THE EMIGRANT
George Baker
I was born in Tientsin, China in 1934. My mother was a White Russian émigrée who had lived in China since 1923 after escaping the Bolsheviks' Revolution. My father was an English soldier who served in the British Army based in Tientsin.
In my youngest years I had a dream to become a teacher of Classical Literature and Music. But my dream was torn apart by unimaginable events. This is my story and I hope that readers will forgive me for some of the language used but it was necessary in order to express the iniquity of the events that occurred.
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© Copyright 2011
George Baker
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ISBN- 978 1 78069 004 9
First Published 2010 in paperback by Vanguard Press
First Published as an e-book 2011
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Acknowledgements
My profound appreciation and gratitude to my wife Annie and to all my dearest friends Miss Emma Bashford and Mr Derek Winder in their encouragement and help in putting this manuscript together; Ms Sue Tyler, Mr and Mrs Ian Dodd; and Mrs Berit Winder and my thanks to the editorial department at Pegasus.
Contents
Prologue
The current of the River Hai slowed down as it approached the Yellow Sea. At the mouth of the river, dredgers constantly cleared the debris of sand and mud accumulated from heavy rains and landslides up the river from the Hebei Province – a densely populated area near Peking – Beijing as it is known today.
Garbage floated all around the shipping port. Hundreds of seagulls flew above it, crying and trying to outflank each other to pick up the tasty morsels.
Coolies, as they were called, unloaded ships and barges, some were wearing the traditional queue, the Chinese ‘Bianzi’ – a long plaited braid of hair with a little round black hat made of silk with a button pompom on the top – or straw umbrella type hats. This was the ingrained part of the old European stereotype, seen in many photos of old China. Many Chinese had long ago cut their hair, as it was a hated symbol of Imperial rule, especially imposed on them by the Manchu, the Qing Dynasty which ruled China from 1644 until it became a Republic in 1911. Older generations and some young Chinese still carried on the tradition, maybe because they were Manchu themselves.
Up river, closer to the town centre, smaller river boats steamed along manoeuvring through passing junks full of merchandise on the way towards the capital Peking. If you were to stand on the Daguangming Bridge which was used not only for vehicles, horse and carts but also for bicycles and pedestrians, you would witness the dominance of European influence, French, English, architecture and see British, American and French warships moored at the docks, but this is the Far Eastern side of China, far away from Europe.
Tientsin was full of Europeans and other foreigners. Herbert Hoover, before he became President of the United States of America, chose to spend his honeymoon in Tientsin at the Hotel Astor in Room 309, which still survives today.
Many American and European traders made their homes in this town and their influences were seen everywhere.
It all started when the Chinese Empress Dowager Cixi, who ruled China from 1835-1908 signed the Treaty of Tianjin in 1858 allowing foreign warships to visit inland ports. She signed the treaty under European pressure threatening an all out war with China. After that, Europeans took full advantage and stationed vessels along the Yangzi River and other important places establishing their concessions at the turn of the century. The city had been divided into concessions with troops from the UK, USA, France, Italy, Germany, Japan and in the past the Russians. The British troops were the largest contingent to begin with, but eventually, gradually, began to withdraw at the beginning of 1937.
In the 1917-20’s during the Bolsheviks Revolution many Russian émigrés came to Tientsin looking for work in the hope they would be able to get visas to go to Europe or America. Those who had wealth found good employment. Others who opened their own businesses, flourished and in the end succeeded, emigrating before the Second World War. Some found their relatives in Europe and America who helped them financially. Others were less fortunate. As they could not trace their families and money began to run out, they had to sell the jewellery they had brought with them. Many could not find work, although they were architects, engineers and had many other skills. However, some opportunists did manage to get one or two of these jobs because of the clear preference for employing Europeans. Nevertheless, jobs were scarce. In the 1930s Europe and America were going through bad times themselves. The majority of Chinese resented the Europeans’ influence on their culture but some in the middle classes accepted it and embraced it as it would bring China into the twentieth Century. In many parts, China still remained a feudal country.
My mother Maria Nicholaevna was one of the many thousands of White Russians who had escaped during the 1917 Revolution. Destiny had not been kind to her and her family after so much upheaval. Mother and her husband Victor and daughters Ludmilla and Jane, had finally reached Tientsin with the expectation of finding a peaceful and better future, and had a dream to settle in Paris or New York.
Destiny is a myth, it is something we cannot control whatever happens in our lives.
CHAPTER ONE
Jerry, my father, a sergeant in the Queen’s Regiment was posted in 1931 to join a contingent of British troops to China to protect the interests of British concessions. One of seven children, life in Manchester was full of struggles for the family. In 1929, at the age of 21 unemployed and without any prospect for the future, one option was left to him; he followed his older brothers into the Army and was enrolled into the Queen’s Regiment. Later in life, he was transferred to the Royal Signals and posted to Egypt during the Second World War.
I was born, a perfectly healthy child, in the early hours of the morning in late September 1934 at the Queen Victoria Hospital, where my mother was employed. My mother looked at me with a big smile Son thank you God, she whispered. She had prayed for a son as she already had two daughters. Her prayers had been answered.
