China
The pedallers and the pedlars
Mark Swallow
he guest of honour at a wedding in the Chinese countryside must toast the groom three times, the bride three times and the groom's father three times. The glass must be drained on each occasion and the whole Operation takes about three minutes.
Given a choice of alcohol, I opted for brandy instead of beijiu, their very lively White spirit, and three minutes later I staggered into a side room to be alone. Almost immediately I was revived by a grandmother who was kissing me energeti- cally on both cheeks, back and forth, back and forth, very fast. She said she just had to kiss the first Englishman she had seen in Weihai, Shandong province, since 1930. . In that year Sir Reginald Johnston, the City's last British commissioner and the former tutor to Pu Yi, the last Chinese emperor, led his pith-helmeted administra- tors down to the Yellow Sea shore to watch the Union Jack lowered and then to catch a Royal Navy cruiser home. A Chinese Observer of the ceremony was moved to write: 'The cause of justice and righteous- ness has triumphed over petty national selfishness.... May the restoration of Weihaiwei and its successful Chinese admi- nistration pave the way for other renditions Of leased territories to follow.'
Whether or not all goes so smoothly When the flag comes down on Hong Kong, modern Weihai (the second `wei' was knocked off after liberation by the Com- munists in 1949) is now self-confident and open-minded enough to re-establish a little Official contact with the British. A friendship link' has been forged with Cheltenham and there is talk of a full-scale twinning in the future. Similarities between these two cities might seem forced but Weihai does offer health-giving spa waters and retired offic- ers of the People's Liberation Army do tend to stroll along the leafy promenade. There the similarities end.
Food is rationed, school leavers are told what career to follow and the wages do not provide anything more than the boring necessities of life. After work the citizens of Weihai bicycle home to tiny concrete flats, turn on the television, eat rice, cabbage, fatty pork and fish, play with the child, go to bed. For the ambitious, intelli- gent young of Weihai, who crave some- thing more in life, there seem to be three courses of action: you study English or you become a pedlar or a hairdresser.
My students at the Weihai Science and Technology Centre were archetypes of Chinese diligence and politeness but they also had the extra passion for learning of those who had thought their student days were over. Aged from 19 to 50, they had been collected from factories, government offices, hotels and school staff rooms after my surprise admission that I wanted to teach in the city.
From that day on I was never alone, students tapping on my door from six a.m., hoping for a couple of English idioms or a shot of vocab to ease the boredom of the working day. At seven a.m. the telephone would start ringing with more students telling me they had `sleeped like a log sleeps' or they 'might have got out of the wrong side of the bed today'. In class they spoke in their variously awful accents without shyness and even tolerated dicta- tions from The Spectator and the Daily Mirror.
The long-term object of all this is a chance to travel. You cannot underesti- mate the fascination the outside world exerts on these intelligent young Chinese who have often never even journeyed to Peking, 24 hours up the railway. Money is the other great passion in China, which is where peddling and hair- dressing come in. Many `chuppies' prefer the freedom of the deregulated market- place to the hard rules of English grammar. Middle school teachers say pedlar is the most popular career choice among their students and the rewards are great. They may be forfeiting the security of the 'iron rice bowl' of a government salary but, by selling wool, clothes or cigarettes in the street, they can earn 100 yuan (about £17) on a good day — and have the satisfaction of making their own way in the world.
Their former teachers, on the other hand, earn about 100-150 yuan a month — alongside doctors, factory workers and other state employees. Hairdressing is rather more appealing. As young men now wear Western-style jackets — leather and denim — at all times, and girls move into little lace gloves and on to high heels, everyone wants a perm in the tiny, privately-owned salons where the disco music pumps onto the street. With no- where else to go, young people hang out down at the barber.
It is bewildering to hear frank admis- sions in the street that 'we are not com- munists here'. Mao's face and his slogans have slid from view completely. I found only one faded mural of the Great Helms- man in Weihai; on some sites, his round head has not been just whitewashed but chipped out of the plaster. He is seldom mentioned by young people, who used to have his propaganda badges pinned all over their bibs and who later, as children, had to pray before his portrait in the home.
But it may be the greatest Chinese strength that they can effectively airbrush the terrible times from their past. In Weihai the confidence in the future is astonishing. In just six months hundreds of sturdy cottages with fine traditional gates have been swept away and replaced by shiny shopfronts and offices on what is called Commercial Street. Traffic levels are rising and there are at least ten taxis. Soon they will have to make some rules at junctions and roundabouts. A radio station and a university were opened last year and Weihai airport has started operating flights to Peking; new docks and a railway station are planned for the near future. Factories boast Western machinery and joint ven- tures with foreigners who will soon be able to stay in Weihaiwei Mansion, a three-star international hotel with ballroom and dis- cotheque. Life is gathering pace. Even cyclists are going faster. Old Wang, gatekeeper at my hotel, said they no longer dismount, a traditional courtesy, as they pass his tiny office. And just ten years ago it was said if you fried a fish for supper, everyone in Weihai could smell it.
All this bears testimony to Mr Deng's economic reforms, a revolution as dramati- cally constructive as the Cultural Revolu- tion was destructive. The grandparents, who remember our administration, the Japanese invasion and the communist li- beration as well, seem quite content with the latest swing.
'We just sit and watch now,' said one old man who spoke with an almost perfect English accent, picked up from white- suited masters in the church school when his vocal cords were soft and young. His wife, with her tiny bound feet, claimed the Queen was born on Liugong Island, which lies just offshore. Others say it was Mrs Thatcher's birthplace. Some remember seeing them both, playing together as babies.
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