywhere — on a train, in court, at church... If the phone rang we’d always worry it was someone calling to tell us he’d had an attack on the way home and been taken to hospital. Being the eldest, Richard felt a strong sense of responsibility, whether it was helping Mum cope with the strain of it all or minding his four younger siblings. It also instilled in him a strong sense of compassion for people. In fact, before joining the army he went out to work in a Romanian orphanage for a year.

It’s ironic that, with such socialist instincts, Richard should end up in what is considered a conservative institution. But he’s chosen the army because, to him, it’s a matter of social and moral conscience. He believes it is of great purpose. What’s also important to him is that, although there are all these different ranks, nobody’s life is worth more than anyone else’s — the bullet doesn’t discriminate.

At the end of the day, Richard is steadfast and courageous. He’s also stoical. When he’s done long tours abroad in war zones, he never comes back and lays the burden of those experiences at anybody else’s door. He’s sensitive but not overtly emotional, so it’s often his actions — his devotion, his tolerance, his loyalty and compassion — that speak louder than his words.

Of course, our interests in life have taken us down different paths, but ironically my first role as an actor was as a soldier in a play called Sword of Honour for Channel 4. And when it came to interpreting Henry V, Richard was a huge help. This production is very much about emphasising who Henry was, not as a king or a politician, but as a soldier. So I spent hours talking to Richard about what being a soldier means to him; what he cares about; what goes through his head the night before battle.

When Richard came to see me as Henry V, he brought with him a bunch of soldiers from his regiment. And I have to admit, it gave the whole performance added poignancy. One scene was very moving. All these coffins are brought onto the stage and the names of the English men killed in battle are read out one by one. As this was happening, you could see the audience looking over at the real soldiers, sitting in their uniforms, knowing these men may have come back from a similar experience.

When Richard’s gone off to war, it’s been very difficult saying goodbye. In fact, it’s horrible. And soon he’ll be off on tour, possibly to Afghanistan or Iraq. There are all these thoughts running through your head, but we’re not emotionally demonstrative to each other because we know that reining the emotions in is probably the most helpful way to deal with things. Saying goodbye is only made possible for me knowing he’s doing something he believes in. One thing Richard taught me is, even in conflict there is humanity. He is proof of that.

RICHARD: Our family has lived in the same Kent village for 500 years, so we grew up knowing a lot about our family history — the family headstones in the graveyard and the Streatfeild pews at our local church. Several members of the family were in the army, but it’s the stories about my grandfather I recall most. He was a brigadier in the Royal Horse Artillery and won two awards for bravery during the second world war.

Richard and I are the two eldest, so we were very close as children. But it’s interesting how our lives have taken such different directions — Geoffrey feels at home on the stage with a group of actors, and I feel most at home sitting in the middle of a platoon with 90 blokes. While he went to Rada, I went off to Sandhurst. I then joined a battalion and did tours in Bosnia, Northern Ireland and Kosovo, while he joined the RSC. During that time we both got married and he was best man at my wedding.

The first time it hit me that Geoffrey had become such a good actor was when I took my entire company to see him in Journey’s End. It’s set in the trenches in the first world war and it’s about five officers — Geoffrey played one of them. That was at the height of the Iraq war, so our thoughts were with the boys out there. But watching the play, which was written by a soldier, I kept thinking that people haven’t changed that much when it comes to coping under pressure and reacting to danger.

Recently, I saw Geoffrey play Henry V, and what was so interesting was seeing how a play about England going to war that’s nearly 500 years old could still be relevant today. There’s one scene where three soldiers have a conversation and I could honestly take those characters and what they’re saying and put them into today’s army. I could even match them to characters in my own company.

What also struck a chord was seeing Geoffrey replicate the feelings that come to the surface the night before a battle. For me, as a platoon commander in Bosnia, it took me back to the first time I’d been in charge of a life-threatening situation. Trying to talk to people about what was happening and at the same time keep control of your own emotions — and, to some extent, fear — is difficult.

Of course, if I were going on a tour of duty tomorrow and Geoff took a role in a play that was critical of the army’s actions in that duty, I might feel differently, especially if I thought it was unfairly critical or one-sided. There would no doubt be a frank exchange of views between us. But if the play was critical because it was telling a story about the army today that rang true, then I feel I’d want to face up to that.

I know what an incredible honour it is for Geoffrey to be playing one of theatre’s most famous military men, and following in the footsteps of amazing actors like Laurence Olivier and Kenneth Branagh. It makes me incredibly proud of him as an actor. It also leaves me with huge respect for how he passionately endeavours to hold a mirror to what’s going on in the world and our understanding of human nature. That can only be a good thing for all of us.

Interviews by Ria Higgins.

Portrait by Samuel Hicks

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