Argentina: Theatre Aboard HMS Calliope

Theatre Aboard a British Ship

Revisionistas

H.M.S. Calliope

Among the numerous British ships that, since the days of Free Trade, have anchored in the port of Buenos Aires, few have left behind more interesting memories than the Calliope, a 28-gun frigate commanded by Captain Thomas Herbert, which was engaged in patrol duties along our coasts during the French blockade.

She arrived in the River Plate on 26 July 1838, and the following account of her arrival appeared in the British Packet, No. 623 (28 July 1838):

“H.M. frigate Calliope yesterday saluted the city with 19 guns, which were answered by an equal number from the fort; and the ship’s salute produced a splendid effect along the shore, the report of her heavy guns echoing across it, while, as the smoke gradually cleared, her lofty mast and enormous bulk came into view.”

With her arrival there continued the agreeable custom of entertaining on board prominent members of the community whose flag the vessel flew — courtesies that would later be returned on land by compatriots and friends.

During the Rosas period this custom was observed frequently. Manuela Rosas, for example, often attended festivities held aboard ships lying in our harbour, and picturesque accounts of some of these occasions have survived.

The receptions aboard the frigate Calliope, however, amounted to rather more than mere formal entertainments. They became genuine spectacles, as we shall see.

Her patrol mission in the River Plate and the Atlantic lasted for almost two years, during which time the Calliope entered and left our harbour on several occasions.

At the time of her final departure in 1840, the British Packet recorded all the warship’s movements in an article:

“H.M.B. frigate Calliope,” it stated in No. 700 (18 January 1840), “*has spent a considerable period in the River Plate. She arrived here from Rio de Janeiro on 26 July 1838. On 5 October she sailed for Montevideo. She returned on the 23rd of that month, departing once more for Colonia on 3 November. She returned on the 7th and sailed for Rio de Janeiro on 15 December, returning from there on 1 April 1839.

She remained in our harbour until 6 June, when she left for Montevideo; she returned on the 15th and once again sailed for Montevideo on the 20th. From there she returned on 15 July and remained among us until 16 January 1840, when she finally departed for Montevideo and subsequently for the Pacific.

She has therefore spent 432 days in the River Plate, 376 of them anchored in our outer roads.*”

These comings and goings through peaceful waters, without incident, were enormously tedious for sailors accustomed to the hardships of war.

Moreover, the sailors of the Calliope had a Muse as their ship’s namesake — and none other than the epic Muse par excellence, the inspirer of heroic deeds and adventures.

They must therefore have thought that their uneventful voyages, filled with long hours of boredom, were hardly worthy of so august a patroness. Something more appropriate had to be done if they were not to dishonour her patronage.

And so it was that one member of the crew, a keen reader and theatre enthusiast, conceived the idea of forming a theatrical company among his shipmates and erecting a stage on deck.

The idea was well received and also gained the support of the officers. A midshipman who owned several volumes of English drama made them available and took charge of the fledgling amateur dramatic company as its director.

The tedious voyages and empty hours now had a new attraction: theatrical rehearsals.

As the idea began to take shape, difficulties naturally arose — costumes, female characters and so forth — but none of these obstacles proved insurmountable.

A subscription among the crew provided the first funds for costumes.

As for the ladies… the lighter repertoire of the English theatre contained a considerable number of plays whose casts included no young women, but only a few female character roles which could be performed by a suitably made-up man.

Thus, one by one, the difficulties were overcome.

The Calliope also possessed a respectable band, which intensified its rehearsals in order to achieve a tighter ensemble, since the company hoped to perform short works with musical accompaniment.

Needless to say, the preparations took a long time. Everything had to be created from scratch, from the acting company to the stage itself.

But everything was eventually achieved: a dismantlable stage that could be erected on deck in fine weather or in one of the ship’s interior compartments when conditions were poor; a varied wardrobe suited to the demands of the repertoire; and an excellent band.

The sailor-actors then began to perform.

At first they appeared before their comrades and officers. Later, in port, they performed before outsiders.

By the time they arrived for the last time in the port of Buenos Aires in July 1839, they were already veterans of the stage.

Perhaps, however, it is inaccurate to speak of the ‘port’ of Buenos Aires.

Buenos Aires did not yet possess a proper harbour. Larger vessels had to anchor in the outer roads, as the Calliope did after each of her voyages.

