Gingle Becomes Tweedie – Ernest Gann’s Soldier of Fortune

Acknowledgement:
I was made aware of Gann’s account of his meeting with Gingle by the poster IDJ on the Gwulo website.

http://gwulo.com/node/2623

Note:
Gann always calls him ‘Gingles’ but the best sources have ‘Gingle’. I’ve kept Gann’s references as they are while using ‘Gingle’ in my own text.

In my last post I quoted Ernest Gann’s autobiography to show that he decided to use Gingle’s restaurant as a locale in his novel because he found it provided the right colour for a story of intrigue, romance and double-dealing. I also suggested that consciously or unconsciously he’d decided to get his revenge on Gingle for the reception he’d accorded him – it seems that the restaurateur suspected he was an agent of the American Government sent to spy on him, and threatened him with dire consequences if he didn’t leave Hong Kong fast. Gann had stayed around, but first arranging for a police bodyguard to protect him from any harm that Gingle might have tried to make come his way.

In Soldier of Fortune Gingle is called Tweedie and his restaurant is therefore Tweedie’s Place. Fiction enables Gann to rewrite the real-life plot – which a hostile reader might describe as ‘genuine Yankee hard man sees off thinks-he’s-tough aviator who runs blabbing to the Brit police and gets himself babied around until he slinks out of Hong Kong’! Seriously, Gann obviously was a courageous man, and an accomplished writer (although I think this is best seen in his autobiography rather than his novels, if Solider of Fortune is anything to go by). He was obviously sensible to take Gingle’s threats seriously, and few writers have been above using their fiction to take their revenge on insults dished out in real life. In the novel this revenge comes when Tweedie/Gingle meets his nemesis: the super-tough eponymous Soldier of Fortune Henry (‘Hank’) Lee.

Hank had deserted from the American Navy in the last months of the war and drifted into Hong Kong where he makes an excellent but risky living selling embargoed ‘strategic materials’ to the Reds. He’s so tough everyone’s scared of him and so clever the police can’t touch him. But he has a heart of gold underneath and he’s bringing up two children as a single father. Then a lady walks into his life.

Jane Hoyt is very different from Max Beerbohm’s Zuleika Dobson in most ways, but she’s like her in one big thing: without being conventionally very attractive, she effortlessly makes almost all men fall in love with her. Which is lucky, because without Hank and other admirers she’d have no chance of fulfilling the mission which brought her to Hong Kong – rescuing her husband Louis, a photographer held by the Reds after he slipped into China in search of career-making shots.

‘Tweedie’s Place’ lies almost hidden on a side street off Kowloon’s main thoroughfare, Nathan Road, and like its real-life counterpart enjoys a ore than local fame – Tweedie’s place catered for sailor men and flying men and so was known all over the world.

There are no fights here – anyone who raised a fist was banned and this was the ‘worst thing’ that could happen to a sailor or flyer in search of ‘easy company.’ Tweedie always points out it’s ‘a gentleman’s place’, and he keeps a ‘two-by-four’ (a piece of lumber of those dimensions) behind the bar to make sure it remains so.

Gingle was still alive when the novel was published, so, to provide a defence to a possible libel charge, Gann changes the restaurant owner’s striking appearance by squeezing upwards: the fat becomes an elongated neck, and he’s known to his intimates as ‘the Giraffe’ – a name given him when he was a cook in the barque ‘Penang’, which he ‘jumped’ in the 1920s, staying in Hong Kong ever since. (For the varying accounts of Gingle’s arrival in the 1930s after a career as a naval cook see http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/edward-gingle-at-war/).

Gann seems to have confused ideas about the fate of Hong Kong civilians during the war, but his account does seem to echo Gingle’s experience of the Ma Tau Wai in Kowloon:

The Japanese occupation of Hong Kong was a particularly difficult time for Tweedie, who, along with all held prisoner with all other white civilians was held prisoner in the compound on Nathan Road.
Ernest K. Gann, Soldier of Fortune, Companion Book Club, 1956 (first published 1954), 43.
Hereafter Soldier.

Gingle, of course, was first in Stanley and then had a couple of years ‘free’ before internment in Kowloon (http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/edward-gingle-at-war/)

I’m not sure how far the description of Tweedie’s place reflects its real life model. It’s got wicker chairs to make any fights that do break out less lethal – a photo on this sight shows this wasn’t the case at Gingle’s in 1949:

https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=gingle+source:life&sa=N&start=0&ndsp=20&biw=1366&bih=617&sei=5RiOUeCSHaPy0gX9voG4Bw&tbm=isch#imgrc=yDwsLahZB-dKrM%3A%3BnVkZoExYk8RaZM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fwww.gstatic.com%252Fhostedimg%252F4780b8ad86b86058_landing%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fimages.google

But, we’re told that Tweedie used chequered table cloths – because he thought they were homey and they cut down on the laundry bill because you could spool a lot without having to change it – and such a cloth can be seen in the photo (from the late 1940s) I put at the head of the last post (http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2013/05/16/edward-gingle-in-jerome-ganns-autobiography/). I suspect that the table in that photo is the original of Tweedie’s personal table, at which he holds court to invited guests only from mid-afternoon to late at night. (All these details, Soldier, 43)

We’re also told that there’s a smaller more intimate room with photos of ships and autographs of the famous and near famous who have frequented the restaurant. This sounds highly likely to be based on fact, but I’ve not yet been able to find any proof that such a room existed at Gingle’s.

The two tough bar staff that Gann encountered in real life have become three, and they serve as odd jobs men and intelligence gatherers for Tweedie. They’re always there, relics of his ‘lustier days’ and not liking his increasing preference for ‘respectability’. They’re called Gunner, Big Matt (who was an ex-marine guard at the US legation in Peking) and Icky (a man whose age cannot be pinned down more precisely than between 55-75 years). They collect rent from his three tenant farms – we know the real Gingle had one in the New Territories, presumably the Sunnybrook Farm on which he died.

In the old days merchant seamen and sailors from battleships were his only customers, now Tweedie going upmarket, welcoming airmen and their wives. (Soldier, 45-46) Unaccompanied women are not welcomed, though – Tweedie thinks all women are ‘whore’, forced by circumstances to go after men whether through marriage or direct prostitution. He understood this, and thought there was nothing wrong with it, but just didn’t want them seeking such ‘employment’ in his ‘Place’ (Soldier, page 46) So when he sees Jane Hoyt there on his own, he goes to expel her, his reluctance being tribute to her extraordinary attractiveness. Luckily, another admirer the chancer Marty Gates interveners, and Jane now has a companion who can give her useful knowledge of Hong Kong’s shadier circles. (Soldier 47-49).

Tweedie tells Jane her husband’s dead and when she meets Inspector Rodman (a tribute no doubt to one of the real life British police officers who kept Gann safe from Gingle’s attentions) he can’t understand why she can talk about the matter so calmly – Tweedie has good sources and, although he didn’t know everything, there was ‘a great deal he did know’. He hadn’t Rodman thinks, (Soldier, 75) made all that money running a restaurant. It’s worth noting that the Marine Police sent a wreath to the real Gingle’s funeral! (http://gwulo.com/node/2623) Either this was a joke, he’d mended his fences in later life, or Gann’s account of him is inaccurate.

Rodman, of course, ends up doing what he can, but all this had been leading up to the big meeting been the irresistibly feminine Jane and the ‘real man’ Hank. Rodman tells Jane about the man she’s heard might be able to help her – ‘Your Henry Lee is a brigand, a pirate, a smuggler and a traitor. He will do anything to make a dollar, and has’. When Jane asks the obvious question as to why he wasn’t in jail then, Rodman replies ‘I neglected to say that he is also extraordinarily clever’. (Soldier, 74.) What woman could resist such a modern-day Lord Byron? And Hank hardly makes even a token effort to avoid falling prey to Jane’s attractions, and is soon on board as Captain of the team being gathered to rescue Louis from the clutches of the Reds. The first thing he needs to do is to get the truth out of Tweedie – why is he so confident the missing man is in fact dead? Hank knows all about Tweedie’s activities, and for a deserter who smuggles forbidden items to the communists, takes a rather high-minded attitude to them:

Tweedie is the worst of the lot, with his racket. The Commies have a sure way of getting American dollars by simply putting the bite on Chinese families in the States. Pay up…. or goodbye to your relatives. Taxes they call it. But a couple of years ago the U. S. government wised up and made such pay-offs illegal. That’s when Tweedie moved in with his messenger service. They send the money to Tweedie and he supposedly gets the relatives in China off the hook. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t. If he finds out the relatives are already liquidated he keeps the money. Whatever happens, he takes his cut. He’s a crook and that restaurant is only a blind.
Soldier, 104-105

Gann had heard similar things about Gingle and his remittances service – ‘by the time (he) took his cut….very little of it ever reached the relatives’ (Hostage, 481) I should stress that no other account of the real life Gingle mentions such an operation. In any case, I very much doubt that the restaurant was anything other than a legitimate and profitable business; he’d been running a ‘place’ in Kowloon before the war, long before it was possible to make money from remittances sent home by Chinese immigrants in Hong Kong.

Hank decides that he’s going to rescue Louis so that he can take Jane from him man-to-man. By now we would expect no less of him. His first move is to go to Tweedie’s Place and find out from the owner why he told Jane that Louis was dead. Luckily Tweedie’s been scared of Hank ever since he beat up Big Matt – causing $HK3,000 damage to the restaurant in the process. Matt had been sent by his boss to look over Hank’s godowns with a view to extracting information that might give ‘leverage’ to Tweedie in future negotiations about joining Hank in business, but Hank saw this reconnaissance expedition as mere spying (Soldier, 137). Now, this reverses the situation in which Gann was suspected of spying for the US Government by Gingle and is forced to get police protection. Gann’s fictional surrogate is going to get ample revenge for the less than heroic figure cut by his creator.

What’s Tweedie up to while his reputation is being so foully besmirched by the moralistic smuggler? Well, there’s one of Hong Kong’s many typhoons raging outside, and while everyone’s stuck in doors, the aging Madame Dupree and Tweedie’s sidekick Icky find love and, most conveniently, an (albeit defrocked) Methodist minister is on the premises to marry them. (Soldier, 134). Tweedie discovers ‘new-found paternal emotions’ at his protégées improvised wedding. (Soldier, 136). But this softening does him no good. Trouble is on the way.

Hank erupts into Tweedie’s place – HE’S not kept waiting as Gann was – and as part of his generally uncompromising interview technique throws at the hapless restaurateur the leading question, ‘Are you still swiping money?’. This elicits a denial of any ‘swiping’ and a self-delivered tribute to the ‘humane’ nature of the remittances operation. To justify his ‘cut’ Tweedie points to the expenses involved in keeping up his network of informants, and Hank tells him that it’s indeed information he’s after. (Solider, 138-139).

When Tweedie proves rather reticent about Louis Hoyt, in best tough-guy fashion Hank lifts him two inches off the floor and shakes him until his eyes pop. (Soldier, 140). It’s what I would have done, and it has the desired result. Tweedie admits that he set up Hoyt with a junk owner, and that it was the owner who’d reported him dead. He doesn’t know if the report’s true or not, and Hank gives him two days to find out, while refusing to pay for this service – ‘use the dollars you got from Louis Hoyt’ (141). Tweedie, assaulted and humiliated as he’s been, is forced to admit to himself that ‘Hank Lee (is) one hell of a man’. He sets about his task, even enjoying the competition provided by a man of this quality and hoping that nay information he might acquire might also be used to ‘skewer’ him (142).

