Seize the Day. A M (Jack) Harris

      In memory of my sister Bonnie,

      and my former platoon commander David Butler,

      who both asked me to re-write this story.

      Novels by the same author.

      The Tall Man.

      Grains of Sand.

      The Buronga Boys.

      Adam and Lily.

      Adam Kelly’s Cup.

      Autobiography.

      Only One River To Cross.

      Forward

      This is the story of a very special Australian. Jack Harris’ life has been one of remarkable achievement, largely unknown until now. He has come a long way from Buronga as an athlete, professional boxer, merchant seaman, linguist, warrior, spy, successful author, businessman, scholar and entrepreneur. A long list, yet each endeavour represents an achievement from which he learned and used in the next stage of his life. You will be struck immediately by the vitality of the man, his determination to be involved in all that is going on and by his desire to extend himself. Yet it is uncanny in the way he is always drawn to the action. Where does the line between instinct and reasoning begin?

      Indeed, you may read some of his exploits with scepticism, even disbelief. For example, you really have to wonder why, after being so badly wounded in Korea in 1950, he would want to return? Once there, with a crippled left hand, how did he ever get involved in line crossing? In hastening to verify the truth of his story, I have to say that Jack, in his understated way, makes some incredible episodes in his life seem commonplace. So much of the real danger he faced was when he was totally isolated from his own soldiers. There was no one to observe and later report, no one whom he could have drawn on for vicarious support. There are few people surviving who have attempted what he achieved and can talk of similar experiences.

      While he would call himself a soldier and, with reticence, admit he had travelled in company with warriors there is no way he would ever acknowledge that as a line crosser he had taken his soldiering to a level known to very few. Quick, highly intelligent and absolutely pragmatic, his decision making was invariably instantaneous. Above all, he has always been a very positive person. Doubt and fear have never been part of his vocabulary. That is not to say he was in any way foolhardy he was far too bright for that, rather we should say those two critical, and at times most difficult factors would have been speedily appraised. In any case, he would hold them as words never to be spoken for they are infectious in themselves and are indicative of personal frailty. So it is that much in the narrative is somewhat matter-of-fact and the reader has to remind himself or herself from time to time of where all this is going on.

      For sheer excitement, if that is the word, one has only to look at his period behind the enemy lines with his Korean companions to marvel at his audacity. When you reflect on the risks and the dire consequences of a lone Caucasian, dressed in Chinese uniform, carrying Chinese weapons and papers, in a totally Asian and hostile world, the hairs on the back of your neck begin to rise. To have made such a trip ten times, to a depth of fourteen miles through and beyond the enemy lines, and to remain each time for many days, trusting only the people you are with, leaves one totally in awe. The tensions must have been very heavy. At any time, an accidental encounter with say, a lost enemy soldier could have blown everything.

      It was a remarkable feat of arms and courage of the very highest order. The whole of Jack’s life follows this inspirational path and reminds us all of the need for determination in our lives and of the premier Australian quality, absolute refusal to be deterred by an setback.

      Major General D. M. Butler. AO. DSO.

      Portsea. April 2012.

      Preamble

      To some readers I hope that it does not appear that I have an enduring preoccupation with myself because in the words to follow I am only trying to review my life in full. To begin, I sailed to Australia’s war in Korea from Japan in mid-1950 and, thinking now about that service, I find that many recollections, some buried deep in my memory bank, have flooded back with the utmost clarity, the more so after chatting with old comrades. Afterwards, though, I am sometimes haunted with remorse about what I should have done, but really could not. War is unreasonable, even though in my time getting over the wire in the approved British tradition was applauded, comradeship was honoured, we thought we knew why were fighting in Korea, and that our military success was laudable.

      By the time of the Apple Orchard Battle of 22 October 1950, I had come to understand that in battle the infantry soldier has very little knowledge or understanding about what is happening beyond the ten men in his section. Those men are of prime concern and so it was that the men I walked with at the opening of the Orchard Battle had no fear of being shot or wounded, but there was apprehension about what was ahead of us, who might be waiting at the top of the hill, and in the unknown. My first ordered objective was the clearing of mines or men from a culvert to our front so as to allow the Sherman tanks to proceed with safety. Getting there, in a heart-breaking moment the young soldier with me nervously fired his rifle, almost shot me in the head, and badly wounded another soldier who had stepped down to examine the culvert on the far side. It was a mess to begin with, but at the end of the battle some three hours later we had come through, and had grown in stature. We had been to the crest, we had looked down, our enemy were in mass flight and the young soldiers, including myself, were now seasoned warriors.

      On 30 October 1950 I was wounded at Chongju, a town not far from the Yalu River and the Chinese border. My commanding officer was killed the same day. I was returned to Australia for medical treatment, then attended a one-year course in Chinese; some time later I was back in Korea in charge of what was called a Special Agent detachment. On 2 July 1953 I swam across the flooded Samichon River with three South Korean agents. On the far bank of the river I divided my party into two groups. Then with an agent named Pak I proceeded along the river but we were ambushed and Pak was killed. I can still see six red dots, the bullets from a machine gun, hitting Pak and killing him instantly and I am often concerned that I never managed to get hold of Pak’s body, get him into the Samichon, and have him carried down to our own lines. It would have been impossible of course, but one can dream things incompatible with fact.

      I should here note that the routes we explored when moving through North Korea, and places like Kunwari and Namsong-Dong are fictitious. As I have cautioned in an earlier work, the so-called ‘dark forces’ are still in control in that part of Korea today, so many years after the conclusion of the war there and any person, or relatives of that person, who may have assisted the allies during that war would still be subject to retribution.

      Additional to this, many of the names I mentioned when writing about Buronga have been altered from the original to avoid and hurt, or discomfort. Buronga I have also discovered, is a lovely place with a happy community, not a sandy patch of hill covered with bag shanties all served with the one corrugated track of my childhood memories.

      I conclude here by stating that I spent eight of the best years of my life in the army. What followed after my discharge was fashioned by that experience, and the friendships I knew as a soldier. For all that I am eternally grateful.

      A. M. (Jack) Harris.