The exceptional, emotive, important and well documented South Atlantic Falklands War 1982 “Double Aerial Kill” Rapier Missile System Operator and Northern Ireland pair with the an outstanding archive of original ephemera, as awarded to Gunner A.A. McNally, Royal Artillery. From Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria, he was a gifted boxer, and won the Junior Lightweight Boxing title. He then served with distinction in the Falklands as a member of 32 Alpha, “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery, 12th Air Defence Regiment, which was credited with three Argentinian aircraft downed, two, a Sky Hawk and a Mirage, being by McNally in his role as operator defending the fleet at San Carlos Water. It was however on 8 June 1982 at Fitzroy overlooking Bluff Cove that on pressing fire his missile suffered a malfunction and did not fire when he was tracking the leading aircraft of the four which were making their run towards the RFA Sir Galahad. This vessel was then struck and some 43 crew and soldiers were killed, something he never forgave himself for despite it not being his fault. Having left the army in 1983, he was considering becoming a mercenary when he then re-enlisted into 1986, and saw back to back tours through into 1988 in Northern Ireland, the first as a volunteer with 74 Battery, 32 Heavy Regiment RA, and the second with 12 Regiment RA. He was also a member of the Territorial Army with the King’s Own Royal Border Regiment. Having suffered for years as a result of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, P.T.S.D., owing to his experiences in the Falklands War, of which his flash backs led him to turn to alcohol and violence in some cases, he would be published in a number of newspaper articles concerning his battles with his health, and would go on to write two books on his military service, and his battles with P.T.S.D. ‘Cloudpuncher - A young gunner’s struggle with a hidden enemy’, in 2000, and ‘Watching Men Burn a soldier’s story. The Falklands War… and what came next’, in 2007. In addition during the late 1990’s and early 2000’s he sued the Ministry of Defence for their inability to process soldiers who had been effected by their experiences of war, and in July 2000 as a ‘political protest’ he sent his medals back to the Army Medal Office, through he would request them to be retuned to him later that same year. He had sent them in ‘in protest at the MOD’s uncaring attitudes toward ex-servicemen suffering from PTSD. He appeared in the short film ’Thousand Yard Stare’ when it was made by the BBC.
Pair: South Atlantic Medal 1982 with Rosette; (24484619 GNR A A MC. NALLY RA); Campaign Service Medal 1962, 1 Clasp: Northern Ireland; (24484619 GNR A A MC.NALLY RA), mounted court style as worn.
Condition: first with what appears to be the number ‘3’ stamped some way in front of the service number, this an error at the time of naming otherwise correct as issued, otherwise Good Very Fine.
Together with the following quantity of original documentation and ephemera:
Recipient’s book ‘Cloudpuncher - A young gunner’s struggle with a hidden enemy.’ As written by Air Defence Gunner Tony McNally. Paperback first edition, published 2000. 192 pages, containing a number of images. The opening page inscribed and signed by the recipient.
Recipient’s book ‘Watching Men Burn a soldier’s story. The Falklands War… and what came next.’ As written by Tony McNally with a foreword by Simon Weston. Paperback first edition, published 2007.
An extremely rare surviving relic of the Falklands War, this being a slightly water damaged / stained Department of Trade and Industry Inflatable Liferaft Log Book No.D.02675 as issued through RFD-GQ Limited of Goldalming, Surrey, this being the firm who produced the liferaft and were tasked with checking and serving it. Full specifications of the liferaft are given, it having been serviced in March 1974 in which month it was supplied. This is inserted into a plastic wallet, of the typed used to protect maps or rations from the elements, and inscribed on the outside in black felt tip pen: ‘R.F.A. Sir Galahad.’
A Vietnam War era United States helmet, as supplied to the Argentinian forces, and used by then and then captured by McNally whilst her was on service during the Falklands War in 1982. The steel helmet comes with its cloth cover fitted with holes to facilitate the insertion of camouflage if required. The cover is inscribed in ink: ‘McNally 619’ for the last three digits of his service record.
Personal Medical Record Booklet, as issued to Anthony McNally, to include his vaccination certificate for cholera, as issued on 2 April 1982 just prior to his departing for the Falklands, and a similar one for yellow fever, this issued in September 1978.
