Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

Pair: Marine J. H. M. Williams, Royal Marines

General Service 1962-2007, 1 clasp, Northern Ireland (Mne J H M Williams P038915X RM); South Atlantic 1982, with rosette (Mne 1 J H M Williams P038915X RM) the latter in named card box of issue, extremely fine (2) £800-£1,000

John Henry Morris Williams served with 2 Troop, K Company, 42 Commando, Royal Marines during the South Atlantic campaign. The recipient’s Personal Recollections of the campaign, including the Air Battle for San Carlos, the bombing of the Sir Galahad in Bluff Cove, and the Battle for Mount Harriet state:

‘Even though 40 years has now passed I have many vivid and rich memories from this episode of recent British history. I feel forever fortunate to have played a part, albeit small, in this gripping campaign with a wonderful group of men, both lucky and proud, to be called Royal Marines.

My introduction to the rapidly unfolding Operation Corporate was dreamily surreal. I happened to be lying in the sun, on a beach in Paleocastritsa, Corfu, when a 4 day old copy of the Sun newspaper seemed to land in front of me. The headlines jumped out and hit me for six: “Royal Marines head a Task Force to recapture the Falklands from Argentinian invasion...”

Suddenly my self-indulgent speculation of Mediterranean excess by both day and night was replaced with the excruciating fear that I was might miss out on this adventurous but arduous challenge, one whole hemisphere away. I ran to the Hotel, and called the 42 Commando Guard room in Bickleigh for instruction. I was deflated to be told “Carry on enjoying your vacation, they have already Sailed! But be back for Parade 08:00, Monday 12 April!” I obviously did my best to enjoy my last few days in the Ionian sun after 12 weeks in Norway, but the thought of missing out, was like an agonising tooth ache needing a serious remedy!

On Monday morning, I was amongst a group of disgruntled stragglers that formed on the Parade ground of Bickleigh Barracks to await instruction. I felt nervous, and compelled to find a way to head South and rejoin K Company and my Commando unit, but sensing I had to make the right choice, if I was to find a way not to be guarding the Tors of Dartmoor for the Summer!

It was promptly announced that volunteers were required; I almost stepped forward but a peculiar instinct held me back. It was just as well as these volunteers were detached to Northern Island! Then a second group of volunteers was required; for this I did step forward, and quickly informed I was to train as air defence for the Landing Ship Logistics [LSL’s] already on the way to the Falklands. What a relief I felt, as I was now heading in the right direction. Soon we were off to Salisbury plain to practice firing at model aircraft with the General Purpose Machine Gun. Then in a whirling blur we were on a plane flying via Senegal, to the Ascension Island to meet the arriving fleet.
On arrival at Ascension, I was rapidly assigned with 8 others under the command of Sergeant D’Olivera to be part of the the Air Defence Team for the LSL, Sir Galahad. Soon I was making myself comfortable in my cosy berth on the Port side, adjacent to the tank deck.
One of my self compelled tasks was complete, as I was in amongst this exciting gathering of men and might, on an undertaking, that seemed to have seized the collective unconscious of all involved. Some fellow Marines were still imagining that the cruise South would likely conclude as a wild “Run Ashore” in, may be, Rio De Janeiro after diplomatic negotiations removed the need for an armed conflict; so of course duly concentrated on improving their sun tans and samba dancing “Bootneck” style.

Yet, for no sure reason, my subconscious was certain that a serious encounter lay ahead, and I felt the overwhelming need to be involved in this, with my Company- K Company! I soon found a way to get on a Launch to visit the Canberra. My vague plan was to persuade Captain Peter Babbington, to allow me to replace a less eager Marine, who could take over my GPMG Duties. With my friend Corporal Kevin Dale as an intermediary, I believe the suggestion was forwarded, yet the verdict retuned, that it was not possible at this moment. However, I was gently appeased by the fact I would automatically rejoin the company after the ammunition and other logistical supplies were unloaded from the Sir Galahad, and replace the early casualties.

