I WAS A PRISONER IN NORTH KOREA

ERIC DONNELLY

Service Details

Eric Donnelly was born in Sydney in 1930 and initially educated at StJosephs at Rockdale. He enlisted in K Force at Brisbane in July 1951 and underwent basictraining at 5 RTC (Queensland) and at Puckapunyal in Victoria. From there he was posted tothe British Commonwealth Battle School at Haramura (Japan) and then to 1 RHU at Hiro. Ondischarge from the Army he followed his pre enlistment profession as a pictorialjournalist working for Consolidated Press in Sydney and the Courier Mail & Sunday Sunin Brisbane. For a period he produced educational film documentaries on agriculture andanimal husbandry for the government. He is married with 4 daughters and 11 grandchildren.He is active in retirement taking a keen interest in the affairs effecting veterans and iscurrently Vice President (Metropolitan Branch-Queensland) of the Ex Prisoners of WarAssociation. He lives in the Brisbane suburb of Bridgeman Downs.

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Background to the following story - IN ACTION KOREA 1953.

Accurate and current intelligence information on the enemy's activitiesto the Australian's immediate front was sorely needed. The most appropriate source wasfrom prisoners who had been recently captured. There were none. On the night 13-14 January1953, a fighting patrol of approximately fifteen men, led by Lieutenant Brian Bousfieldset out with the specific purpose of capturing one or more of the enemy. Such patrols werecolloquially referred to as "snatch patrols". As the patrol approached the enemydefences they suddenly came across a newly constructed trench system of which they had notbeen briefed. The Chinese occupants opened fire with mortars and machine guns and launchedan attack. The patrol beat off the attack and a small number entered the trench system insearch of a prisoner. A number of Chinese had been wounded but the patrol was unable toget a prisoner.

The Chinese accurately calculated the patrol's withdrawal route andpositioned a thirty man ambush party across it. The patrol fought its way through theambush, inflicting numerous casualties on the enemy. Lieutenant Bousfield and a few othersprotected the rear of the withdrawing patrol with the Chinese in close pursuit. Althoughseriously wounded Lieutenant Bousfield continued to command the patrol until they reachedthe battalion lines. Four of his men were wounded and three were missing. The threemissing were Privates Eric Donnelly (prisoner), Ron Shennon (presumed killed in action)and Peter White who died of wounds.

The Editors

This is Eric Donnelly's story of his capture and incarceration.

For me, Korea, "The Land of the Morning Calm" eruptedviolently on that morning in the cruelly cold winter of 1953. I had volunteered to be amember of K Force. The advertisement in the Courier Mail had read, "Two yearenlistment in K Force for service in Korea. No previous experience necessary. Help stopthe Communist thrust south. Apply any Army Recruitment Office....." Now after manymonths training in both Australia and Japan I was about to find out whether I wouldmeasure up.

We were on patrol at night pursued by the enemy. Suddenly a flickeringglow worm type object arched its way through the velvety blackness of the Korean wintersky. It exploded with sickening finality between the snow covered mountain called Hill 227and the body of Private Peter White, our patrol's Bren Gunner. Peter was just loweringhimself into position to cover the return of the prisoner "Snatch party", off toour left. It was the first grenade of what was to become a maelstrom of sparkling arcsthat were flying over my head to the rest of the patrol below and behind me. LieutenantBrian Bousfield led the patrol, and Sergeant Jack Morrison with two others detachedthemselves from the main patrol in an attempt to capture a prisoner for Intelligence toquestion.

Before leaving our position on Hill 355, known to us as "LittleGibraltar", we studied aerial photographs of enemy trench lines. The plan was to stopsome 200 yards from these trenches. Unfortunately for us, since the aerial photographs hadbeen taken two weeks before, the enemy had constructed a new trench line 200 yards lowerdown the slope. This is what we had nearly walked into.

After cautiously crossing the valley, we arrived at our designatedposition from where we would be able to observe the routes being used by the Communisttroops to infiltrate the valley. This new trench line puzzled me but the reality of thesituation didn't sink in until these strange glow worm arcs started to explode. Theexplosion lifted Peter two feet into the air before dropping him back to the snow. I couldsee that he was badly wounded but because of the intensity of the grenade barrage, I hadmy hands full trying to pin point the exact location of the throwers. I threw the twogrenades I carried on my belt to where I thought the glow worm trails were originating,about 15 yards away up the hill. My first grenade exploded with a lot of noise. The secondwas muffled and I heard a lot of Chinese yelling and shouting. This makes me think that itlanded in the enemy trench line. I let off a couple of bursts from my Owen Gun but couldnot see nor hear any results. The fire fight with the rest of the patrol was reallyhotting up this time. I was leading a charmed life with all the grenades going over myhead to the patrol below. Lieutenant Bousfield, in the thick of these exploding grenades,had to do something quickly to extricate us from this decidedly-tricky situation. Hisorder rang out above the din: "Down the hill - reform".

Until now, it was as if I were invisible. I was the closest to theenemy lines and no one was having a go at me. The only thing I can think of to explainthis immunity is that I was invisible. I must have had a black rocky out-crop that was notcovered by snow or a dark bush behind me that blended my battle-dress into the background.Although it was a dark night, after a couple of hours of traversing the valley, you couldsee quite a lot against the background of the thick, white snow Another call fromLieutenant Bousfield to get "Down the hill - regroup", spurred me to cross thefour yards to Peter White. I wanted to pull him down the slope like a sled. I only tooktwo paces to my right when a bullet smashed into my right leg causing me to spin aroundlike a ballet dancer pirouetting in the snow. I crashed to the ground alongside Peter,losing my grip on the Own Gun as I spun around. I called out, "I've been hit",and a mate of mine from Tasmania, Gordon Welles, yelled out "Blue's been hit. I amgoing to get him." Lieutenant Bousfield screamed out, "Don't be a bloody fool -down the hill". Gordon got to within two yards of me but then decided to obeyBousfield's command. He went down the hill as ordered. In the months to come I was toreplay this scene many times in my mind's eye. At first I as bitter, thinking that I hadbeen deserted by my comrades. Over time I came to realise that Brian (Bousfield) did theonly thing possible, as he had the responsibility for getting us all out. If I had obeyedhis order to get down the hill and regroup, instead of trying to get Peter White out, Imay not have been shot. Who knows? The reality now was that the patrol had withdrawn downthe hill and Peter and I were left to our fate. Peter mercifully died a few minutes later,so my attempt to get him out would not have succeeded anyhow.

