Shanghai, 1939-1947
(Photo: Martin and Kay, my parents, with the old Shanghai skyline behind them.)
Other sections include: The Promise: We’ll Meet In Falkensee, The Promise: We’ll Meet in Falkensee II, The Promise: We’ll Meet in Falkensee III and Dolly’s Story
[This is a true story, un-edited, a work-in-progress based on my father's "diaries" and letters and independent research]
Shanghai, 1939 by June Morrall
The Yangtse was a busy river, with colorful glimpses of small sampans and larger boats, with and without sails. On the shoreline Japanese sentries caught the eye. After sailing to the exotic ports of Singapore, Manila and Hong Kong, the Yangtse was a depressing sight. The sky was gray, the air cool.
The uncertainty of the future had come to an end and it didn’t appear inviting.
The SS Gneisenau had reached the large wharves and it was time to face the new life. Here it was right in front of Martin and his family. There were people everywhere, crowds of people, none of them familiar.
Questions were asked in German and directions given. These weren’t the first refugees to arrive, after all, and a sense of organization was in place. Guides took small groups through the narrow, dirty streets to “temporary quarters.” Chinese people were everywhere, many wearing rags, many lying on the sidewalks with bloody wounds on arms and legs. Many were begging for food. It was a heartbreaking scene.
This was also an unfamiliar world and Martin and his parents wondered if and how they would “make it” here. The contrast between the first class accommodations aboard the Gneisenau and the new surroundings were shocking. The squalor was shocking.
Their guide assured them that they would grow accustomed to the scene, empathizing and describing his own experience a few months earlier. That may be true for you, thought Martin, who didn’t think he’d ever get used to all the poverty and pain. The stimuli was too much and he withdraw, walking in a daze as the guide took them to their destination.
They crossed a bridge, saw the clutter of sampans, people jumping from one to the other. Women were cooking food in the open air, others were washing clothes in the big, flowing river.
The guide leading the group who had just arrived pointed to a building, the main post office, he said. Next door stood a large hall called the Embankment Building and this was where my father and his family were to stay until they found something else. Surely they would be motivated to find something else quickly as the Embankment Building was furnished with 100 cots, military-style living.
Martin talked to some of the old timers who had lived in the Embankment Building for weeks or months. It was important to register as refugees with the “committee”, a group that would also provide meals.
But on their first night, Martin enjoyed a restaurant meal. Afterwards there was another short walk, passing the poor who were everywhere and rickshaws pulled by coolies, some trotting because they were too old to run.
They enjoyed their first meal at a restaurant, returning to the Embankment Building where they slept. At 10 p.m. it was lights out, Martin and his mom and dad and sister and brother-in-law’s first night in Shangahi. I don’t know where “Pootz” was, but he must not have been far away.
You can imagine that the night was not a restful one. Sleep must have been interrupted by a million thoughts and fears and scenarios. Strange sounds were heard all night long, whispering, and with so many people in there, nobody could enjoy a restful evening.
Martin couldn’t wait until morning when he could make new plans; he wanted out of the Embankment Building.
The “oldtimers” said there were vacancies in Hongkew, a section of Shanghai then inhabited by foreigners and local Chinese. The “Paris of the East” was then chopped up into sections including the International Settlement (the downtown and some residential), the exclusive French Concession, where the buildings and streets evoked memories of classical Europe, extending from the Bund (the harbor) to the west.
People who had life and things in common gathered together in certain areas. The Japanese had their own part of town known for its extreme cleanliness.
After his first terrible night spent in the Embankment Building, my father visited Hongkew where he met some German-speaking folks–and encountered his parents who told him they had already rented two rooms with a kitchen on Studley Ave, a dead-end street, from an Englishman–who lived with an Asian woman and her son.
That lit a big fire under Martin. His parents already were out of the Embankment Building. Now he was determined to do the same thing. He didn’t want to sleep on cots and have people determine when he could go to sleep.
In the end it was Martin’s parents who helped him a find a room for $12 across the way from their new place. His new landlord was a “White Russian” who wasn’t employed and lived by himself. Things were looking better, he thought.
