One of my three A-level subjects was Mandarin Chinese. I’d only got up to O-level Chinese in Singapore, because I then went to do pre-Med(ical) for my A-levels at Raffles Institution (RI) — Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Economics, and English. The day college in London wouldn’t let me do three A-level subjects in one year. So, I went to do Chinese in the evening at the Polytechnic of Central London, having been advised to do three subjects instead of the minimal two for university entrance.
There were two English chaps in my class who were friends and very good to me: Steve and Hugh.
They were the ones who were instrumental in getting me into SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) — by nagging me almost every day, phoning and telling me to apply. I’d originally been reluctant to, because the Polytechnic of Central London’s degree course was a Joint Honours [two languages] with a Year Abroad in Year 3. My choice of Spanish and Chinese would take me to Mexico for six months and China for the other six, which both greatly appealed to me because I like being a member of the local society, even if only for half a year, rather than being a tourist who stays in hotel rooms and eats in restaurants. I want to be a local, even if only for six months.
That was 1977–78. I saw Hugh again occasionally at Steve’s when I went over to cook a Chinese meal a number of times up to the mid-80s. (Steve, now deceased, had mobility problems — both hands and legs, having had polio when he was 16 — so eating out was not so convenient. Hence my going over to his to cook — complete with my own wok and all.)
Fast forward to the early Noughties.
Again, I happened to be in the back room at the Oriental bookshop when I heard someone’s voice in the front room. “Hugh!”
Yep, it was Hugh from some 30-odd years back.
(London, 1977–78 & early Noughties)
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