Korean Winter

by Griff Hosker

  “Thank you, Captain, and if you could send any mail to us, we would be grateful.”

  “Will do. We will miss you guys and this place will be a lot quieter now!”

  As we drove off, I asked, “What was all that about?”

  “Sorry sir,” He looked and sounded embarrassed. “When the lads got the news that you had pulled through, they sort of celebrated. It was a little wild.”

  I was relieved; I thought something far worse than a simple booze-up had occurred.

  We only had two hundred miles to cover but it might as well have been two thousand for the roads twisted, turned, climbed and fell. The roads were crowded with people returning to their homes in Seoul now that the Communist threat had abated. There were the remains of the fighting all the way along the road. The roads had been cleared but neither the damaged vehicles nor, in at least four places, had the bodies been removed. It was getting on for dark when we finally reached Seoul. After crossing the bridge, we had just four miles to go to reach the base. The Sergeant Major and I had shared the driving and I handed over to him for the last section. We reached a traffic jam of trucks and vehicles. I had expected such confusion. The problem was that there were vehicles arriving from the south and leaving for the north and Seoul was a bottleneck. The North Korean Army was fleeing north as quickly as they could.

  “I will walk ahead and do the paperwork, Sergeant Major. It will make it easier to get in.”

  “Aye, sir. I will just have a pipeful.”

  I climbed down from the cab and immediately regretted not wearing my greatcoat. There was a chill in the air. I walked along the side of the largely American trucks. We were half a mile from the gate. I saw the problem immediately. They were allowing a convoy to leave for the north and as there were tanks and self-propelled guns it was taking some time. I reached the gate where a corporal and two privates were waiting to examine the papers of the vehicles entering. Two MPS directed traffic. The three snapped to attention when they saw my crown.

  “Sir!”

  “At ease,” I jerked my thumb behind me, “We have just driven from the Pusan area and I thought I could expedite our entry.” I handed the Corporal the papers.

  “You still have to wait until the others are checked, sir,”

  I smiled, “The difference is, Corporal, that when you see my lorry you will simply wave us through eh?”

  I saw realisation dawn, “Yes sir.” He read my papers and then handed them back. “Thanks, sir, they appear to be in order but we will still have to look in your truck!”

  “Not a problem, Corporal.”

  One of the privates said, “You are the first Limeys, er British soldiers, we have seen for a while, sir. Your guys are further east.”

  I nodded, “I think the sudden collapse of the North Koreans has made for a confusing time.”

  I think they were bemused by my accent. They were young soldiers. Older ones who had served in Europe had grown used to it. The Corporal said, “Yes sir and the North Koreans are running faster than jackrabbits! We even caught some of the Russkies too!”

  I had not heard that, “The Russian advisers?”

  “Yes, sir. They were brought in yesterday.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “We have heard a rumour that Old Doug is going to invade China! End the red threat there too, sir!”

  Doug was General MacArthur. The ordinary American soldier had a great affection for him after the Philippines. “I doubt that Corporal. Any idea where we will go?”

  “Yes, sir, from the designation on your paperwork you need to be at the northeast end of the compound, Dog sector. There are MPs at all the crossroads to direct you.” He grinned, “Just like New York on a busy Saturday!”

  Just then the last truck left the huge compound and the MP sergeant said, “Right, Mac, get this traffic moving!”

  The Corporal said, apologetically, “Sorry sir.”

  I stood to the side. The three of them knew their business. The Corporal held his hand out for papers while one of the privates covered the driver with his rifle. The third went to the back and checked it. The truck was only admitted if the papers satisfied the Corporal and the soldier at the rear gave a wave. The traffic moved more quickly. I stepped onto the running board of our cab as the rear was checked. The Corporal waved us through. The camp had been built hurriedly but it had been organised by Engineers and the roads all ran north-south and east-west. It looked like the area had been chosen as it had been badly damaged during the attack for Seoul. I leaned out of the cab at one crossroads, “Dog sector?”

  “This is it, sir. Are you the British Commandos?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Those are your tents to the right. The guys who had them have just left for the front.” He pointed first, ahead and then as he pointed in the opposite direction, he added, “And there is a tent there which is operating as an officer’s club, sir.”

  “I smiled, “As much as I would like a drink, Sergeant, my men will need food. Where is the canteen?”

  He looked confused and then smiled, “The chow house? Right next to the Officer’s Club.”

  We pulled in to the tented area and Sergeant Major Thorpe quickly organised the men. I took the tent which was slightly smaller than the rest and I began to lay out my gear as I knew the value of organisation. I had a whole bag of weapons and, unlike the new lads, I still had my original Bergen and battle vest; they had served me well in the last war and I saw no need to change. Even though I knew I was something of a dinosaur but unlike those prehistoric beasts, I had survived! I saw that there were four cots in my tent and I used one as a storage area where I laid out my weapons and equipment so that I could pack it quickly when it was needed.

  Once we had all unpacked, I led the men in the direction the MP had indicated. With men still arriving the cooks had food on the go the whole time. The men had never eaten American style and, after British Army cuisine they were impressed. I was asked if I wanted to eat in the Officer’s mess but I declined. I needed to get to know these men and I did not have the luxury of a long flight from England to do it!

