Falklands conflict

[zoomer]

All,

 

As I was a teenager during the Falklands Conflict, with a dream to join the RN (at the time!), I have always had an interest in the history of that period.

 

With the 25th anniversary imminent, I thought I'd start a topic for any anecdotes or recollections from the conflict. I have no idea if any members were involved - but maybe they know people who were, or may even have come across vehicles that took part. I for one would love to hear of any experiences.

 

I think of particular interest to this forum would be any recollections of the Blues and Royals Scorpions/Scimitars involvement, BV202s, beach recovery vehicles, etc. So post-away!!!

 

Phil

 

PS Moderators - move this wherever you think appropriate if I've put it in the wrong place.

[Snapper]

Nice idea. I think some of the guys have made a few notes about it on here before. But it would be good to do something tangible we can leave on here as a permanent reminder/memorial. Phil is right about interest in the MV's, but I hope you would agree that the iconic events - which often centred around the RN should be recorded too, if poss. There are some good Falklands books for those of us who were not there. My favourite is the Green Eyed Boys about 3 Para. Funny, sad, detailed and gritty. It also includes the allegations of people killing and Argie POWs and mutilating the dead - but without modern pc BBC/Guardian style judgmentalism. Max Hastings' general history is a good read and one of the most interesting books is called Beyond Endurance by the late Captain Nick Barker who commanded HMS Endurance during the farcical events before the war started. I have never read Vincent Bramley's book but did read another book by a 3 Para veteran who took a lot of colour snaps. I think he was a support platoon NCO from memory.

[Jack]

I was at school at the time of the conflict and can remember watching it all on the news - but of course it wasn't like it is now with death and destruction being beamed around the world 24/7 - if I wanted to, I can even watch it on my Blackberry at the same time as making a phone call.

 

I followed the conflict intently and have friends who were there - one of them is pretty scared from bullets and shrapnel - he has never explained his role there. I cam remember feeling sorry for the 'enemy' after they had been captured. My mothers friends husband was Sheffield.

 

Me and my mate Scott bunked of school to watch the Hermes come home to Portsmouth.

[Gareth Coe]

I was at school at the time of the conflict and can remember watching it all on the news

 

 

Me too - I remember getting told off for writing "The Falklands are British" (or something along those lines) on the covers of my exercise books.

TEMPUS FUGIT eh?

[Jessie The Jeep]

I was also school age during the war. I was at an Yamaha Organ recital when the news came through that it was all over. The organist had been demonstrating the ability of the Yamaha Organ to simulate a Steel Drum band, and to do this he had to de-tune the organ.

 

A guy burst into the room to announce that the fighting was over, and someone immediately stood up and requested the National Anthem. Without thinking, the organist took up the request and began playing the anthem on the still out of tune organ!!

 

Everyone stood and sang along, but Hmmmmm! :-o I've heard better versions!

 

Steve

[Snapper]

If you can have a peak at this saturday's Times magazine (17.02.2007) - interesting little photo-feature about the snapper who took the pix of our marines surrendering to the Argies at Government Hse and pix around Stanley.

[Tunnel_Rat]

Back then as a nipper my best pals brother was out there in the Para's, unsure which section, fault on my part, but i can remeber him coming back from Germany owning a brand new XR3 escort in red, looked the bollox back then and this was of course before the injection model came out,.

 

Wish i knew then what i have an idea of now..... a very brave man, hats off...

[polecat paul]

I also was at school when it was going on, and i thinkit was because of the war that i joined the paras in 1989, i,m actually off there in november with a guided tour operator i can,t wait, i have also met Simon Weston on a number of occasions and he truly is a great bloke.

[zoomer]

 

To follow the 'This Day in History Theme' on this Falklands 25th Anniversary thread, I'll put the occasional post up when significant days arrive. I don't intend to post about every event, just a few pivotal moments. Anyone else is welcome to post, to further elaborate on the historical aspects...

 

The first significant date in the Falklands war calendar was March 19th 1982 when the Argentine fleet transport Bahia Buen Suceso arrived in Leith harbour, South Georgia. This served as a catalyst for the imminent hostilities ahead (although in fact the originally Argentine plan was to initiate a full 'recovery' of the Falklands later in the year).

