An oar carries soldiers across the river.
(Baonghean) - In a simple, one-story house in Hamlet 3, Dang Son Commune, Do Luong District, lives a mother, now over 100 years old, quietly with her eldest daughter-in-law, nearly 70, and her grandchild. Every day, she wakes up at dawn, befriending her walking stick and the verses of the Tale of Kieu. Emerging from the war, she, like many villagers, blended into a simple, honest life of daily routine. Few know that she is Dau Thi Tan, the mother who rowed a boat to transport soldiers, wounded, ammunition, and necessities on the Lam River during the two wars of national liberation…
(Baonghean) - In a simple, one-story house in Hamlet 3, Dang Son Commune, Do Luong District, lives a mother, now over 100 years old, quietly with her eldest daughter-in-law, nearly 70, and her grandchild. Every day, she wakes up at dawn, befriending her walking stick and the verses of the Tale of Kieu. Emerging from the war, she, like many villagers, blended into a simple, honest life of daily routine. Few know that she is Dau Thi Tan, the mother who rowed a boat to transport soldiers, wounded, ammunition, and necessities on the Lam River during the two wars of national liberation…
Born and raised in Dang Son, Do Luong, beside the ever-changing Lam River, like many others, Mother Dau Thi Tan (also known as Dau Thi Em) relied on the Lam River for her livelihood: rowing a boat. For a woman with delicate hands and feet like Mother Tan, rowing was quite arduous, but it helped her earn a living and support her family. She loved her oars and her work as much as she loved her homeland.
Tan's mother looked at her old photo with tears in her eyes.
After getting married, the burdens of family life and the countless worries weighed heavily on my mother's shoulders. She gave birth to nine children, but only seven survived, plus three from her husband's previous marriage, making a total of ten. At times, her life seemed nothing but hardship, toil, and sorrow. From the French to the Americans, her husband actively participated in the civilian labor force during the resistance against the French, and later, during the resistance against the Americans, five of her children joined the army to fight. My mother always encouraged and motivated her children to be ready to fight for the Fatherland and to maintain their faith in the Party. There were nights when she sat at the bow of the boat, silently shedding tears that mingled with the river water, upon hearing news of her children being wounded on the battlefield. But, the next morning, she would steer the boat with renewed strength.
During the resistance war against the French, while her husband served as a civilian laborer on the front lines, Tan's mother stayed at home, managing household chores, raising children, and volunteering to row boats to transport wounded soldiers from Do Luong to military medical stations for treatment, as well as transporting food supplies to the battlefields in Upper Laos. At that time, rowing boats was no longer just a means of earning a living; her new job of transporting supplies was important and gave her life much more meaning. With each safe arrival at its destination, she felt a sense of relief and became even more confident that the nation's resistance war, though arduous, would surely be victorious.
During the years 1965-1968, North Vietnam was relentlessly bombed by the American imperialists. Tan's mother's house and fields became a military supply depot and kitchen for the soldiers. "Even the wooden coffin she had saved for her final years was willingly given to the soldiers to pave the road for transporting artillery," Tan's mother recounted. Back then, the Bara Do Luong dam area, her hometown, was heavily attacked by the enemy. Many people abandoned their ferryman profession, but Tan's mother persevered because, besides earning a living by transporting passengers, she felt it was absolutely essential to help the soldiers cross the river safely. Once, she transported 10 soldiers from the 4th Battalion, 222nd Anti-Aircraft Artillery Regiment, across the river to survey and establish a new battle position.
That time, unfortunately, my mother's boat was spotted by enemy aircraft, which continuously fired 20mm rounds and rockets down a long stretch of the Lam River. Knowing each section of the river well, my mother quickly rowed the boat along the shallowest part of the river, signaling the soldiers to jump into the river and hide under the boat to avoid the bullets. That boat trip was terrifying, but in the end, all 10 soldiers were safe, only my mother suffered shrapnel damage to two of her fingers. After that incident, moved by my mother's kindness and courage, the soldiers of Battalion 4 adopted her as their foster mother.
One day in May 1967, at a time when the Lam River area passing through Do Luong district was a key target of American bombing raids, Tan's mother was assigned the task of transporting artillery shells to supply the anti-aircraft artillery positions that were fighting.
Determined to deliver artillery shells to the soldiers, despite the sudden appearance of enemy reconnaissance planes that bombed any targets they spotted on the river, Mother Tan carefully placed the shells under the boat, camouflaged them with logs, and quickly rowed across the river. Mother Tan recalled with a smile, "That trip was safe." She also visited artillery positions at Con Bu, Bai Dau, Vom Coc, and other locations to visit the soldiers and wounded.
And so, throughout the two wars of resistance against foreign invaders, Mother Tan's small, frail hands held the oar, ensuring the safe passage of soldiers across the river. As the days and months passed, the Lam River continued to flow tirelessly, witnessing countless enemy bombs and bullets raining down, witnessing the bloodshed and bones scattered, and silently witnessing Mother Tan's courage and simple patriotism.
Mr. Tran Minh Diep, the third son of Mrs. Tan, a former soldier currently living in Hai Phong, recalled: “During the war against the French, I was young, and every day I, along with my siblings and parents, would travel along the Lam River. With an oar, my mother would often transport rice and coal to supply the weapons foundry in Cat Van.”
Then came the war against America, and my brothers and I successively enlisted. My mother stayed at home, still rowing on the Lam River, ferrying wounded soldiers and other troops across. My second oldest brother and I went to the battlefield in the South that year.
At that moment, my brothers and I were moved to tears. The image of our mother and the river of our homeland, an image etched in my memory since childhood, flashed vividly before our eyes. Words cannot express the emotion, the longing for our mother and homeland, the pride we felt, when the name of my mother, a hardworking, diligent, yet courageous woman, was being announced throughout the trenches. That news broadcast also included the names of us, the soldiers fighting on the battlefields. From then on, we held our weapons more firmly, and our faith in fighting and winning grew stronger. I remember that later, Mr. Chu Manh – the former Chairman of Nghe An province – even wrote a poem about Mother Tan, the boatwoman…”
In October 1968, after reporting on her achievements at the Congresses celebrating the war against the US to save the country, Tan's mother donated an oar to the Military Region 4 Museum – a sacred memento that had been with her throughout the fierce years of war. For over 40 years, the oar, along with a black-and-white photograph of a woman rowing a boat, has been proudly displayed in the Museum. Tan's mother, like many others, later returned to a simple life, remembering her heroic deeds as cherished memories and considering them the inevitable actions of any citizen when the homeland is invaded…
One day, a villager visiting the Museum of Military Region 4 happened to see a photograph and an oar belonging to Tan's mother. He sought her out and told her the story. Thus, memories that seemed to have faded from memory resurfaced in her heart. One early spring morning in 2011, Tan's mother was brought to the museum by her children and grandchildren.
With trembling hands, Mother Tan picked up the oar with registration number 674/G.41 and, overcome with emotion, recounted to the visitors, museum staff, and her children gathered around her the story of her old job rowing a boat. The tour guide took down a black-and-white photograph and asked Mother Tan, "Do you recognize anyone in this picture?" Mother Tan squinted and smiled gently, her wrinkled hand touching the words: "Mother Dau Thi Tan rowing a boat to ferry soldiers across the river." At that moment, tears welled up in Mother Tan's eyes and in the eyes of her children today...
Thuy Vinh
