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A Soldiers Song: True Stories From The Falklands
In 1982 Private Ken Lukowiak served with 2 Para in the Falklands. He was away from home for little more than eight weeks, yet the experience of war was to change his life for ever. Ten years passed before he was able to write about this brief period in his life. In those ten years he was brought face to face with the legacy of his Parachute Regiment training and with the knowledge that he had seen many men die - some of whom he himself had killed. From the voyage 'down South' on the MV Norland, from Goose Green to Fitzroy and the anti-climactic journey home Lukowiak illustrates the madness and black comedy of the soldier's world. He tells his painfully honest story in spare and brutal language and is both profound and often profoundly shocking.
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1993
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
October 25, 2015
This is an odd little book. There are probably some that won't like Mr Lukowiak's style (good old English name, wot?) or his irreverent and unorthodox attitude toward the military and war. In my opinion, this is either the best or worst military memoir I've read. I'm going to lean toward best because, once started, I could not put this book down.
At the time of the incidents referred to in the book, Lukowiak was a Private in 2 Para. He relates, more or less lucidly, his involvement in the Falklands conflict from the time that the news of the Argentinian invasion hit the telly right up to the time he disembarks on his return home. And although he unavoidably mentions incidents of armed conflict, this is no armchair general's adventure-type war story: this book is decidedly and profanely anti-war.
Lukowiak's sentences are short and crisp, and his chapters are brief and to the point, often a couple of pages in length. He shifts back and forth chronologically, but leaves one thinking that this is more the result of "fog of war" rather than carelessness on the part of the author. He manages to get the story told quite efficiently and, I believe, as truthfully as the limitations of human memory permit. He tries to relate the effect of the war on himself, and how it affected him in later years. (He didn't write the book until 10 years after the war.) Everything is related to the reader in simple terms, no dictionary required, with the possible exception of a British to English dictionary.
Surprisingly, this book about morbid topics is hilarious! Lukowiak has a dry and sarcastic sense of humor that had me laughing out loud, and I mean that literally. The chapter describing a sniper duel entitled Maggie's Insane, Organic Killer was particularly side-splitting. In the end, though, Lukowiak's humor serves to emphasize his underlying point: war is a wasteful and hypocritical endeavor best avoided if at all possible. If you want a war book that is unlike the majority of the military histories out there, I heartily endorse this one.
At the time of the incidents referred to in the book, Lukowiak was a Private in 2 Para. He relates, more or less lucidly, his involvement in the Falklands conflict from the time that the news of the Argentinian invasion hit the telly right up to the time he disembarks on his return home. And although he unavoidably mentions incidents of armed conflict, this is no armchair general's adventure-type war story: this book is decidedly and profanely anti-war.
Lukowiak's sentences are short and crisp, and his chapters are brief and to the point, often a couple of pages in length. He shifts back and forth chronologically, but leaves one thinking that this is more the result of "fog of war" rather than carelessness on the part of the author. He manages to get the story told quite efficiently and, I believe, as truthfully as the limitations of human memory permit. He tries to relate the effect of the war on himself, and how it affected him in later years. (He didn't write the book until 10 years after the war.) Everything is related to the reader in simple terms, no dictionary required, with the possible exception of a British to English dictionary.
Surprisingly, this book about morbid topics is hilarious! Lukowiak has a dry and sarcastic sense of humor that had me laughing out loud, and I mean that literally. The chapter describing a sniper duel entitled Maggie's Insane, Organic Killer was particularly side-splitting. In the end, though, Lukowiak's humor serves to emphasize his underlying point: war is a wasteful and hypocritical endeavor best avoided if at all possible. If you want a war book that is unlike the majority of the military histories out there, I heartily endorse this one.
December 3, 2025
In my last year of school, somewhere between mock A-levels and the real thing, a small set of islands were invaded by the Argentinian military. Where the heck, a lot of people asked, are the Falklands? Are they near the Outer Hebridies?
