Vic remembered the whistles most of all – the whistles and horns sounded by Chinese troops as they advanced towards UN positions during battles in the Korean War. I first interviewed Vic (not his real name) in 1997 about his experience fighting the Chinese Communists on the Korean peninsula in 1951 with the 2nd Battalion of the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry.
“I wasn’t a kid, ya know,” Vic told me when recalling the whistle blowing. “I musta been 22, 23 at the time. I’d been outta school a few years when I got shipped off. But I can tell you, the sound of those whistles was something eerie.”
At night, just before they would attack the positions of Canadian, American, British, Australian or other UN troops, the Chinese would start blowing shrill whistles and bugle-like horns “that had a very tinny sound.” Vic then stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth and imitated a noise he claimed still to hear in his sleep every once in a while more than 40 years later.
The noisemakers were mostly for communication – one Chinese company signalling others its whereabouts. “I guess they didn’t have many radios,” Vic recalled. But he and other veterans of Korea have often talked, too, about how unnerving the cacophony was. “It always sounded like they were all around you, like you were surrounded. And I can tell you, even though I was a tough guy, I was plenty scared. There seemed to be so many of them and you were sure your position would be overrun.”
The man I’ve called Vic in print for 16 years since I first met him, died quietly at the University of Alberta Hospital this spring. He was nearly 85. He was reluctant to have his real name in the papers, because he didn’t want anyone (especially former comrades with 2PPCLI) thinking he was “a glory hog.”
“I did what I did, but I don’t need special credit for it,” he told me at our first meeting. I’ve honoured his desire ever since.
To me, he was the consummate Canadian soldiers: quick to do his duty, but just as quick to get home and get on with the rest of his ordinary life once the danger and the fighting had subsided.
A fireplug of a man – he was five-foot-six, maybe 170 pounds with tattooed forearms the size of hams – all he wanted was to help stop Communism, then get on with the business of being a father, a husband and a railroader.
He admitted to me he didn’t even really understand what Communism was when he got on a boat for Asia. “All I knew was it was bad and we didn’t want it comin’ here.”
Just weeks after landing in Korea, 2PPCLI was thrown into the Battle of Kapyong. As part of 27th British Commonwealth Infantry Brigade, the Princess Pats were assigned the defence of Hill 677, an inverted horseshoe that stood out alone in the middle of a valley – a position that soon would be swarmed during a Chinese counteroffensive.
“There was
“All night they just kept coming and coming. One attack after another, after another.” The PPCLI held and three weeks later the Chinese and North Koreans were pushed back over the 38th Parallel for the final time.
Kapyong is now one of PPCLI’s battle honours.
It might be tempting to lie in bed Monday morning or go to work and skip the Remembrance Day ceremonies. But every Vic who ever laced on a pair of boots for Canada deserves our attendance.
“I wasn’t a kid, ya know,” Vic told me when recalling the whistle blowing. “I musta been 22, 23 at the time. I’d been outta school a few years when I got shipped off. But I can tell you, the sound of those whistles was something eerie.”
At night, just before they would attack the positions of Canadian, American, British, Australian or other UN troops, the Chinese would start blowing shrill whistles and bugle-like horns “that had a very tinny sound.” Vic then stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth and imitated a noise he claimed still to hear in his sleep every once in a while more than 40 years later.
The noisemakers were mostly for communication – one Chinese company signalling others its whereabouts. “I guess they didn’t have many radios,” Vic recalled. But he and other veterans of Korea have often talked, too, about how unnerving the cacophony was. “It always sounded like they were all around you, like you were surrounded. And I can tell you, even though I was a tough guy, I was plenty scared. There seemed to be so many of them and you were sure your position would be overrun.”
The man I’ve called Vic in print for 16 years since I first met him, died quietly at the University of Alberta Hospital this spring. He was nearly 85. He was reluctant to have his real name in the papers, because he didn’t want anyone (especially former comrades with 2PPCLI) thinking he was “a glory hog.”
“I did what I did, but I don’t need special credit for it,” he told me at our first meeting. I’ve honoured his desire ever since.
To me, he was the consummate Canadian soldiers: quick to do his duty, but just as quick to get home and get on with the rest of his ordinary life once the danger and the fighting had subsided.
A fireplug of a man – he was five-foot-six, maybe 170 pounds with tattooed forearms the size of hams – all he wanted was to help stop Communism, then get on with the business of being a father, a husband and a railroader.
He admitted to me he didn’t even really understand what Communism was when he got on a boat for Asia. “All I knew was it was bad and we didn’t want it comin’ here.”
Just weeks after landing in Korea, 2PPCLI was thrown into the Battle of Kapyong. As part of 27th British Commonwealth Infantry Brigade, the Princess Pats were assigned the defence of Hill 677, an inverted horseshoe that stood out alone in the middle of a valley – a position that soon would be swarmed during a Chinese counteroffensive.
“There was
“All night they just kept coming and coming. One attack after another, after another.” The PPCLI held and three weeks later the Chinese and North Koreans were pushed back over the 38th Parallel for the final time.
Kapyong is now one of PPCLI’s battle honours.
It might be tempting to lie in bed Monday morning or go to work and skip the Remembrance Day ceremonies. But every Vic who ever laced on a pair of boots for Canada deserves our attendance.
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