Stretcher Bearer The Butchers Bill

By Tony Kid Yarwood

Conventional warfare between two countries is ugly and shocking for those taking part. The author was a 21-year old Paratrooper when he sailed 8000 miles to a foreign land he had never heard of before - the Falkland Island's to free the islanders from an aggressor who had landed on their shores and taken full control. There has always been controversy over the legality of the Falkland Islands between Britain and Argentina ever since Britain reasserted its claim of the islands as far back as 1833. It was such a shock that the then late Governor of the Islands Sir Rex Hunt said when he saw the Argentine's swarming ashore, "It looks like the buggers really mean it." The small Garrison of Royal Marines were overrun and surrendered to the Argentine Special Forces - but not without a typical fierce Commando fire fight. The Author was accompanied by his older brother also 2 Para and had a younger brother training at the Para Depot itching to be part of the Task Force, but just missed out. Soldiers are very proud of serving their country and none more so than the Author. Service personnel are not to know that by taking part in such horrors as full on battlefield warfare that they may be fighting their own personal battles or demons long after leaving the service. Ten-years after leaving the Army the Author was involved in a horrific road traffic accident involving multiple vehicles on the M6 Motorway. He instantly went into battle mode whilst trying to help the casualty who died in front of him. Shortly after this and quite un-expectantly he was diagnosed with Severe Combat Related PTSD. Hidden horrors of past wartime experiences that had been stored away for many years were released triggered by the accident. These horrors were to change the Authors' life forever. He was proud to serve as a Stretcher Bearer during the war and echoes what Nelson wrote in his cabin before the battle of Trafalgar. 'May humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet?' Nelson also used the term; the Butcher's Bill,' after battle when he wanted to know how many men he had lost in battle. He would shout to his orderly. "What's the Butcher's Bill today orderly?" Well the British certainly did Nelson proud looking after both their own casualties as well as the Argentine's on the battlefield. Read the Authors straight from the heart account of the battles for Darwin Hill, Goose Green and Wireless Ridge you won’t be able to put this book down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Kid Yarwood
• Release date: May 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301828982

Tony Kid Yarwood

I am a Army veteran and served in Northern Ireland during the troubles in the late seventies and eighties, Belize in Central America, the Falklands War and Sierra Leone. After care of our brave servicemen and women, regular or reserve should be for life after serving their country; especially for those brave men and women who suffered life changing injuries or invisible illnesses such as PTSD. That said there are fantastic organisations that do help veterans including the veterans own unit, and they are very much appreciated for their hard work and compassion. After serving in HM Forces all veterans should have the complete support from the Government - instead some face historical allegations of long gone battles when they are in retirement. This is a kick in the teeth considering what the government did concerning the Good Friday Agreement. They should stop such harassment from organisations who see pound signs as a way of making a living rather than the compassion and support a veteran should have when putting his/her life on the line! If veterans of today were treated in the manner in which the Falkland Islanders treated me when I went back to the Falklands in 2019 many veterans would be content. They treat veterans like royalty and make them feel so welcome. If we could collect the gift they have in bottles the world would be a better place.

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2 Para club Al. Jones

To my mum and dad (RIP) for their understanding and everlasting love and support. My son Anthony and daughters Natalie and Danielle for being there when I needed them, my sisters Susan and Michelle and my brothers 'Face' and Lionel for being my brothers in arms, and my wife and love Sue for putting up with me for all these years xx. My Grandchildren, Jessica, Jack, Tommy and Millie. My best pal (below right) who sadly past away in Dec 14 I miss him terribly. Not forgetting my little companion Lulu for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Rest in peace my good friend

Brothers in arms - the three amigos

Authors Note

I recently celebrated the thirty fifth anniversary of the Falklands War quietly at home with my family, but often on my own drinking to commemorate each battle we fought on those barren islands 8000 miles away and those who did not return. It was meant to be different as I had pre booked my hotels for the celebratory weekend and planned to meet a good friend and my older brother who fought alongside me back in 1982. I reluctantly cancelled at the last minute after submitting to my inner demons who bullied my sensible mind into avoiding going back to Aldershot. I know I harp on about not letting PTSD get the better of you and I still stand by this. So why did I change my mind? A day before I was supposed to drive to Aldershot I was scrolling through the 2 Para Facebook page and when I saw the vast amount of veterans packed into one pub I told my wife that I was not going and that was it. I’ve been to other reunions and events where it has been packed with veterans only my mind was made up and I failed to turn up for parade. I felt terrible afterwards letting friends down but they understand me and the PTSD - Ad Unum Omnes.