Getting ashore required the use of box-like carts and boats, with the inevitable jolts, alarms and soakings.

For that reason, when a delegation from the ship came ashore, presented itself before Her Britannic Majesty’s ambassador and invited him — and, through him, prominent members of the British community — to attend a theatrical entertainment aboard the vessel, they failed to arouse much enthusiasm.

Disappointed, the members of the committee returned to their ship complaining of the ingratitude and lack of interest shown by the community towards their dramatic efforts.

Captain Thomas Herbert, however, who had rented a mansion in the city on Calle de la Paz — now Reconquista Street — skilfully intervened.

In order to arouse public interest, and to entertain both his compatriots and Buenos Aires society, he organised a ball at the house on 19 August 1839.

Contemporary accounts remembered the occasion as something fantastic and unforgettable for its magnificence and splendour.

It is worth noting that a list of those who attended the ball has survived, providing information from which we may also infer something of the audience that later attended the performances aboard ship.

The ball began at eight in the evening, following dinner, and continued until four o’clock in the morning.

Music was provided by the Calliope’s band and, among other surprises, the actors from the shipboard company gave a brief demonstration of their talents.

Their performance awakened considerable curiosity, and when invitations were again issued for theatrical performances aboard the frigate, they met with a much more favourable response.

The first dramatic performance aboard the frigate Calliope took place on 26 September 1839.

The entertainment attracted extraordinary attention, and those who returned ashore afterwards were so enthusiastic that one of them placed the following report in the British Packet, No. 685 (5 October 1839):

“Extraordinary theatrical performances — On the 26th of last month three pieces were performed aboard H.M.B. frigate Calliope, in the outer roads, by a company composed of members of the crew and sailors belonging to that vessel: The Unkeeper of Abbeville, The Pirate of Mediterraneam and Lottery Ticket. The performance was extraordinary.”

A further performance was organised and, on this occasion, the audience was so numerous that transporting everyone from the quay to the ship and back again became a genuine problem, with some people being delayed until nightfall.

Reports of this performance are likewise brief, but interesting.

“On Monday (30 September 1839),” stated the British Packet, “*they performed The Miller and His Men and The Minstrel.

A neat theatre has been fitted up aboard the vessel, with a good stage, and the costumes have been purchased by means of a subscription among the crew.

The excellent band of the Calliope takes part on this occasion, and the charming music of The Miller and His Men undoubtedly produces a most pleasing effect.

We have often heard theatrical people speak of ‘dressing up’ a drama, but until now we never expected a company of sailors to do so in such a manner; and it greatly enhances their credit that, combining improvement with amusement, they should do honour to the name of their ship — Calliope, one of the Muses.*”

The following day, Tuesday 31 October, the crew came ashore and were themselves entertained in turn.

That evening they were taken to the Teatro Argentino, where, for the benefit of the actor Juan Villarino, a version of the Tenorio was performed under the title No Hay Plazo que no se Cumpla ni Deuda que no se Pague, or El Convidado.

The contemporary account states that that evening:

“*The house was overflowing and, being well illuminated, looked brilliant, recalling the old days of that theatre.

A number of the crew and sailors of H.M.B. frigate Calliope attended and paid close attention to the performance.

They appeared particularly interested in the costumes.

Their arrival, their conduct and their clean appearance aroused considerable curiosity.*”

(British Packet, No. 689, 2 November 1839)

Before taking their leave of Buenos Aires, the sailors of the British frigate offered another performance, of which only a single announcement survives in the weekly newspaper we have been quoting:

“The theatrical performances aboard H.M.B. ship Calliope,” stated No. 689 (2 November 1839), “*carried out by her crew, will continue with great spirit, new costumes and scenery.

Next Monday (6 November 1839) they will perform Jhon Bull and the farce Captain Steves, thereby commemorating, on that date and in that manner, the second anniversary of the ship’s commission.

We have been favoured with a playbill announcing future performances, with the arms of the United Kingdom placed above the printed lettering and sketched aboard the vessel so admirably that they appear rather to have been produced by lithographic means.*”

The frigate sailed from our shores on 16 January 1840, carrying her actors to other ports like a new cart of Thespis.

Of her stay, only a playbill and a handful of notices in the English-language weekly have survived.

Nevertheless, few ships can have left behind more interesting memories.