 

Onboard were a scrap recovery team lead by the businessman Constantino Davidoff, who had won a contract from Christian Salvesen to clear scrap from South Georgia. Whilst he had been given permission to land by British Government representatives in Buenos Aires, this was on the basis that he first reported to the islands Magistrate at the British Antarctic Survey (BAS) Base at Grytviken. This instruction was not carried out, and instead the team landed at Leith and began work, raising an Argentine Flag and defacing signage in apparent defiance.

 

Their activities were observed by a BAS team the next day and this was reported back to the Falkland Islands Governor Rex Hunt, in Port Stanley. Messages from Port Stanley instructing the Argentines to cease activities, remove flags and report to Grytviken were not followed, and the Bahia Buen Suceso and shore team remained, being observed by BAS personnel for the next couple of days.

 

Meanwhile the only British maritime presence in the area, the Ice Patrol Ship HMS Endurance (ex-danish Anita Dan) had only just left South Georgia en route to Port Stanley for her last visit prior to returning to the UK - for the last time. She continued on to Port Stanley, and took onboard nine marines to supplement her usual small contingent of thriteen before sailing for South Georgia on the 21st March. By the time Endurance arrived back at South Georgia on the 24th, the Bahia Buen Suceso had apparently departed, but the shore team remained at Leith. Some of her marines took over observation of the Argentine team, and she began planned coastal patrol work while inter-governmental negotiations were underway to resolve the situation.

 

The main issue at this point was whether or not the Argentine team were present in a military capacity. They were led by a civilian, but inserted by naval vessel. After the conflict, Davidoff has been reported as stating he was there purely in a commerical capacity, and there was no military involvement. However, considering there were plans for an invasion later in the year, it seems quite reasonable that every assistance was offered to Davidoff by the Argentine military to provoke a reaction, and thereby judge likely resistance from Whitehall if a full invasion were to occur a few months later.

 

Whatever the real intent, the situation changed significantly on the morning of the 25th March 1982 when the naval transport Bahia Paraiso was observed in Leith harbour and a significant contingent of Argentine marines landed, to 'provide protection' to Davidoffs team...

 

 

[Snapper]

You've finally stopped reading Hello, then.

[zoomer]

 

Thanks for the vote of confidence oh verbose one.

 

OK, I'll admit I've been copying your style.... :-D :yawn:

 

[Snapper]

Verbose, moi? Cut to the quick I am old chap. I suppose I deserve it for being such a prize sh*te.

[zoomer]

 

I will take up on your comment, Snapper, and my next brief installment will be done in the style of Hello magazine.

 

I hope it wont detract from the seriousness of the subject matter.

 

Just off to buy a copy... ;-)

 

[Snapper]

I'd stick to your usual Asian Babes if I were you.

[AlienFTM]

Some potted memories.

 

A colleague's husband was RN Submarines. After last night's Mummy's War on Channel 5, there was some discussion this morning. According to her husband, he was aware that for months before the onset, that the small numbers of Exocet systems the Argies were able to buy (on the black market after the French knew there would be trouble) were all fitted with malfunctioning fuzing mechanisms. (Buying ANY Exocet system was difficult, since British and French spooks were trawling all the black markets ahead of them to prevent their falling into Argy hands.) It has literally only just as I type occurred to me the implications of something I heard on BFBS Radio one Sunday morning whilst lying in bed in my new Married Serviceman's Quarter in February 1982. During a Commons debate on the replacement of Polaris with Trident, I think it was Lord Carrington stood up and asked, "If we don't have a credible independent nuclear deterrent, how can we stop some tinpot dictator from just walking into one of our dependencies and simply taking it?" I always wondered why we never nuked BA, especially since, as I now realise, Lord Carrington probably knew there was trouble in the offing.

 

One morning early in April, shortly after the fan had got in the way, our squadron was preparing for an impending exercise and live firing ranges at Oxbol near Esbjerg in Denmark. There was a foot and mouth outbreak raging in Denmark. I was across the square from our B Squadron hangars while the REME Light Aid Detachment did some work for me. I forget what it was but I don't remember it being my Sultan Command Vehicle: it was a B vehicle hangar so I'd guess it was the CO's Landrover. Things weren't going well. I was having a REALLY bad morning. I stepped outside, threw my beret on the floor and jumped on it. I really was that angry. An old mukker who was in C Squadron was walking by and made some remark which I took really, really badly. He laughed off my quick and witty retort along the lines of, "*** off you red-nosed ****" and continued on his way.

