A letter from a soldier in the Falkland’s War - 23rd June Port Stanley 1982 (submitted by Kay Foster)

This week we have a real treat on the blog. A glimpse into the life of a soldier in the Falklands War. This letter was written to Kay Foster from her friend Andy Mortimer. 

Dear Kay,

Many thanks for the postcard, yes I am looking forward to seeing Exmouth again. Got to Port Stanley yesterday after being on the Canberra doing the POW run to Argy land. When they came on board first they smelt just like the school house at Cusichaca! Two weeks ago, as I’am sure you know already, we were hit as we waited to go ashore from the Sir Galahad. But being where I should be I escaped with a single hair and a large burn hole in my waterproof. Had I been where I should have been I wouldn’t be writing this. Thanks to your first aid lessons at least one soldier got away alive who wouldn’t have had I not known what I was doing - only two medics got out. The whole thing was a mess - a mess that got 25 of my mates killed. We were left in daylight for eight hours without air cover! There was hardly any warning just someone screaming Air Raid Warning Red! Air Raid - he never finished. A 500lb bomb came through the wall about 15ft away from me and carried on through two more walls and floors where it exploded. The guy stood behind me was killed. I didn’t have time to panic or be scared. Even after I got out I had to go back again to bring some others out the smoke was so thick you could walk on it.

Lucky every other man was carrying a 1 litre Hartmans Drip - these faded a lot of the guys with burns. later on today we’re going back to “Bluff Cove” by “chopper’ for a memorial service. Then the wreck of the ship will be towed out to sea and sunk as an official war grave.

I lost nearly all my kit - I got away in what I was wearing. The lads from 2 PARA who put us up for the night in their sleeping shed were fantastic. some of them stayed up all night making us tea. Next day we were “choppered” out to HMS Intrepid where we rested and issued with new kit.

Don’t know how long before we get home but in the meantime we are doing a northern Ireland type job in Stanley- patrolling- chatting up the locals - checking possible booby traps etc. Mines are still a big problem - they won’t let us use the Argies to find them! Looking after the POW’s was a bit like giving treatment to the people in Cusichaca who had stolen from us - crazy!

Still that’s life - that’s war, and I’ve had enough of this one for the moment. Not sure when I’ll be home - about six weeks they say - we’ll see. Hope to see you then.

Give my love to Exmouth.

Love and best wishes,

Andy

Footnote: L/Cpl Andy Mortimore REME and I were on an archaeological expedition in the Andes Peru 1981 thus his referral to Cusichaca, also one of the Argentina POW worked on the camp with us and Andy recognised him when he escorting the POW back. I had the pleasure of travelling on a return trip on the Sir Galahad in 1979 from Hong Kong to Brunei.

Please note, this letter has been in two books, so is already in the public domain and we have the permission of all parties to reproduce it here. 

Medical Cover in the Peruvian Andes - by Kay Foster

While serving with the QARANC in 1981, my Matron, Col Anderson, offered me one of the many opportunities of a lifetime. An expedition to Peru. As a QA Nursing Officer, I was to provide medical cover to an Archaeological Expedition at an ancient Inca site high up in the Andes and 3 days walk from the famous fortified Inca settlement Machu Picchu.

The 1981 Expeditionary force consisted of about 70 archaeological students from the UK and USA, together with a British Military team of 8 with various skills to support Dr. Ann Kendall and her workforce.

The Military team flew into Lima and then after a short break we set off on a two-day day, three- night journey, living and sleeping on the local bus to Cuzco. There was nothing luxurious about the bus. The seats were basic and barely attached to the body work. No toilet facilities, so the drivers were asked to halt for loo stops. At these times they would rev the engine impatiently, not a relaxing experience. During the journey many of the locals would hold their children in the potty position, and by the end of the journey the bus was a disgusting toilet.

On arriving at Cusco high in the Andes, above the "high altitude zone”, feeling tired and unwashed, my first patient was waiting for me. The 2IC of the military team had confusion, bladder retention and had developed altitude sickness, so I stayed up all night nursing him. The local doctor visited, prescribed treatment and the next day I flew with him back to Lima. After a few days rest he returned to the UK and that was the end of his tour in Peru.

We then all moved on mass to our home in the Andes, nestled beside Cusichaca, a remote place with old Inca ruins. We had the mammoth task of carrying 8 tons of equipment over the Urubamba River on an oraya, a wooden platform suspended by overhead cables. We then set up tents, dug toilets and erected washing facilities etc. for 70 people.

