Exploring “Old China”
Early 1948
Our first home was located on Route Doumer in Shanghai’s former French “foreign trading concession.” After almost 100 years, France’s trading concession had been dissolved by 1946, only two years before our arrival.
Occasionally on weekends our family would opt to spend a full day exploring some of “old” China’s countryside by car. Often this meant driving well beyond Shanghai’s relatively safe urban boundaries.
On these excursions Dad always drove. Mom and he loved leaving Shanghai behind, past the deteriorating ancient city walls then down the narrow, typically unpaved roads connecting the outlying villages for as far as one could see. Whether in the city or well beyond its boundaries, to them poking around was great fun discovering and learning more about “old” China, its “hidden treasures,” and its mysteries.
Even following World War II, most Chinese in the countryside had never seen westerners. At best, tall Caucasians with blond hair and blue eyes were seen as foreign curiosities. One word the locals used for foreigner, ‘da bizi,’ translates into ‘big nose’ which can be considered derogatory. Nevertheless, the rural Chinese that we came into contact with were found to be inquisitive, respectful, and helpful though often withdrawn.
Wherever Dad wanted to take pictures of people, he used a small Minox camera. Its tiny size avoided his subjects from knowing they were being photographed. In China, as in many parts of the world, a photograph of a local could be seen as the “devil’s work”. Indeed, just seeing a camera could generate unease and sometimes anger among the locals. Therefore, a Minox was easy to use unobtrusively, especially when being operated from an empty Lucky Strike cigarette pack. Dad often used this approach as our family traveled the world.
When leaving Shanghai by car, beyond its city limits we sensed we were entering a different world. Once outside the city’s original International Settlement limits, one quickly discovered that “old” China had retained much of its ancient customs, laws, and intrigue. Not far outside Shanghai, questionable and sometimes dangerous warlord armies continued to prevail even after World War II. Despite the collapse of China’s empire (1912) and the end of its extended wars with Japan (1945), much of its semi-feudal culture and way of life in the countryside remained intact.
Our family spent a lot of its free time exploring in search of “old” China. On arriving at what appeared to be an exotic location, we would first try to assess and then seek so-called “hidden treasures.” We soon learned that in China’s ancient world, beauty and poverty were bedfellows.
Traveling into China’s vast hinterlands one might come upon a hill fort dating back centuries. Ancient fortified villages could be found tucked away among outlying hills and valleys. Gated walls could rise over 12 feet. Crenelated bastions and watchtowers were not uncommon. The larger forts encompassed considerable acreage inside their walls that supported and protected hundreds of residents, i.e. farmers, craftsmen, herders, mothers, children and livestock.
Occasionally I recall Mom and Dad describing exquisite ancient structures in the northern reaches of China. On learning about China before leaving the United States, they had researched a number of notable ancient monasteries, pagodas and even family houses particularly located in the north. Incredibly, these brick and occasionally wooden structures had been built in the Song dynasty (10thC.-13thC.) and some as far back as the Tang dynasty (7thC.-10thC.). It was said these “hidden treasures” could still be seen in China’s northern provinces such as Shanxi.
An 11th century wooden pagoda in Shanxi Province. (Photo source)
By the time we left mainland China in early 1949, all of us had visited many thriving pagodas, temples and monasteries, all actively serving the country’s Buddhist population. Most of the ones we visited housed hundreds of brilliantly-colored or gilded gods, both large and small. Thousands of faithful worshippers burned silver paper offerings representing money. Everywhere, huge amounts of burning incense emitted clouds of pungent smoke throughout the multi-tiered holy structures. I loved the smell of the heavy incense smoke always swirling about, day and night, wafting among the gods.
Throughout much of China, motor vehicles and macadam roads were not common. Electricity was limited as were telephones. Much of the law of the land and social customs remained archaic. Modernization had scarcely touched Shanghai’s rural areas. The country’s economy was still powered by man and beast.
Rural family houses mostly consisted of two or three small rooms constructed of mud, dung, and straw. Foul, paperless and unmaintained toilets were scattered haphazardly along most of China’s pock-marked roads. Public toilets in the country consisted of shallow holes dug arbitrarily into the unstable dirt embankments. To use these toilets, one had to straddle or squat precariously over an earthen hole. Risk of slipping into one of these toilets was great. Privacy was never a consideration. Throughout China, human waste was considered a valued commodity fertilizing much of the country’s rice crops. At the time, China was producing more than 30% of the world’s rice. When fertilizing the rice crops, the putrid stench was unbearable.
On balance, most of the rural Chinese we encountered were filthy beyond description. Regular bathing was not customary. Farm animals -- including water buffalo, pigs, goats and dogs -- wandered at will in and around farm houses. Clouds of flies hovered everywhere crawling over everything. Many people appeared diseased. Infections were evident everywhere. Festering body sores and infected eyes, in particular, attracted hosts of flies. Occasionally, white larvae could be seen feasting on wounds. Tragically, poverty, hunger, and illnesses were the norm in 1948.
In her wisdom, Mom was quick to remind us children of the important distinction between the rural and urban Chinese poor. She differentiated that while farm children were seen as “dirt poor,” few were malnourished. This was attributable to the fact China’s farmers oversaw most of the country’s food production and distribution. In rural areas, hunger was nowhere as prevalent as it was among urban children. Generally speaking, in the cities food was more scarce and more expensive than in the countryside leading to widespread urban malnutrition.