 

C Squadron were a couple of weeks away from a six-week bunfight - I mean exchange - which would see then in Australia as guests of the RAAC and an Aussie squadron coming to us in BAOR. This had been on the Arms Plot for years and C Squadron had been getting up everybody else's noses about it for at least a year, escpecially since they'd recently had an 18 month accompanied Cyprus Sovereign Base posting.

 

My mukker's reply was the usual something like, "Who cares. Did you know we are getting six weeks in Oz?"

 

To which, quick as a flash, I replied, "You haven't heard then? Announced within the last half hour. Oz is off. Because of the Arms Plot of Recce Regiments over the last five years, we are the senior line Recce Regiment. We're ALL going south Bonny Lad, but not to Oz. How do you fancy Port Stanley?"

 

Now the whole regiment knew that until recently I'd been in Command Troop for three years where I'd had intimate contact (no not THAT intimate!!!) with the Commanding Officer. The grin disappeared off me mukker's face - he clearly assumed I still had a direct line to the Colonel - and he was off like a rat out of an aquaduct. There was a palpable wave of consternation swept through C Squadron's hangars, next to our own on the opposite side of the LAD square. It is said that C Squadron Leader was banging on the CO's desk within the half hour, demanding to know if the rumours were true. Oh how it brightened up my day.

 

We didn't go to the Falklands: there was a Guards cavalry regiment on Allied Command Europe (ACE) Mobile Force (AMF) on permanent standby in the UK. As we all now know, the Blues and Royals went. It was a mixed blessing for me. I so wanted to go, but just a week or two earlier I'd discovered that our first-born was due at the end of the year.

 

The A vehicles went up to Oxbol by train as usual, accompanied by their drivers. Having once been a squadron leader's driver, I travelled in the OC's rover and we hot-swapped drivers as we drove up to Oxbol non-stop except to refuel and to walk through a disinfectant footbath on the German - Danish border as a Foot and Mouth precaution. We all got out and walked; the driver drove through then walked back and through again.

 

Because we were on exercise, my memories of the Falklands timeline are a little hazy so excuse me if I get anything wrong here.

 

ISTR we were in Oxbol when Conqueror sank the Belgrano. The Danes had canteens not unlike the NAAFI and we all mixed quite freely even though none of us spoke Danish and the Danes didn't thank me for speaking German to then because they'd occupied Denmark during the war. But there was no doubting their shared joy at the success reflected on us by this great military strike, depicted by the famous picture of liferafts with the Belgrano listing in the background on the front of the Danish newspapers. Much collective sinking of beers to mark the event.

 

A couple of days later, the mood was entirely different. An Exocet had sunk one of our ships. The Danes' expression was clearly, "Hard luck chaps."

 

Another couple of days later and it got even worse. Another Exocet. But of course we were getting very much third-hand news and our attitude got increasingly depressed.

 

Anyway, we converted live rounds into empty cases by day and emptied beer (soory Lager - spit) glasses at night and soon found ourselves on the return journey.

 

We followed the news avidly on the newfangled BFBS TV service. They may have just opened a live TV link direct from the UK via a series of microwave radio masts all the way across France belgium and Holland into the Corps area. It certainly wasn't there when the Iranian embassy siege took place in 1980 and it certainly was there when we got The Paras a short time later, looking at Hollywood Platoon (as they were to become known and their careers blighted forever as a result), who passed out just in time to be assigned to their battalions, get on the QE2 and sail for Ascension.

 

By the end of the war I was very seriously demob happy. The pinnacle of my time in Recce (apart from 6 months with the UN in Cyprus after the war) had been toward the end of my time in Command Troop as a rebroadcast Ferret commander. With the start of a new, C Sqn-based, regime in command Troop with new favourites for promotion, I decided I'd get my second stripe more quickly by rejoining a sabre troop and living in the turret of a Scorpion again. More bad timing, as a new B Sqn regime meant that suddenly there were a large number of Boy Brats (ex Junior Leaders) who were more favoured than I. Five years after I'd moved on from Troop Leader's operator in the turret of a Scorpion, I found myself back there, now a Lance Corporal but with any prospect of an immediate promotion even further away. So after a year back in the turret, I engineered a move to the squadron's Field Headquarters (FHQ), back to the Sultans and Command radio nets. A vacancy came up for Troop Corporal. I was perfect for the job, but we still had this new squadron leader who liked his boys young (what am I saying?!?!?). The Troop Sergeant wanted me as his Corporal but I got knocked back again. Married by now, I had already come around to the idea of taking up the offer of my Paymaster and former yacht-racing buddy to transfer to the Pay Corps. (In 1980 the Intelligence Corps had tried to headhunt me whilst attending my Civil Service Linguist (Army) course, which was, apart from me, an exclusibe I Corps preserve but I'd resisted. Now, seeing how our Pay staff got on, I saw the RAPC as a quiet life and right for a married soldier, especially seeing so many cavalry marriages end in divorce.) I had been accepted for transfer into the Pay Corps earlier in 1982 and by the end of the Falklands war, my days to do were getting very few.

