Being born after WWII my war memories are all inherited from family and friends. It wasn't untill I happened to be visiting a small marble church in Wales in 1983 that I really learned what it meant. There in that most pituresque of settings I notticed a row of shiny new headstones as we walked along the row I read the ages of these young men 18 -21 many of them from the Sir Galahad. The thing that struck me most was that someone in Argentina could be doing the exact same thing only the names and ship (General Belgrano) would be different.

On either side of a war only the politicians win the rest of us are left to mourn our dead.