CHAPTER 1

In order to provide context and historical accuracy for the wartime events, I have needed to refer to my parents’ diaries and notes, so the story includes these with my own memories until my clear impressions as a child develop sufficiently to stand on their own. At the beginning of this account my parents were twenty-eight and twenty-nine; Father was very tall at six foot four, while Mother by contrast was barely five foot and petite. They were both Londoners.

I was born Margaret Crowther Craddock in September 1938 at the London Hospital where my father had trained as a doctor some years before, while mother was a nurse from University College Hospital. My middle name Crowther was bestowed on me in honour of my parents’ friendship with Bishop Crowther, an African colleague of theirs in Nigeria. They were missionaries, now having returned from their mission in Zaria, Northern Nigeria, for the birth of their first child to take place safely in England. It was not thought suitable, then, for children of Europeans either to be born or to live in Nigeria, which was commonly referred to as the ‘White Man’s Grave’. Since this made it impossible for them to return to Nigeria after my arrival, the Church Missionary Society decided to send them to China instead. Japanese forces had already invaded China at this time and a state of war was in progress.

After an epic journey west from England, crossing the Atlantic and Canada, then by ship again across the North Pacific and Yellow Sea, our little family duly arrived by steamer at the Chinese port of Taiku in March 1939. There we were confronted by Japanese soldiers terrorising the arriving passengers with fixed bayonets, which they were jabbing into luggage and belongings, so that when they came to my carry-cot covered in a blanket I was very nearly dispatched, but for Mother’s quick thinking in grabbing the arm of the soldier before it descended on me. We then proceeded on to Peking by train without further incident.

My parents’ first task in China was to learn the Mandarin language before they could take on any medical or missionary work. So they were enrolled in the Language School at Peking University, which was a full-time course lasting for a year, taught by Chinese scholars who spoke no English. While they were fully occupied doing this, I was cared for by a Chinese amah called Wang Nei Nei. I remember clearly, though I was very young, being taken by Wang Nei Nei each day to the city square, where we passed many happy hours watching the activities of flocks of pigeons that swooped and whirled around us. They had whistles tied to their tails, which made a charming noise when flying such as could enthral a small child, and I remember being fascinated by this and pointing and exclaiming in Mandarin, which quickly became the most natural language to me, as we all spoke it at home so my parents could practise together.

Wang Nei Nei was a small round woman dressed plainly in black tunic and trousers. She had tiny black-slippered feet on which she seemed precariously balanced, but walked unhesitatingly with quick short steps like a clockwork doll. She was kind, gentle and infinitely patient. My memories of her recall a sense of complete serenity.

It was at this time that my father decided I didn’t look or behave like a Margaret; in his opinion I was more like a Wendy, so my name was changed. Later, when I asked him about this, he said I was too much of a fairylike creature to be a Margaret!

When the year in Peking came to an end and my parents were competent in Mandarin, we set off on our first posting which was to the city of Kunming, a long way south in Yunnan Province, a month’s journey by train and ship via Shanghai and Hanoi. The Japanese were bombing the Indo-Chinese border which we had to cross by train, and had destroyed a rail bridge while a train was crossing a few days previously, killing many passengers, so my parents were anxious. After this incident the trains ran at night to avoid being spotted from the air and, even so, were sometimes obliged to hide in tunnels. So the threat from bombing was replaced by a real fear of suffocation from poisonous fumes building up in the tunnel. However, those who succumbed to unconsciousness came