Gweilo, A memoir of a Hong Kong childhood

Martin Booth's autobiography, Gweilo, was written at the end of his life and covers three years of his young life in Hong Kong. For research, he relied on memory and a scrap book as well as visits to Hong Kong as an adult.

Not that this is a problem, but the groupie who chose and presented Gweilo probably had a lack of objectivity with regard to this autobiography: as a child she too had travelled on a liner on her way to an exotic new life abroad. She too had been allowed an enormous amount of freedom, of the sort that parents today would shudder at the thought of. So many of the experiences in this autobiography echoed those of her own childhood.

But she chose the book because she felt we would all enjoy it. And we did: it’s an easy and enjoyable enough read. Another of our group has lived in Hong Kong and was delighted with Booth’s descriptions of places. And for those of us who have only visited it is also possible to recognize many of the places that crop up in the book. There is an authenticity to the descriptions of Hong Kong: the places totally believable and colourful.

Many of the stories recounted in the memoir must be apocryphal – they feel it anyway – and quite obviously he could not possibly recall the conversations he writes about. But this brings us to the whole question of ‘what is memoir?’ In his case it is a construct: a reconstruction of a period (1940’s/50’s), its mores, the culture of Hong Kong, its atmosphere and family relationships.

The style of the autobiography is a bit of a hybrid: it veers between travelogue and memoir. He may have chosen style this to beef up the landscape and life in Hong Kong for his readers. I understand that in his other novels he includes facts for the reader so perhaps this is just his way.

I’m aware too, from my father’s descriptions, that Booth’s depiction of the boat journey across the oceans was spot on. And he conveys very well the sense of freedom that all children in the Colonies (and in Britain at that time) enjoyed. His descriptions of places in Hong Kong are colourful and lively, and he manages to get across the magic and excitement of his childhood there.

And Booth captures the moment too: there is a description of his visit to an opium den in the Forbidden City that is an experience that could never happen now. As such it encapsulates a period in the history of Hong Kong that is quite unique. Being British, and in the Services, gave those who were posted there an elevated sense of their own importance and this was true of his father.

His father may well have been pompous and a bully but the one thing in the book that I did not like was his biased portrayal of him. The young Booth was totally in thrall to his mother: she was his hero. His mother was Peter Pan, his father Captain Hook. He admired her - and not without reason - as he portrays her as a woman ahead of her time. But, like many war-time babies, he had spent his early years alone with his mother, his father’s return an unwelcome one.

He shows us a mother who derided her husband, and championed her son. And his character assassination of his father sits uncomfortably on the page. I should have hoped that at stage he wrote the book, and having experienced fatherhood himself, he might have shown us a little more insight into their relationship or at least let the reader make up their own mind about his parents and their relationships.

Gweilo is, after all, as much a book about his parent’s marriage as about his childhood exploits in Hong Kong. As such it captures the time perfectly, as well as the excitement of a childhood spent in an outpost of the British Empire. A good book to buy if you’re planning to visit Hong Kong or want to reminisce about your time spent there.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com

Cape Town Character

I've just returned from Cape Town which, inevitably, means eating and drinking too much (some of the best food and wine in the world, well, what can you do?) and visiting all my favourite places. Not the touristy sites but those that have drop-dead gorgeous landscapes and architecture or areas that have character - not tourist pastiche but real character, warts and all.


I've drawn comparisons with the latter before: Long Street with its Melbourne buildings and St Kilda style has a cosmopolitan atmosphere, ethnic shops and surviving culture. Kalk Bay, all Brighton boho with it's junk and arty shops and café's. OK, so they're just a wee bit faded, but they're not jaded, not at all. In fact they're more buzzy than ever: that extra confidence gained from the influx of visitors' cash means some new shops have opened and a café or two. Nothing as bold as a lick of paint, of course: don't want to try too hard and lose the "I'm too smart to dress up" charm.

And there's Muizenberg - seaside resort of yesteryear - with its Herbert Baker buildings and a beach to die for. The stretch of coast from there to Kalk Bay on the western coast of the peninsular was the place for Capetonians to holiday a hundred years ago: the arrival of the railway meant that everyone could afford a day trip at least. And for those who had the luxury of a week long holiday there were plenty of hotels and guest houses to suit every pocket along the coast of False Bay.

When the billionaire, Cecil Rhodes, bought a seaside cottage at St James – between Muizenberg and Kalk Bay - it was as good a nod as a wink to the wealthy: here was a healthy fashionable place to escape the hot and dusty summer heat of the interior. And they brought their money with them to build their seaside houses, to pay the fees for the bowling greens and the tennis club and to patronize the hotel restaurants.

On Muizenberg beach the white sand stretches as far as the eye can see: the water is warm enough to swim in and the waves gentle enough for novice surfers. Surprisingly perhaps, nearly a hundred years ago bathers in their long legged bathing suits strode out to sea to surf on short wooden boards: today the surfers are there in droves, all body-hugging rubber, high-tech fibreglass and four wheel drives.

Old postcards show children taking donkey rides or building sandcastles on Muizenberg beach, whilst mothers looked on with concern or pride: just like any modern seaside. The smart new wooden Pavilion that was built in 1911 had "every comfort and convenience": wash-room and changing facilities and a large tea room. And along the beach stilted wooden bathing huts – painted in a variety of colours – were built. Then a smart stone railway station was commissioned to announce that Muizenberg was on the map.

But the 1930's was probably its apogee: a larger pavilion replaced the wooden one - with more dressing cubicles, a larger tea room, theatre and dance hall – but it was not a success for a variety of reasons. Many of the hotels and buildings were taken over by the Government or troops during the Second World War and afterwards it suffered the steady decline that happened to English seaside towns.

But there's another beach Pavilion now, and owners of the new apartments and houses that have been built in the last couple of years want all the fun trappings of a seaside resort. So it's only a matter of time until Muizenberg is on the map again. In the meantime I'll continue to marvel at the beach from high above on Boyes Drive. I'll still visit the flea markets of Long Street and eat fish cooked to perfection straight from the harbour in Kalk Bay. And I'll hope that none of my favourite places become too popular too fast.

Lucy
www.lucyannwrites.blogspot.com
lucy.ann.white@hotmail.co.uk