Korean War Memoirs of Lieutenant Guy Temple, 1st Battalion, Gloster Regiment
Document kindly provided to this website by his widow, Caroline.
I first saw the Imjin in the early evening of the 22nd April 1951. On that afternoon,
Colonel Carne, our Commanding Officer, instructed me to lead a small patrol, the
objective of which was to capture a Chinese prisoner for interrogation. American
Intelligence had it that a 'small' enemy party was going to cross the Imjin River that night.
The Colonel gave me very precise orders. I was to go down to the river at last light,
which was about 1830 hrs. Should the enemy attempt to cross the river, we were to
capture a prisoner; if however, the enemy patrol was more than thirty strong, we were to
withdraw at once.
At that time I had just turned twenty two and, at last, was about to do the job for which
I joined up. I had been at school at Radley during the war, towards the end of it I heard
that the Brigade of Guards had a scheme whereby it was possible to get a commission at
the age of eighteen. I thought this was for me, so I applied and was eventually called for
an interview with the Regimental Lieutenant Colonel of the Coldstream Guards, Lord
Stratheden, at their Regimental Headquarters in Birdcage Walk. At the time I had a
stutter and so did Lord Stratheden. After some time, it was learned that I neither hunted,
shot nor fished but was accepted! However, that plan came to nought as, within a few
months, the war ended and so I decided that I should go to Sandhurst.
Sandhurst was preceded by four months basic training at Holywood, County Down.
The unit was run by the Royal Ulster Rifles who wasted not a moment of those allotted
four months. Early on I thought I was doing rather well when the Sergeant Major, in his
broad Ulster brogue, said to me “Temple, youse is a really naice mahn” but spoiled it by
adding “but sometimes youse is f-----g aidle”!!!! Sandhurst left me with three things.
The first was an excellent grounding in driving and vehicle maintenance, the second,
never to raise your hands while Scottish country dancing, and the third, and most
important, was the advice from a Captain in the Lovat Scouts to the end that while it was
honourable to die for your country, it was much more honourable to make the other chap
die for his. I followed this advice to the letter.
In December ’48 I was commissioned into the Gloucestershire Regiment and became
the fifth generation of my family to serve in the Army. The first, Octavius Temple, was
the eighth child of the Vicar of Penryn near Falmouth. He was an Ensign in the
4thRegiment of the Line at the battle of Toulouse in 1814 when he was only fifteen and a
half. My great grandfather was in the 4thMadras Infantry in the 2nd China War but was
later drowned in the River Adyar, in two feet of water. So my grandfather was brought up
by his uncle, Frederick Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury. He later passed first into
Sandhurst, but decided to be a Gunner and, instead, went to Woolwich. My father, who
was the youngest of five brothers, was commissioned into the Gloucestershire Regiment
in November 1914, and served throughout that war and the next, only losing two fingers
in the process. Amazingly, all his four brothers also survived the first World War despite
spending most of it on or near the Somme.
After Sandhurst I joined the first battalion of the Glosters in Jamaica. Before leaving I
had been persuaded to spend half a crown on insuring my kit for £100. En route, the hold
containing my kit caught fire and although, not completely ruined the insurance company
paid up there and then, on the dockside, with a cheque for £100. I never replaced half of
it, which left me £50 to spend on my second Rolls Royce, a 1922 open tourer. I had paid
£2.50 for the first one, a 1913, which I had had to share with a fellow Sandhurst cadet, as
neither of us could afford the purchase price of £5!!!!
I spent a very happy year in Jamaica before returning to England in 1950. This proved,
for all of us, a very nasty shock. We left the sun and fun of the Caribbean on board HMT
Empress of Australia for a cold and damp Colchester in January. It was with relief that
we heard that the Battalion was to join the 29th Brigade and leave for Korea that
September.
My first appointment in Korea was Regimental Signals Officer, a position I held
until about a week before the Imjin River Battle. It had occurred to me that if I was going
to make a career in the army, I should grab the opportunity of getting the experience of
commanding a rifle platoon in action while I could. I spoke to Tony Farrar-Hockley, the
adjutant, who arranged for me to take over command of 8 Platoon of 'C' Company. That
was only six days ago, and here I was, about to lead them into action without knowing
them at all well.
So, during the three hours left before last light on the 22nd April, myself and Corporal
Manley, one of my section corporals and my second in command in this venture, were
kept busy getting organised. As it turned out, my 'crystal ball' proved to be 'crystal clear'.
My intuition told me that the enemy patrol was not going to be 'small'. So instead of
taking three or four men, my 'small' patrol totalled seventeen men and two South Korean
policemen to guard the hoped for prisoner. We took all three of my platoon's Bren
machine guns, and four thousand rounds of ammunition for each. This by normally
accepted standards was an enormous amount. Added to this, were a 2" mortar crew with a
large quantity of parachute illuminating flares and also a signaller with his radio. Every
one except the Bren gunners carried a rifle. I carried a rifle and a 'Verey' pistol to put up
illuminating flares, if need be.
We left for the river at about 1800 in three tracked armoured vehicles which were
necessary to transport the vast weight of the ammunition. At the river bank we
fortunately found some small trenches already dug, so it did not take long to position the
men and the weapons. We were fairly ideally situated, looking down over the river. We
were about fifteen feet up, and this, of course, leads to what is known as plunging fire.
Not perfect as the killing area is significantly reduced. Anyway the weather was perfect,
the temperature around 65°, a cloudless sky and a bright full moon, shining down
illuminating the river. I remember remarking to Cpl. Manley that we would have no
problem in seeing anyone approaching and coming across the river. He agreed with me.
I had it in my mind that the Chinese would arrive on the scene around 10 o'clock. I
told Cpl. Manley that he and I would take turns on duty and one half the patrol would be
awake while the others could sleep. Cpl. Manley took the first shift.
Sure enough, at around ten o'clock, Cpl. Manley woke me to tell me that he could hear
noises in the water, but could see nothing. So I took my Verey pistol, which was already
loaded with an illuminating round and fired into the air above the river. As was often the
case, it was a dud. I then turned toward the mortar and quietly ordered 'para illuminating!'
Almost instantly there was a 'hiss' followed by a 'pop', and then above the water was this
bright light, allowing us to see about a hundred Chinese soldiers wading across the river
towards us. By now, of course, everyone was awake and I gave the order to fire. The
three Bren guns opened up, supported by the individual rifles. We were in a superb
position and although we were firing slightly down on the enemy at short range, thus
limiting the target area, we killed a significant number of them. The surviving fifty or so
Chinese, then hurriedly withdrew to the north bank.
Contrary to what I had expected, despite the bright moon and our pyrotechnics, it was
very difficult to see people in the water. And, of course, the depth of the water meant that
only the heads and shoulders of the Chinese were visible.
A little bit later they made a second attempt, but this time they came in, what I
reckoned to be, battalion strength, about five hundred or more men. The Bren guns again
opened fire only stopping to reload, after emptying each magazine of thirty rounds. Quite
soon I noticed that their muzzles were glowing red in the dark, something I had never
seen before.
About this time I remembered that we had been allotted a 'Defensive Fire SOS Target'.
This meant that the Battery of eight 25 Pounder guns, normally assigned to our Battalion,
were pre-ranged on to our specified target. All I had to do was radio the order to fire DF
SOS. The duty sentry on the gun line, probably around five miles back, would
immediately pull the lanyard on his gun, which in turn woke the rest of the battery who
then fired their own guns, without further orders. They would then continue loading
shells into the breach and firing until ordered to stop. I therefore radiod 'DF SOS Now'
and in what seemed only seconds one could hear the fluttering of the shells as they went
overhead and dropped into the water. They, in fact dropped on the far side of the river, so
I then radioed 'Drop 100', meaning drop 100 meters. I realised that by so doing, the shells
would have to come dangerously close to our position; i.e. if we stood up, the shells
could take off our heads before they fell into the river. So we all kept our heads down,
while the shells flew over us and fell slap into the middle of the river, doing a lot of
damage to the enemy. I have to say that it was a most professional job by 45 Field
Regiment RA. Utterly brilliant.
A little later, when I saw that another wave of Chinese were entering the water and
starting to come across, this time about 2,000 to 3,000 strong, I remembered that I could
call for a ‘Mike’ Target. That meant that the whole of 45 Field Regiment would fire. I
radioed in and for a short time, say half a minute, all 24 guns fired, their shells falling
into the river just in front of our position. They could only do this for a very short time as
the other Battalions in the Brigade, the Fifth Fusiliers, the Ulster Rifles and the Belgians,
also needed fire support from their own attached Batteries of 45 Field.
For the most part I was on ‘a high’, but at one time I remember thinking “this is just
another exercise at the School of Infantry, Warminster and, if you look behind you, you’ll
see one of the Directing Staff, clip board in hand, and at the ‘Aldershot Crouch’ ready to
point out errors.” I should point out that the ‘Aldershot Crouch’ is a gentle stoop much
favoured by the directing staff while the student is crawling through mud and gorse. It
has the amazing quality of making them invisible to the exercise enemy!
Finally, it became obvious that we were running low on ammunition, despite the vast
amount we had brought with us. I also heard scuffles on our bank about 30 to 50 yards to
our left. I came to the conclusion that the time had now come to retire, particularly as my
orders from Colonel Carne were to withdraw if the enemy were more than thirty strong.
