He cooked ( in charge of fire) for Japanese invaders who dominating the village and demanding labors. when i, the 3rd son of his, was young and asked about his impression on Japanese invader, he told me they quite respected him. later he worked as a worker in nearby town's cement factory, but in an accidence his foot hurt by an explosion aiming to tear apart stone. so he returned to the village where he grown. when he worked for the village forest station, that period is my most cherished memory about him, my grand dad. i forever thank those silences in the bushes and trees, those cold and sweet stream, those songs of birds and bees. i know that's my heaven, where he governs.
From my parents and relatives.