On that September morning in 1934, my father was on duty at the barracks pacing up and down in the compound, when one of his friends, Corporal Jim Baxter, ran from the office waving his arms shouting to Jerry that there was good news. The bewildered sergeant calmly asked what was up, only to be grabbed on the shoulder by the grinning Jim and told that he had a son and both mother and baby were well.
My father was overjoyed, not only to have the boy that Maria had been hoping for but also because he was almost certain that she could not refuse his proposal of marriage now that they had a child together. Despite his frequent offers she had been avoiding the question for some time now. But all that had to change, Jerry thought. He knew it would be difficult, the Army did not allow its soldiers to marry foreigners, the rules were strict.
My father had to wait patiently for the end of his watch until he rushed out of the compound, flagged down a rickshaw and made his way to the Queen Victoria Hospital, shopping on the way to buy some flowers and a box of chocolates.
He arrived to find my mother tired but happy and me, the little bundle, asleep in the cot. He was so excited that he did most of the talking. He wanted to know whether my mother had thought of a name. He thought it was important for me to have a ‘proper English’ name. But my mother pointed out to him that my sisters all had Russian names and she felt I should too. It would have been awkward for me to have a foreign name, besides lots of Russian names were similar to English as they all come from the Christian bible.
My father sat holding my mother’s hand and told her of his plans for us, he was going to write to his parents and the three of us would go to England; they would get married and settle near Whitstable, his home town, where he would get a civilian job…but my mother looked at him with sadness in her eyes, she knew it would never happen, she would not marry him.
After my parents had searched for a name that would be acceptable to both of them, I was christened in an Orthodox Church, not far away from where we lived and was named George, (Georgy, Yuri for short in Russian), after King George V.
By 1938 I was growing up fast. Now, blonde with blue eyes, I was healthy and like any other child, full of mischief, stubbornness and temper but with a big heart and soul. I was growing up fast.
I started to have a passion for fishing. It all began when an older boy Yasha, living in the same block of flats, took me fishing down by the river, which was only a short distance from the flats. From the top of the flat roof of the building you could see the river bank. Across a dusty road, through a gap in the fence and a hundred yards or so of wasteland, was the river.
My mother had forbidden me to go to the river on my own. Sometimes she or my sister Ludmilla would take me there, but it always ended up in an argument when they wanted to go back home after an hour or so, and I wanted to stay longer. At times I would slip away by myself against my mother’s wishes.
It was during one of my fishing trips by myself that I saw the corpse. The River Hai always pulsed with a strong current, carrying its cargo of dirt and debris out to sea. There was a variety of fish alive in those waters, some very large, but I usually only managed to catch tiddlers because the hook on my line, tied to a rod (itself little more than a piece of bamboo with a cork as a float), was too small and old. But I enjoyed fishing there all the same. Of course my mother never approved of my trips, fearing I might fall in and drown, and I always came back covered in mud. But however much she tried, she could never put me off it, or stop me. Somehow I always managed to slip away on my own.
The river seemed endlessly wide to my young eyes, large enough for ships to use. Huge blocks of stone formed the banks on both sides, guiding the current towards the Yellow Sea.
The day I saw the body was sunny, though fresh, and I had been down there for over two hours, without even getting a bite. I had been completely engrossed in pictures of Mickey Mouse and Laurel and Hardy in a comic I had found on the river bank, but eventually grew tired of it it was frustrating to me to look at pictures without understanding the story. Putting down my comic, I recast my line and settled down again to wait. Just then, I thought I saw a doll floating down in midstream. After all, what else could it be to a little boy? But as the object floated downstream, it turned with the swirl, moving closer to the bank. Soon it was just a few feet away, and I could see the swollen body, heavy in the water. It hit the bank and lingered there, caught in a small whirlpool current together with other debris. I could clearly see the face of a small Chinese girl, bloated and puffed up like a balloon. In horrified fascination I stared, seeing every stomach-churning detail and disfigurement. As the corpse floated towards me, I reached with my fishing rod and poked the swollen body. And then I could smell something, something bad. Suddenly, my initial curiosity turned into stupefied fright.
Dropping my rod on the bank, I turned and ran for home as fast as I could, forgetting my comic and fishing rod. I did not stop, not until I ran to my mother and clung to her skirt. My mother sensed that something frightened me. She lifted me up and cuddled me. “It’s all right, it’s all right, now then, you are safe with me, nobody is going to hurt you, I won’t let anyone hurt you!” she whispered, patted me on the back and kissed me. Her face expressed anxiety, she held me tight and with concern in her voice asked me what had happened, what had frightened me.
I did not tell her what I had seen but clutched her body, and silently rested my head on her shoulder. I would not answer so she decided not to press me, I would come round later. When she put me down I ran inside and played with my toys as though nothing had happened. This incident will stay with me for the rest of my life. In fact, what I had witnessed was not as unusual a sight as might be thought. Baby girls were often abandoned in one way or another by poorer Chinese families in those days, because of the burden they represented. And there was no shortage of poor families. Boys on the other hand could work, contribute to their own keep, and were regarded as assets, not only to help the family to survive but also to look after the elderly later in life. Some girls were drowned at birth.
