THIRTY years ago this week, Argentine forces invaded a tiny island nation in the South Atlantic.
Few had even heard of the Falkland Islands before then, and many of us rushed to the atlas to see exactly where this disputed area was.
So far as the Prime Minister was concerned, the Argentinians might as well have landed at Dover.
Mrs Thatcher despatched a task force within days, with orders to retake the islands.
Serving at the time, I can recall the war very clearly.
On 12 May, I went down to Southampton to wave off many friends serving with the Scots and Welsh Guards.
The atmosphere before Queen Elizabeth 2 departed was something I shall never forget.
On the quayside, it was a mixture of high emotion, sadness and pride, while on board the magnificent liner, my friends were feeling excited, expectant and not in the least worried.
It would all be over by the time they got there, or so they thought.
When they came home, they told me the trip down had been surreal, with everyone feeling they were on just another military exercise.
Then Argentine planes began sinking our ships and war became a grim reality.
One of my friends, Bobby Lawrence, was a young platoon commander, serving with 2nd Battalion Scots Guards.
During the bloody battle on Tumbledown, he physically bayoneted an Argentinian soldier and was shot in the head.
He survived to win the MC, but still bears the scars of conflict.
During the war, 255 servicemen were killed.
We won, but at a terrible price.
I trust that, God forbid, had we to do this again, a serving Prime Minister would not hesitate in repeating Mrs Thatcher’s audacious gamble.
Thirty years on, much has changed, although Argentinian rhetoric is still emotive.
The Falklands are now a self-determining British overseas territory, whose citizens hold British passports.
It is still our duty to protect them, not least to honour those who made the ultimate sacrifice.