I could hear the patrol fighting its way back across the valley, Itried to crawl down the hill in the direction that we came but I could not move my legs. Anerve in my leg or spine must have snapped because I had no feeling from the waist down. Istarted to think that I had lost both legs. Lying in the snow and cold of the Koreanwinter would not be helping the shock. Just then a spine chilling noise that sounded likea hundred screaming locomotives coming straight for me erupted into a great explosion offto my left. The Canadian 25 Pounder Barrage had begun. The ground shook like an earthquakeas shell after shell gouged craters out to the landscape. How close the nearest shelllanded, I do not know, but I do know that every shell felt as if it was coming straightfor me I was told later that Lieutenant Bousfield had called in the artillery to give himcover to try and get Peter and me out, but his patrol had been surrounded by enemy forcesbefore he could achieve this aim. It was all they could do to fight their way back acrossthe valley to our own lines. The nightmare of being a human target for a battery ofCanadian Artillery continued for about ten minutes, when there was a break in the firing.

I looked up towards the enemy trench line and saw a Chinese soldiercarrying a Burp Gun, heading in my direction, crouching as he made his way across to whereI was lying. He prodded me a couple of times to make sure that I did not pose a threat tohim.

Then he reached down and grabbed me by my right leg. Up to then I couldnot feel it. As he exerted pressure on my leg, a shaft of pain went right through my body.I let out the most spine-chilling scream of agony that would have shocked the moststout-hearted. The Chinese soldier was no exception. He dropped my leg. Just than anothershell came thundering in to our position. The Chinese soldier scurried back to his trenchline for protection while a couple of more shells crashed in. Shortly there was anotherbreak in the shelling and the enemy soldier once again ventured to where Peter and I lay.This time he grabbed me by my hair and started towing me like a toboggan through the snowon my back. I was able to assist by pushing with my hands. Anything to get away fromhorror of the 25 pounders. He towed me the 15 yards or so up to his trench and then let mego over the edge. I remember being in free fall and then blacking out. Where he haddropped me was ten or twelve feet deep to the bottom of the trench. The trench itself wasabout 5 1/2 feet deep but every 20 yards or so the trench was dug down another 5 1/2 feetand a cavern or bunker was dug into the side of the hill. This is where they kept theirstores, radios, sleeping gear etcetera. The spot where I was dumped was right over one ofthese deepened sections of trench. I landed on my head which knocked me senseless. I don'tknow for how long.

When I regained consciousness I was surrounded by about 20 Chinesesoldiers who offered a drink of hot water and gave me some biscuits. Lying further over inthe bunker or cavern were five or six wounded Chinese soldiers. One had his arm off at theshoulder and I wondered to myself if one of the grenades I threw had caused theseinjuries. At this stage of my imprisonment I did not know which injury was causing me themost pain, the bullet wound in my leg which had shattered my right femur or the pain frommy upper spine caused by the eleven foot fall on my head. As no one spoke English and Icould not speak Chinese, I tried to communicate with sign language. I indicated the signof the red cross on my upper arm battle-dress sleeve and asked for morphine injectionsimulating the pushing and action of getting a needle injection. After a few attempts atthis, they indicated that they had no morphine by shaking their heads and repeating,"No morphy, no morphy", I then asked, with signs, for a cigarette. This timewith more success. They gave me a Chinese cigarette which must have been made of saltpetreand a little tobacco by the way if flared and sputtered when I took a draw on the end ofit. After smoking the cigarette I held up a match stick to get their attention. I thenproceeded to snap the match stick in half and pointing to my leg to try and get through tothem that my leg had been broken in half. After repeating this pantomime a couple oftimes, I could see that the message had got through to them.

Thinking that I was getting pretty good at this communication business,I decided to try and get a more complex message through to them. I would try and get themto put a splint on my leg. I recalled that during basic training in Australia., we weretaught that if you were in an area where wood or sticks were hard to find or unavailable,(the desert for example) you could make a good splint for leg injuries by strapping a .303rifle, which in an infantry company, were always available. I could not believe my luckwhen I turned around and spotted what must have been the Bren Gunners .303 Rifle leaningup against the wall, within easy reach of where I was lying. This, in hindsight, was astupid idea, to even begin to consider, let alone try to do. My only excuse is that theyseemed so friendly. As I reached across and lifted the rifle to lay alongside my leg anduse my belt to strap it up tight to relieve the dreadful spasms of pain that kept shootingup my leg, all hell broke loose. What had been a nice friendly meeting among front linetroops, albeit from opposing sides, suddenly erupted into a World War Three scenario.Everyone seemed to want a piece of the action at the same time. The soldier leading thecharge gave me the butt end of his rifle across my mouth, smashing my teeth. Another oneof the pack hit me across the head, I passed out again. Thus ended my attempts to becomethe world's greatest communicator!

When I gained my faculties, everything had settled down once more.Around midday I was put on a stretcher and a party of four soldiers were given the task ofcarrying me to the reverse slope of Hill 227. When we arrived I was carried into this hugetunnel inside the mountain. I could see all sorts of vehicles, supplies, radiotransmitters and lots of Chinese soldiers. A Chinese Officer came over to my stretcher andasked in perfect English who I was. I gave him the card we had been instructed to supplyshould we fall into enemy hands which gave name, number and rank.

