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Jan. 4, 1951, was perhaps the darkest hour in South Korean history.
Seoul's frozen Han River was crowded with thousands of desperate people ― children, women and old people. Bundled up with overcoats and blankets, belongings piled on their backs or pushed on sleds, bicycles or ox carts, they trudged south across the ice.
Behind them, oily black smoke rose skyward as U.N. forces blew up supply dumps. Ninety percent of Seoul's population was fleeing as the Chinese People's Volunteers Army, having routed U.N. forces in North Korea, were converging on the capital.
Today, the "Jan. 4 Retreat" is legendary. Overlooked is the fact that many escapees were able to flee because of a tragic defensive stand by U.N. troops. This sacrificial battle delayed the onrushing enemy on the day and night of Jan. 3 and 4, buying time for countless escapees.
On June 26, 2015, in a quiet, rural valley outside Goyang, Gyeonggi Province, that grim stand was commemorated as the South Korean, Irish and British governments unveiled a memorial to the ironically named battle: "Happy Valley."
Ireland did not contribute to the U.N. Command, the coalition that defended South Korea, but Ireland's tricolour was hefted by ROK troops alongside Korea's taegeukki and Britain's union jack, for the units which suffered the heaviest losses ― the Royal Ulster Rifles and the King's 8th Irish Hussars ― were, although formations of the British Army, largely manned by Irishmen.
The memorial panel unveiling was attended by Irish Ambassador Angel O'Donoghue, General Cho Hak-kyu, the commander of the ROK 30th Mechanized Division, whose troops hold the valley today, and local, British and Irish dignitaries.
It had been a long time coming.
Almost lost to history, it was resurrected in publications in 2009 and 2015. Aging veterans and military history organizations in Northern Ireland, and the Irish and British embassies in Seoul pushed for a memorial. The local government of the battlefield area and the Ministry of Patriots and Veterans Affairs, were behind the plaque itself.
"This is good," mused Cho. "This is what we had to do."
Guest of honor was battle veteran Colonel Robin Charley, 91, of Belfast, Northern Ireland. "This panel will ensure that those who died will not be forgotten," he said. "I will finish with the motto of the Royal Ulster Rifles, ‘Quis Seperabit?' which means, ‘Who will separate us?' Nobody will."
Elderly residents of the area greeted Charley warmly, then the old soldier presented Lee Jong-ok, a resident of the valley, with an Ulster Rifles silver broach.
Briton Niall Raeside, a Seoul-based expatriate, lost his grandfather, Corporal Edward Wheeler, during the battle. "Obviously, I didn't know my grandfather, but my first emotion was pride: It was nice to see that everything that my grandfather and Colonel Charley did here did not go to waste," he said.
Jan. 3, 1951, was freezing. Some 600 men of the Rifles, supported by guns of the Royal Artillery and 10 tanks of the Hussars, were deployed against the onrushing enemy.
The Chinese soldiers stormed ahead in attack, but the Rifles held the valley's ridgeline. For the first time during their "New Year's Offensive," Chinese forces had been stopped in their tracks, but the rest of the front was disintegrating: Seoul would be abandoned. The Rifles were the last U.N. unit to withdraw after sundown.
Night withdrawal in contact with enemy is the riskiest operation of war. As marching men and vehicles proceeded stealthily through the valley, they were mistakenly illuminated by U.N. aircraft dropping flares. The entire force was starkly silhouetted against the snowfields.
Mortars and machine guns opened fire. The valley became a witch's cauldron illuminated by tracer lines, explosions and the flaming thatch of burning cottages. Milling vehicles skidded on ice. Cursing, grunting men struggled at close range.
The Chinese blasted tanks with pole charges rammed into their tracks and established a machine gun under a railway bridge across the line of withdrawal. Two Riflemen charged the position. (Their actions can be appreciated today: bullet scars pockmark the concrete bridge support.) The commanders of the Rifles and the Hussars were killed in close combat.
One group of Riflemen escaped the carnage by escaping to high ground, but those left below were trapped in an ambush.
Villagers recalled the gruesome scene the following day. Stalled and knocked out tanks lined the frosted track: One by one, their engines coughed out as their fuel ran dry. Across the valley were sprawled groups of dead Riflemen, lying in 360-degree defense, surrounded by spent cartridge cases.
Ten tanks and 157 men were lost. The largest pile of bodies lay in the Menemi Pass. Beside the Menemi highway, stands the memorial.
Andrew Salmon is a Seoul-based reporter and author. Reach him at andrewcsalmon@yahoo.co.uk.
