Holiday snapshots of the time-warp Falkland Islands – then and now

Much has changed in the 40 years since Argentina invaded these South Atlantic islands, as our writers reveal – but the penguins, the tough shepherds and the ‘smoko’ remain

Of all the conflicts in which Britain became embroiled during the 20th century, few cling to living memory quite as closely as the Falklands War. Perhaps it is because those two hard months of bullets and bombardment (from April 2 to June 14 1982) count as relatively recent history: last week marked the 40th anniversary of the Argentinian invasion of the archipelago and this April 5 the dispatching of a UK naval task force in response. Perhaps it is that this clash of nations retains an air of controversy. Argentina still smarts at its defeat in the midst of a Southern Hemisphere winter, still covets these grassy slivers on its “doorstep”.

Or perhaps it is that, beyond the fire and noise, the Falklands War sharpened the British appreciation of a tiny corner of the planet which, for all its distance – 7,840 miles from London – offers a lingering hint of the mother country in a more innocent age, all rolling farms and quaint church steeples.

Here, two writers share their experiences of their time in the islands, whether strolling the streets of Stanley, searching for penguins at Volunteer Point, or listening to the echoes of a conflict that still reverberates.

shepherds’ cottages, along with the cookhouse, where meals were taken. Self-sufficiency was essential in the roadless camp. A cow was kept for fresh milk (which was unobtainable in Stanley) and a few chickens for eggs, which helped relieve the monotony of mutton, eaten every day. Vegetables grew well, despite the constant wind, and a reliable source of fuel for cooking and heat came from peat.

There was no doubt that the highlight of the day on every sheep station – and in Stanley – was the radio doctor. “Smoko”, the mid-morning break, was timed so that the family could settle around the radio to listen in to their neighbour’s symptoms and speculate on the cause. A medicine chest kept at the Big House dealt with most ailments, and there was a cottage hospital in Stanley, but islanders with serious conditions were sent to Argentina.

It’s worth mentioning that throughout the 1970s the Argentine government worked hard at winning hearts and minds, not only with free medical care, but university scholarships as well. Education was not rated highly with the Kelpers (those born in the Falklands). Who needed it? Their skill in shearing a sheep and baling up the wool in record time was far more valuable than the three Rs. Children were taught by a volunteer teacher (often a VSO from Britain), who left them with a pile of homework before moving on to the next settlement.

We came to the islands to see the penguins (as people still do, although the viewing sites have changed). Uninhabited Kidney Island is now off-limits to visitors, unsurprisingly. In 1974, we were dropped there by a local boatman with the instructions that in an emergency we were to set fire to the tussock grass. The nearby lighthouse keeper would keep an eye out for the conflagration. Fortunately for us, and the wildlife, we spent three wonderfully peaceful days watching the crested rockhopper penguins live up to their names by scaling the perilously steep cliff.

I kept in touch with one family – the Goodwins – and I still have two letters from Douglas, head of the household. In 1975 he told us about the new airport, so “when it is finished you will be able to fly straight from Cape Town [where we were living] because it will take a VC10”. In 1978, the news was about the new road, which now extended from Stanley all the way to Fitzroy Farm, where the family were living, and which saw the

worst British casualties of the Falklands War. Douglas’s letter described a very different event: “A two-night dance with steer riding, darts, and various other types of sport.” The new road enabled a good turnout from Stanley, which would have been impossible in 1974.

I went back in December 1981, in very different circumstances – leading a tour for an American company – so I stayed in comfort and with access to thousands of penguins on New Island, off West Falkland. While waiting to board our flight in Comodoro Rivadavia, I chatted to the British ambassador in Buenos Aires, who told me it was his duty to visit the Falklands from time to time to make sure all was well, a visit that he much enjoyed. Argentina invaded less than four months later.

The ‘Big House’ in Stanley, where the manager lived, circa 1974