Overall, as a young boy of eleven, I observed that quite apart from their dire circumstances, most Chinese children seemed joyful. They loved to play, shout, laugh and tease, thus transmitting their irresistible smiles for all to enjoy.
An Ugly Ancient Gate
It was a long, steamy day of exploring well outside of Shanghai. We children were tired and had become irritable and whiny. Heather, Tom, and I wanted to head home. Everyone was soaked with perspiration and dust despite the car’s open windows. There was no air conditioning at the time, nor were dependable road maps available. Our car was proceeding laboriously seeking its way under Dad’s excellent dead reckoning. The car’s normal cruising speed over the narrow, muddy roads rarely exceeded 25 mph as we returned home the same way we had come. By doing so we always explored new territory during each foray.
Quite suddenly, Mom spotted another small walled village in the distance sitting on a rise well off the road. There were moans and even tears among some of us as we heard our parents expressing interest in the unknown village. As soon as Dad came across a fresh wagon lane, he veered off the road and headed in the general direction of the new discovery. Our sedan maneuvered cautiously among the fertilized rice fields. We children were exhausted from an already long day as the car approached the walled village on the hill. Tears of exasperation and sniffling emanated from the back seat.
As our car approached the hill fort, suddenly, Mom’s raised voice alerted Dad. He too had identified her concern as he disembarked from the car. There, perhaps 10 feet high on the massive wooden gates hung two severed human heads. Together they were attached to the gate by their long hair wrapped around a large protruding spike. Each head faced downward in opposite directions, eyes closed. Clearly this grotesque scene was intended for non-residents to take note of the severe message before entering the village.
Reacting promptly, Mom managed to prevent Heather and Tom from seeing the gates that were only 30 feet from us. Seated in front and out of Mom’s sphere of influence, I caught a brief glimpse of the heads. Without hesitation, Dad approached my side of the car to divert my attention. Then, as if by signal, a cluster of local children suddenly appeared out of nowhere and swarmed around us.
Everywhere in China clusters of waifs seemed to appear out of nowhere, particularly in the presence of tourists. That day, a sizable group closed in on us, their hands extended. They ranged in age from five to fifteen. Foreigners referred to these aggressive beggars as “urchins.” As a rule, they had runny noses, were filthy beyond description and dressed in rags. Many had smiles that gave us some comfort. Given the preponderance of infections and diseases throughout China, it was recognized among Westerners that all should avoid physical contact with such locals. Failing to glean a few coins from their targets, the urchins’ alternative was to fall back on picking pockets. The rougher the begging techniques, the greater became their body contact with us. At this remote location there were no police available to help us.
Staring at the two hanging heads, I remained speechless. My mouth wide open, Dad took my hand and walked me quickly through the small door in the large gate. He tried to rationalize for me the bloodcurdling spectacle. At the entrance he called back to Mom suggesting she and the two children remain with the car.
When traveling in Third World countries, our family operated within self-imposed guidelines for safety reasons. In the case of a car being attended to in public, a designated driver was to remain inside the car. Doors were to be locked, the windows kept cracked to allow for fresh air, and the key in the ignition. To this end, as Dad and I disappeared into the village, Mom, Heather and Tom promptly got back into the car. They locked the doors and cracked the windows. Mom then turned the car around facing it away from the village gate for a quick departure.
Prior to that late afternoon, I had never before seen evidence of death by decapitation. To be sure, I had seen dozens of corpses on the streets of Shanghai. However, their deaths were the result of freezing and/or starvation rather than from violence. This experience was different. Dad tried to comfort me. His explanation was that the two executed men may well have been bandits who had either threatened or, in some way, had harmed the village. Ancient laws often produced immediate, cruel, results.
A few townsmen approached Dad. Following brief discussions and a few exchanges of respect between the leaders and Dad, we moved on. The horde of children still with runny noses and with extended hands continued to shadow us. I remained in a stupor as Dad whisked me from place to place exploring the village. It took little time to recognize the village’s limited architectural value. There seemed to be few, if any, meaningful treasures. We returned to the car with hopeful expectations unfulfilled. Before driving off, Dad handed me a few coins to be doled out to the presumptive leader of the urchins. They seemed happy with the transaction.
I still remained in shock as our car pulled away from the village. Even today, thinking back to that grisly encounter, I recall few details from our walk -- a dirty, very poor community housed in a medieval-like wall -- and the two human heads. As we drove off, my last recollection was that of fragrant, exotic aromas wafting inside the village walls as the Chinese kitchens prepared their evening meals.
Leaving the village fortress that day, I chose not to speak. Instead, I opted to fall asleep in the front seat. To this day, even following a traumatic situation, with little effort I can make myself go to sleep. This unusual, “sleeping on demand” technique was a skill I developed as a young boy. Since then, this almost automatic, escape technique has served me well over the years.
The “ugly gate” episode left me fearful. It was some time before any family member was willing to discuss our traumatic encounter at the village gate.
An example of an old gate in rural China. (Source: Ronald G. Knapp Collection)
