| Looking
for Peace
by Enid Dickson
The ship moved through the narrow entrance to the harbour, and Emily
had her first view of Stanley and the bare, bleak Falklands countryside
round it. It came as a shock. Why would anyone want to live here?
Why did her husband have to die for a place like this? And why had
she come? She suddenly wished she’d never heard of the cruise.
The hood of her anorak flapped in the strong wind, and she held
on to the rail as the ship rolled in the strong swell. Weather permitting,
they were to go ashore in Zodiacs. Surely it wouldn’t be possible
in this wind? Her heart thudded at the thought of leaving the security
of the ship.
She felt almost sick as emotions began to sweep over her. This was
the island where Jack had last breathed and moved – had his
last thoughts of her – suffered his last fears and pain. If
only… if only he’d never joined up. If only Britain
hadn’t felt the need to come to this remote place to help
about two thousand people. If only he’d survived the conflict.
But he had come here, and he had died here.
Emily felt very alone.
Giving herself a shake, she told herself not to be a coward. She’d
travelled all this way, and now she was here, she must come to terms
with it. She’d face the place of his death.
It was twenty-five years since he’d died – or would
be in three months. At the time of the 24th anniversary of the conflict
her friend, Jean had put the thought into her head that she might
come here on a cruise. Jean knew the islands, and often spoke about
the four years she had spent here, not long after the conflict.
Her husband had been working on a Government contract.
As they moved slowly nearer Stanley, Emily looked at the houses
rising on a low hill from the waterfront, with their corrugated
iron roofs in reds, blues and greys. She recognized the Cathedral
from photos Jean had shown her. She pulled out her camera and took
a picture. Across from the Cathedral she picked out what must be
the West Store, a long, green-roofed building. She remembered Jean
saying all the tins, bottles and tubs on the shelves came by sea
from Britain, with deliveries only four times a year. If the shop
ran out of anything, you did without. Her friend quickly learned
to stock up.
Once the ship had anchored, it became clear the weather was no deterrent
to going ashore, and Emily soon found herself bouncing across the
rough water towards the jetty. On land, she took a deep breath of
the crisp, clear air to steady herself, and screwed her eyes against
the bright sunlight. The engine chugged as the last passengers climbed
ashore, and gulls cried overhead.
She joined the crowd waiting to climb on to the bus for the Battlefield
Tour, and soon they were bumping along, up the hill and out of Stanley.
The bus stopped and the guide called out ‘See that wreck in
the harbour – it’s the Jhelum. It’s believed the
Special Boat Service had a spy unit hidden in that ship for much
of the conflict.’ They moved on. The vegetation was tawny,
with little green grass, and no trees.
The passengers were quiet, thinking, she guessed, about what lay
ahead of them. This was one of the hardest things she’d done
in her life. She’d gone into it with a kind of blind compulsion.
As though there was something unfinished. To look for peace. She
wanted to link up with his… his spirit, one last time. Now
in the bus her knuckles whitened as she gripped her hands. Peace
seemed far from her reach.
They climbed out of the bus near the site of a battle. She listened
as the guide spoke about strategy, the bravery of the troops. He
pointed out the bleak, open country across which the troops ‘yomped’;
shell holes in the peat; Argentinian hide-outs - little shelters
built in at the side of big rocks.
‘Fighting was hand to hand here. War at its worst.’
Plastic flowers lay at the foot of a small memorial. Part of her
inwardly screamed – why? Why did so many have to die?
Were the Argentinian losses heavy?’ asked a middle-aged man.
It is believed 746 were killed.’
‘And how many people live there?’ He nodded across the
bare countryside to Stanley and the cluster of houses on the waterfront.
Under two thousand in Stanley. Under five hundred in the camp –
the countryside.’
Emily asked, ‘Are the local people willing to speak about
the occupation and the conflict?’
Yes, most of them are very ready to talk.’
On the return bus journey there was a certain relief that the tour
was over and behind them. People chatted, in awe at what the troops
had endured and achieved.
