By the Skin of my Teeth: The Memoirs of an RAF Mustang Pilot in World War II and of Flying Sabres with USAF in Korea

by Colin Downes

  I returned to my hut to find my room mate, Ralph Parr, had opened his account with two Migs confirmed, and in some frustration I drew a shotgun from the armoury and borrowing a jeep did some pheasant and partridge shooting in the hills to the south-east of the base. The weather was by then spring and walking the hills was very enjoyable after my depressing stay in hospital. My decision not to go back to Japan to recuperate from the effects of typhoid fever was in retrospect perhaps a mistake. In the frustration of my illness and my desire to complete my 100 missions I elected to stay with the squadron, and during my temporary grounding a state of despondency set in with the Migs active while my colleagues on the squadron achieved some success. Fortunately, I had some diversions to my depression by walking the hills in search of game birds, accompanying our squadron doctor on some of his visits to Korean hospitals, and a visit to the British Commonwealth Division in the front line.

  Our squadron doctor was a very unusual service doctor who was a well-known eye surgeon in Boston before he was called up from the reserve to go to Korea. Eye complaints and injuries were rare events on the base and in order to keep his hand in for his return to Boston he started to visit surrounding hospitals offering his services during his off duty time. Most of the demand on his time came from a request for cataract operations, which were common among the Koreans due to deficiencies of diet. He used no equipment or medications from the base during his visits to the hospitals. He was able to persuade his wife to send the antibiotics and whatever else he needed from the US. To pass the time I accompanied him on some of his visits, in particular to a bombed out hospital in Seoul run by an order of Italian nuns for the Italian Red Cross. The facilities in the civil hospitals around Seoul were very limited and the sanitation appalling or non-existent, yet the nuns went serenely about their work as true administrating angels. There were no wards as such and the patients just lay in rows on the floors of the hospital ruins, with their families camped about them. Our squadron flight surgeon carried out many eye operations under the most primitive conditions, leaving what valuable antibiotics he had with the nuns to administer to the patients. The Korean hospitals he visited regarded him with awe and great respect, and had he died while performing these good deeds I am sure the nuns would have called for his benediction by the Pope.

  The extraneous medical services carried out by our flight surgeon certainly kept him in good practice for his return to the States, but there was one eye operation in particular he carried out that was very special. During my time in the hospital on the south side of K-14, the train bringing in supplies from the port of Inchon stopped to examine a body strapped to the line just outside the base. The Korean driver and the US guards on the train suspected a booby trap and were surprised to find a ten year old boy tied to the line. The boy was taken to the hospital and apart from a grotesque tumour in one eye the size of a golf ball appeared unhurt although very under-nourished. While the doctors were deciding what to do with the boy, I got our flight surgeon to see him. The doctor diagnosed a tumour but could not say to what extent it was malignant other than express his view that it should be removed as soon as possible. The boy’s parents or relatives could not be traced and it appeared that they had decided to return the boy to God but being good Buddhists elected the Americans to be their executors. There being no hope for the boy if turned over to the Korean hospitals it was decided that our flight surgeon would operate and the eye was successfully removed without further complications. Our doctor ordered a matching false eye from the US that was fitted some months later. In the meantime the boy continued to live at the hospital and became a resident mascot. He proved to be of exceptional intelligence, learning English and playing chess and draughts with the patients. Eventually, an American serviceman formally adopted him and took him home to the US. This was typical of the generosity of the Americans in Korea and many of them adopted Korean children from orphanages and took them back home. In our squadron pilots’ crew room we had a large box into which the pilots put money, food, candy, toys and clothing for an orphanage a few miles from the base. It became the 335th squadron’s orphanage with the squadron’s insignia of a North American Indian chief’s head at the entrance to the orphanage. The pilots set up a roster to visit the children with the gifts and donations, and judging by the excitement the children displayed they obviously looked forward to these visits from the foreign ‘big noses’.

  One of the outcomes of my convalescence from the effects of typhoid was to spend five days with the British Commonwealth Division in the front line. The US 1st Marine Division, the British Commonwealth Division and the US Army 2nd Division formed part of 1 Corps of the US 8th Army holding the left flank of the UN forces in the front line, with the South Korean ROK Army 2nd Corps on their right. The UN forces in the front line lived in hundreds of reinforced bunkers dug into the rugged hills, connected by a series of communication trenches resembling the Western Front in the First World War. Neither the UN nor the Communists showed any willingness to go beyond the demarcation line that had been agreed upon in November 1951. The purpose of the visit was entirely army-air force liaison and although the 4th FIG was not involved in air support for the front line, I accompanied an American captain from a fighter-bomber wing. At the time of my visit the British divisional commander was Major General Mike West, and he and his staff went out of their way to make our visit as interesting and entertaining as possible. The front line ran along the north side of a ridge of rocky hills overlooking a no-man’s-land of paddy to the communist lines a few hundred yards away. The dominant positions on the hills were given names, such as ‘Gibraltar’ and ‘The Hook’ and many became famous during the war. The renowned stand and defence of the ‘The Hook’ by the Gloucestershire Regiment in 1952 became the best known British action of the war. It was the defence of this crucial position on the British left flank from 1951 until the cease fire in July 1953 that resulted in more British casualties than any other single battlefield during the Korean War.

