Chapter 3

I suppose this as good as place as any to introduce the man who became my greatest friend during my service career, and even more importantly, in civilian life.
I first met Harry Ledbetter, or 2nd Lieutenant Ledbetter as he then was, when we both joined 3 RGJ. He had just graduated from Sandhurst and I had just finished at The Junior Leaders Battalion. He had just turned 21 and I was 3 weeks past my 17th birthday, so it would have been about the middle of July 1981. Harry was a stocky bloke, with a ready smile and a mop of blond hair, not unlike that Boris Johnston fellow, although Harry was as tough as old boots and could have flattened Boris with one hand tied behind his back.

As we were the latest to join the battalion we found ourselves on the same induction courses; signals, first aid, etc. We both volunteered for parachute training, and both got our wings and red berets on the same day. We celebrated at a local pub together, although legally I wasn't old enough to drink. We were an odd couple; he was about 5ft 8ins and built like a bull; I was just over 6ft, and as skinny as a rake. I filled out as I got older, but I've never been much heavier than 15 stone. Harry had been educated at Eton College and I had attended Plaistow Comprehensive. He was posh and I was rough. His accent was upper class Oxbridge, and mine was low class Cockney/Estuary English. On the face of it we had nothing in common, but there was always a strand of friendship between us, even before The Falklands.

I was with Harry on Mt. Longdon; he was second in command (2i/c) of the Green Jackets attached to 3 Para, and he was the person who first came across me, still in deep shock, after I had bayoneted the Argie.
'Well done Dewey. Now let's push on'.
His words, and the clap on my back, were enough to shake me out of the state of frozen horror that I was in. If that wasn't enough to bind us together then what happened the night after the battle for Mt. Longdon sealed it, so that we became as close as brothers, never mind the difference in rank.

3 Para had to advance to the next Argie held mountain of Wireless Ridge. After the fight on Longdon we had a greater respect for the Argentinian troops, who were mainly regular Marines, and as good as most of our units. It was decided to do a reconnaissance (recce) to the rear of Wireless Ridge, to determine what routes any Argie reinforcements would use to approach the position. This would enable our artillery and air support to interdict any reinforcements, before they could help their mates up on the ridge. Harry was in charge of a six man patrol whose task it was to check on the routes in the rear nearest to Port Stanley, which meant our patrol had the furthest to travel, well behind the Argie lines.

We carried out the recce, discovering several likely routes that reinforcements could take, and Harry put the map grid references into his notebook. We were not carrying a radio; too far from base for our transmissions to be picked up by our side, but close enough to the Argies for them to pick us up. The route we took back to base was different to which we had used going out, in case we had been spotted and an ambush set for our return. Our homeward route took us near to an Argie position, about 300 metres on our left. We came across a track, and although it was heading in the direction we intended going, Harry led us across it, into undulating ground to the north. As he stepped onto the track he set off a trip flare, and an associated claymore mine.

If we had been travelling along the track it would have wiped out the lot of us; as it was only poor old Harry got caught in the blast, shrapnel tearing into his leg. We had all hit the ground when the flare went up, and as the light dimmed I crawled over to see how badly Harry had been wounded. He was losing a fair amount of blood and I reckoned an artery had been damaged. I put a tourniquet around his upper leg, slapped a shell dressing over his wound and gave him a shot of morphine. We had to move from our position, as it was certain the Argies would come to investigate the flare. We picked Harry up and struggled to carry him another 500 metres further north of the track, to a rocky outcrop with some sort of cover.

There was no way we would be able to carry Harry the distance back to our base, so I volunteered to stay and see to his wounds while the rest of the patrol made it back. I was the only combat trained medic in the party so in fact it was my duty to stay with Harry. Hopefully a chopper would be sent, or failing that a patrol large enough to be able to convey Harry safely back to the regimental aid post. Spelky Wood was the corporal in charge, and as he led the patrol off he said. "Hang in there Dewey; we'll be as quick as we can. Take care, you old bugger."
This last piece of insubordination was directed at Harry, who grinned weakly and replied. "Take care, you old bugger, Sir!" He handed over his notebook to Spelky. "See that this gets to HQ, there's a good chap."