SUCH WAS TRE POSITION of affairs in the autumn of 1941. An old lady had invited herself to stay with us, and was not inclined to leave. The work of the Book Room was piled up like mountains. Our magazine, "The Trumpeter", was still being called for, even though the troops had left Shanghai, and we did not feel like giving it up. (Dear Mr. Armet used to say: "Giving up is of the devil"). The little magazine John had carried on, "Lift Up Your Eyes", fell to us to edit. "The Steward" was needed more than ever. The proof-reading alone was very heavy, not to speak of editing and preparing for the press. I think about twenty books and pamphlets were out of print, besides new books waiting to publish, as, for example, Sidney Collet's book, "The Scripture of Truth", which a St. John's student (whom we will call "T") and some other friends at the University had translated. We had the manuscript for an exposition of Jonah in both English and Chinese, though we had already published a scroll of pictures from the Book of Jonah. Two of Edward Dennett's books, on Nehemiah and Zechariah, were also translated, but not published.
My sister was working hard on the translation of the New Testament, and I was trying to help as much as possible. One of my own letters, dated December 5th, 1941, has just arrived in Toronto, over four years on the way. I will quote a few lines: "Four hundred and fifty Britishers left yesterday. The city seems to be thinning out of British and Americans; but it seems to have more Chinese than ever, and it is full of German Jewish Refugees. Poor things, they are having a hard time.”
Early Monday morning, December 8th, there was a rumor that the Japanese had attacked the city, and sunk the British and American gunboats at anchor in the river. By eight o'clock the rumor was a certainty. I will never forget that day. There was a gentle drizzle of rain, as though Heaven wept at what lay before this poor, doomed city of four and a half million souls.
I rode to work on my bicycle as usual, a ride of about five miles right through the heart of the city. I was not stopped nor molested, but I could see parties of Japanese soldiers moving in from various directions. I saw them take possession of the Telephone Exchanges, and other important buildings. Our main shop is just back of the British Consulate, and I watched the Japanese take possession of it. I wondered how long it would be before our turn came. I saw other parties of Japanese pasting up great placards all over the city: placards that had been prepared beforehand, and were all ready to go up the moment the fateful day arrived.
I went through all our stock to see if there might be anything to which objection could be taken, and burned one or two things in the washbasin. There was no business that day. I emptied the safe and went out and paid a large printing account for ten thousand of the little book, "Come Home", paid it with gold drafts I had been holding to buy Canadian paper, and I arranged for the printer to hold those books until after the war might be over. I left for home early, but was stopped at a barbed wire barricade that had arisen since the morning. I must show my passport, and that was at home. Through God's mercy I was able to telephone, and one of our Chinese workmen brought the passport to me.
Our total resources in the Book Room Bank Account in Chinese money were $240, I suppose not much over $10, Canadian money. I put this all into flour for the staff, so that they would at least have something to eat. It took the best part of two days hard work to get the money out of the bank. I warned the men they must get other jobs at once. Food prices quickly soared, but in one way or another, we and our men were cared for, and I do not think anyone went hungry. It was remarked: "Cornmeal's our staple diet, we boil and bake and fry it." But it was a good diet. Little by little most of our men got other work. We kept on our translator, and the man who managed our Avenue Road shop, and also our old carpenter because he could not get another job, and he had been with us so long. I think all the other workers left.
In our own house we had an amah, who had been with us many years, and a young girl who had lately come to us. Both were from Yeung Kong. About two weeks before the war broke out the girl decided she must return home immediately. It was not very convenient, but we sent her down to Mr. and Mrs. Collier, who were then in Hongkong. How thankful we were she was away when the blow fell. Our older amah soon found quite a good job with a Chinese Christian family. One night I awakened suddenly, remembering that this amah had given me over $240 to keep for her. The matter had completely gone out of my mind, and I had not a cent, and could think of no way of repaying her.
I put it into the Lord's hands, asking Him to work for us. Next day we had $243 worth of business, far more than since the war started, and just enough to pay the debt. I think she had given up hope of getting it, but did not like to ask for it, and was greatly surprised.
We returned our electric stove to The Shanghai Power Company, from whom we rented it. (This, I am sure, was a mistake, but we meant it for the best). We changed the electric bulbs all through the house to 2 or 3 watt, removing them entirely where we could. The Power Company kept sending out inspectors to find out why our account was so greatly reduced; but I would not advise my readers to try and work with a 2, or even a 3, watt bulb. Every expenditure possible was cut off.
About four days after the Japanese occupation, we all had to go and register. It was a bitter cold day, and we had to stand in a queue for hours waiting our turn; and from that day onward hardly a week went by that we were not called on for something or other that meant long waits, often hours at a time, in the bitter cold. Soon we all had to wear red arm bands, the British with a large "B" and a number; the Americans had an "A". All owners of motor cars were required to deliver these up at various specified centers. It was bad enough to lose one's car, but for these who had no gas, it was necessary to hire coolies to push the car to the required spot, where it was to be seized.