  The British forces defending the front line positions consisted of five battalions, and at the time of my visit a battalion from the Durham Light Infantry occupied ‘Gibraltar’ and a battalion from The Duke of Wellington’s Regiment defended ‘The Hook’. Accommodation although basic was remarkable under the circumstances as each battalion I visited had a mess dug into the rocks lined with wood panelling taken from packing cases and complete with the inevitable bar furnished with homemade furniture. In marked contrast to the British flair for creating a home-from-home atmosphere, the Americans lived in less decorative surroundings, although facilities such as iced drinks, ice cream and popcorn were available. During my stay at the front I visited the US 1st Marine Division on the British left and the US 2nd (‘Second to None’) Army Division on their right. The contrast between the two American divisions was very marked, and I was very impressed by what I saw with the Marines. Contained within the 2nd US Army division were other elements of the UN forces and of these we spent an afternoon and evening with the French Foreign Legion battalion, followed by a morning with the Turkish brigade. The Legion lived up to its reputation and most of the officers and men had previously fought in Indochina. All the officers were French with other ranks coming from various parts of Europe. The colonel commanding the battalion was a very professional soldier and ran a tight ship. Whether coincidental or planned, we were invited to stay for the formal monthly dining-in night. We sat either side of a long table with the colonel at the head, the American captain on his left and myself on his right. During the course of a lengthy dinner consisting of many courses and accompanied by copious servings of very palatable French wine, I noticed the conversation about me was entirely in English. It became obvious as the conversations diminished to silence at the far end of the table that the seating plan was not based on seniority but on the officers’ proficiency in an English only conversation. This touch was typical of our host and I was very impressed by the French hospitality and their thoughtful arrangement
s for our visit. The meal was by far the best I ever had in Korea and the following day, after a very convivial evening when we were hard pressed to hold our own in after-dinner songs and games, two bleary-eyed and hung-over fighter pilots headed for the Turkish Brigade.

  The contrast could not have been more marked, as there were certainly no frills with the Turks who fought and lived under the most basic conditions I ever saw with the UN forces. My companion expressed surprise and concern at the pay and conditions of the Turkish troops, who out of their very small entitlement of pay were only allowed to retain a pittance in Korea, while the remainder was retained in Turkey. Our escorting officer, a tough looking major, expressed the opinion that the honour of fighting for Turkey was sufficient recompense. Before we returned to the British lines we witnessed a bizarre event that made the visit memorable when the major asked us if we had killed any Chinese. We replied it was often difficult to be precise on those matters while flying. The major then produced a sniper’s rifle that he gave to my companion, saying that now was our chance for some sport and to get ourselves a trophy each. The American looked somewhat nonplussed saying there was nothing to shoot at or even see. The major led us to a forward observation post and barked out some orders to a corporal who led out half a dozen soldiers into no-man’s -land. The Turks moved through the wire and out into the combat area by leaps and bounds until they were some distance away. They then started to shout at one another while jumping up and down out in the dried up paddy. The major said, ‘Get ready; you’ll soon have a target.’ After watching this performance for a few minutes I saw through my binoculars a few heads starting to appear above ground in the Chinese lines as some of the communist troops could not contain their curiosity. The major started to become excited and kept saying, ‘There that one, over there, shoot, shoot!’ My companion continued to dither about with the rifle, muttering something about not shooting at a sitting bird. At last the major could contain himself no longer and in his impatience grabbed the rifle and fired at one of the heads. The heads disappeared and the major in visible disgust blew his whistle sharply and the Turks started to return in the same manner as before, while a mortar in the Chinese lines opened fire on them. The whole performance was quite extraordinary, and apparently was a common occurrence to relieve the boredom while occupying the front line positions when the only fighting action occurred during night reconnaissance raids. Our Turkish host appeared disappointed at our lack of enthusiasm for his efforts to entertain us and to provide some sport. It was a clear indication of the value placed on the lives of the Turkish troops.

  Although the ROK and US forces bore the brunt of the casualties in Korea, it came as no surprise to learn after the war that the Turkish brigade suffered nearly as many battle casualties as the two British brigades combined, and double that of the total combat troops of the remaining nine participating nations. It was with some relief we thanked the Turks for an entertaining visit and returned to the British lines to spend the remainder of our time with the Hussars and their Centurion tanks, before bidding farewell to, and thanking General West and his staff for a very enlightening visit. The last two months of June and July before the armistice on 27 July 1953 was to see some of the heaviest action on the ground and in the air as the Chinese strove to improve their bargaining position prior to a cease-fire, and to humiliate and inflict as much harm as possible on the ROK army. General Mark Clark, the US and UN forces commander, later commented, ‘There is no doubt in my mind that the principal reasons, if not the one reason, for the Communist offensive was to give the ROKs a bloody nose; to show them and the world that Puk Chin – Go North – was easier said than done.’

