Philip Kenneth Edward Curtis
|Born||7 July 1926|
Plymouth, Devon, England
|Died||23 April 1951† (aged 24) |
Gloucester Hill, Korea
|Years of service||1944–1951|
|Unit||The Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry|
Gloucestershire Regiment (attached)
|Battles/wars||Second World War|
Philip Kenneth Edward Curtis VC (7 July 1926 – 23 April 1951) was a British Army officer and a recipient of the Victoria Cross (VC), the highest award for gallantry in the face of the enemy that can be awarded to British and Commonwealth forces. Curtis was posthumously awarded the VC for his actions during the Battle of Imjin in the Korean War.
Curtis was a 24-year-old lieutenant in The Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry attached to the 1st Battalion, The Gloucestershire Regiment during the Korean War when the following deed took place for which he was awarded the Victoria Cross during the Battle of Imjin.
On 22/23 April 1951 near the Imjin River, Korea, during a heavy enemy attack, No. 1 platoon under the command of Lieutenant Curtis, was ordered to carry out a counter-attack which was initially successful, but was eventually held up by heavy fire and grenades. The lieutenant then ordered some of his men to give covering fire while he himself rushed the main position of resistance. In this charge he was severely wounded but he insisted on making a second attempt. While making another desperate charge he was killed when within a few yards of his objective after throwing a grenade which destroyed the enemy position immediately after.
Anthony Farrar-Hockley, one of Britain's most famous soldiers of the twentieth century, was a participant at the Imjin River battle. He was witness to Lieutenant Curtis' gallant deed, a desperate counterattack to regain a key position lost to the Chinese advance. At sunrise a Chinese attack was repulsed, but the British position was untenable. Below is part of Farrar-Hockley's account.
Phil is called to the telephone at this moment; Pat's voice sounds in his ear.
'Phil, at the present rate of casualties we can't hold on unless we get the Castle Site back. Their machine-guns up there completely dominate your platoon and most of Terry's. We shall never stop their advance until we hold that ground again.'
Phil looks over the edge of the trench at the Castle Site, two hundred yards away, as Pat continues talking, giving him the instructions for the counter attack. They talk for a minute or so; there is not much more to be said when an instruction is given to assault with a handful of tired men across open ground. Everyone knows it is vital: everyone knows it is appallingly dangerous. The only details to be fixed are the arrangements for supporting fire; and, though A Company's Gunners [sic] are dead, Ronnie wil support them from D Company's hill. Behind, the machine-gunners will ensure that they are not engaged from the open eastern flank. Phil gathers his tiny assault party together.
It is time, they rise from the ground and move forward to the barbed wire that once protected the rear of John's platoon. Already two men are hit and Papworth, the Medical Corporal, is attending to them. They are through the wire safely – safely! – when the machine-gun in the bunker begins to fire. Phil is badly wounded: he drops to the ground. They drag him back through the wire somehow and seek what little cover there is as it creeps across their front. The machine-gun stops, content now it has driven them back; waiting for a better target when they move into the open again. 'It's all right, sir,' says someone to Phil. 'The Medical Corporal's been sent for. He'll be here any minute."
Phil raises himself from the ground, rests on a friendly shoulder, then climbs by a great effort on to one knee.
'We must take the Castle Site,' he says; and gets up to take it. The others beg him to wait until his wounds are tended. One man places a hand on his side. 'Just wait until Papworth has seen you, sir-'
But Phil has gone: gone to the wire, gone through the wire, gone towards the bunker. The other come out behind him, their eyes all on him. And suddenly it seems as if, for a few breathless moments, the whole of the remainder of that field of battle is still and silent, watching amazed, the lone figure that runs so painfully forward to the bunker holding the approach to the Castle Site: one tiny figure, throwing grenades, firing a pistol, set to take Castle Hill.
Perhaps he will make it – in spite of his wounds, in spite of the odds – perhaps this act of supreme gallantry may, by its sheer audacity, succeed. But the machine-gun in the bunker fires into him: he staggers, falls, and is dead instantly; the grenade he threw a second before his death explodes after it in the mouth of the bunker. The machine-gun does not fire on three of Phil's platoon who run forward to pick him up; it does not fire again through the battle: it is destroyed; the muzzle blown away, the crew dead.