14 June - What did you do in the war Grandad?
There is nothing quite like an anniversary to make me feel old. Not much more than a week ago it was
watching the Coronation on a tiny telly - back then you could actually buy a magnifying glass
to put in front of the cathode ray tube - but today Is the 40th anniversary of
the successful reclamation of the Falkland Islands.
I remember that much better.
At
the time I was doing a job that no one else wanted, goodness knows why, it was the most interesting job I ever did. Keeping
the most primitive of the International telephone circuits up and running.
London was the international communications hub, thanks partly to geography, in those days.
As I used to describe it at the time, every country from India downwards was ‘mine’.
There was no automation to speak of in India, certainly nothing with
international connections - and now, such is the calibre of British politicians, they have a bigger economy than the UK!
One of my routes was to the Falklands, it was the last destination with no cable or
satellite connection and was connected by a High Frequency radio service. The only other HF circuit
operating by the end of the 1970s had been to Kabul but the brilliant management for which British
Telecom (as it was known at the time) was renowned decided to close that down
the day before the American Ambassador to Afghanistan was assassinated.
Very clever, I had to go cap in hand to Paris to beg a circuit from them. Really embarrassing.
Anyway, where was I?
There was not much of a demand for calls to the Falklands and I kept it
operational for only two two hour sessions a day. The times had to be chosen
carefully because sun spot activity rendered transmission uncommercial for a lot
of the time. In the early part of 1982 the demand showed an upturn so the hours
were stretched a bit, I never thought to ask why. Eventually I increased the
hours to 24/7 and put a monitor on the line to stop charging the customer when
transmission became unviable. No one reported what was being spoken about and it
would have been an offence to relay a private conversation anyway.
Then on 2nd April as I left the telephone exchange the evening newspapers told
me what was going on. The link to Port Stanley went dead next day and the Argentines
redirected the island’s aerial and were no longer communicating with London. More
specifically the receiving station in Rugby.
I asked Jennifer, a young Spanish speaking telephone operator from Woking - I
only know that because she caught the same train into Waterloo as me in the
morning - to sit on the frequency and report what was going on.
Nothing very interesting, mainly government officials discussing domestic
arrangements for taking over the islands. New designs for postage stamps and coinage etc.
When Mrs. Thatcher
ordered a naval Task Force to the islands I took my young children to Portsmouth to
witness the historic event. I was living only an hour’s drive away in Aldershot at the time.
It must have been the afternoon of 30th April (thanks to Wikepedia) that my
office phone rang and someone from the Ministry of Defence asked, “Can you cut
off the Ascension Islands?” If I asked why, there was no answer but I pulled the
appropriate plug. Ascension’s only telephone route was to London.
On my way home I made a quick diversion to my father’s house. “Dad (an MOD
engineer who had worked on the Vulcan’s engines), there is going to be a Vulcan raid tonight. There is only one obvious
reason for isolating the Ascension Islands.”
Sure enough the runway at Port Stanley was bombed overnight.
Next day the MOD man was back. “You can restore the Ascension service now.”
Before he had a chance to answer my question, “are you going to do that again?”, I told him
that I had Spanish nationals working the circuits to Rio and their loyalties
were not with the UK. He got the point and the Ascension circuit remained silent until June.
Late one evening when walking to Waterloo station alongside my night manager Chris, from Malden if I
remember correctly, a telephonist charged over Blackfriars Bridge shouting “The Argies want to speak
to you.” My name was in BT’s book of useful international contacts and I soon
found myself speaking to the Cable & Wireless manager on the island. We agreed
to start normal telephone services the next day on a one call for them and one
call for us basis which was perfectly normal on a difficult high demand route.
Things did not immediately go well. In the traditional British way I had compiled a waiting
list of people who had tried to book a call; first come first served. Most of
them turned out to be journalists which upset the occupying forces big
time. From then onwards the service became Falklands to UK only.
Occasionally a particularly urgent call would end up with No Reply but a call
to the nearest BBC local radio station and appropriate words from the disc
jockey usually got people scurrying back home to the phone.
On 12th October there was a Victory Parade in London and I got to meet the Cable & Wireless manager with whom I had been
liaising, Maggie had invited him. He told me that every
time he spoke to me a machine gun barrel was sticking into his back.
The HF radio link did not survive a great deal longer. A satellite dish was quickly put in place.
Note: For knowledgeable pedants, Photo 1 is of the
switchboard that handled Afghanistan, Photo 2 is for the Falklands.