Sources

Castagnino, Raúl Héctor — Esta noche función en el Calliope — Aquí está, Buenos Aires (1943)

Efemérides — Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

Máscara — Asociación Argentina de Actores, Buenos Aires, April 1946

Portal revisionistas.com.ar

Turone, Oscar A. — Teatro a bordo de una nave inglesa

Malvinas: The CITER 155 Opens Fire

The 155 mm Howitzer Opens Fire for the First Time

At about 8 p.m. on Friday, 14 May, the commanding officer of Artillery Group 2 — under whose command the guns of Artillery Group 101 sent to the Malvinas had been placed — called a meeting at his command post. Second Lieutenant Pérez and Sergeant Major Garnica attended. The discussion dealt mainly with the types and quantities of ammunition available. During the meeting, however, an alert was received: echoes detected by the RASIT radar appeared to be British frigates approaching the coast at high speed.

Both men were ordered to return to the gun position and prepare it to fire. They had to walk the four kilometres separating them from the command post. It was very dark, and crossing open ground at night carried the risk of being fired upon accidentally by a sentry. Halfway back, the danger increased when British shells began falling around them, something that had already become routine. They instinctively threw themselves to the ground and waited for the bombardment to stop. As soon as there was a pause, they hurried to the position, arriving at about 11 p.m. The gun commander and his soldiers were ready to fire this Argentine-built weapon’s first shot in anger.

 

Once the firing data had been received, Corporal Juan Manuel Figueroa entered it into the sight and turned the handwheels to lay the gun on the designated target. The rest of the gun crew — soldiers Aguilera, Benítez, Brangeri, Fanín, Ferrer, Potes, Sandoval, Saralegui, Tempio and Velozo — prepared and loaded the ammunition. Fanín was given the honour of pulling the firing lanyard.

According to the records kept by Sergeant Major Garnica, who meticulously logged every round fired by the gun, three rounds were fired that night. Charge 9 was used, and the firing range was 17 kilometres, towards a point south of Elisa Cove. The radar reported the following observations: the first round was ‘400 metres over’, the second fell short and the third landed ‘on the ships’ radar return’.

The best account of the accuracy of this fire came from British naval officer David Tinker (*), who served aboard one of the ships that carried out harassing bombardments on most nights. In letters to his family, Tinker described the accuracy of the Argentine fire, stating that shells had landed within 50 metres of his ship and forced it to leave the area at full speed to avoid being hit.

Firing upon the British ships was made possible by an ingenious fire-control method. The precise locations of the Argentine radars and guns were plotted on a 1:25,000-scale map, with all of them aligned to the same grid north. When a radar detected a target (**), its echo provided the range and bearing required to lay the guns.

The ship’s speed and the shell’s estimated time of flight were also taken into account to improve accuracy. A 155 mm shell, for example, took about 50 seconds to reach an impact point 18 kilometres away. Using this manual and largely improvised method, several rounds landed within 100 metres of the ships — inside what artillerymen considered the ‘effective zone’. In any event, the intended result was achieved: whenever the 155 mm guns replied to the enemy ships, the vessels quickly moved away from the coast.

As Sergeant Major Garnica had observed when he first set foot on the Malvinas, the presence of the 155 mm SOFMA guns also raised the troops’ morale. Seeing these weapons and hearing their powerful muzzle blast had a positive effect on the soldiers in their trenches. Despite the enemy’s technological and numerical superiority, many now felt that the Argentine forces also possessed powerful weapons with which to confront them.

At night, whenever the guns answered the frigates’ fire, the soldiers from Corrientes would celebrate each 155 mm round with a thunderous sapucay, their province’s traditional cry.

Second Lieutenant Esteban Vilgré Lamadrid of the Infantry later described his impressions:

‘The 155s were in a class of their own. The distant sound of them firing and the tremendous force of their shells landing gave us the feeling that “my big brother has arrived”. It lifted our spirits and made us feel that the British were having just as hard a time as we were. During the final two days, it seemed as though the sound of our guns was overpowering the British fire.

‘We also heard that they had opened fire on the British. From the hill, we even saw ships that had been shelling us turning away and heading out to sea.’

On Sunday, several enemy aircraft carried out raids. From the position, the unmistakable sound of an Argentine Tigercat surface-to-air missile could be heard. It had been launched by Air Defence Artillery Group 601 from Mar del Plata. A large explosion was seen in the air, although nobody knew whether the aircraft at which the missile had been fired had been hit. War sometimes provided spectacles of this kind — grim ones, since the men involved were ultimately fighting to save their own lives and those of their comrades.

