Archive for the 'Interviews/ Guest Bloggers' Category

Mark Wu and I have been reading each others blogs for awhile now but we’ve never met. He blogs at OneInchPunch.net and is also very actively involved in the Chinese community here in the UK. When Mark invited me to be featured on his website VisibleChinese.com, I was very honoured. I’m delighted to to return the favour and introduce you to Mark here on Fusion View.

Mark writes:

Unofficially named “Mark Wu” (my Chinese name being my legal identifier), I’ve led a quite straight-forward life. My parents came to the UK when they were teenagers and met and married young. My brother, sister and I were subsequently born into the British Chinese culture which labels a generation of young Chinese people whose parents immigrated to the UK, and where the majority of families were involved in one way or another, in catering. With a talent for drawing, at an early age, I was “destined” for the arts and eventually found myself drawn to digital design.

In the last decade, I’ve spent most of my life focusing on working through my co-founded design company Kibook Interactive Design, which at its peak in the dot-com boom, grew to eight people plus freelancers. Aside from working quite alot, doing the company thing also meant meeting and working directly with a variety of clients and living a life that combined freedom (sort of) and choice with responsibility.

Some of our clients were British Chinese organisations such as Yellow Earth Theatre and The Pearl Foundation and that was great for me personally, to be able to tap into my own culture professionally. Working with them in the last five years or so, meant being involved with what I perceive to be an important time in the UK’s Chinese culture, with its growth and development being quite passive initially but which is now continually increasing in pace, encouraged by the Olympics in China this year.

Promoting Chinese culture in the UK is something I am passionate about and as a result, I am a Trustee of The Pearl Foundation, Interactive Associate of Yellow Earth Theatre and a core member of The British Chinese Project which is an organisation that works to help integrate more British Chinese people into politics.

Visible Chinese

Bringing together my passion for promoting British Chinese culture and design for the web, I also created another website which came about through a simple idea. The website is at VisibleChinese.com and it aims to become an Authoritative Independent Listing of Achievers within the UK’s Chinese Culture. Pretty much like a Who’s Who.

Visible Chinese is a site that is focused on profiling just individuals, as opposed to organisations, putting faces to names, as I insist on a photograph to accompany each profile. Profiles can be flexible in what they say, as long as they are biographical in some way. People can also outline what they do professionally and include links to their websites, so Visible Chinese serves as a great advertisement for their services and a useful tool for networking. I like to think of it as the sum of its parts being greater than the whole. Someone I met recently mentioned how it would be useful to see what people looked like in order to help recognise them at a future networking event.

The site doesn’t take long to maintain, and also doesn’t have the same pressure as a blog requiring constant (perhaps daily) updates, so all in all, the whole concept is a win-win situation for both the people featured, and for myself in gaining the satisfaction of creating something useful.

Not so silent minority

The Chinese community in London seems to be advancing and growing in voice and confidence, from the media labeled “silent minority” it began as. Traditionally, the visible aspects of Chinese culture seemed to consist of takeaways, large suburban supermarkets and the annual Chinese New Year event around the UK’s Chinatowns.

However, in recent years, there are signs that the next generation of young professionals are beginning to influence the community. Young professionals who have grown up in both Chinese and English cultures, and who are not just comfortable, but fluent in both.

As the British Chinese population increases, the diversity of talent also increases and is steadily gaining exposure. Take The Pearl Awards for instance. An annual event which will be in its fifth year in 2008. Each year saw the awards grow in profile and diversity with the fourth awards in 2007 set in the Royal Festival Hall, including HRH The Prince of Wales as one of its distinguished guests.

The British Chinese Project is also a significant initiative, founded by the prominent Chinese Solicitor, Christine Lee and which is supported by the UK Chinese Embassy, representatives from the House of Lords and the House of Commons, and a variety of different organisations and Chinese community groups. It aims to encourage more British Chinese to take an interest in politics, particularly the younger generations, but in itself, also counts a number of young professionals as members, the like of who are increasingly looking to play active roles in the community.

Go Croydon!

In the North-South London debate, I was a classic, born North Londoner who believes everything there is better, alas more expensive, than South London. A few years ago, I moved down to Croydon to my partner’s place and have been there ever since.

Croydon has a kind of stigma attached to it, but one which I think is over the years, being slowly eroded. It might be because of this, but everything in South London does seem to be cheaper than the North. Redevelopment in some areas is happening, and so I think the South is in someways, quite an exciting place to live. What I can’t fault is the convenience of being so close to shopping areas like North End, and the fast rail links into Central London - a bonus since I’ve been able to avoid getting on the claustrophobic tube to work.

Bruce Lee still inspires

I started my first blog One Inch Punch in December 2006 - during a quiet Christmas break, when I felt I really had no excuse not to. I had been working in the web industry for more than eight years and aside from a small portfolio site, had nothing of my own to show for it.

Building a blog was something that I wanted to do for awhile and it was also a good idea for several reasons. These included knowing the ins and outs of the process - which I could easily advise my clients on. “Walking the walk” as they say.

For almost a decade, I had been nurturing an idea for creating a large and complex East-Asian community website. Several visual designs came about, and the idea was refined, changed, amended and refined once more. I had never got beyond that, partly because of the time required and also due to lack of technical know-how required to get the idea made. However, in the last few years, blogging technology has improved massively - enough for me to fine tune my comprehensive ideas down to a simple (and practical!) East-Asian entertainment link site. Hence, OneInchPunch.net was born.

