Orders, Decorations and Medals

Sold by Order of the Recipient

A rare and outstanding ‘Special Forces’ Northern Ireland Q.G.M., Falklands M.I.D. group of four awarded to Warrant Officer K. M. James, Royal Marines, a long-served and gallant member of the Special Boat Service, who was decorated for rescuing a wounded comrade in an undercover operation in October 1978 whilst serving with 14 Intelligence Company, and subsequently mentioned in despatches for his leadership of an S.B.S. team landed on enemy occupied East Falkland Island prior to the arrival of the British Task Force in May 1982

Queen’s Gallantry Medal, E.II.R. (Cpl. Kevin M. James, PO25432M, R.M.); General Service 1962, 1 clasp, Northern Ireland (PO25432M K. M. James, Cpl., R.M.); South Atlantic 1982, with M.I.D. oak leaf and rosette (Sgt. K. M. James, PO25432M, R.M.); Royal Navy L.S. & G.C., E.II.R. (Sgt. K. M. James, PO25432M, R.M.), mounted as worn, generally good very fine (4) £25,000-30,000

Q.G.M. London Gazette 27 March 1979:

‘In recognition of service in Northern Ireland during the period 1 August 1978 to 31 October 1978.’

Under the pseudonym “Luke”, the full story of James’s extraordinary deeds as an undercover operative in Dungannon one night in October 1978 appear in Duncan Falconer’s First into Action (first published by Little, Brown and Company, 1998):

‘When several shots rang out, interrupting the cold stillness that had shrouded Dungannon all that week, no one knew where they had come from. A couple of operators reported it, but they were quickly told to leave the net free in case there was an emergency. A radio then opened up and we could hear the sound of gurgling mixed in with a few inaudible words. The Det commander tried to contact each of the operatives to eliminate them as sources, but whoever was gurgling on the net was holding down the send button preventing all transmission. Luke [James] felt certain the shots had come from the Bear Cage area and decided not to wait until the comms cleared to inform ops. He leapt out of the car and tore up the hill, gun in hand, towards the car park. The rest of us could do nothing until we found out what was going on. Some operatives suspected it might be one of ours parked up by the lake and quickly drove there, but the operative was fine. We were all unaware of Luke tearing through the town alone and in great personal danger from a number of sources.

If he had encountered an Army or police patrol they would shoot him without hesitation - a man in civvies running with a gun in his hand was a legitimate target, and they would never expect him to be a British undercover operative. Then there were the gunmen themselves - they could still be around and waiting for such a reaction. Luke felt certain it was Noddy who had been hit, but he had no idea from what direction. He saw the car at the far end of the car park in the shadows and sprinted to it. When he got there he found Noddy lying slumped in his seat. The driver’s window had been shattered by bullets. Blood seeped from holes in Noddy’s face, torso and legs, but he was alive, just. Luke’s only option was to get Noddy to the hospital as soon as possible. He manhandled him over the handbrake and gear lever and into the passenger seat. There was no time to be gentle, he was oozing blood. The threat of gunmen was still at the forefront of Luke’s mind. As he sat in the driver’s seat to start the car, he could feel the pints of warm blood soaking into the arse of his trousers. He screeched out of the car park, passed the pub where O’Dilly had been standing and sped up the road.

By now the RUC had sent patrol cars to investigate the shooting and the Scots Guards, the local Army unit, were also heading towards the area. As Luke made a sharp turn out of the car park an RUC patrol car appeared in his rear. They flicked on their flashing lights and pursued him. As if matters could not get any worse the RUC assumed Luke was escaping from the shooting and was, therefore, the gunman. Suddenly Luke heard shots. The RUC were trying to shoot out his tyres. A bullet hit the car. Luke was an excellent driver and although he was scared shitless, as he endlessly reminded us afterwards, he never lost control. He was driving for his friend’s life. He could not stop to surrender and explain the situation because by the time the RUC had got through their arrest procedure, Noddy would probably have been dead. Luke had no choice but to lose them. We all knew the town like the backs of our hands, and perhaps better than the police. The RUC could not compete with his driving skills, nor did they have the incentive, and in less than a minute he gave them the slip. Other police patrol cars were reacting, but they assumed he was trying to make his way out of town and so coordinated themselves on the outskirts to stop him. That was just fine by Luke because he was headed for the hospital in the centre of town. Noddy rolled around in the passenger seat while Luke continuously talked to reassure him.

