No War Hero – Survival in the South Atlantic – by Mark Whitney

Memoirs are always an intriguing place to go and read; especially when the backdrop of historical events is well known. You’d think it would be nigh on impossible to build tension and suspense into such a story.

If you didn’t know the story of HMS Coventry (and it’s an often overlooked one) then just to help you, the big clues are on both covers of the book.

But build tension and suspense is exactly what Mark Whitney does here – right through the honest, straightforward lens of being an 18 year-old Signaller who only just made the draft cutoff to stay aboard when, in 1982, the UK Task Force was assembled to liberate the Falkland Islands.

But far from being naïve, (he recounts his training since joining ‘the mob’ age 16) he was well aware of what could go wrong. Over 40 years later he is still crystal clear about premonitions of his own demise.

Neat, descriptive passages allow an easy, almost familiar imagery to emerge – like he is reminding you of somewhere YOU have been. There’s no macho posturing here either; as a writer he has an innate ability to convey a feeling across 260 pages and 40 plus years.

And I can’t tell you exactly what that is but there is a depth of feeling in this book. The same feeling I got when I met Mark. The feeling is an indescribable one. Read this book and you will feel what I mean.

Although interspersed with the headlines of the Falklands Campaign, this is far from a diary of events. What he describes as ‘Matelot Humour’ is evident throughout. An image from this book that will stay with me is that of him nearly losing a shoe to the stickiness of a dodgy nightclub carpet, spilled beer and God knows what having congealed into it. It’s these sort of ‘young bloke on an adventure’ moments that totally humanise this book.

All service people are obviously trained for 90% of what they might experience (and it’s clear that in the end training will save you – unless your time’s up) but all service people are just people – not robots – and the hopes, fears and thoughts, right down to the music they were listening to at the time, are just like everyone else’s. And it’s that writing style that brings this book to life.

And to death of course. Dedicated to the best friend that Mark lost on 25^th May 1982, the message of the horror, randomness and cruelty of war itself, bobs like an iceberg throughout the chapters, in plain sight but nine-tenths obscured by the training and routines that a ship’s company experience day to day.

Not so much a running gag, but more a leitmotif in this book, is Mark’s own belief of his own incompetence with the Signal Lamp which resurfaces here and there with comic humility. Clearly trained in all matters of communications, it feels like this Achilles’ heel might be less chronic than he believes – especially when you pick up comments from his crew mates about what an essential and respected part of the team he was.

God forbid any of us have to stand on the wrong part of a ship trying to decide the best time to jump into icy-cold water. He did. And so did many of his crew mates. 19 didn’t get that choice and are ‘still on patrol’. This book perfectly commemorates their sacrifice from the perspective of a Junior Rate who didn’t give orders and whose choices were limited.

He tries to convince the enthralled reader that he brought little to the party; that he was just a lad thrown on to a ship who ‘got his feet wet’.  In that respect I don’t believe him at all.

Mark Whitney receives his South Atlantic Medal from Skipper Captain David Hart-Dyke

Post-war is so much more than a postscript in this book too. Having been rescued, his war was effectively over.

But not the story. From bizarre encounters with Cunard Stewards in the slightly surreal world of sailing home on the QE2, to carrying his non-existent worldly goods in a pillowcase, life of course, goes on.

With typical humility, Mark explains his return to family and friends and strangers buying drinks. Describes what Mental Health support looked like in the 1980s; feelings of Survivor Guilt; and recurring premonitions of a bomb coming through the bulkhead, possibly courtesy of Mr Putin this time.

The book is about not forgetting. And the sudden, immediate and permanent impact of war.

I expect and very much hope, this won’t be his last book. The day after I finished it, I was missing it!

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