THE FALKLANDS WAR - THE FULL STORY

The Sunday Times Insight Team produced this paperback in 1982, not long after the end of the war, which was quite an achievement. The writing team consisted of Paul Eddy, Magnus Linklater and Peter Gillman, though they were assisted several reporters and researchers; participants from both sides of the conflict were interviewed.

The book contains black-and-white photographs, diagrams and maps.

On the night of April 1, 1982 the first Argentine troops landed – variously called the Amphibious Commando Company or the Buzo Tactico - two distinct military groups; depends on whose report is true. According to this book the Argentines attacked Moody Brook barracks with indiscriminate bursts of automatic fire, using phosphorus grenades and riddling each room with bullets. Fortunately, the barracks had already been abandoned by the Royal Marines. ‘The Argentine government made much of the claim that its troops had gone to great lengths to ensure that the invasion was bloodless. That was largely the result but what happened at Moody Brook suggests it was not the intention’ (p15).

According to an Argentine officer, they only used tear gas and intended to take prisoners, and only fired their weapons to alert other troops converging on Government House. (The Argentine Fight for the Falklands by Martin Middlebrook (1989)).

Mid-morning on April 2 the Union flag was lowered, to be replaced by the blue and white flag of Argentina.

Chapter 2 covers some of the diplomatic events taking place at the UN building in February. Talks had been going on for about five years or more, with no headway being made. Talk was that if negotiations got nowhere there would be an invasion in July. Also ongoing was a dispute between Argentina and Chile regarding the Beagle Channel.

Chapter 3 relates the history of the Falkland Islands and the assorted occupiers, going back to the 1500s. In 1690 English Captain Strong stepped ashore and named the islands after Lord Falkland, the commissioner of the admiralty. Frenchmen came in his wake... The poet Byron’s grandfather  sailed into a bay off West Falkland in 1765 and established Port Egmont. As it happened the French had set up a settlement on East Falkland in 1764, Port Louis. In 1767 the French sold Port Louis to Spain for £250,000. ‘Spain formally restored Port Egmont to the British – on September 16, 1771’ (p38).

In 1816 the United Provinces of the River Plate split from Spain and Argentina was born. In 1820 an Argentinian frigate took formal possession of the islands. Some argy-bargy ensued over the years, including the razing of Port Louis by the American corvette Lexington, and the establishment of a penal colony whose prisoners promptly murdered the colony’s new governor. At that point the British sloop Clio hove into sight and was mostly welcomed by the Port Louis settlers. The British raised their flag on January 2, 1833 and stayed. Argentina protested for almost 150 years thereafter, ultimately appealing to the UN whose resolution 1514 of 1960 ‘pledged to bring an end everywhere colonialism in all its forms’ (p41). The UN’s 1965 resolution pressed Britain and Argentina ‘to find a quick and peaceful solution to the problem, bearing in mind the UN charter and the interests of the population of the said islands’ (p41).

In January 1982 scrap merchant Constantino Sergio Davidoff visited the British embassy in Buenos Aires to report his intentions: the scrap metal merchant had a contract to dismantle South Georgia’s four old whaling stations (which were closed in the early 1960s); they belonged to the Christian Salvesen shipping firm in Edinburgh. The Argentinians saw an opportunity to bring forward their intended invasion, using the scrap metal issue as both an excuse and a cover.

On March 19 four British Antarctic Survey scientists were on a field trip to Leith from their base in Grytviken (comprising about 30 BAS people).  They spotted the Argentinian naval fleet auxiliary Bahia Buen Suceso anchored in the harbour. Onboard were a contingent of marines, arms, ammunition, radio equipment, field surgical kit and food supplies. The troops were led by a slim, boyish-looking man whose shock of fair hair earned him the nickname ‘el Rubio’: Captain Alfredo Astiz. (p68). Astiz was a particularly nasty character, responsible for torture and death. He landed about 50 men, some in paramilitary uniform, and raised the Argentinian flag. The BAS scientists reported this to the governor at Stanley.

