From Kieran,

Please tell your friends and get the message out about Mr Rai (they
can find out more information, tell them, on: www.vchero.co.uk ).

If anyone has contacts or links to the media, can you please inform
them, too.

I'm sorry if this results in a long post, but I want you all to read
an extract of the statement I took from Gyanendra Rai, about what
happened to him in the Falklands and afterwards.

Let's be clear here, not only was this man wounded, but so was his
father before him, whilst serving our country. Hasta Bahadur Rai, my
client's father, was shot and crippled in Burma, fighting witht he
10th Gurkha Rifles.

Again my sincere apologies if the statement below results in a very
long post, but you all need to know, and so do your friends, that this
is an example of a man who our Embassy says does not have "strong
ties" to the UK:-

Exract from the Statement of Lance Corporal Gyanendra Rai


"I was a Lance Corporal in the 1st Battalion of the 7th Gurkha Rifles,
posted to the Falklands during the 1982 war with Argentina.

I arrived in Port San Carlos on 1st June 1982. We marched to Bluff
Cove and a place called Wether Ground, with 60 kg (just under 9.5
stone) packs and supplies on our back. We had to march in freezing
temperatures, in biting wind, and sometimes at 14 below zero. It was
unbelievably cold. The march lasted for 3 days. We would march each
day for 10 to 12 hours, with short breaks. I was "B Company's"
Detachment Commander. I was responsible for the GPMG-SF "General
Purpose Machine Gun - Sustained Fire", which is a heavy (24 lbs) 7.62
mm machine gun. It can fire up to 750 rounds per minute, over a
distance of up to 1800 metres (1.1 miles). As well as being used by
infantry in the field (being operated by 2 men on a tripod), the
GPMG-SF is sometimes mounted on helicopters and armoured vehicles. I
was tasked to use this weapon to support and protect British and
Gurkha troop positions, and lay down suppressive fire in case of
Argentinean counter-attacks en route to Port Stanley. In addition to
the weight of the GPMG-SF, me and the 9 Gurkhas under my command had
to carry heavy rounds of ammunition. Like me, there were 2 other
Gurkhas specially trained in the use of the GPMG-SF.

On the 10th June, the night before I was wounded, we took in-coming
artillery fire from Argentinean positions at Sapper Hill, close to
Port Stanley. The artillery was being fired from the Argentine guns
approximately 15,000 metres from our location (approximately 9.3 miles
away). Luckily, on that occasion the artillery rounds went over the
tops of our heads and exploded some metres away. No-one was hurt
during this attack. However, this is the first time I had suffered a
full-scale bombardment in the battlefield. My Company made a tactical
withdrawal to safer ground, in case the Argentinean spotters moved the
artillery fire closer to our positions. We dug-in and made trenches.
It was very hard work. Just below the sticky, muddy surface were large
rocks, and as we dug we got down to the water table. We therefore
stood in trenches filled with freezing water, which covered our mud
filled boots. However, the Gurkha's trenches were so good that even 10
years later, during military exercises on the Falklands, British
soldiers reported that they were still there and intact.

On the morning of 11th June 1982, I recall that it was again bitterly
cold. We were securing our trench positions around Bluff Cove when I
heard a whizzing, whistling noise in the sky above me. I immediately
recognised that it was another round of in-coming Argentinean
artillery fire. Two rounds exploded close to us, but none of my men
was injured as we took shelter. It was very much like a scene from the
First World War, as we sheltered in and around our muddy, waterlogged
trenches. I then heard the familiar whistle of another in-coming
artillery round. This time, the round exploded some 5 to 6 metres (15
to 20 feet) from me and my men. All that I can remember of the initial
explosion was a massive bang that immediately deafened me (I was
subsequently left deafened for about 10 minutes). The air was taken
out of my lungs and I found it hard to breathe. Everything went black
and I could not see. I was totally disorientated. I was confused and
my head was spinning.

Initially I did not feel any pain, though I remember smelling smoke
and burning flesh. I think that I was knocked out or stunned by the
artillery shell's impact. I began looking around to see if my men were
hurt, but I could not move. I could see that the left side of my
camouflaged uniform was torn and was now smothered in dark red blood.
One of my fellow Gurkhas shouted at me, but I could not hear him as I
was temporarily deafened. The soldier was pointing to my back. I
noticed that my uniform was torn, smouldering and singed. I used my
hand to smother any smouldering cloth, as I thought I might catch
fire. It was then that I noticed the left side of my back had been
torn out by shrapnel from the artillery round. I tried to crawl, but I
just could not move. I was incapacitated and was, by now, smothered in
my blood. In addition I had sustained a shrapnel laceration to my
right shoulder, but this was less serious than the life threatening
wound to my left lumber region.