Comprehensive as the ideas were, keeping things simple inspired the name OneInchPunch. I basically wanted to aim for one post update a day, which would consist of a visual and a link. Something short but effective, which literally speaking, is basically what a One Inch Punch is. For those who don’t know, the “One Inch Punch” is a martial arts technique, made world famous by Bruce Lee, which unleashes explosive internal (as opposed to muscular) power² from a very short distance. So the name was not just dynamic-sounding, but also indirectly name checks probably the world’s most famous East-Asian.

Note: This article has also appeared on Dulwich OnView where I am the co-editor.

I am chuffed that highly-respected UK editor turned writing coach, Kathy Gale, has written a guest piece for Fusion View - a personal account of her experience of working with writers while an editor at the top London publishing companies and as an independent writing mentor.

Kathy Gale has been Senior Editor of Pan Books, Macmillan and Hodder & Stoughton; Editorial Director at Pan Macmillan; Marketing Director of Simon & Schuster; and Joint Managing Director of The Women’s Press. She currently heads her own writing consultancy, KG Publishing Services.

~~~~~~~

Kathy writes:

Flair

As an editor and publisher for over twenty years, I’ve worked with many writers and I’ve always shared the common publishing view that you’ve either got writing talent or you haven’t. If the flair’s there, it’s worth honing, nurturing and developing. If it isn’t, don’t encourage the writer.

I held this view steadfastly during my time as Senior Editor at Pan Books, Macmillan and Hodder & Stoughton, and when I became Editorial Director of Pan Macmillan and Joint Managing Director of The Women’s Press. But in 2005, I decided to go it alone and set up my own business as a publishing consultant and writing coach.

Breaking down the barriers

I began working with writers who were just starting out - reading their work, meeting them, talking to them on the telephone, helping them to understand the bewildering world of publishing and what publishers and agents actually want. When I started, I thought I would mostly be telling writers, gently and clearly, that they hadn’t got what it takes. And then I noticed a remarkable thing. As I worked with authors, and as I talked to them about the difficulties they were experiencing, the challenges they faced, the reasons their work wasn’t having enough of an emotional impact on the reader, often something was unlocked. Often, draft two or draft three was suddenly remarkably different. At that point, I began to change my mind about the whole talent question. Perhaps, in reality, we all have talent, but there are barriers – lack of knowledge of the publishing world, fear of exposure or failure, the ability to create the time and space to write – that hold us back.

It’s a tough world out there

This isn’t to say that I’m not realistic. I still give writers clear and honest feedback about their potential to be published and that’s often not the feedback the writer wants to hear. And I alert writers to the realities of the publishing world – it is extremely and increasingly tough to get a publishing deal. But I have been surprised by the amount of talent that is out there, just needing some encouragement and support to flourish.

Our beloved babies

For some of my writers, publication is the aim and nothing else will do. Others want to write the best book they can possibly write for the satisfaction that gives them. That changes the advice I give and the way I work. Some writers will come to me for initial feedback on their work and then go away for months as they rewrite. Others come regularly for detailed editing and support throughout the writing process. All of them come to accept that writing a good book takes months, often years, of sustained, hard, committed work. But most find it a highly satisfying and rewarding process. Alice Walker once said that having a child was like letting your heart walk around outside your body – a graphic picture of the vulnerability motherhood creates. And I think writing is a little like that – something internal and personal is being put out in the world for other people to look at and comment on. This can be a delicate, painful process. But most mothers would say that they wouldn’t be without their children. And I bet most writers wouldn’t be without their books.

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To contact Kathy Gale about her work as a writing coach:
Kathy.gale@kgpublishingservices.co.uk
www.kgpublishingservices.co.uk

Photo: thanks to bookseller.com

by Guest blogger Alan Lane

Sir Edmund Hillary, conqueror of Mount Everest with the late Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, died in New Zealand on 11 January 2008, aged 88.

As a tribute to Sir Edmund Hillary’s extraordinary life, writer Alan Lane steps back in time to recount a conversation with Hillary in Canada on the 30th anniversary of the Everest climb. He talks about the ascent and his life at that time.

Big Ed

It is no coincident that Edmund Percival Hillary has become known as ‘Big Ed.’ As he rises from his chair to greet you, there develops a feeling of size (he is 6ft 3 in tall, broad- shouldered and close to 200lb). There is also a breadth of vision gained from a lifetime embracing challenges which for others remain permanently in their fantasies.

The appearance is craggy, but unlike the ascent on Everest, approaching the former bee-keeper from Taukau, New Zealand, is considerably easy. The grin on the weathered face is genial, and deep-set eyes trained from years of scanning distant horizons peer searchingly from beneath cliff-like brows. The handshake is firm without trying to impress.

Hillary has never given any time to pretence or the fineries of society. Loping through the Toronto headquarters of Simpsons-Sears, who he advises on sporting equipment, he is unmistakable among the well-groomed secretaries and executives. A rumpled suit and bulging, battered briefcase which has seen many a base camp, underline his down-to-earth informality and aversion to the cocktail circuit. “I have never been a great social butterfly and can well do without it,” he tells me.

For many people all over the world, Big Ed dropped out of sight after Everest. As one Australian student told him at a Sydney high school: I’m glad you’re looking so well. I have read abut you in the history books and I thought you were dead.”

Since then he has led the first vehicle expedition overland to the South Pole and headed an international group searching for the Yeti (the Abominable Snowman). He also led an expedition travelling in jet boats up the Ganges River in India to trace its source in the Himalayas.

Physically-fit