I have mentioned that all sales within six months made by British or Americans became null and void, and the Japanese seized such property. Placards were placed on houses and gates forbidding the removal of anything from it. They put one on the gate from our house, but missed the gate from our warehouse, so each day when I rode to work on my bicycle, I took with me a load of literature, and so kept up the stocks at our two shops. Stocks of certain materials had to be declared by Allied Nationals, and then were seized. Amongst these were various kinds of paper. We had the greater part of two bales of a kind of India paper that we were holding for our New Testament, but it was such a rare type that it was not listed. Many Chinese business firms also suffered at this time through the same methods.
The busses disappeared from the streets, and the street cars were hopelessly inadequate to take care of transportation. Whoever could do so bought a bicycle until there were none to be had except at most fabulous prices. Miss Dear and I each took three days a week at the main shop in town, and we had no Chinese helper.
Miss Dear had for some time been living with a friend, Miss M., about a mile nearer the city than our house at Brenan Road. Miss M. kindly took care of her support through these dark, difficult days. In rather a remarkable way a bicycle was provided for her. I had my own good B.S.A. heavy-duty bicycle that dear Mr. Featherstonhaugh had provided for me some years before. This was invaluable now, carrying parcels of books and tracts, delivering coal to our house, and indeed almost every sort of load was piled on that poor bicycle. It finally was sold for $85,000 to provide parcels of food for us when we were in camp.
Before Hope and Christopher went home in June, 1941, Christopher had traded two beautiful white pigeons given him by one of the soldier lads, for a very good hatching of little chicks. He also built a chicken house for us, built it up on stilts so that the chickens would not get drowned in the floods, (for our garden, and even our house, both were flooded in the heavy rains). He also wheeled numbers of barrows of earth from another part of the garden, and raised a plot of ground quite high above the rest. In this he planted us a garden, so that for the first time in Shanghai we might have the joy of our own fresh vegetables. The garden did quite well, and showed signs of good promise, when an unusually high flood came and wiped it out completely.
Conditions in the city grew steadily worse. Food was scarce; fuel almost impossible to get. The Japanese issued their own money, which they forced us to buy: $2.00 for $1.00 of theirs, and it was worth not a bit more in buying power than the old money. People grew more and more desperate, and with the Municipal Police Force paralyzed, crime grew fast. The Japanese did not care, provided it did not touch them, and fear protected them from much, as their retaliation for the least offense was terrible.
You will understand that under such conditions, stealing from the "enemies of Japan" became a very favorite and profitable enterprise. Knowing all this, and with a great desire to protect our chickens, I put a switch with a chain-pull on our bedroom light, and a string from the chain to the chicken-run door, so that when opened, it would turn on our light. All went well for a few nights, when suddenly, about two in the morning, on went the light; I dashed out of bed and downstairs to the chicken run, expecting to catch the thief red-handed. When I got there, in the pouring rain (with very little on) I found all peace and quietness; and as I cogitated on the matter, I realized that the string had shrunk with the wet, and so turned on the light!
A bit later the thieves did manage to get away with one chicken, when they were quite big; so we finally put them into our amah's bedroom (she was gone), nailed up the window well, put a regular log of wood across the door and secured it with an immense padlock which had been salvaged from a German submarine; and from then on our chickens were in peace.
They began to lay about three weeks after war broke out. Two had been drowned in the floods. Many more would have been drowned but for our amah. Those chickens seemed to have the hearts of ducks, for they had a passion for getting into the flood all around their house. Then our kind amah would take off her shoes, roll up her trousers (the women in China wear trousers), and boldly go to the rescue of the miserable little creature. Then she would bring it in, dry it at the back of the stove, and return it safe and sound to the chicken house. Two more had been stolen through the fence. The people would come with long bamboo poles, with little nets or hooks on the end, and putting them through holes in the fence, would get a chicken near enough to grab it. Another, as I mentioned, was stolen from the chicken house. This left us seven laying hens, and I do not think there was a day passed on which they did not present us with some eggs, very often a half dozen. We sold enough at a good price to pay for the keep of the hens, and we had eggs for ourselves all through those hard months.
A little later a friend gave us a setting of prize white leghorn eggs, and these gave us some of the finest white leghorns I have ever seen, and they laid splendidly. There was a rice and grain shop nearby who most kindly gave us their shop sweepings at unusually low rates, so it did not cost much to keep the hens. This was one of God's ways to meet our daily needs. My wife took entire care of the chickens, and managed all the business of the eggs.
Thieves stole most of our fence, which was made of split bamboo. They stole our overcoats and raincoats off the pegs in the front hall, as well as all our aluminum pots and pans except one pot full of porridge on the stove. They stole what appeared to be a solid brass pendulum from our clock, but threw it away when they found it was hollow. In fact, they stole nearly all we had of any value except our books. When we went to bed at night, we had to bring the drawer with our knives and forks (not silver), what pots and pans we had left, my wife's sewing machine, my typewriter and my bicycle, and store them under and round the bed. The bicycle, being most valuable, was generally locked to the bedpost with a heavy chain and padlock.