As the Chinese were at least a hundred times that number, I gave the order to move back.
We started by running the first kilometre or thereabouts, and when there appeared to be
no sign of pursuit, we slowed to an ordinary march and made our way back to the area of
Battalion Headquarters. About this time I lightly remarked to Corporal Manley “Cor, you
might have reminded me that we were supposed to withdraw as soon as we saw upwards
of forty enemy”. He replied “Well you seemed to be enjoying the party as much as I
was.”
My original platoon position was on a hill just forward, and 60 metres above,
Battalion Headquarters. So I sent the men up the hill to re-supply themselves with
ammunition, take up their old positions, and get as much rest as they could, because it
was obvious that a major battle was about to begin. I stayed behind to report to Colonel
Carne and Tony Farrar-Hockley. I gave them the full story, but with hindsight, I realise
that I grossly under-estimated the strength of the enemy. Henry Cabral, our Intelligence
Officer, was also at that debriefing. He later told me that I was “fizzing with excitement”
and looked distinctly Byronesque! Something to do with the way I was wearing that long
woollen scarf thing called a “cap comforter”.
The following day, the 23rd of April, very little happened to 'C' Company. However,
one thing did, for which I have ever since felt guilty. Wanting to see what was going on
in front of us, I got out my binoculars to get a better view. In the process I handed my
unfolded map to my radio operator who was standing beside me. Unfortunately, a sharp
eyed Chinese sniper spotted the white back of the map, fired, and killed the signaller
outright, the first member of my platoon to become a casualty.
The next day, the 24th, at about 0700 hrs. I glanced down at Battalion Headquarters,
and saw one of our tracked vehicles on fire. What was going on? I couldn't see a sign of
life anywhere. A little later, Sgt. Major Ridlington came up to me and said that he could
not find Major Mitchell, our Company Commander. If he was, in fact, missing, then it
was up to me to assume command of C Company. I looked around, called all stations on
the radio and got no reply at all (not an unusual occurrence, as the radios we had, were far
from reliable, particularly in such mountainous terrain). I then detected some movement
on the top of Hill 235 directly west of our position. I began to think that we had been
abandoned. After a little more thought I decided that we should leave our hill and join
whoever it was on Hill 235. I gave the order and off we went down the hill. At the bottom
there was not a sign of life, except, just as we were about to start climbing the hill, we
found one lone Chinese. He was the only one, so we shot him.
When we reached the top of the hill, we were met by Tony Farrar-Hockley who put us
in a position on the south slope of Hill 235. Shortly afterwards, Colonel Carne came up to
me and said that as 'C' Company was now the strongest Company, he wanted me to lead a
breakout the following day. Now Colonel Carne was a man of very few words - some
people said he rationed himself to ten a day, so I just took a deep breath and replied 'Yes
Sir!' If I had said anything more, I probably wouldn't have got an answer anyway.
It occurred to me that this was going to be a daunting task. We would have to climb
down 800 feet from the top of 235, cross the valley and climb another mountain of about
the same height, while almost certainly battling hoards of Chinese. In the event, I need
not have worried, as that order was soon superceded by one amalgamating C Company
with a much depleted B Company under the command of Major Dennis Harding, with
myself as second in command.
I think I had last eaten on the evening of the 22nd and it was now the evening of the
24 and I hadn't had any food at all during that time, but I didn’t feel hungry anyway. I
suppose it was because of lack of sleep. Most people would agree that the body can only
register one major sensation at a time. By this I mean that one can feel either tired or
hungry but not both at the same time.
During the day we were being fired at by a machine gun from a distant hill to the
west. It was firing tracer rounds. I was very surprised at how very slowly the bullets
seemed to come and that one could actually see them coming. Eventually, these bullets
were nicking the shrub about two feet in front of my face, which I found somewhat
bothering. About this time, Dennis Harding said to me that our radio to Battalion
Headquarters wasn't working, so would I run to them and ask if we could get some
defensive artillery fire in front of our position. I ran along the ridge, only about four foot
wide which meant there was no way of avoiding exposure. I covered the distance in short
order. On the way back I passed Richard Reeve-Tucker who I saw had a bullet wound in
the centre of his forehead. I spoke to him and he replied. This was quite remarkable.
Minutes later he was found to be dead.
In the event, the plan for ‘B’ and 'C' Company to lead the withdrawal was cancelled
and on the morning of the 25th, the Colonel gave the order that everyone was to find their
own way back. Major Harding, who was now commanding the combined 'B' and 'C'
companies, passed on the order and off we all went in small groups. I went with Major
Dennis Harding and Sergeant Major Ridlington and we managed to avoid capture all that
day and night. The morning of the 26th was a truly beautiful morning, the only trouble
was that I was hallucinating. Quite understandably I think, as I had not eaten for three
days and not slept for four days and nights. My part of the battle had started at 1600
hours on the 22nd, I had been awake all through the nights of the twenty-second, the
twenty-third, the twenty-fourth and the twenty-fifth. Most people had been captured on
the twenty-fifth. but we stayed free for a day longer.
We had seemed to have evaded the first line of Chinese and were walking on, when, at
about nine o'clock in the morning, we suddenly saw one lone Chinese sentry. At once,
Dennis Harding pulled out his 38 revolver, a pretty silly weapon at the best of times, and
took a shot at him. Not surprisingly he missed, but almost immediately about a
Battalion's worth of Chinese soldiery stood up, appearing from nowhere. Being totally
surrounded, there wasn't much we could do but surrender. The sentry who had been shot
at was furious - just hopping mad. However, all the other Chinese thought it was one
great joke and they all broke out laughing. The poor chap was eventually appeased and
the three of us were each allotted a Chinese soldier who was told to look after us. It so
happened that the one who looked after me was very friendly. One must remember that
our side had napalmed theirs only about twenty-four hours before and we had seen the
results, which were, to put it mildly, appalling. Many people will have seen what happens
when a sausage, that has not previously been pricked with a fork, is fried. The skin splits
and the contents erupt – a fairly close simile, I think. Anyway, he offered me a cigarette,
a roll your own of course, and pointing to his own small fox hole, indicated I should lie
down on his kapok padded greatcoat and get some sleep. I did just that, getting about
three hours in all. Kindness like this is, I have always thought, common place amongst
front line soldiers. The hating is normally reserved to those some distance from the action.
th
At dusk we started walking, led and guarded by a few Chinese soldiers, and in the
early morning came to an old school house. There we found Colonel Carne, Henry Cabral
and about sixty other Glosters. Henry was Intelligence Officer of the Glosters and we had
always been together since joining the army at the Training Battalion at Hollywood
Barracks, Belfast; followed by Sandhurst, and Jamaica. That evening we again started
walking North and were joined by others, not just British, but Filipinos and American. At
this time I was still, frankly, quite tired. Not exhausted, but tired. Each night we walked
something like ten miles. On the third night we stopped at a large Korean school house.
The Chinese did not move us during the day because if they had it was probable that we
would have been seen by American aircraft.
We noticed that in one corner, there was a trap door in the floor. Henry Cabral opened
it and saw that there was a two foot space between the floor and the ground underneath.
Not far away were four or five sacks of rice chaff. Henry and I soon realised that here
was the chance to escape. The plan was that we would hide under the floor and others
would place the bags of chaff on top of the trap door. When the party left that night to
march North, we would remain long enough to ensure no guards remained, then we
would leave to go South. We were joined in this endeavour by Eddie Leach. Eddie was a
Lieutenant and a tank platoon commander in the 3rd US Reconnaissance Company.
Here I must admit that one of my worst fears is claustrophobia. Luckily, Henry and
Eddie didn't suffer from this problem, so they went in first and I ended up directly under
the trap door, which allowed me to see a chink of light along its edge which helped a bit.
We also had arranged for three people, who looked slightly similar to Henry, Eddie and
myself, to try to be counted twice by the Chinese when they counted their prisoners just
prior to departure. This seemed to work at the beginning, but they did another count
while on the march. This time coming up three short.
At this point, they stopped the column, pulled out 'Jumbo' Wilson, a Gloster officer,
and made him return to the school to help in the search for us. When the search party
arrived back at the school, we heard Jumbo feebly calling out 'Guy, Henry, Eddie. are
you there!' After a pause, we heard him say to the Chinese interpreter or someone, 'No,
they aren't here', and they left.
After another half hour, I cautiously pressed open the trap door, which proved easy as
the sacks were very light and fell aside with no problem. We got out and left the building.
It was a clear, cloudless night so we easily found the North Star and then headed off,
180°in the opposite direction.
After about three hours walking, we came to a river and agreed that if we wished to
keep going South, there was nothing for it but to take a swim. Being optimists, we took
off our shirts and trousers and holding them above our heads waded in. As it turned out
we were able to wade all the way across, finding the water not exactly cold, but shall I
say 'refreshing'. We got to the other side and got dressed.
We were making rather good progress and just before dawn we could see in front of
us a hill, which looked as if it had good cover on it. We thought we could just about make
it before daylight. We did indeed make it, but the cover turned out to be only a foot or
two high. But we were there and if we lay low, no one would see us particularly as we
thought no one would have any reason to come up to there. Although we didn't have any
food or water, the weather was bright and sunny and we were happy and free. Free as the
air. A wonderful feeling.