Photograph of the recipient on duty in Northern Ireland when manning a Vehicle Check Point, armed and standing next to an R.U.C. Hotspur Landrover. Circa 1980’s.
Territorial Army Certificate of Discharge issued in the name of Lance Corporal A.A. McNally, Kings Own Border Regiment, dated 9 June 1986.
Territorial Army (TA) and Reservist Instruction Book Personal Documentation, issued to McNally on 14 December 1992.
Photocopy of a newspaper cutting from 1982 titled ‘Tony brought down two enemy planes.’ With an image of him.
Two page photocopy of an article written by his former Falkland’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel G.F.W. Smith, M.B.E., R.A., Battery Commander of “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery.
A full photocopy of the unit War Diary for “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery during its participation as a part of Operation Corporate in the Falklands War, some 60 pages.
Also a photocopy of someones personal diary from their service with “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery as part of Operation Corporate in the Falklands War. The writer is unidentified, but quite possibly written by McNally, who may well have retained the original.
A photocopied nominal roll for all men in “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery during its participation as a part of Operation Corporate in the Falklands War.
2 x photographic slides relating to his service, possibly Northern Ireland, with one showing a Browning handgun nearly laid out.
The Court Papers for McNally’s fight for compensation from the Ministry of Defence for the effects of the P.T.S.D. he suffered from his time in the Falklands War, as originally compiled in October 1995 and brought before the High Court of Justice Queen’s Bench Division at Birkenhead District Registry Court in 1997 and concluded in 2002. Some 200 odd pages.
An old VHF Video Casette, privately recorded by McNally, the label titled ‘Stress’.
Handwritten note concerning McNally’s medals. Stating they received back by the Army Medal Office on 20 July 2000, and put into the ‘Political drawer’ having been sent back in protest, and that the recipient than ‘phoned a wrote asking for medals back 15 November 2000’.
National Ex-Services Association Newspaper for November/December 2001, page 3 carrying an article written by McNally and detailing his suffering from P.T.S.D.
The Guardian newspaper G2 supplement of 25 February 2002 for ‘The Falklands War. Twenty years on. A special issue.’ Pages 8-9 carry interviews with survivors, titled: ’Never in 1,000 years will you persuade me it was worth it. Veterans and mothers who lost sons recall the war that changed their lives.’ McNally is one of those interviewed, with an image of him in 2002.
A circa 1990’s colour printed image of a tracked Rapier missile launching vehicle. This being the type used by “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery, 12th Air Defence Regiment, Royal Artillery, during the First Gulf War, and possibly sent in relation to a British Forces Mail “Bluey” that was received by McNally from a member of this unit to whom he had written, Warrant Officer 2nd Class and Battery Sergeant Major S.M. Wright. This writer details his ongoing service during the war in Iraq, dated 8 March 1991.
Anthony McNally, known as Tony, was born on 11 July 1962 in Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria, and lived in Dalton-in-Furness. Educated at Dowdales Comprehensive School, he was a member of the Army Cadets affiliated to his local regiment, the King’s Own Royal Border Regiment. After flirting with the military he decided to enlist into the British Army at Carlisle on 14 August 1978, joining as a Gunner (No.24484619) the Royal Artillery, being sent to Gamecock Barracks in Warwickshire where he underwent 12 months of training. He would later recalled in his book ‘Cloudpuncher’ that ‘the consensus of opinion was that we were going to have a war with the Warsaw Pact. Funny how they ended up speaking with Spanish accents and flying American and French aircraft.’
McNally was initially sent to Larkhill to joined the 2nd Field Regiment that was equipped with the 105 mm gun. He saw service with “L” Nery Battery. In October 1979 he was posted to West Germany, and having learnt to box whilst attending the Junior Leader’s Course, then won the Junior Lightweight Boxing title. He also transferred to “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery, 12th Air Defence Regiment, and trained to operate the Rapier missile system.
It was whilst he was Germany that he was first shot at. A fan of punk music, he would sneak out of camp in nearby Dortmund to attend that music scene amongst other activities. Having had the bright idea to steel a car and drive it back to London, he and a comrade were observed by the German Police who opened fire after he failed to stop. Two bullets passed by his head. A German Shepherd police dog brought his flight to an end and he spent a little time in the cells and was also confined to barracks. Despite this he continued his activities as a part-time anarchist.
