by James Hale

From top: KVA organizer Clyde Bougie signs the registry at the Korea National War Cemetery in Seoul, South Korea in 1978; KVA members arrive for the Korea Veterans National Wall of Remembrance ceremony in 1997.

“Bands were playing when we left, but we came home to nobody,” says Ken Blampied of Lethbridge, Alta., reflecting on how he entered and left the Korean War. “The government didn’t promise us anything and that’s exactly what we got.”

“Our treatment was really shabby,” echoes Donald Urquhart of Richmond, B.C., who served for 22 years in the Canadian Forces, beginning in 1944. “We expected some kind of recognition on our return. Instead, they just bused us up to Vancouver from Seattle, where we had landed, and that was it.”

Perhaps because of this lack of formal recognition, Korea veterans didn’t immediately form a distinctive organization the way that those returning from World War I and II had. It would be 21 years after the Korean ceasefire in 1953 before those who fought in the conflict formally organized themselves as the Korea Veterans Association of Canada, KVA. “I think most Korean War vets belonged to some other organization–like the Legion–so we didn’t really feel the need for anything of our own while we were in our prime,” explains Blampied, the KVA’s national past president.

But, after almost two decades, some former combatants felt the urge to see their old friends again. A movement centred in Barrie, Ont., began to organize the first major Korea veterans reunion in central Canada.

Barrie native Clyde Bougie, a former member of the Royal Canadian Regiment, stepped forward to do the organizing. “I was still in the military when the idea of a reunion surfaced in 1970,” he says. “We got some of the guys together, showed a Korean War movie, and got reacquainted a little. The idea of holding annual reunions was one of the things we discussed, and we formed a committee to organize them.”

Bougie felt a formal organization would best meet the needs on an ongoing basis. He began researching the bylaws of other veterans organizations to help draft a constitution, and used some hobby experience to design a badge for the nascent KVA. A distinctive combination of a green jacket and beige pants was selected as a uniform.

By 1974, the KVA was a reality, with membership open to those who had served in Korea or Korean waters in the service of a United Nations member country between June 1950 and the end of 1955. Also eligible for membership were members of ancillary units such as the Red Cross, Salvation Army and Merchant Navy who served United Nations Forces during those years. The objectives of the organization included the welfare and concerns of Korea veterans and their families.

In its first year, the KVA recruited 77 members. By 1978, membership had surpassed 500. In the mid-1990s, more than 4,000 people–about one in five Canadian Korea veterans–belonged to the KVA’s 60 units across the country. Like the Legion, units are organized by geographic region–Pacific, Prairie, Ontario, Quebec and Atlantic–and maintain their autonomy to elect their own executive members. Each of the five regions also elect their own representatives, including a president who sits on a national council along with other elected and appointed officers. National council meets annually, and national conventions are held in even-numbered years.

While all that will look familiar to Legion members, the KVA differs in one significant way: membership remains the province of veterans of the Korean War. Due to that limitation, in the past eight years–as the average age of those eligible for membership has passed 70–membership has declined steadily to just under 3,000 and the number of branches has shrunk to 54. When units become too small to operate on their own, the bylaws provide that their remaining members are transferred to the John M. Rockingham Memorial Heritage Unit.

“That was our original concept,” says Bougie. “There was no thought of making it an organization that would carry on indefinitely.”

Although the subject of extending membership to the children of Korea veterans has been raised from time to time at the biennial conventions, there is no substantial support for the idea and Blampied doubts it will have enough weight to change the organization’s structure before the last member dies. “I think the organization should end with the last member,” he says. “How can we call it a Korea veterans organization otherwise?”

“We think we’re a pretty unique bunch,” adds Urquhart, who served as national president in 1991-92. “Our service is what binds us together, and we think that’s important. We speak the same language, and we have concerns that are unique to Korea veterans. Our war was different from WW II.”

Indeed, descriptions of conditions in Korea seem to have more in common with Vimy Ridge and Ypres than with Juno Beach or Monte Cassino. “It was trench warfare,” says Urquhart, who began his Korea duty in October 1951 as a sniper sergeant in 1st Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, and wound up a platoon commander 11 months later. “We endured both monsoons and frigid cold.”

