Hello, Over There, I'm Still Over Here!

But only just; I'm going home tomorrow. Am I ready? Ask me next week!

I crave spinach and simply cooked salmon, and wholegrain rice, and perfectly boiled eggs,
and chocolates that Their Excellencies wouldn't dream of Spoiling Anyone with, but rather keep for Themselves.

But, on the other hand, you see, I'm spending the last few days on my own in a traditional courtyard hotel, where it's quiet (no drilling, no huge holes in the ground ...) and the staff treat me like a long-lost favourite granny. They speak English and love to try it out as often as possible. I've walked up and down the hutong outside (narrow lane bordered by ancient walls and houses, shops, restaurants) where the residents smile and nod. The renovation work going on means a ton of rubble heaped against a wall, and a bit of half-hearted banging, but mostly its bustling at its slowest. It's dusty, and the trees choke on it, leaning limply against their bit of wall. They have to contend with the scooters, mopeds, bikes and trailers, rickshaws, cars, vans, big and small, police cars (the station is 30 yds from the hotel), but my room is tucked away in the corner of a back courtyard. I can sit at a table with my coffee when it's sunny, or relax in the cosy room watching Chinese opera on tv with the volume down! I'm hooked after a month! I can't listen to it for very long, but I can't stop watching the intricate movements and body language; every one is meaningful, if I knew what it meant. I particularly like the male lead, usually wearing a false beard so you can't see his mouth, with his eyebrows painted into a fierce arc, making him look like an angry wasp. When he's wearing the most imposing headdress, with silver wobbling baubles that tremble with every warble, just the tiniest twitch of his head sends two impossibly long peacock feathers jutting from the top into writhing, flicking whips, and then he stands on one leg! Oh magic! And there are other masterpieces of drama -- the army serial which has captains and generals as the main characters, being challenged to make the right decision in Difficult Circumstances and, after gazing manfully into the distance, usually burst into tears in the process, and there's one beautiful young woman in it, who spends her time being quiet and looking wistful, her eyes lumimous with Unrequited Love underneath the lumpy army cap she's wearing. And this being the 60th anniversary of Mao's "reign" there's a docu-drama being shown daily about his life. He was a handsome chap when he was young, wasn't he, and obviously a great wit, for every time he makes a Pronouncement to his young colleagues they all slap their thighs and say "Ha ha ha" in manly tones.

Have I got any work done since I've been here in Beijing? Well, yes, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I was made welcome at the British Embassy and shown round the Consulate's green and lovely garden which has garden statues and stone pots and things brought from the old British Legation when they relocated in 1950. And there was a large iron bell hanging from a Chinese red and green wooden frame. I swear the holes in it were bullet holes, and the bell was clearly very old ... could it be the bell which was rung in its own small belltower as a warning of imminent danger such as fire, or fire-power about to be unleashed from across the Legation wall in 1900? I think so.

My grandparents lived through the siege that summer, with Granny's world shrinking suddenly to one bedroom when their only son, Murray, was terribly ill with scarlet fever and diptheria. The worst night was during a storm, with the rain lashing down and thunder and lightning adding to the sound of rifle-fire, shouting and the clash of steel weapons. Murray lay asleep in his cot and had just turned tail, with his feet where his head should be, when a bullet smashed the window, cut through 2 layers of curtain and fell, spent, at Granny's feet, just inches from where Murray's head should have been. She pulled her mattress from her bed, shoved it into the window and stood all night holding it in place.

The siege lasted for 55 days and there was no good food to help Murray recover. He died six days after the relief and Granny describes in a letter home how his little coffin was wrapped in the Union Jack, and laid to rest between 2 of his favourite people, Capt Strouts, and a young student interpreter, Henry Warren. So bravely did Murray fight for his life she called him Little Soldier.

I was shown a memorial corner of the garden, and the first plaque I looked at was from the old Legation. It was a memorial to those who'd died in the siege. There was Capt Strouts' at the top and there was Henry Warren. And near the bottom: Also of Murray Ker, aged one year and ten months who died six days after the siege. Son of W P Ker Assistant Chinese Secretary HBM Legation.

I'd found little Murray at last.

I was introduced to our Ambassador who showed me some old photographs of the legation; could I identify any of them? A couple I was sure of and another couple I was nearly sure of, so now I'll go home and check. He told me that there was an effort being made to build up their historical archive which has been lost, one way or another, over the years. So I gave them a start; the photo of Murray I was carrying and 2 photos of my grandparents standing alongside Pu Yi. I think they'd like that idea, being the start of a new archive. I was invited to attend the Remembrance Day service tomorrow, but I'll be in the departure lounge again, sipping endless cups of lemon tea ...

PS The Summer Palace was fogbound yesterday, and so was the Forbidden City today, though the sun struggled into view for a little while and I took lots of photos. It's difficult to show the size and power of those buildings. And the red of the walls looks wrong in photos. It's somewhere between a darkish rose pink and brick red. It's not apricot, and its not peach, or pomegranate, or water melon. I love the roofs and the decorations under the eaves best, and the patterns in the stone pathway leading to the outer halls. I started at the back of the place and am glad I did because I wandered on my own (well, give or take a few hundred others) along the alleyways leading to the living quarters. I took photos of neglected corners and corridors because you can almost feel the presence of all those people running around.

My favourite opera character is on. Sorry, but you know how it is ...