Martin’s cousin Ruth, who by now was living in the U.S., had given him the name of a contact. To meet him he took the bus, then Japanese-operated, to the terminal at the Garden Bridge, part of the International Settlement, I believe. Martin walked two miles to the Avenue Boarding House where he met the contact, “Elguther,” who living there with his brother. “Elguther’s” value lay in his knowledge of getting about Shanghai, the “do”s and the don’ts.”
[Please remember that this is an un-edited worked and there may be inconsistencies and a lack of details]
A physician-friend of Sammy’s had gone to China to practice medicine where a license was unnecessary, and now Sammy thought of contacting him. His name was found in the phone book and a pleasant reunion followed at the doctor’s fabulous home. He also passed on good advice and the names of other contacts, other Germans who had moved to Shanghai.
All of this gave my dad and his family hope, and as the days passed, they began to like their new home, growing accustomed to the surroundings. The street they lived on was quiet, home to many foreigners. The few Chinese in the neighborhood worked as servants.
Martin spent a great deal of time “downtown” where many different nationalities, particularly White Russians who had fled the Russian Revolution in 1917. But there were also Scandinavians, English and French families–and now the German refugees were adding to the population. Each new boat that arrived from Europe brought fresh refugees–on one occasion as many as 400 of the stateless set foot in Shanghai–and it was said that the Germans were the largest group of foreigners there.So it wasn’t unusual to bump into people you had known in Berlin.
Martin followed-up on the referrals he had been given. All were well-to-do, owning export-import businesses. From them he learned about man ufacturing women’s blouses and was encouraged to give it a try. The styles of the blouses seen in the store windows were no match for what his mother had designed.
Finally the family’s luggage, carefully packed in crates, arrived, including bedding, china, cookware–and most important of all, the valuable sewing machines needed for starting a business all over again.
But there was lots of legwork first. Martin found out where to buy silk and this took up a lot of his time. He was starting from scratch in a foreign country where most merchants did not speak a word of English–where to buy this and that took up most of his time. Meanwhile, undeterred, Luise began to design blouses–without her, nothing could have worked.
They had a plan: Once they had a dozen blouse designs, they intended to show the collection to a reputable Austrailian exporter. This they eventually did–and the Australian exporter always tested potential new purchases by showing them to his wife and daughter first. They loved the blouses and the line was sold. Martin and his parents knew they were on the right track.
Now they needed an office in a good location in the “downtown” section of Shanghai. A Mr. Edmunds, an Englishman, helped them find a vacancy in a French-owned building on the eighth floor in a really good location. Refugees had a hard time getting leases and apparently it was Mr. Edmund’s job to do the negotiating–the owner believed he was leasing the office to Edmunds. By the time it became clear that Martin and his family were the actual leasees, it was much too late.
Chinese workers operated the elevator and did the maintenance. They watched the foreigners carefully and let them know the meaning of “losing face” if they were caught doing any kind of manual work, routinely done by the Chinese. But my dad and his parents didn’t let any of that bother them; they realized that to get ahead they had to do what needed to be done. It became a challenge to build up something out of nothing….and they believed they succeeded.
They broke up the space with partitions, separating the office from the showroom. Two German women worked as seamstresses as did Edith. Four Chinese did the detail work. Later a Chinese tailor was hired and as the business grew, refugees were hired, women who could work at home as they did in Berlin. Only this time they were European women working in China.
Martin said that the new business prospered beyond expectation and before the summer of 1939, intense and humid months. Having lived all their lives in Europe, they suffered through the hot sweaty weather. During the windless days, the sun was burning hot, the temperature more than 100 degrees.
The weather was unbearably hot but despite it, they kept working–Sammy, my grandfather, had asthma, and he suffered the most, becoming so ill that he couldn’t move around physically. By that time the Japanese were in control of all things in Shanghai and Sammy had to get their approval, along with that of his physician, to sail to a place called Unzen in Japan to recover his health. Luise went with him as he was carried by rickshaw onto the deck of the boat. Once on the open sea he began to feel much better and was able to walk as he hadn’t for so long. After that followed by the cure in Japan, he had no problems.
While Sammy and his wife, Luise, were in Japan, the business at the Elite Fashion Company continued busily.
My mother Kay joined Martin in Shanghai in the summer of 1939, six months after my father arrived in China. That ended his life as a bachelor, he said, and the couple moved into a boarding house located in the “Settlement.” Kay surprised my father by adjusting quickly to the change in culture [she was very Germanic] but she was critical of the poverty that surrounded her.
