RIDING A CAN-AM TO THE END OF THE EARTH THE EPILOGUE DAY 2
Posted by Tony Down at 11/19/2007 5:03 PM and is filed under Building Vintage Motorcycles,The Falklands on a CAN AM 
RIDING A CAN-AM TO THE END OF THE EARTH THE EPILOGUE DAY 2
(Don't Cry for me Argentina)
A fairly primitive place that was the field hospital during the conflict, the Sheep Slaughterhouse,
had long been abandoned when it was discovered that all the sheep had lung worm and were
not fit for human consumption. A tour of this half demolished building was soon over and with all
meetings and discussions complete it was time to set off to my next port of call at the San Carlos
Memorial and then onto the night stop at Kelly’s garden where the Chinook helicopters were
based.
had long been abandoned when it was discovered that all the sheep had lung worm and were
not fit for human consumption. A tour of this half demolished building was soon over and with all
meetings and discussions complete it was time to set off to my next port of call at the San Carlos
Memorial and then onto the night stop at Kelly’s garden where the Chinook helicopters were
based.
About 50-60 miles or riding round the bay to the East side of San Carlos where our first marine
landings had been and then they walked all the way to Stanley (yumping).
I actually get to the far side without incident, but boy was it muddy and hard going?
I pause here to add a couple of photos that have just come to light (I knew they were here
somewhere). The Game is AIR DEFENCE, and here is the No1 tool of the day, the Mighty F4
Phantom equipped with 8 missiles, the 6 barrel Gatlin gun and a 200 mile Pulse Doppler radar.
Normally we would refuel from either Victor Tankers or the newer VC10’s or Lockheed Tristars.
In the Falklands, the runway could not take these giants and the faithful C130 Hercules was
converted to take over the role. So here we see a Falklands F4 refueling from the C130 and
imagine it without the hose if you are the bad guy and we are right behind you!
somewhere). The Game is AIR DEFENCE, and here is the No1 tool of the day, the Mighty F4
Phantom equipped with 8 missiles, the 6 barrel Gatlin gun and a 200 mile Pulse Doppler radar.
Normally we would refuel from either Victor Tankers or the newer VC10’s or Lockheed Tristars.
In the Falklands, the runway could not take these giants and the faithful C130 Hercules was
converted to take over the role. So here we see a Falklands F4 refueling from the C130 and
imagine it without the hose if you are the bad guy and we are right behind you!
Our next picture is of one of our uninvited friends from Argentina, inside our 200 mile zone and
somewhat reluctant to leave until we gave him the close aboard maneuver, followed by full
reheat from 30 feet ahead into a sudden pull-up.
Very close aboard and still pushing his luck.
Back to the main story and now as I bounce through all the muddy dips and hollows I come
into something close to civilization. Geese everywhere, of course, but a level strip of gravel,
a few houses, with white picket fences, a few animals and the British Flag flying high over the
Memorial. In due respect I park PE, and walk through the mown grass area and amongst the few
headstones of fallen colleagues. I had lost several close friends from HMS ARK ROYAL during the
conflict and was pleased that I could visit their memorial in person.
Respects having been paid I’m getting thirsty so complete the rest of the run into Kelly’s Garden
and at the intersection of a criss cross of tracks there is a road sign pointing the way to many
things that made me laugh amidst all this adversity. London 8053 miles>
Officers’ Mess> Lafonia train Spotters Club>
Follow the mud trail to the Officers’ Mess and cannot believe my eyes! I have no sooner stopped
and I’m taking my helmet off when a Corporal arrives in white monkey jacket, gold chevrons, and
immaculate blue pressed trousers. (The rest of the world down here is in motley camo kit)
“Good evening…. Will Sir be taking afternoon tea?”
So a quick wash and brush up and follow the sign to Ante-Room which I thought was a joke but
on pushing the door open I’m gob smacked to find it is just like a “real” officers’ mess, big leather
chairs, fully carpeted, roaring fire and newspapers on the table!!! As I warm the proverbial in front
of the fire I can’t help but think I’m a bit scruffy in my sweaty green outfit and stockinged feet.
The Cpl reappears with a silver tea service, complete with tea pot, hot water, sugar bowl and
tongs and fresh milk. While I make my first cup and sit by the fire he is back again with a plate of
toasted teacakes dripping with butter! REAL BUTTER, I haven’t seen butter in 3 months as we
have been working with some axel grease made by Castrol.
The teacakes are superb, as was the tea, but I did notice the inscription on the silver “King’s
Own Borderers” but elected to let it go without comment. The same Cpl returns and says he has
laid out some clean clothes for me and found a pair of slippers but he can’t guarantee the size.
After a long soak it felt really good to slip into some relaxing clean clothes no matter who they
belonged to.
The bar was hilarious and the stories these pirates were telling were quite unbelievable unless
you were there to see what they had “liberated”. A fantastic evening ensued ( what I can
remember of it) including a magnificent meal with salad bar, something else WE hadn’t seen in
3 months.
Back to the bar and more stories in answer to some obvious questions of "where did this and
where did that come from?" It would seem that many underslung loads had mysteriously
vanished as they had to be cut loose when engine malfunctions occurred, and then somehow
got washed ashore and the helicopter crews were lucky to be able to salvage them..... hence
the entire Regimental Silver of the King's Own Borderers and all the officers' mess furniture
en-route somewhere else..... PIRATES!
The following morning the Cpl wakes me with a cup of tea and brings in my uniform all washed
and pressed and even washed my Wellington boots and helmet! We may all have ideas about
“gays” in the military and at the time I don’t think we even knew the word, but on reflection if
he was, and I’m not saying either way it was a little like “Queer eye for the straight guy”
He then informs me that the helicopter Squadron has taken pity on me after all last nights fun
and thinks they should take me and my bike back to Stanley after breakfast there was a storm
coming in.
Laying in bed between nice crisp sheets and drinking a cup of tea it occurred to me that this
wasn’t such a bad idea after all and I kindly accepted their offer.
Squadron Leader Tony Down RAF
The Last of the Falkland Memoirs
I wonder what ever became of her "PE 1"
Don't forget the October articles if you haven't read them yet
Tony,
Love the stories of the Falklands and Mount (un)Pleasant certainly did not look like that last time I was there. I had trips in 1989 and 1991, I work for the Met Office and someone had obviously known of your exploits because they had banned anyone from going anywhere off road on bikes by the time I got there. The small "club" at MPA had some rather naff MZ roadbikes and a couple of old hacked PE Suzuki's. Somehow don't think yours was still there, these still had the lovely yellow paintwork. The Islands are an offroaders heaven and for any trials/enduro rider posted down there Combined forces bosses should have someting available.
love the Scottish stories as well, heard many similar from my father over the years John Moffat and many others.
Great site, i'll look in again
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