 

I was on another exercise the day the war ended. It might well have been my last before spending time attached to the Pay Office prior to transfer. If so, we must have been up north on Soltau Training Area. Well I remember the Squadron Leader's voice as he broadcast a NoDuff message. (NoDuff - from No DF: a radio message which is not a part of the exercise, describing an urgent matter that takes absolute priority over all other traffic.)

 

"Hello all stations this is two niner. NoDuff message. The Union flag is flying over Port Stanley, The war is over. Out" I ordered my driver to pull the Samaritan squadron ambulance to the side of the road. I think all exercise traffic stopped as one. A few minutes thinking of the boys who had done us proud, then back to the exercise.

 

On the Friday, last day of the exercise, we had an almighty climax to the exercise. As ever, the exercise finished with us turning withdrawal in contact with what was meant to represent 3 Shock Army the other side of the IGB and bringing them to a standstill, then chasing them back with their tails between their legs. A large part of the B Sqn area was marsh. In their excitement to throw the marauders back, one after another, Scorpions got bogged and a series of recovery operations took place. I was commanding the Combat Team (think squadron) Command Net from the back of 2 Bravo (Alpha and Bravo were co-located, but Bravo was the working CV. Combat Team Command Net (working) was in my left ear and Battle Group (think regiment or infantry battalion) Command Net (monitored) in my right ear. The advance was flying, but these recovery tasks were seriously impacting it and in danger of taking over the net. I breathed in and prepared for the SOP in the circumstances. I pressed the pressel and started, "Hello all stations this is Two. Minimise. Minimise. Out"

 

I was surprised when the Regimental Signals Sergeant in the back of one of the Zero callsigns came back, in my left ear, with, "Hello Two this Zero. The net is perfectly under control. Do you have a problem?" I stared down at my pressel and the map board. Back to the pressel. How on earth had the BG Command Net come through my left ear when I was talking on the CT Command Net?" I looked up at the radio junction box behind my head and found that the Squadron Leader, sat almost beside me, half out the back of the CV, was taking his hand away from the set selector switch, which I'd had set to work A set and monitor B set, and he had switched it to work B set and monitor A set so that he could talk to Command Troop. I looked at him, frozen with his hand by the selector switch, back at my pressel, then gave him The Look, boring through his eyeballs at the back of his skull. I didn't need to speak the words, "You made me look a prat on the Battle Group Command Net you barsteward." He may have been a Major and I may have been a mere Lance Corporal, but he knew he'd made a faux pas. His task on the BG net complete, he switched back to the CT net, all the while I continued to give him The Look. We both knew this was my last ever exercise, I'd be gone any day and he had done nothing to further my career in the cavalry so what was he going to do about it?

 

He switched back to B and addressed the CT. "Hello all stations this is Two Niner. The trains are booked at the railhead for mid-day. Never mind about bleating about it on the air. Get in with recovering your vehicles. When we were stationed here (a decade earlier) I saw a Chieftain sink without trace in those marshes. Next commander to bog his vehicle I'll reduce to Trooper. Out." Then he snuck out of MY Command Vehicle and never ever looked me in the eye again.

 

Postscript. By November I had transferred into the RAPC and been posted up the road from 15/19H to Osnabruck. My by now heavily pregnant wife stayed in our old quarter accompanied by her mother while I awaited a new MSQ at my new posting. I'd go home to PAderborn every Wednesday afternoon and weekend. On arrival in Paderborn I'd visit my old Squadron HQ building and round up any stray mail not yet diverted to my new BFPO address. First time I walked in in Barrack Dress and RAPC chip-bag side cap, the Squadron 2IC stared at me in disbelief. He hadn't even realised I'd gone. It seemed nobody had: I WAS missed when there was an Active Edge (crashed out) and there was nobody to man a Sultan. They all believed I'd been on another German course.

