1982 The Falklands War
"Its not like there's a war going on"
Thats what my Mum said when I announced I wanted to join the Navy. The fact that I wasn't likely to get killed, sealed their approval and signature on the form from the RN Careers Office.
However, less than a year later, ten months to be precise, we went to war with the 'Argies' in the South Atlantic all because of a small cluster of Islands called The Falklands.
The months that followed the announcement on 2nd April 1982 are some of the most vivid memories of my life. Events and emotions, deeply engraved in my heart, never to be forgotten. I apologise now if my account isn't 100% accurate, but it was 30 years ago and my memory isn't what it was, but please feel free to correct me. I also want to point out that this is simply an account of my life at that time and not a political agenda, so please no comments on sovereignty or other political opinions. Thanks.
I was based at RNAS Culdrose at the time, working on 771 Search and Rescue Squadron. I had just arrived home on Easter leave, and was, as usual bored, and looking forward to getting back to my mates in Cornwall. My Dad a policeman, came in from work and casually told me that I was going to be packing my bags soon, as all the Navy had been recalled from leave. I thought he was joking, he wasn't.
As it turned out, only the front line squadrons were recalled, we weren't required to return, but had to be on standby. It was unbearable being at home while your friends were back at work getting ready for war. I was restless, and decided to go back early, as did just about everyone else.
Within days, the Seakings from 814, 824, 826 squadrons flew off to join HMS Hermes or HMS Invincible and the rest of The Task Force which sailed on 5th April. We didn't get chance to say goodbye to anyone as they practically packed up and left overnight. Very quickly, the base became quiet and almost empty. Shortly afterwards came the news that they were forming a new squadron '847' to act as support for the troops and orders arrived to start to prepare them to sail on the Atlantic Causeway, and Atlantic Conveyor (RFA Container ships) in the following 2-3 weeks along with Wessex from our sister squadron 772 based at Portland.
Then the adrenaline kicked in.
I need to explain the process of maintaining military aircraft here. Its not just a case of replacing parts when they wear out, its a very detailed schedule which ensures that every single part of the aircraft is checked, monitored and replaced within certain timescales. When in operation there are checks carried out before and after every flight, and when not in operation 'FlexOps' are carried out which involves doing the work required as the 'part' or piece of equipment has reached its 'limit' of flying hours. This may be removing an engine, changing a filter or greasing a particular bolt.
I think we had around 12 aircraft at the time. All painted in red/blue SAR colours. Nice and obvious for enemy attack! Not only did we have to carry out work to ensure that each aircraft had a much longer flying time than was normal, I can't remember but may have been around 50 hours, but we also had to have them resprayed in drab olive. Nato Standard. This also applied to the ground equipment such as jacks and lubricating rigs! In some cases a large proportion of the aircraft was replaced, to ensure nothing was going to need replacing within the required flying time.
We worked in our normal watches, but the 24 about went out the window. For two weeks we worked as long as we could, taking time to either crash out in the crew room, or if there was a lull while we waited for parts, we would have a few hours off and go out into Helston to relax and have a few drinks. It was one of those times of excitement, anxiety and tiredness, fuelled by adrenaline. We didn't really know what was going on at that time, things were happening very fast, the Task Force were on their way south, the media was buzzing and we worked our socks off. The squadron galley provided a constant supply of bacon and egg banjo's and mugs of tea 24/7 to keep our strength up.
At the end of the two weeks we had the aircraft ready to go. It was very emotional watching them fly off to Devonport to embark for their trip to the South Atlantic. From this point, the normally busy, noisy air station fell eerily silent. There were very few aircraft left, only the Gazelles from 705 used to train pilots.
Over the two weeks, the lads on the squadron had either gone off to join other squadrons or were to sail with 847 and our aircraft. The night before they travelled up to Devonport, we saw them off in traditional naval style, with a great deal of alcohol and merry banter at the 'Bop'.
This itself turned out to be a very eventful night for me, followed by a visit to the 'Joss' the following morning, but thats another blog post entirely.
As often happens when you work like this, your super human abilities crash as soon as you no longer need them. After three weeks of being officially at war, working long, hard days and nights, thinking about mates already on their way, we were left with a deserted air station, deserted squadron and with little to do. Wrens didn't go to sea back then (much to my dismay), so apart from those who hadn't been drafted to go, it was more or less a base full of Wrens and support staff.
The Search and Rescue side of things was taken over by a 202 Squadron Sea king from RAF Boulmer, so we did continue to fly, but they brought their own crew and maintainers so we resorted to cleaning and painting the hangar and what was left of our equipment, or watching the TV as the media reported each event as it unfolded.
This was the worst time. As I write this, I have that sick feeling in my stomach, just as I did every day of the conflict. Its all we talked about, all we thought about, all we watched. We knew the lads had wanted to go, those who left last were desperate to get to sea and join the others, but we also knew they were scared, anxious and had no idea what to expect. I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, so wasn't worrying about anyone in particular, but they were 'our' boys out there, people we worked with, drank with, laughed with, argued with. We missed them.
