Before heading out to meet our hosts, we called in at the kitchen to explain where we were going. “Aren’t you staying for dinner, then? I’ve got it all ready for you!” There was nothing for it but to eat two traditional Falkland Christmas dinners of spring lamb with all the trimmings – one in Mrs Williams’s kitchen and the other propped up against a Land Rover – that left us so full we were barely able to breathe. Afterwards, I wondered if I would live, let alone be fit to take part in the Boxing Day races.

Everyone comes to Stanley for the Boxing Day races, we were told. They arrived from all over to enjoy the fun, and, of course, we had to take part. Horse races alternated with foot races. Originally, the horse races were just for the shepherds’ ponies, but some thoroughbreds had been imported, making for a diverse, and somewhat unfair, field. There were no thoroughbreds in the foot races – anyone could enter the sack race, the three-legged race or, given the right credentials, the over-60s handicap. We entered the three-legged race and came last. 

I’ve attended many race meetings since then, but none has been so enjoyable. And of the 80 Christmases I’ve experienced, the one in 1974 will never be forgotten – or surpassed.