Now in his early 60s, this maestro of the snowline has always striven to stay physically-fit. He never trains formally for expeditions but walks an hour a day. To maintain his best climbing weight he will walk for five days in the Himalayan foothills in Nepal to his work building schools and hospitals with the Sherpa people. He would rather walk than take an aircraft. Once he walked 240 km (150 miles) in 12 days, climbing to 1500m (5,000ft) when monsoons grounded flights.

This firm grasp on his physical condition has at times been elusive. One day in New Zealand as his 50th year approached, he took a look at himself and became disenchanted with what he saw.

“I had a mild hangover from a surfeit of good food and wine, my discarded clothes reeked with other people’s tobacco smoke. Almost unconsciously I was slipping into the easy habits of most of the well-meaning, self indulgent and well-heeled members of society. If I became too physically soft I would be worth nothing to myself or to anybody else.”

On a notepad beside the bed he wrote a short list of resolutions – things he had wanted to do for years which would help to keep him reasonably fit and adventurous.

The first task was to escape the telephone and the concrete jungle – his term for a city. This was achieved by building a cottage on the cliffs above the Tasman Sea, outside Auckland, in New Zealand’s North Island – facing the setting sun and without a telephone. The list of objectives has continued to grow.

Such a life has not been without its personal traumas for Edmund Hillary. The death of his wife, Louise, and daughter in a Katmandu air crash several years ago has left “a great gap” in his life. Louise was a constant companion on his aid projects in the Himalayas – the place where he has directed most of his energies in recent years, away from the high profile glories of mountaineering.

The lectures he gives have increasingly reflected deeper involvement in world problems – racialism, the population explosion, conservation of the environment and the increasing gap in wealth between the rich and poor nations.

Nepalese mountain people

During his years among the Nepalese mountain people he became committed to improving their physically demanding, harsh lifestyle. He set up his Himalayan Foundation in New Zealand and established a Canadian equivalent to raise funds for this work.

Since the early 1960s, he and a team of helpers and the Sherpa people have provided hospitals, schools, airfields and piped water for the mountain people of Nepal. It’s a major contribution to a country of 13 million people, where only nine out of every 100 can read or write, and the nearest medical care for many is several days’ walk away.

Working, planning and climbing in Nepal can take up to six months of his year. During this time he strives to prepare the mountain people for inevitable changes in their lifestyle.

“Tourism has become an important business and quite a lot of money is involved,” he says. “There is nothing much I can do about these changes but I can try to ensure, with the agreement of the local people, that they do not get left behind.

“What has happened so many times is that the local people become needed just as a source of labour. By providing education, health care and communication facilities I have been able to ensure that the Sherpas have the knowledge of how to do things for themselves – such as running the hotels and trekking businesses which have been established. I prefer to see the Sherpas steering their own ship rather than just being trampled on.”

The changes for which Hillary is preparing the Sherpas are already influencing their way of life.

“Divorce is much more common now in the community. The Sherpas are under great pressure of a type they had not previously experienced. Their previous tough, hard lifestyle had a regular pattern of habits but now they have a great deal more money and their lifestyle is changing. I want to see them confident in their new environment and I have been able to play a small part in achieving this.”

Hillary’s no-nonsense style and earthy approach to life is legendary. A suggestion that a larger share of New Zealand’s national purse should be devoted to assisting the poorer countries drew the following reply from the Minister of Finance (described by Hillary as “well nourished”): “I think Sir Edmund Hillary knows as much about the New Zealand economy as I know about mountain climbing.”

Even at what was the pinnacle of mountaineering achievement, his style remained unchanged. After the descent from Everest’s summit he told fellow expedition members: “Well, we knocked the bastard off.”

Everest ascent

Thirty years later, Hillary cast his mind back to 11.30am on May 29, 1953, when he stepped on to the summit of Everest, with the Nepalese Sherpa, Tenzing Norgay. It was a time of climbing with simple army equipment, leather boots which froze and thick hemp rope of the type used by ships – far removed from the specialized gear of today.

“My first reaction was one of surprise. I had been brought up thinking this mountain could never be conquered. Now, here was Ed Hillary on top of Everest. Who’d believe it. Everest was just another mountain. There are dozens of projects which have all been just as important.”

Would he do it again?

“I am physically incapable of doing it again. If I did try, I would tackle the most difficult route.”

He is amazed how the mystique of Everest has been retained. “We really felt it would all fade away when we conquered it. But there are still people lining up waiting to climb.”

On climbing and challenge today, he has this to say: “It is nonsense that people climb mountains just because they’re there. You wouldn’t put up with all that discomfort and grind your heart out just for the sake of it. It’s the challenge of fear and danger. You struggle with them. You extend your limits.

“There are challenges all around us if we take the trouble to identify them. Modern mountaineers are doing much more difficult things today than we were. The purpose of climbing then was to find the easiest way up. The route we took on Everest was only moderately difficult. Now the challenge is the difficult route.”

Rather a tent than hotel

As the interview draws to a close, Edmund Hillary prepares to leave for the United States, where he will test camping equipment for Sears Roebuck.

“I’m looking forward to that,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I’d rather sleep in a tent any day than stay in a hotel.”

We shake hands and it’s time to say farewell to this giant of a man.

As he sets off down the street, I recall his style of parting from fellow climbers at a crossroads deep in the Himalayas. They would be simple affairs. With a cheery “see you in a few months,” Big Ed would set off on foot heading for perhaps India, Tibet or Pakistan, quietly disappearing into the mist. In comparison, some of the traumas in our own lives could seem a little overdone.

While in the United States, Hillary will continue to raise funds for his work in the Himalayas. There, among the great mountains, he is known by the Sherpas as ‘Burra Sahib’ (Big Sir).