In fact, Hank finds out that Louis is alive and where he is from other sources, but Tweedie does give him the information that Jane’s probably in Macao and in trouble. The villainous Fernand Rocha has proved strangely impervious to her charms, and has in fact drugged and robbed her when she went over to the Portuguese colony in search of information. He’s been seen cashing her traveller’s cheques at the casino in Central Hotel owned by a powerful figure called Lobo (Pedro Lobo was in fact a real and important figure in Macao). In return for this information, Hank makes what for him is an effusive speech of gratitude and reward:

All right. Thanks. You’re off the hook, Tweedie.
Soldier, 213-214

Hank rescues Jane, administering a well-deserved beating to the villainous Fernand in the process, and packs her off to safety to wait for her husband to be delivered to her. His team consists of a loyal and resourceful Haka (usually Hakka) crewman and a British policeman, Inspector Rodman, who he rather implausibly kidnaps in order to get the help he needs manning the bofors gun with which he’s thoughtfully equipped his motorised junk. Rodman’s presence – he’s jolly sporting about being kidnapped and expected to take part in a life-and-death battle with the Chinese navy – enables Gann to assure his American readers that, although the British are forced to deal with the commies, they are not in fact Red themselves and CAN be relied on if it comes to a fight. Rescuing Louis, who’s naturally facing execution that very day, from a Canton (Guangzhou) prison is a piece of cake, and so is seeing off the pursuing gun-boat. Louis has always known that Jane, although a loving and faithful wife, would one day meet her real soul mate, graciously concedes to the better man, but not without surprising him first: he refuses to eat because he’s saving himself for a steak at Tweedie’s – ‘He may be a crook, but he serves the best food in Hong Kong’ he explains to the incredulous Soldier of Fortune (271).

There’s a final kick at Tweedie in the book’s closing review of the main characters; he sits with Gunner and Big Matt the long table staring at the ceiling and mourning the ‘loss’ of Icky. (286) or all his dreams of ‘skewering’ Hank, Tweedie ends as one of the novel’s losers.

Soldier of Fortune was extraordinarily successful and immediately (1955) made into a Twentieth Century Fox film starring Clark Gable and Susan Hayward( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0048640/). This adaptation didn’t leave out the character of Tweedie, who was played by Tom Tully. So, to the best of my knowledge, Edward Gingle is the first person from the Hong Kong war to have been portrayed (albeit indirectly) on the big screen!

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Edward Gingle in Ernest Gann’s Autobiography

Dad, Gingles et. al 001
Acknowledgement:
I was made aware of Gann’s account of his meeting with Gingle by the poster IDJ on the Gwulo website.

http://gwulo.com/node/2623

Note:
Gann always calls him ‘Gingles’ but the best sources have ‘Gingle’. I’ve kept Gann’s references as they are while using ‘Gingle’ in my own text.

In a previous post I brought together all I knew about restaurateur, Stanley Camp cook and friend of my father Francis Gingle (the large man at the head of the table in the photo above):

http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/edward-gingle-at-war/

In this post I’ll give an account of the representation of Gingle in Hostage of Fortune, the autobiography of American flyer and novelist Ernest K. Gann, who visited him in his Hong Kong restaurant in the early 1950s and decided that he would make his ‘colourful’ restaurant a major locale in his next novel, the best-selling Soldier Of Fortune.

Gann got such an unpleasant reception that I suspect he also felt impelled to revenge himself in the way he portrays the Gingle character, Tweedie – that portrayal will be the subject of my next post.

Gann heard about Gingle before he got to Hong Kong. He was headed there to research the novel when he met Commander Cornell, ‘just out of Hong Kong where he had served in {American} Naval Intelligence:

‘You must see a man called Gingles,’ Cornell insisted. Gingles is the key to the Hong Kong you’re looking for.’
Would you give me a letter of introduction?’
‘To Gingles?’ A wry smile crossed his face. ‘No. You’ll be better off with Gingles if you never heard of me.’
Gingles? The name itself was to send me off at once in his general direction.

A Hostage To Fortune, Ballantine, 1980 (originally 1978), 478. Hereafter Hostage.

The novel Gann was incubating concerned an American photographer who had entered China illegally in search of exciting pictures but found himself arrested and in need of rescue.

Once in Hong Kong, Gann asks his cicerone René Lim – daughter of a pioneer Chinese aviator and ‘the unofficial Empress of the Peninsula Hotel Lobby – about Gingle:

I’ll take you to Gingles’s place, but he probably won’t be there, since he’s been ill recently and he rarely comes to town. He has a nice house in the country….
That evening we went to Gingles’s Place, a checkered tablecloth restaurant and bar with a boisterous international clientele. René knew many of them, particularly the pilots, who acted cheerfully as her multiple liaison with people throughout the Far East and who seemed to have made Gingles’s Place a second home.

Hostage, 481

Gingle’s arthritis, his relationship with the pilots and his home (or at least farm) in the country are all confirmed by other sources (see http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/05/22/edward-gingle-at-war/).

Gann notes two bartenders, one doubling as a rather nonchalant maitre d’ – both men were middle-aged, tattooed about their powerful forearms, and of formidable appearance’ (Hostage, 481-2)

Gingle himself proves ‘elusive’ but after two weeks he sends word from his ‘country retreat’ that he will meet Gann at noon of the next day at his ‘Place’. But Gann must come alone:

I asked René why she had not been invited. She only said that Gingles was known for his eccentricities.
Hostage, 484

Gann arrives for his twelve o’clock appointment. He’s the only customer there – he eventually remembers the restaurant’s evenings only – and he has to wait:

I smoothed the red-checkered tablecloth at the small table for two I had taken, and in my little sketchbook made a small drawing of the salt and pepper shakers and
glass of toothpicks clustered with the sugar bowl.
Hostage, 485

Gann gets a chance to observe Gingle approaching without being seen himself:

For approaching me, head bent until the brim of his straw hat covered his face, wearing a rumpled white suit and leaning heavily on a Malacca cane, was the composite of all the devious and dangerous characters who populated Grade B melodramas – ‘Surely,’ I whispered to myself, ‘Sydney Greenstreet in the flesh’.
Hostage, 486

There is indeed some resemblance to Greenstreet:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sydney_Greenstreet

Gann continues:

I watched his slow progress along the passageway and saw that he must indeed have been ill, for there was considerable hesitancy in his step, and once when he raised his head slightly I saw he was wearing very dark glasses. For a moment I thought he might be going blind, yet he used the cane more as a physical support than as an aid to sight. He had obviously been a big man, but now the white suit hung loosely upon him as if he had lost considerable weight.
Hostage, 486

A little is added to the description later – ‘a rather large nose protruding from heavy jowls…big liver-spot mottled hands’.

When Gann asks for a coke – he wants to keep his head clear and enjoys building up a thirst to be quenched at sundown – Gingle acts in ‘B Movie Villain’ character:

‘For Christ’s sake, what kind of man is Rene sending round here? I thought she had better judgment. What do you drink at sundown?’
‘Rum…if I can get it.’
Gingles turned his head approximately one quarter inch in the direction of the bartender. ‘Bring him a rum.’
Hostage, 487

Gann asks if Gingle can help him find a junk, and when asked what for he raises suspicions by hesitating and comes up with an unconvincing story about wanting to paint things that can’t be seen properly from land – he doesn’t feel he can tell a man like Gingle that he’s ‘feeling my way toward a book’. Gingle’s tough-guy response is right in the character he’s by now established or been given:

The orbs of black glass remained fixed on me, the lips pressed tighter. ‘Bullshit,’ Gingles said flatly. ‘You work for the U. S. government.’
‘I do not. What gives you that idea?’
‘What gives any of the U. S. government agencies the idea they can send some guy like you over here to check up on Gingles? This is British territory and you people can’t do a goddamned thing about anything. Now you go back to Washington or wherever in the hell you came from and tell them that. Tell them they can goddamn well leave Gingles alone.’
Hostage, 488

Gann soon comes up with a theory as to what’s behind this rather frosty reception:

Now I remembered when Rudy Webber’s friend had told me Gingles was the most valuable contact Naval Intelligence had in Hong Kong, he had not told me why. Obviously someone had offended Gingles and I had run into the recoil.
Hostage 488

Gann is expelled from his ‘Place’, but when he tells René of his experience she has a different explanatio:

‘I know Gingles could have fixed things if he wanted to,’ she said unhappily. ‘I think his illness has made him a little senile.’
Hostage, 489

A few days later Gann receives a phone call:

Without so much as a please the voice demanded raspily for my name. I gave it.
‘This is Gingles.’
I caught my breath. Bless his gruffness, he was going to come through after all….

‘I thought I told you to get out of town….You’ve had three days. That’s enough. There’s a Pan American flight leaving for Manila at two o’clock this afternoon. You’d better be on it. There’s a ticket in the airport in your name. I say again if you like your good health be on the airplane.’
Hostage, 490

Gann starts to protest, but of course Gingle puts down the phone.

This suggests that either Gingle or Gann has been watching too many gangster films. But the author takes the threats seriously and gets the invaluable René to take him to a friend in the Water Police. Surprisingly, to me at least, Gann is provided with two body guards; the English officer is, in the finest traditions of our police service at the time, unarmed, but please don’t worry his Chinese sidekick (known only by his number One-Three-0-Three) has a gun for each of them. And Inspector Debbs takes the threat seriously too:

Of course we’ve known Gingles for years, although generally he keeps shy of us and we have no reason for direct contact.’
‘Do you think he means what he said?’
‘Quite.’
Hostage, 491

It is fashionable to stress the ways in which ‘real’ interactions are structured by fictional conventions and Gann is upfront about ‘seeing’ Gingle as a B Movie villain. I think B movie is unfair – I’ve heard worse dialogue in perfectly respectable gangster films, and Greenstreet’s most famous roles were in Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon, A List movies in anyone’s book. But Gingle’s phone call, which Gann describes as the only ‘very real’ thing about the interactions, is pure Hollywood, right down to the ticket out of town waiting at the airport (through which the tough guy shows he’s rich, reasonable and Means What He Says). But my point at the moment isn’t the way in which fictional conventions are active in real life – both in conversation speech and autobiographical writing. Instead I want to follow up the implications of Gann’s being told, by seemingly reliable sources, that Gingle was in possession of an excellent information-gathering network, and that he had contacts with the American Naval Intelligence, which probably ended in tears in the early 1950s.

Although I didn’t have a copy of Hostage to Fortune when I wrote my first post on Gingle I used IDJ’s account (acknowledged above) to suggest that this post-war activity was one of the ‘straws’ that hinted at Gingle’s involvement with the war-time resistance in the period between his being guaranteed out from Stanley Camp (August 5, 1942) and his re-internment in Ma-Tau-Chung (date unknown but probably after August, 1944). I found another ‘straw’ in Tony Banham’s fine book on the tragic sinking of the Lisbon Maru (with loss of hundreds of POW lives). Banham tells us that James Patrick Mulligan of the Royal asrtillery walked out of North Point Camp in the chaotic early days of Japanese rule and was sheltered by Chinese sisters until his eventual escape to Shanghai in 1942. Mulligan operated as an intelligence-gatherer and was told one day by a young Chinese girl that British POWs were being loaded on to a ship (the Lisbon Maru). He immediately went to a place where observation could tell him if the previously unknown informant’s story was true. Mulligan’s son takes up the story:

He then went to his contact who seemed very uninterested in this updated information. He implied to me that his contact was a ‘Yank’ and he definitely said that the ‘Yank’s ignored his information and the ship was torpedoed.
Tony Banham, The Sinking of the Lisbon Maru, 2006, Kindle Edition, Location 1051

The son provides more circumstantial detail to suggest that his father had more than occasional contacts with American intelligence, and tells us that he never mentioned the British Army Aid Group, adding that his father was disenchanted with the British army at the time and probably wouldn’t have wanted to work with them, so I need to
revise my suggestion that Gingle worked for the BAAG. American Intelligence, perhaps Naval Intelligence, is more likely.

One American who’s likely to have been living in or at least sometimes present in Kowloon at this time (late September 1942) is Edward Gingle, who’s main pre-war business was this side of the harbour. I think it likely that his ‘sidekicks’ – his former manager ‘Red’ Salmon and chiropractor Frank Molthen – were also there, or at least had a good reason to visit, so here are three possible candidates for Mulligan’s contact.

The portrait of Gingle in Gann’s autobiography, taken with the section on Mulligan in Banham’s history, has done nothing to put an end to my speculation as to Gingle’s role during the occupation! After the war he had a first-class network of ‘contacts’ on the south China coast and Gann strongly hints he was using them (no doubt for payment) on behalf of American Naval Intelligence. There was an American in Kowloon in 1942 getting information from a British soldier and passing it on to people who could have prevented the torpedoing of the Lisbon Maru….

I hope that one day a document that reveals the truth one way or the other will emerge.