The doll episode was part of an unusual upbringing, to say the least. My lineage, for a start, was mixed.
My mother who came from a well-to-do old Russian aristocratic family, was one of nine children. She and her four brothers and four sisters were brought up in a strict environment. Their teachers were selected very meticulously well before the Revolution. My mother remembered in particular their stern English teacher who was in her mid 40s and the French governess who was an old spinster in her 50s. Though kind and understanding, she was strict in every way.
The use of French language in the family was paramount in the illustrious society at that time. The Russian high society had adopted it as a second language well before the Napoleonic era. The priority for the very early stage of a child’s upbringing was to have knowledge of French. When spoken to in French, it was acceptable for a child to answer in Russian, but answering in French, the child would have been rewarded with a smile and a ‘well done’ as an approval of achievement in the study and understanding of the language.
The emphasis on a moral upbringing in a society of stature was high. On the whole a strict rule was observed and implemented in discipline and manners to which children were coalesced.
Besides French, children also had to study German and Italian. The piano lessons, dancing lessons and general education used up most of the children’s time. There was hardly any time left for mischief making. Devout Orthodox Christians, the family observed church-going as a sacramental duty and were very punctilious.
At the age of sixteen, my mother was sent to St. Petersburg to stay with her grandfather and to enrol in the University of Languages. At the age of nineteen, she had mastered seven languages and met her first husband at the Winter Palace ball.
Her grandfather, Alexandre Semionovich Kolachev, a retired general, was an Ataman of Siberian Cossacks and commanded a great influence in a society circle of St. Petersburg, from which my mother benefited and was invited to high places.
The Revolution of 1917 brought it all to an end.
My mother had to adapt, with many other thousands of White Russians, to a completely different culture and a way of life in a foreign country more backward than she could ever have imagined at that time.
She worked as a nurse at the Queen Victoria Hospital in Tientsin. This was not her chosen career she had acquired her skills, thanks to some previous experience in a field hospital during the Russian Revolution, in the last three years of the retreating White Russian Army from the Bolsheviks.
When I was born, my mother already had her hands full with my two older sisters Jane and Ludmilla, from her marriage to a White Russian officer Victor Aleksandrovich. He served Tsar Nicholas II at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg.
When the Revolution started in 1917 the Royalist Army was pushed towards the far eastern corner of Russia by the Bolsheviks. It took more than three years for the family to escape through the last bastion of the retreating White Russian Army of Cossacks to Vladivostock. There, my mother gave birth to her first child, Ludmilla. They retreated towards the Chinese border and had to cross over to China. Over half a million White Russians, like my mother, crossed the border but the Chinese demanded money for their passage and most of them lost all of their possessions.
In 1929 they lived in Port Dalnyi, today Dalian, near Port Arthur, which was a Russian Naval Base until the Russo-Japanese War in 1905, when the Russians were defeated and abandoned the Liaoning Peninsula. There, my mum gave birth to my second sister Jane.
In 1931 they moved to Tientsin, but her husband’s health was deteriorating, as he had begun drinking heavily. Many White Russian Army officers were disillusioned and depressed at losing the Civil War and being exiled in a foreign land without hope of regaining their pride and status. He died from liver cancer. He was a brilliant musician and an honourable gentleman officer, but depression and a feeling of hopelessness were his downfall.
My mother’s wage from her hospital job could not support her family, so to supplement her income, she worked in the evenings at a bar in the British Officer’s Club. There were a lot of British troops in Tientsin.
In July 1937 Japan began its full invasion of China and the war between China and Japan grew nearer to Tientsin. Japanese aeroplanes were one of the most common sights, flying over the city on bombing raids against the Guomindang troops. The sight of these made my mother go frantic.
It was in the Officer’s Club in 1933 that she had met my father, a sergeant in the Royal Regiment.
At first their relationship was just casual. When he could, he would sneak off duty to the bar to see her. However, as weeks and then months passed, their relationship became closer. My mother was lonely and life was hard. It had been over a year since she lost her husband, and she was trying to support her family on her own. Although it was shocking for that time, she allowed him to move in with her.
They had lived together for about eighteen months before his regiment was sent to India in February 1935. As a result, I had only vague memories of my father in my subconscious mind. Distant memories of a uniform moving around the flat.
The flat was not large, but it sufficed, and one of my earliest memories was of splashing about in the huge bathtub.
One day my father came home with devastating news, his Regiment would be leaving in a few days time. He promised he would do everything he could to bring us to India. He had to stay at the barracks as the order was given that nobody was to leave without permission as the Regiment could be moving at any time.
I was with my mother just after one such splash in the bathtub when my father came into the room and suggested to my mother that it might be better for us to go and join her brother Sergei and his wife Elena in Dairen. Ludmilla was already living with them and it would be much safer, as the situation could get worse in Tientsin.
