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cook. There was therefore no question of helping our hostess, whose company
by that time I was only too happy to enjoy. Our meal was, of course, Cantonese
(Canton, only just up the river, at that time might as well have been on the moon
for all purposes other than its cuisine) but was preceded by an excellent selection
of Scotches (of which at the time I had only ‘blended’ experience) and as good a
selection of wines. Our host was at his convivial best, and even had some amusing
stories about the Bank (‘amusing’, I suspect, only after handsome portions of Mr
J. Walker’s best).

To conclude the evening, our host played for us a selection of his favourite
records. One in particular stayed with me. Out of the blue, he said, “How would
you like some Nina Simone?”

I said, “Fine,” although I had never heard of her, and he put on ‘Lilac Wine’
and ‘Break Down and Let It All Out’, two of the most moving songs that I had ever
experienced outside Strauss’ ‘Four Last Songs’. It could have been the scotch, it
could have been the company, it could have been the occasion, who knows? But I
have never forgotten the evening. We parted after midnight.

Next day I decided that it was time to purchase some Chinese table crockery,
because it had become apparent to me that most of the world completely
misconceived the Chinese way of life and culture but that we would soon enough
face reality. Napoleon may or may not have said, “China is a sleeping giant; let
her lie and sleep, for when she awakens, she will astonish the world,” but his
prescience indicates that he should have said it. My set of twenty or so bowls
allowed me to wow them back in England; how to properly use it was beyond me.

Our long journey back home commenced all too soon, for we could happily
have stayed in Hong Kong for much longer. But the Indian Ocean beckoned.
It was during one of our evenings under the stars and with pre-dinner wine
(Stevie and I, maybe a cadet or two, Judith and Susan, and any young ladies who
wished to join us, of which there all too few) that we discussed life and the future
as vigorously and with the futility that the young so love. It was decided that we
would plan to have a reunion in the future, basically in Europe when we two
were entitled to some leave. The plan was quite simple, inasmuch as the sisters
would join Cathay on its next trip to Colombo on its return from Hong Kong,
and they would thus return to Canada after seeing something of England and
perhaps of Europe. What we would then do was quite open, especially to me, but
I was beginning to formulate my own ideas anyway. In Judith I had also found a
forceful presence to offer some guidance.

It was after one of those frequent nights of perfection experienced in The
Bay of Bengal in the North-East monsoon that I took stock of my position. I was
twenty-five, living a first-class life of enough money (there was little on which to

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