It was cold. That was the one constant. Throughout the day, the crew of this first gun worked to reinforce and camouflage the position, using local materials to conceal it as effectively as possible and blend it into the surrounding terrain. Keeping busy was the best way to fight the low temperatures, although physical exertion also made them hungrier. One of the soldiers, Miguel Potes, used his ingenuity to build an improvised brazier inside the shelter, burning peat as fuel.

During the afternoon of Sunday, 16 May, several soldiers from Infantry Regiment 3 came over to visit. They occupied neighbouring positions. The artillerymen welcomed the chance to meet other comrades and enjoy a brief period of harmless relaxation.

Everyone was awake by 7 a.m. on Monday, 17 May. The sunrise was particularly beautiful: the sky was clear and, for once, there was no rain. For tactical reasons, the gun had to be moved that morning, a difficult operation that took it about 1,000 metres farther to the rear. The rest of the day was spent improving the new position.

Their new accommodation was a semicircular corrugated-iron shed supported by iron arches and wooden beams. They shared it with Staff Sergeant Raúl Orcasitas and five soldiers from Artillery Group 3 who operated the RASIT radar. As at the previous position, Miguel Potes and Walter Ferrer built an improvised stove from a 200-litre drum, fitting it with a length of pipe that served as a chimney. They burned locally gathered wood and the now familiar Malvinas peat.

They knew how fortunate they were to have a shelter of this kind, particularly compared with the soldiers living in trenches on the front line and enduring the full force of the weather. Their good fortune would not last, however. Later, the artillerymen would also have to sleep in the open.

On Wednesday, 18 May, the radar operator detected another echo on his screen. It was a frigate approaching to within 18 kilometres. The gun fired a round in response, once again using Charge 9. The pressure generated by firing at maximum charge caused a nut to break loose, blowing out the firing pin and its safety spring. The round nevertheless left the barrel and the mission was accomplished: the enemy ship withdrew towards the open sea.

An initial attempt was made to repair the damaged gun at Logistics Battalion 10, the support unit based in Puerto Argentino, but the work could not be completed there. The gun was out of action. Sergeant Major Garnica later recalled:

‘Unfortunately, we had no experience of firing with the maximum charge. I remember that, before the war, during an exercise in La Pampa, I requested permission to fire with Charge 9 so that we could gain experience for the future. We were unable to do so, and now we were suffering the consequences. As an artillery mechanic, I had always been concerned by our lack of information about how the weapon would behave when subjected to extreme demands.’

The gun would soon return to service. Fortunately, its twin was already on the islands and could continue fighting while the damaged weapon was being repaired.

(*) David Tinker was a member of the crew of the destroyer HMS Glamorgan. He was killed in action when the ship was struck by an MM38 Exocet missile launched from the shore. On the night of 12 June, Tinker was on duty on the flight deck, where the missile struck. He later became widely known after his father published a book about his life, The Life and Gallant Death of David Tinker, which included some of the letters the naval officer had sent home.

(**) Two radars were used: a Cardion air-surveillance radar belonging to Air Defence Artillery Group 601 and a smaller RASIT surveillance radar operated by Artillery Group 3. The latter was operated by the then Staff Sergeant Raúl Armando Orcasitas.

Buenos Aires City Life: La Paloma Café

La Paloma Cafe

Revisionistas

Café La Paloma

On the south-west corner of the junction of Santa Fe Avenue and Juan B. Justo Avenue — formerly the Maldonado Stream, which was channelled underground in 1930 — a large structure can be seen today: it houses a shop selling mattresses and divan beds.

Let us go back roughly a hundred years and picture the same place, as though conversing with ghosts that seem to slumber in that corner of Buenos Aires, only metres from Palermo railway and underground station.

Café La Paloma was another of Buenos Aires’ urban legends. Let us imagine ourselves walking through the area in 1915. The character of the place was shaped by several factors: a stream along whose banks stood humble dwellings — little more than shacks — a barracks bringing a constant influx of soldiers, run-down brothels that were then officially ‘permitted’, a railway station, and a broad road leading out from the city centre towards Belgrano. Naturally, there was no shortage of cafés, taverns, little drinking houses, canteens and inns, as well as general stores resembling those found out in the countryside. Tango, of course, had a conspicuous presence there.

