Real War - 9 feb 2009

I want to go back and give some thoughts and feelings about the Falklands, the first war we as a nation had been involved in during my lifetime.

Firstly I have to say that I am now grateful for not being involved personally in any of them. Today, as a forty-something I now have have a broader understanding of the world (I think) and the transparent reasons for going to war. Back in 1982 as a 20 year old I would have given my left testicle to be in the 'thick of it'; thats apparantly why the best killing machine is an 18 year old, - they know no better and have nothing to fear. But its a strange thing hindsight, I was blissfully living thru the 1970's and although aware of conflict, wether it be the middle-east, or vietnam, it was always far, far away. Yes, Northern Ireland was closer to home, but living on a council estate in Middlesbrough as a kid it was nothing to worry about. The six o'clock news seemed to have nothing but images of Beirut, a city in terminal meltdown, or hi-flying B52's dropping never ending streams of bombs on the lush jungles of Cambodia, or the devastation of a carbomb attack in some sleepy Irish border village.

Images from my childhood, slotted in between the Magic Roundabout and Dr Who....

This is where the Falklands should have been all along, then there would have been no-trouble from those cornedbeefers down south...... however, they still could have been trouble from Iceland, especially after nicking all our cod!

Then, suddenly in 1982 Britain was at war, no, not with the Germans again, but with some tinpot banana dictatorship way on down south, ....go thru Stevenage, turn right at Trafalgar Square and carry on past Cornwall till you come to a bunch of islands called The Falklands. (It was one of those surreal moments when we could not understand how an invasion force from Argentina had sneaked past our defences to land on an island near Scotland...oh how we laughed...)

I really WAS excited about a war, no thought of how many may be killed or the horrors to come, but at last I could tell my grandkids that I lived thru that war, maybe it was some rediculous notion of sympathy with my parents who had to live through a REAL WAR, except they got an address from the Prime Minister who actually announced the time and place when the war had begun. All we had was a blundering government who didnt really know how to react, and when they did it was a real 19th century fleet sendoff; sending the good old Royal Navy (to whom they had just previously announced massive cutbacks, seemed like this war had just saved their bacon!), to a far flung colony to give 'the blackies a damn good thrashing'. It was real Boys Own stuff, I was immensely proud of that fleet and had no doubt about the ability of our forces to to the job and come home with nothing but a dented pride. It was only many years later and after reading countless books about the conflict that I realised what a ad-hoc bunch of ships we managed to scrape together, the lack of a real carrier with airborne power, shoddy equipment and the amount of times we nearly lost it all to poor logistics, but like Dunkirk we somehow turned in to a miracle.I was glued to the box, I watched Newsnight for the very first time, I started to cut out and collect all the different newspapers coverage and I couldnt believe how well things were going at the start of May, it seemed a walkover. The peace process was in tatters (which is what I hoped, bizarre huh?...) and it was looking distinctly clear that we would have to go the full hog and invade our own territory. The jingo-istic press coverage lulled us all in to a false sense of smug satisfaction...

mmm, couldnt be less PC.....

So, it was real shock to the system and the country when we lost the 'Shiny Sheff', and 2 Sea Harriers almost on the same day. The word 'Exocet' had entered the english language, and we were introduced to 'smart' weapons, I think this is when the first doubts about our military abilities began to creep in to my concious; how can a ship, and a Royal Navy one at that be put out of action by one tiny missile, and it was darstardly french who supplied it? I had never questioned the legitimacy of the war, it seemed a clear and cut case of bullys taking something that wasn't theirs. However, during a heated debate about the war at college some of the more politically minded argued the toss that it was a well timed diversion of the Govt to give the public something other than miserable economic bad news, and that the islands were the result of US being the bullys in the first place, it was the last vestiges of colonialism fighting a gunboat war, and the sinking of the Belgrano seemed to reinforce that idea.... but it wont bring back the nearly 1000 soldiers, sailors and airmen, and civilians who lost theirs lives in the name of freedom*/democracy*/colonialism*/dictatorship* (*delete applicable).

Well, we all know how it ended, we won, they lost, they had a change of govt. We went back to miners strikes, Poll Tax riots and Maggie won another term, but it wasnt long before we were invited to participate in another war......sun, sand, and loads of tanks, wheres Monty when you need him?
Was it all worth it? I doubt it now, certainly the material recovery of the islands didnt make any difference, even now they are a drain on the UK, they are not self sufficient and need huge logistical and military resources just to keep 2000 odd people safe in sheep. Did it stop any bullies from invading another sovereign territory? Err, no, there was this chap called Saddam...
I suppose it did force the military to look at their equipment, and by 1990 at least we did have better boots, guns and personal protection.....oh, and corned beef was back on the menu.

And finally......

...the beautiful Avro Vulcan, got its blooding at the 12th hour, albeit with those nasty iron bombs, it was a very long way to go to get ONE bomb on target....