History of England 1-6

As early as 1976 there had been negotiations between Britain and Argentina about the sovereignty of the islands. In early 1982, the Argentinian government formulated plans for a military solution, and the possibility of confrontation came closer when it was proposed to withdraw HMS Endurance from its hydrographic work in the vicinity – to the Argentinians, it appeared like the prelude to a more general withdrawal.

An Argentinian invasion fleet sailed on 28 March, with the instruction to protect the lives of the island population. Its presence became known to the British authorities by 2 April, and five days later the first stage of the ‘task force’ was under way. Diplomatic initiatives, led principally by the Americans, now became vital. It was not militarily or financially feasible, the British Foreign Office suggested – it would be better to back down or to reach an accommodation. But Thatcher would have none of it: ‘They wanted us to negotiate. You can’t negotiate away an invasion! You can’t negotiate away that the freedom of your people has been taken … by a cruel dictator. You’ve got to stand up and you’ve got to have the spine to do it!’

For their part, the British people confined their protests to hurling cans of corned beef at the windows of the Argentine embassy, while a BBC broadcaster conveyed something of the spirit of the time as he signed off with ‘Let’s just hope we win,’ his tone at once gently patriotic and grimly wistful. The BBC was not always a friend to Thatcher, but here, perhaps for the last time, she found in it an ally.

The United Kingdom was not quite the lone wolf of journalistic imagination. American ‘Sidewinders’ proved crucial in the race for air supremacy, for example, as did the collaboration of France in sharing intelligence. Yet the odds were heavily against her. After several failed missions, the British military operation began on 1 May, when a ‘total exclusion zone’ had been imposed around the islands. One of the principal objects of attack was ARA General Belgrano, an Argentinian light cruiser that posed a serious threat to the British. A submarine was dispatched and the Belgrano sank, with the loss of more than 300 lives. The furore was immeasurably increased when it was discovered that it had been sailing away from the ‘total exclusion zone’. Retaliation was swift: HMS Sheffield was attacked by an Exocet missile, and Argentinian anti-aircraft batteries injured three Harriers. More mediation followed under the guidance of the Peruvians, but it came to nothing. In Britain, Tony Benn claimed that not only had the Belgrano been torpedoed, but with it any chance of a settlement. He cannot have known that Galtieri could afford to climb down no more than could Thatcher. His regime, too, was at stake.

There seemed little option but to mount an armed invasion against the islands, with all the risks that the intervention implied. The landing itself was deemed to be a success. There was some confusion in the Argentinian High Command, which meant that their attacks on the British were still sporadic. But Argentinian naval intelligence was nevertheless effective and a container ship, the SS Atlantic Conveyor, went down, as did six Wessex, one Lynx and three Chinook helicopters. The reaction in Britain was one of shock and incredulity. Could the nightmare materialize, and the power of Britain be threatened? Many believed in any case that Britain had become restless, irresolute and essentially weak. Could this be an apocalypse that might destroy the reputation of the nation? For the prime minister it was an ordeal by fire that could only have one conclusion. The national mood, if not exactly summoned by drums, was sounding a fiercer note.

The Battle of Goose Green was a British success, and the British moved on to Stanley with high hopes. The final assault was on 13 June, and the Argentine forces signalled their surrender on 15 June. It was a victory with many difficulties along the way and largely dependent on chance. A different season of the year, a different set of political circumstances or more reliable Argentine bombs, and all could have changed. Nonetheless, it could be claimed that English gallantry was still alive. One man to receive the Victoria Cross posthumously was Colonel ‘H’ Jones who, holed up by a long line of Argentine machine-gunners, roared to his men, ‘Come on, A Company, get your skirts off!’ and rushed out to take the enemy position, alone and in the teeth of their fire. His death gave heart to his men and dismayed the Argentines, who quickly surrendered. But the war had shown other sides to the nation, as well as to Thatcher herself. She wrote letters of condolence to the families of every British soldier killed, yet was angry to hear the Archbishop of Canterbury mentioning the Argentine bereaved as proper subjects for prayer. Her powers of sympathy were often stunted by a lack of imagination.