In 1982 the Argentinian economy was going down the toilet, there was civil unrest and (If i'm remembering it correctly) the IMF had stepped in with loans to save the economy, with harsher conditions attached than those faced by Greece right now. And we can all open a newspaper and see what's happening there if we can't quite remember.
Back in Britain the Prime Minister (She Who Must be Obeyed) was having a bad time in the polls, facing unrest and unemployment, the unions were restless and it wasn't looking good for the Tories to be voted back in in the upcoming election. As it stood, the decision to take the Islands back by mobilising a huge fleet of military and commandeered civilian ships really can't have taken her long.
Back at my boarding school a large number of us were from military families. We were not allowed to speak about the upcoming war for fear of frightening the little ones, but even some of the older girls had brothers, fathers, uncles, friends and boyfriends heading towards the South Atlantic. We watched news bulletins, devoured the Daily Talegraph (delivered daily to our Upper VIth form common room) and wondered what would happen next. The country seemed transfixed. There were last minute weddings (just in case), jingoistic pronouncements in the tabloids, daily briefings my John Nott which were endlessly transmitted on BBC and ITV - this was a long time before 24 hour news coverage hit the UK - and we watched and read about all of it.
Journalists like Brian Hanrahan and Jeremy Hands, en route with the fleet, became household names - not least Hanrahan because while the Ministry of Defence refused to give out details of casualties, he stood on windblown beaches, decks of ships or desolate moorland and told us that he had "counted them out, and counted them back in again". Prince Andrew flew sea-king helicopters around acting as decoys to keep the deadly exocet missiles from the Harrier jump jets. Ships were bombed. Years after he event it seemed that the Belgrano wasn't heading away from the islands as the Argentinian leadership claimed but towards it - but even so 300 men lost their lives the day it sank and I don't think too many of the military brats at my school shared the Sun's sentiment of "Gotcha!". It could all too easily been one of our ships...
The landing craft Galahad (and I'm ashamed to say I can't recall the name of it's sister craft just now) was hit, as was the HMS Sheffield (as a Sheffield lass, I remembered that one particularly) as were others and we watched, horrified, the newsfilm of badly burned sailors wandering around wrapped in bandages, stunned about what had just happened.
But most of all what I remember of the film footage of that time was a line of Paras walking slowly away from the camera towards some windswept hill - the radioman with a Union Jack attached to his antenna. It looked like a godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere. And for the life of me I couldn't imagine what it was like, actually being there.
I've read a few books about the Falkland Islands Conflict. Soon after the aforementioned journalists Hanrahan and Hands brought out a short book (which i can't find anywhere but I'm pretty sure it was called Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major) which was a series of anecdotes about the soldiers, sailors and airmen they had met and got to know. I read some hefty tomes, I re-read the reports that Private Eye wrote (and I can't ever stop thinking of the HMS Hermes as the Hermesetas, thanks to Richard Ingrams for that). Heck, I even served with soldiers who had been there themselves and it was very easy to spot the ones who had seen real action as opposed to those who were on the peripherrary: they hardly ever spoke about it.
But A Soldier's Song is the first account written by an honest-to-goodness squaddie that has come into my hands. And it was instantly recognisable as having been written by a soldier. The phrases he used ("Chuffed to NAAFI breaks" and "my heart pumps purple piss" always take me right back to my days in green), the requirement to sign for everything - preferably with a 1033 requisition form, the way everyone and his dog smoked like there was no tomorrow and the fond memories of arctic rations. Ah how I miss those instant oats mixed with apricot flakes and cocoa powder, all mixed together in a mess tin and scoffed down as a hurried breakfast/lunch/dinner.
But there is a vein of incredible sadness and regret running through this, which increases as the end of the book approaches. He never quite gets to quoting Rudyard Kipling but the feeling is there. And as our military are being put upon, yet again, the poem is never more than a mouse-click away under articles about soldiers in hot places, soldiers in cold places and soldiers jumping in to help out with the Olympics.
