Rick Jolly was born in Hong Kong, into a family that knew both conflict and cure. His Polish father had been a prisoner of war held by the Japanese for five years. His mother was an ambulance driver.
It is easy to read things as predetermined when they are not. Some are born into great fortune and squander it; some are born into families of lovingkindness and become monsters.
But it’s impossible to wonder if boisterous Rick Jolly’s lineage did not guide him into a life that was marked by service, by bravery, by kindness towards prisoners and by healing.
As a military doctor, he undertook 24 years of service in the British military. In Northern Ireland during the Troubles, whilst he didn’t have to, he would go out on patrols with his fellow commandos in case of casualties – after all,
Jolly had completed the insanely tough Royal Marine commando course alongside them, and he didn’t think that his place was back at base waiting for patients amongst his comrades to be produced.
The time for which he will always be remembered came in the aftermath of the Argentine invasion of the Falklands in 1982. A leading light in British plans to liberate the islands from the outset, his carefully made arrangements as the senior doctor of 3 Commando Brigade
to convert the commandeered cruise ship SS Canberra into a field hospital had to be binned when his commanding officers decided that the risk of Argentine aerial attacks meant she would have to be parked a minimum of 200 miles offshore,
which is suboptimal for a medical centre. So at zero notice he and his team found themselves ashore with the British troops that landed at Ajax Bay, East Falkland, converting a disused meat processing factory into the central medical facility for the operations to come.
Conditions were suboptimal. There was no heating in the factory, so it was freezing cold, especially at night. Operations were performed by torchlight. They were too close to military facilities to have the sign of the Red Cross painted on the building, so they were bombed
(two bombs from an enemy Skyhawk remained in the roof unexploded throughout their use of it). He and his teams undertook over 200 major operations to save the lives of the wounded.
And the wounded were from both sides. Jolly – in the atmosphere of what one obituary described as “cheerful squalor” in the converted factory – led medical efforts to save every life in front of them, regardless of nationality.
After three weeks of round the clock operations in the factory – which Jolly dubbed “the Red and Green Life Machine” – his teams established further facilities in other parts of the Falklands as the campaign to liberate them developed.
In all, over 650 men from both sides were treated – and only three of their patients died.
When Argentine attacks on HMS Argonaut meant that British casualties needed to be evacuated from the taskforce in San Carlos Water, Jolly went in a helicopter to rescue them.
Spotting survivors of the sunk HMS Ardent in difficulties in the water, even whilst the Argentines continued their attacks, and lacking the usual protective equipment himself as they had scrambled to help, he had himself winched down into the water to pick the men up one by one.
Later the same day he flew to the Canberra with three seriously injured Argentine patients who required treatment there. His patients had expected cruelty on the part of their captors and expressed wonder at the dedicated efforts made to save them.
After the war Jolly was at the forefront of efforts to build veterans’ associations & sent a list of his former patients amongst the Argentine forces to Buenos Aires to see how they had recovered. Only at this point, long after the fall of the Junta that has ordered the invasion,
did the Argentinian authorities learn the truth about the care provided by British battlefield medics during the conflict.
Thus Jolly became the only man decorated by both sides in that war, as the Argentines bestowed upon him one of their highest honours – he became an Officer of the Order of May, at a service attended by many of his former patients.
The Order of May is of course a foreign award – so Jolly had to write to the monarch to request permission to wear it amongst his British decorations. Perhaps he had expected a pro forma response, probably negative –
instead he received a personal reply from Her Majesty authorising him to wear his Argentine medal upon his British uniform from that day forward, alongside the rest.
Over 300 medical practitioners served in the British forces during the Falklands War. When Jolly received permission to wear his Argentine decoration it was explicitly on the basis that in wearing it, he represented the bravery and dedication of them all.
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Columbo is the best TV detective. This is unarguable. But what may be unknown about our favourite rumpled sleuth is that he was also the cause of, and solution too, one of the biggest problems faced by the Romanian government.
In the 1970s, few American television programmes were broadcast behind the Iron Curtain. Columbo, with its strong, frequent anti-elitist narratives, a humble servant of justice and the state proving the undoing of evil capitalist wealthy toffs, was an exception.
As a result, much like Norman Wisdom’s black and white movies, it proved even more popular in some Communist countries than it had been at home. In Romania, Columbo was aired twice a week.
Whilst I was not a barrister of any distinction, Bar School can teach some things that are useful in life (even if, admittedly, not always heeded), like when to shut up.
A particular fear of an advocate is going “one question too far.” You’ve got what you need, you’ve landed some doubt – take it & move on. Don’t, no matter how good that “one more thing” might seem to be, give in to temptation & ask a question to which you don’t know the answer…
Here is a particularly good example of the "question too far" – from cross-examination being conducted by the Australian barrister Don Campbell QC in a personal injury case. (Campbell would go on to tell the story against himself.)
Back in the covidian days of 2021, we told the story of mini-submarines used against the Tirpitz in Operation Source (deanehistory 74).
Here is the story of a precursor, related action: Operation Chariot, the story of the St. Nazaire Raid in 1942.
HMS Campbeltown was previously USS Buchanan, one of fifty “Town Class” ships transferred to the Royal Navy by the Americans under the Destroyers for Bases Agreement in 1940, a deal that did what it says on the tin.
Having been launched in 1919, and something of a relic by the time she was transferred, Campbeltown’s primary achievement before Operation Chariot was having accidents.
Given the current tussle for Stamford Bridge, I thought I’d tell the most interesting story to be taken from the original battle. Concentrate, as there are two principal characters with the same name.
It’s 1066. Edward the Confessor had died & the wise men of England made Harold OF ENGLAND king as Edward recommended.
Harold’s brother Tostig, erstwhile Earl of Northumbria, had been accused of various bits of bad behaviour, like bumping off houseguests…
and was exiled during Edward’s reign, despite being Edward’s brother-in-law. He fomented dissent & plundered the countryside, eventually joining forces with Harold OF NORWAY.
#deanehistory 107 – the first to come with what the kids call a “trigger warning”– could give you nightmares.
Erfurt is the capital of the German state of Thuringia &, by all accounts, a nice place. Still it is indelibly associated with one of the most horrible tales in history.
It all had the most unlikely start. Louis the Mild was the Landgrave of Thuringia &, as his nickname suggests, apparently an easygoing sort of chap. He’d inherited a dispute over land with a leading light of the Church, Archbishop Conrad, who ran a neighbouring territory, Mainz.
This rumbled on & escalated to the point that the King of Germany (& later “Holy” “Roman” “Emperor”) Henry VI intervened, even though he was busy fighting the Poles as usual. He called a Diet– not a weightwatchers New Year resolution sort of diet, but a big meeting– in Erfurt.
I’ll be off for my booster soon… but, as I go, I’ll still lament the astonishing willingness of some to demonise and attack a minority of whose motivations and lives they know perhaps little, in a fashion they’d decry if applied to some other group.
Those smokers there! The obese over there! They are drains on our society! They selfishly take resources from others! We will be purer without them! And as for those people different to me over there…