The chocolate box cottage in Petersfield seemed somewhat incongruous as the home of one of Canberra's `Fearless Fifteen'.

The oak beams and inglenook fireplace were light years away from Sally Goodman's time spent taking cover marooned in the middle of mayhem in the South Atlantic, with a succession of rockets and bombs straddling the requisitioned 45,000 tons liner.

But then again, Sally Goodman is not your stereotype war veteran by a long chalk. She can recount tales of patriotism, suffering and camaraderie with the fervor of a seasoned serviceman, but her encounter with the British task force really only came about by a twist of fate.

For 15 years ago, at the age of 22, the former medical secretary decided to change course in careers and joined P&O in February 1982, in order to see more of the world.

Less than two months later her maiden voyage as junior assistant purser was to be an epic journey of self-discovery. She was one of the 15 women, nicknamed the Fearless Fifteen, among a civilian crew of 413 who sailed from Southampton on April 9, 1982, with more than 2,500 Royal Marines and paratroopers.

`I honestly never thought we would get down to the Falklands,' said Sally, 38. `I thought it would all be sorted out by the politicians.

`The mood going down was fairly lighthearted, but as soon as we left Ascension Island and headed farther south the reality of it all began to sink in and everything became far more serious.'

And as events unfolded the `Great White Whale', as Canberra became affectionately known, ended up in the thick of the action in San Carlos Bay during the landing phase of the conflict.

There had not been time to paint her battleship grey. So for one terrifying day - May 21 - she stood out huge and white with her two glistening yellow funnels, an apparently easy target for the Argentinian aircraft which screamed overhead.

Whether by chance or by design the Canberra survived innumerable air attacks, but Sally can still vividly recount the warning announcements... `Take cover, take cover...'

She remembered: `It was the anticipation of it all that was the more frightening. I can remember going out on deck at first light and getting my real first look at the islands. I remember thinking that they looked a bit like Wales - very pretty. It was not long afterwards that the air attacks started.

`It all seemed slightly unreal. Because all the windows and portholes were blacked out we couldn't see what was going on. We only had a commentary from the bridge, from Captain Christopher Burne, the senior naval officer on board,' she added.

`We would be told an enemy aircraft was approaching and then you would hear bangs and gunfire. Then suddenly it would go all quiet again,' said Sally. `But I was quite sure that the ship would not be hit and was more concerned for all our friends - the troops who had gone ashore.'

The following day as Canberra sailed from Falkland Sound to avoid further risk, there was the feeling of an anti-climax, although at dusk the mood turned very sombre when a committal service was held for four marines who died when their helicopter was shot down on May 21.

Sally recalls that another very low point for the Canberra crew was when one of their escorting warships, HMS Ardent, came under attack and 22 of the ship's company died.

`It was a very moving time when we took their survivors on board - those men who had lost their ship and their comrades,' she said.

Kitted out in her `war rig' consisting of black trousers, white shirt, navy sweater and issued with a gas mask, Sally still had to carry out her administrative duties. `We did things as circumstances demanded. Some of the ship's administration went on regardless, and we were also asked to help out in the ship's hospital, which had been set up in the `Bonito Club.'

One of her clerical duties was to prepare a list for the Red Cross of the 4,104 Argentinian prisoners of war they took on board.

`I didn't bear any malice towards them - in fact I felt rather sorry for them,' said Sally. `They were mainly ill-equipped young lads. There was a huge divide between them and their officers. They were very dejected and demoralised, but once they got on to Canberra I think they had a much better deal!'.

After the disembarkation of the POWs at Puerto Madryn, Canberra prepared for the return to her home port of Southampton.

`When we arrived back on July 11 the welcoming reception was just fantastic - it was one of the best days of my life,' reflected Sally. `But it felt so very weird being back at home. That same evening I had to telephone two of my girlfriends who had been on Canberra with me. I felt somehow very detached from everything and it took a while to settle down again.'

Sally, who left Canberra at Christmas 1982, went on to work on various P&O liners until 1987, when she became fleet co-ordinator at Southampton. She admitted that the Falklands War had changed her. `The whole experience made me more of an optimistic person. I try not to let things get me down but to keep them in context now. '

Sally, is now married to Martin Goodman, a commercial director. They have three daughters - Isabelle (three) and one-year-old twins Caroline and Victoria.

As one of only 15 women on board the luxury liner requisitioned to act as a troop ship, Sally Goodman witnessed a gamut of emotions on Canberra.

While some believed there was no place for a woman on board, others felt the feminine presence provided a sympathetic ear.

`When we sailed from Southampton there were lots of jokes going about and I remember feeling a little self conscious and initially reticent about going for a drink in the evening,' said Sally.

`Some people had remarked it was not the done thing to have women on board. But the troops were very polite. They were all perfect gentlemen and we made some very good friends. I was even treated to a cake and party on May 31 to celebrate my 23rd birthday - even though air threat yellow was in force!

`A padre later admitted to me that one of the best things about women being on board was that the men would be more willing to open up and voice their feelings to us rather than speaking to a fellow officer.'

These words were to ring true in the case of a young Sea King pilot, whose helicopter ditched into the sea with the loss of 21 lives, while transferring men of the SAS between ships for subversive operations.

`He came on board Canberra with minor injuries, but psychologically he was in a terrible state,' said Sally. `He was suffering enormously from guilt because he had survived and others were killed. We talked and talked and talked and I got to know him quite well.

`In many cases the women provided a listening block and the men didn't seem to mind admitting that they were frightened.'

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