Vignette
A wristwatch for Soo Son Oo
Note: KATCOM (Korean Augmentation Troops Commonwealth)
On the last day of the Korean War I was very lucky in a poker game winning $127, the only time I ever won that much. But the money was in American script (military money) and there was no place to spend it.
The beer ration came up every evening but it cost 20 cents a quart, and since I cleaned out most of the men in the platoon, I began buying everybody their beer. We were paid only $20 every two weeks and everybody shared everything. The front line, where more than possessions were at stake, was one of the most selfless places I have ever been.
I put aside $25 of my winnings and asked a truck driver to buy a Japanese watch for one of our KATCOMs, Soo Son Oo, when he drove to Seoul.
The KCATCOMs prized those Japanese watches but couldn't afford them because they were paid in won, Korean currency. I don't know exactly what won were worth, but the Koreans had rampant inflation at the time and we suspectedit would take a bucket of won to buy a chocolate bar.
Buying that watch was one of the wisest choices I ever made with my money. Over the next few days, I surreptitiously watched Soo Son Oo walking around, proudly glancing from time to time at the watch on his arm. It was a treasure.
Soo Son Oo was a horrible soldier. He was an old man, at least 35 and maybe 40. He moved slowly like an old man of 60 and he didn't speak much, even to the other Koreans.
One day, I caught the other KCATCOMS circling Soo Son Oo and hazing him. He looked so miserable I stopped them, which wasn't hard. I was a lance corporal and if I had charged them or reported them they would have faced cruel punishment at the hands of their own army.
Soo Son Oo and I became friends, though of all the Koreans with us, he spoke the least English and was by far their worst soldier.
Vignette
The vindication of Marcel Bear
(First part of this story related by Mike Badowich, pow. Native television was present when the plaque talked about below was presented. I will forward a photo of Bear if you so wish.)
The family of Marcel Bear lived in disgrace for years. Marcel Bear was a Cree Indian off the Leask, Saskatchewan Reserve. He was lean and tall, rugged but quiet. He planned on becoming a policeman after the Korean War was over. When the attack came in on Hill 187, Marcel bravely held his ground until he was hit by shrapnel and could no longer defend himself and the hill. Taken prisoner by the Chinese, he was pulled and dragged across the Sami 'chon Valley, but near the enemy hills both the enemy and prisoners came under heavy fire from the Canadian side. Mike Badowich, one of the prisoners, remembers an airburst almost overhead. When he looked down at Marcel in the greenish glare of popping flares and exploding shells, he saw a silvery trickle of blood rolling from his temple to his neck, and he knew Marcel was dead.
The Chinese guards prodded the remaining prisoners with their burp guns and they left Marcel in no mans land. His body rests somewhere in the valley. May God have mercy upon him.
In 2002, the veterans of the 3 rd Battalion of the Royal Canadian Regiment (RCR) held a reunion in whichMarcel was one of three native soldiers honored. Four of his nieces came from Saskatchewan to Kemptville (south of Ottawa) and they were given a plaque honoring Marcel. The plaque meant closure for the family who had become victim of some false and malicious rumors of how Marcel had died.
Marcel's mother lost his original medals from Korea and tried to obtain replacements. But for some reason, probably misunderstandings, she was denied the medals. Rumors through the Native Veteran Association across Canada said Marcel tried to run and was shot in the back and that's why his mother couldn't have the medals.
Before Marcel's nieces came to the reunion, they had been under the impression their uncle was a coward. But the men who served with Marcel told them Marcel had died a hero staying at his post even during the bombardment, and they were proud to have served with him.
At the reunion banquet, the nieces were presented with a beret and regimental hat badge along with a new set of medals.
Vignette
Too kind to be a cook
Army cooks in the Korean War era were as mean as they come. I still remember the day a soldier stuck his finger in the soup for a lick. The cook grabbed a nearby meat cleaver, swung and missed but promised to chop off all the soldier's fingers if he ever did that again.
Paddy Redmond, of Halifax, was too gentle to be a cook. At 39, he was much too old for the front.
I was in the cook tent one night on Hills 187, guard for the Koreans who carried the supplies, including hot meals, to the soldiers in slit trenches. I told Paddy I was going on R R to Tokyo for five days in about six weeks. He pulled some yen out of his pocket and said "Buy me something when you're there."
