Now a retired Rear-Admiral, Chris has written a book about his wartime exploits.
Here, these gripping excerpts from Down South reveal how he claimed his place in military history.
April 2, 1982
I was shaken awake by the captain’s secretary, Jeremy Lindsey, at about 0515. He said: “I’m just checking if it’s true you speak Spanish.”
I asked: “Have they invaded the Falklands then?”
The details of the invasion came this evening. I’ve no doubt we need to get the Falklands Island back.
We cannot allow a vile military dictatorship to grab a chunk of British territory against the will of the inhabitants.
This evening I looked at the Atlas just to see where the Falklands and South Georgia were.
April 20
At 1400 we went to Action Stations as we entered the (UK’s) 200-nautical mile Exclusion Zone (around the Falklands).
Noticing extra activity among the Secret Squirrels (Special Ops), it seems certain we are going to do something about South Georgia.
Sure enough, we (Parry, pilot Lieutenant Commander Ian Stanley, 36, Sub Lieutenant Stewart Cooper, 27) were called in for a briefing.
The plan is to insert a 16-man SAS reconnaissance party on Fortuna Glacier by helicopter the next day. We explained we were not happy about the landing site.
Flight deck … HMS Antrim
The SAS repeated the Fortuna option was the best landing site from their point of view, as the Argentinians would not expect them to come from that direction.
At this point, the normally reserved Stewart said: “They won’t expect you to come in by Polaris missile either, but that is not a good reason to do it.”
I almost laughed, but I saw I would be the only one amid a group of men whose faces looked like they would melt steel at ten yards.
April 21
We are in the middle of a storm force ten with gusts up to 90 knots.
This morning we heard the World Service telling everyone that units of the Task Force could be in position to attack South Georgia tomorrow.
Thanks very much for alerting the Args! On a preliminary reconnaissance, the visibility was almost zero.
The glacier was heavily pitted with massive crevasses about 300ft deep every 100 yards or so.
Action stations … Wessex helicopter on HMS Antrim
Watching the SAS officers I could detect nothing but quiet resolve and determination to get on with it.
So it was back to the ships to refuel and collect the rest of the troops and two Wessex Vs.
We managed to reach the landing site and disgorged our men and equipment.
Rather them than me, I thought, as Fitz (Petty Officer Aircrewman David Fitzgerald, 36) and I helped them out.
Even with three layers of clothing under my immersion suit, I was chilled to the bone.
April 22
Just after 1000 it was revealed the SAS group on the glacier had radioed their position was untenable and they would not be able to survive for long. Not surprising considering the temperature had been -25°C, even without the wind.
We took off, but as we entered Antarctic Bay with the faithful Wessex Vs we realised conditions were worse than the previous day.
We finally reached the SAS at about 1330. They were in a bit of a state, with ice flecking their noses and lips and their weapons frozen.
Today … retired Rear-Admiral Chris Parry
Even as they embarked, the weather was closing in again.
As YF (one of the Wessex Vs) moved forward in a squall the cab crashed in the snow.
Bits flew in all directions and a piece of rotor blade narrowly missed YS, the second Wessex V. Fortunately, no one was injured and we split the survivors between us and YA and lurched into the air.
Soon we were in total whiteness and what none of us could see was a raised ridge of ice and snow running across the glacier.
We cleared it and Stewart was keeping an eye on the second aircraft. He said: “He’s good, OK, about three lengths astern. Still in sight — oh God, he’s gone in!”
I said: “Boss, we can’t turn around with all these on board. Let’s go back, refuel and have another go.”
After two fruitless efforts to go back, we returned to the ship to wait for the weather to break.
I went to my cabin to collect my thoughts, wrote two letters — to my parents and to Alison, enclosing my wedding ring. Then a prayer.
Celebrations … left to right, Sub Lt Stewart Cooper, Capt Brian Young, pilot Ian Stanley and Chris Parry after war ended
At 1635 we decided to try once more before darkness fell. We managed to reach the position of the crashed YA and found 12 weary, battered and cold survivors.