Medical cover varied from day to day with mostly diarrhoea and vomiting within the team. On a number of occasions, with volunteer Cpl Andy Mortimer’s help, I set up 24 hr drip treatments for dehydration. There was also a daily queue of locals requiring treatments of antibiotics and Panadol.

  

There were, however, more serious accidents, as shown in the photograph below, where a local man fell down a terrace and a stick pierced his trachea. We stopped the local night train to transport him to a hospital in Cusco where he made a good recovery. Whilst his relatives looked at the stars hoping to tell his fortune. 

We lived under canvas for five months, ate under the stars surrounded by the snow capped Andes mountains, washed from water drained from the river with crude but effective shower facilities. The student UK/US archaeologist team were often joined by other nationalities. People arriving at camp and in exchange for lodgings would work on the Inca dig. This is how we met one young man from Argentina, who would the next year become our enemy, when enlisted to fight in the Falklands War.

     

It was the following year L/Cpl. Andy Mortimer was deployed to the Falkland Islands War and survived the bombing of the Sir Galahad Ship when left exposed to the Argentina Air Force. The young, enlisted Argentinian from the dig was captured during the war. At that time L/ Cpl. Andy was one of the British troops escorting prisoners and incredibly they recognised one another. Andy later sent me a letter of his experience of the Falklands War which I submitted to the Imperial War Museum and this was subsequently published in two book ‘Letters from the Front Line’ by Andrew Roberts and ‘Dead Men Rising’ by Toby Harnden. The letter will also be posted on this blog site next.



Author Bio

Major M Kay Foster 1977-1996: Served for 18 years in the Queen Alexandra Royal Army Nursing Corp.

British Military Hospitals: Queen Elizabeth Military Hospital Woolwich, Hong Kong, Nepal, Munster, Cambridge Military Hospital Aldershot.

5 Months Expedition to the Andes , Peru.

Exchange officer with the Canadian armed forces, Ottawa & \Cold Lake Alberta.

Falklands Islands Matron.

Wales – WSLO.

QATC - Company Commander - NCO recruits.

Gulf War1 22Field/33General Hospital.

Inservice Training Officer CMH.

Gulf War 1 - A Quickie Wedding - by Jan Westbury

In December 1990 I was stationed with 33 Field Hospital in Al Jubail, Saudi Arabia, as the nursing officer in charge of the tented low dependency ward. Matron selected me to return to the UK for a few days to speak to the reinforcements, together with a major whose wife was about to give birth, to prepare the troops for their deployment. I had not wanted to leave my team, but there was not a choice! However, off I went. We flew back as just two passengers on a British Airways jumbo jet, with seats in First Class to ourselves, but without the perks.

I arrived in the UK late on 30 December, to be joined by my fiancée on New Year's Eve, where he had organised leave from his army post in Germany. This was not easy, as he was on duty over Christmas and New Year and had to find someone to cover. It was a difficult time for him as he was one of the few husbands not deployed. How times have changed.

To my surprise he had arranged for us to be married, but I couldn’t, as I was speaking to the troops in Chester on the planned day! Being the determined man he is, he managed to arrange for the registrar to marry us on his day off and before the civic offices officially opened.

I bought a black wedding dress in Swindon, as we were driving past on our way to Cheltenham. Unusual colour, but as it went with my QA handbag and shoes, perfect. However, the black handbag was not needed as a close friend had arranged a beautiful bouquet with just a day’s notice.

On a cold January morning we arrived with close friends to find the civic offices closed and my fiancée panicking. Of course, we were very early. All was well and we were married.

We had a wedding breakfast with three friends and their young children at the beautiful Corse Lawn Country hotel, where we had our one-night honeymoon. The children had made me a beautiful white iced sponge wedding cake, with pretty pink writing and decoration.

I bought two wedding cakes from Marks and Spencer’s, as there was just time to pop in and tell my parents and celebrate before returning to active service, with the other wedding cake for my fellow officers and ward staff.

The CO and Matron were at the airport in Saudi to greet us and all the new arrivals. I was as happy as can be as a newlywed until Matron took me to one side and asked if it was correct I had married? My heart then skipped a beat when he commented, with a very grave face, that I had not sought his permission. For a moment I wondered if my marriage was going to be null and void! After seeing the horror on my face, he smiled and congratulated me and said how the news had cheered everyone up. However, the RSM was very disappointed I had married a xxxxxx. I couldn't possibly write the nickname used for the Royal Military Police.

