“Shouting, screaming and the sound of machine gun fire permeated the crisp air…”

Dave Colville, a sub-editor on The News, Portsmouth, witnessed the start of the Falklands War at close quarters – as editor/owner of The Falklands Times from 1977-82.

Here, in the second of four articles, he gives a gripping account of the invasion by Agrentinian troops.

April 2, 1982 was about to dawn. No-one had managed to get any sleep since the announcement that the Argentine invasion fleet was on its way.

Endless cups of coffee and tea. Inane chat. We even made up spur-of-the-moment ‘anti-Dago’ songs and recorded them. Highly embarrassing in hindsight 18 years on — but then we simply didn’t know what else to do.

We cheered ourselves a bit by telling each other that SAS soldiers had already been secretly landed at strategic points. However, this was tempered a bit by earlier reports that shadowy figures had been spotted around the bleak Pony’s Pass. These could have been the crack Argentine Special Boat Squadron. A sort of SAS with flippers — and bloody lethal weapons. All we could do was sit tight and wait.

I used to broadcast an hourly ‘Record Round-up’ slot on the airwaves, plus read the weekly news round-up called Newsletter. Luckily it hadn’t been my slot the night before else I would have been stuck in the studio. Director of broadcasting Patrick Watts was in the chair, doing a stirling job, keeping us informed of events. The radio was on constantly, in every home, from Stanley to Fox Bay, from Goose Green to Port Howard.

It was still dark. Outside, the men of the Falkland Islands Defence Force doubled by. Glad I wasn’t in that outfit. On the radio, people were ringing in to Pat Watts telling him about noises they’d heard. Just jumpy? Or were the Argies nearer than we thought? Then one woman rang the studio to say she’d heard firing from the vicinity of the airport.

Upstairs in Church Flats, Peter King, a hobbyist snapper, had a darkroom. Luckily, it had a little window in it. Granted, you couldn’t see much from it as the cathedral spire and roof were in the way, but you could see towards the airport. Peter and I thought we’d have a look. Sure enough, we could hear firing, and it seemed to be coming closer. Hang on a minute, surely street warfare wasn’t on the agenda? Most of the houses were wooden. Bullets would zip straight through them. Then I almost evacuated my supper as a line of bullets bounced off the cathedral roof right by us. We hastily closed the window and ran downstairs.

From the front window we could see an awe-inspiring stream of tracer shells arcing from somewhere in the harbour. Shouting, screaming and the sound of machine gun fire permeated the crisp air. The Royal Marines were having a hell of a battle at Government House.

The radio once again crackled into life. Argentines had manned the studio and waved their guns under Patrick Watts’s nose. Suddenly, edicts were being read by the Argentines: ‘We want no bloodshed’ etc. Too late. A few Kelpers had been killed by bullets penetrating the wooden-walled houses.

The time flew by. As suddenly as it began it was all over. The marines and FIDF volunteers had been rounded up. The governor had surrendered and later was deported with his family. Huge Argentine navy vessels anchored triumphantly in the harbour, busy unloading men and seemingly-endless supplies of dust-coloured Mercedes Benz military vehicles.

General Leopoldo Fortunato Galtieri, 56, had become the hero of Argentina. His men had recaptured the nation’s birthright – the Islas Malvinas.

Back to part one of David’s story

On to part three of David’s story

On to the final part of David’s story

Have you got a story for us?
E-mail us now