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In search of Fort George - A journey to Korea - Summer 1992
by Peter Harris son of Major Harris WG M.C.
By the time I turned forty, (a few years ago now,) I realised that I was becoming increasingly preoccupied by the loss of my father. It is something I have difficulty in explaining. At the time of his death he had been overseas for six months, a long enough period in my four year old time scale for me not to be unduly upset at his loss. There was no funeral to mark his passing and for quite a while I recall half expecting him to turn up one day just like the father in E.A. Nesbit’s The Railway Children which was being serialised on children’s television only a few years after we had moved up to Newmarket in 1955. For my brother it was quite different. He was eight and had just gone away to school in Worcester. He describes his sense of loss quite simply, “I lost my hero.”
I think I remember him well, although with the passage of time my memories have become overlayed with stories and other peoples recollections. I certainly continued to feel his presence very strongly. My mother kept a hand coloured portrait of him above the mantelpiece in the living room - the last photograph taken of him - sitting on an old aircraft seat outside an army mess tent against a barren hillscape. From time to time there would be visits from old army friends.
The end of WWII left my father, at the age of 28, an extremely experienced army officer. He was a Major in the Royal Horse Artillery, with an MC to his credit having seen service in Greece and the battle for Crete, North Africa including Tobruk and El Alamein and, following the D.Day landings, the Normandy campaign. With the war’s end he tried to rejoin the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, but in those days the bank’s somewhat archaic rules prevented him from doing so as he was now married. So he applied for a regular commission with the Gunners, and became a gunnery instructor at Larkhill. He was posted to the Gunnery School at Deolali in India for a while, returning just after Partition. By 1951 he was in search of new adventures and decided to learn to fly. So early the next year, he found himself at the RAF Light Aircraft School across the plain at Middle Wallop.
Fargo Road, Larkhill, taken on one of those “bombing raids”.
The target - us in the back garden (bottom right) ....
I was then only three but well remember his regular low passes over our house in Fargo Road "bombing" us with messages from the cockpit of a Tiger Moth, an aircraft for which I have to this day retained a very soft spot. He progressed to Auster MkVs in June and got his Air O.P. Flying Badge on 1st October 1952.
target practise at Benta - Warby and Don Browne
At the end of November with three years of his commission still to run he sailed for Kuala Lumpur to join 1907 Flight at Benta under the command of Major H.B."Warby" Warburton.
As with all of my father’s overseas postings he wrote long letters home and took photographs writing captions on the back. These he sent back home for my mother to make up into the albums which we still have.
propeller maintenance on the veranda
According to his letters he had a pretty good time at Benta despite one rather unfortunate landing in which he wrote off a propeller, an incident Warby dismissed in a wonderful letter he wrote to me shortly before his death a few years ago.
My father left Benta just four months later on 16th March 1953 flying to Kai Tak airport Hong Kong where amongst other things he made time to visit the grave in the Happy Valley Cemetery of my mother’s brother Tony, who had died at the age of five of dengue fever in 1924. At the end of this brief interlude he flew on in a Dakota to Seoul via Okinawa to take over command of 1903 Independent Air Observation Post, and 1913 Light Liaison Flights - 656 Squadron from Major C.J. Hailes in the last few days of March 1953. By this time the war in Korea had pretty much reached stalemate. There was still sporadic activity around the 38th Parallel though and 1903 was kept on its toes making regular, though for the most part uneventful, sorties. The one exception however which had a profound effect upon everyone in the flight, was the death of Leading Aircraftman L.A.C. Goodfield. In his last letter home my father recounted the episode. Goodfield had gone up with Major Ken Perkins on a regular sortie but on their way back experienced some engine trouble. They limped home but did not quite make the airstrip. They came down in the Imjin River swollen by winter floods and the aircraft flipped over onto its back. Ken Perkins managed to get clear but Goodfield got tangled up with some flotsam, was carried swiftly downstream and drowned.