Previously, when she was pregnant with me, my mother’s younger brother Sergei and his wife Elena had visited her in Tientsin. He had brought some good news; he had found their brother Boris, who had been missing since their escape from Russia into China after the Revolution. He was now living in Peking with his wife and young daughter. My mother was ecstatic to hear about her brother.
Sergei saw how his sister was struggling and suggested that they should take her oldest daughter, who was a problem, to live with them in Dairen to give her time to sort herself out.
They would bring Ludmilla back after my birth, and take Jane back with them. Ludmilla, as the oldest daughter, would be of more help to look after me and Jane was too young to be separated from her mother at this time. They also wanted my mother to follow them to Dairen as it would be easier for them to live in the same town. Though Dairen was a much safer place, my mother declined but she reluctantly let Ludmilla go. Ludmilla was very sad to leave her mother and younger sister, but she could not accept my father and tensions were causing unhappiness. She knew it would be a temporary arrangement, but it lasted nearly eighteen months. After I was born, Sergei and his wife brought Ludmilla back to Tientsin and took Jane with them to Dairen to give my mother more time with me. Again, it was supposed to be for a short period of time, but it lasted several years.
It was a few days later, just after my bathtime splash, that the door bell rang while my mother was drying me on the kitchen table. She left me in a towel while she went to open the door. Somehow, I managed to tangle myself up in the towel, fall from the table and hit my head on the tiled floor. There was a massive bump on the top of my head bad enough to stay in hospital for two days. Worse still, the caller was my father, who had managed to get away from his Regiment for an hour to say goodbye. My mother didn’t have time to say much; preoccupied with my injury and distressed with the events, she said a quick goodbye, kissing Jerry, assuring him she would write. She rushed outside and called a rickshaw to take me to hospital.
My mother never saw my father again.
But despite not being there, my father sent some money to us and the family was all right for a time. Money appeared in small amounts, often by post, but it did not last long. After a few months, the money and letters became less frequent and then stopped completely. In all his letters Jerry begged my mother to marry him, promising he would get us to England. But he could not get all of our family out of China at the same time. If she agreed, he would start the proceedings. Once we had settled in England, he would try to bring the girls; meanwhile Sergei and Elena could look after them. My mother was honest and wrote she could not marry him and certainly could not break up her family and leave her two daughters behind. His hopes were dashed so he stopped writing.
Later in my life, older people who knew my mother well, talked about Jerry, my father and commented that they could not understand how my mother got involved with him, although he was a good-looking, kind man. They were completely different in personality, background and upbringing. She was a linguist, fluent in seven languages, highly educated and brought up in high society, with impeccable manners. She was a refined woman, good-looking and there was an air of elegance about her. Her slender and delicate figure always made her look fragile but in reality she was a strong-willed woman. Her light complexion and brown hair, with almost green eyes, made her a very attractive woman in the eyes of men. It hurt me to listen to what people said about my father but I could not argue as I did not know him.
By this time, jobs in Tientsin were hard to find. European businesses in the area were closing down and moving south to Shanghai and into Hong Kong. By the end of 1937, fear of the Japanese was mounting to fever pitch, as they advanced into central China, waging war from the East. It was a time of complete devastation for the emigrants. There was nowhere to run, and after all hope of getting out of China had gone, the only thing left to them was to submit to the inevitable.
Although much of the financial world had fled Tientsin, some foreigners stayed on. But following the withdrawal of troops the Officer’s Club closed down and the panic set among the Chinese population so they left the city fearing the oncoming Japanese troops.
My mother eventually found work as a cleaner in the home of an Italian woman who worked for the Italian Embassy. She took me with her and I would marvel at the splendour of this woman’s house it seemed so grand, no matter how often I saw it.
It was just after this, in the cold, raw Spring of 1938, that the flood occurred. A downpour beat down and in no time the people on the streets were soaked. The water overflowed from the manholes and started to form torrents of water on the roads. Following days of heavy rain, typical at this time of the year, made the river and canal swollen, the very same river I fished, burst its banks. At one stage about three-quarters of the city was under water. As a result my mother was one of many who lost their jobs. Fortunately the flat we lived in was on relatively high ground, so the flood did not disturb our domestic life too much, but the water did come within a few feet of the front door so any trip outside to go to the shops or get food supplies was more than slightly hazardous as many sewers had burst with the flood. It was during this time that it was decided I should stay at the French school.
Many businesses and shops affected by the floods closed down and as the rain continued to pour down, bringing more water, my mother could not get to work, and our situation worsened. Money was running out, she had no alternative but to go for food supplies to the nearest missionary in town, where soup kitchens had been set up especially for poor Europeans who had lost everything.
As days went by, it got harder for everybody. Food was in short supply, transportation was in junk and other little boats. The Chinese started to charge more and more every day, capitalising on the situation. It was a comical scene to see some people transporting themselves in tin baths with a paddle in their hands.
The French monastery was within walking distance and was taking young children to help their parents to get through the floods and food shortages. Some friends of my mother’s, suggested that she should put me there. She took me to see if I could board for a limited period, until the situation improved. On arrival we were greeted by a polite nun who welcomed us and said we could collect some food for the time being, but she would have to get permission for me to stay at the monastery from the matron who was not there at the time.