These hill people are never far from his mind. They gave him his most prized accolade for climbing Everest: a decoration from the Katmandu Taxi Drivers’Association.

His concern for the Sherpas’ future is well founded.

Tenzing, now 69, and known as the Tiger of the Snows in his home town of Darjeeling, said earlier this year: “There is a lot of change since Nepal opened for trekking. Everything is too commercial. Even the monks are having tea shops now, not praying any more.”

Alan Lane Toronto 1983

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tribute

11 January 2008. The news of Sir Edmund Hillary’s death made me dig deep into my files for a copy of this interview. Past conversations are not normally worth resurrecting; but the life of a bee-keeper from New Zealand was different. Here was someone who saw the big picture. Here was someone who managed fame and humanitarian work with equal humility; someone who grabbed life and ran with it.

Meeting the great man, the first on the roof of the world, left a lasting impression.

© Copyright Alan Lane Poole, UK January 2008

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

Photo: thanks to achievement.org

Cheryl Snell left a comment on one of my posts, mentioning her cross-cultural Canadian and Hindu experiences. I was intrigued so I followed the link to her blog and website and found that she had written a novel about a Westerner’s experience of marrying into a Hindu family. Naturally, I had to find out more! So I invited Cheryl to write a guest piece of Fusion View.

By way of background, Cheryl Snell is a Washington DC writer, and the author of four books, including the poetry collections Flower Half Blown (Finishing Line Press, 02), Epithalamion (Little Poem Press, 04) and Samsara (Pudding House Publications, 07). She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize three times, and is the book reviews editor for Alsop Review. She can be reached at cherylsnell3 [at] gmail.com.

Cheryl keeps two blogs, one devoted to poetry and her sister’s art at http://www.snellsisters.blogspot.com; the other an author’s blog built around her debut novel at http://www.shivasarms.blogspot.com . The novel, Shiva’s Arms (The Writer’s Lair Books) explores the relationship between an American woman and her Hindu Brahmin in-laws.

She writes:

When I first met my new family, this passage from Wonderland’s Alice popped into my head– “What if I should fall right through the center of the earth…oh, and come out the other side, where people walk upside down?” I knew the basics—don’t touch the men, no shoes in the house, have a fry pan uncontaminated by meat handy. But there were an overwhelming number of ambiguities to sift through, from the comic head-shaking that looked like No but meant Yes, to the serious conflict between freedom and family.

I had been pulled into samsara, the important householder stage. The word conjured up images of drowning in the domestic sea, and I had read many novels by Indians—Narayan, Desai, Mukerjee—who touched on its complications. I began to imagine my own project, a new novel built on the swirl of relationships around me. Always drawn to the stories with characters belonging to two cultures, I wanted to know which part of a divided self goes and which part stays.

To pit a fictional family with the weight of ancient traditions behind them against the quintessential unsuitable bride would help me to delve into an immigrant’s liminal state, from both points of view. Thresholds are so alive, with the way dualities merge, overlap and intrude on one another, I knew the intersection of cultures would afford me ample imagery. As a poet, I appreciated that.

Writing poetry transcends the personal, for me, whereas fiction relies on empathy. For both forms, I start with an image, a phrase, or an idea. Both forms distill language and meaning–in a poem every word counts, sound and syllable. In fiction, the sentences must advance plot or reveal character. With a novel, revisions are more rigorous, more of a juggle. With so much to take into consideration—characters, scenes, and points of view—it seems counter-intuitive that a novel is more forgiving. But I find that its sprawl makes it more tolerant . “In the novel or short story you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival,” May Sarton once wrote.

That’s not to say that it’s an orderly progression. When characters run amok, and suddenly have their own plans, it’s hard to force them back into the author’s. Mary Lee Settle advised that empathy without identity is one way to keep control of a character, but it’s difficult to maintain that distance. Transformation, the way the characters change, what conclusion the narrator comes to, are born out of writing one’s way into the piece again and again, trying on different plots, tone, voice. I feel my way.

Sometimes, when all is said and done, a character has more to say. My new novel follows Nela from Shiva’s Arms, back to India. The woman who has spent her life resisting samsara finds meaning by rescuing a little girl from child marriage, at great personal cost to herself. I imagine I can hear them talking together in my poem “Veranda.”

Above sounds of a sunset world
whoops of children rise. We lean
against verdigris, watch the streetlight evolve
like some star buzzing blue to white,
then a steady nostalgic amber.

lamplighters lit my village gaslights with a hook;
old men rocking on verandas nodded off

The widow in white climbs our hill, secrets
folded in her apron. She naps here
like your auntie, one eye open to the world,
sandals dangling off her toes.

The man next door pedals his bicycle so slow,
we worry for his balance. He waves to us
like laundry on a line, half-hearted surrender.

the veranda became a sleeping-porch on hot nights;
a place for cricket games during monsoon

Houses tuck themselves in. Lamps flicker on,
rising story by story. Silence blooms, holding
its breath. I sweep the pots of flag-striped flowers
from our porch, crockery from the table.

You need more room in this place.
I will make room for you.

Photo: of Cheryl and her husband Krisha - thanks to Cheryl Snell

.

A while back, translator Nicky Harman wrote a guest blog piece for Fusion View about the book she was translating from Chinese to English, Striking Root. She was looking for a publisher at that time and we put a plea out via Fusion View to anyone who might be able to help her.

A little later, I received an email from an editor asking to contact to Nicky and naturally, I forwarded the email on. Nicky also reported that she had made contact with a literary agent who had checked out her credentials online and the Fusion View article had been helpful in adding to Nicky’s credentials in that context.

Recently, I received this email from Nicky:

Dear Yang-May