Having been on exercise in Denmark. McNally eventually returned home and was about to go on Easter leave when the Argentine invasion of the Falkland Islands occurred on 2 April 1982. ‘Everybody was totally hacked off with life at first, with leave being cancelled, then once we had found out what the crack was, some Argentinians had invaded an island off the coast of Scotland. Well, the Falklands sounds like the Shetlands doesn’t it? We all got excited about the thought of going up there and giving the cheeky bastards a good kicking.’ His battery was ready for active service by 1800 hours on 3 April, ‘we were ready do go and kick some Argie arses.’ That night the battery travelled to Portsmouth.
McNally and the men of “T” (Shah Sujah’s Troop) Air Defence Battery travelled down to the Falklands aboard the R.F.A. Sir Geraint having been assigned to the command of 3 Commando Brigade, they travelled alongside 79 Battery of 29 Commando Regiment R.A. ‘We were known by the cabbage heads as ‘“crap heads”.’ He was part of the Task Force which sailed in 6 April. The Rapier battery consisted of 12 fire units, each manned by seven men - a Sergeant, Bombardier, Lance Bombardier and four Gunners.
‘We had steamed 4,260 nautical miles and were looking forward to stopping at the half-way point of the Ascension Islands. This is British and is 1,200 miles from the west coast of Africa, 4,250 miles from the UK and 3,800 miles from Port Stanley. Having never heard of the place before, I was conjuring up images of white sands and palm trees. The local female natives waiting to greet us with garlands of flowers and coconuts. We were to be sadly disappointed. The high point of our visit, was standing on deck watching the little pirhana-like fish eating our crap. We took it in turns, “You go for a dump, and i’ll watch this time.” Well. the average soldier would find amusement on the inside of a ping-pong ball.’
On 2 May the Royal Navy submarine Conqueror sank the Argentine cruiser Belgrano. Then on 4 May the Argentinian’s sank the destroyer Sheffield with an Exocet missile. As McNally would recall: ‘We were now at war. I wanted to fight. I wanted to kill the enemy. I hated all Argentinians. I’d teach the Argie bastards to sink the shiny Sheff’’. As the force neared San Carlos Water ‘I collected my five magazines of rifle ammo, two grenades, four rounds for the Charlie G anti-tank weapon, first field dressing, morphine, ancillary equipment for the Rapier, a bone-dome (helmet).’
McNally’s landing in the Falkland Islands is detailed in the aptly titled chapter: ‘Wakey Wakey, Rise and Shine, Let’s go stuff the Argentine.’ Whilst awaiting an airlift ashore ‘I was brought back to reality when a Pucara propellor-driven fighter attacked our ships in the sound. I head the noise of machine-gun fire, spun round, and was shocked. The sun was glinting off the aeroplane as it fired salvoes of rockets at HMS Argonaut, just missing, before having a crack at the large white bulk of the Canberra. Luckily it missed again. The pilot probably couldn’t believe the huge armada in front of him. He was engaged by some fifty GPMGs lashed to the Canberra’s rails and Blowpipe missiles fired from her decks. The brave lone pilot was eventually shot down, a martyr of the Argentine, by a 5.5” shell fired from one of our frigates.’
Having been transported ashore by Sea King, they were still not operational when the first air attacks came in. ‘We settled into our war-time routine that wouldn’t change until the end of the conflict. Throughout all the daylight hours one man would be sat in the seat of the tracker, alongside him would be another, (usually an NCO) for tactical control purposes. The rest of the detachment would be unloading the next missiles to be fired, preparing a meal and the continuous brews - a God-send when you’ve been sat in the same position for hours, the wind gusting and the cold and rain making your body cold and numb. The jerry can supplying the genny had to be regularly checked for petrol, the radio had to be manned and those not needed were allowed to rest before being rotated to and from the tracker seat. Once on the ground I soon lost all track of what day it was… We had heavy air attacks for about five days until large Argentine losses meant they simply rank out of planes. I can’t remember when it was that we had our first kill. It could have been day two. All I know is that the Argies were really trying to hammer the ships in the sound. There were so many targets for them to choose.’