On March 20 HMS Endurance, with a contingent of Royal Marines was directed from Stanley to South Georgia and authorised to use force if necessary. Three days later Endurance was redirected to Grytviken; however, two marines were landed surreptitiously to an observation post on a bluff overlooking Leith harbour and, on March 25, they noted the Bahia Paraiso arrive and disembark many troops and their equipment. They reported by radio to London via a satellite link; but it was kept a closely guarded secret – why?

MI6 had a base in Buenos Aires. ‘Every Wednesday a meeting is held after lunch time, attended by, among others, the naval and military attachés at the British embassy’ (p78). On March 24 their assessment was that something was up – naval exercises with the Uruguayan navy were not plausible, judging by first-hand intelligence from the naval bases. Their opposite numbers in the American embassy concluded that an invasion was due on April 1.

The machinations in the UN make for interesting reading as certain countries take sides. ‘Guyana, worried about the claims on her territory made by neighbouring Venezuela, was on the British side’ (p114). [And this situation is still contentious today!] Interestingly, the Russians abstained – the issue did not affect their interests. America sat on the fence initially, for Argentina supported the fight against Communism that was spreading in Latin America: ‘We’re friends on both sides,’ Reagan announced. (p115). Ultimately, the British ambassador Sir Nicholas Henderson, with the help of General Haig, brought the Americans on-side. ‘On April 30... America would be allying herself publicly with the UK. “Armed aggression of that kind must not be allowed to succeed” said the president’ (p137).

Chapter 12 – ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ – relates the travails and recovery of South Georgia and the surrender of the Argentinians based there.

The recapture of Port Stanley signalled the end of the conflict with the surrender of the Argentine forces on June 14.

There are chapters and sections on the air-battles and aircraft, the terrible loss of life, the sinkings, and the bravery on both sides. As a piece of ‘instant reportage’ it is an impressive book. Granted, after all this time, as many more facts (and books) have surfaced some of this account will have been expanded upon and even corrected. Still, it’s a worthwhile read for an overview of the conflict.

It concludes: ‘At least the war has guaranteed one thing for the Falklanders on their remote rocks in the South Atlantic. No one will ever again underestimate the dangers they face’ (p265). [Famous last words?]

 

 

 

THE DEVIL'S ACRE - Book review

Matthew Plampin’s second novel, The Devil’s Acre (previously titled The Gun-maker’s Gift) was published in 2010 and concerns the establishment of a weapons factory in Pimlico on the banks of London’s River Thames in 1853; it was set up by the American gun-maker 'Colonel' Samuel Colt. At that time the building of the Palace of Westminster was not yet completed.

Londoner Edward Lowry is hired as Colt’s secretary and works alongside the firm’s English press agent Richards. Colt has brought in a handful of Americans to oversee the factory: they’re hiring locals, mainly from the slum section of the city, the Devil’s Acre and training them to work the machinery.

Lowry accompanies Colt around London, specifically the government offices, where the gun-maker hopes to obtain huge orders for his revolvers. It is not so simple, however, as Colt has competition in the form of a British gun-maker, Adams. Inevitably, politics and British preferment are involved. Yet Colt seems to have the private blessing of Lord Palmerston, who is plotting the downfall of the government. Spies and saboteurs from the Adams business add tension and violence to the mix of intrigue.

Complications arise for Lowry when he is attracted to Caroline, one of the women on the factory floor. The relationship does not begin smoothly, but gradually they embark on an affair – much to the disgust of her brother-in-law, Martin.

It transpires that Martin and several other men working in the factory are members of the Molly Maguires, an Irish secret society who are hell-bent on not only stealing a number of revolvers but also using them to assassinate a minister of the Crown.

Allegiances become strained, particularly as conflict in the Crimea looms large and Lowry begins to question the morality of weapons manufacture and sales.