He told me it would be difficult to get medical treatment until I toldthe People's Liberation Army the truth. He said I would be going to school when I wasbetter. I asked him what he meant, but he would not enlarge on his statement. He thencalled out in Chinese and a group of Chinese soldiers, perhaps ten in all, gathered aroundhim and myself. One of the soldiers was instructed to take off my Winter boots which werekeeping my feet warm. He did this with some difficulty because of the pain he wasgenerating in my hip. After he got them off he put his own feet inside them and thenpretended that they were so heavy he couldn't lift his feet. The Chinese wore lightsandshoe-type footwear made of canvas. These are a lot easier to walk in but would not bevery effective against the severe and bitter cold of a Korean Winter.

After clowning around with my boots, the soldier was instructed toremove my flak jacket. The Chinese officer made some disparaging remarks in English to meabout how silly the bullet proof vests were that we wore they would not stop a bullet fromentering our body. I did not argue with him because he held all the aces. The officer heldup my flak jacket and gave the assembled soldiers a brief story about how ineffective theywould be against bullets judging by the laughs he was getting from his audience and theiractions. This little talk/demonstration ended with the Officer taking his Luger pistolfrom its holster and holding it about six inches from the jacket and firing his pistol.The jacket which was never designed for such a task was no match for such a demonstration.The soldiers in the group laughed and clapped his performance with much gusto. It wasabout this time I heard very faintly the muffled rumbles of high explosives detonating andthe slight hum of aeroplanes flying. The Chinese troops, with grins on their faces,pointed to the ceiling of the tunnel we were in and started saying, "Fiji,Fiji", which is Chinese for aircraft. They told me by signs that an aerial strike wastaking place on Hill 227 and yet, where we were, you could hardly hear it. Before beingcaptured I had watched a few air strikes take place on Hill 227 and I used to wonder howany one could withstand such battering from high explosives and Napalm. Now I knew!

Late in the afternoon I was moved again by a team of four soldiers whotook turns to carry my stretcher. My weight at this time was 12 stone 7 pounds so I wasnot an easy assignment to be toting around the mountainous tracks. As we stumbled along, Iwas up ended a few times which caused the most agonizing pain in my hip. A few times Ithought that I would get a bullet in my head for making such a racket with my screams ofpain. I wished over and over that I had been able to get them to splint or strap my leg tostop the jagged ends of my femur from rubbing together. After this horrific move I wasplaced in a cave with about ten other wounded soldiers who had been issued with little redbooks they had to study. The soldier nearest to me on the raised platform, where we hadbeen placed, looked like the one I had seen in the bunker when I was first captured. Hehad his arm off at the shoulder. I was groaning with the pain from my wound. It keptcoming in spasms or waves and increasing in intensity as time passed. Somehow or other,the armless Chinese soldier rolled and over and lit a cigarette for me which he placed inmy mouth. I smiled my thanks for his compassion, and he smiled back without either of ussaying a word. He lit a cigarette for himself, smoked it and straight away died. I oftenthink of this soldier, even after all these years, and when they say the Ode at returnedsoldiers' meetings, his smiling face dominates my thoughts as we repeat the Ode andfinish with the words, "Lest we Forget".

The next day I met up with another Australian soldier, George Smith.George had been sent out on a stretcher party to try and get any survivors of the previousnight's action. George told me that the stretcher party was ordered to carry rifles andincredibly, a smoke screen was laid down to "protect them", From the Chineseside, this party of soldiers advancing through a smoke-screen and carrying rifles andstretchers, heralded a daylight attack and they sent a couple of companies of men to meetthe threat. When the stretcher party saw the hordes of angry Chinese soldiers advancingand firing their automatic weapons they did what any prudent person would do in thecircumstances, they attempted to retire to previously prepared positions with great haste.Lance Corporal R J Tippet from Melbourne was shot in the stomach by the advancing Chineseand George Smith decided to stay with Tippet to protect him from the enemy and to helphim. When the Chinese over-ran them, Tippet was too far gone to merit taking him prisoner.He was left to die, but with a remarkable display of courage and tenacity, Tippet managedto claw his way back across the valley to our lines.

As he was waiting to be identified by our outpost men, he was shotagain through the back by a Chinese sniper before our blokes could pick him up for muchneeded medical help.

The Chinese now made George carry one end of my stretcher while theytook turns to carry the other end. We seemed to travel for hours at night over very roughterrain but never once did George falter or up end me on to the ground, as had happened afew times, before he started carrying the stretcher. At one stage, while resting, Ithought that my feet were becoming frozen. The Chinese stretchers were shorter than theWestern type and my feet were sticking out over the end. The Chinese soldier had taken myboots in the big tunnel under Hill 227 and I had no protection from the frozen night aircoming down from Manchuria. I told George that my feet were aching and stinging from thecold. Could he do something to ease my pain? He propped the stretcher up on some rocks,undid his battledress top and put both my feet under his armpits to get the bloodcirculating in my feet again. Without George Smith's help I could easily have lost both myfeet as happened to a B29 Tail Gunner who I was to meet some months later. As long as Ilive, I will remember George Smith and his selfless compassion for me on that bloody coldKorean mountain.

After traveling all night, we ended up in a cage with a very lowceiling. This room or cage was about ten feet square and the ceiling would be about threefeet from the floor. This stopped you from standing up but you could sit or squat on yourhaunches. As I was in the horizontal position, it didn't affect me too much. In the cagewith George and myself were three south Korean soldiers who looked as if they had beenthere for some time. This was an interrogation centre. English-speaking Chinese or Koreansoldiers would come in at all hours of the day or night to question me. These questionswere of a general nature and were always followed with the threat that I would not getmedical treatment, unless I told the truth. A typical question might be, "Where didyour grandmother go to school when she was a little girl?" It you told them, youdidn't know, they would get very upset and say, "You must tell us the truth. You willnot get medical treatment until you tell the truth". The easy way out seemed to be tomake things up for them. I would make up a fictitious story and tell them she had attendedsuch-and-such a school which they would duly note down in their little notebooks. All thetime I was in this centre I was in extreme pain from the injury to my leg, mouth and back.Sleep was very hard to get and whenever I did fall off to sleep from sheer exhaustion, Iwas shaken violently to wake me and then asked further questions.

