Following my father's conviction that children should be educated in the capital, our family left the orchard village of Sapsuri and moved to Seoul when I was five. My impression of the village on the day of our departure was that of a big funeral. The whole village buzzed. Everyone in sight along the ten li road to the railway station, as we rode on a horse-cart, was weeping. Mother, holding Myŏngsŏk in her arms, was crying all the way, her face buried in her handkerchief. Father who had me on his lap sat upright with a rigid face as if he were cross, his lips tightly pressed.

Our new house in the capital was in Sajikdong, on high ground, which was reached by what seemed like more than a hundred stone steps. It was small compared to what we were used to but great fun. It was there that for the first time I saw electric light and was amazed. From the verandah, I could see below the parapet, a black dome, like a huge umbrella sitting on the top of a building. When I was told it was the roof top of the Capital Building I was amused. Everything was wonderful.

After moving to Seoul mother lost her health. I often heard her saying the water from the tap disagreed with her. She missed the country and most of all, she said, the water from the spring at the entrance to the orchard.

For me life in Seoul was full of fun. In the morning, after father had gone to work and my sister and brother to school, mother, carrying Myŏngsŏk tied on her back, often went out with me exploring the city. We went to the market, department stores and sometimes went to visit my aunt on a tram. On Sundays all the family went to the Anglican Cathedral behind the Tŏksu Palace. On summer evenings, we went out to the evening market along the pavement of the main road.

My elder brother, Hyŏngsŏk soon became the gang-leader of the kids in the alley. I was proud of him. Some evenings all the children gathered at our house for concerts.