And on that corner, where Santa Fe met the stream, there stood, like a landmark for rest, gambling, paid love and Buenos Aires music, a distinctive café that gradually became part of the city’s everyday history: La Paloma. Perhaps its name recalled the tenement house in the Villa Crespo district that inspired the playwright Andrés Vacarezza to write his sainete El Conventillo de La Paloma.

Let us imagine ourselves there at dusk one evening that year. The café resembles many others that abounded during the early years of the twentieth century: a long counter covered with a sheet of tin, beneath which was a store of blocks of ice delivered each day by a small cart bearing the words Hielo Cristal. There was a swan-neck tap for chilled water, wooden-topped tables, Viennese chairs, a couple of battered billiard tables, a small stage for a tango orchestra and doors leading into a dark and mysterious interior.

From the windows one could look out over Santa Fe Avenue, with the Maldonado Barracks opposite and the stream alongside, carrying little or much water according to the whims of the weather. Behind rose the bulk of the newly constructed station buildings and the long row of arches supporting the viaduct. Francisco García Jiménez believed that the establishment had taken its name from a young woman who had driven many admirers to distraction: Flor del Arroyo…

Francisco L. Romay recalled that around 1911, when he was chief of a local police precinct, he had to intervene on several occasions to break up fights in the establishment, riding his horse right into the notoriously combative café.

“One night in 1910,” wrote A. de Durañona, “all nocturnal Buenos Aires gathered there: milongueros, swaggering compadritos and women of the night, for a special performance by ‘Pacho and his Quartet’, whose ‘horn violin’ was played by José Bonano (‘Pepino’), with Luciano Ríos on guitar and the flamboyant Carlos Macchi — ‘Hernani’ — on flute, to whom Roberto Firpo dedicated a tango.”

The old bridge over the Maldonado Stream

During those years Café La Paloma belonged to a man named Domínguez, who hired Maglio and thereby succeeded in attracting large crowds. The only problem was the enormous rats that came from the neighbouring stream, multiplied in the cellar and occasionally made incursions into the tango venue, with predictable consequences.

Juan Maglio frequently performed there with his bandoneon, and pieces such as Armenonville, La Morocha and Sábado Inglés could be heard in the café. In 1924 the Sexteto Paquita appeared there, led by the first Argentine female bandoneon player, born in Villa Crespo, whose full name was Francisca Bernardo.

At some point we followed this advice from Jorge Luis Borges: “I owe some of my best ideas to the streets, cafés and barber shops.”

Don Otelo Coisutti, who had worked as a barber in a small room at the back of La Paloma, recalled that once a week he attended to the café’s regular customers there. He also cut the hair of conscripts from the nearby barracks, charging them twenty centavos, since they brought their own towels.

Those were also the days when, as the old Patricios conscript Oscar Planell recalled, “the conscripts from the neighbouring Patricios and Grenadiers regiments would settle their differences in veritable pitched battles inside the café, with tables and chairs flying through the air and sabres being drawn.”

Arguments over gambling or the handling of women in the sex trade were common there, and well-known figures were also regular visitors, among them the nearby resident Dr Alfredo L. Palacios, who came to discuss party political matters.

The café had an emergency exit opening on to a vacant field that formed part of the extensive Quinta Bollini estate. Those who did not wish to be arrested or questioned by the police — who visited frequently — would escape through it. The barber remembered that afterwards one could invariably find a knife or revolver lying on the ground, discarded by those who had fled.

He smiled as he recalled how one of his customers, whenever he sat down for a shave or haircut, would take a large revolver from his belt and — as casually as though it were a pair of spectacles — place it on the marble-topped table beside the combs, brushes and Eau de Cologne.

Along the pavements beside the stream ran a narrow path of worn bricks, protected by a wire fence to prevent people from falling into the Maldonado.

Around 1930 the stream was channelled underground and a broad dirt road was created above it, where local children played football. Later, tables for gambling were installed in the cellar, and games would continue throughout the day — or until curious rats appeared.

At the height of its popularity the café also had a Salón para Familias — a ‘Family Room’ — although in reality it was little used, since La Paloma did not enjoy the best of reputations.

The exterior of the establishment was whitewashed, as was customary for businesses of this type, which closely resembled the traditional pulperías of the countryside. On the Santa Fe pavement there was a drinking trough for horses, for riders, horse-drawn flatbed carts and the small carts of street vendors were still commonplace.