But as luck would have it, an old Korean granny with her grandson came up the hill
looking for brush wood for their fires. And would you believe it, they stumbled right on
our position. It was most unfortunate. We agreed that we had three options. First we
could stay were we were and allow them to go their way, and raise the alarm. Secondly,
we could kill them both but as we had no weapons, we would have to do it with our bare
hands. And thirdly, we could continue on, in broad daylight, and take our chances. The
first option would, almost certainly, lead to recapture. The second, we were just not
prepared to undertake. So the third, though not appealing, was the best option, we thought,
available to us.
Off we went, walking very quickly until we came across a Korean farmer. He looked
at us enquiringly, and as I spoke a little Russian, I told him we were Russians on our way
to the front. This seemed to satisfy him, but when I tried it again a little while later with
another Korean, it clearly didn't. However, we went on towards a really tall range of
mountains which were only about four or five miles ahead of us.
Suddenly there were shots from all around us, over our heads but enough to make us
realise that we were about to be recaptured. And captured we were.
Now, the village were we where recaptured had been recently bombed by the
Americans using incendiaries, and all that was left was ash. So one could reasonably
expect the villagers to be somewhat less than friendly. However, I made sure that the
Koreans knew that we were ‘Yongook’ (English) and not ‘Megook’ (American). We
were escorted by these Korean soldiers, to another village and taken into what passed in
Korea for a restaurant, and, given an exceedingly good meal. We were very surprised, as
it, in fact, was by far the best meal we had eaten for what seemed a long time, and for a
very long time to come.
MAY ‘51
Then, from there we were taken to a civilian gaol. This gaol was not a building as such,
but a cave cut into the rock face, the entrance being secured by a wrought iron gate. We
were ushered in to this 'black' hole and when our eyes got accustomed to the dark, we
could see that the rock floor was covered with pools of water which in turn formed little
'dry' islands. On these islands were sitting other prisoners. These were Koreans, who we
discovered were Christians, and that was their crime. They had obviously been there
some time because their hair was down to their shoulders, which was unusual in those
days, particularly for Koreans.
By using signs and much smiling, they made us feel very welcome. It wasn't till a little
later that we discovered that they were covered in lice. In an attempt to isolate ourselves
from this problem, we each found ourselves an 'island' completely surrounded by water.
Because lice can't swim we felt a bit more secure.
We stayed in this civilian gaol for three days, and were then marched North. We
ended up we knew not where. However, we somehow discovered that it was from here
that some other prisoners of war had subsequently been released for propaganda purposes.
We agreed, among ourselves, to play our cards carefully, without in any way 'going
across to the other side'. This we did, but to no avail.
The Koreans then handed us over to some Chinese to whom we explained that we had
got separated from the others with whom we had been captured, and then got lost. But,”
here we are and of course we are very sorry for any trouble we may have caused.”. They
appeared to accept this story and took us on to, what was known for some reason as the
'Bean Camp'. I never saw a bean there and all we got in the way of food was ‘goliang’and
not much at that, served twice a day. Goliang, or sorghum as it is known in America, is a
grain, rather like pearl barley, but with a mauvish tinge. It has a fairly pleasant neutral
taste and I reckon is probably more nutritious than white rice. For the most part the
British had no problem eating this goliang, but not so the Americans, who could scarcely
force it down. I always supposed this was because they were either talking or dreaming
about exotic meals they had eaten back in the States. Myself, I had no such memories,
having spent my formative years in an English public school in wartime, where a typical
lunch would be overcooked cabbage with caterpillars floating in lukewarm water,
accompanied by what we called ‘Belsen Broth’ – ie bones with very little flesh on them.
The Americans were always dreaming about exotic meals – T-bone steaks followed by
angel food cake (whatever that may be). Many said that in the dream they were just
picking up knife and fork when they woke up. There was somebody who claimed he had
actually eaten the meal in his dreams. At the opposite end, and more prosaically, there
were those who day dreamed about “twice round the pan and pointed at both ends”!!
From the Bean Camp, the Chinese took a group of about twenty of us over what was
called the ‘Glass Mountain’ in PoW parlance. We went up a long steep hill then down the
other side to what was known as the 'Mining Camp', because there were plenty of signs of
mine shafts, wheels and so on. There we were put in yet another school - the Chinese
obviously liked to commandeer schools.
At the time of arrival at the Mining Camp, I had been a prisoner for around two to
three weeks. In the camp were both British and American prisoners. It was during this
time that Henry and I came to the conclusion that trying to go due south was a mistake, as
in Korea, the mountains tend to go East to West. This means that if one goes from the
North to the South, one has to go up and down one mountain range after another, an
exhausting business, particularly if one was doing it at night. However, if one went to the
East or West one could go via the valleys or along the ridges, altogether less difficult to
do. So, we decided that our next escape would be to go West to the Yellow Sea coast,
procure a fishing boat, and sail off to freedom. The details would be worked out when we
got there.
We also decided that this plan would best be accomplished by six people in order to
be able to push off any boat we might find. Eddie, Henry and I, Private Weller of the
Glosters, Sgt. Bob Wilkins an American rear gunner of the USAF and Sgt Kenny
Connacher, also American were the team. It was terribly easy to get out of the camp. This
was no problem at all. There was no wire fence, so when the sentry looked one way, we
went the other. Unusually, when we chose to escape, it was a very dark night, and Bob
Wilkins, who was in the lead at the time, suddenly stopped. Half a pace more and he
would have gone over a precipice and fallen about sixty feet. Then it came on to rain, and
it rained and rained and rained, the rest of the night and all the following day. It just
pelted down. There was an advantage in that we couldn't be seen from afar, so we kept
walking all that day and the following night. The third day Eddie Leach and Bob Wilkins
started to get very bad dysentery and Henry and I thought they were also getting
pneumonia. We decided to hole up in the nearest Korean house that we could find. A
difficult job, but we found what we were looking for. On entering we found two women
and a small boy. They were terribly frightened as to what was going to happen to them,
but we indicated that all we wanted was to warm ourselves round their fire. The little boy
however, must have been told by the women to go out and get help.
What happened was that we were getting nicely warm, when after about four hours
shots were fired through the mud walls of the house and we realised that the game was up,
yet again.
Our captors were Korean and they took us back to the Bean Camp where we had been
before. This time at the Bean Camp, because it was clear that we were escapees, we were
put on 'permanent' burial detail This entailed digging very shallow graves and then piling
stones on top of the body – we normally said a few words – usually The Lord’s Prayer.
Though a humorist once said “In the name of the Father, of the Son and into the hole he
goes”!! Our customers were all white American soldiers, mostly as a result of ‘give-up it
is’. One thing we had noticed was that some of the white Americans were all for blaming
Truman for getting them into this mess. We had earlier been joined in the ‘stockade’, as
they called it, by three Americans, all black, and these three black soldiers would not
have a word said against Truman, the United States, the United Nations or anybody else.
In fact they were really good, sound people. Luckily, the burial detail did not last long
before we were again taken over the Glass Mountain, to the Mining Camp.
On our return we were confronted by the Camp Commandant, 'Grey Haired Lee' as he
was known Clearly he had lost much face by our escape; now it seemed he was to have
his revenge. Curtly, he informed us we would be shot. I fully believed him. We were
marched up a valley with our hands tied behind our backs. The stage seemed set for the
last act.
Henry turned to me. 'Are you afraid?' he asked. 'Not particularly' I replied, I was too
numbed. 'Funny thing that, nor am I.' he said. Again this insistent feeling of 'It can't
happen to me.'
Needless to say, we were not shot, but instead we were herded into a filthy twentyfour foot by twelve foot mud walled and floored hovel, with a thatched roof. While
standing, our wrists were tied up with rope to a stout wooden beam.
The building was divided in two equal sized square rooms with a floor to roof mud
wall, the pitched roof being supported by the beam running in the long dimension. Each
room had it’s own entrance door but no window. Henry, Eddie and I were put into the left
hand room and the three Other Ranks in the other. We did not know how the others were
faring, but it was obvious from the groans we could hear, that what they were
experiencing was not pleasant.
Basically we were still in fairly good physical shape. However, we were hungry, tired
and wet. For the last four days we had been in the Korean civilian gaol for
political/Christian prisoners. We had thought the gaol was bad enough but our present
accommodation was infinitely worse, in an attempt to boost each others moral we started
to talk about better times. At once there was a yell from the other side of the paper
covered frame door, and two guards burst in, swinging their rifle butts viciously, hitting
Henry and Eddie about the legs. For some unknown reason, I only received a glancing
blow.
Around midnight, as the guards had not disturbed us for some time, I cautiously began
to work on the cords that bound my wrists. By standing on tiptoe it was possible to create
some slack into the knot holding my wrists tightly together. Although I had little feeling
left in my fingers, I was surprised that I could make progress. However, the strain of
standing on my toes proved too much, causing me to stumble and fall forward. The agony
of the suddenly tightening rope was only exceeded by the knowledge that all my work till
then had been wasted.
I realized that if I did not succeed in untying the knot soon, I would lose all feeling in
my fingers. This thought made me redouble my efforts and I was rewarded, for after
about twenty minutes struggle, the rope fell away. Relief was instantaneous, but the
numbness remained.
Henry and Eddie had also been trying to untie their ropes, but so far without success.