June 2nd 1953, barely a fortnight later, was a day for celebration in the Messes. It was Coronation Day and news of Edmund Hilary and Sherpa Tensing's conquest of Everest was announced. My father, as C/O was busy organising celebrations and, having got them underway in the Officers Mess, jumped into a jeep to drive round to the Sergeants Mess to do likewise. This entailed crossing the airstrip. It is not altogether clear what happened but it seems that two American fighter aircraft came in over the strip waggling their wings. Whether my father thought this was some kind of acknowledgement of the celebrations going on we shall never know. It appears now that they were in fact trying to warn of the imminent approach of a badly damaged Thunderjet which had suffered a flame-out. Evidently upon touching down, the undercarriage, or what was left of it, collapsed and the aircraft slewed, careering off the runway and into the path of the jeep. It was completely destroyed and my father died instantly. He was 36. He too was buried in the Commonwealth Cemetery in Pusan.
Now (1992), with three weeks long-service leave from the BBC, and with my future wife's encouragement and my mother’s blessing, I decided to go to Korea. My itinerary would include a few days in Bangkok and Hong Kong so I began to lay plans.
As well as his letters and campaign medals, my mother kept a number of photographs and documents: the notification of my father’s death from the War Office, a hand written letter of condolences from 1903 Flight in Korea signed K.Perkins, photographs of my father’s grave at Pusan, his Flight Logbook with a letter from Lionel Wheeler his C/O, a copy of the HAC News containing an Appreciation, and a four page typewritten appraisal written by my father of the Air O.P. operation in Malaya and its (un!) suitability as a training ground for pilots destined for Korea. Tucked into the Flight Logbook there was a "team photo" of the pilots and crew of 1903 Flight. My father had recorded the names of the pilots on the back.
middle row:- Bill Nicholls, John Hoare, Ken Perkins, Self, Peter Rodwell, Mitty Tees, Don Browne
Although the H.A.C. at Woolwich were most helpful in providing last known addresses most of my enquiries drew complete blanks. However, the day before I flew from Heathrow I received a reply from Ken Perkins. Recently retired as a full General and with a remarkable service career behind him, this much decorated Officer wrote to wish me well in my endeavour and generously enclosed a copy of his memoirs which included a whole chapter on Korea. I also visited the museum at Middle Wallop and discovered, with the help of the then curator Colonel Armitage, some useful photographs taken at Fort George in the early 50’s one of which, a composite panorama, bore a six figure reference number in the caption. I remembered this as, from another file, he turned up a well thumbed map. We carefully unfolded it. The only recognisable feature was the river which wound this way and that over the page. It was clearly marked -“Imjin-gang.”
On a large loop in the river, someone had drawn a thick black pencil line which had been highlit in purple. The map reference on the photograph fitted exactly. We had located Fort George. Armed with copies of map and photograph I returned home realising just how close my journey might now take me.
I confess to making free use of the BBC (my employer), and the Bentley Drivers Club in respect of contacts. Being an international motoring club, the BDC has a world-wide network. So I wrote to Michael Thornhill, of the Hong Kong branch (there being no members in South Korea) with a brief explanation of the purpose of my visit. Two days later to my surprise, I received a phone call from him wondering if I would like an introduction to Brigadier Hammerbeck, the British Forces Liaison Officer in Hong Kong. I naturally accepted his offer and also his kind invitation to lunch at his club, the name of which I promptly forgot.
On arrival in Hong Kong I made immediate contact with Brigadier Hammerbeck at HMS Tamar and arranged to meet him two days later. Meanwhile I made for my lodgings which had been arranged through BBC World Service producer Mike Popham, with a chap called Jonathan Braude. He was a leader writer with the South China Morning Post and we had arranged to meet at his office at Quarry Bay. Before heading for his flat in the Mid Levels we went for a drink or two at the enormous polished mahogany bar in the opulent Edwardian splendour of the Foreign Correspondents Club. This building had once been the Ice House in the Colony's very early days but today, fittingly, it is where most of Hong Kong's journos and broadcasters can be found, out of hours and very often in them, chilling out. Later that evening over dinner we discussed my plans.