Just as we were lifting, a ton overweight, we jolted down again.
As Ian pulled power and we careered upwards, the snow fell away beneath to reveal we had originally landed on another ice-bridge across a crevasse which had now given way to reveal a bottomless chasm.
April 25
Our pilot, Ian, said unemotionally: “It’s a submarine.”
I said: “You’re joking.”
I quickly worked out the movement of the submarine. It was not difficult. He was heading 310° at eight knots. Talk about making it easy for us. I fused both the weapons and was ready to release them.
Ian mused: “Are you sure that it is not one of ours?” I asked: “Has he got a flat casing and a tapering flat fin?” The sudden, reassuring call came from Stewart: “It’s the Argie, no doubt about it.”
What a moment! Every Observer’s dream to have a real live submarine caught in the trap with two depth charges ready to go!
Map … the Falkland Islands
Momentarily I thought about the men we might be about to kill, but Ian started calling down the range.
As Ian called, “On top, now, now, now”, I saw the fin of a submarine pass under the aircraft and released both depth charges.
As we turned, the whole of the aft section of the submarine disappeared as two large explosions detonated either side of her. I triumphantly reported back to Antrim the position of the stricken sub.
I called in HMS Brilliant’s Lynx (helicopters) to close with the MK 46 torpedo and instructed Fitz to have a go at the sub’s masts, fin and sonars with the GPMG (general purpose machine-gun).
We went back to get more depth charges and refuel, as the submarine staggered into Cumberland Bay. We relaunched to witness the final stages of the submarine flopping alongside the British Antarctic Survey jetty on South Georgia. Back on Antrim, I went up to the Bridge to brief the captain on what had happened.
From 1445 we landed 79 assorted SAS, SBS, elements of M Company and our own detachment of Royal Marines and 148 Battery teams.
Then we started the bombardment. It seemed unreal — we had just disabled a sub and we were doing gunfire support for real!
At about 1650 I could hear someone trying to communicate in broken English on Channel 16, with what sounded like a rugby team singing in the background. “Surrenger… we have injured… es terminado… no mas… ” I heard.
I told the captain: “Sir, I think they are trying to surrender. They are singing their national anthem.”
At 1705 we could see a white flag flying — our troops held their fire and moved in.
The ship then sent a signal: “Be pleased to inform Her Majesty that the White Ensign flies alongside the Union Flag in Grytviken, South Georgia. God save the Queen.”
Memoirs … Chris Parry’s Falklands War Diary
I would later reflect I had fired the “first shots” of the war when I depth-charged the Santa Fe and had been the Observer of the first helicopter ever to engage a sub.
Last night we flew a group of SBS guys to Fanning Head (East Falklands) — the first unit ashore of the main forces.
Later this morning, standing on deck, I saw an Arg Aermacchi jet, bold as you like, strafing HMS Argonaut with rockets or cannons.
We saw more jets flying in from low from the west. I selected one less than a mile away, which was attacking the frigate HMS Broadsword, and fired away at him on the GPMG.
Bombs were falling all around us. The subsequent shock waves felt as if the hull was being struck by sledge hammers. When we looked around we saw a bulge in the flight deck.
A 1,000lb bomb had entered through the port flash door, gone through two missile stores and had dumped itself in the heads (toilets).
It was virtually intact, despite having punched its way through eight bulkheads. Its ID plate indicated it had been made in Derby!
Today started with the expectation that a bloody battle would start for possession of Stanley.
We then received the reports about the previous night’s fighting.
Mount Tumbledown and Wireless Ridge had been captured. We started picking up good indications that the Args were surrendering.
Tonight we heard on the World Service the Prime Minister had announced the sudden collapse of Arg resistance.
Adapted by: MARTIN PHILLIPS
Extracted from Down South: A Falklands War Diary, by Chris Parry, published by Viking at £20. © Chris Parry 2012 penguin.co.uk
Here, these gripping excerpts from Down South reveal how he claimed his place in military history.
