‘It was like Britain in the 1940s’

My husband George and I didn’t mean to stay a month in the Falklands in 1974, but from the moment we stepped into the Nissen hut, which served as an airport terminal, to be stamped in by a British official sitting under portraits of the Queen and Prince Philip, we knew this was going to be irresistibly different from South America. What we didn’t know was how different it would be to my home country, like stepping back 30 years or so. There was no television, no newspapers – just a few hours each day of the local radio station. Families made their own entertainment, and the rare appearance of a visitor was a cause for celebration.

Our planned two-day hike to Volunteer Point, the only breeding site for king penguins in the archipelago, turned into four days because we couldn’t say no to such generosity. Telfew ephones may have been positively archaic – crank a handle to connect with the operator – but they worked, so no sooner had we left Stanley than word got around that “two birdwatchers” were on their way.

After each night’s stay we’d barely started walking before we’d see a Land Rover bouncing towards us with an invitation to the next settlement. We had our tent and provisions, but who’s going to turn down a comfortable bed and massive meals after a year of travelling on £3.80 a day researching guide books? Besides, it was a unique opportunity to learn about life on the “camp” (derived from the Spanish campo; islanders had also adopted the Argentine greeting “che”, which is the equivalent of “mate”).

Settlements all consisted of the “Big House”, where the manager lived, and a

Back in time: riders from the annual Boxing Day race, and (above) Hilary Bradt in 1974