Then he thought a moment. "Never mind," he said. "Spend it on yourself." I thought the cook tent Paddy operated was too close to the front line, but then I thought someone who knew more than did had made the decision to put it there. That someone was wrong. The decision was bad.
I believe it was a mortar bomb that hit the cook tent because the cook tent was protected on three sides by hills that hovered over it and shielded it. Others say it was a recoilless rifle shell that slanted in over the hills, a lucky hit just about teatime. The shell dropped into the garbage can, a refurbished oil drum, next to the hamburger. Paddy was killed instantly. The tent was shredded and silver cans of juice and other things were scattered for 50 to 75 yards across the hillsides.
Five South Koreans and a Canadian medic were wounded by the shell. To his great credit, the Canadian medic looked after all the wounded and then himself. He was awarded a medal, I think Member of the British Empire.
I remember the day his medal was presented. None of us wanted to watch the parade, but our lieutenant shamed some of us into going. I was surprised at the size of the parade, so many heroes yet so few of us manning the trenches. A number of soldiers in that parade deserved their awards but some of the citations cheapened their bravery. One award, a Mention in Dispatch, left me cynical for the rest of my youth. It went to a Military Policeman (MP). I still remember the words: "For devotion to duty." He served in a guardroom in Japan.
Paddy was the first soldier in the 3rd Battalion RCR killed in action in Korea
Vignette
The fox on the camouflage road
The closest thing we ever had to a Hollywood daredevil was a Baker Company truck driver by the name of Browsky or Brodsky. He was swarthy, thick build, Hollywood teeth and a devil may care demeanor.
There wasn't a lot of entertainment on Hill 187 so if you weren't sleeping about three in the afternoon you watched for Browsky carrying up mail and sundry items in his three quarters truck. Every day the Chinese also waited for Browsky hoping to nail the fox as he drove his truck along the camouflaged road.
The camouflage netting along the road kept the truck from view. But in the summer several inches of dust had settled over everything. As Browsky barreled down the road a cloud of dust rose above the camouflage netting and Chinese artillery and mortars pounded the road, following the cloud to what soldiers called the Jeep Head.
When incoming artillery shells began whining overhead, Browsky put the pedal to the floor staying barely ahead of them, until he desperately screeched behind a mound that had every piece of vegetation burnt from it. He flicked the engine off while the three quarters was still rolling and dove headlong for the opening of his bunker.
Vignette
Told by Robert Usher 613-258-4851 (Sergeant, detachment commander of 25 pounder gun, 81 st Field Regiment, Korea)
A mother's last goodbye
Just before the 81 st Field Regiment went to Korea, Red Weir and gunner Truthwaite went joy riding around Pembroke in a stolen car. After they were caught, one of the troop commanders, Lt. George Ruffee, met with the judge who said the boys were being held on a very serious charge. If they were found guilty, they'd probably go to penitentiary.
When Ruffee said the boys were going to Korea in two to three weeks, the judge relented. "Guarantee they'll go to Korea, and we'll see these charges are dropped," he promised.
They were both good soldiers, always smartly dressed, always with the shiniest boots in the troop. They got into trouble because they were young and filled with exuberance, pumped up because they were going on an adventure to Korea.
While we were traveling on the train to Seattle in March, 1953, I was put in charge of the lads in one sleeper car, perhaps 30 souls. One of my instructions was that no one should leave the train at any stop unless ordered. Somewhere west of the Lakehead, Red Weir informed me the train would stop at Winnipeg for 20 minutes at 0130 next morning and that his parents would be there to meet him. Could I arrange for him to get off the train?
I was so dumbfounded by Red's knowledge I failed to ask his source.
The battery captain, Vic Thompson, gave me permission to escort the lad off the train. He said both of us had to be properly dressed and presentable. Red must stay within my vision while off the train.
I told Red to wake me up in time to get ready.
Red's parents were waiting under the overhang above the station platform. I remained by the entrance to the sleeping car while Red went over to meet his parents.
It was raining. Red and his family talked until the conductor came down the steps of the sleeping car and hollered "All aboard! Aboard!"
Red hugged his mother, shook his father's hand and trotted over to the train. Before boarding, he turned and waved, but his mother didn't see that because she had her face buried in her husband's shoulder. Red thanked me and apologized for the inconvenience and we were off to bed.