  I already knew their names and so I listened as they spoke. I would then ask them more pertinent questions. They all struck me as very young but then that was a sign of my age. Sergeant Major Thorpe was older than I was so they would appear as children to him. There was a hierarchy in the Commandos and the two NCOs sat together. The rest sat in friendship groups. I saw that one, John Lofting, sat almost apart from the others. I remembered the issues I had had with Blair and Marsh and so, as he was at the end of the table, I took my plate of food and sat opposite him. The NCOs did not react for they knew my purpose but the others all stared.

  “John, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I recognised an East Anglian accent, “Fen Country?”

  He laughed, “Yes sir, well near enough, King’s Lynn.”

  “What made you join up?”

  “I knew I was due to complete National Service sir and, to be honest, I was not keen on farm work. The only job I liked was gamekeeper and my father has that job. My dad is still working so it was either leave home and try to be a gamekeeper somewhere else or join up and, well, the Commandos do things differently don’t they, sir?”

  “They do indeed. You are a good shot then?” He shrugged, “No false modesty, John, in my experience gamekeepers know their way around guns.”

  He grinned, “Yes sir. I was top of the class at Commando school.”

  I now understood why he was a loner. He was not anti-social nor did he have issues which needed resolution. He just liked to be on his own and I could respect that.

  “Sir, is it true you have a VC?”

  The man next to John had plucked up the courage to speak to me, “Ralph Smith isn’t it?”

  “Rafe Smith, sir, from Manchester.”

  “To answer your question, Rafe, yes.” He nodded. “Tell me why did you join up?”

  “Me dad.” I smiled. I recognised
the peculiar grammar of the North of England. “He was in the Commandos. He died on D-Day at Sword Beach.”

  “I was at Sword Beach.”

  “I know sir, that was why I was made up when I found I was in your section!”

  That unlocked the doors and the conversation flowed around me as I was asked questions. I discovered strangely useful nuggets of information such as Smith’s affinity for dogs and Hall’s interest in gardening. They were a disparate bunch. The questions and their reactions told me much about the men I would be leading. None was older than twenty. I could not remember such a young group. Nor had they had the same training as I had. It had moved on. Some things were for the better but some of the old ways still had much to commend them. Of course, they were now Royal Marine Commandos. The Sergeant Major and I were amongst the few remaining Army Commandos.

  Phil Hall came from Halifax and his family had a farm which raised horses. When I asked him why he didn’t join the cavalry, he told me that the only regiments who rode horses were too posh for him. He was a typical plain-spoken Yorkshireman.

  Bert Entwhistle came from a village near to Wigan and was a Lancashire lad through and through. As most of the lads where he lived went into the mines and he did not like the thought, he had joined up. He loved the outdoor life.

  Archie McKenzie was a Scot from Dunbar whose uncle had been in the Royal Marine Commandos and lost a hand in Sicily. Like Rafe, it was a family connection.

  Peter Powell came from a family of fishermen from Hartlepool. He liked the sea but he liked fighting. He had been an amateur boxer. I looked forward to seeing his close combat skills. He had also been training to be a doctor! Somehow that did not seem to agree with his love of boxing.

  Jack Fox and Harry Ashcroft were friends who joined up together and they came from Bristol. They looked so similar that they could be brothers and the others mocked, in a good-natured way, their West Country accents. It did not offend them.

  Sam Williams was an only child whose parents had both died in an air raid at the start of the war. He had been moved from London to a children’s home close to Wolverhampton, Codsall. I think he had grown up in an atmosphere of discipline and order. The Commandos gave him a chance to continue that but he also had a temper. He told me when the two of us chatted on the way back to our tents, that he had had to learn to use his fists in a children’s home filled with all sorts of boys. He had learned to survive and to look after those who were weaker than he was. In many ways, he was the perfect Commando for he knew how to battle.

  As we stood outside of their tents I said, “I do not know what our mission will be yet but I doubt that we will be fighting on the line. We have to go behind enemy lines. For that, we need to be as fit as we can. We rise at 0500 and we will have a run inside the compound.” I grinned at the Sergeant Major, “That means all of us. Then, after we have had breakfast, I will go to the admin office and find out when the rest of our men will be coming and what arrangements have been made for our ammunition. Get a good night’s sleep. Your war begins tomorrow.”

  I watched them head to their tents. I waited with my two NCOs, “What do you make of them?”

  The Corporal, Matt Dixon, nodded, “A good bunch, sir. They are green as grass and have no idea, yet, what the job entails but they will get there.”

  The Sergeant Major gave a sad look, “If they get time, sir. Some of the lads who went with Mr Poulson had potential and now they are either dead or in the bag!”

  “And it is up to us three to ensure that does not happen with these boys.”

  As I lay on my cot, for sleep would not come, I wondered just what had happened to my men. Our advance had been so rapid that the North Koreans had not had the chance to put them in camps yet. Indeed, with our tanks and men racing towards the border they would have to keep on running. The question was, where could they run to?

