CANTON IN WAR TIME

Evening Star, Issue 22893, 26 February 1938, Page 9

CANTON IN WAR TIME

A NEW ZEALANDER'S VISIT [Written by Geoffrey L. Eastgatb, for the ‘ Evening Star.’] From the security of a home, the idea of a trip to Canton at the present time would scarcely seem one of the most attractive, but the account of such a trip I recently undertook will show that the proof of a pudding is always in the eating. Five o'clock was approaching on a recent Wednesday afternoon, and 1 was looking forward to leaving my office in • Hongkong before another hour was up, when one of our brokers came into the office in a state of obvious excitement, accompanied by his brother, who is our chief Canton agent. The latter had, I knew, recently been in a bit of trouble with the local authorities there, owing to his trying to use a 10-dollar note issued by a bank of one of the three north-eastern provinces, now under the control of Japan. He had obtained it from an unknown party in the ordinary course of business, and handed it on to his brother to get rid of. The brother very carelessly tried to buy some sausage meat just as a detective was passing the shop, and was promptly hauled off to the “ jug.” Our agent went along to the police station to try to bail him out, and was promptly included in the party. After four days we had managed to have him released on guarantee, with a respect for the rigours of imprisonment, and such an uncertainty as to his ultimate fate that he could neither attend to business, sleep, nor digest such _ food as he forced down an unenthusiastic throat. 1 was not surprised to learn, after they had interviewed my manager, that the agent, whom I will call Kong, had received a warning to attend the Municipal Court. What I was not prepared for was that this had put him 1 into such a hopeless state of nerves that he had been able to persuade the manager to allow me to accompany him to Canton to prove what a fine fellow he really was. There followed a hectic hour or so while I rang up the Colonial Office, who told me that I could get to Canton without a “ chop ” on my passport, and anyway the office was now closed: then I drew money for expenses, collected information about hotels, and rushed off home to dinner and a spot of packing. . /T Up with the lark next morning (I can’t understand larks rising at the ungodly hour of 6 a.m.) and I crossed an unusually quiet harbour, looking very peaceful in the early morning mist. Complete with family (travelling second class with a collection of shapeless packages) Kong arrived on board the Fatshan a little before she pulled out at 8 a.m., as the sun was breaking through with promise of another glorious, cloudless day. [The next two hours I spent listening to a gloomv recital of Kong’s troubles; once wouldn t have been bad, but as soon as he gave signs of finishing he always caught up on himself, and in typical Chinese fashion, round he’d go again, saying the same things in his badly-broken English. At last I managed to get rid of him, and settled down to write some letters home for that night’s mail. BEYOND BRITISH WATERS. After we left British waters everyone kept half an eye on the horizon in case some Japanese ■ destroyers ■should be lurking in the vicinity, but the only craft visible were some junks warily hugging the adjacent coastline. About midday, we entered the Pearl River . At the mouth of the river some low hills come fairly close on either bank, and with a couple of rocky islets, form the site of a lighthouse and the' Bocca Tigris forts. To the uninitiated observer, these bore no signs of the bombardments ■to which, the cables say, they have been subjected. They are just slabs of bluish concrete with holes in them, and a Chinese National flag fluttering on top of a rickety pole. There is a tricky bit of navigation for a short distance past here, where tiderips swirl round the shallows; but these river boats have been running since the 1860’s (though ours was a new one), so nobody worries about that. There are some queer bits of land hereabouts; a proniinent one is Tiger Island, lying in midstream, looking like a heap of Christmas puddings sitting on top of a ham. Like most of the country in these parts, these hills and flats are reminiscent of New Zealand sheep country; the climate, of course, militates against their being used for this purpose. The countryside now spread out far and wide in all directions, one continuous vista of paddy fields, lying dry and fallow after the autumn harvest, split up by clumps of trees and villages; and tin occasional rise of 50ft or so, -well dotted with the concreted graves of the wealthy dead. In the distance the tops of hills loomed softly through the mist, with Toishan prominent to the«east. The Pearl River winds its way with many side channels through this fertile delta, and up one of these we now make our way, cautiously nosing our way through the gap in a “boom” of sunken junks; behind us were three moored coastal boats, small enough to navigate up to Canton normally, or to the “ port ” the authorities are trying to • make at Whampoa, but which now have to have their cargo towned up and down the last 15 miles in groups of lighters, protected against bombers by British, French, or Portuguese colours. It was very pleasant steaming gently along through the verdant fields, with the leadsman calling out the depth in the tricky parts, and at last we returned to the main stream, and full steam ahead once more, having passed round the larger boom that completely blocks the main channel about an hour below Canton.