Café La Paloma occupied the pens of poets, tango lyricists and chroniclers with long memories. Enrique Cadícamo left these verses:

And down we would go for a drink

with faithful friends of old,

from the days when the musicians played

over there, opposite the Barracks.

There the New Year began,

with Luciano and Pepino,

giving tango its fragrance.

It was a fierce and touchy café,

with a quarrelsome atmosphere,

and it was called “La Paloma”.

On that very site, as far back as the days of Rosas, there had stood a pulpería, the first tavern and general store encountered after crossing the Maldonado Stream. The writer Lucio V. Mansilla recalled it as such in one of his books of memoirs.

By around 1960 the café no longer existed. A pizzeria called Nápoli had opened on the premises (1). The establishment was later abandoned for several years, although a bronze plaque still remained on the wall of the chamfered corner. Fashioned in the shape of a partly rolled parchment and dating from an earlier age, it bore the customary engraved inscriptions… Not long afterwards, it too disappeared.

Reference

(1) According to Horacio Vázquez: “At the beginning of the 1960s, a modern bar and pizzeria opened under the name La Paloma. It belonged to the same owners as the La Paloma pizzeria at the corner of Corrientes and Serrano, in Villa Crespo, whose surname was Paley.”

Sources

Vázquez, Horacio — Personal communication

Efemérides — Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Del Pino, Diego A. — Cafés de la Av. Santa Fe de Dorrego a Plaza Italia (2000).

Malvinas: The Real History

Malvinas: Argentines Who Were Ethnically Cleansed After the 1833 British Invasion

 🇦🇷 Argentines Who Lived in the Malvinas Islands Before the British Seize

🇦🇷 Luis Vernet
🇦🇷 María Sáez de Vernet
🇦🇷 Malvina Vernet y Sáez, born in Puerto Soledad in 1830
🇦🇷 Emilio Vernet 
🇦🇷 Luisa Vernet 
🇦🇷 Sofía Vernet 
🇦🇷 Antonio Rivero, "Gaucho Rivero"
🇦🇷 Juan Brasido 
🇦🇷 José María Luna 
🇦🇷 Luciano Flores
🇦🇷 Manuel Godoy 
🇦🇷 Felipe Salazar
🇦🇷 Manuel González 
🇦🇷 Pascual Latorre 

Luis Vernet's Argentine colony grew to include more than 100 inhabitants in the Malvinas Islands.


🇦🇷 In 1829, Luis Vernet was appointed political and military commander of the Malvinas by the Government of Buenos Aires and established a colony with families and workers from Argentine territory.

📚 Source: General Archive of the Nation / Malvinas Observatory.

An 17th Airborne Infantry Regiment Conscript Story

 

A LITTLE-KNOWN STORY

The regiment was established on 31 January 1907. In 1969, it became the 17th Airborne Infantry Regiment, under the IV Airborne Infantry Brigade. In 1985, it was redesignated the 17th Motorised Infantry Regiment and transferred to the V Motorised Brigade. The 17th Regiment was finally disbanded in 1997.

It is little known that, in 1982, two NCOs and ten soldiers from the 17th Regiment took part in the Malvinas War.

This detachment from the regiment was deployed to the South Atlantic Theatre of Operations and positioned on Two Sisters Mountain.

They went into action when Second Lieutenant Aldo Eugenio Franco and his rifle section, to which these newly arrived paratroopers had been attached, covered the Argentine withdrawal. By then, the planned counter-attack by the Panhard armoured vehicle squadron in support of Major Jaimet had been cancelled, as Captain López Patterson’s men no longer held the summits. The section’s action forced Yankee Company to halt its advance and take cover among the rocks.

Conscript paratrooper Ramón Bustos, of the 17th Airborne Infantry Regiment, recalls:

“I was called up in Catamarca and assigned to the 17th Parachute Regiment. One day we were taken to Comodoro Rivadavia, and only ten soldiers and two NCOs crossed over to the islands. We were in Puerto Argentino, and afterwards they sent us to Two Sisters Mountain to reinforce a section of the 6th Infantry Regiment positioned on the downward slope of the mountain.

My combat role was as a MAG machine-gunner...

On the night of 11 June, from our position we could hear the fighting taking place on Two Sisters. We could also hear fighting in the direction of Longdon and Harriet, but that was some distance away. What concerned us was the battle taking place directly in front of us.