  We received some strange looks as we ran an improvised five-mile run. I knew I was unfit but it surprised me when I was the first one back. My NCOs had brought up the rear to assess the problems.

  I shook my head as the last one, Harry Ashcroft, puffed his way in, “Disappointing, lads. I have had a wound and been in a hospital yet I beat all of you back. I will put it down to the journey here. We go out again after lunch, so make it a light one.” I tapped my watch, “I know the time I have to beat and yours will be the same one. We do this twice a day until I am happy with you.”

  Just then an air raid siren sounded. I had no idea where the shelters were located. I looked around and saw the other personnel heading for a sandbagged area, “Over there!”

  The fact that so many troops had left the previous day meant that the shelter into which we dived was relatively empty. The men inside burst out laughing as we dived in for we wore vests and shorts. “Are you guys lost?”

  “Are you training for the Olympic games or something?”

  Sergeant Major Thorpe recognised that the speaker was a Marine sergeant and he snapped, “That is an officer, so watch how you speak, Yank!”

  The American looked at me, “Sorry sir. You the Limeys who arrived yesterday? The cloak and dagger boys?”

  I smiled, “We do go behind the enemy lines, yes.” I waved a hand at the sound of aeroplanes above us and the rattle and crash of anti-aircraft guns, “Does this happen often?”

  “Regular as clockwork. Six Yaks fly over at exactly the same time, strafe and bomb us and then skedaddle before the aircraft from the carriers can be scrambled and then reach us.”

  I realised that jet aircraft were not the aircraft to use as an umbrella. “Do they do much damage?”

  “Not really, sir. If they do hit anything it looks to be pure luck.” Just then the all-clear sounded and we made our way out of the shelter. “Good luck, sir. My unit moves up the line today so I doubt I will see you again. My wife will get a kick out of this when I tell her I was talking to you guys. You sound just like Cary Grant you know!”

  As we made our way back to our tents, I realised that we were the only British unit in this camp. It explained why we were such a novelty. I ate in the Officer’s mess but the only reason was in the hope of seeing Colonel Wilding. No colonel was to be seen and so I headed for the admin building. Security was high and I had to show my papers. I was sent up some stairs and I waited in an ante-room where a sergeant and three female typists worked away. I did not have to wait long. The American was an older man He looked to have served in World War 2. He smiled and held out his hand, “Pleased to meet you, Major Harsker, welcome to Seoul. Sergeant, have a pot of coffee brought in.”

  We sat down and he smiled, “I worked with your unit in the last war. I have to say they impressed the hell out of me and now to meet someone with not only a V.C. but also a Distinguished Service Cross, well I am tickled pink!” The pot of coffee was brought in. The sergeant laid it and a sheet of paper on the desk and the Colonel said, “See that we aren’t disturbed.” As the sergeant left the Colonel said, “How do you take it?”

  “As it comes sir, black.”

  He nodded approvingly, the only way to drink coffee. Now I am your liaison officer as well as, temporarily, your commanding officer. You are the first of other Commonwealth units. My job is to orientate you. In your case that is unnecessary as you have been in Korea longer than me! At the moment there are many officers who believe that we will be home by Christmas. Even some of the brass think that; they have begun an operation called ‘Home by Christmas’. Stuff and nonsense. They kept saying that in the last one.” I warmed to the Colonel. He was straight-talking and knew his business. He saw my look and smiled, “You will find, Major, that I am plain talking. I should have retired this year but they kept me on for this little shindig. So as long as I am here, I will do the best that I can! You have been attached to us to give us the ability to drop behind the lines. We are waiting for the Rangers to return and the 18th Airborne to arrive. This will only be a temporary appointment but we have a mission for you.” He turned and took a wooden pointer
and rapped a map behind his head. “A map of Korea before this little police action started!” He shook his head, “What fool came up with police action? As you can see the north of the border is a little light on detail and our forward units, when MacArthur gets the green light to invade, are going to find it a hard land. I know from your record that you don’t need telling that. When the advance starts the roads are going to be jammed with the enemy. It took us six days to mop up the men in the area you crossed to get here.”

  “I saw evidence of heavy fighting.”

  “And that is why we are here. Seoul is a mess. This place was earmarked as a POW camp for Americans and other foreigners captured so far and there were a lot.”

  “What about the South Korean soldiers, sir?”

  “You are thinking of your interpreter who was captured?” I nodded, “Don’t hold your breath. Most are shot.”

  “So, we are going to invade?”

  “We are but we await the UN to make the decision. If we do then we have a mission for you. There is a small town at Pyonggang. It is ten miles from the border and is an important crossroads. If we get the go-ahead then you will parachute in and place demolition charges on the road to Bokke which is just a couple of miles north of Pyonggang. You hide in the mountains until the advance reaches you.” He smiled, “I suppose you could walk back south through the mountains.”

  “It would have to be a night-time drop in mountainous country. I have done those before, sir, and they are fraught with dangers. Won’t our damaging the road slow our advance?”

  “We are using tanks and half-tracks as the spearhead. We just need to slow down the North Korean reinforcements.”

  “When will we know, sir? I mean we need a time scale for this.”