Soon buildings began to appear along either bank, tl;e godowns of the shipping companies came along; then, as we passed between Fong Cheun and Fati to port, and Honan to starboard, we caught a glimpse of the trees of Shameen ahead, with British and American gunboats moored in line. Then as we rounded a bend the astonishing waterfront of Canton met the eye.

We soon tied up at the wharf, where I found to my dismay that passports were wanted after all. However, a card, a smile, a few questions, and answers, and a promise to bring my passport the next time got me ashore through the Customs without any trouble, and I stepped on to the Bund, opposite a theatre with sandbags stacked neatly up to its first story. All about were four and five-story buildings, much as in any other city, some decorated with sand-bags, others contenting themselves with the myriad signboards and inscribed flags with which any Chinese building is liberally plastered. High above these rose the pile of the Sun Company’s department store, while further on a number of big modern buildings thrust themselves skyward, most impressive being the blue-grey, 18-story, concrete wedge of the new Oi Kwan Hotel. Beyond that again a large

traffic bridge leads across the river to the jumble of godowns, houses, and whatnots of Honan. This is one of the most peculiar-looking bridges I have seen: the middle span is of the suspension style, and from the top of the pillars at either end of this span run steel cables which are attached to the centres of the cantilever arches which form the spans on either side and lead to the approaches. Below all this, along the edges of the river swarms a thicklymassed, heterogeneous collection of sampans and junks of all sizes, sorts, and conditions. The contrast with the growing modernity of the city is very striking, especially when one thinks of the thousands of ipeople who live and die on board these tiny craft, knowing no other home and no other source of income, I did not have time to consider all these things just then, however, as I was much too busy warding off the hordes of coolies who wanted to carry my bag or take me by car or rickshaw anywhere I wished. After keeping the necessary stern expression for half an hour (a considerable feat), I spied Kong looking for me. He had seen his family safely to some house before bothering about me, thinking, no doubt, that the Customs would hold me up. M e got away at last, and made for the Victoria Hotel in Shameen to deposit my goods and chattels. AT SHAMEEN. Shameen is a remarkable place. It is a small island in the river, and threequarters of it consists of the British Concession, the balance of the French Concession. It is joined to the mainland by two bridges, the British and the French, each of. which was well sandbagged and guarded by Indian and French police respectively. The whole island is administered by a joint municipal council, and is the headquarters of the foreign firms, and at the present time of many of their employees, though normally most of the Germans and some others live in the Eastern garden suburb of Canton, Tungshan. The place is prettily and neatly laid out in orderly blocks, with many trees and lawns, but the roads have no traffic on them owing to the two bridges being up steps. No vehicles can get across but bicycles, and if they did they would find things very difficult, because at each intersection the roadway is railed off with iron railings, and the “ roadways ” are used for grass and garden plots and playing fields. The genius who thought of this deserves a town-planning award, and the result is a very pleasant park-like calm, through which the noises of the city percolate faintly, as from another little world. After seeing some good who could arrange for us to get an interview with the minimum of delay, we set off for the Canton municipal office armed with a letter addressed to the mayor, extolling the virtues and integrity of friend Kong. The idea was that the mayor should send it on to the court and thus alleviate the anticipated sentence. As a tpiece of legal etiquette I thought this plan doubtful, but it might he effective, so it was worth a try. IVe travelled by taxi along good tar-sealed roads, many of them only driven through the maze of buildings, that was old Canton, within the last few years; and we found that the building along them had been done spasmodically, and was indeed, still being done; so that there were many queer contrasts of ancient, modern, and transformation. After a couple of miles of this, we passed the- Run Yat Sen Memorial Garden, and then oame to the fine municipal offices, a solid pile of buildings standing in their own grounds, and lavishly though restrainedly decorated in an adapted Chinese style. M T o ascended the wide flight of entrance steps, and very soon Kong was pouring out his troubles to an attentive underling, who suggested that we send him a Chinese translation of the letter, which he would have sent on as requested. So hack we went to Kong’s office, feeling satisfied with our afternoon’s work. AIR RAID ALARM. After a vain attempt to find the residence of a friend in Shameen, I returned to the Victoria Hotel, with its wavy floors and leisurely service, and turned in early. The next morning I was at Kong’s office by 8.30, hoping to finish off our business in plenty of time to catch the boat back at 11 a.m. However, within 10 minutes an air raid alarm had sounded, and I was soon resigned to the 5 p.m. train; I felt this train would be quite safe in spite of one having been bombed two days before, as raids are invariably carried out in the morning. It seems to be the idea that the Japanese are too heavy to fly well after tiffin! In the early days of the undeclared war, an air-raid alarm was the signal for a complete clearing of the streets, hut after dailv experience of them, with the centre of the city never being approached, the general populace had become “ inured to war’s alarms,” and hawkers and coolies wandered about among the rickshaws as usual. It was noticeable, though, that people higher up the social scale discreetly kept indoors. During an alarm every policeman on point duty has a red flag on his stand, and this is changed to a green one as soon as the alarm is over, so there need be no doubt as to the safety of venturing out. The alarm lasted for two hours, so our friend in the municipal office did not arrive until the afternoon, and we had to put in our time seeing clients and taking some sustenance. After tiffin we set off to see him again, with the translation, and, as 1 expected, found that the whole thing could not be rushed through that day, as Kong had hoped, but that it had to “ go through the usual channels.” However, it was flatteringly suggested that it might make a good impression if I attended the court with the copy, of the letter; so away we went, on another motor ride through those long streets and roads. The roads never go straight very far, and after some experience of the way the winds whistle up and down the streets of Christchurch 1 had decided that the streets of Canton had been planned on sound townplanning lines. I have since discovered that it was an accident, induced by the superstition that mere mortals should never even attempt such a perfect thing as a quite straight road, which would be the prerogative of superior beings. We soon arrived at a military-looking establishment, which Kong assured me was the court, so we went in through an undistinguished sort of gateway, with coolie women drifting aimlessly about; inside this was an imposing kind of portal, with four soldiers on guard. With the outward air of assurance _ befitting a foreigner among mere natives we started to go through this, but were promptly challenged by the guard, who seemed particularly upset by a nonChinese face trying to force an entry. They directed us to a small, bare office outside the gate, where Kong again started explaining his innocence to a succession of uninterested minor officials. A CHINESE COURT. A little more delay, some writing in Chinese on hits of scrap paper, and we wore led through the back door of the office to a very dusty waiting room containing a number of minor arrestees, where we were told to wait, which we

did standing up, outside. I was amused to notice that we were now inside the gate which the guard had not allowed us to pass, and that they did not seem at all surprised. Evidently the gate was only for the important people, who every now and then did pass through, to the accompaniment of a sudden coming-to-attention and saluting on the part of the guard, who immediately lapsed into attitudes of comfort on the passing of the notables. We were then kept waiting for some time, a kind of refined torture for Kong, whose mental comfort and digestion rapidly and audibly deteriorated as he walked up and down with a most unhappy expression on his normally cheerful face. At last his name was called, and on we went again, this time past the open “ cells ” containing those who were apparently awaiting trial with nobody to bail them out, and we vere ushered into a little bare room rather reminiscent of a school “ playshed.” This room was divided across the middle by a wooden railing which would have made one feel quite comfortable had its top been a little wider and a brass rail been fitted for the feet. On our side of the rail was a form along either side wall and a double school-type desk in the middle. On the window: side was a dais with a table desk, at which sat a clerk fixedly staring at nothing, as if we were not there, while above him and between the two sash windows a picture of Chiang Kai-shek gazed benignly down on ns. For perhaps five minutes we waited here in awed silence, when along the path came a self-important-looking person wearing a black academic gown with a 4in trimming of plum-coloured silk. AVe stood quasi-reverently while he entered, seated himself at the desk, and, still in silence, conned over his file. He broke the silence by asking who 1 was and ordering me _ outside, where I stood in full view of him trying to combine an imposing and unconcerned demeanour with a facial expression calculated to influence him to a favourable view of poor Kong’s case. It was rather a strain, when 1 hadn’t recovered from the shock of realising that we had somehow so stirred up the Chinese judicial system that they were hearing this case “ while you wait.” Meantime 1 had opportunity to observe how clerks and others were walking up and down the cloister, stopping to look in on the proceedings without anybody bothering about them, while the magistrate, as 1 imagined he was, barked out questions. I imagine he was speaking in the official dialect. Mandarin, because his remarks were relayed by an official wearing a tram conductor’s cap, who in his turn relayed the answers back after Kong had answered in his only diclect —Cantonese.