In the early hours of 12 June, it was our turn to go into action. The enemy were coming down towards our positions and were about 200 metres away. We opened fire and they withdrew. Every time they tried to come down again, we fired at them. It was not a sustained attack; it seemed as though they were probing to find out what was behind the mountain.

We fought like that until it was almost dawn. Together with the men of the 6th Infantry Regiment, we held the slope of the mountain. We held out until seven in the morning, after fighting throughout the night. Eventually, we ran out of ammunition and had to withdraw towards the town.”

Malvinas: Corrientes at the War

 

Corrientes Mobilises at the Call of the Bugle

Remarkable account from the newspaper “LA ÉPOCA”

At that time, since our country is not a homogeneous whole, Corrientes was different when it came to military service as well. Personally, I have seen conscripts who had been exempted on health grounds asking the doctors to take them in anyway, even if only as cleaning staff, because they did not want to return to their towns bearing what they felt to be a shameful rejection, a stigma.

After years of working on the history of Corrientes, I have no doubt that such attitudes, and the pride those former Corrientes conscripts took in wearing their uniform, were the product of the province’s past. It was a past shaped by wars, celebrated as Corrientes’ fundamental contribution throughout the nineteenth century, and reinforced by the essentially livestock-based character of a “horse-riding” province isolated by rivers and poor roads. Horsemen, “men of silence”.

In this regard, how did the men of that reinforced Corrientes regiment, the 5th Infantry Regiment of Paso de los Libres, conduct themselves when they fought at Puerto Yapeyú? Does their conduct justify continuing to speak of an epic tradition, regardless of the final outcome? In any event, although those events are now indelibly inscribed in the military history of Corrientes, it is worth remembering that the Corrientes epic was forged through notable victories such as Caá Guazú and Caseros, but also in the mud of harsh defeats at Pago Largo, Arroyo Grande and Vences Rincón. For when the reckoning is done, there are defeats which, deservedly, also grant the vanquished their share of glory and their place in history.

The regiment and the Engineer, Communications and Medical units that reinforced it all belonged to a Corrientes brigade, but the conscripts were not only from Corrientes: there were also men from Chaco, Formosa and the forested wedge of Santa Fe. Many of them were those we affectionately know as menchos: illiterate rural labourers from our countryside who would leave knowing how to read, write and count thanks to the regiment’s primary school, which later disappeared along with conscription.

On 2 April, the response of those who had served there lived up to the great history of Corrientes. One witness recounts:

“Later in the day, dozens of former soldiers began to gather spontaneously... Without knowing exactly what was happening... they crowded around the entrance gate to the barracks at Paso de los Libres. These citizens, who had already fulfilled their obligations under the Compulsory Military Service Law, wanted to enter the barracks and put on the uniform again... Dozens of young men from the 1962 and 1961 classes, and even some from 1960, crowded around the entrance. There were even older volunteers and men who had never received military training. Everyone wanted to take part...”

Many of those who were elsewhere did not wait to be summoned.

A former conscript from Las Breñas who was studying engineering heard the news, travelled home to say goodbye, and his parents took him to Libres:

“...where we cried and said farewell in the face of an uncertain fate. My mother, who was a teacher, said to me: ‘You have to do your duty to the Motherland, son.’ In those days, you did not need a piece of paper to know what was right.”

Another former conscript, from Villa Ángela, who was living in Derqui, in Buenos Aires Province, was attending a computing course in the capital when he heard the news. He informed his parents and took a coach to Paso de los Libres.

A First Corporal from Formosa was married and had a one-year-old baby daughter. Mabragaña gave him the option of staying behind to look after the barracks, but he went home and told his wife:

“Pack your suitcase, because you’re going to Formosa... I’m going south...”

A conscript from the rural area around Goya, who served with the 3rd Engineer Company of Monte Caseros, did not wait either and went to volunteer:

“...I have nothing to lose except my life. My teachers taught me well that the Malvinas were ours. So I’m going to defend what is mine.”

The spirit of those who had to remain behind does not appear to have been any different. A soldier who had been enlisted for only a month recalls that when the regiment departed:

“The whole town was there at the station... two of my friends... were leaving. I felt like joining them and climbing aboard the carriage... I had to make do with watching them leave and then returning to the barracks.

It was very emotional.”

At two o’clock in the morning on 11 April, the first 157 men of the 5th Regiment departed by train, together with all their vehicles, supplies and ammunition. The rest would follow over the next few days.