As I got on the launch to return to the very unstable, flat bottomed LSL, for the journey South, all my K Company friends crowded the rail to sing “Piss off Bungy”, while “dance-miming”, a wildly rocking boat pitching erratically, compared to a calm beer filled cruise for the lads of K Coy! It was a sparkling performance that certainly made me smile while reinforcing my desire to soon be back surrounded by their mighty humour! Anyway for now I would have to concentrate on the new world of being a GPMG gunner in a team with Jimmy Mann on a rolling bath tub of a vessel, as the “The Great White Whale” and its escorting destroyers and frigates cut effortlessly through the large South Atlantic swells. However, there was a sight one day after leaving Ascension that I should not forgot. The sun was high to the North and every last vessel of the task force was bridged with a rainbow formed from its own spray, almost like a halo, and I chose to take it as a sign of united good luck. We did watches at night- mostly to keep us busy I think- but in the day we practiced mounting our GMPG”s on their new steel poles on which they could rapidly swing and pivot through the imaginary flight paths of attacking aircraft. The Royal Marines Medical Squadron were all on board and were having daily lectures to get the up to speed for for battlefield trauma, so I would attend whenever I could! This turned out to be very important as some of the techniques I learned proved very useful later, as did my friendship with the Marines of Medical Squadron who would later assist me on my quest, when arriving at the “Red and Green Life Machine” of Ajax Bay.

I cannot remember the transition from preparation, to the sure acceptance that we were truly about to commence the landing, yet there seemed to be a powerful calm that descended over everyone and in the early morning of 21 May we sailed into San Carlos Water.
It was a clear night slowly that slowly became morning as we manned our guns and watched the glistening water and dark looming slopes gradually fill with the colours of dawn. Landing Craft were already inserting troops onto the nearby beaches and we waited curious, tense, and nervous waiting for the explosions of gunfire and artillery to commence. As daylight flooded San Carlos Water it was a stirring sight to see the task force anchored closely together providing mutual protection. I watched the ant like activities of soldiers on the land digging their defensive positions, while others situated the Rapier missile systems on the lower to mid slopes. Soon all of the Medical squadron were disembarked and setting up the Field Hospital in the disused slaughter house of. Ajax Bay, directly across from our anchorage. It remained eerily silent.

The Sir Galahad had a Gazelle helicopter it was transporting and supporting. The pilot came for a walk around the port poop deck, where my gun was situated, to appraise the topography and get a feel for the day and the task ahead. Lieutenant Ken Francis had been my Company Second in Command in South Armagh with 41 Commando, 2 years before, and we had a quick, upbeat, yet serious, conversation about the day that possibly lay ahead. I wished him well on his upcoming mission to support the landing. Time is always a mystery when tension prevails, and my next memory is seeing a silent whitish-silver-grey propellor driven aircraft bank over the nearest hill. I recognised it as an Argentinian Pucara, and I had to fight my anaesthetised hand and arms to get into the appropriate lead position and put a stream of fire ahead of its slow banking arc. Soon a chorus of multiple guns were sending converging tracer rounds in the Pucara’s direction. Yet, it appeared to be a good day for the Argentinian pilot as he rounded the hill and disappeared from sight.

However, sadly, we were soon to learn that the same good fortune was not dealt with an even hand for Lieutenant Francis. His Gazelle had been brought down by enemy small arms fire and he and his crew had died in the ensuing crash. We now knew the brutal truth that the consequences of this invasion were real and not every one would be returning home. The day however, soon was to become a wild adrenaline filled affair with “Air Warning Red” being called multiple times in what seemed rapid succession. The Mirages skirted like predators selecting their kill at much higher altitudes well beyond our reach with, and needing the attention of the more sophisticated systems on the Frigates. Yet the Skyhawks flying at less than 100m above the water came flashing past and sometimes directly over us in slightly delayed and converging directions, Sometimes they were so low you could see the Pilot as they flew straight through the sustained burst of fire aimed at the previous target further away.

Jimmy and I took it in turns being the No.1 and No.2, and on one close encounter when Jimmy was firing, a Skyhawk got very close and over friendly and had its fuselage tattooed in front of our four very wide eyes. Jimmy was a quiet Scotsman, but his expression told me to rapidly run around to see if we had bagged ourselves some “Big Game”. In a flash I was on the starboard side watching it fly across Ajax bay, dropping a bomb in front of the Canberra before banking away hard to the right and disappearing around the headland and back to Patagonia! I rushed back to tell Jimmy that he hadn’t brought the Skyhawk down but he had put him off his aim!

