Part 3: When life turns serious

Today, the six of us (the crew) decided to spend our last day in The Falklands going on an excursion. After a bit of back and forward, Ernesto and Juan negotiated for a large 4 x 4 to take us across the East Island to Goose Green. It just happened to be with the only Colombian Taxi Driver on the Island!  For some of you, the name “Goose Green” will mean something and for some it won’t. The difference will likely be those who were around in the UK during the Falklands War. Names like Stanley, San Carlos Bay and Goose Green were front and center in the news throughout the encounter.

Being here on the Island and specifically being in Stanley over the last three weeks, has meant being exposed to the war and its impact – through plaques, monuments, museums and conversations with locals. It is very clear that the Islanders and residents do not want to be anything other than what they are now and have been for a while – a protectorate of the UK with full governmental autonomy and elected representatives. They are fiercely loyal to the Island and the connection to the UK. There are large UK influences, with UK institutions providing services – like Customs and Excise and the Prison Service. There are also a smattering of Royals – like the Royal Falkland’s Police Force and the Royal Mail. So the connections to the UK are still alive and kicking and a serious part of life out here. Cars drive around festooned in Union Jacks. As we spoke to locals it also became clear that the War of 1982 is not behind them, and they hold on to the pain and anger it caused, partially I think to remind everyone that Argentina still claims the Islands as their own and periodically they rattle their sabres and there is an ever present danger. Those who lived through it remember how terrible things were and while it was a relatively short occupation, these were very tough times – an aggressor took over their country and subjugated them to military rule, stripping them of their freedoms and restricting their lives, often through enforced custody. Given the presence of the UK armed forces and the amount of military hardware around today, it is highly unlikely that Argentina will ever decide to attack, but the Island is prepared.

Of course, there is now another incentive to hang on to the status quo: Oil. There has been enough work already done to determine that there is likely a lot of oil sitting beneath the ocean, within spitting distance of these Islands’ shores. There is already an administrative company in place to control how this will all work and exploration contracts have been executed. Apparently, they are waiting for the price of oil to hit a certain level (and I was assured it’s almost there) and then the real drilling and production will begin. I suspect that will lead to two things happening: 1) the economy of the Island will take yet a further bump upwards, potentially a major bump and 2) Argentina will step up its claims to sovereignty.

Back to Goose Green. I can distinctly remember the news broadcast that reported that Goose Green, a Settlement on the south side of East Falkland, had been occupied and the residents had been made prisoners in the village hall. Back in Blighty, there was a little bit of Dad’s Army about all of this, because what became abundantly clear, was that The Falklands operated a bit like Britain had, 40 years before, so being locked up in the village hall had a slightly old school, quaint feel to it. In reality, it didn’t. Over 60 men, women and children were locked up in a small hall with limited food, beverages and facilities and no opportunity to go outside. This remained so for nearly 60 days. Most troublesome, was the complete lack of contact with the outside world – so no news, information or anything. From a psychological POV – this had to have a major impact on this group.

So, today, we set off across the island on the unsurfaced roads with our Colombian driver. It took up almost two hours to get there (less than 50 miles). Just before we took the final turn to drive down the last couple of miles into Goose Green, we took a left turn up a totally unmade road with a small directional sign post, announcing the Argentinian War Cemetery. In a settlement agreement, the Argentinian Government assumed responsibility for maintaining this war cemetery. All of the 690 plus Argentines who lost there lives are listed on the walls that frame the top of the cemetery, but only a fraction are actually buried here and have headstones (crosses). This is a barren location, with nothing beautiful about it. The landscape is bleak and cold, exposed to the winds that blow most of the time in that part of the Island. The many dead who weren’t buried here, were buried elsewhere in the Islands, by the Argentinian Army, but their bodies were never identified and so the parents, wives, children and loved ones of those fallen soldiers have never had the chance to visit a grave marked for their specific fallen son. This is now changing, because the UK is using new technology that identifies DNA and makes specific identification now possible. Consequently, grieving families are now able to visit the Island and finally get some kind of closure by seeing a grave marked for their loved one.

Yesterday, I took a walk to the town cemetery (acting on new information about the location of Monsignor Scraggon’s grave – which I dutifully found). Just above the cemetery is a Remembrance Wood – where every British soldier is remembered through a marked spot and a tree, planted to remember them and what they did for this Island. This is fully notated and there are trinkets and flowers on every grave, sometimes with several name plaques indicating a number of loved ones have been to pay tribute. This was a stark contrast to the Argentine Cemetery. What struck me as I walked up the shingle path to the Wood was that a number of parents, just like me, had walked that path, but they were going to remember a very specific and personal spot, that represented the loss of their child. It made me shudder. As I approached the Argentine graveyard, I was shivering with cold, but also with sadness. The reality is, that no-one needed to lose their lives here at all. There were many contributing factors and neither political side can be completely exempt from some level of blame (of course, the bulk falls to the Argentinian General who made the decision to invade for political advantage), but one thing is for sure, whether your son was on the British or Argentinian side, none of these kids deserved to die. Most of the Argentinians were poorly trained conscripts, under prepared and ill equipped for any battle, but especially one in such an inhospitable place.

When I was doing business in Argentina with Blockbuster, a couple of colleagues from that business had seen action on the Island and served and they had stories they were willing to share about abject torture at the hands of the cold and lack of food or shelter. When they were captured, they had their first hot meal for weeks and blankets to try and keep themselves warm. The loss of life for the British was equally appalling and saddening. But, here is one difference I would suggest. The British troops were freeing an illegally occupied country where the residents were in enforced captivity. They had a purpose, and arguably a very noble one – no matter how you view the in appropriateness of war. The Argentine soldiers had no noble purpose. They were just the collateral damage associated with a dictator trying to save his own hide. These were just kids of 18 or so years.

So, after spending some fantastic time around these Islands, the sad reality of where we are and the world we live in came crashing back to us as we visited the graveyard and then took drove down the several miles into the tiny hamlet of Goose Green where the only suffering we endured was inside the grimy, dirty café that graces this run down little settlement. The key for the village hall is given to anyone who asks (at said café) and you are free to wander in and around the hall to see how small and basic it was. Should you inquire, the food at the café turned out to be rather good – quite a surprise given how much time the lady who runs it must spend cleaning!

Not a happy Pip pip.