After stepping off the bus, Emily walked along the shore road, past
the Town Hall, towards the memorial, a tall column with the figure
of Britannia on top. An elderly couple were looking at it. Pointing
to Britannia, he said with a grin, ‘The locals call her Saint
Margaret. In their eyes, Maggie Thatcher can’t get enough
praise for sending the troops here.’
On the column and on plaques on a curved wall, were the names of
the 258 Britons, including three Falkland Island civilians, who
died during the 74 day conflict. She found Jack’s name, and
shaking, eyes blinded by tears, prayed silently for him. Suddenly
weary, but with a sense of closure, she turned back towards the
shops.
She found a gift shop and looked at penguin ornaments, tea towels
with maps of the Islands, paintings of penguins, seals, albatrosses.
She bought two mugs decorated with penguins for Jean, and hesitated
over a calendar for herself. But she decided she didn’t want
to be reminded of the islands.
Jean had given her directions to get to the house of her friend,
Maud, and she decided to go there. All those years ago, Maud had
befriended a newly-arrived, desperately homesick Jean, inviting
her for coffee almost daily, and supporting her as she adjusted
to life there.
Reaching the house, she walked up a path edged with bright lupins.
Neat rows of vegetables sheltered behind a wind-break. She knocked
at the door, ready to explain who she was.
A round faced, grey haired little woman opened the door. ‘You
must be Emily,’ she said shyly. ‘Jean wrote to tell
me your cruise ship was due today.’ She shook hands warmly,
and led her into the sitting-room. ‘I’ll get some tea.’
Emily walked round looking at photos. It seemed the usual collection
you would find in any home – weddings, young children, family
groups. But there was one which was different. Two young men in
combat dress.
Maud brought a tray, poured tea from a silver pot into cups patterned
with dark blue and gold, and held out a plate with slices of home-made
gingerbread.
‘You were looking at the two young men.’
‘Tell me about them.”’
‘After the liberation the British troops came in to Stanley
and knocked on doors asking for a bed. These two came to us.’
You didn’t mind?’
‘Mind? Goodness, we were so grateful we’d have done
anything for them.’
Emily smiled, and accepted another piece of cake. ‘If you
can talk about it – can you tell me about… about those
days?’
‘There was gunfire. Government House was under attack. Our
forces were outnumbered. We had to surrender. Argentine troops came
through the streets of Stanley. Armoured landing craft arrived.’
How did the Argentine troops treat you?’
‘At first they made an effort to be friendly. They tried to
persuade us that life would be better for us under Argentinian rule.
However, they took over our radio and made announcements about what
we were to do – in English, with a strong Spanish accent.
Then we found some of the conscripts had very different toilet training.’
Emily was taken aback. Slowly she asked, ‘What kind of announcements?’
‘When we went out we had to carry a white flag. Vehicles had
to drive on the right-hand side of the road. Petrol was to be rationed.
‘There were always Argentine planes coming in to the airport,
helicopters buzzing about, soldiers in the streets, gun emplacements
around the town. We didn’t know what the future held. We were
afraid and worried. Then we heard the Task Force was on its way
– it was wonderful!’
Emily smiled wistfully.
‘The first we knew of the British was when they bombed the
airport. There were massive explosions and columns of smoke. A blackout
was in force now and a curfew. Stanley was being shelled by the
British – but we knew they were attacking the invaders, not
us. We had brick or stone houses chosen in each area of the town
as safe houses – people who lived in wooden houses slept in
the safe houses. Things got more tense. The Argentinian troops kept
searching houses and taking away anything which might be used as
a weapon.’
Maud looked at Emily, and her voice changed. ‘When we heard
about the Belgrano, the Sheffield and the other ships, we felt so
sad that all those young lives had been lost.’
They were both silent for a moment.
We’ll never forget the sight of the British troops striding
into Stanley!’ Impulsively she reached across to Emily and
put her arms round her.
‘We can never, never thank you enough.’
Emily struggled to speak. ‘I can thank you now. You’ve
helped me to understand what it was all about.’
Later, as Emily was leaving, Maud asked where she was going next.
‘Back to the gift shop for a calendar.’
She wanted to remember the Islands after all.
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