As Henry, was the closest, I untied him first and then Eddie. We then readjusted the ropes
so that if and when a guard appeared we could quickly slip the ropes back on and hope
that this wouldn't be noticed.
Escape at this juncture was virtually out of the question. We had had but little food in
the last week and were weakening fast, and even if we had evaded the sentries, it was
doubtful if we would have got very far. The thought of recapture and the ensuing
punishment was so unappealing that we decided, rightly or wrongly, to remain and stick
it out.
The sentries did not come until morning. We were prepared for them and had retied
ourselves. It was much harder than untying. In spite of being untied for about five hours it
was still a long night but not to be compared to what was in store.
I imagine that it was about nine o'clock when the guard came in with three small
bowls of goliang.
The Chinese untied us so we could eat, apparently not suspecting that we had untied
ourselves during the night.
The goliang was the first food we had seen for twenty-four hours and we fell upon it
greedily. To us it tasted delicious. Taking the lead from Oliver Twist, we asked for more.
The Chinese guard took his lead from Mr. Bumble, and his face twisted in sheer
disgust. 'Mologo -pi'! he said. Later on I found he was insinuating that I was the 'son of a
turtle'.
We were thirsty and asked for water, and were taken out to the stream at the back of
the house. It looked dirty, obviously loaded with dysentery, but I was thirsty and drank, at
the same time dunking my fever hot arms in the water, almost expecting a cloud of steam
to appear. I splashed it over my face and body revelling in it's coolness. A hoarse grunt
from the sentry brought me back to reality. We were tied up again, this time with the
hands behind the back and pinioned at the upper arm and the wrist. Unceremoniously we
were pushed onto the mud floor of the hut.
That fifteen minute respite and the ability to get a breath of fresh air and sunlight had
been wonderful. Working on the assumption that it would be another seven hours before
we were untied again, we reckoned that we must get to work on the ropes again. A
different technique was called for this time as already I could feel a numbness seeping
down my arms to the fingers. There was no time to waste. Within another fifteen minutes
there would be no feeling in the fingers at all.
Soon we realised it would be easier to untie each other and sitting back to back
achieved this in a few minutes. Nonetheless the arms were considerably swollen through
lack of circulation.
We kept our ropes slack behind us ready to replace them should the Chinese dart
through the door. Again we were all tied up the by the time evening meal arrived, anyway
sufficiently so to fool the 'Soya Links'. That night we were confident - too confident. We
grew sleepy and were not awake when three Chinese burst into the room. Volley upon
volley of oaths were spat out when they saw we were untied. Brutally we were hustled
out of the house , clubbed by rifle butts to goad us on. The Chinese seized me. One put
his knee in my back forcing me to bend over backwards while the other two tied me.
Once inside again they bound my legs too. I felt as helpless as an oven ready turkey.
Henry and Eddie suffered the same fate.
'How are you?' asked Henry. From Eddie, always a little taciturn, 'Not good, give
them time to cool off and we will have another go'.
I could feel the circulation stopping. Desperately I started to struggle. It was useless.
'Let me try' suggested Henry. I eased my body back to back against his. Twenty
minutes struggle made no impression on the ropes. I tried his but with equal lack of
success. It was the last time I was to feel my fingers for three months. In another ten
minutes they were useless.
'Oh my God' said Henry, 'I'm going to die' with a calmness that was alarming. 'Do you
think it will take long'?
'You’re not going to die', I said, neither believing nor disbelieving what I said., simply
knowing it should be said.
'How long will it take'? He was obviously not reassured.
'Don't think about it', was all I could think to say.
'These ropes are giving me hell', said Eddie quite calmly, but it was obvious that what
he said was true, he was in Hell.
I have often read in novels how, when somebody gets tied up the arms go numb and
there is no feeling in them at all. This unfortunately is not the case. The fingers lose their
power of feeling but the whole arm remains like a sack of red hot coals that sear and
scorch.
To say that the hours dragged by would be a masterpiece of understatement.
Conversations started and died, all three of us seeking some form of escape from horrible
reality. Eddie talked about his wife and daughter.
'When I get back to the States I'm going to give that girl the time of her life, never am
I going to complain again if the toast is burnt or the egg not just right and never again
………'. He tailed off in a low moan.
I must think about something, anything, just concentrate I told myself, I set myself
mathematical problems and didn't do them, started counting sheep in an effort to sleep,
but sleep evaded me. Hotter and hotter grew the fiery leaden weights behind my back that
were my arms. Surely something must explode or burst open, I thought. Had someone at
that moment offered to cut off both arms at the shoulders I would have gladly agreed.
I think I must have gone into a coma. Reality changed places with unreality and it was
hard to separate the two. Sometimes I was an airy spirit hovering over the shell of a man
that was myself, looking at him and sympathizing with his fate, but totally divorced from
his suffering.
Dawn broke and with it came new hope. I looked about me. Eddies face was ashen
grey beneath his heavy dark beard. His bowed head, hollowed cheeks and shrunken
frame gave the appearance of a man of sixty. He had aged thirty years in a night, I
thought. But he turned to me and spoke. A spark came into his eyes as he spoke of the
future. The spirit was still there and willing, but the body was very weak. I looked at
Henry who was still asleep, propped against the mud wall. His face haggard but a faint
smile lingered over his lips. Where was he? Portugal, reliving his boyhood. England or
Jamaica; it didn't matter - he was happy. With a start he awoke blinking at the
unaccustomed light.
'I suppose it's about six o'clock now.'
'Yes.' I agreed, 'about four hours to chow.'
How to pass the time till then. We looked out of the door.
An old woman was toiling past with a vast load of sticks piled on her back. She glanced
at us through the gap in the paper that covered the door, but the sentry motioned her on.
I looked at the walls, they were covered with sheets of Korean newspapers and on
each appeared a picture of the smug, self satisfied face of Kim Il Sung. This was the first
thing I saw on waking and the last thing at night.
Breakfast, the usual bowl of goliang, was brought to us at about ten o'clock, but on
being untied I found I was quite unable to eat it with the spoon they provided. In fact I
could do nothing with my hands, both my wrists had dropped and I could only just move
my fingers. Food I must have, I thought, that was my first consideration. I grovelled on
my knees and attacked it like a dog.
'Hey, what's up?' called Eddie. 'I can't hold a spoon' I replied. 'Let's have a look at your
arms', he said.
He put down his bowl of goliang and rolled up the sleeves of my flannel shirt. The
sight sickened both of us, the wrists were deeply lacerated and all the way up both the
swollen arms was a mass of blisters, all about the size of an old penny. He rolled the
sleeves down again not saying a word.
'Here eat this' he said, with difficulty loading a spoonful into my mouth. In this way the
meal continued , each of us having alternate mouthfuls.
Henry had fared fairly well. His left wrist was dropped and useless but his right
seemed sound. He was to have his fair share of trouble though. He was let out after the
'meal' to perform his natural functions, but came back with the news that he had got
dysentery. From that moment till the day he died in October, he never got rid of the
problem. It was generally reckoned that if a person got dysentery and didn't get rid of it
within a month, his days were numbered. Henry was a fighter and survived five months
of it.
We were let out to the latrine, a small reed hut just behind the hovel, one by one.
When I got there I realized I couldn't undo the necessary buttons. I made signs to the
guard who laughed, drew his bayonet and cut off the buttons, something that he could not
have accomplished with a blunt sided British bayonet. The job completed, I staggered
back again to the hut, dreading the thought of being tied up again.
Two soldiers were standing there ready with the ropes. Eddie made signs to them that
they shouldn’t tie me up as I was powerless as it was. For a moment I thought they were
not going to, then, with a hideous smile one of the soldiers stepped towards me and
started to rub his hands all the way up both arms. The agony was indescribable as the
blisters burst and the skin tore away. To complete it they tied me up again, the ropes
biting easily into the gashes as before.
Five minutes latter, Henry wanted to go to the latrine again, so he shouted to the guard
'Shobyen' (which needs no translation), but the guard only laughed and turned away.
Again Henry implored him but to no avail. Our latrine now became 'en suite.’
To start with the flies had been bad, now they increased a hundred fold. That evening we
were to have a slight change from the monotony. Grey Haired Lee, the Camp
Commandant, came up and ordered us all outside. Kenny, Bob and Weller were led
outside from the other room - it was the first time we had seen them since being separated.
Their faces were haggard and the strain was obviously telling. We started talking but
were shut up forcibly.
Lee harangued us, in English adequate to the task, for half an hour or so on the
seriousness of our crime, and at the end decided that we, the officers, were the leaders
and the others merely our dupes. He ordered them to be untied and taken back to the main
camp. Henry, Eddie and I were to remain tied, but this time Eddie was to be put alone in
the room that the others had been in, and Henry and I were left together in our old room.
I was sorry that Eddie had left us but glad that I at least had Henry for company.
The night passed with it's usual endless agony.
On waking I realised that the smell in the room was even stronger than usual. It was
my arms rotting. When we were untied, Henry rolled back my sleeve. The shapeless
limbs were a greenish yellow mass of suppurating broken skin.
I asked Henry to leave the sleeves up so that the air might get at the arms and dry them
up. Our meal was the usual goliang. Henry was feeding me taking alternate mouthfuls
himself. Then something happened that was more than unusual. One of the Chinese
guards, a boy with pleasant open features entered the room and insisted on feeding me
himself. It seemed to me then that he couldn't have employed more loving care than if I
had been a child and he was my mother. Each mouthful was watched with smiles of
approval. At that time his behaviour didn't really strike me as strange - we were prepared
for anything to happen.