One cold morning, about five o'clock, I was going across the lawn in the pitch dark, to turn on the water (the tap was at the other house), when I fairly ran into the arms of a thief who had taken out a pane of glass from the window of our neighbor's house, and was busy helping himself to their boots and clothing. I don't know who was the more scared, the thief or myself. Sad to say he got away with a good pair of shoes.
One day our friend Dr. Huizenga, who was in charge of the Leper Hospital and the Refugee Tuberculosis Hospital, called up to say he had noticed that one of our neighbors had two tiny pigs, just such as he needed to eat up the waste from his hospitals; would I buy them for him? I warned him that he must send for them at once, or they would surely be stolen, as we did not feel like having two little pigs under our bed, in addition to what was there already. The Doctor readily agreed to this, and we got the pigs. His Chinese helper came on his bicycle and took one away (all he could carry), and promised to come back for the other. But he did not arrive, and night came on. We did not know what to do, but decided to put the remaining little pig in a small brick building, away from the house. It had become a general dump for all kinds of rubbish, and so we put "piggy" in here. He came to us dressed in a gentleman's necktie, foreign style, tied round his middle, and a rope tied to that. We tied him to a leg of an old table stored in the shed, put a padlock on the door and hoped for the best. Next morning I went out early to see how "piggy" had survived. The padlock was off, and lying on the ground by the door, the door was open, the rope and necktie were still there, but no sign of any little pig. We searched the garden with no result, so I telephoned Dr. Huizenga and told him the pig had been stolen. He took it well, as a Christian should, and we reckoned the incident closed. Later in the day I was passing the shed, and there was "piggy", large as life. He had slipped out of his necktie, crawled over to the back of the shed, behind the rubbish, and gone to sleep. When the thief arrived for him, he evidently supposed that some other thief had got in ahead, and so gave up the job. Although it is true we lived in "The Badlands", a part of Shanghai many were afraid to enter, still I do not like to think that it was our poor neighbors, with whom we were such friends, who stole from us.
Perhaps you should know how it was that Dr. Huizenga happened to see the little pigs. It was the previous Sunday evening, I think, quite late, when the telephone rang. A stranger was at the other end of the line, who told me he was proprietor of a certain night club, or cabaret. It was one of a very questionable character in a very questionable part of the city. He told me that two of my friends were there and were very anxious to see me. He would put them on their way in rickshaws, and would I come to a certain bridge in the center of the city immediately and meet them. It was pouring rain, but I could not refuse, and so in a few minutes I was on my way to the city on my faithful old bicycle, wondering very much what it all meant.
I left my bicycle at the Book Room, which was close to the bridge, but before I could reach our meeting place two rickshaws met me, and sure enough the two friends stepped out. We got rid of the clamoring coolies, and made our way to the shop. What did it all mean? Then it dawned on me, as I listened to Mr. X. talk. The strain and the hunger, for he had often been hungry, had been too much, and the poor overtaxed brain had given out. His wife, who was with him, was nearly desperate. The hours dragged wearily by, while I tried to soothe and comfort these dear people; for they were missionaries; earnest, devoted, self-denying missionaries. They were almost strangers in Shanghai, having come from Japan only a few months before war broke out. They were faithful and energetic tract distributors and came to us for supplies. In this way we knew them pretty well, and often they would have lunch with me in the back of the Book Room; indeed, it was not long before this, I had tried (while seeking cheap food) a meal of boiled birdseed. Mr. X. and I managed it, but his wife, who was ready for almost anything, felt this was too much. But apart from ourselves, they had hardly a friend in the city.
Through God's mercy it happened that I had a large sack nearly full of unshelled walnuts that I had bought from a peddler a few days before. My poor friend was almost starving, and at last I got him started cracking and eating these walnuts. This kept him busy till morning, and a little after five o'clock we started for Brenan Road. We walked till the first street car came, and went to its terminus, and took rickshaws the rest of the way; my poor friend stopping every now and then to crack another walnut, and so we got home. We were in despair, hut a good friend came to our relief. He saw the American consul, and arranged for Mr. X (who was an American) to go into an institution, the Consul undertaking to pay all expenses; provided a proper doctor's certificate could be procured. It was for this reason Dr. Huizenga called at our house. Mrs. X. stayed with us, and Mr. X. gradually improved, but we all realized that he was not in any condition to face the strain of China any longer, and our good friend pressed his case with the Consul, so that he might be sent home oft the first Repatriation Ship. Through the mercy of God, Mr. X. was well enough to be released, and at the last moment a passage was found for him. They spent the last night at our house. They were to meet a special street car for the boat next morning at six o'clock. I had told a man to arrange for a rickshaw coolie to sleep at our house that night with his rickshaw; but instead of this he had merely got a promise that the man would be on hand at five in the morning. We were up in good time, and it was a joy to see my friend his old happy self, rejoicing in the Lord. After some breakfast, and a much-needed haircut in the kitchen, we gave up hope of the rickshaw coolie, and walked to the street car, getting there just in time. I am thankful to say Mr. and Mrs. X. got home safely and have been very well, enjoying a very hard-earned furlough.