The true story of an extraordinary woman
Vanessa was a bright young country girl whose job took her to the big city far, far away from all she’d ever known.
To those who knew her it was no surprise it didn’t take long for her to settle in. Hard working, outgoing and always ready to light up the room with her smile, she had a charming way with words, her poems often read out in the morning assembly.
Amongst her newfound colleagues was Tom, a dashing hot headed engineer. Multi-skilled and seemingly able to solve whatever technical problem he was pointed at, his talents were highly valued by management if not his ability to get on with others.
After he got into a fist fight with a colleague over something trivial, again, the Company realised something had to be done. Vanessa was assigned to mentor Tom. The brief: teach him how to play nice.
Almost inevitably, the good looking and charismatic couple fell in love, much to the displeasure of Tom’s parents. Chinese expats, his father had built a successful business importing medical supplies from his homeland that had paid for the finest education for their only son, and a large house with live-in servants and a chauffeur.
Tom still lived there and his mother was especially vocal that her boy could do better than this country peasant.
Nonetheless, Tom married her and as was customary in these parts, she moved in with them. Her sense of duty outweighed any concerns about the undoubted friction to come with her mother-in-law.
The following year Vanessa gave birth to a bouncing baby girl.
Yay!
No.
No?
No. The in-laws want a son. Girls are no good until you’ve sorted a son.
Vanessa and Tom tried again and she gave birth to a second healthy girl. The in-laws are incandescent with rage. Tom’s mother lays it out thus:
“If the next one is also a girl, that’s three in a row. You then owe it to your family to get rid and find a woman who can give us a son.”
This understandably left Vanessa more than a little reticent about falling pregnant again. In those days, the gender reveal happened on the day of birth.
Five years go by. Then whether planned or in spite of efforts, she conceives again. The suspense mounts…
Nine months later Vanessa is holding her precious son close as the midwife cuts the umbilical cord and makes do with what few supplies there are. Although fighting officially ended this year in 1975, twenty years of vicious warfare against the USA have wrecked the country in every way possible.
“Your husband’s here,” a nurse informs her.
Vanessa paused. “Tell him it’s a girl,” she said, as she cradled her little boy. Life would be just fine.
It wouldn’t. As war with the USA came to an end (technically a civil conflict with the USA backing the losing side), Vietnam found itself in open conflict with China, another geopolitical giant with towering resources, this one on its doorstep with 806 miles of shared border and a long history of animosity.
As if a 21st consecutive year of war, just as you thought peace was on the horizon, wasn’t bad enough, what really complicated matters was Tom’s ethnicity.
The Vietnamese government enacted increasingly brutal measures against those of Chinese origin who’d had the temerity to set up life within their borders. Businesses and homes were seized, restrictions to daily life applied without exception. Anyone and everyone with the wherewithal took steps to leave.
Tom’s father had been gravely ill for some time, too sick to travel and the reason for their continued presence in a hostile environment. When his ageing body finally succumbed to his affliction, it was the cue for action.
“I’m going back to my father’s home in China”, Tom said, “I’m taking my son.”
“No!” Vanessa was adamant, “He won’t survive without his mother.”
A visa to accompany her husband wasn’t happening. Besides the inconvenience of her country being at war with his, she was a skilled worker, an asset the local communist ruling party had no intention of relinquishing.
Constrained by the tide of deadly world events, the irresistible force of a mother’s love and the immovable object of a father’s need for a son, the only way forward was to flee and seek asylum in the west.
English being the only western language either had any scant knowledge of, this suggested the USA or the UK. They reasoned that attitudes to Vietnamese refugees would be less hostile in the latter, and the decision was made.
Contacts were made, people smugglers paid. Late one summer night Tom, Vanessa, their three children and his elderly mother left everything behind and embarked on the deadly crossing by boat.
With determination, a huge amount of luck and three months at sea, Hong Kong lay just within reach. Beyond that, they would have to trust in the whims of the gods.
Of the 12 million refugees that fled Vietnam during this era, the ‘boat people’, 4 million did not survive.
For the three vessels that set off in Vanessa and Tom’s convoy, the mortality ratio was twice as horrific and two were lost at sea. But after three harrowing months at the mercy of the elements, they held their children close as their lone surviving boat limped into the Hong Kong bay. The gods were finally with them.
The family spent several months in a crowded refugee camp before being offered asylum in the UK. At the age of 36, Vanessa faced up to starting a new life thousands of miles away from her roots. Language, culture, climate — everything was alien. But at least they were together. Onwards and upwards.
She would go on to have another son with Tom and together they raised their four children in a quiet suburb fifty miles north of London.
As parents do, Vanessa wanted nothing more than for them to have a good education leading to a respectable, well paid career.
She was overjoyed when their eldest son was accepted for business studies at university in Manchester. To her this was the meaning of life, what she’d aspired to since their arrival in the UK.
He stayed in the northwest after graduating and a mere two decades later got engaged to a charming young lady he met in Leeds.
Vanessa wrote to congratulate him:
“We do wish you and Jade get happy together forever”
🥰
I love this letter. There is so much to unpack. I’ve re-read it many times and it never fails to make me smile and on occasion shed a tear.
The broken English, impeccably written in beautiful handwriting, reminds me she is far from home yet never lost her poise, of the staggering sequence of events that brought us here.
Tough decisions made, unthinkable hardships endured so my siblings and I could have a better life. A journey that might have left her embittered with the cruel hand dealt by fate.
Yet here she is apologising that she can’t help with house renovations because she’s old and frail, and lives three hours drive away. I’m a company director in my late thirties yet she carefully reminds me to be sensible with my money and not get carried away with a recent win, because Life.
As usual, she signs for my dad so he isn’t left out. Dad and Mum, not Mum and Dad.
With such humility, grace and warmth in one who has been through so much, to whom I owe so much, in comparison to whom I’ve had such a sheltered life in the lap of luxury, how could I complain about anything?
She is a rock solid foundation for my Gratitude.
Family is of paramount importance to her. As are traditional values treasured by most cultures: saving money, good whole food and lots of it, warmth of home and heart, a good education, raising the next generation to be hard working people of good character…
All powerful components of a happy life.
Mum has never held back in conveying the importance of each of these to me.
I used to see it as nagging and get irritated, offended that she somehow thought I still hadn’t got it.
I now appreciate it as a compulsive parental drive to pass on life experience, wanting nothing but the best for their child, centred on the truism that material wealth is not unimportant yet merely a stepping stone to happiness and fulfilment.
Just as her instincts led to that letter, so this effort to gather the most useful, often life changing knowledge that’s come my way. I’m now eleven years older than my mother was when she left everything behind and boarded the boat to Hong Kong, knowing there was a 1 in 3 chance we would all perish. What have I learnt myself?
To our daughter:
I’ve not yet held you in my arms and I already know I want you to be happy, whatever form that may take.
The world we’re bringing you into is a wonderful but complex place, full of magical experiences and hidden pitfalls — the ultimate game of snakes and ladders. I can’t wait for you to experience it.
I hope you get a deeper sense of who your family are, and some utility for the journey ahead from these pages.
Your mother and I love you, more than anything in the world.
❤️
PS Your grandma was over the moon when she found out you’re on the way.
This is the Intro for a book I’m writing for our daughter who is due to join us roundabouts 17th August 2023 (daughter that is!)
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