Shooting and fishing in The Falklands

In May 1982, 40 years ago this month, my commanding officer unexpectedly asked me if I would like to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to the Falkland Islands, attached to the HQ element of 5th Infantry Brigade, aboard the luxury liner Queen Elizabeth 2. There were, however, two noisy hornets buzzing around this enticing-sounding honeypot (what young soldier doesn’t want to fight a war?). The most obvious being that at the end of said cruise we will be introduced, with rifles and live ammo, to about 11,000 Argentines, doubtless deeply aggrieved that their summer vacation plans have been interrupted by their ambitious and tyrannous generals ordering them to go and ‘liberate’ the Islands from their cruel oppressors.

Second hornet: if the diplomats haven’t already negotiated them off the Islands, by the time we arrive, the first wave of ferocious Marines and Paras will doubtless have booted them out. We are probably destined to end up doing garrison duty. Even as I said, “Yes please, Colonel”, my inner cynic was telling me that not only might this be