"The Hong Kong Club" ??!!, he enquired with a slightly raised eyebrow as I told him of my lunch date the next day. "You realise that's the Royal Hong Kong Club..." I hadn't. "..I hope you've brought a jacket and tie."
Next morning I telephoned Michael Thompson to confirm our meeting but was told he had already left. I was given the club's phone number and spoke to a receptionist.
" . . . . . thank you Mr.Harris -" the voice said charmingly, "I will let the Chairman know." Jonathan's face was a picture.
"Crikey!" he exclaimed, "You've certainly landed on your feet!"
At HMS Tamar next morning Brigadier Hammerbeck was sceptical of my chances of finding Fort George but when I produced the map and the map reference, his manner changed altogether. “You’ve obviously done your homework,” he remarked as he immediately picked up the phone to contact his opposite number in Seoul, Brigadier David Morgan. After the briefest of explanations he handed the phone to me.
Thus I found myself one week later standing by the statue of Korea’s most celebrated naval hero Admiral Yi, on Seoul’s principal thoroughfare at 7.am on Friday 11th September looking out for Major John Martin and his wife Pam who were to take me in their Land Rover first to Gloster Valley and the Imjin, and thence with luck to that six figure map reference.
All of Korea was out that day. Every vehicle imaginable, packed with people young and old, jammed the streets and main roads out of Seoul. For, unbeknownst to me, this was the great National festival of Chusok, the most important day in the Korean calendar for both North and South Koreans alike. It’s the day when everyone visits the graves of their ancestors and not only were the roads full but every railway seat or berth and every plane seat has been reserved for months.
Admiral Yi Su-sin and his heavily armed and armoured “turtle” ship,
with which he defeated the Japanese navy in the Imjin War of 1592.
It took over five hours to make the 15 mile journey and although the new Gurkha recruits were still dutifully awaiting our scheduled 11 am arrival, the American party we were also supposed to meet on Castle Hill had pushed off.
Major John Martin on Castle Hill
One of John Martin’s tasks as the new Liaison Officer was to give guided tours of the main battlefields of the Korean War and Castle Hill is the high point. This particular tour was something of a dress rehearsal as the Prince & Princess of Wales were due on an official visit the next month.
Gloster Valley and the Imjin
Gazing over this fertile green valley in the warmth of late summer it was hard to imagine the battle that raged back and forth over this hill. Such was the state of play over forty years later between North and South that Castle Hill was still honeycombed with observation posts, and gun emplacements, wired up and ready to go at a moment’s notice. In fact every strategic point
along the road back to Seoul was guarded,
every bridge wired up with high explosive charges, in case.
With the lecture over the four of us boarded the Land Rover once again and headed up river to the little hamlet of Munak close to the Imjin and the site of Fort George airstrip. I tried to follow our progress on the map but nothing seemed quite what it should have been. The tension rose and we all fell silent as suddenly we bumped off the road and into what appeared to be a field of maize, and then - there we were, driving up the main runway of airstrip Fort George, home until July 1953 of 1903
Independent Air O.P.Flight, 656 Squadron, otherwise known as “Imjin Airways”.
John stopped the car and said, “ ...have a walk. Take your time....” but I could not answer. I just stumbled out onto the dusty deserted strip.
Fort George airstrip today - main runway looking S.West
It felt eerily unreal to be in the place where luck had run out on Coronation Day 1953.
This is the place, for so long just imagined but now today a reality. Deserted, but still after fifty years recognisably an airstrip. We found whitened stones, arranged to form some kind of identification code which could seen clearly from the air. Half way up the runway a rope barrage had been strung across between two stout posts, along with some simple timber trestle barriers. Further exploration in the infield revealed the existence of earth embankments forming enclosures, presumably the remains of the blast revetments for the Austers.
part of the cross runway showing blast revetments
I found the remains of an underground bunker perhaps an AA post, the timber lintel over its half buried entrance almost rotted through. I did not venture inside. John Martin discovered an old windsock in a remarkably well preserved state. Could this have dated back to the war? Who knows, but he generously gave it to me to bring home. Pam walked with me to the end of the runway with me desperately scanning the horizon hoping to pick out that line of hills so familiar from the "team photo" but they were now tree covered and nothing quite lined up. I contented myself with some shots of the strip itself . . . .
main runway looking north-east towards Pintail bridge
. . . . and of our small group beside the Land Rover. John Martin produced a bottle of champagne and we drank a toast before heading into the village to look for “Pintail”, the Bailey Bridge over the Imjin.