Everyone seemed so happy for me and it added to my happiness. My prayers at our Sunday service always included a plea to return home safely and have some married life.

Unfortunately, my army career was cut short. The priority for me was to be with my husband in Germany, but the reality in those days was that Matron was unable to offer me a posting and definitely not at Wegberg, as that was the RAF. I could have led the way.

Nearly 30 years married now and depending on Covid 19 restrictions we are hoping to return to Corse Lawn Country Hotel for our anniversary. It is still owned by the same family and continues to have wonderful reviews.


Former Capt. Jan Westbury TA, Regular Service and Reserve 1987-1997.

Operation Driver 1994 - by Judy Evans

 

Operation Driver was a, now rather forgotten, deployment to Kuwait in response to Iraq’s movement of troops south towards Kuwait’s border in October 1994.

I was Matron of 22 Field Hospital from 1993-95 and had never deployed on operations before, except to Northern Ireland in 1982. The unit was tasked to provide a Medical Support Troop (MST) in support of 45 Commando (Cdo) Group (Gp) Royal Marines (RM) with 72 hrs notice to move. The unit of 25 personnel was to provide a field hospital of 25 beds and an operating facility. Normally the Matron would not have deployed with a unit of this size but I was keen to go and the Commanding Officer (CO) was eventually persuaded.

The equipment required to build a hospital under canvas and its personnel were rapidly prepared and we travelled via Cyprus to Kuwait on 15 October by Hercules aircraft.

Our initial accommodation with the rapidly growing 45 Cdo Gp was in Al-Jahra Camp which was a Kuwaiti Army Camp, badly damaged during the war in 1991 and not repaired. Living accommodation was in leaking buildings or under canvas and yes, it does rain in Kuwait in October, as I found to my cost.

After a couple of days sanitary facilities in the camp were stretched to the limit and as temperatures reached 38 degrees centigrade during the day, it was vital that a suitable location for the MST was a priority.

The OC and I visited the Kuwaiti Military Hospital but despite much courtesy received no assistance. We finally negotiated generous facilities at Al-Jahra Hospital. This was a civilian 500 bed hospital in the working class town of Al-Jahra to the west of Kuwait City and was tactically in a good location for the defence of Kuwait from the north. They had already closed 150 beds in preparation for a possible conflict and were able to offer the MST a ward as well as staff accommodation. Other facilities which required separate negotiations were X-Ray, Physiotherapy, Theatre time and Pharmacy.

Fortunately, the tense political situation was soon diffused as Iraq moved its troops north again, and until we were able to return home, we offered hospital facilities to US, Kuwaiti and British soldiers.

The staff of the MST comprised a Field Surgical Team, 5 Registered Nurses, 9 Combat Medical Technicians, an Environmental Health Technician, Medical Supply Technician and a Driver, all organised by an administrative SNCO.

Acclimatisation did not take long and casualties were few. The Kuwaiti soldiers who were referred to us provided a challenge as far as language and culture were concerned. Most were wary of us at first but soon settled and proved to be generous and charming. Their visitors brought in jugs of sweet tea, which they offered us and huge boxes of chocolates which might have explained a high incidence of type 2 diabetes. The language problem was overcome by the presence of a local nurse on duty with us. The majority of the nurses in the hospital were Filipino, Bangladeshi or Egyptian, closely monitored by departmental Matrons, the Director of Nursing, who was very wary of us, and her assistants. My role was to lead the nursing staff on the ward rather than use my clinical specialty in theatre.

Theatre time was generously given when required and it was interesting to note that the set up was similar to what we were used to. The hospital administration system was frustrating to use and although we used our own field medical documentation we were also forced to use their system as well.

Their working day was from 0700 hrs to 1400 hrs so non-urgent investigations could not take place outside these hours.

We were well cared for by the Hospital Administrator, a charming man who ensured we were well fed although the diet of chicken and rice did begin to pall after a few weeks. We did PT five times a week in the early morning. Females had to do it early anyhow so as not to upset local sensitivities but that was acceptable as it was too hot later in the day.

As the threat diminished, opportunities for R and R arose. Invitations were received from various expatriate quarters, who were very grateful for our being there. We were able to use sports facilities in two hotels and the US Army recreation centre at Doha Camp.