The monastery school seemed like a gift from God. The family could walk to the monastery without wasting money and collect food and whatever else was available there. The monastery which consisted of a Catholic church with a large garden and dormitory, was in fact a school run mostly by French nuns for European orphans and abandoned children.
On a day we had come to collect some food, my mother and I were confronted by the matron, ‘Fisheyes’. Her real name was Olga Semenovna, her origin was a mixture of French and Russian. Her nickname, ‘Fisheyes’, was given to her years later in a Russian school in Dairen where she worked as a teacher. The nickname had nothing to do with her ancestry, but was derived from the curious way her eyes seemed to roll towards each other. However, this was my first encounter with ‘Fisheyes’. Olga Semenovna ran the school and could arrange for me to stay there as long as it would help my mother. There would be no charge but my mother might have to give some of her time to the school in return. My mother introduced me to Olga Semenovna, she was so grateful for the offer that her eyes filled with tears. It would take a great burden off her shoulders and her mind. Times were hard for most people. The matron wanted me to stay there and then but my mother was unprepared to leave me immediately so decided she would take me the next day. In the meantime, my mother and my sister could continue to collect some food for themselves; the matron knew how hard it was for my mother and that was as far as she could help her.
Back home, she explained to me that I needed to go to a school with a lot of children to be with, that it was time for me to learn how to read and write, so I would understand all my favourite comics. There would be a lot of toys to play with, and I would make some friends.
In response, I stubbornly said that I would rather stay at home with my mum and sister, that I did not need any friends. My mother tried to convince me that I would have to go to school like my sister Ludmilla, who read me my comics and bedtime stories. Ludmilla joined my mother in persuading me that I had to go, at least to see if I liked it, and promised that if I didn’t, they would bring me back home. Eventually I agreed.
The next day, all three of us set off for the school; once there, the matron took me by the hand. She took us to meet the other children and showed us around the school. I saw a lot of toys that I had never seen before and was a little bit excited but also a little apprehensive.
After my mother and sister had kissed me goodbye and promised to visit me every day, my eyes filled with tears and I sobbed. I cried that day when they left and I would have cried a lot more, had I known I would be there for a long time.
Mother and Ludmilla came to see me nearly every day and saw that I was settling down. But every time they said goodbye, I would cry. As time passed, I had more interests at school and made friends. Amongst the European children in the monastery, of which there were approximately thirty, there was a half Chinese/Russian girl, named Nina. We would meet again in my teenage years and would become great friends. During my time at the monastery I learnt to speak a little French, enough to converse, though my Russian did not leave me since my sister and mother spoke to me in Russian. At school, I also met a girl much older than myself, who helped me learn French and, more importantly, helped me out by translating children’s books. Her French was quite good as she had been at the school for a number of years because she was an orphan. Later, the teachers encouraged her to teach the other children.
‘Fisheyes’was pretty strict with the children and maintained a disciplined regime at the school. At first, I did not like her and had it not been for my mother’s visits, would have run away. The flood meant there was no freedom to go to the parks or out anywhere at all for the children. I hated it, but the rest of the children were in the same predicament and this helped me to live from one day to another.
That damned flood just seemed to go on forever but eventually the situation improved.
Towards the end of that summer, my French was improving and I started to understand quite a lot. But I had to leave the residence of ‘Ol’ Fisheyes’. My mother and sister arrived one day to take me home. I was pleased but at the same time felt sad because I had to leave my friends. As we said goodbye, tears again came to my eyes, but within minutes, ‘Fisheyes’ was just a memory. But to her credit, I looked healthy, after what had been a relatively good diet in her care. My mother even remarked on my new-found chubbiness.
As I walked with my mother and sister from the monastery we found that some of the roads had been transformed into a torrent of mud that seemed insurmountable. As we continued through the washed-out sewage-filled streets we came across the foul smell of swollen corpses of stray dogs and cats lying in the ditches of the fly-filled canal.
When we approached the busy part of town, we came to a narrow street, where large crowds hurried along the path to the houses and shops, jostling each other to get past. Life was returning to normal. We passed a crowd of old women, peasants, younger women carrying their babies on their backs, old men leaning on their walking sticks.
When we got home I was surprised to find it wasn’t the home where we used to live. My mother had found somewhere else. She explained they had to leave the other place, because she could not afford the rent. I wasn’t concerned that much, it was something new and by now I was used to being uprooted. It was a small flat we had to share with a recently widowed old woman, at a modest rent. Actually, to call it a ‘flat’ might be considered an exaggeration, since it consisted of just one large long room, twelve feet by thirty. It was in a compound of mostly similar chalets, six in total, with a communal garden at the rear and a two-storey building of six flats beside it. The compound was surrounded by a large wall with an opening, without gates, which led out onto a dusty street.