Major John Martin, his wife Pam and Tom Ryan, US 8th Army Archivist
In the village of Munak there was the rusting hull of a pontoon bridge by the roadside, a covered with red chilli peppers drying in the autumn sun. Of the bailey bridge however there was no trace. The road ended in a sandy clearing beside the river. There were two families camped out by the riverside and a couple of women doing their laundry. This must have been the place my father mentioned in his letters, where they used to come to relax and bathe. It must also be close to the place where LAC Goodfield had met his untimely end. It is a beautiful stretch of river and the late afternoon autumn sunlight is casting a deepening glow over the cliffs on the opposite bank. It was getting late and time to return to Seoul
t was only when studying my photographs some time after my return to England that I discovered quite how close I had been.
In the "team photo" the hills are bare. Of course it was the depths of winter and anyway all available trees had been felled for fuel. I was there in late summer but on closer inspection and allowing for a slightly different camera position, those green tree-covered hills in the background were unmistakably the self same hills. In the middle distance is evidence of a revetment wall, quite possibly the same revetment in which the "team photo" had been taken almost fifty years before, and on a subsequent visit to the Museum at Middle Wallop I managed to copy the panorama of Fort George I had glimpsed on my earlier visit.
my shot makes for intersting comparison
A few days later I was due to travel south to Pusan to visit my father's grave in the United Nations Cemetery. I had earlier managed with great difficulty to obtain a return ticket on the Seoul - Pusan sleeper express, and so found myself amid a throng of fellow travellers on the concourse of Seoul Railway Station. Although the train was crowded I had a compartment to myself and slept fitfully until awakened by the Guard at dawn as the train drew into Pusan. I booked into the railway hotel and had a bath, a rest and breakfast before taking the bus to the north eastern suburbs.
The Cemetery is laid out in about six acres on a gentle slope looking south towards an opening in the hills and the sea beyond. I went armed with a faded photo of the grave taken in 1953 and an aerial photo taken at the same time. In the Memorial Building, Mr.Chung the Curator of thirty years welcomed me and showed me the register. We found the entry without difficulty. He pointed out the plot and then left me to discover for myself what I had travelled all this way to find.
Bronze plaques on simple plinths now stand in place of the bare white crosses, each separated by rose bushes and box hedging. Otherwise it is just as it was in 1953 apart from the blocks of flats!
I walked around looking at other headstones, and discovered that of LAC Goodfield, next to my father’s.
It was profoundly moving to find myself here in this place at last.
That evening was spent, somewhat surreally, in the company of a Russian businessman and his Korean boss (originally from the North) who were also staying in the Plaza Hotel. At dinner we attempted to learn something of our very different backgrounds and experience aided, after a protracted and detailed search of Pusan’s commercial centre, by innumerable toasts in warm Korean champagne………
Soon after my return I made contact with 656 Squadron Association and Nobby Clarke who invited us join and to attend the Drumhead Parade and Luncheon at Nether Wallop. We met a number of my father’s contemporaries and my mother gave the visiting Brass a dressing down after the Luncheon speeches for failing to mention 1903 Flight and Korea, ever the “forgotten war”.
Recently I have also been in touch, thanks to the good offices of John Bennett, with the wearer of the only REME cap badge in the team photo. His name is Mike Outridge and as far as either of us can tell he was probably the only member of 1903 Flight who actually witnessed the accident. Although we have not actually met face to face it is typical of his compassion and thoughtfulness that he wrote to us the other day, “… no June 2nd ever passes without my thinking of your father, a fine officer and a kindly C/O.”
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4th September 2010