21 May had at least 2 more air attacks on San Carlos Water, one with a bomb bouncing off our funnel and into the sea. We could see the frigates guarding the entrance, being attacked wave after wave, watching one frigate that had been hit, speed across the entrance to evade further damage many. Though many of the protecting ring of frigates, seemed to sustain damage, it appeared faulty fuses in the bombs reduced the losses to just the Ardent. In a further flash it seemed night had fallen and we were enjoying our dinner, with lots of hot sweet tea to wash it down, while recounting the high speed kinetics of the day. Through the night we had the shared duty of watching for stealth attacks against the ship. This task entailed throwing scare charges at regular intervals to deter Argentinian divers from attaching unwanted explosives to our hull. One such evening while watching the water below, I felt an electric jolt of apprehension as I saw a light flicker 20 metres or so away. I quickly prepared my scare charge as one light, became five, and then dozens before chuckling, as I realised I was watching the stars of the clearest southern sky, reflect in the stillest of seas. The need for an immediate violent response was replaced with a magical awe for this tranquil sight I had not witnessed before- or since.

Since dropping anchor, in our new world of “Bomb Alley” we had slipped effortlessly into a very functional routine as certain vessels were unloaded and the Beach Head was consolidated amongst regular visits from Argentinian Aviators. All the Air defence team were “stood to”, at our gun positions from first light to last light, but it felt that we never went hungry or thirsty and the days always seemed to ironically fly by, always expecting the next warning of air attack imminent! As we pivoted slowly around our anchor chain, we began to the absorb the whole vista of San Carlos Water, Ajax Bay and the surrounding hills- soon they grew to become a familiar friend. Sometimes when facing the right direction, and we weren’t getting close attention you would just absorb the pyrotechnic displays of detonating bombs sending huge plumes of sea spray skywards, 40mm Bofor guns rhythmically chuntering as their shells exploding up above us, while vapour trails of missiles flashed towards the evading aircraft and sometimes we even watched the fiery impact as they collided with fatal consequence. One Pilot managed to eject just before impact and landed in the sea almost right outside the Regimental Aid Post of Ajax Bay. It appeared that he was quickly picked up by a small boat and taken there for treatment.

24 May was probably the most fortunate day for myself and Jimmy Mann! The first air attack of the day saw Jimmy firing at the first wave, when another Skyhawk ripped past us, so close that both we felt and smelt it. It fired 3 cannon shells, leaving holes that penetrated the superstructure, one an inch to my left, one an inch to Jimmy’ right and one a “red hair” from Jimmy’s nearly missing head, while releasing a 500lb bomb that bounced off the water and went through our sleeping quarters, straight through my bunk, bending my locker, to lodge unexploded in amongst the ammunition. We both got to our feet after of our ridiculously late dive for cover, and Jimmy was touching his sore head with his helmet around his neck. One of the cannon cannon shells had glanced his helmet and left him with a flap of skin where a normal hairline began, but we laughed and agreed it was of no great consequence as Jimmy had no hair in that area. More importantly, however, we again felt a confirmation that luck was firmly on our side!

The rest of the day saw us temporarily abandon the Sir Galahad, adding to the air defence of the Stromness, while the Bomb disposal engineer disabled the UXB. We continued to be part of a very lively air show happening all around us with 2 other LSL’s hit, that also got away with same good fortune of faulty fuses. By the morning of 25 May we were back on the Sir Galahad and this turned out to be the last day of sustained attacks from the air in the battle for San Carlos Water. We were paid a lot less attention and passed the day with little close activity, but further out in the Sound, the task force was to lose the Coventry and further out to seas the Atlantic Conveyor. The Atlantic Conveyer was bringing much needed Chinooks with huge carrying capacities that would be missed. In retrospect we were always lucky to be briefed in detail about the significant events of each day, and the progress being made, which kept everyone engaged in the moment and feeling part of one large cohesive team.

However, my focus was already returning to my objective of rejoining K Company for the ground offensive. I was beginning to feel frustrated and struggling to see how I was going to achieve this. The ammunition was not being unloaded like I had assumed, and there were no casualties needing replacement. I was becoming a little moody as it seemed we were to be used to ferry supplies and troops to positions of preparation, especially as we had lost the extra Chinooks.