She would be the one who thought Mao Zedong was what the Chinese people needed to lift them out of starvation and a life that had to be experienced to believe. All around her, on the streets, everywhere, Kay saw misery. Children, adults, all suffering.
Kay and Martin took the bus to the office which they said helped them to feel a part of the city. They didn’t want to feel like they were refugees. If you got to know Kay, you’d say she was a good public relations woman, maybe better than good, maybe a great one. She worked well with the clientele who came to look at the fashions in the showroom on the eighth floor.
For “Elite Fashion” to become known, Martin and his family took out ads in the British owned “North China Daily News.” Mr. Moffitt, the circulation manager, took a liking to Martin and helped design the ads. As a result, lots of inquiries followed.
Elite Fashion also took out ads on the radio.
One day a customer came into the shop who made all the difference in the world. She was Mrs. Adelaide Laval, an American buyer for a chain of department stores. She purchased several different blouses to be sent to South Africa. Eight weeks later she returned and placed a large order. Martin’s crew had to work overnight to meet the deadline. As a result Elite Fashion became well known, with their blouses sold as Parisian imports at the Linen Chest in Hong Kong.
Well….from Shanghai, “the Paris of the East.”
But, readers, WWII was raging, and Elite Fashion’s luck was too good to last.
For a couple of years the business was running smoothly. They had their sources lined up. Martin shopped and took care of the financial end of things. Taxes were about $10 per year, nothing to worry about. They did the accounting; they were making a profit. And they became accustomed to the hot weather, the food…and life in general.
What made life miserable was the mosquitoes. There was nothing to be done about the annoying insects except to cover themselves with a net when sleeping. While some sections of Shanghai were heavily infested with them, there were none at the office on the eighth floor downtown.
They had a phone at the office which was fortunate because there was a long waiting list for new lines. Bribes and the right contacts always helped. Phone lines were big business in a city with too few of them. When Martin picked up the phone he could tell that there were already more people using the line than should be, like the now long forgotten “party line.”
On December 7, 1941 the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. My father heard the news of the bombing on his radio. Soon after he saw a group of Japanese Marines marching in front of his office building. They looked peaceful-but it was an unusual sight. Until then he had never seen any Japanese soldiers in the International Settlement.
They did control Hongkew, where many of the stateless refugees lived but this was the first time they began to occupy entire buildings, in fact, the entire city of Shanghai.
Everybody was frightened as were Martin and his family and their employees at Elite Fashion. What was going to happen to them now?
Nothing happened at first and business continued as usual but they were intensely aware of the Japanese troops on the street below. It reminded them of the Nazis that had moved in next door to their home on Milastrasse in Berlin.
Plus the American Marines and the British military were no where to be seen.
And then like a thunderbolt it struck: All foreigners, whose countries were at war with Japan, had to fill out special registration papers–affecting Americans and English, French, Australian, and South Africans.
The foreigners were rounded up and sent, for the duration of the war, to internment camps on the opposite side of the Whangpoo River. Some Italians were sent there, too but the Germans, who were staunch allies of Japan, were left alone.
For awhile longer, Martin and his family continued to wheel and deal without restrictions. All those who were stateless, and without passports, hoped for the best but rumors circulated that they were to be corraled into one section of the city. Soon it turned from uncertain rumor to hard fact.
(On yellowing, lightweight onion paper, I have a typed document called: Agreement, April 19, 1943 between Mr. Jinichi Shik, 956 Washing Road and Mr. Martin Marcus, 142/42 Museum Road.
Mr. Martin Marcus agrees to exchange his empty apartment at 142/42 Museum Road against house 956 Washing Road. Mr. Martin Marcus agrees to pay to Mr. Jinichi Shiki Yen 2000–What I’ve posted above is the English version of the document; below the Japanese document.)
—————————————
The deadline for moving the stateless refugees, as they were called, into one special part of Shanghai was set for May 18, 1943–a date my father never forgot. Everybody had to move into Hongkew–and if you were stateless, without passport, you had to go or suffer severe penalties.