I thought you’d like to know that I have finally found a publisher for Striking Root! University of Hawaii Press have accepted it, and so it will come out in the US before here. I am delighted ….. now I get on with what I’m best at - translating.

Thanks very much for your encouragement, and I do hope all is well with you

best wishes

Nicky

Wow! I am thrilled for Nicky and equally thrilled that Fusion View played a small part in her path to publishing success!

Congratulations, Nicky!

My father has been inspired again to share another story from his childhood as part of his guestblogging series, Memories of Malaya. Being my father, there is the invariable section on food. So there are no suprises there - however, I am surprised to learn that he was taught gardening at school - hmm, he’s kept that a secret all these years: the next time he comes over to the UK to visit me, I shall have to set him digging and weeding in my garden….

He has just turned 70 this year so the time that he is writing about in this post would be around 1947:

English speaking

At the age of 8 or 9 years old I was sent to an English language school which is a school where the teaching was in the English language and the use of the expression “English school” in this note will refer to this category of schools unless otherwise specified. I do not know the discussions that might have taken place by my parents as to what type of school their child and later on children would be sent. I suspect that there was little or no discussion and it was a matter of course that I would go to an English school. Both my parents and paternal grandfather were educated solely in English. There were many families where the fathers were educated in English and their mother tongues though usually at an elementary level for both languages. Many Chinese were very passionate about the Chinese language. They consider it as a mark of patriotism to China and culture both of which they felt would be lost if the Chinese language was not taught to their children. Despite glaring evidence in every day life that those who were educated solely in the Chinese language enjoyed a lower standard living, many families still insisted on sending their children to these schools.

So much to learn

Anyway there I was in the Pasar Road English School sitting at a bench desk and on a bench sharing it with 2 other boys. There were 40 boys in a class. One of the earliest lessons, I remember, was the teacher teaching us by asking us to repeat the five vowels.

In one of the sessions I remember wondering to myself as to how long it would take me to be educated to university level to study medicine and how this could be accomplished when there was so much to learn. My Father was a medical doctor so that was naturally my reference point. The school day started at 7.45 in the morning and ended at 12.30 in the afternoon. The school day was divided into periods of 40 minutes each with a half hour break or interval as it was called. Sessions consisted of reading aloud from simple English text books and doing arithmetic, drawing, singing, gardening and P.E. Not all subjects were covered everyday. The subjects were distributed throughout different days of the week.

The “reading aloud” part of the lesson consisted of the teacher calling out a boy who would read a few sentence or a paragraph and then another boy and so on to read the prescribed section of the book. This is good training as the boy would learn to stand-up and speak out. After each boy had finished the teacher would give an explanation of the part that had been read out. For arithmetic we used books which had the problems set out and we copied them into exercise books and added our answers to the problems. If there was anything meant for the whole class it was written on the blackboard using a white chalk.

The classrooms were airy and the teachers were competent, hardworking and did not shirk their work on the whole. If you were caught doing mischief you would be made to stand on the chair or outside the classroom and when the headmaster went on his rounds and he saw you he may on rare occasions add his own punishment which may include a stroke or two of the cane on your outstretched palm.

Gardening

An interesting feature in the curriculum was the period for gardening which was allotted two periods consecutively and once a week. During this period we would dig rows of beds and would plant sweet potatoes, beans and some other easily grown vegetables. If it did not rain for a week or so we would have to water the beds with water from the tap. The tools for the work were supplied and kept by the school and they were used by other classes as well. Peer pressure would force every boy to do some work even if it was merely weeding the beds. It is a shame that nowadays when we have all sorts of classes to prepare children, the gardening period is done away with. It would teach young children the dignity of manual labour and that dirtying ones hands is not beneath scholars. This period appeared to be a holdover from the schools during the Japanese occupation when we had such periods and we did the same thing. The reason for this I suspect is because Japan being very much dependent on its agriculture wanted its population to respect and love the land and also to plant for the war.

Food

As this was a period just after the war and many were suffering from lack of protein the school supplied free milk once a week. We would each be given a full mug of milk which we could drink it using our own mug there and then or take it home.

During the interval many of the boys would go to the tuckshop to buy their snacks which consisted of sliced fruits or fried noodles. Coming from a doctor’s family I was not allowed to eat tuckshop food for hygiene reasons. I would have sandwiches spread with butter and sprinkled with sugar brought from home. Because of the heat of the day the butter would have soaked into the bread and it was quite delicious but still I would pass by the tuckshop and longed to join in the crush to get some snacks. I think young boys do not like to feel left out of things. Most of the time I just strolled around the school. Some boys would put up a net and play a few games of badminton or kick a football in the field. But I did not and do not like sports and also did not like going back to class feeling hot and sweaty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A request for help: I don’t have any photos from that period either of a school or school boys. Can anyone help and donate a copyright-free photo for me to illustrate this post?

Photo: of a school in modern Malaysia thanks to gxianfu from flickr.com (CCL)

memmlya

This is the last in a three-part series by Alan Lane, about his experience of being inadvertently caught up in a war while on business in Beirut.

Part 1 of Escape from Beirut was posted here on Fusion View two weeks ago.

Part 2 of Escape from Beirut was posted up last Wednesday.

