Cowley Chronicle (scroll to page 3)
A version of this story, with a picture of Ian Hall, appeared in Oxford Mail on May 9, 2022.
There is a plaque, a ‘Roll of Honour’ above the pews in St. James, a beautiful Norman church in Oxford. It recalls the one hundred local men who fell in the two World Wars. One man,’ Hall, I’, has an extra note by his name – ‘Falklands’.
The Falklands war started 40 years ago, on April 2 1982. Those alive then may remember this last time Britain was under attack, even if the threatened territory was thousands of miles away, tiny islands off the coast of Argentina.
As another, hugely bigger war rages in Europe and we are flooded with images of death and destruction, a distant connection I recently discovered to this forgotten British war makes me reflect on the importance of remembering those killed in battle.
I recall feeling ambiguous about the Falklands. I was turning 18, I was against Maggie Thatcher, the Tory prime minister who took us to war, I agreed with those who said she did it partly for political gain, but I also felt awkward pride in our victory.
The politics of war comes to mind when I think now about the Falklands. Is that what the Ukraine war will mean in years to come? How do we hang on to the central meaning of people’s suffering during conflict?
I had forgotten the Falklands war until I recently opened a blue hardback notebook. The book belonged to my mother, Barbara Williamson. She used it as a diary for a special time with my father, Rev Tony Williamson.
Tony was the Lord Mayor of Oxford from May 1982 for a year. The entries are mostly reflections on how she coped, juggling fulltime work, running our household, looking after us (at times annoying) kids and fulfilling her duties as Lady Mayoress.
Roll of Honour, St James Church, Cowley, Oxford Credit: Hugh Williamson
An entry on May 28 1982 catches my eye. This was only four days after the ‘mayor-making’ when Tony, a Labour Party local councillor and ‘worker priest’ with a manual job in a car factory, had been elected with pomp and ceremony.
“In the afternoon Tony went to visit the parents of Ian Hall in Barns Rd. He had been killed in HMS Coventry off the Falklands”.
I’m struck by what is not said. How Ian’s parents felt. How Tony felt?
Looking online I find that Ian and I had much in common. We grew up a few streets apart, near St James, in a working class part of Oxford. We went to some of the same schools.
I don’t recall meeting Ian, he was a bit older, but I feel drawn to finding more about him. To filling the gaps in the diary.
Ian was a Weapons Engineering Mechanic on HMS Coventry, a destroyer, equipped with anti-aircraft missiles, known as Sea Darts. He had been due a home visit but then at short notice his ship was dispatched from Gibraltar to the Falklands.
On May 25 1982 the ship was directed away from the main fleet, to act as a decoy to draw Argentinian aircraft. Then its radar system jammed and in mid-afternoon four Argentine planes broke through.
The planes dropped three huge bombs onto the Coventry, blowing massive holes in the deep interior of the ship.
That was where Hall was. “Ian was working on (the) Sea Darts..in the weapons control section of the destroyer when it was attacked..” the Oxford Mail reported.
Within 20 minutes the Coventry had been abandoned and capsized. 170 sailors were picked up. 19 lost their lives.
Captain David Hart Dyke later recalled, incongruously, that during those 20 minutes, crew members sang “Always look on the bright side of life” from Monty Python’s Life of Brian.
Ian’s parents, Peter, a cook, and Iris, a nursery worker had been calling a special navy number for several days, hoping for information. Then Gerald Cox, priest at St James church visited with the awful news.
The following day, when Tony visited, the Hall’s received a letter from Ian, written weeks earlier. “I’ve got one up on dad”, he wrote. Peter had also been in the navy but had rarely been called to action stations. For Ian this was happening two or three times a day.
Iris told the Oxford Mail: “I would like to think that his death would be the last in this affair. We hope that he did not die in vain but we hope peace will be restored quickly”.
Peter said: “We never even said cheerio to him because he was sent straight from Gibraltar”.
I find another diary entry.
Sunday 11 July 1982. In the afternoon Tony and I went to St James for a memorial service for Ian Hall.. There was a good congregation, including an officer from the ship. The parish priest Gerald Cox conducted the service. Tony read the second lesson and gave the address.
I find no trace of Tony’s address. But I find the Roll of Honour in the church.
Ian had a twin sister, Alison. Through the Falklands’ families’ association, I send her an email. What are her memories of her brother, of this service, of this time in Oxford?
Nine months later, in April 1983, the Oxford Mail interviews Iris Hall again. She, Peter and Alison had made a commemorative visit to the Falklands.
One passage resonates with events today.
“The island itself was a God-forsaken place - so bleak and desolate. If you thought they were fighting for that piece of land, it wasn’t worth it. The only thing that makes it bearable is that perhaps it makes other countries realise they can’t just walk in and take over”.
I’ve received no response to my email to Alison. Yet I feel like honoring Ian’s passing, a kid from Oxford like me.
The cemetery where Ian is buried is 10 minutes walk from the busy shopping arcades we grew up near.
It is quiet when I visit, late afternoon. A warm sun on my back as I look for the grave.
I find it, one of the tallest on the gentle hillside, a black stone memorial to a life cut short.
‘Ian Peter Hall W.E.M (O) 1 D170776F, Lost on HMS Coventry, Falkland Islands, 25th May 1982, Aged 22 years’.
Gravestone of Ian Hall and of his parents Peter and Iris, Cowley, Oxford Credit: Hugh Williamson
I sit for a few moments on the grass nearby.
255 British and 649 Argentinian military personnel were killed in the Falklands.
Time has rolled on, other wars have brought more pain and suffering.
But those who died are not forgotten.