Two Korean men had an office in the same building as Elite Fashion. One of them, a Mr. Omura called Martin into his office. He said he met a Secret Detail member of the Japanese Armed Services who told him the Nazis were trying to persuade their allies [the Japanese] to liquidate the refugees by gas in a place known as Pootung.
I think “Pootung” is where all the foreigners had been interned. Americans, British and so on.
For unknown, but thankful reasons, the Japanese did not put this plan into effect–but they did force the stateless refugees to move into Hongkew. Mr. Omura said he hated the Japanese and the Nazis and he felt very badly about the news he was giving Martin.
Bad memories don’t die easily and Korea had been under Japanese control in 1910 when Mr. Omura served in the Japanese army as an officer. Now he was frightened that he would be called up for duty.
And a few days later my dad learned that the 33-year-old Omura had, in fact, been called up for duty. To get out of it, he had taken something to help him fake illness so he would appear as if he was physically unfit. He walked around as if he had a serious back problem.
[After the war ended, Martin learned that Mr. Omura returned to his native Korea where he became a Rear Admiral in the Navy.]
———————————————————
By this time Martin and Kay lived at a boarding order owned and staffed by Chinese. The manager was a Russian woman, her husband an Australian who worked for the Municipal Council of the International Settlement.
Other guests at the boarding house were English, Canadian and even German. They all met during meals. Martin and Kay enjoyed the boarding house because the company was stimulating.
Then the boarding house was sold and they moved their stuff next door. They didn’t like the new place so much and moved again to a smaller but more modern “apartment’ with a balcony. One night they heard a rattling noise coming from the bathroom connected to their rooms. It was a muffled rattling sound because the door was closed. They soon discovered that the noisemaker was a huge rat that had died in the bowl. That was the end of that.
They moved again, this time to a one-room apartment on the fourth floor with a kitchen and bath close to the offices of Elite Fashion. From the eighth floor Martin could see the apartment. It had belonged to an American couple, now interned by the Japanese.
The 40-year-old “Amah” with traditionally bound feet had cooked for the Americans, now prepared food for Martin and Kay.
———————————————
——————————-
Who was Iwan Dolgorouckoff?
There is something in me that welcomes mysteries. That want to solve them. Maybe that’s why I like the past so much. Mystery thrives in the past because if I have a fragment of an event, the people involved, the people who know, are usually gone. That turns it into a mystery. That means I have to put together what little I have and track down what I don’t have. Admittedly, I probably never solve anything; I just create a new mystery but I feel satisfied.
Like me, my dad kept stuff from the past. I don’t know how he managed to keep as much as he did. He had to move from WWII Berlin to Shanghai to San Francisco. My mom kept nothing. I’ll never fully understand her. The fact that she didn’t keep anything is a key to her personality. Just move on, nothing lasts, don’t hold on, or you’ll feel too much pain. She might have come to that conclusion after voluntarily leaving her home in Berlin to join the man she thought she was madly in love with, my dad, a half-Jewish man trying to survive in Shanghai.
She couldn’t have been certain that he loved her. In him, she may have seen the father she lost, shot dead on the last day of WWI in Alsace Lorraine, when she was just a girl.
My father,Charles, was an unusual man. Sensitive. Genuinely thoughtful and concerned, warm but careful in his selection of words.
Like me, dad kept scraps of paper, business cards, letters and envelopes with exotic foreign stamps. He kept the memorabilia for decades, and now I am the lucky recipient, and how I love the mysterious scraps of history that I have inherited. There are invoices with Chinese characters, good as modern art to me. There’s stationery from one of dad’s businesses, blank cream colored paper except for the name at the top: In bold black, “Continental Company,” followed by the Shangahi address.
And there are visuals, too, b/w photographs, plenty of them that lift the curtain of another time : In Europe, Berlin, London, Prague; In Asia, Shanghai, Hong kong.
A treasure for me.
One business card my father carried with him for decades fascinated me as much as the aquamarine ring my mother wore on her right hand. As a kid, the aquamarine ring always captured my attention. Its translucence, elegant square shape, the heavy frame of gold surrounding the soft blue stone. The ring seemed so big to me; I wanted it but thought there was no way I would ever get it. She told me dad had given it to her– and one day, to my total surprise, mom gave me the ring.