April 2, 1982
I was shaken awake by the captain’s secretary, Jeremy Lindsey, at about 0515. He said: “I’m just checking if it’s true you speak Spanish.”
I asked: “Have they invaded the Falklands then?”
The details of the invasion came this evening. I’ve no doubt we need to get the Falklands Island back.
We cannot allow a vile military dictatorship to grab a chunk of British territory against the will of the inhabitants.
This evening I looked at the Atlas just to see where the Falklands and South Georgia were.
April 20
At 1400 we went to Action Stations as we entered the (UK’s) 200-nautical mile Exclusion Zone (around the Falklands).
Noticing extra activity among the Secret Squirrels (Special Ops), it seems certain we are going to do something about South Georgia.
Sure enough, we (Parry, pilot Lieutenant Commander Ian Stanley, 36, Sub Lieutenant Stewart Cooper, 27) were called in for a briefing.
The plan is to insert a 16-man SAS reconnaissance party on Fortuna Glacier by helicopter the next day. We explained we were not happy about the landing site.
Flight deck … HMS Antrim
The SAS repeated the Fortuna option was the best landing site from their point of view, as the Argentinians would not expect them to come from that direction.
At this point, the normally reserved Stewart said: “They won’t expect you to come in by Polaris missile either, but that is not a good reason to do it.”
I almost laughed, but I saw I would be the only one amid a group of men whose faces looked like they would melt steel at ten yards.
April 21
We are in the middle of a storm force ten with gusts up to 90 knots.
This morning we heard the World Service telling everyone that units of the Task Force could be in position to attack South Georgia tomorrow.
Thanks very much for alerting the Args! On a preliminary reconnaissance, the visibility was almost zero.
The glacier was heavily pitted with massive crevasses about 300ft deep every 100 yards or so.
Action stations … Wessex helicopter on HMS Antrim
Watching the SAS officers I could detect nothing but quiet resolve and determination to get on with it.
So it was back to the ships to refuel and collect the rest of the troops and two Wessex Vs.
We managed to reach the landing site and disgorged our men and equipment.
Rather them than me, I thought, as Fitz (Petty Officer Aircrewman David Fitzgerald, 36) and I helped them out.
Even with three layers of clothing under my immersion suit, I was chilled to the bone.
April 22
Just after 1000 it was revealed the SAS group on the glacier had radioed their position was untenable and they would not be able to survive for long. Not surprising considering the temperature had been -25°C, even without the wind.
We took off, but as we entered Antarctic Bay with the faithful Wessex Vs we realised conditions were worse than the previous day.
We finally reached the SAS at about 1330. They were in a bit of a state, with ice flecking their noses and lips and their weapons frozen.
Today … retired Rear-Admiral Chris Parry
Even as they embarked, the weather was closing in again.
As YF (one of the Wessex Vs) moved forward in a squall the cab crashed in the snow.
Bits flew in all directions and a piece of rotor blade narrowly missed YS, the second Wessex V. Fortunately, no one was injured and we split the survivors between us and YA and lurched into the air.
Soon we were in total whiteness and what none of us could see was a raised ridge of ice and snow running across the glacier.
We cleared it and Stewart was keeping an eye on the second aircraft. He said: “He’s good, OK, about three lengths astern. Still in sight — oh God, he’s gone in!”
I said: “Boss, we can’t turn around with all these on board. Let’s go back, refuel and have another go.”
After two fruitless efforts to go back, we returned to the ship to wait for the weather to break.
I went to my cabin to collect my thoughts, wrote two letters — to my parents and to Alison, enclosing my wedding ring. Then a prayer.
Celebrations … left to right, Sub Lt Stewart Cooper, Capt Brian Young, pilot Ian Stanley and Chris Parry after war ended
At 1635 we decided to try once more before darkness fell. We managed to reach the position of the crashed YA and found 12 weary, battered and cold survivors.