If you're not personally acquainted with a soldier, read this one. When you put it down, you will feel as though you were sitting in a pub with Ken Lukowiak as he tells you the story of his Falkland Islands campaign. And if you're like me, you'll be laughing with a lump in your throat.
ETA: 3rd Dec 2025 - for some reason i re-read this review. And i remembered that the sister craft to the Galahad was the Lancelot. Just popped into my brain.
In 1982 the Argentinian economy was going down the toilet, there was civil unrest and (If i'm remembering it correctly) the IMF had stepped in with loans to save the economy, with harsher conditions attached than those faced by Greece right now. And we can all open a newspaper and see what's happening there if we can't quite remember.
Back in Britain the Prime Minister (She Who Must be Obeyed) was having a bad time in the polls, facing unrest and unemployment, the unions were restless and it wasn't looking good for the Tories to be voted back in in the upcoming election. As it stood, the decision to take the Islands back by mobilising a huge fleet of military and commandeered civilian ships really can't have taken her long.
Back at my boarding school a large number of us were from military families. We were not allowed to speak about the upcoming war for fear of frightening the little ones, but even some of the older girls had brothers, fathers, uncles, friends and boyfriends heading towards the South Atlantic. We watched news bulletins, devoured the Daily Talegraph (delivered daily to our Upper VIth form common room) and wondered what would happen next. The country seemed transfixed. There were last minute weddings (just in case), jingoistic pronouncements in the tabloids, daily briefings my John Nott which were endlessly transmitted on BBC and ITV - this was a long time before 24 hour news coverage hit the UK - and we watched and read about all of it.
Journalists like Brian Hanrahan and Jeremy Hands, en route with the fleet, became household names - not least Hanrahan because while the Ministry of Defence refused to give out details of casualties, he stood on windblown beaches, decks of ships or desolate moorland and told us that he had "counted them out, and counted them back in again". Prince Andrew flew sea-king helicopters around acting as decoys to keep the deadly exocet missiles from the Harrier jump jets. Ships were bombed. Years after he event it seemed that the Belgrano wasn't heading away from the islands as the Argentinian leadership claimed but towards it - but even so 300 men lost their lives the day it sank and I don't think too many of the military brats at my school shared the Sun's sentiment of "Gotcha!". It could all too easily been one of our ships...
The landing craft Galahad (and I'm ashamed to say I can't recall the name of it's sister craft just now) was hit, as was the HMS Sheffield (as a Sheffield lass, I remembered that one particularly) as were others and we watched, horrified, the newsfilm of badly burned sailors wandering around wrapped in bandages, stunned about what had just happened.
But most of all what I remember of the film footage of that time was a line of Paras walking slowly away from the camera towards some windswept hill - the radioman with a Union Jack attached to his antenna. It looked like a godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere. And for the life of me I couldn't imagine what it was like, actually being there.
I've read a few books about the Falkland Islands Conflict. Soon after the aforementioned journalists Hanrahan and Hands brought out a short book (which i can't find anywhere but I'm pretty sure it was called Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major) which was a series of anecdotes about the soldiers, sailors and airmen they had met and got to know. I read some hefty tomes, I re-read the reports that Private Eye wrote (and I can't ever stop thinking of the HMS Hermes as the Hermesetas, thanks to Richard Ingrams for that). Heck, I even served with soldiers who had been there themselves and it was very easy to spot the ones who had seen real action as opposed to those who were on the peripherrary: they hardly ever spoke about it.
But A Soldier's Song is the first account written by an honest-to-goodness squaddie that has come into my hands. And it was instantly recognisable as having been written by a soldier. The phrases he used ("Chuffed to NAAFI breaks" and "my heart pumps purple piss" always take me right back to my days in green), the requirement to sign for everything - preferably with a 1033 requisition form, the way everyone and his dog smoked like there was no tomorrow and the fond memories of arctic rations. Ah how I miss those instant oats mixed with apricot flakes and cocoa powder, all mixed together in a mess tin and scoffed down as a hurried breakfast/lunch/dinner.