On 27 May, 2 Para attacked Goose Green which was the first major troop offensive of the campaign. It proved highly successful and an inspiration for the Royal Marines to follow with equal verve. Every seed of information as to the plans and progress I seemed to absorb to motivate a rethinking of my strategy! 45 Commando and 3 Para had now stated marching towards Stanley, possibly again because of the loss of the Atlantic Conveyor, while on 31 May some of K Coy were flown forward to secure Mount Kent. Every little detail I clung on to see if I might conjure a plan, but it seems we had now become a much needed mobile commodity. We went out to sea to refuel, then at some point we went to Teal Inlet to drop off supplies while picking up some 45 Commando victims of trench foot and other injuries. I was wondering if this might be an opportunity, yet before I know it we were heading back to San Carlos Water. By this time I have all my kit packed and stowed waiting for a magical serendipitous moment to unleash me from my boat bound duties. The next few days seemed to float together as I kept reminding Sergeant D’Olivera I was committed to find a way to join a fighting Company. It was a constant obsession now bubbling frantically that probably annoyed most of the others in the detachment.

The rhythm of events had changed as we were involved in several logistical supply runs. Then we now found our selves tasked with picking up a battalion of Welsh Guards. We were to drop them closer to Port Stanley so they could link up with the various units of 3 Commando Brigade now converging on the Argentinian forces concentrated in to the hills surrounding the Falklands capital. I sensed that a little complacency was creeping in, with a premature perception that the Argentinian air threat had been neutralised. The Welsh Guards now filled the Sir Galahad and we sailed towards the settlement of Fitzroy and Bluff Cove. As dawn broke on 8 June we found ourselves anchored off of Fitzroy and proceeded to man our gun positions, and get a feel for the new surrounding hills. I watched the Rapier missile being established on the shore, and it crossed my mind as to what the Argentinians were able to observe and report. It didn’t however, occur to me these were the mountains we would soon be attacking.

There was an unusual feel to the day as unexpectedly the Welsh Guards were still swarming all over the Sir Galahad, filling the galley, the tank deck, and just about everywhere, as landing craft continued to unload much needed munitions. This highly contentious issue was discussed heatedly in the aftermath of the events about to unfold, which is very sad as Lieutenant-Colonel Southby-Tailyour the head of landing operations, had come on board offering a viable solution for the Welsh Guards to swiftly disembark. There appeared to be a certain disregard for the precarious position we were in. We now chose to deploy 50% coverage on the air defence positions, which was strange as we had no naval escort, and the Rapiers were known to take time to set up.

I was relieved from my watch around midday, and went to get some lunch to find myself observing the Welsh Guards crammed into the Galley watching movies- not preparing for Battle. This made me scratch my head as I was trying to imagine a way to be part of the imminent ground assaults that must soon be pending and couldn’t understand the lack of focus. However, my own sense of imminent danger was distorted and not as great as it should have been as I went to lie down on my bunk, and read “Bushmen of the Kalahari” and see if any new ideas might percolate, before my next watch. Of course I was not to need any new ideas, as 30 minutes later I heard a very peculiar sound, like a giant tin opener being used, which made me jump off of my bunk. A split second later “Air Warning Red” came over the tannoy, and I immediately ran into the gangway toward the stairs leading to my gun position. I was half way to the stairs when a huge fireball exploded through the door from the tank deck and flashed up the stairs to which I was heading. The furious brightness of the explosion instantly turned to blackness and following a rapid pirouette, I was blindly racing to the opposite stairs leading up on to the bow. Just as started to run up them, the forward port door to the tank deck opened and I was immediately followed by acrid smoke and the chilling screams of the injured.