Suddenly, Luke’s car came under fire again, this time from the Scots Guards, and then, a few streets later, from the UDR. This was becoming ridiculous. Luke eventually screeched into the hospital car park and came to a halt outside the main entrance. He dived out of the car, gun in hand, and ran inside. He was literally covered in blood and the few people in the foyer stopped and stared with gaping mouths. A couple of civilian security guards saw him from the other side of the entrance and made their way towards him. He ignored them, grabbed a wheelchair and pushed it outside to the car. He dragged Noddy out of the passenger side and into the chair. Noddy was still alive but slipping in and out of consciousness. Luke charged up the ramp with the wheel chair and burst in through the entrance doors once again. He was just in time, because now the Scots Guards and UDR were surrounding the hospital and moving in, convinced he was a terrorist. He levelled his gun at the security guards in the foyer, who immediately backed off - they were unarmed.

Luke was filled with adrenaline and shaking. The hospital was not safe ground. The majority of the staff and patients were catholics and not to be trusted.

“Where’s a doctor?” Luke shouted.

A couple of nurses stepped into the foyer, but froze in horror along with everyone else at the sight of these two men covered in blood, one pushing a wheelchair, wild-eyed and pointing a gun. Luke didn’t wait for an answer and charged on, pushing Noddy through swing doors and along the corridor as blood dripped from the wheelchair, leaving a trail. He paused outside every door to kick it open, gun levelled, in search of a doctor. He scared the hell out of patients and nurses as he made his way through the hospital.

He finally burst into a room where two doctors were tending to a patient. Luke could not care less about anyone else. His buddy was dying.

He pointed his shaking gun at them and yelled, “Fix him. Fix him or I’ll fucking kill you!”

A security guard burst in and Luke aimed at him like lightning.

“Move and I’lll fucking kill you too.”

The guard froze in his tracks and threw his arms up. “I’ll kill all of you!” Luke left Noddy and grabbed one of the doctors and pulled him over to the chair.

“If he dies, you die! I fucking swear it!”

The doctors were initially frozen with fear themselves, but they pulled themselves together, their professionalism kicked in and they set to work on Noddy. The doors suddenly burst open once again and a tough-looking matron stepped in. Luke levelled the gun at her as she stood beside the security guard with his arms in the air. But this woman seemed fearless. She looked at Luke and said, “Put the gun down, please.”

“I’m a British soldier!” Luke shouted.

“And this is a hospital. Put the gun down.”

There was something about her calm, assertive manner that Luke latched on to. But he kept his gun aimed as she passed him and started helping the doctors. Noddy was lifted on to a bed and they worked quickly and efficiently. Commands were given for blood: everything was now directed towards saving Noddy’s life.

The matron turned to Luke and looked him over. “Have you been shot too?” she asked.

Luke shook his head.

“Then sit down over there, please. You’re in the way now.”

Luke found himself obeying her. He lowered his gun at last as the activity concentrated on saving Noddy.

After a while she came over and looked down on him. She said softly, “They killed my husband a year ago. He was RUC.”