~~~

Alan writes:

Day six. The evacuation from Beirut’s Forum is orderly, well planned and a credit to Britain’s armed services. Families with children, those in wheelchairs and back-packers are part of the ensemble gathered for passport clearance, a feeling of desperation obvious among those taking a chance without the right documentation.

Security is tight. A British TV journalist filming the scene has his video camera confiscated by a guard. One by one we pass through passport control before leaving by bus for HMS York. On the quay, members of the media are anxious to gather our impressions on leaving a war zone. I do a live satellite feed interview with Ben Brown of BBC News 24. Once on board, we are asked to stay below while the ship negotiates the ‘safe passage’ negotiated with the Israeli and Hizbullah forces within the 12 nautical miles inside Lebanese territory.

Emotions are high as my fellow evacuees tell their stories in the cramped quarters of the warship, with children playing or asleep on the floor. It’s a story of separated families, abandoned homes, husbands electing to stay behind to run businesses, and an uncertain future of ‘not knowing if we will see each other again.’

We dock in Limassol in Cyprus at night after a surging 30-knots, six-hour journey. A clearing house for passport control with the Cypriot authorities has a Union Jack on the wall to welcome us. Calm is the order of the night, with rows of chairs each with a bottle of water. We are tired, hot and glad to be on neutral ground.

The fate of those who stayed is uncertain, especially for the Lebanese people. Without doubt, we had been the lucky ones.

Buses take us to the RAF Akrotiri NATO base, where immaculate, tanned British soldiers and women volunteers await to welcome us. One genteel volunteer asks me kindly whether I have been ‘affected by the bombing.’

Here, our quarters are a huge aircraft hangar lined with camp beds complete with clean sheets and towels for some 500 evacuees. Echoes of war-time Britain begin to stir.

After a shower in portable units outside, a welcome dinner is chips and beans, bread and drinks before we turn in for the night to the sound of helicopters and jet aircraft taking off.

Day 7. I rise early for the chartered flight to Gatwick, where on arrival I do a live satellite feed interview on the SKY News channel, and home in Dorset. Thoughts flood in on my escape from Beirut which had taken some 30 hours.

I recall the sights I did see in this troubled and historic country which would experience 34 days of war before a cease fire was called. The stunning caves of Jeita whose size and magic are straight out of the Lord of the Rings. The ancient harbour of Byblos, inhabited continuously for some 7,000 years. I recall the sights I missed. The Roman ruins at Baalbek, said to match anything in the Eternal City. The famous Cedars of Lebanon, said to have been used to build Solomon’s Temple.

I recall the noisy and joyous wedding celebrations around the hotel swimming pool that kept me awake until one in the morning before the serious bombing had started. How in a few days, an evening watching the World Cup on a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea turned into a fully-fledged war zone. How locals despair that after years of rebuilding, their country once again is being demolished. How this beautiful, ancient land continues to be the punch-bag for Middle East politics.

~~~

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

© Copyright: Alan Lane All rights reserved

Photo: showing Alan on his home balcony holding up a local paper with front page headlines
and pics of destruction in downtown Beirut -t thanks to Alan Lane

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I really appreciate Alan taking the time to write about his experiences for this blog. For many of us, we are lucky enough never to be caught up in such a frightening situation. Watching the news reports from afar and in safety, it can be easy to numb ourselves and forget that real people suffer and real homes and lives are devastated. His account, for me, brings home the surreal feel of war and the beauty and humanity in a country torn by conflict beyond the control of ordinary people.

This is the second in a three-part series by Alan Lane about his experience of being inadvertently caught up in a war while on business in Beirut.

Part 1 of Escape from Beirut was posted here on Fusion View last Wednesday.

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Alan writes:

Day 3 (continued). It is Sunday and the feeling of being trapped and alone increases. Experiencing an attempted coup against the military government in Nigeria some years ago had been frightening; but at least the roads and Lagos airport had been left intact.

Chances of an evacuation by sea become slimmer when we hear the Israelis have bombed Jounieh and other ports along the coast road. It is the last straw for Tony and his family who plan to leave the next morning via taxi to Syria. But now it is even more dangerous, expensive (US$150 for a taxis has now become $1500) and crowded (some 300,000 refugees are to cross the border by the time I leave Lebanon).

I walk into the nearby village to collect my thoughts as the last expatriate at our hotel. Bells at the small church announce a service is being held. Clearly, despite war, people’s faith is still strong. I am working on the basis of assurances from the British Embassy that there is a plan to help Brits. I am advised to stay put, wait for the Embassy’s call and prepare to go the sea route. When and exactly how, I know not.

My loyal and wonderful driver Maurice confesses he is taking the stranding of visitors in his country badly. Maurice had showed me the Green Line in central Beirut. Across this no-man’s-land, Christians and Muslims had fought a Civil War for some 15 years. He talks of still having a bullet lodged in his neck from those troubled days.

I sit with him over a cup of coffee in his modest shop where he makes chocolates and runs a taxi service. He is a true humanitarian in all senses of the word and worries that soon there will be shortages of essentials: food, water, medical drugs and gasoline. Likewise, I struggle to deal with my own feelings on the tragedy unfolding in his beautiful land.

Day four. Tony and his family leave at 6.30 a.m. for the Syrian border where they then plan to head further south to Amman in Jordan. I ask their taxi driver for his view of the situation. His reply does nothing to re-assure me of my predicament. ‘The Israelis and Hizbullah have stopped fighting for 48 hours to allow all those left to evacuate,’ he tells me. ‘The Irish Embassy went in convoy towards Syria today.’

I ask Maurice to take me to Beirut port as I hear the French Government has arranged for a Mediterranean ferry boat to pick up expatriates today. He warns I may not get on board, being British. To test this out I phone the French Embassy and am told in a terse and very Gallic way: ‘Non, you ‘ave to be French.’ Understandable, but so much for the European entente cordial.

Several hours later, Britain’s Ambassador in Beirut, James Watt announces an evacuation plan by sea has begun for Britons, with HMS Illustrious and HMS Bulwark on their way from Gibraltar. I have already registered with the British Embassy, so I intend to continue my pattern over the next few days: hours of frantic telephoning to ensure I am included on any evacuee list.

I tap into the BBC News website which gives chapter and verse on the extent of a multinational evacuation – thought by some to be potentially the largest since the D-Day landings of the Second World War. Some 20 countries may be involved accounting for around 100,000 citizens living in the Lebanon if they all decided to leave.

By far the largest numbers are from the UK (10,000), the United States (25,000), France (20,000), Australia (25,000) and Canada (16,000), with considered options including aircraft, landing craft, military and commercial ships and convoys of buses over the Syrian and Jordanian borders. Later, I learn, many elect to stay.

Day five. The war becomes a hot debating issue among leaders at the G8 Summit in St. Petersburg, which seems far removed from the reality that is Beirut. Meanwhile, it is reported Israeli troops have crossed the Lebanese border, a further ominous sign for those of us still stranded. We are told we are in a ‘safe Christian area,’ but in war, nothing is guaranteed. During the Civil War, I am told, there was fighting in the grounds of our hotel and bullet holes in the walls.

Tell-tale signs that politically, the situation is reaching serious levels begin to emerge. I go to the bank to draw US dollars against my credit card to bolster a dwindling cash flow. I am told the government has stopped the issuing of the currency to prevent funds leaving the country.

Later that evening, I hear the good news from John Barrett, an area warden working with the British Embassy: that I am among some 350 Britons to be evacuated the next morning by the Royal Navy destroyer, HMS York. John, I later learn, in his unofficial and amazing ‘Schindler’s List’ role, helped many people leave the Lebanon during the war.