Just as we were lifting, a ton overweight, we jolted down again.
As Ian pulled power and we careered upwards, the snow fell away beneath to reveal we had originally landed on another ice-bridge across a crevasse which had now given way to reveal a bottomless chasm.
April 25
Our pilot, Ian, said unemotionally: “It’s a submarine.”
I said: “You’re joking.”
I quickly worked out the movement of the submarine. It was not difficult. He was heading 310° at eight knots. Talk about making it easy for us. I fused both the weapons and was ready to release them.
Ian mused: “Are you sure that it is not one of ours?” I asked: “Has he got a flat casing and a tapering flat fin?” The sudden, reassuring call came from Stewart: “It’s the Argie, no doubt about it.”
What a moment! Every Observer’s dream to have a real live submarine caught in the trap with two depth charges ready to go!
Map … the Falkland Islands
Momentarily I thought about the men we might be about to kill, but Ian started calling down the range.
As Ian called, “On top, now, now, now”, I saw the fin of a submarine pass under the aircraft and released both depth charges.
As we turned, the whole of the aft section of the submarine disappeared as two large explosions detonated either side of her. I triumphantly reported back to Antrim the position of the stricken sub.
I called in HMS Brilliant’s Lynx (helicopters) to close with the MK 46 torpedo and instructed Fitz to have a go at the sub’s masts, fin and sonars with the GPMG (general purpose machine-gun).
We went back to get more depth charges and refuel, as the submarine staggered into Cumberland Bay. We relaunched to witness the final stages of the submarine flopping alongside the British Antarctic Survey jetty on South Georgia. Back on Antrim, I went up to the Bridge to brief the captain on what had happened.
From 1445 we landed 79 assorted SAS, SBS, elements of M Company and our own detachment of Royal Marines and 148 Battery teams.
Then we started the bombardment. It seemed unreal — we had just disabled a sub and we were doing gunfire support for real!
At about 1650 I could hear someone trying to communicate in broken English on Channel 16, with what sounded like a rugby team singing in the background. “Surrenger… we have injured… es terminado… no mas… ” I heard.
I told the captain: “Sir, I think they are trying to surrender. They are singing their national anthem.”
At 1705 we could see a white flag flying — our troops held their fire and moved in.
The ship then sent a signal: “Be pleased to inform Her Majesty that the White Ensign flies alongside the Union Flag in Grytviken, South Georgia. God save the Queen.”
Memoirs … Chris Parry’s Falklands War Diary
I would later reflect I had fired the “first shots” of the war when I depth-charged the Santa Fe and had been the Observer of the first helicopter ever to engage a sub.
Last night we flew a group of SBS guys to Fanning Head (East Falklands) — the first unit ashore of the main forces.
Later this morning, standing on deck, I saw an Arg Aermacchi jet, bold as you like, strafing HMS Argonaut with rockets or cannons.
We saw more jets flying in from low from the west. I selected one less than a mile away, which was attacking the frigate HMS Broadsword, and fired away at him on the GPMG.
Bombs were falling all around us. The subsequent shock waves felt as if the hull was being struck by sledge hammers. When we looked around we saw a bulge in the flight deck.
A 1,000lb bomb had entered through the port flash door, gone through two missile stores and had dumped itself in the heads (toilets).
It was virtually intact, despite having punched its way through eight bulkheads. Its ID plate indicated it had been made in Derby!
Today started with the expectation that a bloody battle would start for possession of Stanley.
We then received the reports about the previous night’s fighting.
Mount Tumbledown and Wireless Ridge had been captured. We started picking up good indications that the Args were surrendering.
Tonight we heard on the World Service the Prime Minister had announced the sudden collapse of Arg resistance.
Adapted by: MARTIN PHILLIPS
Extracted from Down South: A Falklands War Diary, by Chris Parry, published by Viking at £20. © Chris Parry 2012 penguin.co.uk