The book is well-written, thrusting the reader into Victorian London – both its places of grandeur and squalor. ‘There was not much dust here as there was precious little of the lively movement required to provoke it. In its place, though, were flies, many thousands of them, plump as brandy-soaked raisins, that settled upon you if you paused for even a second, crawling for your tear ducts, your nostrils, the corners of your mouth. The smells were enough to stop the breath in your lungs, thick as fish-glue and repulsively over-ripe. Edward imagined that a multitude of deadly diseases were thronging into his body, gaining stronger purchase on his blood with every step he took.’ (p159)   

All of the characters – a mixture of real historical figures and fictional – are convincing and keep the story moving to its powerful epilogue.

Recommended.

THE LUTE AND THE PEN - Book review

 This is Jennifer Morton’s second book and both are romantic adventures set in Spain. Her first, The Wells Are Dry was a contemporary novel; The Lute and the Pen is a historical story primarily set in Al-Andalus in 960AD.

Orphaned nineteen-year-old Qamira is accompanying Talha, her grandfather on his journey to Cordoba, where they plan to start a new life away from Baghdad. The Spanish city promises much, as it is a centre of learning and religious tolerance where Qamira hopes to pursue her twin passions of music and writing. She has also learned a great deal about herbal medicines and ointments from her learned grandfather.

Talha is the guest of his old friend Solomon, a Hebrew. Here, Qamira meets his wife Rebekah, Yuhana, Mirza and Tabitha, his daughters. Their neighbour is Urvan, a Muslim, who is widowed. Urvan has two sons, Izmael and Tariq, and two daughters, Shira and Dafna. Izmael’s best friend is Zayd, a swordsman, teacher and poet from El-Maghreb.

Into the mix is another household which is run by Vevian, a Christian, a trader and friend of Solomon.

Qamira settles down and takes in the delectable sights, smells and sounds of the place and her writing and lute-playing flourish. However, she is soon aware that Urvan begins to make unwelcome advances upon her during her grandfather’s absence on medical business. Fortunately, Qamira befriends Yuhana and Dafna, and gradually falls under the thrall of the handsome Zayd. Yet the relationships are not smooth as Shira is wilfully jealous of Qamira and, plotting with Nadim, Urvan’s personal bodyguard, they intend to have Qamira spirited away.

Qamira’s abrupt absence cannot be explained. Zayd is crestfallen and, after a fruitless search, he volunteers to sail off to contend with several raiding corsairs that threaten Urvan’s trading ships. After a while, word returns that he is missing, presumed dead.

Unaware of Zayd’s fate, Qamira wakes up in an Emir’s harem!

Throughout the narrative we are treated to exotic scents and images, capturing the period and its people. There is poetry both poignant and amusing, and personal conflict between several characters. Suspense, misunderstandings, betrayal and swordplay figure in the tale as well.

The author brings alive her characters and their emotional turmoil, and I was sorry to come to the end of her heartfelt tale.

Recommended.

Book of the film - LAST STAND AT SABER RIVER

 

Written by Elmore Leonard in 1959, my copy is published 2005. Leonard is famous for both his crime novels (Get Shorty, Mr Majestyk, Glitz, and Out of Sight) and also westerns (3:10 to Yuma, Hombre, Valdez is Coming, Joes Kidd, and The Bounty Hunters) and many of his books have been filmed.

Last Stand at Saber River took almost forty years to be filmed, as a TV movie starring Tom Selleck, Suzy Amis, Haley Joel Osment, Keith Carradine, David Carradine and David Dukes.

The film and the book differ mainly in the beginning and end sequences.

The film starts earlier than the book, filling in background that is flashbacked in the book. The Civil War still rages. Reported killed in action, Paul Cable is a Confederate veteran returning home to surprise his wife Martha and two children (they lost a third to disease while he was away fighting; though in the book the child is alive [economising on young actors]). His family has been staying with her parents but now he is going to take them to their homestead in Arizona, which they left during his absence. However, in the book it begins with them arriving at the trading post which is near to their homestead. But the owner has passed away and it is now part owned by Janroe who lost a hand in the war.

