The Downing Street Years, 1979-1990

by Margaret Thatcher

  I was working in my room at the House of Commons on the evening of Tuesday 25 May when John Nott came in to say that the destroyer HMS Coventry had been attacked by a wave of Argentine aircraft. Six or more had repeatedly bombed her and she was sinking. She had, in fact, been one of the two warships on ‘picket duty’ outside the opening of Falkland Sound, providing early warning of air attack and an air defence screen for the supply ships unloading in San Carlos Water. She later capsized and sank. Nineteen members of her crew died in the attack. John had to appear on television within half an hour. Something of what had happened was already publicly known, although not the name of the ship. It was thought better not to reveal it until we had more details about the crew. Whether the decision was right or wrong I am still not sure: the effect of not announcing the name was that every navy family was full of anxiety. In fact, the details were announced by John in the House of Commons the next day.

  Later the same evening I had more bad news. I had gone into the Private Office to find out the latest about Coventry, but instead, the No. 10 duty clerk told me that the 18,000 ton Cunard container ship Atlantic Conveyor had been hit by an Exocet missile; that the ship was on fire and that orders had been given to abandon it. Atlantic Conveyor was loaded with vital supplies for our forces on the Falklands. Unlike the warships, she was unable to defend herself against missile attack by sending up chaff. Four of those on board were killed and the captain was drowned, though I was told later that he survived the explosion and fires, and had been seen alive in the water. Thankfully, though, the great majority were saved.

  I knew that the Atlantic Conveyor had been carrying nineteen more Harriers, sorely needed reinforcements. Had they still been on board? If so, would we be able to carry on? The ship was also carrying helicopters which were vital to the movement of troops and supplies in the land campaign. Their loss caused our land commanders many difficulties. Only one of the helicopters was saved. To add to our general dismay, there was also news, based on an Argentine claim, that HMS Invincible had been hit and damaged. And I knew that somewhere east of the Falklands was the QE2, carrying 3,000 troops. For me, this was one of the worst nights of the war.

  Early next morning I learnt that the news was not quite so bleak. I was told of the remarkable rescue of most members of the crews of Coventry and the Atlantic Conveyor. The nineteen Harriers had previously been flown onto Hermes and Invincible. Relief flooded over me at the news: we were not fatally wounded after all, though we had lost eight helicopters and 4,500 winter tents. Moreover, the news that Invincible had been hit was totally false.

  Stores were still being unloaded at San Carlos. Some landing and supply craft were attacked and hit and there were unexploded bombs, most of which were defused. Our hospital centre at San Carlos was also hit, but the doctors carried on.

  It was, though, a frustrating time for us in London. All of us were concerned that there appeared to be little movement by our troops out of the bridgehead. It took many days to unload the stores, equipment and munitions. The loss of the helicopters meant that all of the earlier plans had to be revised.

  There was another worry. Would the Argentine Navy, which had after all apparently been strongest in pressing for an invasion of our islands, really continue to skulk in Argentine ports or would they now come out to attack and disrupt our advance? Two British ships had been sunk in our territorial waters around the Falklands. Perhaps we should send our submarines to sink Argentine ships in theirs? But the Attorney-General, Michael Havers, would not have this. So our submarine commanders were left prowling up and down the Argentine twelve-mile limit.

  The trouble was that we knew that their ships might break out and we might not find them quickly enough to stop them. Again, it was the Argentine aircraft carrier, 25 de Mayo, which was the main threat. I had been told that if possible we needed to deal with their aircraft carrier before the landing, but for most of the time we had not been able to find it. We feared that it had been held in reserve to oppose the landing and that it might well appear on the Argentine national day — 25 May. Several weeks before the landing one of our submarines had found it in the middle of a bay. It was a fine point of international law to determine the limit of Argentine territorial waters: although the centre of the bay was more than twelve miles from the shore, it might be argued that the whole bay was within the limit. In the end we decided that the ship could be attacked, but by that time she had moved closer to the shore. The same issue arose regarding other Argentine vessels hugging territorial waters in the south. On this occasion Michael Havers and I had all the relevant charts laid out on the floor in the Parlour at Chequers and did the measurements ourselves. But the Argentinians were too careful and, unlike them, we were determined to stay within the constraints of international law.

