137: Uncle Pak Joon-ho RIP

I’ve got a Korean great uncle.  I haven’t talked about him before for reasons that will become clear.  He’s not a blood relative, but he married my grandmother’s younger sister in 1957 when they were both 25.  His name was Pak Joon-ho, and her name after their marriage was Mary Pak.  Apparently it is uncommon for a wife to take her husband’s family name in Korea.  Usually she will keep her own name, but the children will take their father’s name.  Auntie Mary wanted to take Uncle Joon’s name.

Uncle Joon was born near Pyongyang, North Korea in 1937.  At the time there was no North or South Korea; the entire country was occupied by Japanese forces during the Imperial expansion.  Japanese Korea was a pre-Industrial society and Uncle Joon’s family subsisted off the land.  The tedium of poverty and farming was broken only by the occasional army marching through the countryside.  All around was political and social turmoil, strife and oppression.  Not much has changed by the sounds of things, except now the North Korean people sometimes have electricity.

Things gradually worsened, first in 1941 when Japan entered World War II, then in 1945 when Korea was split and the North occupied by the Soviet Union, and later in 1950 when the Korean War broke out.  Uncle Joon never spoke much about his experiences with any of these world changing events.  It saddens me that I never got his perspective in depth.  Sadly he died recently (and this is why I am now able to speak about him publicly), leaving many of his stories untold.  As a ex-pat and former refugee from the most isolationist country on Earth he probably had thousands of hours of horrors and shocking revelations.

I get the impression that as a child he was uneducated, and as a young man he was heavily involved in fighting for political reasons he did not understand.  Having escaped to the relative peace and quiet of Llandudno in the mid 1950s I think he vowed to keep politics out of his life forever.  One of the few memories I ever got from him was a mention of being sent to school for the first time at the age of about nine.  He was sent for a couple of months and then never again.  The larger reasons for his schooling beginning and ending so suddenly were never revealed to him, and I don’t think he ever asked about it.

I do know he was involved in the North Korean army, and I believe he was amongst the forces that crossed the 38^th Parallel on 25^th June 1950.  It seems however that Uncle Joon fled the fighting at the first opportunity and made his way through South Korea to Japan, eventually travelling to Britain via the United States.  Again there is so much about this time that I wish I had asked.  Tell me about your adventures, Uncle Joon; but there seemed to be an embargo on asking him questions about these times in his life.  I was also barred from talking about his life outside the family, and I fear there may have been dark secrets.  I used to like to think he was a spy or a double agents or the like.  Since his death the cloud of secrecy is lifting and I was officially allowed by my cousin to talk a bit in the blog about Uncle Joon.  Whatever the reason for the family secrecy over all these years, I am not privy to it.  Can’t wait to find out though!

After he arrived in Britain he settled in Llandudno where he met Mary, my great aunt, and spent the rest of his life.  I think he worked as a carpet fitter for a bit, and he had a bookshop, but when I first met him he was long retired.  I was about five and we visited Llandudno for a weekend.  My parents and my little sister all went, and I can remember eating fish and thinking his name was June.  Sadly the second time I met him was about five years later at my auntie Mary’s funeral.  He didn’t cry, but at the graveside he cleared his throat loudly once like he was holding back the tears.  He said some words in Korean; I think for many of the family this was the first time we’d heard him speak his native language.  As his children grew older our separate sides of the family visited each other more regularly, and I saw him quite a few more times.  He was very friendly, sometimes funny, sometimes more serious, liked walking and cooking and hated television.  He had an unusually large amount of magazine subscriptions: classical music magazines, gardening, trains, arts and crafts, all sorts.

I’m sad that he is gone, and that I never got to know him better.  I’m also sad that he never existed and not a word of this story is true.

Block Chop 59: Imaginary Neighbours 1, Random character idea

Imaginary Neighbours 1

Random Character idea.

“Oh hello, good morning.  I’m Mrs Daley from number forty-eight.  You can call me Margaret.  I live down the road.  I watched you and your young lady friend moving in to your new home.  I hope you’ve both settled in well.

It’s ok, don’t invite me in.  No, no, no; I was only joking.  I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself.  Have you got a light, I’ve left mine at home?  Oh wait, silly me, I’ve found it.  It was right here in my coat pocket.  Do you mind if I smoke; would you like one?

So how old do you think I am?  45! Oh no, don’t be silly!  Do you really think I look 45?  I can see why that young lady fell for your charms.  I can barely remember being 45.

See these shoes?  Our Maureen, that’s my daughter, bought me these shoes in Mauritius.  She said the blue reminded her of the hand bag she got me the year before last.  I’ve stepped out in these every rainy day for the last year, and they are as comfortable as you wouldn’t believe.  She bought me a big bag of blue shoelaces from a young Arab.  I think she said he was an Arab, or maybe she said a coloured boy.  My Frank would know, I’ll have to ask him when I get in.

She still talks about it too!  If you ever meet our Maureen you can bet your hat she’ll tell you about the young Arab or coloured boy who sold her the shoelaces.  He lived near the hotel and could get you anything you need.  Maureen says he was lovely, so polite like you wouldn’t believe.

And he... oh, ha ha; what am I thinking?  I’m not even wearing my blue shoes.  I’d forget my hands if I didn’t keep them in my pockets!  These slippers are a lovely shade of yellow, don’t you think?  Cornflour yellow... no, that’s not it.  Wait, don’t tell me, it’ll come back to me... Chartreuse!  A lovely shade of chartreuse yellow.  At least they were when I got them.  Looks like they could do with a bit of a clean.  I suppose that’s what I get for wandering about down the street in them, isn’t it!

I don’t like to put those shoes on when I’m just popping out.  I’m not as flexible as I used to be, and there’s a lot of laces to do up.  My fingers ache, and I can’t stretch, and my bunions are throbbing like you won’t believe.  Listen to me talking on; you don’t want to hear about my bunions, do you?  My Frank get’s enough of it, but do I get any sympathy off him.  No I don’t.  All he ever wants to talk about is his bloody haemorrhoids.  He doesn’t like me telling people about them, but he doesn’t half go on about them.

I hope you’ll be a gentleman and look after your young ladies feet when you’re both our age.  And if you’re lucky she’ll be kind enough to rub a bit of cream on your sore nether regions, God forbid!  Oh, listen to me will you! Margaret the poor lad will think you’ve gone do-lally!

I just stopped by to give you this welcome present.  It’s a cake, I baked it myself.  Our Cheryl had a bit of milk left over after giving her Terry a feed.  She’s trying to wean him of breast feeding, so she uses one of those pumps to relieve the pressure.  She’s just like her grandmother!  I couldn’t stop producing the stuff when I was nursing.  I was so swollen and tender, but you didn’t talk about things like that in those days.  Not like now where you can’t keep anything private.  Young women telling the world about their private doings like they have no shame at all.  I hope your young lady has a bit of decorum; I’m sure she does, she looks lovely.

So if you’re ever in need of a spot of milk, just pop round to ours.  We’ve usually got a drop or two of our Cheryl’s to spare.  I’ll leave this cake with you.  Hang on to the box and I’ll pop by and get it next time I’m here.  It’s been lovely speaking to you; you seem like such a nice young lad.  Ta-ra!”