Cable soon learns that a Union-sympathising family has assumed control of Cable’s homestead and land. This is the Kidston family: Vern, his brother Duane and his daughter Lorraine. Some of the Kidston cowhands are staying at the homestead. Cable chases them off. Thus begins an ongoing feud between the two families. In the book Cable suffers two brutal beatings at the hands of the Kidston crew and Duane (the film doesn’t impose this on Selleck, he is tougher and not averse to killing in self defence).

Janroe harbours a powerful hate for the Union and all who supported the North. He is intent on engineering further conflict between the two families, even while both Vern and Lorraine are about to talk rather than fight with Cable and Martha.

It is all brought to a head in the final pages and is taut and tense, as one is accustomed when reading any Elmore Leonard book.

However, the film moves beyond the book, stretching out the suspense, determined on inserting more action and conflict.

Both endings work for their different media.

If you like the actor Tom Selleck, then you should enjoy this film. If you like a novel with conflict, strong characterisation and a moral core, then you’ll enjoy the book.

Writing – character conflict and backstory

Story needs conflict. It doesn’t have to be physical. It can be psychological, verbal, or even natural – the weather, for example. These moments of conflict can also provide an opportunity to fill in backstory – where past events ripple into the present…

This excerpt is an example of physical conflict, but underlying it are other elements – guilt, shame, disgust, and inevitably power-hunger and lust; and a determined strength.

Sudden Vengeance, my vigilante crime thriller set in the fictitious seaside town of Alverbank in Southern England presents the Knight family facing a number of conflicting emotions shortly after burying an elderly family member, her death attributable to a burglary. The book is quite short, so description is pared down, but there should be enough to help the reader visualise the scene. (Character descriptions occurred much earlier). Also, for the scene to be fast-paced, there mustn't be too much extraneous description. It's all about inner turmoil and emotional response.

And, hopefully, leaving the scene quickly, breathless.

 

Extract from Chapter 11: Detective Sergeant Roger Muir is calling on Cathy Knight at her home while her husband David is working late at the office.

“It’s damned cold out here, Cathy. Can I come in and talk?”

She eased the door shut a fraction. “No, I don’t think so. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is.” He grinned. It was probably his intention to appear lascivious or seductive but it came out lopsided.

As she made to shut the door his hands darted out of his pockets and pushed at the wooden panels. For all his bulk, he was quick and strong. The force of his weight sprung the chain and fixings from the jamb. Pieces of painted wood sprayed her as she stepped back in sudden alarm.

Realising she couldn’t shut the door on him, she backed away down the hall, brushing against the wall, her heart fluttering, legs feeling weak, stomach gyrating in fear.

This was her home, he had no right!

“I don’t like being dropped, Cathy.” Muir grimaced and massaged his left hand. “What’s the matter? Are you too good for me? Is that it?” He shoved his hat back from his brow and advanced along the hall, leaving the front door half open. He began unbuttoning his overcoat, smiling.

It had happened on a bleak dark evening last winter. At the time, David had been out of work for just over a year and she was thoroughly depressed, though of course she never let any of the family know how down she really felt.

David was in Leeds, staying overnight in preparation for a job interview first thing next day. (There were ninety applicants, and although he ended up on a short-list that meant an extra evening’s stay, he didn’t get the post). The children were out with friends. She attended the evening art class, glad to get out.

But her attempts at drawing the quite attractive life model failed totally to give the subject depth. And the perspective was wrong.

During the tea break, she sat next to Muir who was studying photography with another evening class. They chatted and he’d sounded quite interested in her artistic leanings. He said, “I let the camera depict my emotions. But drawing or painting, now that’s a real skill, of eye and hand in tune.” They arranged for a drink at the Red Lion after the class.

She welcomed the company as she dreaded going home to an empty house.

Over a couple of brandies, they talked, but she soon found him rather shallow. He offered to drive her home, apologising for the age of his car. He explained, “Getting a new one next month, just waiting for the right colour – gunmetal grey.”