Although stretcher bearers go back as far as antiquity I will highlight some heroic individuals from the nineteenth century onwards who went above and beyond the call of duty. The Red Cross was formed because a forward thinking businessman was physically shocked by what he witnessed on the battlefield so I will briefly talk about him and what he managed to accomplish in his lifetime to aid those who suffer on the field of battle today. What interests me about these people is that many were dedicated stretcher bearers a task I was assigned to do during the Falklands War. It was during the battles for Darwin Hill and Goose Green when 2 Para courageously fought against overwhelming odds to take back the Falkland Islands from the invading Argentine Forces. I can only vouch for my own actions during this war and not for other stretcher-bearers in the same conflict, but I am sure they will know where I am coming from when I say the role of a full time stretcher-bearer was one of the most chilling and daunting I have ever carried out in my whole life.

I will explain how my role changed from being a stretcher bearer to fighting as a rifleman after Goose Green when I was posted to a rifle company (B Company) during the battle for Wireless Ridge and the advance towards Sapper Hill and the capital Port Stanley. I got to see both contrasting sides of the coin, one caring for the enemy casualties and prisoners and two fighting with a view to killing the enemy on the battle field.

It sends shivers down my spine when I often think about those brave stretcher-bearers from the Great War and what they went through. The images of stretcher-bearers carrying their wounded on their backs knee deep in mud or in trenches filled with water. Teams of stretcher-bearers looking exhausted but still tending to the wounded as shells fell around them sending mounds of earth high into the sky and shards of hot shrapnel in every direction. Not forgetting the mammoth and harrowing task of collecting thousands of dead comrades after the ill-fated battle of the Somme. Conventional wars are fought between two or more countries with conventional military weapons and battlefield tactics in open confrontation and in accordance to the Geneva Convention. That’s what is supposed to happen, however I found the Geneva Convention was nil and void with some Argentines who I personally witnessed trying to shoot and kill our stretcher team - and the casualty whilst we were picking up our wounded from the battlefield, outrageous but true.

Although I moaned about our instructors (behind their backs of course) being too harsh during Para training, I take everything back. If it was not for them I might not be here today, because it was their skills, knowledge and professionalism that gave me the strength and courage to pull myself through the darkest days of my life - as a stretcher-bearer. Therefore I acknowledge each and every Parachute Regiment 'depot Para' instructor past and present for their standards and rigorous ethos as being part of the best regiment on the planet. I urge those in power and the hierarchy not to cut corners during training and to keep to the vigorous regime that has made the Parachute Regiment what is today. For those potential paratroopers out there who are thinking of joining the Para’s? Go for it, but remember, you know it’s going to be hard so when the going gets tough - trust your instructors they are the best in the world at what they do.

'UTRINQUE PARATUS'

This drawing is my son’s perspective of bravery at the age of five in his own words and spelling. Although so young he identifies some key words that soldiers are taught such as: skill, speed and uniform. I love him very much and I am so proud of him. It reads:

bravery as jumping out of an airplane.

landing in the middle of nowhere.

of saving someones life taking part in the war.

won war as confidence. skill speed. Uniform

safe back as not killed survived healthy

Preface

A Soldiers chance of survival when wounded on the battlefield depended on how quickly he is treated and evacuated. Carrying the wounded from the field of battle is something that has unfortunately been associated with wars since antiquity through to more recent conflicts such as the streets and countryside of Northern Ireland through to Afghanistan.

The battle of Towton was one of the bloodiest battles ever fought on British soil. It is estimated that between twenty and thirty thousand casualties were sustained on 29 March 1461 on a plateau between the villages of Towton and Saxton in Yorkshire. To give you an idea of why there were so many casualties, the York's as they were known fired over one hundred and twenty thousand arrows a minute into the air that rained down with devastating effect on the Lancastrians. Envisage the devastation caused on the battlefield, imagine the wounded calling out for aid and the dying taking their last breath. It is incomprehensible to even portray this. This battle only lasted nine hours!

Throughout the years casualty evacuation from the battlefield often goes un-noticed, yet these men or women are a unique breed of person with the courage and strength that is unquestionable and often surpasses the imagination. Where do they learn to dash forward often in open ground with little or no cover to retrieve their wounded comrades under intense heavy machine gun fire and sometimes in near suicidal circumstances? Only a service person can answer that question that has fought alongside other comrades on the battlefield. They are seen as angels from heaven by those whose lives are saved. They are certainly not made this way but whatever or wherever they find that self-determination and courage from during often incomprehensible situations is worth bottling up and selling.