The heat in Tientsin that summer was intense, even at night. Often, my mother would have to sit and tell me stories in an attempt to divert my mind from the heat and encourage sleep at night. This was more of an effort since she had to read by candlelight. It was not that there was no electricity, just that the old woman, with whom we shared the room, Lidia Apolonovna, in her late 60s, was a miserable and miserly old woman, I thought. As she was paying the bills and only charged my mother half for the rent, she forbade the use of the electric lights in the house. But my mother never complained and told me not to either, because the old woman was still mourning the recent loss of her husband. My sister Ludmilla and I understood, but that did not stop us disliking her in the beginning.
It was not just on electricity the old woman wanted to make savings, my mother even had to cook outside by burning wood on a small brick stove erected by herself, instead of using the perfectly good gas cooker indoors. Again, because the bills had to be paid and money wasn’t there, mother tried to save as much as she could.
There were talks about a possible war in Europe and rumours that it would have a drastic effect on the Far East making life even worse than it was. The situation was tense, reports of Japanese atrocities were reaching Tientsin and mother, who already had enough burdens did not need extra worries.
I found our primitive lifestyle rather exciting and treated the brick stove as a cowboy’s camp fire. The compound itself was not too bad. Our home was in an L-shaped block with a yard at the side, surrounded by the same wall. The chalets had two outside toilets, shared by six outlets. The three of us and the woman did not have much room in that place, but then again, there was another trio, all adults, next door and there were others who were even more squashed in some of the flats elsewhere.
During that time, I got to know a six-year-old boy, Alek, who lived in a downstairs flat. He had a great collection of lead soldiers, even some tanks and artillery. We grew to be firm friends, often playing together in the dirt of the compound. Alek enjoyed showing off his collection of soldiers. Unfortunately, Alek’s mother, Clavdia Georgievna, would usually lock him in the flat when she went to work, leaving him with less time than he would have liked to play. So eventually, he began sneaking out through a first-floor window.
In the end, his mother found out when she came home one day to find him in muddy trousers. She was so annoyed that she told my mother of our antics. Naturally, she too was far from pleased. But it was a good thing in the end, because Alek’s mother was so worried about the danger of his daily climb out of the first-floor window, that she relented, and gave my mother a key. I thought she was pretty nice and secretly, she rather liked me too.
However, mother couldn’t leave me on my own; the old woman did not want to be responsible for looking after Alek and me.
Ludmilla had finished school and found a job in the British Consulate as a junior clerk, so my mother had to take me to work with her. Terrible scenes ensued which ended up in screams and fights because I wanted to stay and play with Alek. Eventually the old woman agreed, reluctantly, to look after us. It was a great relief for mother that the matter was settled at last.
But despite my friend, life was by no means all tanks and toy soldiers for me.
There were frequent bombing raids not far from Tientsin by the Japanese, who by-passed the town in their advance into central China, which made life somewhat unpredictable, to say the least.
One day I was down fishing by the canal, which ran just three hundred yards from where we lived, when my mother appeared, calling me to help her get some food for dinner. We went to a local charity run by English and American missionaries, where hot food was distributed for Europeans who really needed help. A canister of assorted vegetables, soup, plus a few meat cutlets were provided.
As we walked home, we came across a Chinese man in a stall selling a variety of sweets. My mother bought me a toffee apple, but I was angry that I had not been able to carry on playing by the canal and refused to eat it. Angry and petulant, I threw the toffee apple into the canal as we crossed a bridge. Just then, as my mother was scolding me for my wastefulness, Japanese planes appeared with a low, dull droning noise, moving towards a settlement of Chinese troops in the south-west of Tientsin.
The Japanese Army by-passed the city as it was internationally divided into concessions.
They came six planes at a time, very low. My mother grabbed me and we began to run. While I thought this was fun, my mother was frantic with worry, pushing me on, looking for cover away from the bridge. Sheltering under dense undergrowth, she thought we were fairly safe, since the raid was concentrated well beyond the town. We stood and watched in silence as the planes passed over one by one. However, a couple of planes passed low over the bridge and mother panicked and the two of us started to run again, but in her haste, she tripped and fell. The pail of food spewed out its contents, most of it rolling into a ditch at the side of the road. My mother began to clutch at it, but as the planes came yet again, we ran once more and the food was lost.
When we eventually got back to the house some time later, my mother burst into tears out of frustration over the lost food. It made me feel bad to think about throwing away the toffee apple, and even worse throwing it over the bridge without even a bite. I cuddled her and cried with her and she held me tight for a few moments. It was especially upsetting since the pots we had been carrying were large ones with plenty of supplies. It was, in fact, three pots, one on top of the other, with a handle at the top covering all three. The top pot had contained mixed vegetables, the middle one rice and cutlets, and the bottom soup. We had walked a mile-and-a-half each way to get it.
Not only that, but the next day when we went back for more, we did not have the pots, as they had broken when mother fell. We could not collect enough food because the missionaries did not have any to spare. The following day we had to use a chamber-pot from the widow’s house. It had never been used, but nevertheless people looked at it in amazement. At first it was embarrassing, but mother didn’t care, as long as she could feed her family.