~~~~

Next Wednesday: Evacuation at last…

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

© Copyright: Alan Lane All rights reserved

Photo: showing view from the mountains in Beirut of Israeli ships blockading the harbour - thanks to Alan Lane

When I met Alan Lane earlier this year on a balmy September evening in London, we started talking about cross-cultural lives as I told him about some of the fusion stories that I have showcased here on Fusion View. We found that we shared a global outlook and an interest in cultures across the world. Alan then told me how he had been in Beirut on business when he was caught up in a war.

This is the first of a three part series that Alan has offered to share on Fusion View about his experiences of the war in Beirut.

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Alan writes:

Israeli jets began bombing the Lebanon on 12 July 2006 in retaliation when three of its soldiers were captured by the Hizbullah Islamic group in the southern part of the country. What followed was a 34 day war.

The frightening reality sinks in at around four in the morning. Through the open balcony door of my hotel room overlooking Beirut comes the distant whine of an Israeli jet aircraft.

Reaching the window, I see and hear the crackle of red tracer fire from anti-aircraft guns. A huge ‘crump’ shakes the building as the aircraft’s guided missile hits the southern suburbs. Nearby, the sky is lit by a fire raging at a fuel storage tank destroyed by a bomb.

Now, for the first time in my life, I am in a war zone and my worst nightmare has begun.

Day 1. I realise I should have known better the previous afternoon. In retaliation for Lebanon’s Hizbullah (Party of God) capturing two of its soldiers on the southern border, Israel had carpet-bombed all airports just hours before I was due to leave Beirut for home in the UK after a five-day business trip.

But I was naïve. Like many others, I believed this was just a warning shot by the Israelis to their sworn enemy.

A sense of panic ripples throughout my hotel, considered a safe Christian refuge in the hills above Beirut. Rumours begin to spread. Had Gulf States embassy groups escaped along the main Beirut to Damascus highway into Syria before it was cut by Israeli bombing? How long would it take for this road to be blocked? The answer comes within hours as Israeli bombs slice through this route crossing the beautiful Bekaa Valley.

By now, it is clear Israel intends to trap Hizbullah – and us by default – within Lebanon’s borders, having already blockaded the port with gun-ships visible from my balcony. We begin to realise this is no short, sharp military response but potentially a long, drawn-out affair leaving us with few exit options.

Day two. Tensions build among my fellow guests. Exit plans are being desperately considered as Israeli precision bombing takes out more roads, bridges and other infrastructure. Night-time bombardment from the air or sea is becoming a regular part of life; and although seemingly distant, we don’t know for how long we will be safe.

Both expatriates and Lebanese consider routes through Lebanon’s northern valleys, a stronghold for Hizbullah. Others opt for the longer and potentially safer coastal route through Tripoli into Syria, or the almost circular drive through Syria into Jordan. Either way, the situation is beginning to mirror Saigon’s last days during the Vietnam War; the only difference being, we hope, that no-one is coming to kill us.

Day three. It is decision time for me and my fellow guests. The coast road is now being bombed and many thousands of evacuees queue at the Syrian border, some with visas, those without often being turned back. Stories abound of refugees walking for several kilometres across the border with their baggage, of people sleeping on the streets of Damascus as there are no hotel rooms available. For those of us left in Beirut, the exit window is gradually closing.