Remembering it now I still feel myself overtaken by this ‘robotic persona’ that went through a set of immediate activities to remedy, as best I could, the ensuing situations. The first thing I did was throw a life raft over the port bow, before going on to open a large chest of First Aid materials, before taking stock of the stream of injured accumulating on the bow. There were so many burn victims and most with blast injuries that seemed to strip the flesh from the fingers. However, I was quickly diverted to two Guards with leg amputations below the knee and found myself applying improvised tourniquets that I had learnt about in the lectures heading South. I then found myself concentrating on covering the hands to protect the ribbons of flesh that seemed to be hanging on tendon covered bones. I could see that some had burns all much of their body still covered with waterproof combat clothing, but I concentrated on covering and protecting what was exposed. I have no recollection of the passage of time, but was aware that the healthy were evacuating the vessel via the life rafts and lifeboats. I remember glancing at the fire that continued to take rage up through the cargo bay as more and more ammunition began to explode, when suddenly I was aware that a helicopter was being marshalled in with hand signals onto the bow, by Sergeant D’Olivera. This now became my focus to assist all the injured onto the revolving stream of helicopters that continued to fly into fire and smoke under the very clear and stoic air marshalling of an impressive Sergeant D’Olivera. I couldn’t tell you how many helicopters were involved as they loaded, unloaded, and returned for more casualties, or how many more trips it took, or how long it took, before I was jumping on the last helicopter with Sergeant D’Olivera, the Sir Galahad’s Captain, and a few others that had been assisting.

We landed on a near by shore where an emergency aid station had been rapidly set up; many of the injured had already been administered with intravenous drips prior to their transportation to the field hospital at Ajax Bay. Quite quickly a recently operational Chinook arrived to ferry the injured and I was asked asked to assist with the loading and accompanying them to the Field Hospital. It seemed to take no time at all before I was helping situate the injured to the appropriate section of the “Red and Green Life machine”. With this task completed, I took a second to reflect on my new situation. Of our team there was only myself and Sergeant D’Olivera here in Ajax Bay, so I summised this must be the opportunity I had sough as I no longer have a Ship to protect or a team to support! I went straight up to “Dolly”, but before I plead my case, he smiled and said “Carry on, Henry, you are free to do whatever floats your boat”! Thinking back the emotions I felt were a very peculiar mix of genuine excitement and sadness for the lives lost. Yet the opportunity had arrived for me to make my move and rejoin K Company.

The first few hours in the Field hospital were filled with the screams of the burn victims as they had their initial treatments for their injuries. Eventually I bumped into a friend of mine from 41 Commando called John Hughes, or ‘Tojo’, who was having a quick mug of tea. Tojo had the knack of turning the task slicing off skin with a Stanley knife into a noble notion, explaining they had been removing the skin was no longer viable and applying the appropriate covering where possible. However, once he had subdued his thirst, I told him my situation and enquired if he might know where to start me on my quest! Soon we were off to find his friend Corporal Jon Clare, and then a quick walk to the other end of a building had the three of us enter a large store room!
“OK, what do you need?” asked Jon,
“Everything!”
“Not a problem, I think the dead and injured of Goose Green have everything you need.”

Soon I was being handed an SLR, 6 magazines full of rounds, a Bergen (Backpack), Sleeping bag, poncho, webbing, a shovel, mess tins, water bottle, combat jacket, spare fatigues, spare socks, rifle cleaning kit, matches, KFS! It was an uplifting feeling as in a few minutes I had been totally re-kitted, and didn’t have to sign for anything- I was ready for the next stage! I thanked both of them before mentioning the next part of the problem, to find a space on a helicopter flight tomorrow up to 42 Commando’s rear echelon, as apparently flights were fully accounted for. With a consolatory smile it was decided that we leave that task for tomorrow as it had been a long day!

My night’s sleep was punctuated with crazy dreams and the very real sighs of the wounded. Soon though it was dawn and time to get some breakfast and work on the plans for reaching my destination. A little research told me that K company had just moved down off Mount Kent towards Mount Challenger. I found Jon Clare, Tojo, and a couple of other Med Squadron Marines and sat down to discuss how I might conjure up a ride. It was soon decided that the delivery of important classified intelligence documents requiring urgent delivery to 42’s HQ was the approach required. A few hours later one of the lads turned up with an appropriate A4 sealed envelope, then by lunch time Jon Clare and Tojo came to tell me I had been allocated a seat on a Gazelle, up to 42’s location. The dice was now truly rolling my way and I prepared my kit, adjusting my webbing, cleaned and oiled my new rifle and wondered about the fate of Private Harris whose name was on my new pack!’

Sold with various photographic images of the recipient.