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Gerald Horne’s Race War! (2) – Rhetoric and Analysis

Note: For some reason WordPress won’t include the footnotes which give the source for all references. I’ll get them in as soon as I can!

The main theses of Gerald Horne’s book Race War! (2004) are that the European empires in twentieth century Asia were deeply racist, that the Japanese attempted to exploit this, and the very fact of the alien colonial presence itself, to win Asian support for their war against the British, Dutch and Americans, and that they had some success. He provides a detailed study of Hong Kong as the main illustration for his analysis of these processes. In a series of posts I’m examining the way he uses his Hong Kong sources to back up a theory that is not, in itself, either new or controversial. In this one I’m going to examine one particular claim to illustrate Horne’s generally superficial approach to his sources, his over-eagerness to find confirmation for his beliefs where caution in interpretation is required.

Consider this passage about the Rajputs, one of the five regiments defending Hong Kong on December 8, 1941. The quotation that starts this extract is from Barbara Sue-White, the historian of Hong Kong’s Indian communities.

(T)he ‘Rajputs suffered the greatest casualties of any of the defence forces in the battle for Hong Kong. A mammoth 65 per cent of the men of Rajput C Company became casualties, and ever koy single officer was lost.’ Such figures may confirm their patriotism to the crown; or it may confirm the opposing charge that these Indian troops were little more than cannon fodder. This latter allegation was confirmed by the debased status of Indians in prewar Hong Kong….

Horne’s argument is completely circular. There are two reasons for suspecting a disregard for Indian lives: the high casualty rate and the known racism of Hong Kong at that time – neither on its own would give any grounds for suggesting that the troops were being used as ‘cannon fodder’, so it’s not possible to take one of these two facts and say that it confirms what it only renders possible. Horne is substituting rhetoric and an appeal to prejudice for historical argument. If we probe more deeply his theory seems to hold good at first but ends looking decidedly shaky.

There is an obvious prima facie case for the claim that the disposition of troops on December 8, 1941 was in part due to the racist assumption that the lives of Indian troops were of less value than those of British. The probable cause of the high Rajput casualty rates might seem to have been the fact that they occupied a forward position twice: they were one of three regiments manning the front line in the New Territories (the others were the Punjabis and the Royal Scots), and, after the rapid evacuation of the mainland, they were, again alongside the Punjabis, positioned as the first line of defence against the Japanese landings on Hong Kong Island, ‘holding ‘the all-important north shore defences between North Point and Shau Kei Wan’. And, we might add, it was a Rajput contingent under Captain Mateen Ansari, one of the great heroes of the Hong Kong war, which covered the final evacuation from Kowloon’s Devil’s Peak peninsula.

At this point all seems clear: the two Indian regiments were kept constantly in the front line, and, bearing in mind that the Scottish were sometimes called ‘Scots coolies’ in pre-war Hong Kong, we might even think it’s no accident that they too were up in the New Territories facing the first brunt of the attack. The Middlesex, the only English regiment, were on the Island, alongside the local defence force, the Volunteers, most of whom were ‘’white’. The Canadians were there too, but these were largely untrained troops who had only just arrived (November 16) so it’s not so surprising that most of them weren’t sent to the mainland.

Now that’s already much more evidence than Horne provides in his purely verbal ‘confirmation’ of racism, and I haven’t made up my mind as to whether or not any racism was involved in these deployments, but the neat ‘proof’ of the ‘cannon fodder’ thesis collapses after a little more probing

First, of all, a minor point: one of the dead ‘C’ Company officers seems to have been British – the regiment was being ‘Indianised’ but this process was halted by the outbreak of war. At least two other dead officers have British names, but I don’t know what Company they were in. More significantly perhaps, the Rajputs took very few casualties in their initial deployment on the mainland: Tony Banham’s lists, the best available, have no deaths at all on December 8, 9, 11 and 12, and only two on December 10. In contrast, the Royal Scots, lost 29 men on December 11 alone (I remark in passing that shamefully the Royal Scots are denied the right to a Hong Kong battle honour). ‘Casualties’ usually means ‘dead and more than trivially wounded’ and we can assume that a small number of men were also wounded at this stage, but initial events do not bear out the ‘cannon fodder’ thesis. Evacuation was decided on before casualties became too heavy.

It was in defending the Island from the Japanese assault that the vast majority of the Rajput casualties were taken: 99 were killed on December 19 alone. However, in discussing this latter deployment, Tony Banham offers an alternative perspective, one that suggests it might have been due to the opposite of racism:

(I)t is no coincidence that Maltby’s two favourite battalions (the Rajputs and Punjabis) are holding the vulnerable north shore.

The overall commanding officer, Christopher Maltby was commissioned to the Indian Army in 1911, and he knew and valued these troops. He himself thought that the Japanese would try to land in Central/Victoria, but some of his staff officers favoured North Point, and that’s where he put men he trusted. And if we now look at casualty figures in more detail, the idea that Indian troops were used as ‘cannon fodder’ looks even more shaky. Barbara Sue-White is not responsible for Horne’s claim that Rajput casualties were caused by racism; but is her idea that this regiment suffered the most in the fighting true in the first place? Tony Banham considers Sue-White’s chapter on the war ‘poorly researched’ so it’s worth probing more deeply.

Firstly, the ‘mammoth’ Rajput ‘C’ Company casualties were matched by the Eurasian company of the Volunteers, who took 63.2% dead or wounded in their defence of Wong Nei Chung Gap. During the occupation the Japanese tried to claim that this was the result of the British disregard for Eurasians, but many accounts exist that show they took their casualties because they refused to retreat in the face of overwhelming odds not because the British didn’t care if they lived or died. Further, the next highest casualty rate amongst the Volunteers was First Battery at 60%. They took most of their casualties during the very fierce fighting on the Stanley peninsula in the last two days of the conflict. Judging by names, this was a racially diverse unit, which included the son of the Vice Chancellor of Hong Kong University. Again, several accounts exist of their actions in the grounds of what was to become Stanley Internment Camp, and it’s clear that they suffered their 60% casualties through their courage in some of the bitterest fighting of the war. So my first assumption would be that was why the Rajput ‘C’ Company experienced similar rates of loss – they fought bravely in the face of a powerful and well-conducted Japanese attack; that was indeed the conclusion of soldier and military historian Oliver Lindsay:

The Rajput forward platoons had fought very bravely, refusing to withdraw and inflicting considerable casualties on the enemy, but by dawn, the Battalion had virtually ceased to exist.

If we look at levels other than Company, we can find higher rates than 65%: Platoon 5 of the HKVDC suffered 100% casualties during these engagements. My point, of course, is not that the Rajputs weren’t courageous and committed – it’s obvious they were – but that citing isolated casualty figures and then crying ‘this must be racism’ is a poor way for a historian to proceed.

Finally, when we look at overall regimental casualty rates, the ‘cannon fodder’ thesis is even harder to sustain. The death rate for the Rajputs was about 16.3% while that of the Volunteers – who would, if anyone, have been protected on grounds of race and class – was about 15.8%., a shade more than the Royal Scots (just over 15.5). The (English) Middlesex suffered about 17.86% losses. These are figures for deaths – as ascertained by Banham’s meticulous researches – not casualties, and it’s possible when seriously wounded are added to these figures the Rajputs suffered disproportionately – unfortunately the only figures I have that include the ‘wounded’ category are Maltby’s immediate post-battle calculations, and these also include ‘missing’, with a particularly high figure for the Rajputs. As Banham, points out a number of the ‘missing’ undoubtedly surfaced later; nevertheless, as some of the bodies of the Rajputs who died defending the north shore were probably thrown into the harbour by the Japanese, it’s certainly possible that they did in fact suffer the highest rate of both casualties and deaths. I’ve not been able to get hold of a copy of Barbara Sue-White’s book, so I don’t know if she’s basing her claim that the Rajputs suffered more than any other regiment on Maltby’s figures or on something more reliable. In any case, the other Indian regiment, the Punjabis, suffered a death rate of 9%, which I believe to be lowest of any regiment. Again, many members of this regiment were wounded or are listed by Maltby as missing, and there is absolutely no suggestion that they fought any less bravely than the other units – they took more casualties on the mainland than the Rajputs, and their courage and effectiveness on the Island is obvious, for example, from the role played by ‘B’ and ‘C’ Company in the counterattack at Leighton Hill. My guess is that the main reason for their relatively low death rate was simply the fortunes of war, although it might be relevant that a number of the regiment were kept back to guard the British military headquarters – further proof of how highly Maltby valued Indian troops. As Tony Banham, who has done so much to dispel the nationalist myths that have bedevilled research into the Hong Kong war has said, ‘In the final analysis, casualty figures imply that all units fought with equal determination.’

None of this proves that the deployment of the Rajputs (and the Punjabis) was not based on partly racist considerations; the one thing a commander can be sure of is that troops in the front line (when it’s obvious where it’s going to be, as it was here) will be attacked first and when the enemy is freshest and are therefore at most risk, and two out of the three regiments in the Hong Kong vanguard were Indian. My point is not to exonerate the British army but to draw attention to Horne’s cavalier way with the evidence, setting the bar ridiculously low where his own favourite assumptions are concerned. To indict Maltby et. al. of racism in this instance one needs either to find a ‘smoking gun’ (a clear statement by one of the officers who made the decisions) or to analyse the evidence in the way I’ve done and come to a different conclusion. Horne merely declares the accusation ‘confirmed’ by a piece of circular reasoning. It seems that Banham’s seminal work on the fighting was not available to him – Race War! appears as published in 2003, 2004 and 2005 in different bibliographies. But, with all allowances made, it’s hard to understand why Horne is so confident about a conclusion based on statistics that cover only one of the two Indian regiments. He should have accepted that, at best, he had the evidence only to raise the question of the reason for the high Rajput casualties.

In future posts I’ll give more examples of his tendency to try to make the evidence say what he feels it should say rather than to subject it to proper historical analysis.

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Isabella Palmer’s Story: Part 2

Introduction

On February 27 Bella Palmer kindly talked to me on Skype for a second time about her wartime experiences. The account below is written on the basis of this conversation and previous and subsequent emails. The first instalment can be read at:http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/isabella-palmer-a-child-in-the-far-eastern-war/

 

Bella began by recounting a vivid memory of an experience at the wire of the Shamshuipo POW Camp:

Two days before I went with my great Aunts to Macau as refugees, my mother dressed me up warmly and took me to see Dad at Shamshuipo Camp.

It was strange to see my father behind a high wire fence. My mother took my hand and led me up to the wire and told me to put my hand through and hold Daddy’s hand. I did this and I remember the warm smile as he looked at me.

This moment was not to last. I saw dad looking over mom’s back and at the same time, his rough army overcoat scratched across my hand and I pulled my arm back to my side of the wire. When I looked up, I saw Dad jumping up and down yelling “ Get me…………..get me……………”, my mother, warned by my father’s reaction, turned around to see a young Japanese soldier with his rifle raised high, running towards us.

The next thing that happened was the rifle’s wooden handle hit the ground very close to mom and she swooped me up and carried me through the crowd.

The speed at which my parents moved to protect me will always be something I admire about them There was no trauma for me. Hence the reason I forgot to mention this during our first discussion. I always knew I was safe with my father and mother nearby.

Bella, her baby sister and her two great aunts, Dolores (known to Bella as Cha-cha and to others as Lola) and Consuelo (Nanning) Hyndman were sent to Macao to live at the house of Pedro Lobo, where they were to spend the rest of the war. Katy stayed behind to send parcels to her husband in Shamshuipo[1]

In Hong Kong Bella had been attending kindergarten at the Maryknoll Convent School; in Macao she had to adjust to lessons taught in Portuguese at the prestigious Santa Rosa de Lima. Luckily she didn’t find this hard: her family had always spoken to her in both Portuguese and English, while her amah used Cantonese. Years later she heard this form of Chinese being used in southern England, and, still understanding what was being said, started a conversation with the speaker, who turned out to be from another well known Hong Kong family, the Gardners, who not only knew Bella’s mother, Katy, but lived in the same building as Katy before the war.