‘I am now inside my own world. Nobody else exists except me and the enemy aircraft. I hear the crescendo as the guns on the ships open up. Every man, Jack, and his dog is letting loose with everything from GPMGs to 9 mm pistols to hardtack biscuits, then the screech of low-flying jet engines. My eyes are pressed firmly into the optics, Bob is screaming, ”Targets” and slews the tracker head in the direction of the attacking jets. “Target tracking,” I shout. Which one? It’s strange, like in slow motion. There’s Sky Hawks and Mirages with big delta wings, hard to see against the landscape. “In cover” (I can fire). I press the fire button, the noise of the missile leaving the beam seems louder than anything else. Another missile goes off target. ‘A fucking rogue, bastard.’ Fire again. Seems OK. Keep the cross-hairs on target. Forget the missile flare. Bob’s twatting me on the helmet shouting, “Target, target.” Fuck off Bob, I can’t see.” My missile appears in my sight, bang, large ball of flame, direct kit. Sky Hawk. The sea is being peppered with rockets and bombs, tracer is filling the sky like a million angry bees shook from a nest. “End of engagement, search cancel, fresh target tracking, in cover firing.” Nothing happens. “Shit, I’ve run out of missiles.” Me and Bob run down to the launcher to reload.
It’s usually a two-man lift per missile in peace-time and you should take your time, don’t trap someone’s fingers. I open a missile container, it hisses as the air’s let in and a set smell enters my nostrils. We put two missiles on each, just pick them up and slot them on as if they are made of paper, connect the firing lines and then leg it back to the tracker. I can see missiles being fired from our ships and other T Battery detachments firing from the hillsides. A second wave of enemy planes roars in and attacks the ships in the sound. HMS Fearless is nearly hit. “Target tracking, in cover, firing.” Another missile streaks off the beam before spinning out of control and exploding into the ground. “Search cancel, tracking, in cover, firing.” It’s a good missile. I have my sights lined up on the Mirage. My finger and thumb gently nudging the joystick, trying to keep the cross-hairs in the centre of the fuselage. He swoops in and the rolls to the left showing me his belly, puts it into top gear and puts his foot down on the after-burners heading for the open sea whilst trying to dodge the wall of tracer all around him. “Come on.” I can see the flare of the missile coming into focus. “The bastard’s getting away.” I’m tracking his engines, hit. “Yes!” The missile was nearly at the end of its life when it stuck the rear of the jet. I just saw the tail fin explode and separate before it went from view behind the hills. One of our other crews along the valley watched it plummet into the ocean. Sadly, there was no report of a pilot bailing out.
You haven’t got time to think about the events that have just occurred. My adrenalin was too high to be chuffed to fuck about hitting the target and I continued with my drill of looking for more aircraft. There’s no back-slapping or celebrations, it’s a huge part of your young life but a small episode of the war going on around you. Just another day at the office.’
The air raids would less become less frequent as the end of May 1982 arrived. However in early June things started to heat up again. It was on 8 June 1982 that R.F.A Sir Galahad was hit. By this time, 32 Alpha, the name for McNally’s Rapier section, had been moved forward to Fitzroy, and was overlooking Bluff Cove. It was the only air defence unit in the area, and after considerable action at San Carlos Water, was not suffering from the strain of conflict, and the Rapier missile system was regularly malfunctioning. They set up on the soggy ground of Fitzroy having been helicoptered into position, and were now alongside the men of 2 Para. McNally’s section set up that same morning of 8 June, and looked through optics as both the RFA Sir Tristram and the RFA Sir Galahad lying motionless in the cove.
‘I can recall how I felt on that day and even before the air attack. I was very frightened, the whole day had been too quiet and uneventful, even the Paras were taking it easy. 32 Alpha was the only real air defence cover and ominously our equipment was nowhere near 100%, yet we were still sent, one more piece of the fucked-up jigsaw at Fitzroy. Usually we’d receive ‘Air Raid Warning Red’ on the radio, however, on this occasion, I do not recall being given this warning. By the time the Hooray Henries had decided to make a decision it was too late. Probably, an Argentine spotter had seen the two ships at anchor from a vantage point high in the hills. Obviously, the Argentine Air Force didn’t have a game of polo before deciding to launch an attack. Even before the first orders were given to prepare to go ashore, two Mirage and two Sky Hawks made their way at low level to the large grey sitting ducks. Even though your sixth sense tells you to expect something, the air attack came and went in the blink of an eye. I was tracking around the valleys and then out to sea when my heart missed a beat. I could clearly see a Sky Hawk heading right for the ships. At this point I could not hear the noise of the jet engines.
