Odyssey of a Liberal
Chapter 19 – My Indian Summer in
Both
politically and personally my half-year in
The
paucity of Western women in the war zone, no doubt, contributed to my popularity. The wives of European diplomats had stayed on in
Some missionaries had stayed on, but my American counterpart, Agnes Smedley, correspondent of the Manchester Guardian, and I were the only unattached British or American women around, and we were the best of friends.
I suppose it was because I was devoted to Arcadi and had not lost hope that one day, somehow or other, we should be reunited, that love as well as affection and friendship was proffered me in abundant measure. Since I felt myself not to be a widow, but a wife, no one risked anything by courting me, either because there was no one else to assuage their loneliness, or because shared dangers, sympathies, hopes and fears draw human beings together in an affectionate comradeship which verges on love for a moment in time.
In
view of the suffering all around me, it may sound callous to record that I had a wonderful
time. But everyone who has experienced the
heightened awareness of the joy of living war can bring, as also the opportunity it
affords of temporary escape from petty cares or the sorrows and perplexities of normal
life, will understand why I look back on my experience as a war correspondent in
All
my life I shall remember the last days of Hankow. The blue skies by day, the camaraderie of the tres gente compagnie of foreign correspondents, the
long talks at evening in the garden of the Navy “Y” where we foregathered to
dine and “tire the sun with talking.” The
free and friendly atmosphere when it was still possible to believe that good and evil can
easily be distinguished, and I still belonged to the company of my Western liberal
contemporaries. Partly because I had not as
yet fully digested my political experience as a subject of the “first
Most
of the “Hankow Last Ditchers,” as I named the small band of Western correspondents, military observers, and
foreign service officers who stayed on in
The
British generally favored
The Hankow Last Ditchers included some correspondents from Europe: Walter Bosshard the Swiss photographer for Black Star, Luigi Barzine whose son's book "The Italians"* was a best seller in 1964; and Lily Abels of the Neue Zuricher Zeitung, a well-known author, who a decade later interviewed me in Zurich while I was gathering material for my book on Germany, The High Cost of Vengeance.
The
United Press office in the Lutheran Mission, presided over by the amiable and hard-working
“Mac” Fisher was our club. He was
the best-tempered and most unruffled man I every knew, for he never had any privacy. Anyone in Hankow who wanted to know anything walked
in, and in the adjoining room there slept not only Fisher himself, George Hogg, an
Englishman working with the UP, and their staff Chinese correspondent, George Wang, but
also anyone else homeless at the moment. During
the
Mac
Fisher was a “Bamboo American” who had lived for years in
Maybe
the correspondents of the world press this second year of
Most
of them had spent many years in
·
Atheneum,
They had seen the war from the beginning and had been in danger many times, but they rarely spoke of their personal experiences. The sufferings and the constant danger to which the Chinese were exposed loomed too large for any of the foreign correspondents to feel that the moments in which they themselves had been close to death were anything to ‘crash into headlines about,’ unless one’s ego had obscured all sense of proportion.
The visiting special correspondents, who thought they
could go home and tell the world all about China after a few interviews with prominent
Chinese in Hankow, aroused their amiable scorn. Most
of them would probably have subscribed to the views of Far Eastern experts expressed by
Randall Gould, the editor of the
“Show
me a Far East Expert and I will show you a
In such an atmosphere as this, one soon lost any illusions one may have h ad that one could, after a few months in China, write a book which would really analyze, elucidate, and explain China to the world, or give an accurate picture of the future of the war or the future of China. One knew, at least how little one knew and how tentatively one must pronounce judgement.
Received at first with misgivings because I was a women, expected by the seasoned American correspondents to be a nuisance in war time, and handicapped by the VIP treatment I was given as the author of Japan’s Feet of Clay, I came to be fully accepted after I had slashed out in an interview published in the Chinese press, against the neglect of the wounded soldiers.
Even Jack Belden, the most woman-despising of all the newspapermen in China, after accompanying me part of the way on my first visit to the front, went so far as to admit that female correspondents might have their uses.
Getting to the front from Hankow was no simple matter. There were no direct roads and little transport except “Shank’s Mare.” It was so hot that one perspired even while sitting still, and the prospect of walking for many miles through unknown country in which it was doubtful whether one could find any food except what one carried, was discouraging. The Chinese Central Publicity Board, so obliging in other respects, never seemed able to arrange either transport or interpreters for foreign correspondents wanting to visit the front. Chinese officials, themselves averse to roughing it, thought that Westerners, accustomed to luxury, required comfortable transport and accommodations which could not be provided. And the government interpreters assigned to the foreign press had no desire to emulate such energetic and courageous Chinese newspapermen of the Central News Agency as Jimmy Wei and Edie Tseng whom I first met at the front and who are still my friends today.*