Michael Slater wrote: To hurt is bad enough, but to hurt alone destroys people, physically, mentally and spiritually. Michael Slater is Emeritus Professor of Birkbeck College University of London

CHAPTER 1

Growing up

Growing up in the Northwest of England in the sixties was tough at times and like every other kid on the block if you didn't stick up for yourself the local kids quickly singled you out. Being able to look after oneself at a young age became second nature. Coming from a family of four kids with one on the way my parents did what they could for us to ensure we were fed and clothed or dare I say it my Mum did. My Dad had quite a reputation back then as a fighter who could certainly look after himself something I unfortunately had to witness on numerous occasions. He was a handsome man with jet black hair and a well-trimmed thick Mexican style mustache. Standing over six-feet tall he was very strong and built like a block of concrete which was no surprise as he was a fitness fanatic and kept real good care of his body. Much to the annoyance of our Mum because my Dad used his small bedroom to store his weight bench, weights and anything and everything he collected. He was a bricklayer by trade but also did house clearances so accumulated lots of junk in and around his bedroom. To give you an example of his room that irritated my Mum so much that she could not clean it properly he had an old solid wood framed double bed that took up two thirds of his room. He had a small table that his TV was on and a very small wardrobe. One third of the room was where he kept his weight lifting bench, dumb bells, long bar and all his weight plates. How he did not cave the ceiling in when he was bench pressing nearly two hundred pounds with his seventeen stone frame I will never know. He stored vehicle battery chargers, car batteries, clocks, tool boxes, tools, ornaments and all kinds of twaddle. Although my Mum cursed it; to me that was my Dad and that’s simply the way he was and I was used to it. In fact it was me who got him the weight bench and weights.

Although I was no angel I tried to look after my Mum in whatever way I could beit cleaning up after myself or helping her wash the pots and pans after meals. Learning to duck and dive at such a young age was the norm in our household. I had plenty of practice especially when the rent man knocked at the front door to collect the weekly rent for the local council. I remember during one of his visits hiding behind the sofa with my Mum who for reasons unknown to me at the time could not pay the rent. As a six year-old I thought that I was on a secret mission protecting her from Mr. Nasty. He looked evil and scary to me with his thick black-rimmed spectacles that made his eyes look twice as big and thin wiry black moustache as he clinically looked through the window for life in our house. Innocently I dropped my Mum in it when I took protecting her too far as I broke from her grasp and jumped from behind the sofa screaming for him to go away. His expression said it all as he glared at me. My Mum remained where she was as she whispered nervously for me to get back behind the sofa. The rent man’s face was now glowing red with anger as I told him my Mum was not in. He didn't know whether to laugh or jump through the window as he pressed his face fully against it. I know your in - I know you're in, he repeatedly snapped. She's not in, I shouted making matters worse as I innocuously wound him up.

I'll be back, he shouted as he grabbed his pushbike without looking sending it crashing down around his ankles. Once he managed to free himself he kicked his bike in contempt. He then jumped back on and headed off to another house along the row of terraces with steam coming from his ears. Once he disappeared into the distance I ran back behind the sofa. He's gone now Mum, I said smiling like I had just won a battle for her. She softly shook her head in annoyance but still managed to smile anxiously. Although I was so young I could sense that she was very concerned about the whole matter.

My Dad always hit first and asked questions later and it was this fist first tactic that ultimately brought him a custodial sentence. He spent quite some time behind bars for fighting but as young kids in the early days we were not aware that he was in prison and simply thought he was working away. My Mum hid the truth of his where-a-bouts from us like any good mother would do and it was only later when we were all older that we knew he was in prison and why. As I witnessed some of the brawls my Dad got into I can honestly say that the people he hit deserved what they got, but the fact was he could not go around smacking people because they were idiots and deserved it without suffering the consequences.

As my dad did not have a regular job times were hard particularly around the festive season in our household. Christmas was still special for me just like it was for any other kids. The excitement was plain to see and yes I really did believe that Father Christmas came down the chimney. That said my perceptions of Christmas changed forever one day when he failed to deliver any presents on Christmas morning. I woke up and found no presents in the living room. My Mum was there and although