We hear one group took a bus up over the Syrian border and somehow made their way to Aleppo, leaving us wondering how they would make their way from this relatively remote small town noted in the annals of Lawrence of Arabia’s desert campaign.

Dubai-based Briton Paul Drummond and Washington-based David and Lois Khairallah take the gamble and opt for the coastal road by taxi. So too, does a Kuwaiti, who joins a convoy leaving from his country’s embassy in the hills. Paul had been worried about rumours pointing to civil unrest in the Lebanon following the onslaught of war. David and I had spent many hours walking the hotel gardens agonising over the decision.

I, in my cowardice or perhaps good sense, choose to stay and consider my options. I am joined by Tony and his family from New York, who, in generous style says if my government can’t get me out, then ‘we won’t leave you behind’ and I can go with the Americans.

Hour by hour, the hotel’s TV broadcasts in English and Arabic relay the heightening conflict. While Israel pounds Beirut from the air and sea, Hizbullah sends showers of rockets over the border into Israeli territory. We watch transfixed as Hizbullah leader Sheikh Hassan Nasrullah provides a ‘watch this, as it happens’ live commentary while his forces set fire to an Israeli gun-boat in the port with what is thought to be a self-propelled drone bomb.

Meanwhile, the political rhretoric becomes more alarming in this potential scenario for a full-blown Middle East regional war.

Lebanon Prime Minister Fouad Siniora describes Israel’s actions as ‘opening the gates of hell and madness’ while ‘cutting his country to pieces.’ Israel responds by repeating its demands for Hizbullah to be disarmed and threatening to ‘turn back the clock 20 years for Lebanon’ if the captured soldiers are not returned.

Among the guests, Lebanese people I talk to are split on what is unfolding before their eyes. Some see the Israeli action as an unmitigated disaster for their country and a gross intrusion backed by the United States. Others, at this point in time, see it as a way to weaken Hizbullah’s unwelcome influence in their society.

Refugees from southern Beirut continue to pour into our hotel in cars, mini-buses and four-by-fours loaded with personal belongings en route to the border. To my surprise, I am advised by locals to ‘watch what I say’ as some of our visitors are from Hizbullah territory. I tend not to judge those I know nothing about; yet the unwelcome ghosts of Terry Waite’s fate as a hostage in the 1980s drift in, and as a precaution, I check my normally open conversational style.

Meanwhile, down the hill, restaurant trade is still booming as the durable Lebanese insist on trying to live life as normal while the ‘thump’ of bombs can be heard below in central Beirut. Against a history of conflict and culture dating back to Phoenician times, the Lebanese are born survivors and traders with a phlegmatic approach to war and unrest. A 15-year civil war from 1975 to 1990 has cultivated an approach of ‘whatever the risks, life has go on.’

I ask one of the kind and helpful Lebanese staff at my hotel for his views on the situation. His reply is as honest as it is chilling: ‘It is very bad; I think you should leave right now.’

~~~~

Next Wednesday: Day 3 continues as, trapped at the hotel, Alan waits for the British Embassy to come up with an evacuation plan.

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

Photo shows view from the mountains in Beirut of Israeli ships blockading the harbour - thanks to Alan Lane

© Copyright: Alan Lane All rights reserved

a href=”http://www.mslexia.co.uk/”>

My article “The Writer as Entreprenuer” is published this month by Mslexia, the UK literary journal for women writers. Researching the article, I interviewed three self-published authors, Preethi Nair, Mark Blayney and Julie Noble as well as former Managing Buyer at Waterstone’s, the UK book chain, now Commercial Director of The Friday Project, the UK publisher of books derived from blogs. They shared with me masses of invaluable information about the process of self-publishing as well generously telling me their personal stories.

With the agreement of Mslexia and my interviewees, I am posting onto Fusion View my research for the article.

Today, I am pleased to upload a podcast of the telephone interview I did with Preethi Nair, author of Gypsy Masala. Click on the grey player below to listen.

The other resources relating to my article for Mslexia are posted as follows:
Tue 10 July - Interview with Julie Noble, author of Talli’s Secret.
Wed 11 July - Interview with Scott Pack, book publishing insider
Yesterday, Thurs 12 July - Interview with Mark Blayney, author of Two Kinds of Silence

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Over the course of this last week, you’ll have gained some insight into the challenges of self-publishing your own novel, thanks to Mark Blayney, Julie Noble and Scott Pack, all of whom took the time to answer my questions in a great deal of detail.

It all sounds easy as a concept. Write your book. Set yourself up as a publisher. Get some copies of your book printed. Then selll them.

But - once you’ve got your pile of printed books - all 10,000 copies of them, sitting in your hallway - what do you do with them? What does it take to shift your stock? Do you have the skills and energy to turn from writer into business person and get out there to sell your books? Can you ever make a profit?

Preethi’s story is the stuff of legends. She really took self-publishing entrepreneurship to extraordinary heights by creating a fictitious persona in the form of publicist Pru Menon to publicise her self-published novel Gypsy Masala. She was so good at the job, she was even shortlisted for an industry award for publicist of the year.

Preethi tells us her story in her own words in this special Fusion View podcast.

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Click on the grey player and the end of this post to listen to the interview (approx. 55 mins).

You can also receive this and future Fusion View Podcasts free via iTunes.

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Further resources:

Preethi Nair

Mslexia

Photo: thanks to preethinair.com

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