Reminiscences of an Old Rake ~ Bertie Seal’s 1930s Shanghai Escapades

Reminiscences of an Old Rake

Bertie Seal’s 1930s Shanghai Escapades

~

When the Boat Comes In

The Legend of the Fearless One from the Hills of Shanghai

Aunt Augustus Comes to Shanghai

Shanghai Rose

Marrying off The Lady Sally Jenkin-Jones

Farewell to Shanghai as Bertie Ties the Knot

By Rip William © 2010

Drawings by the author ©

All Rights Reserved

To Moucellan & Panisse

From ~ Reminiscences of an Old Rake

Bertie Seal’s 1930s Shanghai Escapades

When the Boat Comes In

I was on a one way voyage to old Shanghai, in the year of 1930, when I met two of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, who, as it turned out, were to change my life irrevocably.

Having hit hard times I had been forced into employment, and taken a job as a commercial salesman. I’d been doing the oriental beat for close on a year now, and was making a pretty poor show of things. Part of the difficulty was the company I worked for; they had seen better days. The market place had changed and all the bigger firms now went direct, leaving only the smaller operators for us. These were of two types – fly-by-nighters, sneaky as the proverbial warehouse rat, and businesses run by men still of the view they could pay for their goods with excess livestock, and or daughters. I was out of my depth dealing with both, which, naturally, was the major part of the problem.

Before boarding the ship in Hong Kong my cantankerous old boss had said, ‘Seal, don’t come back unless your order book is full.’ I’d assured him he’d get satisfaction – which, up to a point, was true. You see, I intended to bail, but presently I needed the fare and expenses.

On my last visit to the magical city that Shanghai was back then, I’d had a roaring old time, but the only business I done was for myself. I secured a first class job running a soon to be completed Casino, something I did know a thing or two about. There were just two snags, one, the job didn’t become available for a number of months, and secondly, and more problematic, they wanted me to make a modest capital investment into the venture, which I’d promised to do. I’d returned to Hong Kong in the hope of raising the dough. I didn’t. All I got was a drubbing from my boss. My hope now rested on meeting someone aboard the boat who might be induced into loaning poor old Bertie, here, with some money.

The good Lord is apt to help a chap get along by endowing him with either brain or brawn, though, in my case there must have been trouble with the old supply and demand. In compensation, however, I was given pleasant looks and an easy going temperament, and it made me popular. So it was hardly surprising that my fortunes were to change as a consequence of cherchez la femme.

 It all began with Jill.

I’d come to an arrangement with the skipper whereby I was allowed to partake of the first class amenities despite the fact the cabin I occupied wasn’t in that section. It was, though, one of the better second class offerings, the ship’s porter, likewise, having taken pity on Bertie, and given me the best of a bad lot. Captain Smythe was a decent chap who walked the straight and narrow, but was rather awkward in the social graces department. We met on my first trip, when I’d used what little I had left of my own capital to upgrade, and earned his admiration by possessing what he lacked. We quickly came to a mutually rewarding understanding. 

Guests at the Captain’s table rotated amongst the first class travelers, and he was expected to be an entertaining host. This job now fell to me. It was easy enough, as most of the passengers on this line were like the good Smythe, god-fearing christians, who seldom left the safety of familiar surroundings. With a little bit of embellishment I kept them all enthralled with my past adventures.

Both Jill and Serena had caught my eye; their exceptional beauty being something I was wont to appreciate. Unfortunately, however, their good looks weren’t complimented by their dress; chic they were not. On this first evening, they, along with their equally dowdy husbands, were the guests at the Captain’s table. Normally, having the opportunity to flirt with two women, beautiful despite their lack of sophistication, would excite old Bertie, but I was struggling to keep the spirits up, as my predicament weighed heavily upon me. Plus, my disappointment with their deportment was nothing compared to the aversion I felt towards the awful men both had married. It wasn’t just the vast age difference that put me off the fellows, it was also an unmistakable sense they were bounders. This was reinforced by their looks; one had the appearance and manner of a baboon, the other, that of a pompous, overbearing Oxford don. Both looked down their noses at my debonair mode of dress, and youthful good looks.

The Thornley sisters, thank God, were also our guests at the table that evening; two lovely old birds who travelled the line frequently. The Captain relied on them when balance was required. They both adored Bertie, and were very generous with me.

Duty bound to entertain, I began my tales, but the Oxford don kept interrupting with rather embarrassing remarks.

I’m afraid Mr. Seal, that is totally absurd. The Prince of Monaco could never have been a distant relative of Genghis Khan. The latter was a Mongol. (When I had protested that the old warrior couldn’t have been soft in the head, after all he ruled half the world at one point, he called me an imbecile.)

Mr. Seal, it is quite impossible to travel into outer space in a Zeppelin. It would burn to a cinder as it left the earth’s atmosphere!

These comments, naturally, upset me, but to an even greater extent they annoyed the Captain; my outer-space stories were his favourite. I fell silent, and the table became awkward and gloomy.  The Neanderthal Serena had lumbered herself with took the opportunity to rise, mumbling a gruff farewell – she followed sullenly and obediently behind. The poor unhappy creature had barely touched her meal, and had sat in repose, avoiding eye contact and conversation. Only once did she look up, and surreptitiously catching my eye smiled with such a sweet and innocent look of guilty pleasure, that I realised instantly the lovely thing had, indeed, been taking a curious interest in me. Her horrible husband, though, showed no concern beyond the food he was eating, and he ate like a wolfhound, demanding seconds.

