We’d been planning the trip to the Falklands for nearly a year. Three friends visiting the battlefields of the 1982 War fought to free the islands from Argentinian invaders. Whilst I suspected it would be an emotional trip, I was completely unprepared for the experiences and sights we were about to encounter.

For some years, Milkwood Care has supported various service charities, culminating in the recognition of the care homes as Veteran-friendly units. When Major (Retd) Kevin Tibble suggested that Mick Forfar and I accompany him, we were both keen to go. Kev had been a young paratrooper in 2 Para and had fought at Goose Green and Wireless Ridge, while Mick’s dad had served on one of the liners taking troops on the 7,800-mile journey to the Falklands.

We were to stay at Liberty Lodge in Stanley, a charity run by the Falklands Veterans Foundation (FVF) for veterans, families, and next of kin of those killed in action. We were warmly received by manager Christine Ford, who immediately told us to be prepared for a busy week – and she was quite right! Also staying at the lodge were veterans from Rapier anti-aircraft batteries and a member of the crew of HMS Hermes, a Portsmouth-based aircraft carrier.

Our first experience was an off-road trip around Mount Harriet, where 60mph winds swirled the cold, damp mist around us as we visited the graves of Royal Marine troops killed in the battle to take the mountain. We went on to other battle sites, lost for words at the bravery of our soldiers who had fought up stony ravines under fire to achieve victory. Our guides for this trip and all our excursions were volunteer Falklanders who made us feel so welcome and were incredibly knowledgeable about the battles and terrain. We were invited into their homes for tea, beers, and stories of their war experiences from all those years ago.

Throughout our seven-day stay, we were always made to feel at home. The 770 islands in the archipelago, located way down in the South Atlantic, are home to 3,500 islanders and over 2,500 servicemen and contractors. There was a distinctly positive, pro-British atmosphere, with Union Jacks fluttering on every corner. Everywhere we went, people came and talked to us. We met the Deputy Governor over tea at Government House. The islanders all remembered how the Falklands War had been fought over their farms, in their streets, and across their land. As Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher said: “They are few in number, but they have the right to live in peace, to choose their own way of life and to determine their own allegiance.”

I snatched some time away from the lodge to walk around the shoreline of Stanley, seeing the ducks and geese, watching dolphins and elephant seals bob through the kelp fields, and sitting and reflecting on the emotions of the week.

There were many emotional moments as we toured the battlefields, but three particular times stand out.

Also staying at Liberty Lodge were a brother and sister whose sibling had been killed in a Gazelle helicopter, caught by friendly fire on a mountainside during the conflict. We were invited to attend a memorial service on a beautiful, sunny day at the spot where he died. The service, attended by serving personnel and the station padre, was truly sad, but it seemed to bring some form of closure to the family.

Mick and I accompanied Kev to the Goose Green battlefield, visiting the grave of Colonel H. Jones VC from the Paras. But the moment I truly realised what Kev had endured was at Wireless Ridge, overlooking Stanley, the site of the last battle before the Argentinian surrender. Kev talked us through where he had been, picturing the night sky full of explosions and tracer fire. Distances were confusing, blurred by the memories of that hard night all those years ago. I knew the smell of cordite in fireworks or the scent of peat could affect him, but he’d always laughed it off. This felt different somehow, though Kev still joked. He stumbled over a rock, almost falling. “It would be just like me to die on the battlefield 42 years too late,” he said.

We were lucky enough to use the lodge’s vehicles and took the long drive out to Fitzroy. It seemed like an age to cover the 50 miles, but I knew that back in 1982, it could have taken all day. We found the cove where RFA Sir Galahad had been hit, and over 40 Welsh Guardsmen had lost their lives. Kev had been there. He had heard the bombs explode. He had helped the injured out of the water. I sat quietly by the memorial and could almost hear the clamour of war.

During our trips, we learned that some beaches had only been cleared of mines as recently as 2020, some 38 years after the conflict. Now, we were able to walk safely along the white sands and visit the penguin colonies. The seas were full of enormous flocks of cormorants and terns, and the sun was still out as we packed to leave.

It had been a real experience – a humbling and emotional roller-coaster ride. Thank you to my travelling companions, to all the Falklanders who made us feel so comfortable and welcome, and particularly to the staff and trustees of Liberty Lodge.