Evening star., 1953-07-19

done tUith all this trouble"
the old farmer cries as he
tells the story of his i0Gr-
time suffering to Associated
Press Correspondent John
Randolph, a DeterGn OF the
Korean pdr front beat, and
Bill Shinn, interpreter.
By John Randolph
CHANGDONG VILLAGE,
Korea.-The fields Of tender
rice were brilliant green, and
summer rain clouds hid the
jagged crown of Three Horn
Mountain.
Farmer Han Chul Hi sat
crosS-legged on a rice straw
mat in the courtyard of his
ruined home. He puffed slowly
on his old mans pipe, with its
tiny brass bowl and long bam-
boo stem.
His deep brown eyes, alert.
looked through the little knot
of village children gathered
around us, across the broad
valley, and beyond to the foot
hills of soaring Three Horn.
For 81 years Farmer Han
had looked across those fields,
watching the young rice grow
green each spring, cutting it
down in the fall, and wait
ing patiently for the winter
SHOWS to melt and start the
eternal cycle once again.
Sixty-Seven years.
And behind this, stretching
back beyond memory, deep into
the story Of his country, II
generations Of the Family Han
had titled their six acres of
land and watched the seasons
turn and turn.
Seventeen generations. Five
hundred years.
And now he sat In the ruins
Of the farmStead his ancestors
had left to him, a wise but
troubled old peasant, his body
slowly wearing out, waiting
with quiet dignity for the
death that Is as natural as the
fall Of ripe grain.
Three Strow Mats.
With profound courtesy Han
spread three r1ce-Straw mats
on the ground beside the
squash vine, and we sat there
Farmer Han, Korean-born
AP man Bill Shinn % inter-
prefer, and myself.
Han told me the story Of his
long life, and then we dis
cussed the great issues Of peace
and war that are racking his
country and sending nervous
tremors through the outer
world. He told me Of his boy
hood, how he was only Z
when the Japanese first came
past the little farm, fighting
China, then Russia.
Then there were more and
more Japanese.
"They told the King they
had come only to help VI, that
all he had to give them was the
mountain and water. They
stayed. Then the King went.
And they took the mountain
and the water and everything
else they wanted.
There were shootinsS and
trouble when the young men
objected. I am q farmer. I
stayed on my farm"
He married. Cho Han Nan
was his wife. Then the children
came, young Farmer Han, IS
now, the eldest, and then flve
more. After then came the
grandchildren, 10 Of them
now.
Then the Reds Come
And finally, in the old mans
64th year, came the Commu-
niStS.
I'VE heard their guns at
Uijongbu," he said. I'VE had
heard the stories and we knew
we had to go.
1T was warm, like now. We
took little from the house 80
we could walk fast. But we
carried rice, much rice, for we
must eat"
From his little village Of
Changdong 1t Is z miles to
Seoul Han, his wife, their
children. and their grandchil-
dren struggled into the frantic
capital that was jammed with
bewildered soldiers, panicky
officials, terror-driven citizens
and hordes Of fleeing country
people.
Somewhere in the crowd
Han was showed aside, grabbed
for his wife, missed her, and
found himself alone.
Han searched and searched,
but he was helpless in the
mob. His family had vanished.
South to Sofety.
Heavy of heart, Han crossed
the southern bridges just be-
fore the jittery South Korean
soldiers blew them-all too
soon. He trudged south in a
mass Of refugees, looking for
his wife and family. Twenty
miles to Suwon, 35 to Chonan,
20 more to Konju-and finally
out of invasion's way to a
haven of peace and safety.
But no family. .-
In the ouside world the
headlines screamed Taejon,
Taegu, and the Pusan perim1-
ter. Then the tide turned and
they boasted Inchon, Naktong,
and finally Seoul.
Old Han trudged back up
the north road, back through
smoking Seoul. He plodded