Macao was never occupied or attacked by the Japanese, but there were a number of American air raids (the reasons for them are disputed). Bella remembers at least two. One occasion occurred during bath time; Cha-cha and Nanning were bathing both the girls when the air raid alarm started up. Nanning wrapped a towel around Bella but was too weak to lift her out of the bath. She suffered from a muscular degenerative illness. Cha-cha handed the baby to one of the Lobo girls, and then helped both Bella and Nanning to the ground floor under the staircase for safety. Bella thought of Cha-Cha as her grandmother, and she provided much of her emotional stability until her mother came to join them. Bella remembers her as ‘solid and cuddly’. Sadly Cha-Cha did not survive the war years:

One day in late 1944, Cha-Cha told me she was going for an operation. She told me that she was not coming back and for me to be a good girl, do my homework, and that the war would be over very soon. True to her word, she died as a result of a hernia operation. I never saw my beloved Cha-Cha again. It was only on the day of her funeral, which I was not allowed to attend, being too young, that I actually realised she was not really my grandmother.

As the war dragged on, Bella became more and more bored with Macao. She’d gaze out to sea thinking how much more fun life would be back in Hong Kong. Macao was small and the life there had very little to offer a girl who was growing into a stage in which she wanted to experience new things.

On August 15 Japanese radio broadcast the Emperor reading the Imperial Rescript – in effect, surrender and the end of the war. On August 18 the Union Jack was raised at Shamshuipo; there was meat for dinner that evening and a concert.[2] As soon as he could, George Palmer got on a boat to rejoin his family in Macao. Bella remembers how thin he looked as he stepped on to the quay. He took his younger daughter in his arms, but she went rigid – to her, the man hugging her was a stranger.

George had to return to Hong Kong, where the urgent task of repair and reconstruction needed his help. He told Katy to stay in Macao, as the situation in Hong Kong was confused and dangerous, but she was a strong-willed woman, and on October 31, 1945[3] Bella boarded a large sampan with her mother and sister – their white cat “Rickets” was in a basket. They were travelling with members of the Xavier family, who had arranged to let the Palmers rent one of their flats for HK$350 a month.

The trip across to Hongkong was not comfortable, there was little room and there were planks across the hull of the sampan for seating, at different levels.

Bella sat on the upper level and two of the Xavier boys, her age, sat flanking her swinging legs on a lower level. The ladies sat with the smaller children and cat to the side. The boys, bored with the long crossing, pinched Bella’ s legs black and blue. They turned out to be best friends and remain friends to the present day.

Bella went to live at 62 MacDonnell Road in the Mid Levels. The peaceful world of her first five years had been shattered, but Hong Kong recovered more quickly from the war than any other Japanese-occupied territory, and there was much that was good about the new life she built for herself as she moved into the challenging explorations of the final stage of girlhood.


[1] For more details see http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2013/02/16/isabella-palmer-a-child-in-the-far-eastern-war/

[2] http://www.far-eastern-heroes.org.uk/James_OToole/html/dairy_1945.htm

[3] Recorded in a note in the Carl Smith Collection.

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Isabella Palmer’s Story

Introduction:

On February 6, 2013 Isabella Palmer kindly spoke to me on Skype about her time as a child during the Hong Kong war. The following is an account of some of her wartime experiences put together from what she said on that occasion and previous and subsequent conversations and emails.

Before the war the family lived in the Homantin area of Kowloon. There was a playroom with a round window that had coloured glass making beautiful colours on the wall. Bella loved to go there to have fun with her toys, and the two family dogs, Flossie & Toots, would join in. It was a warm and secure home: two loving parents, and an amah, who had helped look after Bella since the day of her birth. About 11 months before the Japanese attacked, her sister was born.

That world was all the five year old Bella knew, but things outside were moving inexorably towards violence and destruction.

Bella’s father was George Palmer; he was Welsh, and a roofing contractor by trade. In his spare time he was an officer in the Hong Kong Volunteer Defence Corps and also a keen hockey player – he ran a team called the Gremlins, and was President of the Hockey Association for some years. Her mother was born Katherine Hyndman, the daughter of an old-established Macao/Hong Kong family that had acquired Portuguese nationality early on[1]. Katie was born in Hong Kong, so she held a British passport. Pedro Lobo, one of the most important men in Macao, was a relative by marriage. One day in 1941 he offered George Portuguese passports for the whole family. He knew what was coming.

Mr. Palmer’s rank in the HKVDC was Lieutenant – he was one of 12 officers in the Field Company Engineers[2] and he specialised in demolitions. He told Mr. Lobo that he would stand by his fellow Volunteers, but advised his wife to accept the passport for herself and the children.

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George Palmer (front) leading his HKVDC squad of demolition workers. The demolition experts went into action at 5.30 a.m. on the morning of the Japanese attack, doing valuable work blowing up bridges and other installations in the border area

He was called up on December 7 with the rest of the HKVDC; soon after the outbreak of hostilities, the rest of the family moved from Kowloon to the Island. They stayed for a short while in a large house in May Road, sharing it with the families of Portuguese Volunteers. While there they had to shelter from the frequent Japanese air raids. But sometimes Bella was more scared of the dark places than of the bombs:

My memory is fixated on the bomb “safe” places and the one where the shell fell. I cannot remember where we slept. The other memory was that dreadful swimming pool and the horrible darkness, which terrifies me even now. It really did not need to be so dark.

That ‘shell’ was a lucky escape: a piece of shrapnel hit a verandah which Mrs. Palmer and the girls were told to harbor under. Mrs. Palmer decided against it and on the next air attack, a large piece of shrapnel hit the exact spot where they would have been, much to the horror of everyone in the house.

Mr. Palmer had come to see his family while they were still in Homantin, bringing two dolls as Christmas presents for his daughters. He gave the servants as much money as he could, and advised them not to stay in Hong Kong but to go inland to try to find a refuge in the country, not the big cities. He told Bella to say goodbye to the two dogs, then fed them a big meal and he said he was going to turn them loose. Only years later did Bella realise he had his hand gun and rifle with him as he took them away, and that he undoubtedly shot them. This was a wise decision, which spared them being hunted and killed for food- by other dogs or by people – in the desperate days that were coming.

After the surrender, Mr. Palmer was sent with most of the rest of the HKVDC and the professional soldiers to Shamshuipo. The rest of the family didn’t stay long in May Road, but it’s not certain where Bella spent the rest of her time in Hong Kong.

There are many stories told of the Japanese kindness to children; Bella’s is one of the most striking:

One day my mother was out trying to get milk for my sister by bartering. A Japanese officer went up to her and asked her what she was doing and she told him. He said, ‘I have a wife and two daughters in Tokyo, and if they were here I’d be trying to find milk for them too. I’ll help you.’ He found out where we lived and came round with boxes of carnation milk. He also gave her a watch: he’d bought it for his wife, and he told her to sell it if she needed money for more milk.

Mrs. Palmer never sold that watch. It’s in Bella’s possession today.

On February 28, 1942 Bella boarded a night ferry to Macao. Her mother stayed behind to send parcels into Shamshuipo for her husband. Bella’s baby sister was on her back in a Chinese style baby carrier– ‘Hold on tight and don’t fall into the harbour’ said her mother to Bella. They were accompanied by two great aunts, one so ill she had to be helped onto the ship by the other. Bella was crying. She’d already lost almost everything, and now what little she had left – Hong Kong and her mother and father – was being taken from her. The crossing was a dark one due to the fear of torpedoes.

Eventually Pedro Lobo’s pleas to Katie Palmer to come to the safety of Macao prevailed. The Hyndmans were connected to the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation, and she courageously smuggled out important bank documents that “Uncle Soares” (F.X. Soares – Chief Clerk of the bank) had asked her to take with her. They lived with ‘Uncle Lobo’ until the end of the war, returning to Hong Kong on October 31, 1945. It was a new place for everybody, changed irrevocably by four years of war and occupation. To a child it was a different world, one from which much of the pre-war warmth and safety had vanished.

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Gerald Horne’s Race War! (1) : The Eurasians

Gerald Horne’s Race War! is a vigorously written and stimulating account of the racism that characterised British and American society in the period leading up to WW11 and the manifold ways in which the Japanese attempted to exploit this both  before and after Pearl Harbour. His description of the impact of Japanese propaganda on ‘non-white’ people in the USA is, to the best of my knowledge, original, and extremely interesting.

Much of Horne’s material relates to Hong Kong and the book brings out the pernicious racial discrimination that marked almost all aspects of the life of the Colony in the period that ended with the Japanese attack of December 1941.

Sadly, Horne’s use of Hong Kong sources is marred by selectivity, distortion and over-simplification. In a series of  posts I’ll explain that Horne’s project – the kind of book he wanted to write – was dead in the water from  the start and the evidence required heavy ‘spinning’ and the development of the argument needed all of Horne’s undoubted rhetorical power to provide the illusion of steady progress through the waves.  As I’m Eurasian, I’ll begin with his account of this grouping.

First there’s a need for clarification. The word ‘Eurasian’ covers a wide variety of ethnic mixes: one commentator has even suggested that it should be defined as exclusion from all the main ‘one race’ communities – Eurasians were not accepted by either the Chinese or the British but were not, for example, seen as Indian.[1] However, until such time as we can do without the word completely it’s probably best used to refer to a person whose parents were of two different races, one of them Asian. To stay in touch with the older sources we need to be as vague as that: one of the people discussed below, Sir Robert Hormus Kotewall, is almost always referred to as Eurasian even though his mother was Chinese and his father Parsee.[2]

Horne brings out well many aspects of the general situation of Eurasians in pre-war Hong Kong, where they were generally mistrusted, discriminated against and even despised. To marry a Eurasian (a fortiori a Chinese of course) meant an immediate fall in social status.[3] ‘White’ reaction could be extreme:

Eurasians in a European social gathering created a climate of unease and psychological tension…Even highly educated Europeans reacted strongly against mixed marriages.[4]

Not surprising then that there was little socialising between ‘whites’ and Eurasians. After their victory, the Japanese published a newspaper the Hong Kong News – a propaganda sheet, but one that sometimes told the truth:

(The) Eurasian when he seeks employment is classified as a ‘native’ and is required to accept ‘native’ pay.[5]

My mother knew this for herself: she’d come to Hong Kong to work, and before the war she had various jobs in sales with the usual inferior conditions. Eventually she rebelled and asked her current boss to pay her the same rates as the European staff – to his credit, he agreed, but it didn’t change the system.

However, there’s more to the situation of Eurasians than this. There was, for example, a complex relationship with the Chinese, who made up the vast majority of the Colony’s population.  On the one hand, Governor Stubbs reported in 1920 that ‘pure-bred Chinese referred to Eurasians as bastards’.[6]  On the other, some Eurasians, preferred to live as Chinese rather than tolerate the racism of the ‘whites’.[7]

In spite of this double-sided weight of prejudice, a few wealthy Eurasians had a great deal of influence in the Colony and in their case it can be said that economic factors outweighed racial ones, as a Marxist like Horne might expect. Sir Robert Ho-tung, for example, the only non-white allowed to live legally on the Peak, was one of the most important men in Hong Kong. Sir Robert Kotewall, who I’ll discuss in more detail later, was another figure of importance on old Hong Kong. Paradoxically, given the kind of view referred to by Governor Stubbs, these men managed to become representatives of the Chinese community, Kotewall serving as ‘Unofficial Member’ of the Executive Council, Colony’s Governing body, while Ho-tung declined an offer of a seat but still played a wide-ranging role in the life of the Colony.

It’s been suggested that the Eurasians as a whole had prestige in old Hong Kong because of their association with the ‘European’ community – most of them were at least part white after all! One writer has stated that the Japanese occupation, with its deliberate policy of humiliating ‘whites’, led to the end of a ‘privileged and gracious era’ for the Hong Kong Eurasians.[8]  Edith Hansom might have agreed; waiting in Kowloon Hospital for the arrival of the Japanese as they take over the mainland during the fighting, she realises that the old order is on the way out:

My only certainty was that the privileged existence we’d always known would be no more.[9]

Her description of that existence would surprise those who rely on Race War! for their picture of Eurasians in old Hong Kong:

(M)y life in Hong Kong was wonderful in every way….‘Life could not be more perfect,’ I’d say to Arthur on these family picnic days, and we’d take time to give thanks to God for our privileged lives. In the colony of Hong Kong, we felt safe {from the European war}…Our lives of affluence and freedom changed little, though we felt concerned for the people of Europe.[10]

Of course, this life is described like this so as to provide a contrast with what was to come, and we mustn’t take this as an objective and generally applicable summary of Eurasian existence before the war. Still, it’s not surprising that although Edith Hansom was well aware of white arrogance, she and her half-Japanese mother don’t seem to have given a moment’s thought to throwing in their lot with the conquerors. I’ll return to this point later.