As I was making up answers to a lot of the questions, I gave the wronganswers when they repeated their questions. They would scream out with their eyes bulgingout of their heads and their face a matter of inches from my face, "You have lied tous. You will not get medical treatment". Every day a bucket of rice swill would beplaced in the room for us to eat. As I couldn't move off my back, George would have to getfood for me. The three South Korean prisoners would almost fight to get all the bucket ofswill and George had to force his way to get two handfuls, one for him and one for me. Ireceived some shots of morphine from time to time to ease my pain. The leg had started toswell around the top and after a couple of weeks I thought that it would be easier to beshot rather than put up with all the pain and nonsense they were putting me through. Atthis time I hadn't heard about brain washing perfected by the Russians who were not, atthis time, Communist China's closest ally. I told George that from this time on I wouldn'tanswer any more questions and I would abuse any bastard who came in to ask them. He saidthat I had his support and so we started "Operation Abuse". We refused toco-operate in any way and shouted at our interrogators at every opportunity for the nextcouple of days. On the evening of the next day, an old mule and cart pulled up outside ourcage and I was put on a stretcher and carried out to the back of the cart. Straw was piledon the floor of the cart to cushion the ride. A Chinese soldier got on the back of thecart with me and he was carrying an automatic machine carbine. I thought this was going tobe the classic gangster movie "one-way ride" and I couldn't care less. At leastthe pain of the last two weeks would be ended. I said goodbye to George and off we wentinto the setting sun. After travelling for about twenty minutes, I realized that if theywere going to get rid of me by shooting, they would have done it before now.

As we made our way through the darkness, we seemed to hit every potholeor shell hole in the surface they called a road. Each time we hit a pothole, my hip wasjolted and I would let out a cry of pain. The Chinese guard would hit me with his gun toshut me up.

After one particularly loud yell from me, I got the butt across thebridge of my nose which, thankfully. put me in blackout condition once more. After thisnightmare ride which went all through the night, I found myself in what looked like an oldKorean farm house. It was the 27th January, 1953. On the raised platform, where I wasplaced, were wounded Chinese and Korean soldiers. A soldier who had been hit by Napalm wasright alongside me in the sitting position. He was very badly burnt over his whole bodyand the only thing that moved on him were his dark brown eyes. They seemed to pierce rightinto me and I had the feeling that if he could move his arms he would fall down on me andthrottle the life out of me. This has been a recurring nightmare for many years.

The next day, the 28th January, 1953 was my 23rd birthday and itstarted off by watching the Napalm victim succumb to his terrible burns. After this rathertragic experience, I was placed in a stretcher and taken away to another Korean buildingwhere I was given a spinal injection and a Chinese doctor who spoke no English performedan operation on my leg. The operating room had an earthen floor, thatched roof and theillumination was supplied by a pressure lantern which was pumped every now and again tobrighten the light output. As the Chinese doctor made the incision in my swollen thigh, heexplained in Chinese what he was doing. Because the spinal injection only deadened thelower half of my body from the waist down, I was operated on in the sitting position whichallowed me to observe the whole operation. After the first rush of rotten matter which hadcaused the swelling had dissipated itself, he started probing for shattered pieces of thefemur bone which he proceeded to remove with tweezers. The operation lasted for about halfan hour. As he stitched the six inch cut in my thigh to close the incision, feelingstarted to return to my leg. However as he continued to stitch I became more vocal fromthe pain in my leg. Four attendants physically restrained me as he completed hishandiwork. Just as I was lifted off the "operating table" the stitching cameundone and I thought I was in for another struggle when he again tried to close the wound,However, instead of trying to re-stitch me, he got an American pack of Sulphamilamidepowder and sprinkled it all over my wound before I was carted off to another room. In thisroom they had an ancient type of device for stretching limbs and applying a plaster cast.I was seated with one buttock on a small oval platform while my leg was stretched until Ithought it would rip my hip apart. When they decided that my leg wouldn't stretch anyfurther, two female attendants or nurses started to apply a plaster cast to my right leg,hip and chest. This effectively made it impossible to even sit up and it meant I wouldspend the rest of the war on my back being dependent on others for my every need, but justthe same, it was a great birthday present. Probably the best I've ever received.

At this time a Chinese war correspondent carrying a small 35 mm cameracame into the plaster room and decided to take a photograph of me in this rack device. Nodoubt this was to show how well prisoners were being treated. He set up his camera on atripod ready to take the picture and then left the room. When he returned to make hispicture, I was amazed to see that he had an old flash holder and flash powder. He measuredout the amount of flash powder he estimated he needed and then tried to get me to smile bybehaving like an animated chimpanzee. With the excruciating pain that I was going through,he had no hope of success. When he finally fired the flash powder, he almost burnt downthe room with the roof thatching catching fire. This was quickly put out and the nursepolitely put him out too!

After this episode I was returned to the first room with my new plastercast. As the full effects of the spinal injection wore off, the incessant pain returned.No one spoke English. It was my birthday. My spirit was pretty low at this time. The daystarted so tragically with the death of the napalmed soldier. I was in pain, worse, I wasalone. This feeling of loneliness was made infinitely worse by my mind being filled withvisions of my sweetheart, Desma McEvoy, whom I had met on my final leave at Katoomba inthe Blue Mountains, just a few months before. How I longed to hold her in my arms and hearher voice once more. Our eyes had met across a crowded dance room floor and, for me, itwas "love at first sight". We danced the night away and, as the memories floodedback, I wondered if I would ever dance again or if I would live to ask her to marry me. Inthe early hours of the following morning, when the pain was at its worst, a Chinesesoldier came over and sat beside me. He looked at me for a little while and watched as Itried to control the pain I was experiencing and then he reached down and cradled my headin his arms.