President Clinton visited in mid November, after which it became evident that all troops would be home by Christmas. Working within a civilian hospital and treating Kuwaiti soldiers, we had a unique opportunity to experience at first hand another culture and realised very quickly how different and at times how difficult it is to understand.

I was nominated second in command as I was the only officer from the permanent staff of 22 Field Hospital and, depending on my duties on the ward, often attended daily briefings given at the HQ 45 Cdo Gp so learnt a lot in that respect but above all I was very grateful to have been given the opportunity to join a deployment which I would not normally have done.

Rhinos, Tigers and Unexpected Encounters - by Wendy H. Jones

 

You're probably wondering what tigers and rhinos have to do with the QARANC? Quite a lot as it happens - in this tale anyway. I was very fortunate to be posted to Hong Kong whilst in the Corps and I was even more fortunate to spend a couple of weeks in Nepal. This involved the obligatory jungle trip to see if I could score a tiger sighting. The first day, we went in a jeep. No tiger. The second day, we went on an elephant. No tiger sighting. The elephant riding  was rather fabulous though. The third day we did it differently, which led to an adventure like I'd never had before and, trust me, I never want again. Here it is in story format. Names have been changed to protect the innocent but everything else is true. 

“Great day for a tiger hunt,” said Danny.

I had to agree with this. Not the hunt part of course. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re only going to take photo’s of them.” In the jungle. On Foot. Best not to think too hard about that.

Buttery yellow sun shone from a cerulean sky as we crossed a wide, yet quiet, river in a canoe. Reaching the opposite bank we swapped the sunlight for the dark canopy of the jungle. “Do you think this was such a good idea, Danny? I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Don’t be such a woose.” So I followed the Sherpa, each step measured and quiet. I didn’t want to disturb the natives. I didn’t even want to think about the natives or what they could do to us. The natives being the wild animals who called the jungle home. The Sherpa’s voice stopped us. “Complete silence. Stay behind tree. Mating Rhinos.” There were indeed a couple of rhinos ahead, oblivious to the audience to their enthusiastic, amorous adventures.

“If notice you are going up tree.” That was reassuring. I mentally assessed my tree climbing skills.

“I know we’re in the jungle Danny, but it seems to be getting darker.”

Danny, a farmer in real life, said, “There’s a storm brewing. Look at those trees.”

Said Trees, still just a moment before, were now bending in prayer to the storm God. As the heavy tropical rain started the guide said “Hurricane. Out of jungle” and he was off like a startled gazelle, leaving us all behind.

Thoughts of tigers and Rhinos trying to find safety from the trees propelled my feet. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” We ran as the storm chased us.

“The guide’s taken the blasted canoe.” I was frantic as I looked at the river in front of us, now a raging torrent. “We can’t get across that.”

“We have to. It’s that or wild animals.”

I said a quick prayer, and launched my 5’ frame into the water.

“Keep hold of me. We’ll make it together.” I was grateful for Danny’s 5’ 10 of solid muscle. Somehow we struggled through the water to reach the bank on the other side. I collapsed, oblivious to the rain battering me from every direction.

Danny pulled me up. “We can’t stop. We’ve got to get back to camp.”

“I can’t do it Danny.”

“Yes you can. There’s a dry hut waiting.”

Somehow I managed to put one foot in front of the other. How I still don’t know. However, the dangers weren’t over. We still had to navigate a small wood. The wind uprooted trees, which toppled either side of us, as fear gave wings to our feet. If this was a BFT I'd be finished before I started. 

That mud hut, when I saw it, held more comfort than any five star hotel. I was rather glad, on this particular occasion, I didn’t come face to face with that tiger. 

I write this to show that nursing in the Army was so much more than bedpans, exercises and operational tours. It was fun, it was exciting and most of all it was completely unexpected. It was a grand life indeed

I'm curious, what has been the most exciting thing that has happened unexpectedly in your life. 

As a postscript, you may be wondering if I am the only person writing for this blog. Absolutely not. There will be a wide range of posts and views, I'm just standing in this week and normal service will be resumed next week. 

About the Writer

Wendy H. Jones served as a Nursing Officer in the QARANC between 1987 and 2004 leaving with the rank of Major. She never went on an operational tour but undertook many exercises as well as serving in numerous units in both the UK and overseas. Hong Kong and Jerusalem had to be two of the highlights. Moving into nurse education, she was proud to have served as Tri-Service Head of Pre-Registration Nurse Education. This brought her full circle to where she started as a student nurse in the QARNNS. She is now an author and lives in Scotland.