“Target, tracking, in cover.” I could now make out other aircraft but concentrated on the lead jet. Bob screamed, “Engage.”
“Firing,” I pressed the fire button with my left hand index finger only to hear a woodpecker tapping on a tree in my bonedome. I could do nothing but watch the carnage in front of me, like i was at the cinema watching a war film. The screeching high pitched noise of jet engines hit my ear drums. Exploding missiles shattered the calm sunny day. The Paras were stood firing their GPMGs and rifles into the air uncomfortably close to us. I remember watching Bob standing up by the tractor as tracer rounds surrounded him. The Paras were screaming and shouting obscenities at us. “Fucking crap hat bastards, why didn’t you fire your fucking missiles?”
How the fuck do you explain to the irate thick bastards that a fuse has blown and it wasn’t our fault. The Paras and the Scots Guards made their way down to the water-line to help with casualties. We couldn’t go as we had to stay with our missiles and, anyway. I didn’t want to go as I felt ashamed of being a Rapier operator. For many years I foolishly blamed myself for their deaths and wished that I had been killed as well. Unbelievably, as I sat in a state of shock watching the Galahad burn and explode, and seeing horrifically injured Guardsmen being brought ashore, someone struck a mess tin of food on my knee. I couldn’t eat. I was shit scared. I was convinced that we were going to die, all seemed lost, we couldn’t even defend ourselves as the kit was fucked. I just wanted to get out of the seat and into a trench and bury my head in the mud. I shouted to Ricky, the NIG of the sub, “Ricky, do us a favour, I’m getting cramp in my leg and I want to go and eat my scoff. Take over, will you?”
Ricky didn’t mind too much. He didn’t know he was about to shoot down his first aircraft. I jumped out, Ricky jumped in, and I headed for the nearest trench, put my tin lid on and rammed my scoff down my throat. I’d just shovelled the first lump of stew into my mouth when I heard the noise of death, a jet engine, where the fuck is it? The noise seemed to be coming from the sea. Wrong. It was right behind us. It flew directly above us. I could clearly read the words ‘Armada’ on the white fuselage and see the pilot’s helmet. This oddly enough is one of the flash-backs I have, except it’s different, like a huge helmet with the pilot grinning at me as he fires his missiles and cannons. Bob spun the tracker head around after the receding jet, it banked to the left, went towards the sea then turned back towards us. He must have seen us and decided to come back and finish us off. We were all firing our rifles at it, just token defence, we were sitting ducks just waiting to be incinerated when suddenly, whoosh, our Rapier missile streaked off the beam towards the Sky Hawk. The missile veered left and right looking unstable, then it gathered itself and went in true on course. “Get the bastard, Ricky.” The pilot put his foot on the brake, banked to the right to evade the missile, too slow Jose, fuck off, bang, direct hit. He was hit plum-centre and crashed into the mountainside in a huge fireball. We think that he must have been carrying napalm judging by the explosion. God job the bastard didn’t drop it on his first run. At least this action saved us a bit of face and even the Paras must have appreciated it as they stopped shouting at us.
Well, it’s no use crying over burnt Guardsmen, and we didn’t. I waited about ten years before I shed a tear for them. My mind shut down my emotions for me. I felt numb, in a state of shock, the relief of still being alive overcomes everything. For a few minutes I didn’t feel cold, hungry, lonely, scared, tired, pissed off, it’s like being immortal for a while, then it’s state normal. ‘I’m bastard fucking freezing, who’s shite, the Falklands are shite, this war’s shite’, shouting and swearing masking fear. It started to snow. Fucking snow in June. We had something else to grip about, the carnage of the day was temporarily forgotten…’
Some 48 crew and soldiers aboard Sir Galahad lost their lives on 8 June 1982, the majority being from the Welsh Guards. Guardsman Simon Weston was among the survivors of the attack on Sir Galahad. He suffered 46% burns and his story has been widely reported in television and newspaper coverage. it was Simon Weston who would later write the foreword to McNally’s second book, ‘Watching Men Burn a soldier’s story. The Falklands War… and what came next.’ This was published in 2007, with his first book having been published in 2000, namely: ‘Cloudpuncher - A young gunner’s struggle with a hidden enemy.’