He began to sing in perfect English, the old Paul Robertson spiritual,"Swing Low Sweet Chariot, coming for to carry me home". This is one of the mostmoving experiences that I will always remember. The soldier could not speak English tocarry on a conversation, but I found out later, that he had attended an Americanmissionary school when he was a child. This was the turning point in my imprisonment. Thenext day, the pain in my leg eased a bit and I started to regain my spirit. I felt like anexhibit at the zoo as I had a constant and steady stream of Chinese, both male and female,coming into the room to have a look at the red-haired, blue-eyed prisoner. There was nosuch thing as a bedpan, as we know them. Each morning the star turn was being lifted ontoa sawn in half four gallon kerosene can to perform my morning bowel motion. This alwaysattracted the biggest crowd of curious Chinese. The Chinese made no attempt to give thewounded prisoners any privacy and at times this could be almost embarrassing. When I hadmy operation, they took all my clothes from the waist down, i.e., socks, underpants,trousers were all taken from me. The trousers were cut off by the surgeon who operated onme. This left my genitals exposed when I was lifted up to perform each morning for myaudience. I found this most off-putting at first, especially when there were so manyfemales among the group. There were no such things as screens like we have in ourhospitals, but there again, the Korean farmhouse they were using, bore no resemblance toany hospital as we know them. Some of the audience had the audacity to pull my red pubichair to make sure it was real! I was in plaster from the toes of my right leg to the topof my chest with the plaster encircling my chest in line with my armpits. My body would beelevated with my heels touching the raised platform to an angle of about 30 degrees. Thecan was then slid under the appropriate area with the nurse on either side to ensure thatI did not cut my buttocks. I hadn't passed a motion since being taken prisoner two weeksearlier and this was beginning to worry me. The twenty or more men and women watched everymove very intently and tried to give me added assistance to achieve success, judging bytheir expressions of straining on their faces in sympathy with my endeavours. Thispantomime went on for three days without success causing stunned looks each time I gave upwith nothing to show for my efforts. They would pass the empty can around and speakexcitedly to each other gesticulating and with looks of amazement on their faces. The nextday (the fourth day after my operation) the usual crowd were gathered around when I waslifted into position. It turned out to be a rattling success. The motion when it finallycame, was in the form of little rounded pellets which ricocheted around the empty can. Ioften wonder what these basically peasant type people would tell their friends andneighbours in the more remote provinces of China about western toilet habits. If theydescribed the eyewitness account that they observed, no one would believe them.

The following night after I had managed to get to sleep, I was awakenedby the sound of English voices. At first, I thought I must have been dreaming or hearingthings. I was pleased beyond belief a few minutes later when five Australian privatesoldiers from Able (A) Company, 3 Battalion Royal Australian Regiment were carried intothe room where I was being held. They were Glen Brown from South Australia, Brian Davorenfrom my home town of Sydney, N.S.W., Jack Davis from Queensland, Jack Mackay from WesternAustralia, and Jim McCulloch from Brisbane Queensland. They brought me up-to-date on whathad happened to the rest of my patrol and told me that I had been postedmissing-in-action. I wondered how the news of my being posted as MIA. would affect mymother and my beloved Desma. Brian Dovoren was in bad shape. His left leg was prettymangled from an exploding grenade which also caused a lot of damage to his right arm andchest. The others in the group had various shrapnel and bullet wounds. Jack Mackay, on hissecond tour of duty in Korea, was shot through his left shoulder. Because of a lack offacilities the Chinese could not locate the bullet. They had an entry point for the bulletbut no exit hole. When he was released, doctors discovered that the bullet had lodged inthe first layer of his heart. Jack, with his wry sense of humour and his good storiesabout his pre-war stint as a mental hospital nurse, was a great inspiration to us all.When things looked a bit bleak you could always depend on Jack to brighten things up.After a few more days here, we were moved out after darkness had fallen and placed on theback of a five ton truck for transport further north. We each had a blanket but even so itwas bitterly cold. I felt it pretty badly because of the amount of plaster in which I wasencased and the lack of clothing. Our truck was one of what appeared to be hundreds in theconvoy; the line stretched up as far as the eye could see.

Because of United Nations superiority in the air, the Chinese couldonly use the roads at night. As we went bumping along the bomb-hole ridden road, we triedto tell from the stars in which direction we were traveling. Jim McCulloch, who was anofficer in the Royal Navy during World War 2, tried to plot where we were going but hefound it to be an impossible task because of the winding and twisting roads. The Chineseseemed to post a soldier on every mountain top and as soon as he heard the sound of anaeroplane engine, he would fire a shot into the air. This may not be as effective as radarbut it worked very well in letting you know of approaching aircraft. You can hear therifle shots getting closer and you know that the aircraft will soon fly over yourposition.

On this particular night the aircraft, when it arrived over the convoy,dropped huge magnesium flares that lit up the landscape like day time. The convoy came toan immediate stop and the Chinese drivers and passengers took off to either side of theroad to get what cover was available. Because of our injuries and lack of mobility we hadto stay on the truck and hope that our truck didn't end up in the cross-hairs of somepilot's rocket delivery system. The American planes came into the attack with rocketsfiring, picking off trucks one by one. Fortunately the aircraft must have run out ofrockets before they got to our position in the convoy. About a dozen trucks were hit bythe rockets and destroyed. After pushing the wrecks off the road, the convoy closed up andcontinued its journey north. We all breathed a sigh of relief as the blanket we hadcouldn't keep out the cold, let alone a rocket! The following morning we arrived at a vastcomplex of caves where we were to stay for a few days. Because of the bumping around onthe back of the truck, my plaster had been cracked in five or six places so it had to bereplaced with a new one. This was to be repeated on a number of occasions.

