Oh my goodness where did May go? It has been a jolly busy
Autumn- we can probably count the evenings in on the toes of one hand(!?), and
now the snow is beginning in earnest, and the wind produces a rather familiar
ache in the bones of my face. While my friends at home consider the benefits of
facials, I wonder how drastically my face will reflect the ravages of 2 years’ worth of gales and
extreme cold. The constant wind is hugely dehydrating, and as well as drinking
gallons of water, I am sure loreal could make a mint down here if she thought
we were worth it..
The 74 days of Falklands Conflict of 30 years ago, is being
re-lived on every TV and radio programme back at home, and we are amazed at how
much press coverage there is. Little did we imagine when we accepted this
posting, that it would be quite such news.. but that was before Christina
decided that we were the ultimate diversion for her economic nightmare!
We don’t see much TV (British Forces Broadcasting is not the
most groundbreaking), and the radio choices are BFBS RADIO (LOUD music or
sport) or Falklands radio (LOUD music and surreal news..personal messages where
everyone on island except us knows who is being talked about, lists of who is
flying from and to which island tomorrow, and of course the sheep chill factor
from the weatherman, which warns in percentage terms, how likely your newly
shorn sheep is to be killed by tomorrow’s weather. Bill likes to listen to the
flying lists; he tries to match up passengers and wonder who might be having an
affair with whom..
But we don’t need to read about the history of the Conflict,
or see it on TV. We have a walking history book passing through our doors each
week. A fascinating, humbling collection of veterans, deeply touched by the
Conflict, generally back for the first time, emotional, apprehensive, in groups
of tight camaraderie reformed after years and clearly as firm as ever. Sitting in our house, sipping tea politely
they recount stories of endurance, bravery and horror with equally matter of
fact tones. Standing on the beach as a soldier recounts jumping from a landing
craft and landing waist deep in water – not to get dry for the duration of the
fighting. Another recounts lying in a trench for nine days after which he
remembers a plane flying low overhead, bombs drifting across, ‘almost close enough
to touch’, parachutes opening , and then huge explosions, friends dreadfully
injured, the desperate struggle to keep comrades alive, the deafening noise. .
Standing in Stanley on Liberation day, it is hard to
understand what must be going through the minds of the soldiers who have
returned to revisit beaches of their nightmares, and to share memories with
their families. Standing in the cathedral, a soldier recalled stumbling in to pray for his best friend who
had been terribly wounded. The friend survived, and he came into the cathedral
to tell the Falkland Islanders that, having met them again in peacetime, and
having seen the progress the islands have made, and the gratitude the Islands
continue to show to the military, he is hugely proud and relieved to know that
he feels glad to have been part of the
Conflict.
Outside the Cathedral, a parade in the deteriorating weather;
Falkland Island defence force march alongside representatives from all three
services currently on tour, as well as veterans. Locals of all ages have stood
outside in the freezing rain, waiting. Now the snow begins and the sentinels
standing at each corner of the memorial, shiver. The wind cuts coldly, and it is a real
reminder of what it must have been like to live outside 30 years ago. My hat
drips and after an hour I can tip a pile of snow onto the pavement.
After the marching and praying, a reception at the FIDF hall
– it is going to last all day and night, and only the stalwart will survive
past tea time!
No comments:
Post a Comment