Jean Gittins’ family was much more socially elevated than the Hansoms – her father was Sir Robert Ho-tung himself. Her description of ‘ten completely happy years’[11] married to another Eurasian suggests that pre-war racism didn’t always spoil the lives of its victims. It seems that in her working life Ms. Gittins was lucky enough to find a niche in University circles that were relatively free of racial discrimination and arrogance. There were, by the way, more such enclaves than the reader of Race War! might think: in this post I describe an amiable group in which some whites worked for world peace under the leadership first of a remarkable Eurasian (or at least and Indian of Armenian extraction) and later of a Chinese doctor:

http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/11/09/herbert-edward-lanepart-1-theosophy-in-old-hong-kong/

Another relatively race-free area of activity was sport,[12] and Edith’s husband, Arthur, played alongside at least two other Eurasians in my father’s company bowls team.

It is, therefore, important to bear in mind the fact that the Eurasians weren’t the most ‘despised’ and disadvantaged group in old Hong Kong, that some Eurasians played an important role in the Colony’s affairs, that the community was the victim of Chinese as well as British racism, and that nevertheless some members managed to carve out decent lives for themselves and even felt ‘privileged’. Further, there were divisions and racisms within the Eurasian community too – Horne quotes a passage from Emily Hahn that hints at this[13], but he never discusses this issue in his own voice, or gives proper weight to the hauteur with which some ‘European-Asians’ looked down on ‘Macanese’ like my mother.[14] I’ve not come across  evidence that Eurasians resisted bitterly any attempts to elevate them above the Chinese because of their European blood, but my guess is that this did sometimes happen! Of course, as the ‘white’ British were the dominant ethnic group in Hong Kong they bear some responsibility for the whole sorry mess of racial bigotry, but it is happily no longer fashionable to argue that the only racism that matters is the one that accompanies structural power, and theorists, some inspired by the work of Michel Foucault, are now aware of the complex nets of dominance (and of course resistance) that exist in even the most apparently monolithic societies.

Still, all this being said, I think Horne gets to the essence of the matter with his emphasis on pre-war ‘white’ racism against the Eurasians. The fact that many Eurasians learnt to live with this doesn’t make it any the less shocking. But where Race War! goes badly wrong is in its representation of what happened to the Eurasian communities after the Japanese attack. The sobering fact is that, contrary to the impression given by the book’s rhetoric, Horne does not provide the name of a single Hong Kong Eurasian who was not part Japanese who we can be certain went over to the conquerors after the surrender on Christmas Day 1941. I’ll discuss all of the people Horne offers as apparently in that category.

While discussing pre-war economic injustice, Horne writes:

 This discrimination was deeply resented and made a number of Eurasians prime candidates for defection to the Japanese at the time of the invasion.[15]

He cites no cases at this point, but he’s at least correct in implying that the conquerors considered them as likely ‘candidates’ for winning over: the best-known example is the efforts made by the Kempeitai officer ‘Chick’ Nakazawa to ‘convert’ two sisters from the Gittins family, Phyllis Bliss and Irene Fincher,[16] but this was such a failure that, after the sisters, escaped from Hong Kong, Irene became first the secretary and then the wife[17] of British policeman ‘Tommy’ Thompson, who’d broken off his own escape journey to work with the Chinese resistance.[18]

Horne returns to the theme after discussing a passage from the Hong Kong Eurasian Jean Gittins:

 The result of this prejudice was predictable: some of the staunchest opponents of white supremacy in Asia – and helpmates to the invading Japanese – were Eurasians.[19]

This time he does give an example: Laurence Klindt-Kentwell. Mr. Klindt-Kentwell was born on a boat in Hong Kong harbour to a sea-captain and a Chinese mother. Although protected at first by his relatively elevated social position – he was educated at Oxford – and ‘white’ appearance, he eventually fell foul of America’s racist Chinese Exclusion laws.[20] It seems that his hatred of specifically British imperialism stemmed from his experiences at Oxford, and in Singapore[21] and, in particular, Shanghai. In that city he was debarred as a barrister in 1926. He was alleged to have registered a Chinese man as a Spanish citizen for money, and defrauded another Chinese of a large sum,[22] but he claimed the debarring was really for his political views.[23] He was eventually written off by the British authorities as crazy because of his stream of denunciatory and accusatory letters.[24] In one report he’s said to have renounced his British nationality because of ‘the snobs and proud people’ who shamed Britain and were bringing its downfall. It seems that the Shanghai Club was a particular object of his animus,[25] and he recommended that it either be pulled down, burnt or turned into a club for rickshaw coolies.[26]

In spite of his claim to be a Chinese citizen, and to be ‘in agreement with Chinese civilisation’[27] he began to assist the Japanese when their only military activity involved attacking China. His son, though, later volunteered to fight with the British and had a distinguished war.[28]

His is indeed a sad story, and it’s hard not to feel that racism played an important role in creating what was at the very least a bitter and unbalanced state of mind. It ‘turned’ him politically too: he’d acted as secretary to Chinese nationalist leader Sun Yat-sen in 1905-1906,[29] and in general had a long association with Chinese nationalism, but he ended up supporting one of the most violent aggressions in modern history, the Japanese attempt to conquer China. He even became a member of the Wang Ching-wei puppet government. One 1942 issue of his journal carried a picture of Adolf Hitler on the cover.[30]

His own account of his experiences of racism, given when he was in Hong Kong after having been prevented from disembarking at Singapore, does not mention the Colony.[31] In fact, when he went to the China Mail offices to correct an inaccuracy in their story, he said that he preferred Hong Kong to Singapore and in any case had no intention of stirring up trouble in the Colony. The article about him continued:

Here {in Hong Kong}, he thought, the foreigners and Chinese mixed together more freely and there was not that obvious feeling of superiority amongst the former in regard to the latter.[32]

That should be taken with a pinch of salt.

His pre-war activities are documented in Shanghai, but, basing himself on a 1942 document in the Australian National Archive, Horne claims:

(H)e accepted the post of ‘Governor’ of the British troops interned in Kowloon….[33]

But at the time he’s meant to be accepting this post, historian Bernard Wasserstein has him in Nanjing, playing a role in the Chinese puppet government. According to Wasserstein, he went to Shanghai in the spring of 1942 and stayed there for rest of the war.[34] My guess is that the idea he was some kind of POW overseer was a wartime misunderstanding, perhaps of an ‘appointment’ made by Klindt-Kentwell himself – it wouldn’t have been the first[35] – and that he never went anywhere near Kowloon; at least no such link has been reliably established on the evidence presented, and I’ve not seen him mentioned in any account of POW life in Shamshuipo or Argyle Street.

In short, it seems that it’s only his first appearance on a boat in the harbour that enables us to reliably link Klindt-Kentwell to Hong Kong at all. The reader of Race War! might easily miss the fact that his case has no relevance to Hong Kong, as although Horne introduces it with the claim that Eurasians were amongst the strongest supporters of Japanese power ‘in Asia’, it follows a discussion of racism in Hong Kong and begins with Klindt-Kentwell’s birth in the harbour and his apparent return to rule over the POWs in Kowloon. I’m not of course suggesting that racism is any less deplorable in Shanghai than in Hong Kong; I’m trying to assess Horne’s evidence as to the response of Hong Kong’s Eurasians to their treatment by the British when the Japanese occupation gave them new options.

His most extended discussion of this subject comes under this rubric:

Then there were the much despised Eurasians, who contributed their share to Tokyo’s war effort and were punished afterward.[36]

This claim is supported by an account of a number of particular Eurasians. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, only one of these was ‘punished’ after the war, in the legal sense at least, and, except in this one case, it’s extremely doubtful that any of them can be said to have helped the Japanese war effort. I’ll consider each man in turn, although not in the same order as Horne.

First, let’s take Frankie Zung. I have shown in a previous post that Emily Hahn’s account of this man is a composite:

http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/12/25/emily-hahn-as-source-1-walking-with-frankie-zung/

To briefly recapitulate: Hong Kong Holiday, the only source for Zung, is a highly fictionalised work, and there’s reason to believe, comparing the story in which Zung is described with passages in Hahn’s more ‘historical’ China To Me, that he’s not based on a single person but is created by combining the traits of a number of individuals. Therefore no conclusions can currently be drawn from this figure as a corresponding ‘real life’ pro-Japanese Eurasian may or may not have existed. Similarly, Horne mentions in passing a Eurasian man known as ‘John’, who’s second in command of a gang of looters in the early days of the occupation. His source is once again an Emily Hahn story, and this one too is probably fictionalised.  There is at the moment no reliable evidence that such a figure existed. In addition, it should be noted that ‘John’ is represented as showing no animus against the ‘whites’, and in fact protects Hahn from the persecution of  his ‘boss’ who is also ‘white’, albeit of  a nationality (Russian) rather low in Hong Kong’s pernicious pecking order of ‘Europeans’.  In other words, if ‘John’ is taken as a real figure all that he proves is that’s some Eurasians looted when they had the chance, as did almost all nationalities, but didn’t attempt to justify their actions on racial grounds.

Also on Horne’s list is a man I prefer to keep anonymous[37]: ‘Mr. X, a Eurasian clerk was said to be ‘the first Government servant to offer his services to the Japanese’.[38]  Sadly Horne fails to give the reader unfamiliar with the literature of the Hong Kong war any context in which to understand this. His brief comment tells us effectively nothing.

The Japanese Government – like the British one before it – employed people in a wide range of professions and only the most determined advocate of non-collaboration would have thought that all of them were wrong to serve the new masters.[39]  In any case, I doubt that Mr. X was the first ‘Government servant’ to start working for the new administration. Three days after the British gave in, the most important ‘servant’ of all, the Colonial Secretary, Franklin Gimson,  was writing to the Japanese offering useful hints for locating and utilising petrol supplies, [40]  and at this early stage he seems to have envisaged something like what seems to have been full—scale co-operation.[41] But even Gimson was slow off the mark compared to Dr. Selwyn-Clarke, the Colony’s former Director of Medical Services, who, as his enemies pointed out, began working with the Japanese almost from the first moment of surrender. Dr. Selwyn-Clarke carried on in his pre-war position for the first 16 months of the occupation with the permission of the Governor Sir Mark Young,[42] and he and Gimson were both eventually to be decorated for their conduct in the Hong Kong war. On any reasonable interpretation, the permission the former was given by Sir Mark applied to the public health officials (including bakers like my father who were making bread for the hospitals) who worked under him. In fact, apart from Gimson’s order to George Kennedy-Skipton to desist co-operation,[43] the exact circumstances of which are unknown, I’m aware of no case where permission was sought from a higher authority and denied – the British bankers took the advice of the Financial Secretary, and the Europeans their consular representatives before agreeing to keep their banks open after the surrender.[44]

Given this context, Horne provides no evidence that Mr. X’s activity represented anything impermissible, let alone that it was motivated by racial factors. There’s a man with the same name as Mr. X – and judging from his photo he might be Eurasian – who became the head of an important (and extremely unsubversive) youth organisation in the 1950s, which suggests that any breach wasn’t  long-lasting on either side.