  Somewhat to the dismay of the UN Secretary-General and Al Haig, we made it clear that having landed we were not now prepared to negotiate. We could no longer accept the idea of an interim administration or proposals for mutual withdrawal of Argentine and British troops. The Americans were again becoming worried. They had been under ferocious verbal attacks at a meeting of the OAS on 27 May. We were put under continual pressure from Washington to avoid the final military humiliation of Argentina, which they now seemed to see as inevitable. I wish I could have been as confident. I knew, as they could not, how many risks and dangers still faced us in the campaign to recapture the islands.

  This was amply demonstrated by the battle to retake Darwin and Goose Green. The Argentinians were well prepared and dug into strong defensive positions which had to be approached by our troops across the open ground of a narrow isthmus. They faced heavy enemy fire. As is well known, Colonel ‘H’ Jones, the commander of 2 Para, lost his life in securing the way forward for his troops. His second-in-command took over and eventually took the surrender. At one point a white flag was waved from the Argentine trenches, but when two of our soldiers advanced in response they were shot and killed. Finally, our commander sent two Argentine PoWs forward with a message to surrender, saying that they could have a parade if they liked but that they must lay down their arms. This proved acceptable. The Argentine officers harangued their men about the justice of their cause, but they surrendered all the same. The people of Goose Green, who had been imprisoned inside the community hall for three weeks, were now released. A famous battle had been won. Today there is a memorial to the Paras near Goose Green itself and a special memorial to ‘H’.

  The media had reported that our troops were about to take Goose Green the day before the attack. I had been furious when I learnt of this — as, I believe, had ‘H’. Too much talk was giving the Argentinians warning of what we intended, though the fault did not always lie with the media themselves but also with the media management at the MoD.

  On the same day that 2 Para were battling for Darwin and Goose Green I had a meeting with Cardinal Casaroli, the Pope’s Secretary of State. We were all very pleased that the Pope had not postponed his visit to Britain — the first ever papal visit here — in spite of the fact that we were at war with a predominantly Catholic country. We recognized the difficulties which a visit at this time might cause him, however, and decided that it would be best if none of the Cabinet met him personally. I had, of course, already talked to the Pope on an earlier occasion and admired his principle and courage. I explained to Cardinal Casaroli what we were fighting for: I said that war was a terrible evil, but there were worse things, including the extinction of all that one believed in. We could not allow aggression to succeed. Nor could we bargain away the freedom, justice and democracy which the Falkland Islanders had enjoyed for so long and simply hand them over to Argentina, where these things were unknown. We made no public comment at the time, but I hoped that something of this message might be transmitted to the Argentinians: for the Pope was to visit Argentina after leaving Britain.

  Unfortunately, the Americans now sought to revive diplomatic negotiation. Al Haig wanted to involve the Brazilians in a
settlement which (contrary to what he had earlier suggested) must, he claimed, come before the final defeat of the Argentine forces on the island. These proposals were really the wrong ones at very much the wrong time. We had already made it clear that unconditional Argentine withdrawal and the return of British administration were now our goals. But I knew that we could not afford to alienate the United States, particularly at this stage. We kept in contact with Mr Haig both about the question of how to provide for and repatriate Argentine prisoners of war and more generally about our plans for the long-term future of the islands.

