by Colin Downes
After the cease-fire I had one puzzling experience for which I can find no satisfactory explanation. The tedious alert duties continued unabated during a nervous armistice, with an expectation of a renewal of hostilities. One day in August it was our turn for alert and I led my flight to the readiness dispersal at the end of the runway. The weather was hot and fine, although rain usually fell by late afternoon. I used to enjoy watching the cotton wool cumulus clouds form over the mountains and by afternoon they were transformed into cumulonimbus clouds with anvil tops towering over 30,000 feet, to be followed by the thunderheads turning into a tropical storm with heavy rain. We were on standby and I lay looking up at a blue sky with the cumulus clouds visibly boiling upwards, to be occasionally distracted as a flight of F-86s passed overhead. My attention was caught by a formation high overhead flying due south and I estimated by their speed they were F-86s at around 30,000 feet. I could see the silver forms reflected by the sunlight but I could neither distinguish their shape nor could I hear the jet engines. There were no condensation trails and the line astern formation indicated a camera-gun tail-chase exercise. As I lay looking at the four silvered specks against the blue sky, waiting for the leader to start manoeuvring, the formation suddenly reversed direction and headed back north. I then realized this was accomplished without any radius of turn or discernible change in speed.
In a flying career of many years and thousands of flying hours around the world up to altitudes in excess of 50,000 feet, I have never witnessed a phenomenon that I can only attribute to the extraterrestrial or to the presence of UFOs from outer space. As I know of no propulsion system capable of traversing a galaxy measured in light years, I remain a sceptic regarding any such visitations to this planet. I therefore looked for a practical explanation for an ability to turn in flight without a radius of turn. Nature has found a way to achieve this phenomenon in such creatures as dragon-flies and humming-birds, but only helicopters and vectored thrust jets can imitate them to some extent. The only conventional explanation was that the objects in formation were meteorological balloons. The height was feasible as even at high altitude it is possible to see weather balloons in bright sunlight. The speed was a problem for although a balloon at this altitude travelling in a jet stream can have a ground speed as much as 200 mph, I estimated the speed of the formation to be at least that of the F-86, or more than double the speed of the strongest jet wind. The main assumption that the objects were weather balloons, which in free flight have no radius of turn, lay in the feasibility of them travelling in a jet stream. The only explanation for the change in direction of their flight was that they were close to the edge of the shear line of a jet stream that shifted taking the balloons into an opposing jet stream. If this was the cause it did not follow the usual pattern of jet streams that are relatively narrow and shallow air flows circulating around the earth in the upper troposphere in one direction. The formation I watched appeared to change direction instantly through 180 degrees with no apparent change in formation or speed. I have no doubts that what I witnessed that hot summer afternoon in Korea in 1953 was not a hallucination or a figment of my imagination: it remains an enigma.
Social activities after the cease-fire were few and limited to visits to the officers’ club at Kimpo or downtown in Seoul at the 5th Air Force club or the 8th Army club. The drive into Seoul was depressing but occasionally I made it for a change of scene. There was considerable battle damage to be seen on the way and all the bridges across the wide expanse of the Han River were destroyed during the early stages of the war and replaced with Bailey bridges. The central railway station in Seoul was virtually destroyed but the ancient south gate to the city remained intact, as were most of the Japanese built government buildings. The principal hotel, The Chosen, also escaped war damage and was used as the 8th Army officers’ club. The 5th Air Force club was much less impressive being within a military compound. Our money was in military script and could only be used for purchases in military establishments, but despite this an active black market flourished covering a remarkable range of products and amenities. It was unwise to walk the streets but if one did the evident poverty and numerous beggars made it an unpleasant experience. It was not until I returned to Seoul some twenty years later that I did some sightseeing in the city. I visited the ancient palaces and gardens where in spring the Korean women in their very colourful national dress presented a pretty picture among the spring blossoms, in marked contrast to my memories of 1953. Seoul in the seventies looked very different in every way with western style buildings, clothes, cars and traffic jams. By the 1980s it was even more so as Seoul became a metropolis in a rapidly expanding economic miracle of development.
One memory of the 4th FIW officers’ club at K-14 occurred when the administration decided in the spring of 1953 to redecorate the club and make it more presentable. Following its redecoration two C-47s flew in some furniture from Japan and the result was quite attractive, considering we were in a war zone. About a day or so after the official opening of the new club, Pyongyang Radio included in the daily hate session a reference to the club. Pyongyang Rose, named after Tokyo Rose from the Second World War, asked how the 4th was enjoying its nice new officers’ club. She went on to tell us not to get too comfortable in it as the gallant aviators of the People’s Republic would soon make a visit to blow it into oblivion. ‘Bed Check Charlie’ did pay a visit but all they could do with a hand grenade or mortar bomb they dropped was to put a hole in a Quonset hut and the club remained undamaged until the end. However, this incident did indicate the spread of the North Korean intelligence net, and they were probably aware of quite a lot that went on at Kimpo.
