HMS Sheffield Is Hit.

On the evening of 4th May 1982, we were all trying to relax, write a letter, read a book, appearing calm and happy with our lot, when our Troop Commander came down the stairs into our mess deck and shouted for attention. We could tell by his expression that he didn’t have good news. I can’t remember his exact words, but he told us that HMS Sheffield had been hit by an exocet missile and had been destroyed. There were a few moments of stony silence, just the humming of the ships engines as the full impact of what we had just heard sank in. Here we were on a flat-bottomed troop ship defended by obsolete bofors anti-aircraft guns. What chance would we have of defending ourselves when a multi million pound destroyer had been taken out? The silence turned to anger. The perfect antidote to fear, the macho bravado shown by groups of young men when they’re about to be involved in a scrap.

The Sheffield had added impact for me as she was built in my hometown Barrow. I vowed then and there to take revenge for her. Whilst she was under construction a welder was killed in a gas explosion. Folk said, after this, that the ship would have no luck.

From this point on, I think everybody did every task with an added purpose. We were now at war. I wanted to fight, I wanted to kill the enemy. I hated all Argentineans. I’d teach the Argie bastards to sink the shiny Sheff’.

From a purely military point of view, the loss of a ship was guaranteed to get red, white and blue blood pulsing through our veins. As Maggie had said, ‘defeat, the possibility does not exist.’ I, like the rest of the lads, were willing to defend our honour to the death. Obviously, the sinking of the Belgrano had the same effect on some of the Argentine forces, noticeably, their Air Force.



© Mack (RG) The thoughts of a Falklands War Veteran.