Teacher Dang Thi Phuc cried in grief for her student Nguyen Phu Trong.

“Trong was sick, I couldn’t visit him. When he passed away, I couldn’t see his face for the last time. I considered Trong as my youngest brother, so I was heartbroken as if I had just lost a blood relative. I mourned an honest leader who loved the people,” said teacher Dang Thi Phuc, who taught General Secretary Nguyen Phu Trong in fourth grade, sobbing.

The student all year round barefoot, brown shirt

Ms. Phuc is 92 years old this year, her hearing is poor, her legs are weak, her intelligence has declined a lot, sometimes she remembers, sometimes she forgets, sometimes she repeats what she just said, but the old memories of her special student Nguyen Phu Trong with his reddish-brown hair, side bangs, pale white skin, who throughout the school year only wore one brown outfit with a high-collared, slit-front ao ba ba, with two pockets on both sides, are still intact in her mind.

Trong's school is in Dong Hoi commune, while Ms. Phuc teaches in Mai Lam commune, but Dong Hoi only has 15 fourth graders, so they study together with 33 students in Mai Lam. The classroom has rickety tables and chairs, no doors, and is exposed to the wind on three sides. It's scorching hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. On rainy days, the whole class has to sit on one side to avoid getting wet. From Dong Hoi to Mai Lam, you have to cross the village fields. The dirt road in the middle is bumpy, with buffalo hoof prints on both sides. On rainy days, it gets muddy, and the little student has to press his toes against the road to avoid falling.

The class had 48 students, but Ms. Phuc had a special impression of Trong because he was the youngest but the best student, and diligently contributed to the lesson. “Trong’s family was poor, eating sweet potatoes and cassava, going barefoot all year round, winter and summer, and only had one set of brown clothes, not even a torn shirt to wear inside during the cold winter. I loved Trong as much as I loved my youngest brother,” Ms. Phuc recalled.

Because he was the best student, at the end of the school year, Trong was chosen to represent the students from two communes to present a typical report in front of the whole school. Looking at the little student, Ms. Phuc was both proud and heartbroken when Trong was still wearing a brown shirt and bare feet like every day. “At that moment, I just wanted to run and hug him,” Ms. Phuc said, choking up.

In class, Trong is closest to Duy - the oldest student and class monitor. The two are inseparable. Ms. Phuc wanted to move Trong to the first desk because he is the youngest in the class, but Trong still sits at the third desk because he doesn't want to be far away from Duy.

After finishing 4th grade, Trong transferred to Nguyen Gia Thieu School, and Ms. Phuc also moved to Hanoi. They lost contact with each other from then on.

In 2001, after attending a reunion with the former 4th graders, hearing that the little student had now become successful, Ms. Phuc was very happy and wrote a poem titled "The Little Student of the Past," dedicated to NPT:

"Innocent twelve hair

Brown shirt, bare feet, corn and potatoes to ease the pain

The youngest student is not inferior.

Speak enthusiastically whenever you understand the lesson.”

Handwritten letter from the General Secretary

Four years later, in 2005, she had the opportunity to read this poem at a poetry festival for teachers. With the dedication to NPT, she did not expect that this poem would help the "little student from the past" find his teacher again.

“One day, I received a phone call and was very surprised when on the other end of the line was Trong, saying he would come to visit. At that time, Trong was the Secretary of the Hanoi Party Committee and was busy with many things, so I brushed it off, saying there was no need to come, calling her was already very kind. But a few days later, Trong came, and as soon as he saw her, he blamed her: 'I've been looking for you for decades, it's been decades since I last saw you, and you still didn't let me come.' Teacher and student looked at each other, speechless. At that time, her hair was still green while his hair was already gray," Ms. Phuc emotionally recounted.

She choked up when recalling that every year, on November 20 or Lunar New Year, Trong, despite being busy with many important matters, still remembered to congratulate his former teacher. “Many people think that as the General Secretary’s teacher, he would probably receive many gifts, but Trong is an honest person, he is not rich, he has nothing to give me. Every November 20, Trong sends me a bouquet of flowers, or on Tet, a box of cakes. Just like that, it is a great spiritual gift, a teacher-student relationship. Just this Lunar New Year 2024, I still received Trong’s wishes, but now he is far away…” Ms. Phuc sobbed, unable to speak.

Gently wiping away the tears that kept falling uncontrollably, she said that the day before, when she heard the news on TV about the General Secretary's poor health, she really wanted to visit but was afraid of disturbing the medical team that was treating him.

“So I didn’t dare to come… So I couldn’t see Trong for the last time… When I heard the news of Trong’s death, I grieved as if I were grieving for a blood relative, I grieved for an honest leader who loved the people… I could only send my condolences to the family,” Ms. Phuc said, having to stop repeatedly to contain her emotions.

The torment and pain of not being able to visit her student when he was sick, not being able to see him one last time, was such a deep wound that it kept appearing in the mind of the elderly teacher who sometimes forgot and sometimes remembered, causing her to mention it dozens of times during the conversation with the reporter.

With trembling hands, she opened the handwritten New Year's greeting letter from her former student. Even though she had become the General Secretary - the highest leadership position of the country, busy with a thousand things, she still did not forget the "ferryman" from years ago in the classroom at Mai Lam village communal house.

The letter was simple with a regular envelope, the content of the letter did not contain a single word, a single letter, or any mark of academic degree or authority, only the greetings of student Nguyen Phu Trong to his former teacher: "I wish you good health and longevity in the new year; I wish the whole family peace, prosperity, and new joys"; "I still keep the deep, never-fading memories of the years you taught me."

Ms. Phuc cried and explained: “The memories that Trong still keeps are not much, just a notebook, a composition book. Back then, we were very poor, there were very few books, the teacher had nothing to give the students, the students had nothing to give the teacher, only the teacher-student relationship that has not faded over the years…”

Then she fell silent. The 92-year-old teacher’s mind seemed to drift back to distant memories of nearly 70 years ago, in the classroom at Mai Lam village temple. She spoke as if talking to herself: “Trong was very poor, all year round he only wore one brown outfit, a slit ao ba ba, with two large pockets on either side, reddish-brown hair, side bangs, pale white skin, the youngest in the class but the most obedient, the best student, very enthusiastic about building lessons…”.