When not scheduled for flying I often borrowed a Jeep and drew a shotgun from the armoury. I explored the hills for pheasants, or the tidal flats along the Han River estuary for wildfowl, as before the Second World War Korea had an international reputation for its pheasant and duck shooting. The Korean War did not appear to have affected the number of pheasants and the amount and variety of wildfowl was phenomenal. At dusk with the paddy fields close to the shore, the huge flights of birds onto the fields from the mud flats were something to see and we were able to get some marvellous shooting. The bags of geese and ducks taken back to the mess hall to supplement our routine and monotonous menus were a welcomed change from fried chicken or pork chops, and were very much appreciated. I kept the pheasants for the squadron and friends. These were pleasant days and in the process I visited several Buddhist monasteries and ancient burial sites in the hills around Kimpo. On one occasion as I hunted pheasant, I climbed to the top of ‘The Witch’s Tit’ for a fine view of the estuary and found out just how steep it was.
How it came about I do not know but the South Korean authorities became aware that the 4th FIW mess had occasional feasts on South Korean game birds. Anyway, someone in the Blue House, the ROK equivalent of the White House, resented us our sport. A presidential Decree filtered down to 5th Air Force HQ to the effect that any US personnel shooting Korean birds must first obtain a shooting and a game licence from the South Korean authorities. Under the circumstances, this appeared both unbelievable and ludicrous. The wing commander informed me of the edict, saying that it would be better under the circumstances to confine our shooting to the skeet and trap ranges. Not wishing to create another international incident I limited myself to bird watching on the Han estuary, although I did take the odd pheasant for myself. As a consequence of this farce I thought it appropriate to register my protest in song to the tune of a well-known Irish ballad and, with the help of RAF colleagues, formed a barber shop quartet that proved very popular in the K-14 officers’ club.
The Kimpo Blues
A large lump of nightsoil fell from out the sky one day,
And it settled in a Chosen place; oh, so very far away,
That when the Top Brass saw it, sure it looked so grim and bare,
They said, ‘That’s what we’re looking for, send the Air Force there.’
And they sent ‘The Fourth but First’ – they’d nothing else to do.
Now you’ll hear the pilots cry from that place so far remote –
‘Where, oh where; Mother dear; where is that fucking boat?’
We’ve got the Kimpo Blues; and we’ve got the Kimchi Blues:
We’re fowled-up; we’re fed-up; and tired of this fucking ooze!
Oh, we tried to help old Syngman but that was just a fucking farce;
And now the Fourth has just one shout – ‘Go shove it up your arse’!
We’ve got the Kimpo Blues; and we’ve got the Kimchi Blues:
And now we are fed up waiting for our fucking travel news!
At last the time came to say farewell to The Chosen – Land of the Morning Calm, and as the fighting was now over with no further prospects or aspirations of glory, there was no sadness of farewell on my part. My wartime recollection of Korea was that it was not a land that endeared itself and, apart from some brief moments, I found little to commend what was a brutally devastated and hard land with a trying climate, inhabited by rugged, tough, hard people suffering desperately from the impoverishment of war. This was in marked contrast to my first impressions of Japan during short visits to the Land of the Rising Sun recovering rapidly from the effects of the Second World War. However, to be fair, under the circumstances Korea was very much like the curate’s egg – good in parts. Although I did not wish to repeat it, the experience of the Korean War was one I do not regret and from a flying point of view it was a wonderful experience flying the best fighter aircraft of its day under combat conditions. Flying the F-86 with the USAF in Korea was a privilege I shall always value, providing me with many exceptional memories.
Flying with the top scoring squadron of the top scoring fighter group was a most interesting experience, but it was to be detrimental to my chances of any Mig-15 claims. The only way I was able to participate on the fighter sweeps along the Yalu was as a wingman, when the chances of firing one’s guns at a Mig-15 were rare. If given the choice I should have preferred flying with an RAF fighter squadron of F-86s as my seniority would have ensured that I had priority in leading flights and filling one of the shooting slots on the Yalu sweeps instead of flying the majority of my Mig sweeps as a wingman. In joining the top scoring squadron with the most Mig kills and the most aces in 5th Air Force, this not only attracted senior officers from headquarters 5th Air Force in search of glory, but severely limited my participation on the fighter sweeps to that of a wingman. Although I led sections and flights on weather and airfield reconnaissance flights, photographic reconnaissance and fighter bomber escort missions, the opportunities for Mig claims on these missions were rare and limited. Unfortunately, although by 1953 the North American Aviation F-86E was in production in Canada, it did not arrive in the RAF until 1954 and under the Mutual Defence Aid Programme (MDAP), these aircraft were assigned to NATO and as such equipped squadrons of 2nd Tactical Air Force in West Germany or Fighter Command in the UK. In any event, had the RAF sent a fighter squadron to Korea it would have been with the Meteor VIII and involved in interdiction missions with No. 77 RAAF Squadron. As for the RAF losses on the USAF 4th Fighter Interceptor Group during 1953, they amounted to two missing in action and presumed killed, namely: Flight Lieutenant Graham Hulse and Flight Lieutenant John King.