In any case, Horne should be constantly reminding his readers that non-whites were under physical pressure to work for the Japanese[45] and that in any case people were starving to death from the start (probably from even before the Japanese took over, as the rice distribution system broke down because of transport difficulties during the fighting) and that not working meant not having a ration card:

Ultimately, except for farmers and hawkers, all residents were forced to work for the Japanese public or private bodies or to starve, unless they were fortunate enough to have a sufficient supply of gold ornaments.[46]

Many people who had no love for the Japanese were forced to work for them simply to feed themselves and their families. This is one reason why Horne’s whole project is moribund: his basic method is to outline ‘white’ racism against a community, offer examples of Japanese sympathisers from that community, some of whom claimed that they were motivated by anti-racist or anti-imperialist considerations, and then leave the reader to assume this played a role in all or at least the majority of the cases. In fact, support for the Japanese in occupied Hong Kong requires no special explanation: if you wanted to avoid arrest and torture, or simply starvation for yourself and your family, you had little choice but to play along. This is not, of course, to deny that resentment of pre-war racism played a part, simply to assert that it was far from being the only factor, and that it’s impossible to assess just how important it was. But consider the particular case of the Hong Kong Eurasians. The Japanese were interested in them as potential intelligence operatives and as ‘Asianised’ advertisements for the ‘new order’:

In Hong Kong, many prominent Eurasians were under great pressure to declare their political loyalty to Japan, which meant the necessity to identify themselves as ‘Chinese’.[47]

Jean Gittins’ brother-in-law M. K. Lo, one of the most pro-British of the elite, was kept in solitary confinement until he agreed to join the new regime.[48] Evidence of co-operation with the Japanese or pro-Japanese statements are, given these circumstances, close to worthless.

The ‘despised Eurasians’ list also includes a man called ‘William Chang, alias Khan Mohammed’ (and also known as Cheng and Chan).  Horne, on the basis of an undated document in the Indian National Archive, claims he worked for the Japanese. I’ve not seen Horne’s document, but there is a mass of evidence that he did no such thing. Mr. Chang was in fact Agent 21 of the British Army Aid Group, a resistance organisation, and is mentioned in over 50 of their documents.[49] If he was a double agent this fact was unknown to Paul Tsui, another BAAG operative, who mentions him in his post-war Memoirs:

We also had Cheng Wai Lim… nicknamed KHAN, a Jamaican born, half negro and half Hakka, who organized his team of “Rescuers and Intelligence collectors” as if it were an independent guerrilla unit….[50]

Again:

( )[51] who claimed to be a native of Lung Kong, was in fact half Black and half Hakka. He came back from Jamaica, when his father brought him back as a small child. He joined the locally enlisted ranks, and was assigned to the 5th A.A. Regiment, where he was promoted a Sergeant. He was short, but stout, and his mind as well as movements were very fast. He was tri lingual, he was quite at home in English and Cantonese as well as Hakka.[52]

He was one of the first BAAG agents to be recruited, joining in July 1942, and it seems he was even helping Allied escapers before the BAAG was set up. Frank Lee (aka Leeson/Lessan), another name on Horne’s list of pro-Japanese Eurasians, was his sub-agent.[53] Both Khan and Lee(son) gave evidence at war crimes trials,[54] and at one of these it was declared in open court that Mr. Khan/Chan was a loyal agent of the BAAG (China Mail, February 28, 1946, page 2). In any case, Mr. Leeson should have no place on the Race War! list of ‘despised Eurasians’ as he was black and therefore not Eurasian by any definition, something Horne himself hints at; his presence suggests that Horne is aware how little evidence he has that significant elements of the Eurasian community supported the Japanese.

Personally I don’t think there’s any doubt about the loyalty to the British (and the courageous achievements) of these two men; even if we exercise great caution and say that the Indian document means there’s some kind of doubt, they still can’t count on Horne’s list of Eurasians who supported the Japanese without further investigation and some rather remarkable new findings about the duping of the British authorities over several years post-war in spite of apparent documentary evidence of their activities.

The best-known name on Horne’s list is Sir Robert Kotewall, a senior member of the Eurasian community who was regarded as a traitor by many British people during and by some after the war. In Horne’s account, he was indeed pro-Japanese but escaped later prosecution because of his social eminence and because of his earlier services as a strike-buster. This does not give a fair picture of the facts, and it’s sad that Horne’s relied on a wartime source with imperfect information at its disposal without checking post-war historians – a clear account of the case is given by Endacott and Birch in their 1978 book,[55] for example.

Firstly, soon after the surrender, Kotewall had been asked by three senior British officials to co-operate with the Japanese for the sake of the Chinese masses;[56] as this shows the British in a good light, Horne had an additional reason for mentioning it, as it would have provided some evidence of British concern for the Chinese to balance what is generally a crude depiction of British malignity or indifference. According to one of those officials, R. A. C. North, he asked Kotewall and Sir Shouson Chow (an eminent Chinese citizen) ‘to take upon themselves what should have been my duty of working with the Japanese’. North went on to explain that, as a result of complying with his request, the two men had been ‘misrepresented and abused’.[57]

Secondly, Kotewall didn’t actually do anything other than ‘hedge’[58] in occupied Hong Kong. He shouted ‘Banzai’ at public meetings but never betrayed anyone to the Kempeitai or helped the Japanese war effort directly, which were more or less the only reasons for post-war prosecution. In fact, he was careful to make his speeches as little anti-British as possible under the circumstances.[59] Moreover, he did his best to help the mass of Chinese poor, just as North and his colleagues had requested.[60]

In other words, Sir Robert’s behaviour came nowhere near the kind of collaboration suggested by Horne. And it’s worth repeating that in a ‘captured territory’ in which the justly-feared secret police had more power than anywhere else in the Japanese Empire and ran rampant amongst the Chinese population[61] even those lucky enough to avoid arrest and torture had to worry about starvation. In addition Sir Robert had to keep his nine daughters safe from Japanese attentions,[62] and had his house placed under Japanese military jurisdiction for much of the occupation.[63]

As to the reasons for his immunity from prosecution – this is what Hong Kong escaper Brigadier (and Colonial Secretary) MacDougall wrote after liberation:

The Kotewall business is a mess. So far as I can see no one has a scrap of real evidence, and all I have seen so far would not stand up in court for two seconds.[64]

Tony Banham, probably the leading currently active historian of the Hong Kong war, considers Kotewall’s behaviour during the occupation as ‘selfless’ and the charges of collaboration ‘unfounded’.[65]

In other words, Horne’s claim that Kotewall was pro-Japanese is baseless, and his suggestion that he avoided prosecution as a bourgeois and a strike-breaker (in 1925!) is no more than Marxist theology. Ironically, he misses the real significance of Sir Robert’s story for his theme: he was unjustly branded collaborator or even traitor during the war, and carried the stigma after it. He was not allowed back into public life after the liberation, and he died in 1949. He was said to be ‘cut to the quick’ by his unjust treatment.[66] One could at least make out a case that his ‘race’ had something to do with what happened to him.

Which brings me to the only reasonably reliable discussion in this section of Race War!, that of Joseph James Richards (although Richards was not charged with High Treason, as Horne claims, but with breach of the Defence Regulations – the original charge was reduced ‘through the clemency of the Crown’[67] and this probably saved his life). Mr. Richards was considered a likely collaborator form the start; he was probably the alcoholic ‘wasteaway’ of war nursed by Hungarian Francis Braun in their brief internment by the British during the hostilities  in December 1941.[68]  During the occupation he worked for or at least with the Kempeitai (‘the Japanese Gestapo’) and was alleged to have boasted that he was responsible for the arrest of many Portuguese residents; he claimed, for example, to have played a leading role in the investigation of Charles Henry Basto, who was executed in 1943 for spying.[69] He seems to have specialised in pro-Japanese work in Macao,[70] admitting at his trial that he’d asked questions about the security arrangements of the embattled British Consul John Reeves, whose kidnapping was a real possibility. He was probably one of the people who scared my father most, as he was a Japanese agent living, for part of the war at least, at the French Hospital, and one BAAG source even suggested it was his intelligence that led to the arrest of Dr. Selwyn-Clarke and the others taken from the Hospital on May 2, 1943.[71] In August 1946 it took the jury a mere 80 minutes to find him guilty on 7 out of 8 charges and he was sentenced to 15 years in prison.[72]

It already weakens Horne’s case that Richards was part Japanese (on his mother’s side) so throwing in his lot with Japan doesn’t require so much explanation. He was, moreover being paid by the Japanese for his work, which makes his allegiance even less impressive. Horne implies, in line with the theme of his book, that it was the way that the British treated people of mixed race that led to his choice: his father was British, but it was only the Japanese who ‘appreciated his services’. However, there is something that further weakens, although it does not completely destroy, Horne’s case: Richards had been arrested as a spy by the Chinese in 1937.[73] He admitted this at his trial, and when asked what services he supplied the Japanese consul he stated that (as well as Chinese language lessons) he obtained Chinese news reports that were not available to the Japanese.[74] In other words, four years before the British became involved in the war, just like Lawrence Klindt-Kentwell, Mr. Richards was helping the Japanese (albeit in very minor ways) in their aggression against China – his detention occurred after the outbreak of full-scale fighting in July 1937 and at the height of the Nanjing Massacre. He was said to be born in the Colony and it’s possible he saw the Japanese as the future liberators of its people from British imperialism, so supported them even when all they were doing was launching a violent aggression against another Asian people. It’s certain that he experienced racial discrimination in Hong Kong, so Horne’s case doesn’t collapse completely, but it’s left looking extremely weak.

This is all that Horne offers, and, with two exceptions, I’m not aware of much else; anonymous Eurasians working for the Japanese sometimes flash into sight in the sources,[75] but, as I earlier indicated, if there are detailed accounts of genuinely pro-Japanese Hong Kong Eurasians without Japanese blood, I’ve not been able to find them yet. But there is one man lacking from Horne’s book, someone who, although he did have Japanese ancestry, provides a much more powerful indictment of British racism and its effects than any of the cases he discusses. Mr. Y – once again I prefer to withhold the name – did not subscribe to the Japanese cause before their attack on the European empires. During the hostilities he served bravely with the Volunteers and his knowledge of the invaders’ language was put to good effect and possibly saved lives. His resentment against the British was well-founded, as he had been the victim of racism in both Shanghai and Hong Kong, in the former case with the most serious consequences for his life and happiness. He was a fine humanitarian, who, while giving political and perhaps economic support to the Japanese, carried out works of relief for the defeated. This was of course risky, and he ended up in a Japanese prison, although probably for a ‘crime’ he didn’t commit. Ironically Horne’s indictment ignores this man focusing instead on people who probably didn’t exist or weren’t supporters of the Japanese.

My second additional example shows how careful one must be about jumping to conclusions. Jerome Law acted as an interpreter for the Kempeitai – he probably was forced to do so by financial necessity or through threats, as he obviously remained sympathetic to the British. This courageous man, who knew better than anyone the risks involved, translated the words of a prisoner under interrogation as favourably as possible, gave him information as to what the Japanese already knew, and made a suggestion as to what he should tell his interrogator. (Ralph Goodwin, Passport to Eternity, 1956, 172-174). It’s hard to believe that this was the only case in which Mr. Law risked his own liberty and even life to aid a British prisoner; after the war he appeared as a witness in two war crimes trials (http://hkwctc.lib.hku.hk/exhibits/show/hkwctc/documents/item/79).

Horne never suggests that the fact that most Hong Kong Eurasians were part Chinese might have made them more, not less, loyal to the British. I’ll deal in a future post with the unconvincing manoeuvre with which he tries to justify his refusal to discuss Japanese racism and to provide any detailed account of their violent  rule in Hong Kong and elsewhere. But the reason that most Chinese supported the British was that Japanese imperialism had taken Formosa (Taiwan) in 1895, Korea, formerly a Chinese tributary, in 1910, and Manchuria in 1931, and then launched all-out war against China in 1937. This assault was accompanied by atrocities that matched the worst of the British Empire elsewhere – for example, the extermination of the indigenous Tasmanians in the nineteenth century– and in the eyes of most Chinese far out-weighed anything the British and other Europeans had done in China.  All communities in Hong Kong were aware of what had happened after the fall of Nanking (Nanjing) and the colony was flooded with Chinese refugees from the fighting who knew first-hand the brutality that could be expected. Edith Wood’s father, married to a Japanese woman, wrote to his family about events in Swatow, where he stayed to try to protect his property, describing the bombings and the rapes.[76] Most Eurasians were part Chinese and so had good reason to fear and distrust the Japanese armies.

In fact, the big picture is simply not available: the evidence to conclude that the Eurasians were more or less loyal than the ‘pure bred’ Europeans simply doesn’t exist.  But there’s evidence of Eurasian support for the old order that far outweighs Horne’s chronicle of the pro-Japanese. Horne’s technique is to allow a little of this evidence to emerge in the statements of those he quotes while focusing his own narrative almost entirely on those Eurasians who supported Japan – although, as we’ve seen, without providing largely dubious examples.