  I returned to operational duty in May to find the Migs had been active during my absence from the squadron. The month of May saw the squadron add to its total of jet aces with Major Vermont Garrison, our executive officer or second-in-command, becoming the 32nd ace; to be followed in June by Captain Ralph Parr and Captain Lonnie Moore as the 33rd and 34th aces of the Korean war. As well as the increased Mig activity, with the warmer weather the US army engineers were busy extending and improving our runway. During the summer months the runway temperatures soared to well over 100°F and the F-86 with full combat load and two 120 US gallon metal drop tanks used most of the available 6,000 feet of the macadam strip to get airborne while using 15 degrees of take-off flap. The problem with the single east-west runway was two-fold. First, close to the east boundary of the airfield was a small hill 300 feet high, requiring a tight curved left approach turn to the runway on landing, and an equally tight right turn after take-off. For this reason it was given the name – ‘Bust-your-ass-mountain.’ Second, at the west end of the runway a sharp drop-off of 50 feet into a small hamlet gave us no over-run area in the event of engine failure on take-off or brake failure on landing. In helping to improve matters the US army engineers tackled the problem in typical American fashion. They carved about 100 feet off the top of the hill at the east end and deposited it in the drop-off at the west end of the runway. In doing this they provided an additional 300 feet of over-run with an aircraft carrier arrestor fence attached to heavy chains to stop aircraft over-running the runway overshoot area. Before this improvement to the runway I witnessed one shocking accident while on the alert strip. No. 77 Squadron, RAAF, took-off on an interdiction strike in the Haeju area with their Meteors carrying full over-load fuel tanks and armed with eight napalm rockets under the wings. One aircraft flown by an RAF pilot experienced an engine failure too soon to become airborne and too late to abort the take-off. The aircraft over-shot the runway and crashed into the hamlet below the drop-off erupting in a massive ball of fire and exploding ordnance.

  All our missions were flown with drop-tanks and until the last three months of the war we used the US made 120 US gallon metal tanks. These were excellent tanks and the F-86 could land while carrying these tanks, although we always dropped them in the combat area. The technique used in dropping the tanks was to apply a positive upward G-force to ensure a clean separation of both tanks with the wings level so that a tank did not curl around the wing tip and damage an aileron. The US made tanks were expensive and a popular, plaintive call as they left the aircraft was, ‘There goes another Chevrolet!’ To help mitigate the cost of the tanks, some Japanese fibreglass tanks were tried but they were not a success as they were unreliable in fuel flow, they often leaked and they did not release cleanly. Consequently, regardless of the type of sortie flown they were always jettisoned before landing. During the last months of the war we received the large US made 200 gallon metal drop-tanks for long distance reconnaissance missions. During the hot months of the monsoon season my heart was often in my mouth on take-off when using these tanks as we used every foot of the runway before getting airborne. As with the Japanese tanks the 200 gallon tanks were always dropped before landing because the maximum amount of flap that could be lowered for landing was thirty degrees before the flap hit the tank; and landing under these conditions required a much longer runway than was available at K-14. The tanks were very much more expensive than the smaller 120 US gallon tanks, and when dropping these one often heard a heartfelt cry of, ‘There goes another Cadillac!’

  There was one other flight duty that was very popular but difficult to achieve by the junior pilots. This was ferrying our aircraft back to Japan for second line servicing and major overhauls. The squadrons were responsible for first line servicing and the maintenance group at K-14 carried out battle and accident repair to enable the aircraft to fly to Japan. Our main maintenance base was Tsuiki, a small airfield with a PSP runway 400 nm away on the north-east side of Kyushu and not far from the famous hot springs resort of Beppu. If the weather was bad we diverted to Itazuke near Fukuoka on the north side of the island; a large US base serving many types of aircraft for Korea. The procedure was to fly the F-86 to Tsuiki, night stop and then air test the replacement aircraft the following morning before ferrying it back to K-14. The pilots tended to be very fussy about
these air tests in order to delay their departure by one more day. The temptation to indulge in the luxury of Japanese baths, fresh milk, fresh fruit, steaks, purchases from the PX and the other diversions not available in Korea were hard to resist. Those not fortunate in flying a ferry flight had to wait three or four months for a Rest and Recreational entitlement and a seat on a flight to Japan. As most headed for Tokyo this meant a flight to the main USAF transport base at Tachikowa near Tokyo. The squadron medics usually included a handful of ‘No Sweat’ antibiotic pills together with anti-malarial pills for pilots departing on their Rest and Recreational leave. One Kimpo bar song sung to the tune of ‘On the Wabash’ put R&R in Japan in perspective with a sentiment for getting away from it all in Korea.

  When the ice is on the rice in old Kyoto,

  And the sake in the cellar starts to freeze: