大象传媒

In commencing Part 2 of this story I must mention Trowbidge and Penrith as there are folk in both Wiltshire and Cumbria with interest and connections with the people involved.

Below is another extract from "Thine be the Glory" - "Memories of a Mum"

So it was early one morning that we took our seat in the cab of the truck arranged by Mr. Li, Andrew holding Heather and I carrying Monica. We travelled thus for two days - the first leg of a great journey before us. Everyone has heard of Bonnie Prince Charlie fleeing "Over the sea to Skye' but that was a journey accomplished without anxiety. Our journey over the sea from besieged, war-torn China, via India to Penrith in Cumbria, seemed likely to be a far different matter. It was a trip fraught with danger which called for copious amounts of patience coupled with a good sense of humour. In all we must have travelled ten thousand miles. Our long journey from Cnina's far north-west, back home to Cumberland, began on 10th October, 1944 - the double tenth, an important date to the Chinese for it was 10th October, 1911 that the revolution broke out in Hankow, leading to the Chinese Republic.

Wuwei (the old name for Lianchow, which has since reverted)was at the bottom of the 'pan-shape' of Kansu province, on the old silk road to Russia travelled by Marco Polo. Conveys of China's National Resources Commission trucks had just begun to travel this road carrying tungsten, so vital to Russia's steel industry, and bringing oil ugently needed by China. The trucks usually only took passeners who were prepared to sit on the load behind the driver, but owing to the kindness of Mr. Li (who was the Wuwei manager of the Commission) we were able to have seats in the cab, avoiding taking our two young China-born youngsters on an open uncovered truck in cold October weather. The weather was colder by far at this same time of the year than in England, but still we were not experiencing deluxe travel. The children had to be protected from the fresh air - and there was plenty of it as there was no glass in the 'window' of the cab. Chinese trucks were very old near-wrecks which usually broke down several times a day's journey of a hundred miles.

Andrew was later to give an account of our hazardous journey to a reporter from the 'Penrith' Observer, recalling these many events. Numerous Chinese friends had come to see us off as we departed Wuwei on the first lap of our strenuous trek home, and for a few hours all went well. As we climbed to a pass 9,000 feet up in the mountainous Kansu province, and we were often affected by the altitude, snow began to fall. Swirling flakes came floating into the cab as we huddled together to keep warm. The truck had no chains, the road no tarmac, and as it became muddy, the danger of skidding on the north side of the hill was added to the 'pleasures' of this journey. Once over the top, the south side of the mountain road was drier and the going was good, but we pitied the drivers of the heavily-laden trucks labouring up the hill and having to go down the muddy side in the half light. Our truck was laden with gasoline and in the cab were three adults and the two children. As thick darkness descended upon us, the road degeneratd and ruts and pot-holes became more frequent. Suddenly, the headlights went out, and it was fortunate that we were going slowly and the driver able to pull up quickly, otherwise, instead of writing this I fear that there may have been an obituary notice in the 'Penrith Observer'!

The Chinese are masters of patching up their vehicles, and before long the second man who had travelled on the back of the truck was standing on the running board while we huddled more closely as he bent over us and held the wire in position. Thus we plodded on to the end of the first days trip, with the lights going out several times - a perfect blackout. That night we arrived at Ping'an and found a place to stay the night, a small bare room with a rough table and bare boards for beds. Now we had to remove our bedding from the truck, but there were no lamps and we could not hold the small oil lantern too near the petrol drums. We struggled with knots in the inky darkness. Next there was the primus stove to be rigged up to warm the children's food. Our room had no fire and the window was covered with paper, with a mud floor. We spent a chilly night.

Next morning, a good Chinese friend provided some food, which helped us on our way to (Langzhou pronounced to rhyme with 'banjo'!), the capital of Kansu province, reached by the afternoon of our second day. Here our troubles were only just beginning. We registered for seats on a plane - one came from time to time - but it necessitated completing fifteen forms, five for each adult and five for the children, and the handing over of five phtographs, plus two for the police. After that we were told, all we had to do was wait...and we waited for eight weeks. Repeated calls to China's National Aviation Company brought disappointment after disapppointment'

At last on 4th December, we received word of a plane going to Chongqing (Chunking). Early the following morning it was bitterly cold, and we hired rickshaws to take us to the air office. Yet again we met with another disappointment. The plane had left Chongqing to reach us, but owing to ice had had to turn back. The next day, although very cold, thhey brought the plane to us. It may have been sent by the RAF, for it was an empty cargo plane with four British soldiers travelling on it. What with the lofy mountainous region we had to overcome, the old state of the plane, and the boards that we sat along the sides of the plane, at times the soldiers sitting opposite us had terror etched on their faces. They were convinced we would never make it to Chonqing. After nearly four hours in the plane, we landed on an island in the Yangtse River. Chonqing was China's war-time capital, a city of steps built on a steep hill, with tall stone steps everywhere. Walking was not pleasant following rain. Strangers in a strange city, we hired mountain chairs - hua kang - bamboo poles with a bamboo framework in between, and we were taken to the emergency headquarters of the Chine Inland Mission. On the level the chairs were comfortable, but when the bearer in front is climbing steps, the passenger is born at a precarious angle.

For the next stage of the journey, an RAF plane took us for about three hours journey to Kumming, the capital of Yunnan province in the south-west. After a short delay, we had to prepare outselves for the extremely dangerous journey 'over the hump'. Apart from combat flying, this was the most dangerous flight in the world. We were told that in rough weather a plane may drop as much as 1,500 feet in air pockets. On top of this, of course, we also had to now fly over the Japanese battle lines. The air force crews who did this trip were known as the 'humpty-dumpty boys' and some, we were told, were afraid to make the journey.

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