Dad kept a business card from Iwan Dolgoroukoff, an eccentric fellow he met in the famous Public Park (where Chinese were not allowed) in Shanghai. There, on the park bench, at one time, or another, my father encountered many of the fascinating exiles living in the international city. Iwan, a Russian, stood out for many reasons but on eof the things my dad couldn’t forget about Iwan was the expensive walking stick he always carried with him. The handle was a gold snake’s head, and when removed revealed a weapon, a sharp dagger.
As a mystery seeker, I could immediately understand the attraction to Iwan Dolgoroukoff, the man who carried a walking stick with a gold snake’s head.
That wasn’t the whole story, though. In time my dad learned that Iwan was in Shanghai, he said, on behalf of Pope Pius XI. My father was of the view that he might have also been a spy.
Would a real spy admit that he was a spy? There’s a mystery right there. I can only say that there was something trusting about my father that encouraged others to reveal dark secrets.
[And at that time, in Shanghai--in the late 1930s and early 40s--many spies were hard at work in Shanghai. Chiang Kai- Shek was trying to hold onto China as his nemesis Mao rallied the people's loyalty. The Japanese were in town, too, running Shanghai by 1942 and every other country had an interest in what was going on there. Shanghai was, perhaps, the most European-looking city in China, partitioned into the French and English concessions, both marked by the presence of lovely European-style buildings. I saw for myself when I visited in 1984.)
I wanted to know who Iwan was. All I had was his business card.
First, I started calling sources in San Francisco.
I'm looking at a sheet of paper with scribbled notes all over it. I don't write in straight lines; I write my notes at angles to one another. I began my search for information by calling the Italian Consulate in the City. I wanted to know what the words on Iwan's card, "Camerier Secret de Cape et," meant. Franco, an official at the consulate, said they meant: secret waiter or manservant. Whatever it meant, it was an honor bestowed upon Mr. Dolgorouckoff, and I wondered what he had done to receive such a special title. Franco and I talked some more and some of our conversation is recorded in the doodles on my piece of paper.
As we said goodbye, Franco advised me to call the Vatican Embassy in Washington, D.C. This was in January 1994, shortly after the death of my father. Now I was encouraged to write the Vatican's historian, Prof. Carlo Pietrangeli, in Rome. This I did, and quickly received a letter in return---written in the Italian language, a surprise.
After receiving an initial response, here's the letter I sent to Prof. Pietrangeli on February 4, 1994:
Dear Professor Pietrangeli,
I am most thankful for your gracious response to my small request desiring official confirmation of the status of Iwan Dolgorouckoff, a man my father met prior to WWII.
My beloved father passed away in 1992, leaving me, his only child, a fascinating collection of memorabilia reflecting his life spent in Shanghai between 1939 and 1946. My deep respect for my father has led me to study the diaries, documents and photographs that reveal his history.
Mr. Dolgorouckoff's name card remains in nearly perfect condition after more than fifty years; he must have left a deep impression on my father.
I am sorry to bother you once more with such a small matter. I understand that it is not of great importance, but I humbly ask whether you might know why the Holy Father would honor Mr. Dolgorouckoff with such a special title? Would the title be equivalent to a knighthood?
Again, I apologize for this inconvenience.
Gratefully yours,
June Morrall
I have 3 letters from Professor Pietrangeli. Here's his response, dated February 15, 1994:
Dear Mrs. Morrall:
With reference to your letter of february 4 I am happy to answer your query.
The Vatican State has several Orders of Knighthood. However the honour conferred on Mr. Dolgorouckoff is of different nature. He was named "Cameriere Segreto" and thus a member of the Papal Court personally at the service of the Holy Father.
I trust this will satisfy your curiosity.
With all good wishes, I am
Sincerely yours,
Prof. Carlo Pietrangeli
After receiving the correspondence, I spoke again with the Vatican Embassy in Washington, D.C. It was explained to me that there are a number of positions at an honorary level, unpaid positions. For example, when the Holy Father celebrates Christmas, he might invite Heads of State--and ask others to participate. Today they are called "gentlemen of Holiness," but in Dolgorouckoff's day, they were known as "Camerier," or "waiters of the sword" invited to perform services during special ceremonies. Usually there were 12 "Camerier" in attendance.