But there is a vein of incredible sadness and regret running through this, which increases as the end of the book approaches. He never quite gets to quoting Rudyard Kipling but the feeling is there. And as our military are being put upon, yet again, the poem is never more than a mouse-click away under articles about soldiers in hot places, soldiers in cold places and soldiers jumping in to help out with the Olympics.
If you're not personally acquainted with a soldier, read this one. When you put it down, you will feel as though you were sitting in a pub with Ken Lukowiak as he tells you the story of his Falkland Islands campaign. And if you're like me, you'll be laughing with a lump in your throat.
ETA: 3rd Dec 2025 - for some reason i re-read this review. And i remembered that the sister craft to the Galahad was the Lancelot. Just popped into my brain.
April 10, 2012
I really enjoyed this memoir of the Falkland Islands war. It was written 10 years after the event by an ex British paratrooper and it fully captures the excitement, the horror, the mundanity, the idiocy and the humour that fills a soldiers life when he is sent off to fight, kill and perhaps die to further the ends of his country.
The book is written chronologically but in lots of very short chapters. This structure works really well as his story moves rapidly between staccato periods of boredom and inaction to short bursts of extreme violence.
This is a tale of very young men at war and it is darkly funny at times at the same time as being horrifying. He describes the battle moments in a a subdued manner and is very muted in his praise of anything British, whilst being generous in his praise for the bravery of some of the Argentinians, acknowledging that in the main fully trained British soldiers were up against green conscripts. This is not to say that he is not proud of what he and his colleagues achieved, he just says it in a very understated way. He also does not pull back from describing some of the childish, brutish and often very prejudiced behaviour of both himself and other British troops.
I started reading this memoir on the 30th anniversary of the invasion of the islands by Argentina and I remember this war well. It was a just war with the islands having been invaded by an Argentina then led by a brutal fascist dictator. Twenty years on from this memoir it is such a shame that the future of the islands has not been resolved properly and they are once again the subject of sabre rattling by both sides. With a democratic Argentina, a political settlement should be a priority, but despite the British government's insistence that the islands will remain British whilst the islanders want this, I suspect that the huge cost of militarily maintaining the status quo has much more to do with oil and mineral assets around the islands than sovereignty.
The book is written chronologically but in lots of very short chapters. This structure works really well as his story moves rapidly between staccato periods of boredom and inaction to short bursts of extreme violence.
This is a tale of very young men at war and it is darkly funny at times at the same time as being horrifying. He describes the battle moments in a a subdued manner and is very muted in his praise of anything British, whilst being generous in his praise for the bravery of some of the Argentinians, acknowledging that in the main fully trained British soldiers were up against green conscripts. This is not to say that he is not proud of what he and his colleagues achieved, he just says it in a very understated way. He also does not pull back from describing some of the childish, brutish and often very prejudiced behaviour of both himself and other British troops.
I started reading this memoir on the 30th anniversary of the invasion of the islands by Argentina and I remember this war well. It was a just war with the islands having been invaded by an Argentina then led by a brutal fascist dictator. Twenty years on from this memoir it is such a shame that the future of the islands has not been resolved properly and they are once again the subject of sabre rattling by both sides. With a democratic Argentina, a political settlement should be a priority, but despite the British government's insistence that the islands will remain British whilst the islanders want this, I suspect that the huge cost of militarily maintaining the status quo has much more to do with oil and mineral assets around the islands than sovereignty.
June 29, 2020
I read a review of this years ago, but have only just caught up with it now. I can't recommend it enough. In deceptively simple prose, Lukowiak, who served with 2 Para at Goose Green and Wireless Ridge, paints a picture of the horror, stupidity - and humour - of war.
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February 14, 2017Catch 22 in real life
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