It was during our stay in the caves that Jim McCulloch and I had a veryfrightening experience that ended on a humorous note. We had befriended a little Chinesesoldier who was suffering from shell shock or some mental problem. He used to go around tothe Chinese and Korean wounded and pinch cigarettes, biscuits or anything on which hecould put his hands. He would come over to where Jim and I were lying side by side and tryto talk to us in Chinese. He would slip the cigarettes or lollies under our bedding withmuch smiling and facial contortions. We decided to teach him to say, "Wouldn't itf... you!" We were in this complex for a few days and "Wouldn't it f...you" was becoming better and better at saying this new found phrase that made Jim andme laugh. One morning two Korean Officers came into the complex and came over to where wewere and started talking in Korean and looking down at us. The one nearest Jim undid hispistol holster and pulled a Luger and held it down near Jim's ear against his skull. Jimwhispered, "Hey, Blue, look what this bastard's doing to me!" I replied to Jimthat he was just trying to scare him. Jim said, "Well he is succeeding Blue".The Korean standing in front of me then took out his pistol which looked very much like aMauser and held it to my head. I now understood very clearly how Jim felt. The twoOfficers took it in turns to fire their pistols which produced clicks. They thought it wasa great game and were laughing at our discomfort. Just as things were looking decidedlytricky for both of us, our little mate looked across and saw what was happening. He jumpedup and in doing so, he bumped his head against the roof of the cave and let out a cry of"Wouldn't it f... you!", and came charging across to where Jim and I were lyingand started berating the two Koreans. They quickly put their pistols back in theirholsters and took off with "Wiffey" in hot pursuit. They had their fun at ourexpense but Jim and I had the last laugh. When I think back now on this incident, Irealise how crass we were to teach the Chinese soldier such an obscene phrase, especiallywhen he was trying to be so helpful to us. The only thing I can think of in our defence isthat at 23 years of age, it seemed like a good idea at the time!

As we traveled further north, we stopped at a variety of field typehospitals that were nothing more than old Korean farmhouses. The Chinese were fond oftelling us that we were getting the same treatment as their own men. This was true to acertain degree. The real difference was that the Chinese and Koreans only had to sufferthe lack of facilities for a short time before they were moved across the border to theregular hospital system. United Nations troops had to persevere with the Spartan treatmentuntil they were cured or died. In our group's case we were kept in these caves or Koreanfarmhouses for the full duration of our incarceration with the Communists. Englishspeaking Chinese were very scarce on the ground after leaving the interrogation centre.,

When you did find one, they wouldn't tell you where you were or whereyou were going. They usually told you that you would be going to school when you got tothe POW Camp but would elaborate no further. It became a bit of a joke with us thatwhenever I got a new plaster put on my leg, we would start moving on again. We finallyarrived at our last location which was a long shed about 30 feet long and 10 feet wide. Atone end was a little charcoal stove and at the other end was the entry door. There wereelevated platforms on either side of a central earthen passage way that ran the length ofthe room. When we arrived at this shed, there were two Americans, one Colombian and onePuerto Rican, already in residence. One of the Americans was a Negro, Wilbur Waring andthe other was a Polish American, Paul Klozik. The Puerto Rican who had his left knee capshot off was called "Angel". I can't remember the name of the Colombian whocould not speak or understand English.

The shed was located on a hill on its own and very close to a railwayjunction. It had a thatched roof that I could reach with my hand while laying on my back.Every now and again the United Nations (UN) Forces would put in an air strike against therailway junction. The Doctor in Charge, Dr Whong, spoke excellent but halting English. Hetold me that he once taught at the University of Hong Kong. He was a dedicated Doctor whowon our utmost respect. The only other Doctor with whom we came into contact was a Dr Shuwho was in charge of the Infectious Diseases Ward. He was promptly nick-named, "TheGerm". He would burst into our shed in the early hours of the morning with two orthree gun-toting goons and accuse us of signaling the aircraft that were bombing the railjunction. Because of our exposed position we would have needed to be as crazy as Dr Shu tohave even attempted signaling as we would have been the first building to be taken out. Hewould continually try to cheer us up by telling us that Korea was the start of a 100 yearswar and that we would never see our loved ones again. After putting up with hisaccusations over a number of weeks I finally told Dr Whong what he was doing and askedcould he do something to stop him terrorizing us in the early hours of the morning. DrWhong said he had no right to be in our shed and that he was a very political Doctor. Hesaid he would take steps to see that he didn't come back again. Dr Whong must have carrieda lot of weight, because we didn't see Dr Shu again until the day we were leaving forKaesong prior to our release.

Towards the end of March we were given a demonstration of how humanlife was valued. Jack "Donkey" Davis from Maryborough Queensland was standingnear the front door of our hut getting a breath of fresh air. An old Korean woman came upto him and she was carrying a basket full of apples. Jack tried to get her to give him onebut she shook her head. She then saw that Jack was wearing a ring that Jack's Japanesegirlfriend had given him when he embarked from Japan to Korea. She indicated to Jack thatshe would exchange her apples for Jack's ring. Jack invited her inside the hut and startedto bargain with her to get the best deal. The food at this time was mainly boiled ricewhich was pretty tasteless and stuck to your mouth. We used to wish that we had a littlesugar, salt, curry of any "bloody thing at all" that would give a bit of taste.To get an apple to eat would be a real coup if Jack could pull it off. Neither Jack northe old woman could understand each other's language but this presented no problems as theage old barter system went into action. Jack held up both hands and indicated by flickinghis hands three times that thirty apples would do the trick and the ring she coveted wouldbe hers. The old woman shook her head vigorously from side to side and held up her handsshowing three fingers on one hand and five on the other. By facial expressions Jackindicated to her that eight apples had no chance of succeeding but immediately dropped hisante to both hands flicked twice or twenty apples. To reinforce this offer, he took thering off his finger and gave it to her to try on. Even from the sidelines you could seethat here were two good traders in action. She tried on the ring and gave us a toothlessgrin. You could see that she dearly wanted that ring which looked like gold but in realitywas only brass. The other prisoners, including myself, were also holding our hands uptelling Jack to try and get more as there was ten of us that would dearly loved an appleto eat. Even though she wanted that ring real bad, and the odds were ten to one againsther in the bargaining stakes, she stood her ground and indicated that fifteen apples washer best offer. Jack tried to get her to accept that twenty was all he would take for sucha beautiful ring. By this time we were all salivating at the thought of sinking our teethor in my case, gums, into these lovely red apples.