It was at this point I was absolutely convinced that I would die. I
knew that I was badly wounded and I thought of Pashupatinath Temple,
which is the most sacred Hindu Temple in the world. The Temple is in
Kathmandu, in my homeland of Nepal. I knew that if I thought of this
temple, as I lay dying on the battlefield, I would definitely go to
heaven.

However, my thoughts of a quick death were soon shattered. Within
seconds, another Argentinean artillery round whistled across the sky
and I knew that we were under attack from 4th artillery round being
driven in to our sector. The round landed only 2 metres (12 feet) from
me and my colleagues. However, it was our good fortune that the round
did not explode. All 9 of my men would have been killed had the shell
exploded that close to us. I recall, as I lay in a pool of my own
blood, that I looked at the dud artillery shell and could see 155 mm
on the side of it. I thought to myself, at least now I know what type
of artillery the Argentineans are using against us, and what precisely
had wounded me.

As I looked around, I could see that the shell that had cut me down
had also wounded 2 of my Gurkha comrades. One of my Gurkhas had his
face, neck, and hair smothered in blood. Pieces of shrapnel had hit
his helmet and gone through the rear of it. Luckily, the velocity of
the shrapnel was slowed down sufficiently by the helmet, so that he
was not mortally wounded. I think if he had not been wearing his
helmet, however, the shrapnel would have definitely ripped his head
off. I then noticed another of my men, lying on the ground holding his
leg. He had taken shrapnel just above one of his knees (I cannot
remember which knee, as I was drifting in and out of consciousness by
this time). My comrade's leg; his combat trouser leg; and his boot
were smothered in thick red blood.

I told those of my men who were not injured to retreat to safe
positions to protect themselves from the continuing artillery barrage.
It was clear the Argentineans had gotten our range by now. I then
think I went unconscious. However, I think it took about 15 to 20
minutes for a British Army ambulance with a large red cross on the
side, to make its way to us in the field. I later found out that the
British Army could not call in helicopter support to us, as there were
no helicopters available at that precise moment.

By the time the army ambulance arrived, I was in severe pain and had
lost a lot of blood. It was like someone had driven a 2 kg (4.5 lb)
sledgehammer through the side of my back. I simply cannot describe the
pain, as it was so unbearable. However, I noticed that neither my men
nor I were screaming or shouting by this stage. I think we had all
accepted, which is typical of Gurkhas, that we were going to die
honourably on the battlefield.

I remember an Army Medic rushing over to me. He immediately gave me
morphine, and within minutes the pain eased. When you are given
morphine, they mark an "M" on your forehead so the surgeons know not
to give you more when you arrive at the field hospital. I never got to
thank this man properly, but I owe him my life. The medics lifted me,
semi-conscious, onto a stretcher. I remember that the stretcher filled
up with my blood, so much so that it was coloured dark red by the time
they rushed me to Fitzroy Field Hospital where surgeons began to save
my life.

I feel the British Army surgeons who operated on me were the finest in
the world. They had to work on terrible injuries, including my own.
Despite the battlefield situation, they did everything they could to
save my life and the lives of my fellow British army comrades who were
also dying around me.

When I recovered, the surgeons gave me the piece of artillery shrapnel
which they had removed from my back. The shard of jagged steel was
approximately 6 cm by 2 cm. I now keep the shrapnel piece as special
memento of the day I nearly died during the Falklands War."

Cont…

"Some time later, I learned that during my lifesaving surgery in
Fitzroy Field Hospital, in order to cover the hole in my back caused
by the artillery round, I received a graft of muscle and skin from a
British soldier. I assume the soldier had just died at Fitzroy Field
hospital that same morning, and that this man had given the gift of
life to me by his sacrifice on the battlefield. I still think and
wonder who that soldier was, and I regret he lost his life the same
day that my life hung in the balance. It is ironic that when British
Embassy in Kathmandu refused my application to come and live in the UK
and receive medical treatment, they said that I "did not have strong
ties to the UK". I have since thought to myself that I am literally
part-British, because a fallen British soldier's skin and muscle was
grafted to me in order to save my life, on 11 June 1982.