The meal finished, we were tied up again.
That evening the mental torture began. Eddie was taken down to the village and
interrogated for four hours. They wanted him to confess that in reality he was a spy, but
this he refused to do.
Days became blurred into each other, I couldn't rightly say when it was that I realised
that gangrene had set into my arms, but it was probably the time when I saw a Korean
walking past, cross to the other side of the road and hold his nose. When a Korean did
that it had to be a pretty powerful smell.
The thought that I might lose my arms didn't really disturb me. In fact when a guard
made signs of amputation I merely nodded agreement.
There was however one factor which I had not taken into account, and that was the
flies. One particularly hot afternoon they had been consistently buzzing round my arms,
and when we were untied for the evening meal I realised that they had left their eggs on
my arms. By morning these were hatched out and both arms had a wriggling mass of
squirming maggots from wrist to armpit.
'You’re lucky' said Henry. 'Lucky? I said, 'how'? 'Well, they'll eat the gangrene out
and keep it clean.'
From then on I had constant company, I even passed hours watching these creatures
crawl up and down my arms, fascinated in spite of myself. By now the Chinese had
agreed that I was powerless to do anything and had not tied me up, Henry and Eddie they
left tied. What was galling was that I was quite unable to help them. Now however they
didn't seem to be in much pain. It almost appeared that they had got used to being tied up
and seemed to know no other life.
One day whilst absorbed in watching my maggots I realised that some of them were
going red in colour. To me this could only mean they were eating good flesh. Clearly
they must be thinned out. At dusk I used to scrape them off against a convenient nail in
the door frame. Henry dug out some of them with a straw and it was then that I realized I
had two large holes in my wrists through which when cleared of maggots, I could see
right to the bone and see all the tendons working when I moved my fingers.
I was not the only one. By this time Eddie and Henry had also been untied. They did
not have holes in the wrists but both had what appeared to be yawning chasms in their
upper arms. In point of fact they were about two inches across and an inch deep.
Two or three days passed by in idleness. We were now allowed to talk freely to each
other. Henry had managed to keep with him a small pocket New Testament. He had
picked it up off the battlefield after being taken prisoner and had managed to keep it ever
since. From this we derived much comfort. Without worldly possessions one occasionally
felt very close to the Almighty.
On several occasions we were subject to interrogations, these were mostly quite mild,
and of the “Who started the war and why did you?” variety. Almost simultaneously I
remember Henry and I discovered that scabs were beginning to form on our arms. Joy
upon joys we were healing! This was good news and on the strength of it we decided to
dismiss our remaining maggots. Some were reluctant to go and found themselves odd
corners where they hid for days before finally being winkled out.
The Chinese were always full of surprises. But the greatest surprise was when one
evening a Chinese, speaking perfect English, brought us a large bundle of leaf tobacco,
all neatly wrapped in the 'Shanghai News'. Henry and I were not smokers at that time but
not so Eddie. Deftly he rolled us each a Super King Size cigarette. About six inches long
they were, and we were still smoking them about half an hour later. Another surprise was
in store. Later that evening, (everything happens at night to a POW of the Chinese),
another Chinese came and saw us.
He bade us to 'Pack your everything, come, uh.' This was the standard phrase used by
the Chinese when they wanted us to go somewhere.
'Looks like a Chogi some place', said Eddie. Chogi was the Korean for 'there', but
came to mean, in prisoner parlance 'a journey', owing to the fact that the guards would
frequently use it to mean that the destination was at hand, when nearly always there was
another six miles or more to go.
To obey the first part of the Chinese guard's order was simple. We had nothing to pack.
The second part was not so easy. We had become very weak and for the first time
realized how thin we were. Our clothing flapped loosely about us. I suppose our journey
was only a mile, but it took us, I imagine, at least three hours.
We didn't know were we were going and were resigned to an all night march, when
we were motioned to a turning off the road and began climbing a steep hill. Complete
exhaustion had almost overtaken us when we found ourselves opposite a substantial
concrete building looking rather like an air raid shelter. We were informed it was a
hospital.
A Korean girl, dressed in standard Korean army uniform with a Red Cross armband,
led us inside. Like all Korean girls she was short and stocky, but unlike all, it seemed
there was a spark of kindness in her broad Mongolian face.
She spoke a few words of English and soon made it plain to us that her opinion of the
Chinese was not high. Without further loss of time she deftly swabbed our arms and
bandaged them up. It was wonderful to feel at least partly clean again.
From then on our arms healed up surprisingly quickly though it was to be another
three months before I could so much as hold a pen to write my name. Thus ended one of
the worst episodes in our lives as POW's, but that was by no means the end of the story.
I should include at this point a flattering reference to us in Conley Clarke’s book
p168
“Late that afternoon, the officers got their first good look at the two British officers who
had been kept so close to them, but out of sight. The two officers came down the street
under heavy guard. Both looked cheerful and walked easily. They were very thin, and
thongs which had bound them at the wrists and above the elbows had cut deeply into their
flesh. Bones and tendons were exposed at several places.” That we were very thin there
was no doubt. To each other we looked like those photographs of Belsen survivors. I
could join the tips of my thumb and forefinger round my wrist and then move up to the
elbow without letting go; the same applied from above my elbow to my shoulder.
END MAY ‘ 51
From there we three were taken to the notorious Pak's Palace, a North Korean Army
interrogation centre run by a Major Pak. I spent seven and a half months at Pak’s Palace.
The record for anyone. The first two months was spent in interrogation by ‘The
Professor’ mostly about radios. (The Professor was so named because he had been one at
Seoul University before the war) Day and night it went on and on, it was difficult to lie
and not get caught out. Eventually it occurred to me that I was being unnecessarily
virtuous in not telling them what they wanted to know. The 19 set and the 62 set that we
had used, had both English and Russian writing on them, implying that similar sets had
been sent to Russia during the 2nd World War. The 31 set, a VHF platoon set, was so
unreliable, that if the communist world were to copy it, they would be doing themselves
more harm than good. The Professor was probably the only interrogator to have, what
appeared to be, a touch of humanity. (Much later on I discovered that he had been
instrumental in the removal of “Spud” Gibbons finger nails before I arrived there.)
. One day after a particular stormy session he said 'Well I think we have quarrelled
enough, now tell me about the Canadian Navy', knowing full well that I knew nothing
about it, and solemnly proceeded to take down the outrageous particulars I gave him.
‘Sixteen battleships, thirtytwo cruisers, sixtyfour destroyers and submarines.’ All
'graduates' had to draw maps of something. I was asked by the sergeant, we called the
“map sergeant” - 'You have been to London?'. 'Yes', I replied. 'Very well, draw me a
plan of London docks, giving me the measurements of every building and the colour of
the roofs'. I said it was impossible, but the interrogator said rather flatteringly “You are a
British Officer and so must know everything”. I still demurred, with the result that I was
placed in a hole in the ground with a pistol held close to my head. I soon saw the error of
my ways and said that I could do what was required after all.
I started by being, as I thought humorous, by putting in Coca-Cola machines and
things like that. When one had to draw the same map three or four times, I soon realised
it didn't pay as I could never remember where I had put things. Amongst others stock
questions there was frequently the old favourite. 'Who started the war and why did you?'
or for pilots, 'What happens when you press the button?' This was the ejection switch
they were referring to. (I was told, by an American, that some Korean or Chinese had
'pressed the button’ on a shot down plane, and was propelled through the canopy and
came down 'deader than a mackerel'). When the Russians turned up, dressed in blue suits,
white shirts, without collar or tie and wearing Trilby hats, then the questions would be
more sensible, otherwise they were absurd in the extreme. There were two other
interrogators at Pak’s Palace, one was called ‘four eyes’ on account of his bright blue
spectacles. He was fat, pompous and strutted about the place. The other was, of course,
Major Pak himself, an evil looking little man. I was very glad I had nothing to do with
either of them.
There were about fifty United Nations men of all races there, and the death rate for so
small a community was pretty high. After some two months a list of about twenty names
were read out and we were told that they would be going North. Henry's name was one of
them and mine was not. The 'Professor' was standing there so I asked him if I could join
the party, as Henry and I had always been together. He said 'No' and added that I would
be better off where I was. At the time I didn't believe him, but he proved to be right.
Henry left, to be marched up North. He died on the way, his body being flung into a ditch.
Eddie remained to die at Pak's and, because we hadn't the energy, we buried him in the
same shallow grave as a U.S. Air Force Colonel who had died that morning. Oddly
enough, someone had already commented that Eddie looked bad, and that we might have
to do just that. Some had been horrified by what they thought was his callous approach
but his forecast was 100% accurate.
September 51
Anyway both my escaping companions were dead. I looked around for another
'buddy' .One must always have a buddy. George Morar was a USAF B26 rear gunner
sergeant, who was badly burnt on the face and arms, his hair also had burned away so all
he had was some white stubble, and he was very thin,. But he was tough. I later
discovered that, before joining the Air Force, he had worked as slaughterman in Chicago,
not a place for those with delicate feelings. We teamed up, with a promise that if one of
us should fall sick, the other would 'pull out all the stops' to help him. Together we did
the nursing of the sick. Our record was not good. One hundred per cent fatalities was the
score. It was hard to know whether the deaths were due to give-up-it is or starvation. It
would probably surprise most people to know that when a person is starving he is not
hungry, and, in fact, it is very difficult to either persuade, or force him to eat. I also think
that the converse is true, meaning that when a man is hungry he is not actually starving.