Red Weir and gunner Truthwaite were both killed in the Battle for Hill 187 five weeks later. They were observation post signalers who didn't survive the bombardment.
Vignette
The difference between Americans and Australians
When I was in the British Commonwealth hospital in Kure, Japan, I met an Australian who invited me to the Australian wet canteen. Japan was still under military occupation and this section was controlled by the British and Australians. My friend Eddie Nieckarz and I walked along the streets of the town of Hiro passing signs on certain establishments saying "out of bounds." We passed the movie billboards with enormous pictures of a victorious John Wayne and defeated Japanese soldiers in the background.
The canteen was filled with raucous members of the Royal Australian Regiment or Syngman Rhee's cowboys, so called because of their slouch hats.
After we were at the canteen an hour, a dispute broke out at the next table. The two combatants were ushered outside into a pouring rain and ankle deep mud where a wiry little fellow stepped between them and said this fight would take place under Marquis of Queensbury rules. The two Australians put their dukes up like figures out of an 1880 dime novel and slugged it out, fists thunking as they hit flesh and bone. It was a brutal fight.
A month later, I was bivouacked on a hillside with The Royal Canadian Regiment in a counterattack position behind Hill 355 when I met my Australian friend again. His group was digging some positions nearby. Toward the end of the day my friend came to me and said somebody had stolen a Thompson sub-machine gun that had been set aside while the group was digging.
Eight or nine other Australians were there, too, and they told us they weren't going home without the Thompson. The Canadian who stole the gun sensed the Australian determination and an impending free for all and put thegun in a place where it could be found.
A month or so later on the Hook, an American Marine company around midnight moved into the position on our left. We held the extreme left position in the Commonwealth Division next to the Third Marine Division. The incoming Marines left some of their packs and a couple of carbines by our platoon command post on the way to their positions. The carbines were stolen.
In the morning, a Marine lieutenant came calling and politely asked for the weapons back. They were never recovered.
Over the next three weeks we became good friends with the Marines and we respected them as soldiers. We had hot food every day and they had none. So we often invited them for dinner. They didn't have liquor or beer and we did, so there was a brisk trade of beer for carbines some days.
Our platoon signaler at the time, Lou Murphy of Newfoundland, still exchanges Christmas cards with a Marine sergeant named Derk.
The Americans, though brave soldiers, were far more forgiving than the Australians. You'd never steal from an Australian and invite him for dinner.
The songs
Some of the songs to be included are listed below:
- A young Canuck soldier to Tokyo on leave ...
- The RCR refuse to fight
- Here's to CO Campbell
- We'll fight for that bugger Syngman Rhee
- Movin' on -- Hear the pitter patter of little feet, it's the RCR in full retreat
- Gory, gory what a hell of a way to die
- Blood on the Hills of Korea ( This poem was written by Patrick O'Connor the night before he was killed at Chail-Li. Part of the project will be to set the poem to music)
- Old King Cole
- Belle of Japan (Eric Devlin has lyrics and the music)
- Just below the Manchurian border (Lyrics but not notes)
- Lily Marlene
- Allouette
- Gee, ma, I want to go back to Ontario...
- Kan Kan Musume
- Has anyone seen the colonel...?
- Waltzing Matilda
- Mademoiselle from Marmateeres
Just below the Manchurian border
Just below the Manchurian border
Korea's the name of the spot
We're due to be spending our time here
In the land that God forget.
Down with the snakes and the lizards
Down where the rivers are blue
Right in the middle of nowhere
And thousands of miles form you
We sweat and we freeze and we shiver
It's more than a man can bear
We're not a bunch of convicts
We are only a doing our share
We're soldiers of the army
Earning our measly pay
Guarding over millionaires
For four lousy dollars a day
Living with photos and memories
Thinking sometimes of our gals
Hoping that while we have been away
They have not married our pals
Few people know what we are doing
And nobody gives a dam.
Although we are almost forgotten
We belong to the khaki clan.
The good times we've had in the army
And the good times we have missed
Here's hoping the army don't get you
So for God's sake don't go and enlist.
And when we arrive in Heaven
Saint Peter will surely tell
They've just got back from Korea, dear God,
They've been serving their time in Hell