Read Online Midnight in Peking: How the Murder of a Young Englishwoman Haunted the Last Days of Old China by Paul French - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul French
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surrounding what came to be known as the Sian Incident. On 12 December, Chiang Kai-shek had been kidnapped in Sian, a sprawling, ancient city at the start of the Silk Road. The kidnapper was a warlord and former dope addict called Chang Hsüeh-liang, also known as the Young Marshall, whose father, a former warlord, was the Old Marshall, better known as the infamous Tiger of Mukden, who’d been assassinated by the Japanese in the late 1920s.
The Young Marshall hoped to coerce Chiang into a united front with the Communists against the Japanese. For a fortnight during the standoff and the dead-of-night negotiations, the entire nation held its breath. Chiang was eventually released on Christmas Eve, to fireworks across the country. The action had its desired result—Chiang was forced to accept the formation of a united front—but the kidnapper paid a high price, remaining under house arrest for the next fifty-seven years.
Politically active foreigners like the Snows, Werner’s neighbours on Armour Factory Alley, followed every twist and turn of the drama to write about it. But Pamela seemed more interested in boys and dances than in world events. Tense faceoffs, encroaching Japanese, rogue warlords—she was keener to go ice-skating. And this Christmas there was a new skating rink, set up for foreigners by the French Legation. It was near the French Club, closer to home and less crowded than the frozen lakes in the shadows of the Forbidden City, or the Pei-ho Lake, or the YMCA rink on Hatamen Street. Pamela had been introduced to the new rink by family friends, and liked it so much she joined the club.
As well as skating, there’d been a whirl of parties and dances and the Western New Year. And Peking was also getting ready for its own major annual event, the lunar Chinese New Year. Nineteen thirty-seven would see the arrival of the Year of the Ox, the year of the element of fire, and traditional red-paper and fish-skin lanterns were already being hung in preparation for the celebrations. Many people had noted, as 1936 made way for 1937, that the partying was a little more frenzied than in previous years, as if the revelers sensed the end of something, and the coming of a kind of madness.
On the final afternoon of her life, after her father had gone out for his walk and she had finished writing her letters, Pamela donned her heavy overcoat and woolen mittens and pushed her straw-fair hair up into a beret. She took her ice skates and her bicycle and told Ho Ying, the household’s cook, who’d known her since she was a baby, that she’d be back by seven thirty. She said she would like meatballs and rice for dinner, and Ho Ying said he’d be sure to go to the nearby Tung Tan Pailou Hutong and see the butcher. Pamela left through the courtyard’s moon gate and cycled off along Armour Factory Alley to meet a friend for tea.
Ethel Gurevitch was from a White Russian family who’d been living in Peking for five years. At fifteen, she was younger than Pamela, but the two had gone to the same school, until Werner enrolled his daughter at Tientsin Grammar. The girls had run into each other the day before at the skating rink, where they caught up on news about school, their lives and mutual friends, agreeing to meet again the following afternoon.
They arranged to meet outside the Grand Hôtel des Wagons Lits at five o’clock. Ethel arrived a couple of minutes past the hour, and Pamela turned up a few minutes later. They walked their bicycles round the corner to the Gurevitch family home on Hong Kong Bank Road, where they had tea and gossiped with Ethel’s mother, who also knew Pamela. Around six o’clock the girls headed over to the rink.
They skated together for an hour or so, wrapped up warmly under the bright arc lights the club had set up. A mutual friend, Lilian Marinovski, another White Russian girl who’d been at school with Pamela, was there too. At seven o’clock Pamela said she had to go home. She told Ethel
The Young Marshall hoped to coerce Chiang into a united front with the Communists against the Japanese. For a fortnight during the standoff and the dead-of-night negotiations, the entire nation held its breath. Chiang was eventually released on Christmas Eve, to fireworks across the country. The action had its desired result—Chiang was forced to accept the formation of a united front—but the kidnapper paid a high price, remaining under house arrest for the next fifty-seven years.
Politically active foreigners like the Snows, Werner’s neighbours on Armour Factory Alley, followed every twist and turn of the drama to write about it. But Pamela seemed more interested in boys and dances than in world events. Tense faceoffs, encroaching Japanese, rogue warlords—she was keener to go ice-skating. And this Christmas there was a new skating rink, set up for foreigners by the French Legation. It was near the French Club, closer to home and less crowded than the frozen lakes in the shadows of the Forbidden City, or the Pei-ho Lake, or the YMCA rink on Hatamen Street. Pamela had been introduced to the new rink by family friends, and liked it so much she joined the club.
As well as skating, there’d been a whirl of parties and dances and the Western New Year. And Peking was also getting ready for its own major annual event, the lunar Chinese New Year. Nineteen thirty-seven would see the arrival of the Year of the Ox, the year of the element of fire, and traditional red-paper and fish-skin lanterns were already being hung in preparation for the celebrations. Many people had noted, as 1936 made way for 1937, that the partying was a little more frenzied than in previous years, as if the revelers sensed the end of something, and the coming of a kind of madness.
On the final afternoon of her life, after her father had gone out for his walk and she had finished writing her letters, Pamela donned her heavy overcoat and woolen mittens and pushed her straw-fair hair up into a beret. She took her ice skates and her bicycle and told Ho Ying, the household’s cook, who’d known her since she was a baby, that she’d be back by seven thirty. She said she would like meatballs and rice for dinner, and Ho Ying said he’d be sure to go to the nearby Tung Tan Pailou Hutong and see the butcher. Pamela left through the courtyard’s moon gate and cycled off along Armour Factory Alley to meet a friend for tea.
Ethel Gurevitch was from a White Russian family who’d been living in Peking for five years. At fifteen, she was younger than Pamela, but the two had gone to the same school, until Werner enrolled his daughter at Tientsin Grammar. The girls had run into each other the day before at the skating rink, where they caught up on news about school, their lives and mutual friends, agreeing to meet again the following afternoon.
They arranged to meet outside the Grand Hôtel des Wagons Lits at five o’clock. Ethel arrived a couple of minutes past the hour, and Pamela turned up a few minutes later. They walked their bicycles round the corner to the Gurevitch family home on Hong Kong Bank Road, where they had tea and gossiped with Ethel’s mother, who also knew Pamela. Around six o’clock the girls headed over to the rink.
They skated together for an hour or so, wrapped up warmly under the bright arc lights the club had set up. A mutual friend, Lilian Marinovski, another White Russian girl who’d been at school with Pamela, was there too. At seven o’clock Pamela said she had to go home. She told Ethel
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