We started advising Jack that fifteen was reasonable price to pay for abrass ring and to accept her offer; this he did, and the ring changed hands at 15 apples.The last we ever saw of this lovely old lady was as she walked out the door of our hutholding the ring in front of her eyes with a big toothless grin on her face. Jack sharedthe apples around and we each got one and a half apples to eat. I don't think I have evertasted a nicer apple. It was the measure of the man that Jack Davis shared his applesequally so that we all got the same amount. Two days later Dr Whong came into our hut andasked us who had sold this ring, holding it up for us to see. Jack admitted that he wasthe culprit and asked the Doctor if he had done anything wrong. Dr Whong said that theKorean peasants were not allowed to fraternize with the prisoners of war and the old womanhad been shot as an example to others not to have contact with us. Dr Whong handed backthe brass ring to Jack Davis and warned him not to do this again, as he could not stop thearmy from carrying out these executions. Thus the People's Liberation Army put a value offifteen apples as the price for this poor old Korean lady's life. Whenever I eat an applenow, I think of her toothless smile and her face.

This embargo on coming into the hut did not extend to militarypersonnel who would frequently walk in to have a look at us. You could hear themsquelching through the snow outside our hut and then they would burst in through the doorwith looks of eager anticipation on their faces. The captured 'capitalist pigs' werealways a good attraction if you had nothing better to do, or so they thought. The looks ofeager anticipation quickly changed to facial contortions as they tried to come to termswith the odour that pervaded our hut. This is because the stench from my own openedweeping wound with its putrefying pus was enough to make strong men blanch and their eyeswater. Of course being exposed to it 24 hours a day, you more or less became immune to itspotent effects. You could only begin to guess as its potency by the startling effects ithad on visitors to our Prisoner of War hut who ventured in to have a close look at theircaptured enemy. They would come in with excited eager looks on their faces, not knowingwhat wonders they were about to see. At a given signal, the Americans and the Aussieswould quietly and discreetly start moving our blankets up and down much in the manner ofthe American Indian when sending a smoke signal. The horrible smell coming from AngelGarcia's missing right knee mixed with the gas gangrene from Brian Davoren's left leg andthe admirable essence emanating from the amputated feet of the American flyer, BobWeinbrandt, plus the putrefying mixture of foul smells from the rest of the group couldtruly be classified as diabolical germ warfare. It was the only weapon we had and we usedit with telling effect. The looks of eager excitement and anticipation would suddenlyundergo a complete transformation as the full force of our secret weapon began to reek itsdeadly effect.

Those not wearing masks over their nose and mouth would start holdingtheir hands over their noses in a futile attempt to thwart our sinister assault of theirsmelling senses. As they fought to stop our evil infiltrating putrescence from reachingtheir noses, they suddenly realised that all our smells combined was an unassailable andall pervading force from which there was no escape. This then caused them to adoptdesperate defensive measures such as holding their breath and speeding up their tour ofinspection. We would watch them with an air of innocence on such occasions pretending tobe oblivious to their attention. Sometimes curiosity would get the better of you and youwould turn your head only to find a face inches away from your own with hands clampeddesperately over its nose and mouth, eyes wildly dilated and looking extremely agitated ina frenzied sort of manner. Some of the visitors were not as tough as they made out andwere physically vomiting as they rushed headlong down the walk-way to the entrance to ourprison quarters. It must have been a great relief for them to regain the sanctuary of theconventional war going on outside our hut.

Hygiene was pretty poor at this "hospital" and we all haddysentery at one time or another. Hundreds of body lice set up a colony behind my rightknee cap which was encased in plaster. I used to pull a twig out of the roof and poke itdown the plaster when they became unbearable but that would only stir them up and youcould feel them running around inside. Each day a small hand basin with warm water wasgiven to us to wash our face, hands and body. Unfortunately the ten men in the hut had toshare this basin of water. After the first man had washed, the water looked decidedlydirty. If you were last in line, it was putrid. Effectively, this meant you could get aclean wash every ten days, as we had a system where you would rotate the start. BrianDavoren's left leg had developed Gas gangrene.

Dr Whong tried everything to save Brian's leg but it was too far goneand despite massive injections of drugs, Dr Whong had to amputate his leg a couple ofinches above the knee. We didn't think "Dav" would pull through, but withtremendous courage and willpower, he fought his way back. He used to say he had to pullthrough because he had a wife and kids he loved and they needed a father. It made merealise how lucky I was to only have the injuries I did.

One day, Dr Whong came in and examined Jim McCulloch and Wilbur Waring.He decided that they were fit enough to be moved to the POW Camp. We said our farewellsand asked Jim to give a message to a mate of mine called Tom Hollis whom I had known in"Civvie Street". I was a press photographer and Tom was a Detective in theN.S.W. Police Force. A couple of nights later an American airman called Bob Weinbrandt wasput in the space vacated by Jim McCulloch. Bob was a Tail Gunner in a B29 that had beenshot down. Bob managed to bail out when his aircraft caught fire but the rest of the crewgot caught in the burning aircraft. Bob eluded the search patrols for five days but whenhis feet became frozen, he had no alternative but to give up. The guards assigned to bringBob to our shed for medical treatment forced him to walk the thirty odd miles on hisfrozen feet. We could hear his screams of pain echoing across the countryside long beforehe came into our shed. Dr Whong did his best to save Bob's feet but in the end, he had toamputate both. Bob Weinbrandt's name will always be synonymous with courage in my book.