One day Ludmilla came home with her boyfriend Arnold, an NCO in the British Army. Ludmilla had met him at work at the Consulate and she had been going out with him for nearly three months. He was known to our family and the old lady. While I was sitting inside looking at the comics Arnold had brought for me, the adults sat outside talking. Arnold always brought sweets or chocolates, sometimes comics, on some occasions even a toy. Ludmilla and Arnold sometimes took me to the cinema, the Grand Theatre in Victoria Road, or the Empire, and sometimes to the Star Cinema in Chikanteroz, to see the latest cowboy films, Charlie Chaplin, Mickey Mouse or Popeye and, of course, Laurel and Hardy ‘the thin and the fat’, as they were known in China, who were very popular. I liked Arnold, because his uniform somehow brought vague memories of my father and also because of the comics, sweets and even more exciting, the cinema.
This time, something was different. My mother was nervous. As young as I was I sensed something was going on, everybody was subdued and silent.
My mother took my hands, she had something important to tell me.
“Darling, Luda has some good news for us!”
Her eyes were shining with tears, she wiped them off. “Silly me! Luda is getting married, she and Arnold are going to live in England, isn’t it wonderful, dear?” She could not hold back her tears, Ludmilla comforted our mother.
“Mum, don’t worry, when we are settled, we will try to get all of you out, it is probably our only chance!” and she started to sob.
I could not understand any of it, why were they crying, if it was supposed to be so wonderful! Arnold embraced both women and promised that when they got to England he would start straight away to get all of us there, Jane, my mother and me. He would try his hardest. The British Consulate said it was impossible at that time, it was difficult for him even to get permission to get married and obtain a visa for Ludmilla. It would be much easier once they were in England, when they could directly approach the Foreign Office in order to get visas for all of us. He knew it would be difficult for my mother in the meantime, but there was nothing he could do now.
My mother was heart-broken but she knew she had to let Ludmilla go, she wanted her to be happy. There was nothing left in China any more and the situation was getting worse.
Switching from Russian to English was confusing for me, but seeing both of them crying my eyes filled with tears, my bottom lip started to twitch, then after a convulsive catching of breath I started to sob. Ludmilla picked me up and kissed me on the cheeks promising me that as long as she would live, she would not rest until we were all together again. I did not want her to go, I sobbed and pointed at Arnold that he should go first and we could all go after. She put me down and assured me that she would think about it.
Ludmilla kissed Arnold and said she would see him later as she wanted to talk to our mother. Arnold looked straight into Ludmilla’s eyes, took her hands and asked her to be strong and not to change her mind. It was the only way out for her family. He told her he loved her and could not leave China without her, he was crazy about her. She cried as she promised she would not change her mind. She wanted to sort things out with our mother and she would see him the next day.
Arnold said goodbye to everybody, and smiling nervously made his way back to the barracks.
The next day he came in briefly to tell us he wanted to take us all to a restaurant to celebrate their engagement. He brought with him an engagement ring he had carried around for the past two days, waiting for the right moment to give it to Ludmilla. She put it on her finger and I jumped up and down. She showed me the ring and mother looked at it. She commented how beautiful the ring was and Ludmilla should take good care of it. Arnold would pick us up at seven. Before leaving, he turned to my mother and asked her whether she would mind if one of his colleagues at work, Walter Fuller, joined them for dinner. According to Arnold, he was a pleasant man and a gentleman. Arnold had told him all about us and he was very interested to meet us. My mother agreed. “The more company the better.” She had not been in good company for a long time. It had been ages since my mother had been out anywhere, she had forgotten the last time she had been to a restaurant. She thought it was with my father, it seemed an eternity ago. She looked at her dress and realised she would have to find something suitable to wear.
She sat down and memories flooded her mind. She was moved to tears, closing her eyes and remembered that in Russia a long time ago, when times were different, her life was without worries or trouble, she would go dancing in St. Petersburg, at parties in high society, Victor her husband, would sweep her off her feet. The beautiful dresses, the atmosphere, the music; a torrent of anguished recollections eclipsed her and she was completely held by the spell of her memories. She was brought back to reality by me pulling on her dress, I was hungry. My mother sighed. Saddened by that moment of weakness for the past, she scolded herself, remembering brought nothing but pain. After a meagre lunch, Ludmilla and mother looked through their clothes. They did not have many, so there was not much to choose from.
Much to their surprise, Lidia Apolonovna helped them to choose, then brought out a small wooden box and opened it, revealing some jewellery.
Lidia asked my mother to choose something to wear with her dress. She took out some earrings and said they were her favourite, her husband had bought them for her on their anniversary. Every time she remembered her husband she prayed that one day God would reunite them again, and she always crossed herself three times as she gazed at the icon in the corner of the room.
The old lady insisted they should each wear a piece of jewellery as she knew she would never wear them herself, she was much too old and felt she did not have much time left. She knew her heart was tired, her blood pressure was high and she suffered from rheumatism.
Lidia took a gold bracelet out of the box and gave it to Ludmilla, who looked at my mother who nodded in approval.
While all this had been going on, I had been sitting on the floor, looking at them with curiosity. I then asked my mother to put the pearls on. She went to the mirror and put the string of pearls around her neck. When she asked me if I liked them, I told her she looked beautiful and that she was the best mum in the world. I then cuddled her.
