When I was Minister of Home Affairs, Mr. Do Quang Trung came to visit my house in the temple village. My mother said, "It is very precious to have the Minister visit his family". Mr. Trung quickly said, "Grandma, it is not the Minister who visits but I visit the place where my father was raised and thanked my family".

The story is that when I was temporarily occupied, under the altar in the middle of my grandparents' house there was a secret vault. His father, Do Quang Trung, was born during Viet Minh's activities, who had been secretly hiding in my house for months, being protected and cared for by my grandmother and mother. Later, Grandma was awarded a certificate of merit by the Government signed by Prime Minister Pham Van Dong.

One night when my commune was still in a temporary capture area, a Viet Minh officer was chased by French soldiers and shot dead in the yard in front of my house. His name is Quang, from Vinh Thuong village in the same commune as me.

Vinh Thuong village is famous for growing vegetables, guava and there are three famous people named Hoang Cam. Poet Hoang Cam with the poem La Dieu Bong, he raised Hoang Cam with a smokeless kitchen during the war and General Hoang Cam. All three have now become ancient people.

That night, Mr. Quang sat guard for a group of Viet Minh cadres meeting on the edge of the lagoon in front of my house when French soldiers patrolling discovered. Mr. Quang fled to my house because he knew there was a secret tunnel. French soldiers chased him. When Mr. Quang ran to the yard, French soldiers opened fire. He was hit by a bullet and collapsed in front of the house.

My eldest brother, Nguyen Gia Huong, said that when he heard the gunfire crackled, he was very young and lying down with his mother. My mother had to press his head down and hug him. After Mr. Quang's death, my grandmother rushed out and searched Quang's bags to see if there were any documents of Viet Minh, then he hid them and covered them with incense, put incense on him and put a lamp oil next to the body. French soldiers questioned why she helped the Viet Minh. She said she did not know who was Viet Minh, but only knew that someone died, she had to do so because it was a Vietnamese custom and that person died on her home land.

Even so, the French soldiers still forced my grandmother to pay a fine of rice for "relating to Viet Minh". She eventually had to carry a load of rice to Giang's boots about three kilometers from home. Later, my brother still dug a warhead on the wall of the house from a French soldier's gun that shot Mr. Quang.

One morning, I saw two strangers coming to my house. They claim to be Mr. Quang's family in Vinh Thuong. They came to see my father to confirm that Mr. Quang had died at my door while on duty to request to recognize Mr. Quang as a martyr. Meaning that dozens of years after Quang's death, the family asked the authorities to recognize him as a martyr. My father confirmed Mr. Quang's sacrifice. But since then, I don't know if their family has received government certification for his sacrifice. When meeting with my father, the members of Mr. Quang's family said that they asked the government to recognize Mr. Quang as a martyr not to give his family some benefit but to make history go back to what he had done. takes place.

Every time I entered the house of my grandparents in the temple village, I had to walk through the yard where Mr. Quang had fallen and I always pictured the night Mr. Quang was shot dead. The wall where the French soldiers' heads were filled has been changed, but I feel like the warheads are still there. In a poem about to publish, I wrote the following verses:

Dear Mom,

Blood flowed from our yard to the far hills.
There was a person who fell down in the night.
There are millions of people falling at dawn.
I bent down to raise any soil.
Are hot and vibrating.

Perhaps Mr. Quang was recognized as a martyr and maybe not because of the paperwork in our country is a shock. But no matter what, Mr. Quang has become a never-fading image in me. When I was still alive, my grandmother told me that sometimes Mr. Quang came back and stood in the middle of the yard. Later my mother also saw.

And when I was young, I also saw the shadow of people standing in the yard where Mr. Quang was shot and then quietly vanished. At first I thought it was a thief. After thinking about it, I believe that Mr. Quang's soul came back. Please bow to remember him.

Nguyen Quang Thieu