CALUM, South Atlantic, April 1982:

I suppose I should be grateful that our accommodation is so luxurious. Goin’ tae war on a luxury liner is somethin’ special, though I guess that’s what they could secure for us grunts on short notice. The Royal Navy hasnae grown much since the last war, but at least we’ve enough ships tae get the job done.

I played cards wi’ some o’ the lads earlier. We talked about anything but the war till they started yappin’ about home. That’s when I took ma leave, retreated tae ma bunk, and tried tae gather ma thoughts.

I’ve been meanin’ tae write tae Deborah, but she wouldnae get the letter till God knows when. It’s no’ as if there’s a post office at San Carlos or Port Stanley we can use. We’re goin’ tae war, after all.

The worst part is, I dinnae look forward tae comin’ home the way I should. The last time I spoke tae ma wife, we argued. Aye, she came down tae the docks wi’ wee Caroline in her arms when we shipped out, but that’s no’ what lingers in ma memory. That’s no’ what I wanted tae remember.

I wanted tae part wi’ whispered “I love ye’s” and “take cares” and all those things couples are supposed tae say. Instead, there was the argument.

What was it about? Because I had tae go? I’m no’ sure. What did Deborah think would happen if there was a war? When she married me, she kent I was in the army. Her da had been in the army during the last war. She kens how this works.

Maybe that’s no’ fair. The start o’ it was her bein’ on the phone tae her cousin Sophie for what felt like an eternity. We needed tae leave so I could reach ma assembly point on time.

“We have tae go now, Deborah,” I told her. “Otherwise, I’ll have tae take the car masel’ and leave ye and Caroline here.”

I couldnae make out every word—Deborah’s ma is French, and so’s her cousin, so they were speakin’ French. But I ken enough from our summers in Honfleur tae piece together that they were talkin’ about me and the war.

When I asked Deborah what they were sayin’, she said, “We were just talkin’ about ye goin’ off.”

“It sounded like ye were either defendin’ me tae yer cousin or agreein’ wi’ her that this is daft—that we shouldnae be goin’.”

“No, no, no,” she said, then hesitated. “I was defendin’ ye, that ye had tae go.”

At that point, I should’ve just said, “Good, thank ye.” But for some reason, I got angry.

Sophie’s one o’ those academics who’s against government, military, all that sort. She’s been criticisin’ Deborah for marryin’ me for years, and it’s always been awkward at family dinners. Maybe that’s what got tae me, or maybe I didnae believe Deborah was tellin’ the truth. We’ve had these arguments before, her questionin’ ma deployments.

I ken now that she was scared, aye. But again, this is ma job. What did she think would happen if they called us up?

I dinnae ken what exactly made me lose ma temper, but I ken it was a mistake. I should’ve let it go then and there.

“I’m sick o’ Sophie always stickin’ her nose in where it doesnae belong,” I said.

“I called her,” Deborah replied. “I called her tae talk about this.”

“Why did ye call her? We have tae leave in half an hour. Why now?”

One thing led tae another, and we had this massive argument I still cannae make sense of.

Now I’m sittin’ here, lookin’ out at the waves as the darkness falls. We’re somewhere on this tiny speck in a vast ocean, sailin’ south. Maybe I’m no’ comin’ home again.

This past year hasnae been easy. Maybe it’s because Caroline’s been difficult—weans change everythin’. We’re no’ as free as we were before she came along, that’s for sure. Then this war tipped everythin’ over.

I regret no’ holdin’ ma tongue. On the drive tae base, Deborah only spoke tae Caroline, no’ tae me, and I didnae ken what tae say. Our goodbyes were perfunctory—a kiss on the cheek, a wave, and that was it.

Now, almost a week later, we’re closin’ in on the islands, and things are gettin’ serious. Another week and I might be in a firefight. This is what I trained for, what we did in Northern Ireland, but this is different. This is the real deal.

This is what I wanted—to fight for us, tae use what I can tae protect ma country. But no’ like this. I didnae want tae leave feelin’ like she didnae want me tae come home, or that she didnae want me tae go at all. Which is it? I dinnae ken. I wanted tae go wi’ clarity, but I dinnae have it.

That’s why the card game got old quick, and when the lads started talkin’ about home, I couldnae bear it. But I need tae stay sharp. Soon it’s goin’ tae be for real, and if I want tae get home again, I need focus.

What can I fix ma mind on tae make this pain go away, even just for a while? I’ve been chewin’ over it the whole way down here. It’s no’ like I can call home from the ship and talk it out. Once I boarded, that was it.

I just ken I have tae find ma focus, or I might no’ get another chance tae fix whatever I did wrong. I hope what I did wrong wasnae choosin’ tae be part o’ this, tae defend ma country. I hope it wasnae a choice between ma country and ma marriage.

I didnae believe that when we got married, though I ken she had that past in New York, bein’ part o’ that peace community. But she didnae seem bothered by ma job then. I’m a paratrooper—what can ye do? We were in love.

Maybe when ye’re in love, ye tell each other some lies, or ye see the person ye want tae see. Maybe they see who ye want tae be rather than who ye are. I dinnae ken.

But when that person meets reality, when the chips are down, it’s for real. And ye have tae stay alive long enough tae come back and find that seam between reality and dream. It should be possible tae find that beautiful life we want tae live together—without too many illusions, but without too many arguments, either.

Ye have tae live long enough tae learn that, because understanding doesnae come when ye first fall in love. Ye think ye understand each other completely, but later, ye figure out ye don’t. There’s still a lot tae do.

But it’s no’ impossible. Ye can get there. Ye can learn tae be together in the right way. If there’s nothin’ else tae fight for—and there is—but even if there wasn’t, that’s what I’ll fight for: tae come home and learn that.

So maybe that’s ma focus. It’s no’ what they taught me when I trained for this, but if it helps me stay alive, it’ll do.

*

Cover photo: By Ken Griffiths – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3531099