Orders, Decorations and Medals

‘You’re main instinct in a firefight is, “He’s trying to get me, I’m going to get him before he does.” A great army expression is, “You don’t kill things, you destroy them.” So off you go to take out a bunker, you waste the bunker before you get to it, then you give it some grenades. And then you blast it with your rifle, just so to make sure whatever’s inside is in little bits and pieces.’ Ken Lukowiak

The Northern Ireland and South Atlantic pair awarded to Private K. P. J. Lukowiak, Parachute Regiment, whose combat experiences formed the basis of his critically acclaimed Soldier’s Song, True Stories from the Falklands, and Marijuana Time - of the former John Le Carre said “Next time you hear your child sing “Rule Britannia”, read him this”

General Service 1962, 1 clasp, Northern Ireland (24527311 Pte. K. P. J. Lukowiak, Para.); South Atlantic 1982, with rosette (24527311 Pte. K. P. J. Lukowiak, Para.), mounted court-style as worn, good very fine (2) £2000-3000

In his own words, Ken Lukowiak:

Northern Ireland

‘The papers used words like ‘cowardly’ and ‘incompetent’ to describe the I.R.A. We couldn’t afford such illusions. By the early Eighties, the I.R.A. knew everything there was to know about the construction, planting and detonation of bombs. And, after more than ten years of watching, they also knew everything about us. So we tried to keep our timings and our actions as varied as possible; tried not to cross a hedge at the same point twice, or stop for a fag break where others had stopped. But Forkhill was a small place with only so many routes around and through it. And we knew it. So we touched nothing. And we opened nothing. But we still got killed. A Private from D Company was blown up in a barn, and a Sergeant from B Company was killed by a bomb on the outskirts of the village. That brought the total lost on the tour to 20. Two years later, we fought two battles in the Falklands and lost only - although that can never be the right word - 18 men.’

The Falklands

‘I joined the Parachute Regiment in the summer of 1979, though for some reason nearly three years went by before I realised it. My moment of realisation was brought about by the exploding of an artillery shell on the Falkland Islands. I looked up from the piece of ground that I was trying to dissolve into and took in the surrounding scene. I saw lots of people dressed exactly like me. Then another shell impacted, this time in the distance. The ground exploded. Bits of soil and grass blew skywards, leaving a puff of white smoke in their wake. As I took all of this in, it hit me like a brick. “Oh shit,” I said, “I’m in the Army.” ’

Goose Green

‘The shelling increased, I could hear in the distance the sound of approaching jets. We were told they were Harriers. As the jets flew directly overhead the day exploded into sound. Once again everything turned to slow motion. I felt a sharp pain in my back. It hurt so much that it didn’t. I was lifted into the air; I felt as though I was hovering. I screamed aloud: “I’ve been hit. I’ve been hit.” I fell to the ground and reached my hand behind my back. I found myself breathing heavily. My back felt very warm. I was convinced I was bleeding. I twisted my head to look over my shoulder, I could see smoke rising from my back. I found my mind pulling itself back from complete panic. In seconds I told myself that I was still breathing, that my heart was still beating, that I would live ... Someone was holding my hand. I could hear two voices saying, “It’s all right Luke, it’s all right.” It was Jed and the Mortar Officer, Captain Tonks. Jed rolled me over on my stomach. Suddenly he pulled me back around on to my back. In his hand he held a small metal disc. He said it was this that had hit me. Then he hit me - but not very hard. My screams had scared the shit out of all around me. The small metal disc had once been part of a Blowpipe missile. On hitting me it had cut through my back webbing strap plus five layers of clothing and left me with a small nick that it would have been over the top to have put a plaster on ... Captain Ketley of the Anti-Tanks, was also caught in the back blast. He told me that the metal disc had missed his face by inches as it flew by. He said he dreaded to think what it would have done to his face if it had hit him ... ’

Fitzroy

‘The General then asked if I liked the Falkland Islands and was I enjoying it here? I’ve been asked a few stupid questions in my time, but this was Number One, it really took the biscuit ... My mind pieced together a suitable reply before my lips did.

“Well, sir, I’m 8,000 miles from home, in a place that has already proved itself to be the arsehole of the earth. Four of my friends are dead, I’m up to my neck in shit, mud and water, the killing is still going on and just to top it off really nicely it’s started to snow. How the fuck do you think I feel, shit for brains?”

Mindful of an earlier encounter with a General in Northern Ireland, as a result of which he had received the full attention of the R.S.M., Pollard in fact replied that he was fine, and honoured to be on the Islands serving his country.

Wireless Ridge

‘The Argentine shelling increased, although most of it was landing quite a distance away from us. Then one barrage landed close. Very close. With every explosion I found myself flinching. Frank, who was lying beside me, had a go at me for my flinching - he said my nervousness was making him nervous. I asked was he sure it was me? Was he sure that the exploding shells had nothing to do with it? Our silent mortar line opened fire. I couldn’t believe the noise. It pierced my brain. It left my ears and my head physically hurting. I had never been that close to a firing mortar line before and as I was a good fifty yards away from it I wondered how it felt for the mortar crews who were stood right on it. I had the thought that they were sure to be very deaf in later years. Eventually the firing stopped. My ears still rang but I was able to fall into sleep.’

Victory in sight

‘We left the headless, legless Argentines and made our way round the position of trenches they had lost their lives defending. There were many other twisted corpses scattered around, littering the ground. Once again we were struck by how young most of them appeared. By this time we had become reasonably proficient at diagnosing cause of death and as we inspected various dead people we drew the conclusion that none of them had died from gunshot wounds - they had all been killed by artillery fire. The conscripts’ fear and inexperience had pulled them from their holes, when their best bet would have been to stay put. This was of course easy for us to say - but not so easy for them to do.

In one of the trenches there was a dirty green blanket - it moved. Yank and I jumped back and at the same time cocked our weapons. Out from under the blanket appeared an Argentine soldier. He had not noticed our presence. He got to his feet, stretched out his arms and let out a big yawn. He had obviously just woken up. He finished yawning, opened his eyes and finally noticed us.

“Hello,” I said.

Seems ridiculous now, but that is what I said. Yank said that the Royal Artillery was going to be well pissed off with this one should they ever find out that he had slept through their biggest artillery barrage since Korea.

With our machine-guns, we gestured for the Argentine to climb from his trench. Yank covered him with his weapon and I gave him a quick body search. As I searched him I told our prisoner that the war was over. “The war. Finito,” I said.’

His comrade having departed the scene with the Argentine prisoner, Lukowiak continued searching the enemy positions:

‘I looked across the plateau and saw another trench. I approached it from the side. Crouched in the trench was a figure in grey. I saw him. He saw me. He held a rifle. I moved my first finger on my right hand. Bullets left the end of my machine-gun. They hit the figure in grey. They impacted into his chest and threw him back against the side of the trench. Grey turned to red. He slid to the ground ... Today, ten years on with the war long gone, I am left with lots of don’t knows. I don’t understand the logic of the world that I live in. The only thing that I do know, and I really do know this, is that I have two sons. One who carries my blood and one who does not. Blood is not important. I never want my sons to have to go to war and I never want my sons to take another human life. I don’t want yours to either.’

Lukowiak left the army in 1984, his Soldier’s Song, published in 1992, gaining wide critical acclaim and going on to be the basis for two separate and successful theatrical productions. He has since written for many publications, including the Guardian and the Mail on Sunday, and for Radio 4. And of his subsequent book, Marijuana Time, Andy McNab wrote, ‘Wonderfully written, packed with hilarious anecdotes about military life ... and, of course, marijuana’; sold with copies of both books and assorted magazine articles.