Early in April, Dr Whong told us that there was to be an exchange ofwounded and sick prisoners and he thought that we would be among the prisoners to bereleased, as we all had serious injuries. This proved to be an accurate forecast and wewere all loaded aboard a truck and taken to Kaesong. Before leaving for our journey south,we said our good-byes to Dr Whong who did so much for us with the limited facilities hehad at his disposal. He was a true humanitarian and I salute him for the efforts he madeon our behalf. When we arrived at Kaesong, the Chinese shaved me for the first time sincemy patrol and took off the rest of my army clothing that I had been wearing since mycapture on January 14th. It stunk to high heaven and I was pleased to be rid of it. I wasissued with a blue POW pair of pyjamas. They washed and sprayed us with a misting powder.I had my hair cut and my fingernails were cleaned on at least four occasions. We weregiven toothpaste, soap, cigarettes, chocolates, a small mirror and a packet of lollies. Wehad seen none of these things previously while we were prisoners. That night, we went to aconcert in what had been named "Freedom Hall" where all the soldiers who werewounded or sick and going to be released on operation "Little Switch" werecongregated. Two western men in military-style clothing approached our group andintroduced themselves to us as journalists who were covering the Korean War. The smallrotund voluble one of the pair said his name was Wilfred Burchett and that he came fromMelbourne. The leaner man said his name was Winnington and he was English. Winningtonmoved over to the more mobile members of our group, Jack Davis, Glen Brown and Jack MacKayand struck up a conversation with them about their treatment at the hands of the People'sLiberation Army. Burchett remained behind with Brian Davoren and myself telling us he wasa war correspondent from Australia covering the Korean conflict. I asked Burchett directlywould he tell the other Australian correspondents at Panmanjon that there were fiveAustralians to be released and would he give them our names just in case something wentwrong and we were not released. The great fear that we all had was that the Chinese hadconstantly told us that we were listed by our side as missing in action and that theywould not have to account for any of our group when the war was over. The inferred threatwas that they could eliminate us at any time if we did not co-operate with the People'sLiberation Army. I expressed this fear to Burchett, but he just laughed and said hewouldn't be telling them because they would find out when we were released. He was mostadamant in his attitude to this request. I couldn't understand why he would not convey mymessage and relieve our worry about being shot if something went wrong before we werereleased.

The next morning he came over to our group again and said he had beendown to Panmunjom to see the early hand-over of prisoners. He was making wild claims thata great percentage of prisoners being handed over by the United Nations forces wereamputees. This proved that the Americans would rather amputate the limbs of Chinese andKoreans prisoners, than give them medical treatment to save their limbs.

I told him I thought that he was talking garbage and pointed out thatany of the United Nations Forces that had an arm or leg blown off had very little chanceof surviving if they were taken prisoner because of the lack of facilities on the Chineseside. I had seen myself, when I was first captured, Chinese soldiers dying because theysimply did not have the helicopters of the Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals (MASH) forwardaid posts that the United Nations Forces were blessed with. Another aspect that could bearinvestigations is whether the order went out not to release a lot of United Nationsamputees at operation "Little Switch" to demonstrate what wonderful treatmentthe PLA had meted out to their prisoners. Burchett didn't like being contradicted andrepeated his wild claims and then took off to peddle his rumour to any one who wouldlisten to him. An American on a stretcher nearby leaned over and whispered that he knewBurchett in the camp and he could make things really difficult for me if I upset him. Hesaid I should be very careful what I said to Burchett as he had caused a lot of hardshipin the POW Camp with prisoners who did not co-operate with him. It gave me quite a shockto hear that Burchett wasn't what he had told us he was, that is, an accredited AustralianWar Correspondent. He was a Communist Apologist at best or a traitor to his country.

The night before I was to be released, a Chinese Officer came aroundand asked me if I had lost any possessions while I had been a prisoner of the People'sLiberation Army. I told him that I lost a Ronson cigarette lighter, a silver ring and myarmy belt. These items had been taken off me shortly after my capture by the soldiers inthe front line bunker. The Officer noted down what I had told him and said he would go andlook for these items. He came back later in the night and told me that he had been unableto locate my Ronson lighter or my silver ring. He said that the army belt was a prize ofwar and I would not be getting that back. He also said that he would have to take me offthe Exchange List until they had been able to locate my possessions. This alarmed me, as Ithought it might be a Burchett plan to have me taken off the Exchange List. I told theofficer that the light and ring didn't matter to me and not to worry about trying to tracethem. The Chinese Officer said that it was very important that I get back my possessionsas the People's Liberation Army were not thieves. He left me to continue his search forthe missing items and I wished that I had never mentioned them to him. I was absolutelyconvinced I would be taken off the list and be left behind. The Chinese PossessionsOfficer came back about two hours later and said he had a proposition to put to me. Bythis time I kept breaking out in a cold sweat trying to think of plausible reasons for notwanting my gear back. I managed to ask him what his proposition was, without seeming tooeager. He held out this beautiful silver lighter with dragons embossed all over itssurface and asked me if I would accept it in place of my Ronson. He said a Chinese Officerhad donated his lighter to show how honest the PLA were in their dealings with theprisoners-of-War I didn't hesitate in accepting his offer and left a message that when myRonson lighter was found, as I had no doubt it would be, it was to be given to the Officerwho had given me his dragon lighter. The only thing that stood in the way of my releasenow was the damned ring I had reported missing.

I didn't see Burchett again before we were taken from Freedom Hall andput into a big and shiny ambulance that was a lot easier to ride in than the steel floorof a five ton truck. No more breakages for my plaster cast in their conveyance. TheCommunists left our side for dead in the show they put on for the World's Press waiting atPanmunjon to record the changeover of the wounded and sick exchange. To see us freshlyshaven, manicured hands, and fresh clean pyjamas and wearing little blue caps, you wouldbe excused of thinking that we were being released from a rest camp. The big ambulancesand all the goodies such as cigarettes, chocolates, soap, toothpaste and little mirrorsall piled on top of the blankets that covered us, added to the great illusion that wasrecorded by the World's Press covering this historic event. From Panmunjon I was flownencased in a plastic bubble attached to the landing skid of an army helicopter to Seoulwhere American doctors gave us a thorough going over. My plaster was cut off and thecolony of body lice which had eaten their way into the flesh above my right knee seemed tonumber in the thousands. An American nurse who had helped take off the plaster cast becamequite ill when she saw the lice and the damage they had done. They were quickly dealt withand the terrible creepy crawly feeling that I had put up with for the last couple ofmonths became a memory. I was wounded and taken Prisoner-of-War on the 14th January 1953and released three months later on the 23rd April 1953. I had lost five stone in weightduring this period of imprisonment.