[Perhaps "waiters of the sword" explains the unusual walking stick.]
Such an honorary position is bestowed upon someone who has performed special work or given a gift to the church.
I never did find out what Mr. Iwan Dolgorouckoff did to receive this special honor; I was told that meant whatever he did do was an act that has been kept confidential.
One of my contacts suggested I write to Rev. Thomas Brack at Maryknoll in Los Altos (some of whose Catholic missionaries lived in Shanghai during WWII).
My letter to Maryknoll was dated April 14, 1994. I stressed that “my curiosity” had not been satisfied by the Vatican’s note, and I wanted to know more about Mr. Iwan Dolgoroukoff, who, my dad told me, suddenly vanished in 1940. There were rumors among the Public Park crowd that Dolgoroukoff had been arrested by the Japanese and killed.
I wanted to interview any missionaries that had been in Shanghai during 1938-40.
Here’s the letter I received from Rev. Thomas Brack.
“April 21, ‘94
“Memo to Fr Dwyer
“I understand how anxious June Morrall is to learn more about her father’s activities during his residence in Shanghai.
“Maryknoll Mission Society has had very limited association with the City or the area of Shanghai. Our mission areas were in the extreme south provinces of Kwangtung and kwangsi or north in Manchuria.
“In September of 1939 our American Passenger ship, bringing our newly ordained missioners to Hong Kong stopped briefly in Shanghai. That day Germany declared war on England and we left port with lights blacked out. No Maryknollers were active in Shanghai then or in the period from 1938 to 1947 except the following.
“Circa 1945 the Japanese army left Hongkong and China. I replaced Fr. Tennien as Procurator in Hongkong. Father Tennien spent 2 or 3 years in Shanghai, forwarding mission funds to the Maryknollers in the interior of China. About 1946/1947 Bishop James E. Walsh, M.M. worked in Shanghai until he was jailed there by the Communist Government. Both Father Tennien and Bishop Walsh have since died. I know of no other association of Maryknoll with Shanghai during that time.
“Fr. Tannien had a very astute bilingual Chinese as his secretary in Shanghai. If June thinks it worthwhile she might write him at the following address: Mr. Joseph Yuen (I’ve ommitted the address.)
“I know of no other Maryknoller who had connections with Shanghai during the period in question.”
That was almost the end of the line. I did write Mr. Joseph Yuen but have misplaced the letter. I’ll post his response as soon as I find it.
Yesterday, however, while searching the web for Iwan Dolgorouckoff, I came across an auction site that sold a very special incense burner and snuff bottle that had once belonged to Iwan.
This is what I found
Description:
Qianlong
Carved in medium relief around the flattened globular body with taotie masks divided by two large S-shaped handles, all between keyfret bands at the everted rim and spreading foot (cover missing), 13.5cm.(5 2/8in.) wide; and an agate snuff bottle, circa 1800-1860, the well-hollowed flattened circular body supporting a short circular neck, the translucent caramel stone with V-shaped white banding to the front and U-shaped to the rear, hardstone stopper,
6.2cm.(2 1/2in.) high (3)
du Boulay Collection nos.P223 and P116
Provenance:
P223
Lord Astor of Hever
Purchased from Christie’s, 7 April 1982, lot 362, for £230
P116
Iwan Dolgorouckoff Collection (formed in Shanghai between 1901-25)
Mr and Mrs Cox
——–
While I’ve solved some of the mystery of Mr. Iwan Dolgorouchkoff, I feel confident that one day I will uncover the rest of the intriguing story. And, in fact, today (Sat. Feb 23) I googled Mr. D’s name and there are several new entries, one a book that may connect Iwan to the founding days of General Electric.
————————————————–
For an earlier version of the meeting beween my dad and Iwan D, read on……….
It was at the Public Garden that my father met a mysterious character. He was taller than Martin, my father, three inches taller and his head was cleanly shaven. He had large ears and a prominent nose. He had good posture and must have been in his early 50s.
On the left index finger he wore a large silver ring with a piece of jade surrounded by a snake. He also walked with a black cane, topped by a silver knob, encircled with a snake-like ornament.
The man was eccentric but that was not unusual in the Shanghai of the late 1930s when east met west. Strange appearances did not raise an eyebrow.