The national flag of South Korea is unique in not denoting representation as in other national flags, but in displaying the Yin-Yang symbol it represents the principles of Chinese philosophy. The Yin-Yang school of Chinese philosophers teaches that history is the influence of the seasons and the five elements of earth, wood, metal, fire and water. Yin is representative of all that is negative and dark, while Yang depicts the positive and bright. The interaction of these influences decides the destinies of creatures and things. The symbol therefore graphically depicts the struggle between the North and South. It has been said that the Korean War was the wrong war, at the wrong place, at the wrong time and with the wrong enemy. Of course, this could be said of many wars and poses the question – Whenever is there a right war, at the right place, at the right time and with the right enemy? The Korean War was so very much smaller in scale than the major theatres of the Second World War that it has become little more than a footnote in history to most people, but for those who participated in that forgotten and unreserved war it remains imprinted in their memory. On Sunday, 25 June 1950, seven divisions of The People’s Democratic Republic of Korea supported by tanks and aircraft invaded the Republic of Korea. With the Chinese made aware from the onset that the US would not fight an all-out war the die was cast. Three years and some five million casualties later, an armistice ended the fighting only miles from where it had begun. This armistice with no peace terms was to be no more than a cease-fire that has lasted until now. The end crowns all and that old arbitrator, Time will one day end it.
‘Charlie’ Flight on alert at K-14, Korea 1953. Note the ‘Witch’s Tit’ in the background.
Standby pilot for ‘Charlie’ Flight during squadron ‘readiness’.
HMS Ocean on patrol in the Yellow Sea, Korea, 1953.
HMS Ocean’s crowded flight deck.
CWD flying as navigator in a Royal Navy Fairey Firefly mission from HMS Ocean in the Yellow Sea, Korea, 1953.
CWD standing next to a Sea Fury aboard HMS Ocean in the Inland Sea, Japan, 1953.
HMS Ocean arriving in Yokohama, Japan in 1953.
CWD with a Grumman F-9F Panther of the US Marine Corps at K-3, Korea, 1953.
The North Korean Mig-15 that defected to South Korea following the cease-fire in 1953.
A de Havilland T-11 Vampire seen at No. 4 FTS in 1955.
Hawker Hunter Mk VI of the Day Fighter Leader’s Squadron, Central Fighter Establishment, West Raynham in 1956.
Fighter Combat Wing, Central Fighter Establishment, West Raynham, showing a Hunter Mk VI and a Javelin Mk IV in 1959. I am seated in the middle with the dog.
Hawker Hunter cockpit.
Below: Flying the English Electric Canberra on overseas tours while with the Central Fighter Establishment.
‘The 1000 mph club’. The English Electric Lightning.
Handing over the fifth Handley Page Herald to ARKIA in 1967.
CHAPTER FOUR
Pleasant Hours Fly Fast
My departure from Korea to my arrival back in England was a leisurely affair taking about three months. The first stop-over was in Tokyo to settle affairs before moving south-west to the British Commonwealth base at Iwakuni by the Inland Sea and close by the infamous city of Hiroshima. The accommodation at Iwakuni, where the RAF operated a Sunderland flying-boat squadron in support of the UN forces, was very much more comfortable than had been the case at Kimpo. At Iwakuni I had a room to myself with a Japanese maid to make up my bed and clean the room. My used clothing was quickly removed for laundering and ironing; and fresh flowers were placed in the room each day. This sort of pampering, together with the pleasant mess, good food and a convivial atmosphere, made me wonder about my decision not to volunteer for occupational duties in Japan following VJ Day in 1945. During an enjoyable autumn stay I visited Hiroshima and, although eight years had passed since the first atomic bomb fell on a human target, there was evidence of the devastation it created. On 6 August 1945 the 9,000 lb uranium bomb, ‘Little Boy’, detonated over Hiroshima at 2,000 feet obliterating an area radiating out for 4 miles from the city centre. This resulted in around 80,000 immediate casualties, with many others to follow from the effects of radiation. At ground zero stands the skeletal domed remains of what was the city exhibition hall that now forms the memorial for the Peace Park and museum. Nearby was a more lasting memorial with the silhouette of one victim indelibly etched into the concrete of the bridge over the Ota River, illustrating the intensity of the searing thermal wave preceding the blast wave. A more enjoyable excursion took me through the many cultured pearl farms in the shelte
red bay of the Inland Sea, past the distinctive torii of the famous Shinto Temple on the island of Etajima. After an interesting and relaxing stay at Iwakuni I flew on to Hong Kong via Okinawa stopping off in the Philippines on the way. This was my first visit to both places and after a pleasant diversion in Hong Kong and Macao I flew on to Singapore via Borneo. Little did I imagine that this whole area of south-east Asia was to become very well known to me many years later after I retired from the RAF and during my time with Handley Page Aircraft and Hawker Siddeley Aviation. Following another pleasant few days in Singapore, I flew on westwards stopping in Ceylon, Pakistan, Iraq and Libya, before arriving back in the UK just in time for Christmas 1953. My round the world trip, courtesy of the RAF and USAF, had taken a few days short of one year.