Some time after the war George left the USAF and set up a parachute school. I was very
sorry to hear that only a short while later he died when his parachute failed to open.
October 51
Slowly our numbers dwindled. That tower of strength and rugged individualist, Felix
Ferranto, of the US Marines had gone, so had Fabien Felice, the French adjutant. Poor
Gobert, the Belgian nineteen years old, with a wife in Japan, had died, so had Digger
Madden, the Australian, talking of God's Own Country till the last. Fabien Felice had
been the one who had contracted dysentery on the same day as myself. We had counted
up to fifty trips each to the latrine before we lost count. Added to the awfulness of the
disease was the fact that the sentry would only allow one person to go out to the latrine at
one time. This resulted in frequent shouts from Fabien of “Depechez-vous, mon
lieutenant” and my reply of “Un moment, mon adjutant.” Weren’t we formal? After
repatriation I had a card from Fabien saying that he had married again and was very
happy. Later on I learned that he was at Dien Bien Phu, but after that nothing.
As winter drew on so interrogation dwindled. Our job now was to collect wood for the
camp staff and to dig what we originally thought were bomb shelters, but turned out to be
clamps for storing the local cabbage. Even now we were only dressed in what we had
been captured in. I was wearing just a flannel shirt, a pair of battledress trousers, no
underwear, a pair of boots with holes in the soles and no socks. I found it particularly
cold when ice rolled off the log I was carrying down the back of my neck. During the
previous winter when 1 Glosters were at Pyongtek the temperature had dropped to minus
48 degrees centrigade, this seems to have been an aberration but even so one can assume
that it was probably in the region of minus 30 degrees. It was then that my leg went septic,
after being hit by a log. Realising that I could hardly walk, let alone work, I was made
permanent cook, and Larry whose arm was also poisoned was allowed to do the chopping
of the firewood. This was considered real humanitarianism. Everyday Larry and I were
escorted over to the 'Honcho's kitchen to collect our rations, i.e. rice for the day.
Now Larry was dressed in an old Chinese greatcoat over his nakedness and a pair of
boots. Nothing else. All his clothes had been burned when his plane had been on fire as it
was shot down. This coat had large pockets which he used to fill with 'daikons' (a sort of
large Radish) whilst I used to divert the Ajimoni’s attention. Ajimoni literally means
‘Auntie’ but seems to be used for cook/housekeeper. She used to hiss at me, like a snake.
Not all Korean females were like the Ajimoni. One day I was trying to haul a tin can of
water out of the well, and clearly making heavy weather of it. A little girl aged, I suppose,
nine or ten, smilingly took the rope from my hands and had the can full and on the
ground in a trice.
Amongst my other tasks was that of improving, with George Morar, the English of
some Korean Sergeants. This was really quite enjoyable. We were allotted about six
sergeants each and told to report on their progress at the end of the day, I must admit their
reports had a curious way of being closely connected to the amount of food and/or
tobacco they produced for us. One sergeant failed to produce any present at all, so I gave
him a very bad report and had the satisfaction of seeing him in the hole I had once been
in! I should mention that, unlike the Chinese, the Korean officers were great respecters of
rank, whether Korean or enemy. The Chinese told everyone, of whatever rank, that they
were now one of the “peace loving peoples of the world”.It was a pleasant change from
digging clamps. George and I would sit there smoking 'tailor made' cigarettes and
spreading good capitalistic propaganda the while. The Korean Majors soon realized what
was happening and this was stopped after a few days. Once more back we went to
chopping trees and digging holes in frozen ground.
November 51
At this point I realized I had scurvy as my teeth became loose and my gums bled. This
was my fourth disease, the others being jaundice, dysentery and beri-beri. The latter
problem was caused by lack of vitamin B. Fortunately the cure was at hand. On the way
to the latrine was a sack of rice husks for the pig in the latrine to eat. (It should be
explained that all Korean families have this peculiar habit of feeding their pigs on human
excrement. Thus the pig, normally a lean and rangy beast, would be in the pen below one.
When using the latrine a, not infrequent occurrence would be to find the pig snapping at
one’s vitals). A mouthful of husks now and again, while the sentry wasn't looking, and
my beri-beri was cured after three days.
It was a blessing for us that Chris Lombard, a South African pilot, got shot down
when he did. He was big and strong and with all the toughness of the Boer Vortrekkers
He was just the tonic to morale we needed and nobody dared to give up and die when he
was around. A curious incident happened to Chris and myself. Following Soviet custom
with former Czarist officers, and Chinese communist custom with former Nationalist
officers, the “Professor” offered me command of a North Korean Infantry battalion
(heady stuff for a young lieutenant) and Chris command of a squadron of MiG 15s. He
explained that both of us would have a political commissar to keep us straight. For a very
short while Chris and I considered the possibility of me hopping on to his MiG and flying
to freedom. Then we realised it could all go horribly wrong and end up at dawn in the
Tower of London!! In short we declined, which did not seem to to surprise the
“Professor”.
December 51
This was December '51 and the time when the North Koreans thought the war had
ended. To cries of 'Changey, Changey' from the guards and with only a modicum of hope
in our hearts that the war was really ending we, the remaining ten, marched out of the
gate carrying, on an improvised stretcher, Colonel Hugh Farler, a U.S. Air Force
navigator, who was too weak from beri-beri to walk. Throughout that night we trudged.
Chris was at one end of the stretcher, while Larry with his septic arm, George with burns
all over his body, Walt with mammoth boils and myself with a septic leg and damaged
wrists, taking turns at the other. Chris saying to Hugh, 'Now if we carry you, don't you
bloody well die!' We must have been a sorry sight.
Early next morning, we arrived at our destination, a place known by its inmates as the
Peace Camp, but we came to call it “Traitor’s Row”. Again we were informed by a
Korean General that we were going home. At the end of a long harangue in Korean, he
stated 'how nice it has been to have you'.
Hugh did not survive the good news and died later that day, where upon Chris said to
Hugh, “ I told you not to bloody well die and now look what you’ve done”. It was
callous of us, but I remember we all laughed.
We stayed another three days at Traitor’s Row, taking good care to distance ourselves
from the original inmates. It was quite clear that they had been ‘turned’ and had been
actively supporting the enemy. I did hear that Marine Condron had even been making
broadcasts. After the three days about eight of us were taken by truck far north to Camp 5
on the banks of the Yalu river.
We arrived at night and were put in a small building a little distance from the main
camp. It was then that the strength of the British Army regimental system came to the
fore. Somehow, the corporals and private soldiers, who were inmates of Camp 5, came to
know that we were there. Gradually, mostly one at a time, the senior member of each
British regiment made their way to our house at some risk to themselves. They reported
verbally with the names and condition of the other soldiers of their unit. I remember
being very moved by this. But, there was one snag – none of us had pencil or paper, so I
had to try to commit the details to memory.
A few days later we were supplied with an air letter card and a pen to write our first
letter home. In order that it should get past the Chinese censor and, that word should get
back that I was alive, I wrote a glowing report of conditions here. But then, of course,
things were vastly different from Pak’s Palace anyway.
I think we only stayed there some five days before being taken by truck to Camp 2,
the Officers’ Camp. This was again a school that had been taken over by the Chinese. At
once I was greeted by the Glosters there and it was Jumbo Wilson who told me about
Henry Cabral’s death on their march up. This was a blow as I felt I could have saved him,
had I been on that march with him. The ‘Professor’ back at Pak’s Palace had been right
when he had said that I might well be better off remaining there, instead of going on the
march north as Henry did.
I was shown to my room, a former class room, where my sleeping area was on the
wooden floor between Randle Cooke of the 8thHussars and Carl Dain of 45 Field
Regiment RA. They both made me very welcome, as did Bob Hickey and Doug Patchett
and indeed all the other 20 or so who were in the same room. The sleeping space was just
enough for one thin man and, of course, we all fell into that category. There were no
pillows, but we were given a kind of quilt which was luxury indeed. However, an
advantage of being so close to one’s neighbours did mean that one gained a little heat
thereby.
The date was probably around the 15th December ’51 as I was able to write a letter to
my parents on the 19th December. I mentioned that, the previous week, I had received
their letter written in September. I was also able to say that we had just been given
padded clothing. I had been absolutely delighted to get rid of my battle dress trousers and
shirt that I had not changed since some time before the Imjin battle i.e. early April,
making it almost exactly 8 months of continuous wear. Nor had I washed my body or
cleaned my teeth. Oddly enough I don’t think we did smell, or perhaps we all smelt the
same, and just did not notice it. My only contribution to personal hygiene had been to
strip daily and search for lice which always lurked in the seams. These I killed, in the
approved manner, between my two thumb nails.
Much later I discovered that my parents only got to know that I was still alive and a
PoW on the 22nd December ’51. They were based in Rangoon at the time, but were
actually on a ship to Singapore. The Services Mission at Mingladon had got the news
from the War Office and sent it by Marconigram to the ship.
Letters and new clothing marked an enormous change from Pak’s Palace. From now
on life was liveable. The food too, was a big improvement as we were now given pork
once a week, albeit, not very attractively presented. It came in the form of soup with a
few small chunks of pork complete with bristles. Oddly enough, in spite of the
improvement in food, it was now that the problem of night blindness made itself felt.
This is apparently caused by a deficiency of vitamins A and D. I can’t speak from
personal experience, because, amazingly enough, and very fortunately, I never suffered
from it. In fact, I was one of the ‘locomotives’, so called because last thing at night, we
used to take a ‘train’ to the latrines. The train was formed by the locomotive in front with
about seven or eight men, who could not see where they were going, with their right hand
on the shoulder of the man in front. As one might imagine, there were calls of “the train
standing at platform 1 is for Edinburgh via Cockfosters” and the like. This was followed
by “Hoot, hoot” and off we set.
I cannot remember how we celebrated Christmas – perhaps not much. But, I think,
Sam Davies our padre, was allowed to hold a service. One thing I do recall was when
Sam and I and one other were standing by the main gate, above which was a large red
communist star. The other person remarked “Ah,- the star of Bethlehem”. “Not so” said
Sam “the star of Satan, you mean”.
Morning roll call used to take place on the school play area below some steps. The
camp commandant and the interpreter stood at the top of the steps. Thecamp commandant
was a tired old man obviously close to retirement, but the interpreter, Zee, was a very
sharp ‘wide-boy’ from Shanghai. Frequently the camp commandant would make a speech
– invariably dull and full of platitudes. One day, Geoffrey Costello, a very tall, one-eyed
Gloster, and Larry Taft, a heavily bearded dour US Marine aviator decided to make a skit
of this performance. Larry, as the camp commandant, started off with “Mintien
(tomorrow in Mandarin) digga-digga urshey bar”. This was ably translated by Geoffrey
as “Tomorrow, umm, umm, will be Thursday”. When Geoffrey translated the next
sentence as “the next day will be Fliday”, the audience fell about laughing. And this
included Zee, the interpreter, who had just arrived!
Another cause for laughter was Johnny Thornton, a diminutive US Navy pilot who
sometimes pretended to be a helicopter. This entailed wearing a skull cap made from an
old cap with the peak cut off and a moving wood propeller on top and zooming around
the camp making brrrm-brrrm noises. Thereafter, he was known as ‘Rotorhead’ Thornton.
1952
The Christmas snow lasted throughout January and February but it had thawed enough
to have a St Patrick’s day football match – Irish v English. The ground was very muddy,
and the game, which started as soccer, ended up as rugger! I remember how much we all
enjoyed it. Needless to say, there was not a drop of alcohol with which to celebrate the
occasion!
This was the first time I had played football in captivity. The timing was fortunate as
the event occurred just before we were given another letter card to write home, so I was
able to tell my parents about it, and later learned that they had received the letter. The
reliability of mail getting through in either direction was very suspect. Graeme Lutyens
Humfrey never did get a letter in the whole two and a half years he was a prisoner, so we
were both surprised when, in May, I got one from his mother. I always felt that the reason
some people’s mail did not aarive was because they were too accurate in their description
of the Chinese and their treatment of us. I particularly wanted my mail to get through,
because, apart from the obvious reason, they also contained coded messages.
Some time in the summer of ‘52 an annex to Camp 2 was made a little way up a valley
about three miles away in a westerly direction. We presumed this was to avoid
overcrowding. The camp was built of mud, pine and thatch by local labour supervised by
Chinese. There was an idea that PoWs should help in the construction, something I
personally would have welcomed, as it would have provided much needed exercise,
interest and job satisfaction. The other point of view was that PoWs should make it as
difficult as possible for our captors, thus keeping more Chinese soldiers in back areas and
away from the front line. Well, that was the theory, though I did not subscribe to it,
particularly as it seemed to involve somebody being labelled as a ring-leader or
‘reactionary’. I always thought that one should keep a low profile, so that there would be
less chance of escape preparations being detected.
I had always been quite clear that the foremost duty of any officer was to escape.
During the past six months, as our diet had improved, so had my general fitness and my
dropped wrists had almost recovered, leaving me only with scars on my wrists and upper
arms, and pins and needles and sensation loss in my finger tips, all of which I still have
fiftyfour years later. Anyway this meant that I could now entertain the idea of an escape.
To this end, I spent much of the daylight hours walking round and round the exercise area.
This was a dirt space between the huts and the perimeter fence, I suppose it measured
about 100 by 50 yards. I used to do this mostly with friends, Carl Dain, Vance
Drummond, a pilot from New Zealand and Donald Allman in particular. I was
particularly grateful to Carl Dain; he was something of a boffin. When he found out that I
was still set on the idea of escape, he made me a compass, the needle of which was
fashioned from the metal arch support of a US army boot. A popular time for many
people was between morning roll call at 8 o’clock and breakfast at 10 o’clock. The
second and last meal of the day was at 5 o’clock. In between, it was possible to get hot
water for drinking from the cookhouse. Many people pretended to themselves that they
were enjoying a cup of tea. Myself, I preferred cold boiled water even though its natural
taste had been boiled out of it.
There were a number of people who took little or no exercise. In the main these fell
into four groups, the card players, the musicians, the chatterers and the dedicated sleepers.
The card players were mostly American with a sprinkling of British. The musicians were
Randle Cooke and an Afrikaner pilot by the name of Hector Macdonald. These two had
managed to make guitars out of very basic materials. Of the tunes they played I
remember Hector playing ‘Sarie Marais’, ‘die Alabama’, Zulu Warrior’ and a rugby song
whose chorus was ‘na die, na die pale to’. ‘Sarie Marais’ and ‘Alabama’ I learnt in
Afrikaans and still remember them. The only tune I remember Randle playing was ‘So
long it’s been good to know you’. Another musician was John Ory, a Hungarian
American, who had made himself a violin, but could only play ‘Turkey in the straw’.
This he did endlessly.
The sleepers, well perhaps there was only one, and that was Bert Marsh of the Royal
Ulster Rifles. He managed to sleep most of his two and a half years captivity away.
The prime example of the chatterers were Pappy and Pepe. Pappy was Pappy Green, a
Texan with a face resembling a cartoon of a witch in a children’s story, with a very
prominent nose and jaw. Pepe was Isidore Pepe, an Italian American. These two had had
the misfortune to be captured just a few days after the war had started. Together they had
survived the winter march north, when many of their number had died of starvation and
cold. They had also managed to avoid the attention of a Korean officer known as the
‘Tiger’, who apparently used to shoot prisoners of war on a whim. Anyway these two
were just about inseparable, and were always to be seen talking animatedly to each other
as though they had just met at a party. They were in the same room as me, so I was able
to observe this at close quarters.
Aside from these groups there were six Turks. Five were officers and one was a
private soldier called Naffi, he was rated an honorary officer and therefore reactionary
because he was reputed to have murdered a Chinese guard. How he got away with this, I
know not, but Communism has the idea that ‘minorities’ have to be looked after. To this
extent, when the Turks made it known that they spoke no English, the Chinese sent for an
interpreter. He eventually came from some remote part of the Communist empire, and
when he did, the Turks pretended not to understand him, and so he started on his long
way home!
I must say that I have always been impressed by Turks. Two instances come to mind,
both before capture. The first was when I was making a liason visit as they were the next
unit. It was dusk, and a column of refugees were coming down the road. The Turks
opened up with their machine guns. When I pointed out that they were civilians I
received the short reply “All communists” and they started firing again. Of course, this
probably was the safest option as these columns frequently concealed disguised North
Korean infantry. The second incident, which I only saw after the event, was when a
Brigade of Turkish infantry, having declined an offer of artillery support by the
Americans, attacked a Chinese position using bayonets only and killed some three
hundred Chinese for the loss of three of their own.
And so we passed the time in our separate ways, with myself getting fitter by the day.
One really enjoyable occupation was carrying logs back from a jetty on the Yalu River. I
note from a letter I wrote, and that my parents kept, that I had a swim on 23 May ’53, and
found it cool but refreshing! On one occasion we became aware that, in a house by the
side of the road, was a recently shot down American pilot. Any attempt to talk to him was
rapidly stopped by both our guards and his. Down at the Yalu jetty we devised a way of
talking to him by chanting our bits of news and advice we had for him. This worked fine,
as, of course, Chinese communists are used to atonal dirges! On another occasion, we
communicated to the tune of the Chinese Communist ode to Chairman Mao, the first line
of which we knew as “Who flung dung at Mao Tse Tung”.
Reading matter was truly scarce. There was the odd copy of the Shanghai News or the
London Daily Worker which most of us shunned. But there was a grand total of six
communist approved books. I can only remember War and Peace, Maxim Gorky’s
‘Mother’, a Charles Dickens and a John Steinbeck. The last three were too depressing for
me, but I put my name on the waiting list for War and Peace and got it after about three
weeks. I delighted in it, and by dropping everything else, finished it within seventytwo
hours. I have since come to the conclusion that this is the only way to read such a book,
as that way one does not lose the plot or get confused by the patronymics.
As to escaping, the main problems were firstly lack of food. We did, however, reckon
we could eat and digest green field corn in July. Then the terrain made going difficult
because the mountains all tend to run East/West, and, of course, our direction was South.
Movement had to be entirely by night, as our clothes and even our gait was so different
from the locals. And the climate meant that winter was out of the question as the
temperature could go down to minus 40 degrees centigade. In July of my first year of
captivity I was at Pak’s Palace, the second I was busy trying to get fit and, by the third,
although reasonably fit there were such strong rumours of the peace talks at Panmunjon,
succeeding, that it did not seem a good idea.
1953
Finally after about a year and nine months in the two camps near the Yalu river, came
the day when we were ordered into trucks and taken to a railway station. Here we got into
cattle trucks with open doors and made our way down south. I can honestly say that when
our train stopped on a particularly rickety wooden bridge with a river canyon below it,
was one of the few times I felt frightened in Korea!
I suppose we spent about ten days at a tented holding camp near Kaesong waiting for
each evening when a list of names of the next day’s repatriates was read out.We whiled
away the days by washing, then cleaning our teeth and then cleaning them again. We all
delighted in the soap, toothbrush and toothpaste we had been given. Two and a half years
is a long time to go without cleaning one’s teeth. Eventually the great day came when the
‘reactionaries’ were exchanged. It was the first of September ’53, we walked on air – a
hackneyed phrase, but accurate, over Freedom Bridge. There was a Royal Military Police
sergeant wearing his red cap and we knew then that we had made it. One of our number,
a private soldier, was so overcome by the sight, that he rushed up to him and gave him a
bear hug with the words “ Oh, you beautiful thing” – a greeting not normally accorded to
the Military Police.
At Freedom Camp we discarded our Chinese clothing, had a shower, were de-loused
and then put on British Army jungle green uniform. The following morning we went by
air to Kure in Japan. Here we were accommodated in the British Army camp. The rooms
were exceedingly comfortable and were well looked after by Japanese chamber maids,
who all seemed to answer to the name of ‘poppet san’- ‘san’ being a word signifying
respect. That evening some of the sisters from the British Military Hospital thought some
of us should join them for a swim in the sea. I do not remember from where we acquired
swimming trunks but I do remember that the beach was lovely white sand and that the sea
was beautifully warm. One way or another we spent the rest of the evening there, I
suppose we ate something but once again my memory has deserted me.
The following day we had some kind of debrief/interrogation by a Major in the
Intelligence Corps. He showed us some maps of North Korea, also some air photos of the
various camps. It was interesting to see where Pak’s Palace had been. A slightly more
detailed medical examination took place, but this did not interfere with our free time. We
even went to the US camp and saw our friends in their hospital beds, now undergoing all
kinds of tests. We reckoned our RAMC doctors had been much cleverer when they
prescribed a good party rather than wingeing on a hospital bed!
Some four of us took a train to Tokyo. A shopping trip down the Ginza and most of
the night in a night club soon got Tokyo out of our system!
The following evening we all embarked on HMT “Empire Orwell”, and began the six
week trip to Southampton. I was in a cabin for eight officers, one of whom was Geoffrey
Costello. It was he who went up to the Ship’s Captain and asked him to arrange for drinks
to be served to our cabin any time in the 24 hours. To our amazement this was granted –
the only place on the ship that such drinking hours applied. On the first night on board, at
our table at dinner, Geoffrey upset the steward waiting on us, by leaving his glass eye
winking upwards from his empty brandy and ginger glass. The steward rushed away,
hands clasped to mouth and only reappeared much later!
Our first stop was in HongKong. This was the place where, ‘H’, a reservist, who I had
defended at his court-martial for desertion in the face of the enemy, had served his
sentence of four months detention, whilst I, a little later, started my ‘sentence’ of two and
a half years as a PoW! The story was thus. Some three weeks before the Imjin battle I
was required to be H’s defending officer. The battalion was in reserve and, as Signals
officer, I reckoned communications and all our radios were in good order, so I had plenty
of time to prepare his case. I listened to his story and was convinced that his only hope
lay in pleading guilty with a plea in mitigation. To this end I borrowed from Bob Hickey,
our Medical Officer, a book on psychiatric disorders, and closely studied the chapter on
anxiety neurosis. The court martial took place in a tent some way back. “May it please
the court”, I began in the traditional manner. Thereafter I was so carried away that I
experienced a sort of ‘out of body’ sensation, and found myself looking down on this
eloquent orator describing H’s torment at being the only remaining son of his mother,
who had lost, not only three sons, but her husband as well, in World War 2. H was in
tears and so, also, was the Prosecuting Officer. This I counted a rare achievement; so rare
that I doubt it has happened before or since. Finally, I came down to earth to hear the
court martial president congratulate H on his choice of defending officer, and then
sentence him to a mere four months detention; lenient, considering that it had, until fairly
recently, been a capital offence.
The trip to Hongkong was five days. It was only a four hour stop-over and as I was
orderly officer I did not get ashore. My first task was to receive on board six British
soldiers, who as PoWs, had collaborated with the enemy, or so it was alleged. They had
been on a previous ship, but because of the danger from the other soldiers, had been
disembarked at Hong Kong to await the arrival of the Empire Orwell. There were a
number of soldiers who had decided not to go on shore leave and they made it very clear
that the six were not welcome on the Orwell. I decided there was only one thing to do and
that was to commandeer a spare cabin. This I did, and placed the orderly sergeant,
Sergeant Sexton on guard outside. I knew him quite well, as before being called up as a
reservist, he worked as a taxi driver at Colchester railway station and I had often used his
taxi to get back to Camp. In Korea he had been posted to the Anti-tank platoon and drove
an Oxford tracked gun-tower. Many was the time we passed and I got the cheery greeting
of “Taxi, Sir?”
Anyway these ‘misguided six’ remained under my control until Singapore where I had
requested they be disembarked to await another ship. “Just as well you did that”
remarked a Northumberland Fusilier “our plan was to throw them overboard just off the
Isle of Wight where it would be nice and foggy”!!
In fact the British Army took an enlightened view of ‘the six’, reckoning that being
united with their families would be the best way for them to see the error of their ways
Back up on deck in HongKong overlooking the gangway I was joined for a chat by
Rifleman McNab, previously a runner-up Army heavy-weight boxing champion.
Suddenly he spotted one of his mates – a Gloster – being frog marched on board by two
Royal Military Police. With the words “Nobody does that to one of my mockers” he
dashed down below on to the gang plank, grabbed the two RMP by the neck, banged their
heads together and pushed them into HongKong harbour. At once two more RMPs
rushed up to arrest him. One got a left fist and the other a right, and then there were four
RMPs swimming in the harbour with their red caps bobbing beside them in the water.
The Provost-Marshall appeared from nowhere and told me that it was my job to stop this.
I called to McNab and he came at once. “You are going to put him under arrest, aren’t
you? said the Provost-Marshall. “Of course” says I, beckoning to McNab to follow me.
And so we went down for a drink in my cabin. All wrong of course, but that sort of
authority equated in our minds with the enemy. I must also point out that the Queen never
had a more loyal subject than McNab. When in prison camp, a Chinese interpreter made
the mistake of informing him “I have good news for you – your King is dead”. “And”
replied McNab “I’ve got good news for you” and with one punch knocked him out cold.
Apparently it took many Chinese guards to put McNab into the hole in the ground where
he remained for a considerable length of time.
After Singapore I don’t recall any incident of note other than a gorgeous swim at the Blue
Mohur in Aden. This took place during a four hour stop-over for ship refuelling and shore
leave. The sea was blue and crystal clear, just wonderful.
Finally came the day when HMT Empire Orwell came alongside in Southampton
docks. There was hooting from the ship, music from the band and cheering from ship to
shore. I could see my parents down below. I stepped off the gangway and set foot on
England again after three years away
Like many others I was always a little hazy as to what we had been fighting for. It was
not until I crossed over the line at Panmunjon and that evening watched the film of the
Coronation of the Queen, under the stars at Britannia Camp, that I fully realised the
reason. I was sitting between Lt Bruce Thompson of the Royal Australian Air Force and
Sgt. Vance Drummond of the Royal New Zealand Air Force. There were tears of joy and
emotion pouring down our faces.
“So,as a person, how did your experiences leave you?” is a question I have often been
asked. Well, at first I found it very difficult to converse with people. They were just not
on the same frequency, and to my mind asked such idiotic questions. I used to get
particularly riled by those who assumed that we received a constant supply of Red Cross
parcels.
I think I was left with an ability to size up people fairly rapidly. By this I mean how
they would react to danger, fatigue, hunger, disease, deprivation or ill treatment. I learned
that I could get this wrong, when, in the first December after release, I spent much of
Christmas Day and Boxing Day in the company of George Blake, the now well known
traitor. This happened because his mother, who was Dutch, was a friend of my mother.
Naturally he and I discussed our captivity in Korea. We had been in totally different
locations and circumstances and had much to compare. The fact remains, however, that
throughout our conversations I never had the slightest idea that he had been ‘turned’. It
could be that my perceptive powers had dwindled due to Christmas spirit, his very
attractive sister or the meet of some hunt in Kent which we attended.
Now, I am well aware that it was good for me to experience suffering at first hand,
and often think how a number of people would be the better for it, if, of course, they
survived. I am still impatient with those who complain when they are uncomfortable or
the food is not to their liking. I can honestly say that this I never do. To this extent, the
events of fifty or more years ago are still with me.
ENDS