The men saw each other often in the Public Garden, my father’s favorite place. After a few casual meetings, they began to talk and the man revealed that he had been born in Russia, fleeing the Revolution to Denmark. He said he was a naturalized Danish citizen.
They became friends and spoke in German, a language both men spoke fluently. The man knew things my father didn’t know, that he hadn’t heard on the radio, or read in the papers–all of which was then controlled by the Japanese. The man said he was close to the Danish consul. He visited their offices daily and that was the source of his news.
The ring fascinated my father and one day the man pulled it off to show my father its contents. He removed the jade stone, beneath which was a tiny vial of “poison,” the mysterious man said. Then he took the walking stick and removed the silver knob, revealing a sharp dagger.
What could the poison and dagger be used for? Although curious, my father was also discreet, and knowing this about my dad, you should understand that he did not interrogate the man with the poison and the dagger.
My father felt the man must trust him to show him these things. Still it was a fact that there were many characters in Shanghai and he was just another one living in the “Paris of the East.”
One day he gave my father his calling card, and it said: Iwan D….etc. (to see the original card, scroll upwards). The man possessed a “papal passport” which put him above the ordinary citizen, allowing him to travel anywhere. He said this family had a coat of arms, a crown, adding that he had been a member of the Tsar’s family. My father didn’t know if what he was hearing was the truth but it was fascinating.
Iwan D….. said that when the war ended he would explain exactly how my dad could make money in the real estate market. He also suggested that my father convert to Catholism.
Then he vanished for awhile, and when he reappeared, he said he had to lay low; he couldn’t be seen too much.
And then he didn’t come back to the Public Park at all. Days and then weeks passed, no Iwan. My father began to make discreet inquiries. The Japanese had a firm grip on the city, and Martin had to be careful to not attract the attention of the “Kempei,” the Japanese secret police, similar to the German Gestapo.
There was a well known building, the “Bridge-House,” where the Kempei incarcerated people of all nationalities–arresting anyone who spoke against Japan. It was rumored that torture was not uncommon and that many inmates were killed or died there.
There was one rumor buzzing through the Public Park that a man, who sold chemicals, had been dragged into Kempei headquarters at the “Bridge-House,” never to be seen again.
Through secret channels, my dad learned that Iwan D. had been arrested and brought to Kempei headquarters for interrogation.
We can only speculate: maybe Iwan was a spy or he knew too much and the Japanese wanted to know what he knew. A good source told my father that Iwan had died, the method of death unknown.
———————————————–
In Shanghai, my father, Charles, made other friends. I believe that the Englishman Hywel Carey Edmunds helped my father rent a building for his business. I mention Edmunds earlier in this post; you have to scroll up a bit.
In 1945 Mr. Edmunds penciled a letter on very lightweight paper to my father, then called Marcus. I’m not sure I had read this letter before and its contents shook me, yet the story it tells might not have been that extraordinary at the time.
Peking
Aug. 28th 1945
Dear Marcus,
Although not yet released from our Japanese guards we have been allowed to write two uncensored letters & one of which I have sent Henningsen Produce Co., with request to inform Mr. Archer. During this past almost 3 years we have suffered untold hardships. At one time my weight was down to 90 lbs & I could scarcely walk; all due to malnutrition. We were moved from Shanghai in a filthy train for 4 days & 4 nights lived on hard biscuits & small quantities of cold water. At the end our legs were terribly swollen & we were then thrown into a dirty godown. The Japs were trying to get us over to Japan but failed & on Aug 19 an American Air Rescue Unit flew over us & dropped paratroops. We were then safe & moved into a Jap hotel in Peking. So at last this gruesome nightmare is drawing to a close and I have survived. I you see Mrs. Archer please tell her I am alright, more or less. We are here now awaiting transportation to Shanghai. It is not much fun as we have not one cent between us. Hope you can read this as there is no ink anywhere. Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Yours sincerely
H.C. Edmunds
——————-
I’m guessing but it appears that while Mr. Edmunds was in prison, my dad sent him packages. Here’s the evidence:
From Civil Assembly Center (17th Oct. 1944)
From:
Name in Full: Hywel Carey Edmunds
Nationality: British
Relation of Inmate to Addresse: Friend
To:
Name in full: Mr. Martin D. Marcus
Nationality: Without Any
Full Address: 956 Hsu Chang Lu
Message:
Heartfelt thanks for parcel 5th Oct. Milk, sugar, jam, biscuits, sausage, supplied great need. Sorry “contas” unavailable, but I understand difficulties. Any cigars are greatly welcomed as they help a lot. Whole parcel much appreciated. Will never forget your kindness in these trying times. My health bearing up. To you all.