Through a nearby open window I could see a similar scene going on, or, rather, the back of another hectoring

magistrate, whose gown, however, was edged in royal blue. At last I was called in and asked a few irrelevant questions. These went by the same route as the others as far as Kong, who put them into such English as his state of nerves left him, and then my answer went back by the same devious route to the impassive clerk, who was writing everything down in Chinese. There was a bit of a hold-up while my name was rendered in Chinese, but soon it was all done to their satisfaction, and we were all asked to sign what had been written down. I hoped it' was all right, and signed, though I couldn’t help thinking it was worse than buying a pig in a poke—after all you do at least know it is a pig. And then the crowning surprise we were told wc could go, and it gradually dawned on ns that the case had been dismissed. This time we walked through the big gateway _ past tha, guard with an unfeigned jaunty air, and out to our waiting taxi, whose driver seemed to think we had al» been incarcerated. A CHINESE-CHOW DINNER. Kong, of course, didn’t believe for about an. hour that it was all over; but at last he got the idea, and recovered enough to suggest that 1 nave a Ohinese-chow dinner with him at the high-class restaurant to which he took his bed; prospects. Naturally I had been hoping for this, and accepted at once. It turned out to be a very pleasant spot with little semi-outdoor alcoves, in one of which we had a delectable meal, beginning with sharkfin soup, which is very tasty, followed by a number of savoury dishes, each with its appropriate sauce, then a bowl of that excellent fried rice with shredded egg and shrimps, the whole helped down with Chinese samshoo, or rice-wine. Altogether an excellent repast. ■ As we had not left the court until nearly 5 I had not tried to catch the 4.50 train back to Hongkong, and had put my bag on board the steamer, which was due to sail at 6.30. next morning. After dinner I spent another halfhour wandering about_ .Shameen, where I was amused to notice that with typical nervousness (or preparedness) the French had scattered barbed-wire entanglements about their little bit of concession, ready to be pushed into place at a moment’s notice. Having shaken my dinner down, I returned to the ship, where I went to bed bv_the light of a candle, because as .the ship s engines were not running, there was no electricity. Almost under my window there were moored two junk-lighters full of petrol 'ins of wood oil known in New Zealand as tnng oil, which were being carried into the bowels of the ship by a gang of coolies under the shrill and

continuous direction of the boatmistresses. I did not expect much sleep, but either the_ possibility of air raids speeded up their work or I was very tired, for 1 did not hear them for long. I awakened to a sound as if all the°coolje women in Kwangtung Frovince were going past my cabin door and having a conference at the same time; it was merely the passengers coming aboard about 6.15 a.in. Very soon the sun began to rise red and smoky over the tops of the buildings of Honan, and I was hanging out of the window watching the early morning life of the river getting under way. STUCK IN THE MUD. A’cry soon we had slipped our moorings, and the Taishan was off down the river on its way back to Hongkong, i dressed leisurely, had an excellent breakfast, and went on to, the foredeck to watch the leadsman, who was calling out a steady loft. The big boom was in sight to port, and we were nearing the tricky entrance of th 6 side-channel. Soon the depth betrail to drop, and we reduced speed, feelincr o ur way. At Pift there was a sensation as if we had ■ leaned against a soft downy cushion, and we were stuck in the mud. AVo went into reverse, or rather, astern, and churned up the muddy bottom in brown foaming swirls, hut it didn’t seem to do any good, and after 10 minutes we just sat there and waited for the water to rise.

A smaller boat was then seen coming up astern. She passed us to port at a good speed, with no leadsman out, and everyone watched her go past with the passengers jeering at us, hoping she d get stuck, too. She went a little ahead of us, then rose and lurched to starboard, then on again, up again, and a lurch to port. She had by this time risen 2ft along her whole length, but just went on full speed ahead, with her propeller sending up great spurts of soft oozo and water as she crawled over the mud bank. Several times we thought she was finally stuck, but she slowly went through and over, and at last got into deeper water and was soon out of Sight. Then while we were impotently stuck we were chagrined to have to watch two other smaller boats go through easily in the track of the first. Onr captain,_ however, wasn’t going to strain his ship in these crab-like exploits, so we had a quiet hour sitting on deck with a clear sky and no wind. Soon after this there was enough water, and we set off again. From hero on the voyage was just a repetition in reverse of the trip np_ two days before, and I landed back in Hongkong at 3.30 on a Saturday afternoon, just too late to to anything more than make a brief report to my manager over the phone, and to read a bunch of everwelcome letters from New Zealand that had arrived during my absence.