Blampied, who was a radio operator for the colonel of 2nd Bn., Special Forces, recalls the Korean terrain with a shudder. “The living conditions were ugly. The ground was polluted with human waste, there were rats everywhere, and you lived outside all year. The only time I was in a tent during my two years there was when I was in a rest area.”

Given that background, it’s hardly surprising that veterans of the Korean War have felt under-appreciated by the federal government, other legislative bodies and Canadians in general. “I remember the first time I visited the Canadian War Museum. I was told the Korean War material was in the basement,” says Blampied. “It was infuriating. Veterans Affairs Canada is improving the way they look after us, but our claims were ignored for a long time. We still have to prove that our claims are related to our service in Korea; we’re not automatically given the benefit of the doubt. I think the average Canadian puts much less importance on what we did than veterans from earlier conflicts. The education system has totally failed us. When we go into schools on Remembrance Day or some other occasion the kids look at us like we’re from another planet.”

Urquhart, who was a Vancouver police officer for 21 years following his military discharge, shares Blampied’s assessment of how the provincial education authorities have ignored the Korean War, but takes solace from other sources. “I still meet people of Korean origin here in the Lower Mainland who thank me for what we did for their country. South Korea is a vibrant country now, so I think we accomplished what we set out to do. I think what we did was worthwhile and I feel pretty good about it.”

While continuing its focus on bringing veterans together for social activities and participating in reunion tours of South Korea in association with the Korean Veterans Association of Seoul, the KVA has lobbied the federal government–often in concert with the Legion or the National Council of Veteran Associations in Canada, of which it is a member–for more recognition. Its efforts have been rewarded with the creation of a Korea service button and the Canadian Volunteer Service Medal for Korea.

But, perhaps the biggest triumph in the organization’s 29-year history has been the erection of a 61-metre Korea Veterans National Wall of Remembrance at Meadowvale Cemetery in Brampton, Ont. Constructed from polished granite, the wall holds 516 bronze plaques, one for each of the volunteer Canadian soldiers who died in Korea. A centre plate displays all of the Canadian units that served in the war. The brainchild of KVA members George Mannion and Bill Allan, the wall took three years and $300,000 to bring to reality. In 1997, the dedication ceremony was attended by the Republic of Korea’s Ambassador to Canada, representatives of three levels of government, and delegates from the Legion, the Canadian Forces and other organizations.

The project yielded a second, unexpected, remembrance initiative. After the memorial wall was completed there was enough money left over to help fund a bursary that provides university students with financial assistance in the name of those who are remembered on the wall.

The KVA also played a role in ensuring that the Canadian sacrifice is remembered in the country where it took place. That began when Blampied, then national first vice-president, travelled to South Korea in 1999 and saw the dilapidated state of the war memorial at Pusan. As president a year later he began a fund-raising campaign to rehabilitate the cenotaph, but South Korea officials stepped in to finance the project and others like it across the country. With funds in hand, Blampied was determined to shift the focus to Canada and create a distinctive Korea veterans memorial for the nation’s capital.

“The memorial is a replica of the one at Pusan, but it’s 10 per cent larger than the original. We’ve had it erected in Windsor, Ont., and we’re working on getting a permanent site for it in Ottawa. Right now, we’re tied up with a lot of bureaucracy and dealing with several branches and layers of government, including the Department of Canadian Heritage, Parks Canada, the National Capital Commission and the City of Ottawa.”

Even if the memorial doesn’t find a place among the national monuments and statuary of Ottawa, Blampied feels confident that Canada’s role in Korea will find a lasting place in history. “Even though there isn’t the recognition that other conflicts receive, I think the Legion and other organizations will ensure that we’re not forgotten after the last vet is gone.”

“We’ve already seen a lot of improvement in the way we’re remembered at the Canadian War Museum, even if our treatment doesn’t compare to those who fought in the world wars,” says Urquhart. “While we’re still here we have to try to do as much as we can to ensure that we’re not forgotten.”