We got the occasional 'Bluey' - the letters written on folded, thin blue airmail paper. A few of the lads on the squadron sent them to the three of us (Pam, Mo and I ), describing their boredom of being stuck on the ship, nothing to do other than be annoyed by certain other members of the squadron, and their delight at seeing a penguin. They just wanted to do what was necessary and come home. The novelty had certainly worn off!
We watched as the conflict began, saw the ships, the landings, the 'yomping' and everything else that was happening a million miles away, always wondering where 'our lads' were and if they were ok. Our day was determined by the coverage on the TV. We worked around the news, had the radio on (unheard of in normal circumstances) in the hangar and if anything happened we all crowded around the TV on the line.
And then they hit HMS Sheffield.
I felt sick. This was real.
HMS Ardent....
There followed more sinking of ships, killing and horrors of war. Im not going to elaborate. I was just an observer and could never describe the experience of all the sailors, soldiers, airmen and civilians who were there.
The day HMS Hermes sailed back into Portsmouth was a whole roller coaster of emotions. The three of us watched the TV in our front room. We hugged and cried and laughed and almost burst with pride as the huge, rusty flagship - (and also the name of our division during basic training) slowly came into port to flags and cheers. One of the sailors interviewed by the BBC news reporter was someone we knew from 826, he had just seen his Mum in the crowd, tears streamed down his cheeks and could barely speak.
HMS Invincible and the rest of the Task Force came home, tired and with the scars of battle. We lost several aircraft, and those that returned were broken and riddled with bullet holes.
A couple of days later, the squadrons started to come back to Culdrose and the parties started. The Helston locals welcomed them back in big style, free drinks all round. It was all a bit messy, but such a huge relief to have them home safe. I know of at least one person who was supposed to be going home to his family for a welcome home party, he rang and 'postponed' it twice!
April - July 1982 remains one of the most significant memories of my life. On Remembrance Day I think of those who lost their lives in The Falklands. This was a war personal to me. I may not have risked my life, but I was part of it. Thirty years later, as Argentina again stakes a claim for this small, peaceful community, media coverage once again reminds us all of what they went through.
I am so very proud to be British and eternally grateful to all those who protect me, and risk their lives to serve others, be they armed forces, emergency services or civilians.
Thats what my Mum said when I announced I wanted to join the Navy. The fact that I wasn't likely to get killed, sealed their approval and signature on the form from the RN Careers Office.
However, less than a year later, ten months to be precise, we went to war with the 'Argies' in the South Atlantic all because of a small cluster of Islands called The Falklands.
The months that followed the announcement on 2nd April 1982 are some of the most vivid memories of my life. Events and emotions, deeply engraved in my heart, never to be forgotten. I apologise now if my account isn't 100% accurate, but it was 30 years ago and my memory isn't what it was, but please feel free to correct me. I also want to point out that this is simply an account of my life at that time and not a political agenda, so please no comments on sovereignty or other political opinions. Thanks.
I was based at RNAS Culdrose at the time, working on 771 Search and Rescue Squadron. I had just arrived home on Easter leave, and was, as usual bored, and looking forward to getting back to my mates in Cornwall. My Dad a policeman, came in from work and casually told me that I was going to be packing my bags soon, as all the Navy had been recalled from leave. I thought he was joking, he wasn't.
As it turned out, only the front line squadrons were recalled, we weren't required to return, but had to be on standby. It was unbearable being at home while your friends were back at work getting ready for war. I was restless, and decided to go back early, as did just about everyone else.
Within days, the Seakings from 814, 824, 826 squadrons flew off to join HMS Hermes or HMS Invincible and the rest of The Task Force which sailed on 5th April. We didn't get chance to say goodbye to anyone as they practically packed up and left overnight. Very quickly, the base became quiet and almost empty. Shortly afterwards came the news that they were forming a new squadron '847' to act as support for the troops and orders arrived to start to prepare them to sail on the Atlantic Causeway, and Atlantic Conveyor (RFA Container ships) in the following 2-3 weeks along with Wessex from our sister squadron 772 based at Portland.
Then the adrenaline kicked in.
I need to explain the process of maintaining military aircraft here. Its not just a case of replacing parts when they wear out, its a very detailed schedule which ensures that every single part of the aircraft is checked, monitored and replaced within certain timescales. When in operation there are checks carried out before and after every flight, and when not in operation 'FlexOps' are carried out which involves doing the work required as the 'part' or piece of equipment has reached its 'limit' of flying hours. This may be removing an engine, changing a filter or greasing a particular bolt.
I think we had around 12 aircraft at the time. All painted in red/blue SAR colours. Nice and obvious for enemy attack! Not only did we have to carry out work to ensure that each aircraft had a much longer flying time than was normal, I can't remember but may have been around 50 hours, but we also had to have them resprayed in drab olive. Nato Standard. This also applied to the ground equipment such as jacks and lubricating rigs! In some cases a large proportion of the aircraft was replaced, to ensure nothing was going to need replacing within the required flying time.