I was subsequently taken back to the UK for more intensive surgery. I
had 2 further major operations on my wounds. I was in constant pain at
the time, and still have considerable pain today. In fact, part of my
left side is now slightly paralysed and numbed due to my wounds. I was
told that when I went back to Nepal, I would get army medical
treatment. However, I have never had any medical treatment from the
army, in Nepal. I cannot always get the painkillers and medications I
need, and to be honest I cannot afford the medical treatment. Even
though I served in the British Army for 13 years, being discharged
with "exemplary" conduct, I am 2 years under the 15 years required to
receive a British Army pension. Therefore, life is very, very hard for
me even though I have given my all for Britain and did my duty without
question.

When I was required to leave my army service, my wife was pregnant and
we were not allowed to stay at the Regimental Barracks in Hong Kong. I
had to return to Nepal without any pension or income. We were so poor
that we could not live in the town of Dharan, which was then the main
British Gurkha recruitment camp for Nepal and a place to find work. My
wife and I returned to my remote village, called Bhojpur. There was no
hospital in that village, nor were there any medical facilities close
to our village. Shortly after my army retirement, my wife gave a birth
to our child at our home in the mountains. Unfortunately, during
childbirth all the afterbirth did not come out. My wife became very
sick, and I was forced to try and take her to a nearby airport to see
if there would be someone to give her first aid or medical treatment.
I carried my sick wife for 6 hours on foot, carrying her on basket on
my back, to Tumlingar Airport. Sadly, my wife died on the way to the
Airport. My heart was broken, but I could not give up, as I had to
support my young children.

As I did not have any income, following my discharge from the British
Army and the death of my wife, I was so poor that I went to Iraq and
worked illegally and earned some money to send back to my children in
Nepal. I ran a great risk working illegally in Iraq. I arrived in Iraq
on 12 January 2004 and worked there for 22 months until 31 October
2005. I provided private security to the British Army in Bazra, and
also security for the Iraqi Prime Minister and governmental complex in
Baghdad. I then returned back to Nepal, because I missed my family. I
now scrape a living in Nepal, and I am humiliated by having to borrow
money from local loan sharks.

I do not want to come to Britain for any charity, as all Gurkhas are
honourable people. I do not want to take anything from a country which
I love and fought for. I applied to live in the UK so that I could get
medical treatment for my wounds and to help stop the nightmares which
I still suffer as a result the horrors I saw in the Falklands. It
would be a great honour for me to live and work hard amongst the
British people, but sadly the British Embassy in Kathmandu do not
think I am worthy of such an honour. It is heartbreaking that the
British Embassy has forgotten that I nearly died in battle, fighting
alongside brave men of the British Army that day in 1982."

Cont…

"My father was Hasta Bahadur Rai. During the Second World War, he
answered Britain's call for help and joined the 10th Gurkha Rifles. My
father was seriously wounded attacking a Japanese position in Burma.
He sustained a rifle bullet wound just below his right knee, fired
from the rifle of a Japanese solider defending an enemy position. My
father was so badly wounded that he spent 2 1/2 years in hospital in
India (then part of the British Empire). For the rest of his life, my
father walked with a stick and was badly crippled. However, I can
still remember how proud my father was of his Burma Star, which was
awarded to him by Britain. I know that my father would be deeply proud
of me, and that I too have fought for the British people and the
honour of the Gurkha Regiments"

Cont…:-

"It was a family tradition to be a Gurkha. In Nepal it is always a
great honour for our finest men to fight for and protect Britain. My
family always viewed Britain as a great Empire and the home of
democracy. My family knew that if we joined the British Army we could
be proud to say that we served as Gurkhas. Also, our lives would be
fundamentally different being part of such a great country and great
army. I would have no hesitation in joining the Gurkhas again and
would still be willing to lay down my life for the British people, as
I was willing to do on the battlefields of the Falklands in 1982.

I have heard of the British peoples' support for my fellow Gurkha
veteran, Mr Tul Bahadur Pun VC, and their support for all the Gurkhas.
I am very grateful that the British people have not forgotten us,
especially those of us Gurkhas who are now in need of Britain's help.

Lance Corporal Gyanendra Rai 1/7th GRG (Rtd)"