H.C. Edmunds
—-
(Same form as above, dated 10th March 1945)
Message:
Received your letter 2nd March. Cigars in February. Many thanks. Have written Ledwidge 9th January asking for parcel containing jam, salami, sausage, sugar, biscuits or any tinned food. Will you kindly enquire whether he received letter and can he arrange something in my urgent need. Health fair. Kindest regards. H.C. Edmunds.
——–
(Same Form, dated 9t Dec. 1946
Message:
Cigars received joyfully. If you send box cigars every two months shall be deeply gratified as they help so much. Send nothing else as I fully realise expense. My health continues fair although feeling cold intensely. I extend your good self, wife, and all family greetings for Xmas and New Years. H.C. Edmunds.
—————————————————————-
The time drew near for the stateless refugees (as my father was called) to move into Hongkew. Dad had to look for new quarters because he was going to have to trade the comfortable apartment he shared with Kay on Museum Road with a Japanese family. A Japanese couple was found who agreed to swap but my father had to sweeten the deal with a large amount of money.
Here’s the document signed by both parties (I also posted it earlier). Now I’m not sure if I positioned it correctly; you can see my dad’s signature.
Charles and Kay’s new home was a large room on the ground floor of a two-story building. I have visited rural China, and I am familiar with outhouses on farms in California, but I know my European parents were unnerved by the hole in the floor in the lavatory.
There was a room upstairs with a balcony and high ceiling. It was very cold in there during the winter. When they went to bed, they bundled up in extra layers of clothing to stay warm.
The hot summer months brought swarms of mosquitos and my mom suffered from malaria, a terrible illness she talked about decades later. Medicine was not easy to get before the G.I.’s came.
A friend called Heinz rented the room downstairs. He brought his mother with him. Heinz worked for a Swiss company that sold typewriters, with offices in the same building as my father’s business.
WWII was a tumultuous time, full of unpredictability, when individuals were forced to reveal their strengths, what they were made of, or else they crumbled and didn’t survive. Heinz was a likable fellow who could take care of himself.
Figuring out unique ways to make money became an integral part of getting through the war. Paper was in high demand, and Dad, using his American contacts, helped put together a deal that brought a load of it into Shanghai. Heinz played a role, too, earning a nice commission.
This led to Heinz setting up a broker’s business in my father’s office. Deals covered everything from whiskey to chemicals, food, oil and medicine. They got the stuff and found people to sell the goods. Because they were working in the black market, there was great danger involved, and more often than not, the profits were big.
—————
Sorry for the long intermission. I’ve had health problems and my papers were moved from one location to another. I did find the following newspaper article that my dad kept in his files for reasons unknown.
———————
Newspaper article, Sept. 3, 1947
Changhai, Sept. 2 (UPI)
Thomas Malloy of Chicago pleaded innocent today to a charge of of murdering a Chinese from whom he sought to buy gold bars. The prosecution produced a man who testified he saw Malloy shoot the Chinese to death in the back seat of an automobile.
The witness, Hongkong-born Charles P. Archer, a gold bar dealer, told the U.S. Army Court-Martial he was driving a car with Malloy and the Chinese, Yu Shen-chao, sitting in the rear seat.
“I heard a shot and looked around and asked Malloy what happened,” said Archer, a British subject who also faces a murder charge in a Chinese court.
“Drive on,” Malloy yelled at me. I saw Yu Shen-shao, with both hands holding his chest, staring at Malloy. I drove on.”
“I heard Yu cry out once, ‘ don’t kill me. I want my life. I give you money. I no say anything to police,” Archer testified.
The witness sad Malloy later dumped the body out of the car on the outskirts of Shanghai.
Malloy has retained two civilian attorneys, George Plotkin and Miss Clara C. Storper, both of New York city, to augment his two Army defense counsels.
(End of article.)
_______________