Stuart Moore

Stuart Moore had just turned nineteen when Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands. When he and his brothers — all Royal Marines — were called back to barracks in April 1982, they assumed they were off to Scotland. Instead, they boarded the SS Canberra and began the 8,000-mile journey into the South Atlantic, unaware of how the coming months would shape and shadow their lives for decades.

“Without going too much into it,” Stuart says, “If it wasn’t for help, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Service, Suppression, and the Silence Within

Stuart was just thirteen when he decided he wanted to be a Royal Marine. He passed for duty in April 1980, deployed to the Falklands in 1982, and went on to serve 24 years. But after retiring in 2003, the feelings he had kept tightly locked away began to rise. “The lid would flip off,” he says, and memories would send him into very dark moods.

“Anything really,” could trigger these episodes — “smells, sounds, memories, voices, names.” It was his wife — “very much my leveller” — who urged him to seek help. That was, he says, “some time ago” — the first step on a long road to effective treatment.

During his years in service, therapy wasn’t even a consideration. “It wasn’t something that was offered. It wasn’t something that you would look for,” Stuart says. The tight-knit, masculine culture of the Marines offered camaraderie, dark humour — and distraction. “You don’t think it hurts so much because you are still in that organisation.”

Making the Connection

After being “batted around a bit” between different services and therapists, Stuart struggled to connect — especially with civilian therapists. “I suppose I was looking for military help,” he admits. That help came in the form of PTSD Resolution, recommended by a friend.

“The chap who came to see me was ex-military,” Stuart says. “So there was a mutual understanding. You don’t have to explain military terms and humour — you just say it, and they understand. I found that so much easier.”

His former reluctance to talk had been deeply ingrained. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says of asking for help. “Because it would be a sign of weakness. And I don’t like that sort of thing.” But now, he adds, “Talking helps. I am a believer in that now.”

Changing Culture, Shifting Perspectives

Stuart is part of what many consider to be the first generation of service personnel encouraged to confront their trauma. Colonel Tony Gauvain (Retired), Chairman and CEO of PTSD Resolution, highlights how the Falklands conflict shifted perspectives.

“No matter how stiff the upper lip may be… the neurological reality is that traumatic memories remain in the brain as part of the human survival mechanism. Treatment reduces that sensitivity to a less volatile level.”

That truth played out in Stuart’s journey. Asked if therapy made a difference, his response is humble but telling: “Well, I’m still here.”

“I’m sure my wife is grateful for that. Sometimes. When the bins need taking out,” he adds with a wry smile. “But no — it’s a positive outcome for me. And for my family. They still have me.”

Quiet Strength, Lasting Gratitude

As the anniversary of the Argentine surrender approaches, Stuart reflects not with nostalgia, but with pragmatism. “I don’t do anniversaries really. I never have. I remember incidents, battles, losing friends… But no, it’s just another day.”

His resilience is evident. His gratitude for the help he finally received is quietly profound. And his message — beneath that famous British understatement — is clear:

“Talking helps. And if you find the right person to talk to, it can change everything.”