  What would have been quite wrong was to snatch diplomatic defeat out of the jaws of military victory — as I had to tell President Reagan when he telephoned me late at night on Monday 31 May. It was not very satisfactory for either of us that I should not have had advance warning of what he was likely to say and as a result I was perhaps more forceful than friendly. The President had, it seems, again been speaking to the President of Brazil who shared his view that the best chance for peace was before the Argentinians suffered complete humiliation. As the UK now had the upper hand militarily, we should strike a deal. I could not accept this. I told him that we could not contemplate a cease-fire without Argentine withdrawal. Having lost ships and lives because for seven weeks the Argentinians refused to negotiate, we would not consider handing the islands over to a third party. I understood the President’s fears. But I asked him to put himself in my position. I was sure that he would have acted in the same way as I did if Alaska — part of his own country, inhabited by his own people — had been similarly threatened. Moreover, I agreed with an excellent television interview he had given in which he had said that if the aggressor were to win, some fifty other territories, affected by similar disputes, would be at risk. This conversation was a little painful at the time but it had a worthwhile effect. The Americans now clearly understood our position and intentions. I would have a further opportunity shortly to talk to President Reagan in person during the forthcoming G7 summit at Versailles.

  In the meantime, we had to deal delicately with a five-point peace plan which had been advanced by the UN Secretary-General. The pressure for a cease-fire sponsored by the UN Security Council was growing. On Wednesday 2 June after the Secretary-General had announced that he had given up his own efforts, Spain and Panama, on behalf of Argentina, sought to press to the vote an apparently innocuous Draft Resolution on a cease-fire which would have had exactly the effect we were determined to avoid. It was touch and go whether the Spanish would even now manage to obtain the necessary nine votes which would force us to veto the resolution. We ourselves lobbied as hard as possible. The vote was postponed until Friday.

  At noon that day I flew to Paris for the G7. My first and most important meeting was, of course, with President Reagan who was staying at the US Embassy. We talked alone, as he preferred it. I thanked him for the great help we had received from the United States. I asked him what the Americans could do to help repatriate the Argentine PoWs. I also requested that the American vote should support us at the Security Council.

  The mood at Versailles seemed very different from that which was now prevailing at the UN in New York. The heads of government were staying in the Petit Trianon. After dinner we had a long discussion about the Falklands and the response was generally sympathetic and helpful. Later the British delegation and I withdrew to the sitting-room which we had been allocated. We had been talking for about fifteen minutes when a message came through from the Foreign Office and Tony Parsons that a vote was about to be taken in the Security Council and that the Japanese were voting against us. As theirs was the ninth vote required for the resolution to pass this was particularly irritating. So much for the previous undertakings of cooperation. I tried hard to contact Mr Suzuki, the Japanese Prime Minister, to persuade him to reverse the decision and at least abstain. He could not possibly have gone to bed in such a short time. But I was told that he could not be reached.

  Attention was, in fact, somewhat diverted from our problems by the extraordinary behaviour of the US Ambassador to the United Nations, Mrs Kirkpatrick. Having cast her veto alongside ours, she announced only minutes later that if the vote could be taken again she would, on instructions just received, abstain. Ironically, this rather helped us by distracting media attention from our veto. However, that had not been the intention. Apparently, succumbing to pressure from the Latin American countries, Al Haig had telephoned her from Versailles telling her to withdraw her vote of support from us but she had not received the message in time. There was a still more embarrassing sequel to this event for the United States. Just before lunch in the Palace of Versailles, the television cameras were allowed in and an American journalist asked President Reagan what had lain behind the US confusion at the United Nations the previous evening. To my amazement, he said that he did not know anything about it. He had not been told. The journalist then turned to me. I had no intention of rubbing salt into a friend’s wounds, so all I said was that I did not give interviews over lunch.

  That same morning the Japanese Prime Minister gave me an extremely lame explanation of Japan’s vote in support of the resolution, claiming that he believed that it would lead to Argentine withdrawal. However, President Mitterrand’s summing up at his press conference after the conclusion of the G7 was excellent and totally supportive.

  Neither Tony Parsons nor I was particularly surprised that we had finally had to use our veto. In retrospect, we were very lucky — and it was a tribute also to Tony Parsons’s skill — that we had not had to veto such a resolution much earlier.