My nemesis, sensing an air of disapproval towards him, also rose to leave, however, to my and everyone else’s surprise, his beautiful wife, Jill, refused to go.

‘I’m not ready to leave, George, I wish to chat a moment longer, you run along and I’ll join you later,’ she told him, and not wishing to cause a scene, he left in high dudgeon. Jill and I now found ourselves a little apart from the other guests, and giving me a cheery look she said, without a notion of any formality, ‘Don’t be sad Bertie, he does that to everyone. He’s forever correcting me on this and that, and instructing me to do this and that, he’s a bore.’

Her uninvited familiarity in reference to my name didn’t bother me remotely; I was never one for pompous customs, and encouraged all those I liked to refer to me as Bertie. And on further reflection I felt it pointed to the fact that Jill had probably made enquiries of me with other people, who in turn had implanted the casual moniker in her mind. My spirits rose at this revelation. Jill then went on to add, ‘You know what I think?’ I shook my head. ‘I think I’d rather listen to you and your stories any day of the week than be with George.’

‘Really?’ I asked, this time letting my astonishment show, and her eyes sparkled with mischief, a smile spread wide across her gorgeous face. It sent blood surging through my veins and straight to my head with an intoxicating effect.

‘You know what I think?’ I blurted, and Jill eagerly indicated the negative, ‘Well, err, I’d rather be with you any day of the week than George too!’ It was far from my wittiest moment, but it got the desired reaction.

‘Really?’ she called out, adopting a look of serious though very happy disbelief. Then we both laughed.

In a more sober tone, Jill asked, or should I say demanded, ‘Now then, are you going to take me to the bar and buy me a glass of champagne, or not?’ It was a request impossible to resist.

Delving deep into my Shanghai accommodation allowance I brought a bottle of Mumm, and then whisked the beautiful creature into a private corner. Over the champagne, Jill, who was unaccustomed to the potency of the drink and soon became plastered, told her sorry story. It was a common enough tale back then. Only daughter of over-protective parents who, in the vain hope of escaping the claustrophobic life she was forced to endure, married the first man acceptable to her ma and pa.

‘You know Bertie, this is the first time I’ve ever drunk champagne. That horrible man I married wouldn’t even buy a bottle for our wedding night. On our wedding night! Can you believe that?’ Jill slurred, sadly. ‘Unbelievable!’ I drawled with amazement.

Her sadness quickly vanished. ‘Oh Bertie, I love champagne. Will you buy me some more, I mean, tomorrow, perhaps? I’m a bit drunky now. Never been tight before either. I think I like being smashed!’ I smiled, ‘You won’t like it in the morning, sweet flower, but another glass of champagne, care of Bertie, say mid-afternoon, should fix you right up.’

Jill’s eyes got a faraway look in them and I feared she might pass out. Carrying her back to George was not a chore I’d relish. Then suddenly she looked at me, clear-eyed and sober, ‘Bertie, will you do something for me?’ she asked, her manner serious, and verging on the desperate. I nodded a little warily; hoping money wasn’t going to be what was wanted. ‘It may horrify you.’

Again I smiled, wondering what on earth someone who’d lived such a sheltered life could say to shock me. ‘I doubt it blossom, seen and heard a bit, what.’ Jill laughed happily at this declaration, crying out, to no one and every one, ‘Been to the moon, has Bertie!’ It was nice to see her in high spirits again. Then looking lovingly at me, she whispered, ‘Oh Bertie, I’d be content with just one night up amongst the stars. Just one night! Could you do that for me?’

And so began our affair.

Jill took to love making with a totally unselfconscious grace, and once was never going to be enough for her, (you can read that comment broadly). She was also keenly interested in the outside world she’d been sheltered from, and curious about the goings on of other passengers, which led me to discussing Serena.

‘Oh Bertie, you’re wicked! Aren’t I enough?’ When I changed my interest in Serena from lascivious to concern, the Good Samaritan that Jill was, emerged. ‘You’re right Bertie, she’s dreadfully unhappy, just like I was till I met you.’ She took one of my cigarettes and smoked in thought. We were recovering in the lifeboat that had become our love nest. I didn’t want her to know I was travelling second class, The Captain, is apt to pop in unexpected, love, was the pathetic excuse I’d given.

‘Yes, something definitely amiss with that relationship,’ I agreed, bringing Serena’s looks to mind, and trying none to successfully to think only paternally toward her. ‘We should help. That brute of a husband, though, keeps her on a very short leash, which luckily George doesn’t do to you.’

‘George is far too interested in his books and astronomy, so hardly notices the fact I’ve flitted off,’ Jill replied, butting her cigarette out and looking into my eyes with carnal interest. Still in recovery mode, I got her back to the subject of Serena, and a little sulkily she said, ‘I’m not sure I’m ready to share you with anybody just yet. I noticed her surreptitious look your way when she left the table the other night.’ Three quarters of an hour later, Jill, still a little flushed, said, ‘Maybe I should talk to Serena; I might need a little assistance in dealing with you.’ When I asked her didn’t everyone deserve a little happiness, she nodded guiltily, then replied, ‘I’m pretty sure I can get her away from that grotesque husband of hers long enough to have a good old honest chat. You’re right, Bertie, Serena needs a friend and so it’s up to us to help!’

It must be true what they say, the more hanky panky you have the more you want, because after the afternoon I’d just had, I should have been content for the next month.