The South Atlantic Medal Association 82

13th June 1998
Text of the Reading
Given at the Drumhead Service, Aldershot

An Airborne Tribute - by Dr Rick Jolly OBE, Chairman of SAMA82

Scene One: On the morning after, we pause and take stock. All the 64 wounded in the fight for Goose Green have survived and are now in the Hospital ship Uganda. It's all down to their basic fitness, plus the wonderful work done by the RMO of 2 PARA, Captain Steve Hughes and his battlefield medic teams. What a tiger that young doc has been. 3 PARA are halfway across east Falkland on their long tab between Port San Carlos and Teal Inlet. They will be sweating - from their heavy loads, as well as worrying about that butcher's bill which has had to be paid by their friends in this first real test of the Commando Brigade's mission to regain the Islands. Their turn will surely come. The rumours concerning the numbers killed vary widely. All we know for certain is that the Commanding Officer has died at the head of his battalion.

Scene Two: A Naval helicopter arrives and settles gently onto the grass. The aircrewman beckons me forward, a look of real pain and resignation on his tired face. He is sharing the cabin with British dead - paratroopers from Goose Green. The bodies have been loaded in on top and alongside each other, their limbs frozen in rigor mortis, and each man's combat smock or poncho cape pulled up over his face. Silently, sadly, we unload the bodies, placing each corpse on its own stretcher at the side of the Ajax Bay main building. The RSM of 2 PARA, Mr Malcolm Simpson, and a lightly injured company commander, Major Roger Jenner, help us in this task. The two men then stand back, quietly, near to tears, watching us. My little team of volunteer Royal Marines and I prepare the bodies, one by one - for burial. A journalist hovers in the background, obviously thinking about a photograph. Our thunderous looks indicate that production of a camera will result in him joining our waiting customers. I tell one of the boys to keep him - and any other outsiders - well away. The cold, wet clothing is deftly cut off. The pockets are examined, and a few personal possessions sorted, logged and put in a plastic bag. With the body stripped naked in the freezing air, I carefully examine each man to confirm his identity, and then - to certify both death and its primary cause. They have died in a fight to uphold Her Majesty's sovereignty. They have died on British soil, and British law applies. To save the need for any later examination of the bodies by a Coroner, I must do the job properly now. Those names are burned into our memories: Dent, Bingley, Cork, Hardman, Melia, Illingsworth, Mechan, Wood, Findlay, Barry, Dixon, Fletcher, Prior, Smith, Sullivan, Holman-Smith, and finally, 'H' himself. That same shy, almost quizzical smile lies on his face as easily in death as it did in life.

Like his men, the late Commanding Officer of the Second Battalion is lifted carefully and placed into an opaque, loose shroud. Gently and reverently, his body is then placed in the thick grey PVC body bag, with its heavy zip and carrying loops. Chief Petty Officer Scouse Davies writes each name on the outside using a broad felt-tip pen, big black capital letters contrasting sharply with the shiny grey of the bag.

We straighten up, our backs aching from an hour's crouching and our bloodied fingers stiff with cold. The RSM looks me in the eye and salutes. It has not been a pleasant task by any means, but it has been an honour for us to undertake. We feel satisfied and glad that some sort of dignity has been restored to these brave men.

Scene Three: The funeral itself is also a fierce event. Goose Green must be defended against counter-attack, and there are friends back there who cannot be spared from duty for this service. On their behalf, nearly two hundred men stand in silence around the edge of the mass grave, heads uncovered, the majority with hands clasped loosely in prayer. Officers mix with soldiers, Paras with Royal Marines. Above us is the dome of a perfectly blue sky, while in the distance, snow gleams on the summit of Mount Simon. San Carlos Water is a flat calm, the fleet lying still as the helicopters move busily from ship to ship with their loads, like bees on a summer's day. The snarl of their engines and clatter of rotor blades carry for miles in the crisp cold air. It is a beautiful spot, this carefully chosen, silent hillside.

One by one, the bodies are carried down into the grave. Eleven of the seventeen being buried today are officers or NCOs, showing exactly what Airborne Forces and Commandos mean by the word 'leadership'. Each body bag has six canvas handles, so the burial party consists of six men of similar rank to the deceased, plus one more senior escort. Major Chris Keeble, Acting CO of 2 PARA, precedes the four dead officers; RSM Simpson acts for the NCOs and private soldiers. A Sapper Major leads the group bearing Corporal Melia; Major Peter Cameron and six brother Royal Marine pilots carry Lieutenant Dick Nunn to his place of rest. Each body bag is covered by the Union Flag, which is removed when the precious load is in position. When all are in place, the 2nd Battalion Padre, David Cooper, begins the service. As his firm voice rolls through the now-familiar words, the emotional pressure winds up to a crescendo. Eyes that were red with tiredness and strain now brim over with silent tears that splash down onto the soggy earth.

'Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust...'

The sound of handfuls of earth cast by the RSM onto taut body bags echoes like thunder around the grave. Led by Major General Moore, we salute our friends in a final, reluctant, farewell - then we turn, and walk away...

© South Atlantic Medal Association 82
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