 

Whilst on my next posting I undertook a Class 1 course to restore me to the Pay Banding that had been cut when I left the cavalry. There, I met a guy who'd taken a grey funnel line cruise on the QE2 in 1982 to the South Atlantic. In BAOR the threat had always been theoretical: if we did our job correctly, the Commies would never cross the IGB. I am proud that they never did on my watch (and as soon as I left the Army, they pulled down the Wall). There was however going to be a shooting war in the South Atlantic, so all ranks spent many hours every day pounding round the promenade decks on the QE2 and Canberra in full kit to make sure they were fit. This lad had overdone it. One day, pounding out the miles carrying a GPMG, a muscle in his calf ruptured and burst through his skin. He showed me a dark red glowing railway line up the length of his leg where the field surgeons had patched him up. To this day he looked like he had a zip fastener in his leg.

 

Fast-forward another year and I was posted to the RAPC Computer Centre. There were three flavours of Pay Corps: Direct Enlistments (Recruits), Apprentices (Boy Brats) and Transfers-In. The Brats and the recruits were forever having a go at each other. They all demurred to the Transfers-In who's seen real soldiery. Posted as a Sergeant, I was now a member of a rather exclusive club, the Sergeants' Mess and as a Transfer-In, I found myself mixing with a hard core of Transferred-In senior ranks, where all gave and got maximum respect. Many of these senior ranks took roles as Weapons or NBC instructors. One such WO2 had been attached to the Welsh Guards. He was on the water in Bluff Cove but mercifully hadn't cross-decked to the Sir Galahad for disembarkation. Only he outside of the Welsh Guards, could have described that day as "The Day The Boyos Got Crisped."

 

In those days I was professional and hard-bitten. Nowadays, with my son the age I was when I was with the UN in Cyprus, I watch the news and see other people's children. I never realised how much my being in Northern Ireland had worried my family. Now, I hear news of yet another death and a tear comes to my eye. Even watching Mummy's War on Channel 5 last night, I had to wipe tears away. Even for Argies on the Belgrano. Not because it was wrong to sink the Belgrano: it was an entirely justifiable act of war, a war they implicitly declared under UN Resolution (erm somewhere between 51 and 54) with an act of war by invading another sovereign nation's territory. No, because the Conqueror's captain had set out to sink the Belgrano, not 1000 Argentine sailors, largely conscript.

 

Every time I sat in the gunner's seat of a Scorpion, I eased my conscience by remembering I was destroying an enemy tank, not burning its crew alive. I understand that this is how fighter pilots ease their conscience when they down enemy aircraft.

 

A decade after the war I left the army and took the train into London every day. One evening on the journey home I found myself sat next to two foreign teenage boys on their gap year. The fourth at our table started talking to them. they were Argentinian. I bit my tongue and held it. Then I realised that they were only now barely old enough to be conscripted and the war hadn't been their fault. From then I was able to separate individuals from the state that had taken my country to war and taken over 1000 people like me from both sides from their parents prematurely.

 

Thank God my son is the son of a consultant, not the son of a coal miner like his father, and he has every chance to make his way through life without having to offer up his safety to a government (any government, this statement is not explicitly aimed at any particular warmongering government and prime minister - if the cap fits ...) that doesn't understand.

[Mark]

Here, Here ATM to the last part

[Snapper]

You need to write some features for us.

[Sylvester]

A Very Well written piece, I share your views. 8-)

I had just left the Army a few years prior to the FC but, on my reservist document was the recall No. 01..... Oh S****! :banghead:

However, I was never called,(Mixed emotions on that, at the time Wanted to Go, but now I think I was Lucky!)

One thing that worries me...nearly all the entries before ..... Your All At SCHOOL!!!! I feel so old now!! :yawn2:

[Snapper]

Good points, Fred. I was 23 on the day the Empire struck back landing in San Carlos water on May 21 1982. I was working for the old Melody Maker at the time (where I went after being 24463988), compiling pop charts and being a librarian..very exciting. Most of the staff were anti-Thatcher, anti-the war and against our country in general in ways that really peed me off. I suppose we all have different ideas what "our country" means. They are fully entitled to their views and that's what democracy is all about. Being a reject there was no way I'd be asked to go down South. Lucky me.