The smile on the old woman’s face expressed her pleasure to have been of some help. Lidia told my mother to enjoy herself that night, she had been watching my mother and thought she deserved a better life. The old woman waved her hands and hoped that one day…“God may notice us”, and she crossed herself again.
It was a real surprise to my mother to see the other side of Lidia. We had been living together for some time now, and all we had seen was an old grumbling lady who had kept herself to herself.
Yes, it was a surprise to discover she had a kind heart after all. Mother had always understood Lidia more than Ludmilla and I did, but she was still pleasantly surprised that the old lady had showed herself in her true form. She had a Russian soul, my mother thought, a real Russian soul.
The scorching heat of the day had given way to a gentle, cool breeze coming from the sea. It was going to be a pleasant evening. Just after seven, Arnold arrived. He apologised to mother for being late. He explained he had been held up on the road, as there were checkpoints everywhere, from one concession to another, even on the bridge. He told my mother all about it, there was something going on. The Japanese were causing a lot of anxiety to Europeans.
Ludmilla came out of the room, turned round a few times and Arnold commented how stunning she looked. My sister Ludmilla was an attractive girl, with long auburn hair and our mother’s green eyes. She had a slender figure and was slightly taller than our mother. A good-natured, passive person and well mannered. He then hurried us as we were already late. Major Walter was probably already in the restaurant waiting for us.
We drove towards the city, and were stopped by British soldiers manning the barricade. Arnold showed them his documents, and after a few words with the officer, the soldiers waved him on.
We arrived at the Café de Paris, a restaurant chosen by the Major. We followed the head waiter to the table where Major Fuller was seated. He got up as we approached the table. Arnold apologised for being late and explained why and then introduced us to the Major.
He took my mother’s hand and kissed it. My mother would always remember how he had looked at her and told her she was even more charming than he had imagined her to be.
She later told me that her first impression of the Major was that he was in his late 40s or early 50s, six foot tall and well-built, well groomed with light brown hair and a well trimmed moustache. He seemed to be a rational man, had the face of someone who was very confident, well educated and in some ways handsome.
After they exchanged pleasantries I was also introduced to him as Ludmilla’s little brother, and we shook hands.
The Major moved my mother’s chair so she could sit down and the waiter came to our table and asked if they wanted some aperitifs before they started ordering. She replied with a croak in her voice, covered her lips with the palm of her hand and coughed a few times. For a moment she had felt overcome, not only by her surroundings but also by the Major’s company. She felt she had to excuse herself for feeling so nervous but the Major only smiled and the incident was forgotten.
Ludmilla and Arnold ordered some cocktails. I sat very quietly, it was all so new to me. There were a lot of people around, music was being played by a small jazz band, with a few men on a small stage, and I had never seen live musicians before. It seemed so strange and so grand. My mother had dressed me in a suit, shirt and tie that she had found in a charity shop for children. It was almost new and I looked like a little gentleman, although it was so uncomfortable for me, as I was used to running around in a vest or a short-sleeved shirt. I only wore my suit when we went to the Russian Orthodox church on Sundays, when mother had time. The church itself depended on donations and could not help people like us.
After the aperitif, a lovely meal was served and they toasted Arnold and Ludmilla’s engagement. The waiter brought ice cream and torte, my eyes were as wide as saucers and shiny. I could not remember the last time I had had such a delicious treat. But I was sorry later as the rich food gave me a tummy ache for quite a few days after, but it was worth it at the time.
After a good meal and a few glasses of wine, mother felt a little giddy, the wine had gone to her head and she apologised to Walter who ordered some black coffee and more ice cream for me.
But my mother stopped me before I could answer. She thought I would be sick as I was not used to such rich food. I was disappointed. I bit my lip but did not insist, not in the front of the Major who I had just met. Arnold and Ludmilla declined.
After the meal, Walter and my mother talked about their lives but without giving much away. Mother only briefly told him about herself, without mentioning our hardships. But Walter already knew from Arnold what kind of life she had endured and was still enduring. We spent more than three hours in the restaurant. It was late for me, I tried to keep up with the adults, but could not keep my eyes open and was falling asleep. It was too much excitement for one day for a young boy. Mother, who by this time felt better, said it was time to go home. Arnold called the waiter, but Walter insisted on paying. Arnold protested but Walter persisted and playfully reminded Arnold that he outranked him, then in perfect French asked for l’addition. Walter paid and we left the restaurant.
On the way back home, the British soldiers stopped us again, but the officer at the barricade recognised the Major and let the car through. Outside the flats, Arnold said goodbye to mother and me, I was only half awake and he walked slowly away from the car with Ludmilla. He said he could not tell her before as he did not want to spoil the evening, but he had his orders that morning. They would be leaving for England in three weeks’ time. She would have to tell mother that night. They would have to register their marriage at the Consulate within the next week.
Ludmilla would not be able to marry in church, there was no time. Ludmilla was heartbroken, she could not bring herself to tell mother, as she knew it would hurt her. It was so sudden, especially after that evening. Arnold insisted she had to tell her after he left with Walter.