Halfway home he pulled into a lay-by. Alarm-bells should have sounded, but the alcohol had dulled her wits – or, perversely, perhaps she wanted it to happen. No, she didn’t, that was male chauvinist claptrap! Roger Muir leaned over, began kissing her. His face was rough with early bristles and he pressed too hard. He fumbled for the controls and both seats leaned back and he was all over her, hands pulling at her clothes.

A part of her cried out for love, tenderness, understanding, while another part shuddered at what she was doing.

When she got home, she sat shivering in a hot bath, wondering what she’d seen in him. She felt like an adolescent again. She’d been stupid, naive to accept the lift, because all the signs of imminent seduction were there, but she’d ignored them, lost in her own despondency. “Serves you right, you silly bitch!” she’d fumed, and stepped out and rigorously towelled herself.

Muir had been rough, so unlike David or Ralph – dear Ralph with whom she had been unfaithful the only time in her marriage and the result of that ill-starred love had been still-born Rachel. She even wondered if it was divine retribution for her sins. David had mourned the loss as his own, because he never knew. Those aspects of her past were thrust in some dark recess, to be forgotten – until tonight.

Now Cathy stood in the kitchen with her back leaning against the mock-marble top.

Muir sauntered through the doorway. “I’ve learnt a few little sexy tricks since we last did it, Cathy,” he said. “An extension of my art portfolio. You must come up and see it sometime.” He chuckled throatily.

“Please leave, Sergeant Muir.” Her voice sounded steely calm, though inside she threshed madly with fear. “I don’t want you here – or anywhere.”

“Dear me.” His mouth turned down. “After all those signals you kept giving me, too! I was really pissed off when you stopped coming to the class. Was it something I said? Or the wrong deodorant, perhaps?”

“No.” She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowed, trying to keep a lid on the bubbling hysteria. “Please go. That night was a mistake.”

When she opened her eyes again, she started as he had soundlessly stepped closer.

“The mistake was all yours, dear Cathy.” His large hand reached out, its back covered in fair hair, and caught her collar between finger and thumb. “You’ll have to pay for it now.” The tone was threatening, awful.

She could feel her chest heaving and wanted to stop, unless he construed it as an invitation.

Abruptly he moved forward, dropped his palm over her right breast.

The suddenness was shocking. Cathy wanted to be sick, tried backing away, but the kitchen top dug into her back. Fleetingly, she remembered reading about a poor woman who was paralysed because the rapist rammed her spine hard against a table-top. Oh, God!

He pressed against her and his peppermint breath, sickly-sweet, evoked the ugly memory of their coupling in the car.

Reaching behind, her fingers closed on the wooden knife handle and she swung round and up, slashing desperately as his thigh pushed heavily between her legs.

Muir let out a snarl and in that split second of his unexpected pain she twisted free and stood, chest heaving, in the middle of the kitchen. Some blood from his cut arm had sprayed her blouse but she didn’t care.

“Get out!” she shouted.

Holding his cut arm, he growled, “I’ll call again, Cathy. When you’re in a better mood.”

Shaking her head, oblivious of the tears that streamed down her cheeks, she shouted, “Don’t ever think of coming back!”

“Oh, I shall. Oh, yes, indeed, I’ll return when it pleases me.” He stopped at the door, added with a crooked smile, “And you’d better be ready to please me then!”

Tentatively, her stomach and insides twisting and turning in fear, she followed him down the hallway, fillet knife held out steady in front of her, its long thin blade dripping his blood.

As soon as he stepped onto the porch, she slammed the door shut and snapped the lock, rammed the bolts home.

He laughed loudly, the sound diminishing as he walked down the path.

Then the trembling started and unsteadily she sat down on the floor, back against the wall. Pieces of broken doorframe littered the carpet. Oh, God, what a mess!

SuddenVengeance – Crooked Cat Books – paperback and e-book