Return to the South Atlantic

Over thirty years ago I spent four months on the Falkland Islands in the South Atlantic courtesy of the Royal Air Force. The news stories from the 1982 conflict four years previous to my time there had given the impression of a wild, cold and desolate place and there is no doubt that it often can be. Nevertheless, by the time I left I had learned to love those islands and to understand the charm they held for those that happily lived there despite their isolation. They are a place of rugged beauty - natural, clean and peaceful - and they support an abundance of wildlife. At the time I used to describe being there as 'walking through a Wildlife on One programme' a phrase I felt characterised them despite my being there during the Falkland Islands' winter when the wildlife is not so abundant. I would never want to live there (although I can appreciate their hold on those that do) but I have always wanted to go back. I was given the opportunity to do just that when twelve months ago a friend of mine, now working in Port Stanley, invited me to spend Christmas and New Year there this year. It was an opportunity I was not going to refuse.  

It will be interesting to see if things have changed. When there previously I was based at the Mount Pleasant airfield which had been built after the conflict, intentionally some twenty miles away from Port Stanley to keep us from swamping the local population. It wasn’t easy to get around and we only had Sundays off anyway (given the work levels I think this was another means to limit our disrupting the Islanders). Despite the limitations I managed to make good use of those free days and visited several locations around the islands seeing its people, its wildlife and the remains of battlefields from the conflict.

At least two things will be different this time. Firstly, I will not be in a small room in the massive Mount Pleasant military complex - with a bed that kept falling to pieces - but in Government House in Stanley, closer to the islands' population. The second difference will be my route to get there. Three decades ago I travelled from Brize Norton on the military Tristar transport. A long and tiring trip with a stopover to refuel in the small hours at Ascension Island where we were all herded off the aircraft and into a metal cage on the runway nearby, something to do with safety and immigration requirements. I was lucky as a friend of mine was working at Ascension and although I do not know how he knew I was on the aircraft he managed to sweep me off to his room for a beer before returning me to the aircraft for departure. In theory I could have used military transport this time too as spare seats to the Falklands are now sold off to the public. But flight cancellations and my leaving it until the month before my visit meant I ended up on a flight via Paris to Brazil and then onwards to the Falklands. One thing that hasn’t changed is that it will still be a long and tiring.