‘We had survived the last major action of our war. The Paras, Marines and Guardsmen did the hard graft by tabbing, yomping, staggering, killing and being killed all the way to a little pile of wooden houses - the capital, Stanley - and victory. Famous battles were won, such as Wireless Ridge, Mount Longdon, Tumble-down, against overwhelming odds. The men who fought these battles continue the tradition of British soldiers throughout history, they won because they believed in each other.’
Port Stanley surrendered on 14 June. McNally was able to go aboard the burned out Sir Galahad to assist in the clearing of anything salvageable, prior to her being sunk in San Carlos Water as a war grave. “Quo fas et gloria du cunt”. Roughly translated into English is ‘Oh look, there’s some RA wankers, lets get them to do all the shite jobs.’ During this salvage operation, he managed to get his first shower of the war, despite coming into confrontation with some military policemen for doing so. He also teamed up with some Royal Marines for an excuse to fire off a vast quantity of ammunition that was hanging around, this included the 66 mm anti-tank projectile, with the added bonus of hurling grenades into the water. ‘A box of grenades later and a few hundred South Atlantic marine creatures floating about.’
McNally and his Rapier section were then helicoptered into Port Stanley and accommodated in an abandoned laboratory. ‘The Argies had completely trashed the place. The streets were covered in debris of all descriptions. Weapons, clothing, abandoned vehicles. Amongst all this I realised that the Falklands must have had a lot of dogs and badly trained dogs at that as there were dozens of brown curly topped mounds. I then realised that these couldn’t be dog shite as some of the mounds had toilet paper stuck on the top and I’ve never met a hound yet that can wipe its own arse. It was quite obvious that there were only three groups of people that could be responsible. Number one, us. Number two, the Islanders. Number three, the Argies. We soon found out that group three were responsible, but not to worry, the RA get all the shit jobs. I wasn’t joking on this occasion.’
McNally left the army in June 1983, but after working as a security guard at the ship-yard in Barrow-in-Furness, and as a process worker in a cellphone factory, but whilst wishing to remain a civvie, he also wished to return to soldiering so felt becoming a mercenary was the best option. He advertised his interest in ‘Soldier of Fortune’ magazine, and was eventually approached from the United States by a Texan Vietnam veteran who was recruiting for an operation in Africa. It was scheduled for June 1986. However his original advert in the magazine had now gained the interest of the Daily Mirror and with this aded press interest, he binned the idea. As it was, this was sensible, as the operation he was going to be recruited for, was a cross-border raid from South Africa into Mozambique, and it ended in disaster with most of the ‘Dogs of War’ being killed.
After a years service with the Territorial Army in the King’s Own Border Regiment, he then re-enlisted into regular army in April 1986, and then re-joined “T” Battery, and became a tracked Rapier missile operator. Posted back to Germany he then volunteered for a tour of Northern Ireland during 1987 and saw service there with 74 Battery, 32 Heavy Regiment, Royal Artillery. He was based at HMP Maze where numerous IRA prisoners were held. He manned vehicle check points during this tour as well as forming part of the prison guard force, and patrolling the streets of Belfast. His account of this time makes for an interesting read. In addition during this period he saw service aboard a Royal Navy minesweeper patrolling the waters off Northern Ireland in an attempt to apprehend smuggled weaponry. On his return to his unit in Germany, he discovered that 12 Regiment was going to Northern Ireland so completed a second tour of the province near enough back to back and saw service there through 1988. Owing to issues with the health of his parents, McNally was discharged on 11 July 1988. He however remained a member of the Territorial Army through to 1994, and worked as a security guard.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, P.T.S.D., was however setting in owing to his experiences in the Falklands War, and his flash backs led him to turn to alcohol and violence in some cases. He would be published in a number of newspaper articles concerning his battles with his health, and as mentioned would go on to write two books on his military service, and his battles with P.T.S.D. In addition during the late 1990’s and early 2000’s he sued the Ministry of Defence for their inability to process soldiers who had been effected by their experiences of war. In addition in July 2000 as a ‘political protest’ he sent his medals back to the Army Medal Office, through he would request them to be retuned to him later that same year. He had sent them in ‘in protest at the MOD’s uncaring attitudes toward ex-servicemen suffering from PTSD. He appeared in the short film ’Thousand Yard Stare’ when it was made by the BBC.