  By now, my thoughts were again on what was happening in the Falklands. Our troops had struck out against other Argentine positions. There had been no Argentine counter-attack. Major-General Moore had arrived to assume command of all land operations and the 5th Infantry Brigade (5 Brigade), reinforcing our troops on the islands, had landed on 1 June. The main problem was to transport enough equipment and ammunition forward in preparation for the final assault on the ring of mountains which protect Port Stanley.

  President Reagan arrived in Britain on Monday evening on an official visit and I met him at the airport. The next day he was due to speak to Members of both Houses of Parliament. But it is the terrible losses we suffered at Bluff Cove which are etched on my mind for that day. The landing ships, Sir Tristram and Sir Galahad, full of men, equipment and munitions, had been sent round to Bluff Cove and Fitzroy in preparation for the final assault on Port Stanley. The clouds cleared while the ships were still unloading the Rapier missiles which would protect them from air attack and the Argentinians scored hits on both. Sir Galahad had not discharged its troops and the result was great loss of life and many survivors were left with terrible burns. The Welsh Guards took the brunt of it. As on all these occasions, the natural reaction was ‘if only’ — above all, if only the men had been taken off and dispersed as soon as they arrived then nothing like this number of casualties would have been suffered. But the losses would have been even greater were it not for the heroism of the helicopter pilots. They hovered close to the burning oil slicks around the ship and used the draught from their rotors to blow life rafts full of survivors away from the inferno into which they were being drawn.

  Again, there were almost insuperable problems in releasing news of casualties. Rumours of very large numbers were spread by the Argentinians. Families were frantically worried. But we decided to hold up details of the numbers lost — although of course (as always) relatives were individually informed. We knew from intelligence that the Argentinians thought that our casualties were several times worse than they were and that they believed this would hold up our attack on Port Stanley. The attack on Mount Longdon, Two Sisters and Wireless Ridge was due to begin on Friday night. Surprise was vital.

  I hoped against hope that our worst losses were behind us. But early on the morning of Saturday 12 June the No. 10 duty clerk came up to the flat with a note. I all but seized it from him, expecting it to s
ay that the attack on the mountains around Port Stanley had begun. But the news was very different. I kept the note, which reads:

  HMS Glamorgan struck by suspected Exocet missile. Ship is in position 51/58 South. Large fire in vicinity of hangar and in gas turbine and gear room. Power still available. Ship making ten knots to the South.

  — MoD as yet have no details of casualties and wouldn’t expect them for several hours. They will keep us informed.

  Glamorgan had been bombarding the Argentine positions in Port Stanley and on the hills around before the forthcoming battle. She had in fact been hit by a land-based Exocet while on her way out of the area.

  How bitterly depressed I was. At moments like this I felt almost guilty at the comfort, protection and safety in No. 10 while there was so much danger and death in the South Atlantic. That day was the Trooping of the Colour for the Queen’s birthday. For the only time that I can remember the ceremony was marred by a downpour of rain. It was unpleasant for the Guards, but with the news so bad and the uncertainty so great, it seemed appropriate. I wore black, for I felt that there was much to mourn. John Nott arrived shortly before I was to take my place on the stand. He had no further news. But he thought he would have been told if the attack had not started. Afterwards, dripping wet, the guests, including Rex and Mrs Hunt, dried out before the fires in No. 10 as best we could.

  Shortly before 1 o’clock we heard that all our military objectives had been achieved. But there had been a stiff battle. Two Sisters, Mount Harriet and Mount Longdon had been secured. The plan had been to press on that night to take Mount Tumbledown, still closer to Port Stanley, but the troops were tired and more time was needed to bring up ammunition, so it was decided to wait. I went up to Northwood that afternoon to hear precisely what was happening. There was better news there about Glamorgan; her fires were under control and she was steaming at 20 knots.