During the hostilities the Eurasian company of the Volunteers fought with exceptional courage,[77] taking casualties far above the average of both their fellow Volunteers and the professional soldiers,[78] and providing a justified sense of pride to Veronica Needa, who’s written powerfully about the problems faced by Hong Kong’s Eurasians. [79]  The exploits of the Eurasian unit takes up many pages of Philip Bruce’s book on the Volunteers, and the summary offered by their commander Lieutenant Field provides a neat glimpse into both the prejudices of pre-war Hong Kong and the way they began to be overturned after the Japanese attack:

I was particularly impressed by the fine spirit and steadiness shown by the Volunteers under my command. They were all Eurasians, most with a British father and a Chinese or Eurasian mother, a type which in Hong Kong had not been credited generally with the character these men showed.[80]

Horne quotes evidence as to the pride the Eurasians felt in their pre-war role in the Volunteers and allows witnesses to attest to their gallantry in combat[81] but fails to draw the obvious conclusion: these men did not find their pride in military service only because, as Horne’s witness suggests, they could find in military training an equality denied them in the rest of their lives. When it came to actual combat they fought with a tenacity and self-sacrifice that drew tributes from almost all commentators, including Hong Kong’s commanding officer Major-General Maltby. They were brave men whose courage was rooted in the sense that they had something to fight for:The Eurasians, the only community who had no other home, stood their ground against the invaders with conspicuous bravery….[82]

As we’ve seen, some Eurasians were satisfied with their life in that ‘home’, for all its defects. Franklin Gimson’s war-time diary recorded the thought that Hong Kong fell relatively easily because most of its population didn’t believe in what they were fighting for.[83] The Eurasians of 3 Company HKVDC fought like men who understood why they were fighting and were willing to die for what they were defending. Major-General Maltby pointed out that they were part of a defence of the Wongneichong Gap conducted by 250 men against 3,000 Japanese –‘ the Volunteers simply would not give ground and the casualties were appalling.’ The reader of Race War! might be forgiven for wondering why they didn’t just throw down their arms and run out to greet their liberators.

During the occupation Eurasians played a role in both relief and resistance work. It seems that one of the most dedicated and courageous relief workers of all was Eurasian: Selwyn-Clarke calls Helen Ho Chinese, but her mother was Ethel Zimmern, so she had German ancestry.[84] She was arrested three times for her work,[85] and when telephone engineer Les Fisher left Shamshuipo after liberation he discovered that ‘Helen Ho’s name is on everyone’s lips’.[86]

In Stanley Camp relief came from the part-Japanese Eurasian Emily Ritsu Wood, whose case shows that by no means as ahose with Japanese blood went over to the conquerors, much as it was in their interests to do so, or pretend to do so. Mrs. Wood accepted the hardships of internment with the rest of her family, and first used her knowledge of Japanese to get black market drugs for her son-in-law and then began to have them smuggled in for the camp hospital.[87]

Dangerous as relief work was, resistance was more perilous still. In Stanley Jean Gittins translated messages into Chinese for the resistance, even though she was warned that there were few Chinese speakers in camp and if the messages were discovered – which was highly possible given that the courier network had been penetrated – she would be executed.[88]

Even more heroic was the role played by Eurasians in the town resistance: Jimmy Kotewall joined the BAAG knowing he was a marked man after the execution of his brother George on October 29, 1943. A Japanese officer told his wife he was a brave man who’d met death like a true samurai.[89] And, as we’ve seen, it seems highly likely that two of those who Horne claims were pro-Japanese in fact worked for the British underground.

To further understand why many Eurasians fought and died for the British order that oppressed them, and why some later gave their lives to help bring that order back, we need only look at the experience of the head of the wartime Eurasian Welfare Association, Elias Davies Sykes. Mr. Sykes was believed by the British Army Aid Group to be on the Informal Welfare Committee established by Dr. Selwyn-Clarke to carry out ‘legal’ works of relief in occupied Hong Kong[90] – the document calls him an ex-convict, which is true but a little harsh. In 1940 he had judgement given against him when a solicitor sued him over an unpaid bill of HK$160.[91] The next year he was sent to prison for three months for obtaining a little money by an unlikely piece of mis-representation involving a claimed culinary relationship with two senior police officers.[92] He admitted a previous conviction, and it was said he appeared to be a ‘professional trickster’.[93]

On January 21, 1943 he was arrested by the Japanese.[94] He was questioned under torture – by water, electricity and hanging[95] – about Selwyn-Clarke:  the Kempeitai had been looking for evidence that he was involved in espionage since September 1942, if not earlier. Presumably Sykes steadfastly refused to incriminate Selwyn-Clarke, who wasn’t arrested until May 2, but he did admit to scamming the Japanese authorities by claiming rations for 250 non-existent members of the League. There is no reason to doubt his claim that he sold the extra food for money to keep the Welfare League going.[96] On April 8 he was given ten years in gaol – effectively a death sentence, as no-one could survive Japanese prison conditions for anything like that period. He spent May 1943 to January 1944 in the Prison Hospital,[97] where rations were even lower. He survived to give evidence at two war crimes trials.[98]

Horne is right to note that prejudice against Eurasians continued in Stanley Camp, although he also notes that attitudes were changing, albeit far too slowly. One young girl found that while her father didn’t want her to play with Eurasians, her mother took a more pragmatic attitude and, in any case, the circumstances of camp life meant that it was relatively easy to choose her own friends without her father’s interference.[99]  As late as November 1944 the Commissioner of Police (John Pennefather-Evans) ruled that an officer who planned to marry a woman thought to be Eurasian (she denied it) would have to leave the force. Camp Secretary Franklin Gimson was on the officer’s side, but felt he had to support the hierarchy.[100]

Nevertheless, it’s pleasing to provide a footnote to an episode Horne comments on: some ‘white’ women in camp complained that if the Eurasians (and no doubt the rest of the non-British contingent) weren’t there, there would be more food for everyone. The rationale for this was the fact that only ‘pure bred’ whites were absolutely forced into Stanley, but, as Horne points out, rations were sent into camp according to the numbers on the roll, and fewer people would simply have meant less food. And this point was not lost on some internees, as a story in a book that presumably appeared too late for Horne to use nicely illustrates:

One time when it was my turn to queue, I heard a pompous English voice from behind me announce, ‘If there weren’t so many Eurasians in camp, there would be enough food to go around.’ I saw red and was about to retaliate when another woman, also with Asian blood, called out, ‘If we weren’t here, the Japs wouldn’t send as much food to the camp as they do, you arrogant fool!’ This outburst was followed by cheers from the many prisoners standing in line.[101]

Some of those in line must have been British, and it’s a cheering story. However, it’s worth noting that objections from the ‘white’ internees to the Eurasian presence on the grounds of space were better founded, as there was no question of the Japanese adding or taking away accommodation as the numbers fluctuated. Nevertheless, the Camp Temporary Committee decided that the Eurasians could stay,[102] and, although Camp Secretary John Stericker reported this in rather mocking tones, it’s worth pointing out that this decision put the Eurasians in a better position than the ‘whites’: they could decide if the city or camp gave them better prospects, and I know from personal information of at least one family where members seem to have ‘split’ with perhaps both gaining from the dual location. I’m not suggesting that this was a wonderful choice or that it made up for the pre-war racism.

In any case, many internees left Stanley with a determination to make things different in the future. How far they succeeded and failed is beyond the scope of this post, but Horne is right to note that, as memories of the camps, the shared suffering and the heroism displayed by many of Hong Kong’s subject populations in the anti-Japanese struggle, began to fade, some of the old racial arrogance returned. The classic novel of this period of Hong Kong is, as it happens, by an early champion of Eurasian identity, Han Suyin, and the passages on racial attitudes in A Many Splendoured Thing (1952, based on the author’s experiences in 1949-1950) make depressing reading.

New Year’s Eve 1947, in a Hong Kong in which racial barriers, although far from disappearing, are  less sturdy than before the war: starting from the front left, we have Eurasian,  Swiss, Chinese (probable), English, Eurasian, and Brazilian (probable)

But it’s worth considering the fact that, bad as the British treatment of Eurasians sometimes remained, it was soothing compared to the prejudice and violence meted out by some post-war Chinese leftists – one Eurasian man even reports his parents were constantly aware that parcels might be bombs.[103]

Nevertheless, in spite of all this and of the weakness of the evidence presented in Race War! it’s absolutely unthinkable that the appalling racism of pre-war Hong Kong played no part in turning Eurasians and other ethnicities against the British. The trouble is, it’s impossible to assess the extent to which this happened.

There are two possible routes to establishing that racism played a significant part in driving the Eurasians (or any other community) into the arms of the Japanese: the first is detailed case histories – I’ve shown in this post that those provided by Horne don’t stand up to examination. The second is statistical. Precise statistics as to the number of collaborators (by some reasonable definition) from each community don’t exist, and it’s hard to arrive at even a rough idea. The exception to this is the Indian community, where there were a fairly large number of Japanese sympathisers many of whom were motivated by political ideals (support for Indian independence) and/or resentment at British racial arrogance, and where historians have tried to estimate numbers involved. Even here things are not as simple as Horne makes out, and I’ll discuss Hong Kong’s Rajputs, Sikhs and Punjabis in a separate post. However, in the absence of precise statistics I’d be happy to accept the ‘sense’ of a historian who thoroughly knows the sources and shows no strong biases: I doubt that Bernard Wasserstein has evidence that would satisfy a statistician for his claim that in Shanghai a ‘disproportionate’ number of Eurasians collaborated,[104] but I see no reason to doubt it. None of the most reliable historians of Hong Kong’s wartime experience have made any such statement, and my guess is that this caution is justified.

Firstly, it’s not even clear how many Eurasians there were in occupied Hong Kong. One source, (cited in Snow, 2003, 391) gives a figure of 614 not in camps in early 1943, but this seems far too small, perhaps because of a very strict definition of ‘Eurasian’.

Another major problem for a statistical approach to the assessment of the effects of racism is that it’s impossible to establish a base line of ‘pure bred’ white collaborators. I’m aware of BAAG documents that name three pre-war Japanese sympathisers whose ethnicity is unknown but might have been ‘white’; all were in Hong Kong until the autumn of 1942, when they left for Shanghai or Macao. It’s hard to even guess as to how many ‘whites’ would have worked for the Kempeitai or given genuine political support to the Japanese if they’d been forced to make a living in occupied Hong Kong. Even in Stanley and Shamshuipo, where rations were provided, there were ‘stoolies’ and outright spies.[105] In Stanley suspicion fell on non-British people, but a US State Department report (cited in Greg Leck’s study) suggests that ‘at least one of the more vicious informers was a woman of British birth’ and that ‘the Americans also had their quota of informers’.[106] Franklin Gimson’s diary contains a long list of those in camp he suspected of conveying information to the Japanese[107] and diarist R. E. Jones suspected three fellow prison officers of being part of a ‘fifth column’.[108] Only one British prosecution eventuated, a Court-Martial and when the Shamshuipo officer was acquitted (in London) both ex-Pows and civilian internees were indignant.

The null hypothesis that in the case of Hong Kong’s Eurasians they acted no differently from the way the ‘whites’ would have if circumstances had been the same certainly can’t be ruled out on the evidence available to me. However, most likely is the situation that can only be summed up in the vague formula – of course racism played a part in alienating Eurasians from the British. Beyond that it’s not safe to go without more evidence.

If Race War’s thesis as to the deleterious effects of racism on the British resistance to Japan depended on its analysis of the Eurasians we’d have to conclude that at the very best it was ‘not proven’. But Horne is on sounder ground when he deals with the Indian community. Nevertheless, in this case, and in his handling of the  Chinese majority and of the ‘whites’, there are huge problems which I’ll discuss in future posts.

Note:
There’s some disagreement as to the ethnicity of Joseph (Horne calls him William) Carroll, a former stockbroker who was sentenced for collaboration after the war. He might have been Irish/Cuban, but Snow thinks he was Irish/Chinese (364). At his trial he denied suggestions he was part Japanese. There’s also some debate as to whether he did any more than trim his sails to survive. I shall discuss his case in a separate post, but he should mentioned here as a possible Eurasian Japanese sympathiser. Snow also mentions Charles Archer, aka Sidney Gidney, aka Jimmy Murphy, as a prewar ‘Eurasian malcontent’, but I’ve not been ale to find anything about his wartime activities.