Noddy had been shot seven times at close range by a .38 special and a 9mm. pistol. One bullet had passed through his mouth, shooting a piece of his jaw and tongue away, which is why we could not understand what he had been trying to say over the radio when he was first hit. The other bullets had entered his torso, and one went through his thigh and scrotum. But he survived ... ’

Mention in despatches London Gazette 8 October 1982. The original recommendation states:

‘Special Boat Service patrols, each comprising of four men, were deployed in the Argentinian held East Falkland Island three weeks before the main landing in order to find suitable beaches and landing areas. The enemy knew the patrols were somewhere on the island and deployed troops, helicopters and EW means to attempt to detect them, but failed. With the Battle Group 200 miles away and the Task Force still on Ascension Island, the patrols could expect little immediate help if found and probably unsympathetic handling. However, they were not found. Each patrol remained hidden on a mainly bare island, carried out its task and brought back valuable information which allowed the Commander to decide on the landing area. In every patrol, each man was under considerable strain, not knowing whether he would be found at any moment whilst having to live under physically very demanding conditions. The men engaged in these operations showed a high degree of courage and resourcefulness beyond that normally expected.

Sergeant James was landed in East Falkland Island on 3 May 1982. During his patrol, he came into close contact with the enemy and his patrol became split. He was withdrawn with only half his team on 8 May 1982 but, on 12 May 1982, returned to the same area to find his missing men. His route took him again through the enemy locations he had previously reached and, on 15 May 1982, he went forward to search for the missing men and by chance saw them. During a tense half-hour, he approached and made himself known to them and was nearly shot in the process. He then conducted a skilful withdrawal. Sergeant James therefore successfully conducted two difficult patrols within a short time. He is recommended for the award of a mention in despatches.’

Kevin Michael James was born in Westbury-on-Trym, near Bristol in November 1949 and joined the Royal Marines in November 1967. In a long and distinguished career that followed, he served variously in 3, 41 and 45 Commandos, in addition to the Special Boat Service, first qualifying for his General Service Medal for Northern Ireland in July 1976 and receiving his L.S. & G.C. Medal in October 1982. Clearly, too, he was a much respected member of the S.B.S., his old comrade, Duncan Falconer stating:

‘Luke [James] always did himself down when it came to fears and emotions. Climbing into a chopper he could not resist reminding everyone he was with how unsafe they were and that his biggest fear was crashing. He said the same about E & RE from a submarine, climbing oil platforms, and in fact every dangerous aspect of the job. He was sincere and did not mind admitting it. But most people had fears about those activities in some way or another. They were dangerous. The thing about Luke was, if the shit hit the fan, for those who really knew him, he was high up on the list of men you would want on your side. He showed a seemingly uncharacteristic coolness and determination under fire. He was very bright, and even though scared, probably no less than anyone else, and he could be counted on to do the right thing.’

Having retired in the rank of Warrant Officer in late 1989, James joined the Police. Falconer continues:

‘When Luke retired from the S.B.S. years later he joined the police in England. Due to his background, he was eventually placed in the armed response force and was the oldest cop in it, and a rookie to boot. He was not in the force very long before he joined a section called in to help calm demonstrators who were trying to block the building of a motorway through some woodland. The situation turned nasty and at one point Luke found himself cornered by a dozen anarchists who were responsible for the inceased tension between the demonstrators and the police. This group’s only objective in life was to travel to demonstrations and incite trouble. By the time other police officers had arrived, the anarchists had beaten Luke to the ground, surrounded him and kicked him unconscious. It was obvious his career was over even before he went to hospital. He’s O.K. now - his mind, that is. He’s sharp as ever, but he can only walk with the aid of a cane, and if the series of operations he has to endure over the next few years are not successful he might be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. The latest good news is that Luke can now walk, but suffers severe pain day and night and suffers with post traumatic stress disorder as a result of other operations.’

Sadly, James remains in great pain as a result of ongoing medical difficulties - his spine was fused in the lower back as a result of the above incident as a policeman - and part of the reason for him deciding to auction his Honours & Awards is to expedite suitable treatment. Currently, he never sleeps more than a couple of hours at a time due to his spinal injuries.

Sold with an original “Retirement Letter” from the Commandant General, R.M., together with photocopied congratulatory letters and messages from assorted senior officers regarding the awards of his Q.G.M. and “mention”.