We worked in our normal watches, but the 24 about went out the window. For two weeks we worked as long as we could, taking time to either crash out in the crew room, or if there was a lull while we waited for parts, we would have a few hours off and go out into Helston to relax and have a few drinks. It was one of those times of excitement, anxiety and tiredness, fuelled by adrenaline. We didn't really know what was going on at that time, things were happening very fast, the Task Force were on their way south, the media was buzzing and we worked our socks off. The squadron galley provided a constant supply of bacon and egg banjo's and mugs of tea 24/7 to keep our strength up.
At the end of the two weeks we had the aircraft ready to go. It was very emotional watching them fly off to Devonport to embark for their trip to the South Atlantic. From this point, the normally busy, noisy air station fell eerily silent. There were very few aircraft left, only the Gazelles from 705 used to train pilots.Over the two weeks, the lads on the squadron had either gone off to join other squadrons or were to sail with 847 and our aircraft. The night before they travelled up to Devonport, we saw them off in traditional naval style, with a great deal of alcohol and merry banter at the 'Bop'.
This itself turned out to be a very eventful night for me, followed by a visit to the 'Joss' the following morning, but thats another blog post entirely.
As often happens when you work like this, your super human abilities crash as soon as you no longer need them. After three weeks of being officially at war, working long, hard days and nights, thinking about mates already on their way, we were left with a deserted air station, deserted squadron and with little to do. Wrens didn't go to sea back then (much to my dismay), so apart from those who hadn't been drafted to go, it was more or less a base full of Wrens and support staff.
The Search and Rescue side of things was taken over by a 202 Squadron Sea king from RAF Boulmer, so we did continue to fly, but they brought their own crew and maintainers so we resorted to cleaning and painting the hangar and what was left of our equipment, or watching the TV as the media reported each event as it unfolded.
This was the worst time. As I write this, I have that sick feeling in my stomach, just as I did every day of the conflict. Its all we talked about, all we thought about, all we watched. We knew the lads had wanted to go, those who left last were desperate to get to sea and join the others, but we also knew they were scared, anxious and had no idea what to expect. I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, so wasn't worrying about anyone in particular, but they were 'our' boys out there, people we worked with, drank with, laughed with, argued with. We missed them.
We got the occasional 'Bluey' - the letters written on folded, thin blue airmail paper. A few of the lads on the squadron sent them to the three of us (Pam, Mo and I ), describing their boredom of being stuck on the ship, nothing to do other than be annoyed by certain other members of the squadron, and their delight at seeing a penguin. They just wanted to do what was necessary and come home. The novelty had certainly worn off!
We watched as the conflict began, saw the ships, the landings, the 'yomping' and everything else that was happening a million miles away, always wondering where 'our lads' were and if they were ok. Our day was determined by the coverage on the TV. We worked around the news, had the radio on (unheard of in normal circumstances) in the hangar and if anything happened we all crowded around the TV on the line.
And then they hit HMS Sheffield.
I felt sick. This was real.
HMS Ardent....
There followed more sinking of ships, killing and horrors of war. Im not going to elaborate. I was just an observer and could never describe the experience of all the sailors, soldiers, airmen and civilians who were there.
The day HMS Hermes sailed back into Portsmouth was a whole roller coaster of emotions. The three of us watched the TV in our front room. We hugged and cried and laughed and almost burst with pride as the huge, rusty flagship - (and also the name of our division during basic training) slowly came into port to flags and cheers. One of the sailors interviewed by the BBC news reporter was someone we knew from 826, he had just seen his Mum in the crowd, tears streamed down his cheeks and could barely speak.
HMS Invincible and the rest of the Task Force came home, tired and with the scars of battle. We lost several aircraft, and those that returned were broken and riddled with bullet holes.
A couple of days later, the squadrons started to come back to Culdrose and the parties started. The Helston locals welcomed them back in big style, free drinks all round. It was all a bit messy, but such a huge relief to have them home safe. I know of at least one person who was supposed to be going home to his family for a welcome home party, he rang and 'postponed' it twice!
April - July 1982 remains one of the most significant memories of my life. On Remembrance Day I think of those who lost their lives in The Falklands. This was a war personal to me. I may not have risked my life, but I was part of it. Thirty years later, as Argentina again stakes a claim for this small, peaceful community, media coverage once again reminds us all of what they went through.
I am so very proud to be British and eternally grateful to all those who protect me, and risk their lives to serve others, be they armed forces, emergency services or civilians.
A brilliant read.I obviously don't remember the time (I was born 12/04/82) but always have the utmost respect for anyone in any form of military - as I've probably told you before.... :-)
ReplyDeleteFascinating. I have a small secret; I joined the Royal Navy in 1979, and only lasted six weeks before I realised I just wasn't up to it. I suppose I would've gone to the Falklands had I stayed in. I knew some of the lads who did go. I will always be grateful to those who serve in the Forces. And that includes you Gail!
ReplyDeleteThanks Dave and Steve, Glad you enjoyed reading it. x
ReplyDelete