A quarter of a century ago, three men - a soldier and two sailors - said goodbye to their loved ones and set off on ships to war. The trio served the same queen and country, were called to arms under one flag yet were divided by race, culture, rank and continents. They were to be united in a horrific, shared experience that would change each of their lives forever.
Fate and military orders conspired so that able seaman Chiu Yiu-nam from Hong Kong, ship's cook Cheung San-fan, originally from Hainan Island, and Welsh infantry soldier Simon Weston were all aboard the RFA Sir Galahad, a British supply and transport ship that saw action during the Falklands war, a brief but bloody conflict between Britain and Argentina that ended 25 years ago this week. On a cold, clear winter's day in the South Atlantic, their lives collided in a fireball - an unimaginable hell on Earth - when Argentine bombs slammed into their ship as it was preparing to disembark troops.
The vessel was brimming to the gunwales with soldiers from the 1st Welsh Guards, their stockpile of ammunition and military vehicles, the 50 or so mainly Hong Kong Chinese crew and their British commanding officers. Forty-seven men, including Hongkongers Leung Chau (an electrical fitter) and Sung Yuk-fai (a butcher), perished among the flames, explosions and toxic smoke that quickly engulfed the decks. Add to the tally two Hong Kong men - seaman Yeung Shui-kam and bosun Yu Sik-chi - who died on RMA Sir Tristram in the same bombing run, and this becomes the highest death count suffered by British forces from a single attack during the 11-week war.
Many accounts of that tragic day have been examined and publicly recorded. They have exposed a mix of heroism, horror and military blunders, the latter blamed on poor communication, misunderstanding, inter-service rivalry and bureaucratic incompetence. But that's war and the objective was met: Britain won and reclaimed its sovereign territory. And, as any veteran soldier, sailor or airman will tell you, it's not cunning military strategy or the latest hi-tech weaponry or defence mechanisms - or even human error - that ultimately dictates whether you survive unscathed or otherwise. There's something more facile at work - luck.
As it was, Weston and Cheung experienced a mixture of good and bad fortune. Both were badly burned but were rescued alive from the floating inferno. The pair are living out their lives severely disfigured and disabled, and have spoken at length about that day and the war.
Weston became the acceptable yet painful face of war for the British public. He shunned major plastic surgery to his face to highlight the plight of injured soldiers and give hope and courage to other disabled individuals. He wrote a successful book about his ordeal, learned to fly a plane, started a successful charity, was made an Order of the British Empire (OBE), fell in love, married and raised a family, and has made several documentaries about the war and his life, most recently for the BBC. Today he makes a living as a motivational and after-dinner speaker.
Cheung has also spoken about his trauma, though to a smaller audience. His is a tale of acute poverty and includes claims of unfair treatment and neglect he says he has suffered since the end of the war. He readily accepted the surgery offered to improve the disfigurement to his face, hands and legs because he feared the community's reaction to his appearance - a fear that turned out to be justified.