[3] Gerald Horne, Race War!, 2004, Kindle Edition Location 602.

[4]  Sociologist H. J. Lethbridge, cited in Horne, 2004, Location 830.

[5] Cited Horne, 2004 Location 752?

[6] Philip Snow, The Fall of Hong Kong, 2003, 356.

[7] Jean Gittins, Stanley: Behind Barbed-Wire, 1982, 8.

[9] Allana Corbin, Prisoners of the Japanese, 2002, 83.

[10] Corbin, 2002, 52-53.

[11] Gittins, 1982, 19.

[12] Paul Gillingham, At The Peak: Hong Kong Between The Wars, 1983, 68.

[13] Horne, 2004, Location763.

[14] Emily Hahn, China To Me, (1944) 1986 ed., 291.

[15] Horne, 2004, Location 834.

[16] Hahn, 1986, ed., 346 ff.

[17] Peter Hall, In The Web, 2012, 160.

[18] He escaped with Gwen Priestwood and the story is told in her Through Japanese Barbed-Wire (1943), where he is called Anthony Bathurst.

[19] Horne, 2004, Location 884.

[21] The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser, April 10, 1925, page 6.

[22] Bernard Wasserstein, Secret  War in Shanghai, 1998, 85.

[23] China Mail, November 25, 1926, page 12.

[25] Hong Kong Telegraph, February 7, 1927, page 1; page 12.

[26] Wasserstein, 1998, 187.

[27] Hongkong Daily Press, February 7, 1927, page 9.

[30] Wasserstein, 1998, 193.

[31] China Mail, September 6, 1927, page 1.

[32] China Mail, September 8, 1927, page 19

[33] Horne, 2004, Location, 895.

[34] Wasserstein, 1998, 192-93.

[35] Before the war he’d given himself the title Retrocession Commissioner for the International Settlement of Shanghai and for Hong Kong and Kowloon, and this position was made official by the Chinese puppet government in 1938 or 1939 – Wasserstein, 1998, 190.

[36] Horne, 2004, Location 6638.

[37] No criticism of Horne is implied: naming people on the internet is different to naming them in an academic book.

[38] Horne, 2004, Location 311.

[39] For an account of Charles Boxer’s guidelines for working for the Japanese, see Hahn, 1986 ed., 324. The version given in Hong Kong Holiday is simpler and amounts to ‘just keep out of politics’.

[40] Robert Ward, Hong Kong Under Japanese Occupation, 1943, 21.

[41] Snow, 2003, 138.

[42] Selwyn Selwyn-Clarke, Footprints, 1975, 70.

[44] Andrew Leiper, A Yen For My Thoughts, 1982, 102-3.

[45]  Ward, 1943 gives some striking examples.

[46] G. B. Endacott and Alan Birch, Hong Kong Eclipse, 1978, 153.

[47] Meiqi Lee, Being Eurasian,, 2004, 69.

[48] Lee, 2004, 70.

[49] Information kindly supplied by Elizabeth Ride, email 10/13/12.

[51] Name absent in original, but geographical and ethnic details make the identification almost certain.

[53] Statement of William Cheng, 14/10/45, Ride Papers.

[54] China Mail, December 17, 1946, page 3.

[55] Endacott and Birch, 1978, 242-243.

[56] Snow, 2003, 281.

[57] Snow, 2003, 281.

[58] Snow, 2003, 196.

[59] Snow, 2003, 196.

[60] Snow, 2003, 222-225.

[61] Snow, 2003, 187.

[63] Oliver Lindsay, At The Going Down of the Sun, 1982, 148.

[64] Snow, 2003, 280.

[66] Snow, 2003, 282.

[67]  Hong Kong Sunday Herald, August 18, 1946, page 4.

[68] Francis Braun, The Banknote That Never Was, 1982, 8.

[69] China Mail, August 17, 1946,  page 4.

[70] China Mail, August 16, 1946, page 4.

[71] Fehilly’s Conversation with Ride, Ride Papers and Waichow Intelligence Summary 30, Ride Papers. For more on Richards see http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2012/08/19/the-french-hospital-arrests-a-synthesis-of-sources/

[72] Hong Kong Sunday Herald, August 18, 1946, page 4.

[73] Hongkong Telegraph, December 17, 1937, page 1.

[74] China Mail, August 16, 1946, page 4.

[75] Hahn, 1986, 346.

[76] Corbin, 2002, 57.

[77] Snow, 2003, 68.

[80] Philip Bruce, Second To None, 1991, 250.

[81] Horne, 2004, Locations 1721 and 1789.

[82] Snow, 2003, 68.

[83] Rhodes House (Oxford), Ms. Ind. Ocn. S222, F. C. Gimson, Internment in Hong-Kong (sic) March 1942 to August 1945, p. 32b.

[84] Hall, 2012, 118, 226.

[85] Bowie, Captive Surgeon in Hong Kong, 1975, 192-193.

[86] Les Fisher, I Will Remember, 1996, 229.

[87] Corbin, 2002, 174-175.

[88] Gittins, 1982, 144.

[90] Report by Major Douglas Clague, Waichow, 15.8.42, Ride Papers.

[91] Hongkong Telegraph, January 12, 1940, page 2.

[92] Hongkong Daily Press,  September 22, 1941, page

[93] China Mail, September 26, 1941, page 6.

[94] Hong Kong Sunday Herald, January 5, 1947, page 2.

[95] Hongkong Sunday Herald, January 5, 1947, page 2

[96] Hongkong Sunday Herald, January 5, 1947, page 2.

[97] China Mail. April 4, 1947, page 2.

[99] Bernice Archer, The Internment of Western Civilians Under The Japanese, 2004, 190.

[100] Geoffrey Emerson, Hong Kong Internment, 1942-1945, Kindle Edition, Location 591.

[101] Corbin, 2002, 165.

[102] Lee, 2004, 148.

[104] Wasserstein, 1998, 183.

[105]Tony  Banham, We Shall Suffer There, 2009, 202-204. Two Canadian were also court-martialled.

[106] Greg Leck, Captives of Empire, 2006, 347.

[107] Rhodes House (Oxford), Ms. Ind. Ocn. S222, F. C. Gimson, Internment in Hong-Kong (sic) March 1942 to August 1945, p. 45, Tuesday 11.

[108] Diary of R. E. Jones, entry for February 14, 1942.

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Thomas’s Card and the Pains of Occupation

When we think of the deprivations of occupied Hong Kong – both inside and outside of the camps – we tend to focus on the often filthy and almost always inadequate rations, the cramped living accommodation, the poor washing and toilet facilities, the lack of freedom and opportunity, the constant fear of torture or execution – and so on.

But there was also a more subtle form of suffering: separation from loved ones. This was particularly hard on husbands in Shamshuipo and wives in Stanley: the men were in the POW camp because, although civilians, they’d fought with the Volunteers, and no visiting between the two camps was allowed through the whole 3 years and 8 months. It was agonising to be no more than half a dozen miles away but in a different world and unable to meet.

The separation was made worse by lack of regular postal communication. Camp Secretary John Stericker didn’t receive a message from his wife back home until two years and three months after the surrender – and he adds that many were worse off, which is hard to imagine.[1] In this respect the situation of husbands and wives in the two camps was a little better, as cards that never left Hong Kong were more likely to get though and to do so in reasonable time.

One of the first priorities of the Hong Kong Government, as it slowly reconstituted itself after the traumas of war and defeat, was to get the names of survivors to people outside Hong Kong. When Gwen Priestwood and ‘Tommy’ Thompson escaped on March 19,[2] 1942 Priestwood was carrying a long list of the names of those in camp written in thin sheets of paper.

Not everyone’s names were on that list though. The archive of Lesley Macey[3] (kindly made available to me by his daughter Ruth Sale) reveals a heartbreaking story of Mr. Macey’s widowed mother quest to find if he’d survived the fighting; it involved her sending SAEs to the Colonial Office  trying to get news of her son’s fate. Mr. Macey was another of those kept outside to help Dr. Selwyn-Clarke so he wasn’t on the list smuggled out by Gwen Priestwood. He’d lost his mother’s latest address in the fighting, and, as a ‘paid companion’, she had moved from those addresses he did have. She didn’t receive any details of his fate until July and August 1943, when the Colonial Office informed her first that her son was at work in town and then that he’d been interned in Stanley. The only card from, Mr. Macey that’s survived was sent to her odd address in May 1943 and is unlikely to have arrived until late in that year or even 1944.

George Wright-Nooth tells us that the pain of separation caused him to make a mistake that could have led to torture and death for two men. In Stanley he’d been ‘running’ a Chinese resistance agent – gathering information, smuggling vitamin enhanced foods into Stanley Prison and so on. Both men had acted with professional skill and avoided detection, and when the agent thought that he was under suspicion, he decided to leave Hong Kong for Macao. Wright-Nooth tells us that, breaking with his previous exemplary caution, he gave the agent a letter to his mother to post from the Portuguese Colony. On reflection, Wright-Nooth realised what a big mistake he’d made, as if the agent had been caught with the letter, the consequences would have been catastrophic for both of them. He later consoled himself with the thought that the man would almost certainly have destroyed the letter speedily.[4]

Thomas was devoted to his family, to his mother, father, three sisters and two brothers. In the English male style of the time, he wasn’t overly demonstrative: as he was saying his goodbyes on April 7 or 8, 1938 before boarding H. M. S. Carthage for Hong Kong,[5] his mother had to tell him that it would be appropriate to kiss her.  The aunt who told me that story also confirms my sense that he wasn’t an obsessional letter writer either. But the feelings were strong underneath, even if they didn’t often find their way to expression, and it must have been a huge pain to Thomas to think that his family didn’t know if he were alive or dead. So he too took a risk, although not nearly as serious as that taken by Wright-Nooth, who would have found it very hard indeed to explain why a Chinese person was carrying a letter to his mother.

Over the spring of 1942 Staff-Sergeant Patrick Sheridan, a pre-war friend of Thomas, and one of the two military bakers who found themselves with unexpected civilian status,[6] was putting together a daring plan to escape Hong Kong and get back into the war. He left on June 4, rejoined the Army at Calcutta, and in November 1942 was gazetted with a Military Medal to honour his achievement.[7]

Years later one of his daughters was going through some previously unnoticed effects of her late father. She found a small collection of escape memorabilia, including a pass he was issued by the British Military Mission at Kweilin (Guilin) to expedite the second half of his journey through Free China. One of the items was this:

dad's card

That’s the address of Thomas’s parents on the top of the card. It seems that Staff-Sergeant Sheridan never returned to Hong Kong,[8] so, he must have taken the card with him when he escaped. The address is not that given on the Jurors Lists for 1939 and 1940 (82, Morrison Hill Road)  so presumably Thomas had the card printed either in 1938 when he first arrived or in 1941. He obviously gave it to Staff-Sergeant Sheridan (or perhaps had already given it to him), added the Windsor address and asked him to contact his parents. My guess is that if Staff-Sergeant Sheridan had been caught, the plan was to claim that he’d been asked to send a letter from Kwang-Chou-Wan in Free China, where he’d told the authorities he was going to get work as baker (in fact this small French territory was merely the first stop on his route to rejoining the British army).

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Pass Given to Staff-Sergeant Sheridan to Help Him Proceed Through Free China

It was something of a risk but it was one that Thomas was willing to take to get word of his survival to his parents. From everything I know of Staff-Sergeant Sheridan, if he promised to get a message through, the message would have been sent.

As it happened, the rumours of the American evacuation that were current on June 4 when the escape began turned out to be true. The first documented news of Thomas was sent to his parents by Charles Winter, one of the bread delivery drivers (the letter, dated August 18, can be read at http://brianedgar.wordpress.com/2011/10/18/thomas-edgar-some-documentation/). News coming the other way was slower: Thomas was not to get word from his parents until the spring of 1943, the first letter he’d received for two years.[9]

Perhaps this form of suffering was no less powerful than the more obvious forms of pain I listed at the start.

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