IT was the crackly radio message that signalled the start of a war... and it was sent by a silver-haired sheep farmer on a rocky outcrop in the South Atlantic.

The invaders cut off all communications from the islands - but they overlooked bird-lover Tony and his short-wave radio tucked away on desolate Saunders Island.

In 1982 there was no internet, no mobile phones, no satellite phones and no webcams. In fact, there was barely a telephone system on the Falklands at all.

And Tony sent his all-important distress call not to any bigwig at the Ministry of Defence or Foreign Office in London, but to retired printer Les Hamilton, a fellow radio ham, at his Glasgow home.

Les quickly relayed it to the MoD - and within three days Britain's naval task force was on its way to the South Atlantic to reclaim the islands.

Now a sprightly 88, Tony recalls: "The first thing the Argentinians did was take over the phone system. Because we are so isolated down here a lot of people have radios, but they ordered everyone to take their masts down. It was made very clear that anyone who used their radio would be shot."

Radio fanatic Tony duly dismantled his main broadcast mast. But out of sight, he cunningly erected a makeshift aerial using wire strung between two poles.

And it was via that rickety antenna that his voice crackled into life in Les Hamilton's front room in Clydebank at 1.30pm (9.30am Falklands time) on April 2, 1982.

Family members elsewhere in the Falklands were able to pass on vital messages to Tony about where the Argentines were - and, even more importantly, how many of them there were.

Tony, who even now completes every sentence on the phone with the radio command "Over", says: "I remember on the first day telling him that 1,000 Argentine soldiers had invaded Goose Green.

At the time it was priceless information. British defence chiefs knew from Argentine news agency reports that troops were on their way - but had no idea where they might be.

Tony says: "My son Michael was locked up in the village hall in Goose Green for a month with his wife and two children, a boy and a girl aged 11 and 12. They were human shields and they were very scared. There would be air raids and they would be told to lie down on the floor. It was terrifying for them.

"My daughter was put under house arrest on Pebble Island with her husband and two children. Luckily, because we are so isolated here, people always have months of food in their house, so they were OK."

Other precious early intelligence passed on by Tony included details on warships in Port Stanley harbour and the aircraft arriving on the landing strip. As the conflict progressed, he relayed information about the success (or not) of British bombing raids and Argentine casualties.

Les, 72, used a secret code number to ensure the pair, who had been radio friends for 10 years but had never met, could communicate without being detected. When the code was swapped on air, both would re-tune to a new frequency where the secret information could be relayed.

Les says: "Towards the end we were warned by a British military intelligence officer that Tony would be shot if he was caught, so I was very frightened for him. Tony was able to get information on troop movements, the location of minefields and how well British bombing missions by Harriers had gone.

"When I was debriefed after the war I was told our information was beamed out to the British task force within minutes of my call because it was so useful."

"They came in one night after dark and knocked on my son's house. They shouted through the door, 'Are there any Argentinians in there?' and he said, 'No'.

Tony was born and bred on the Falklands and, but for a short spell at school in the UK, has spent his entire life there. He and son David run three holiday cottages catering for ornithologists who trek to Saunders Island whose peace and quiet makes it an internationally renowned bird sanctuary.

Five years ago, Tony and Les finally met face to face when Les and his Spanish wife Pilar flew to the Falklands for the 20th anniversary of the war.

Patrick, 62, says: "All through the night we broadcast reports from islanders of the Argentine landings. But there is no way anyone in Britain would have been able to hear us. Without Tony Pole-Evans relaying what was happening, no-one in London would have known what was happening."

Around 9am on the morning of April 2, Argentine troops burst into Patrick's studio as he played a James Last record - and forced him to play the Argentine national anthem.

Patrick, later awarded an MBE, calmly told the troops he couldn't broadcast with a gun at his back - and ordered them not to smoke in his studio.

"I knew they would come, and I had been feeling nervous," he said. "But when the moment came, I was feeling rather bullish. I also told them I couldn't broadcast while they were making such a racket."

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