Chapter 2 foreword

This is not a recreational read, although the opening section might give that impression.It is a diary, a report of a factual situation.I write this diary and put it out, not for the public, just for my wife and my family.If it should ever be suitable for publication, the prior consent of the German government must be obtained, but today, for self-evident reasons, it is absolutely impossible. I translated all the reports in the book, the official letters from the Nanjing Safety Zone International Committee to the Japanese embassy, ​​and the correspondence with the American authorities from English to German.

John Rabe Berlin, 1 October 1942 Dear readers, I would like to say here clearly and affirmatively that becoming a living Bodhisattva is not very easy even for a Tibetan, and it is absolutely impossible for a "Hamburger".Nevertheless, in order not to come across as egomaniac when I describe my diary as "the diary of a living Buddha", or as the Hamburgers say "crazy with joy", I must gently point out that, plus This title given to me is like accepting a medal, which cannot be refused.I don't want to be seen as sane.How did this name come from, please listen to the following narrative.

I've never been a particularly pessimist.I try my best to avoid those who have "foretelling eyes", so as not to be called "ominous crows" one day.While my sound mind doesn't always wrong the pessimists 100 percent of the time, I've always comforted myself with a last-minute "Come on, Johnny, don't be afraid" and ducked into the optimist camp.Otherwise, how could I persist in this Far East region for 30 years!Wars and revolutions here, between warlords and provincial authorities, alternated rapidly like a rotating conveyor belt, and it also had an impact on commerce.The Jinpu Railway, the communication artery between Shanghai and Tianjin, has been completely paralyzed for two years due to the continuous war, which is a small example.On more than one occasion the fighting cut me off from my family and from Peking for weeks or months without any "special" concern.These wars, we said to ourselves, were only for the Chinese, and we Europeans were not really threatened by them, but we had to live with them, just as one endures summer heat, dust bowls, and "reds."

Therefore, when the so-called "Sino-Japanese friction" occurred at Marco Polo Bridge in the suburbs of Beiping in the summer of 1937, we in Nanjing thought that this small incident in the north would be resolved through local mediation.Later, Tianjin also suffered bad luck, and the railway to the north was interrupted, which caused inconvenience. The summer in Nanjing becomes very hot.So in July and August, people go to Qingdao seaside, Yantai or the beautiful Beidaihe between Tianjin and Shenyang for vacation.My wife went to Beidaihe in June 1937.Since it was no longer possible to travel to Tianjin by land (Jinpu Railway), I took an internal combustion engine ship from the Kailuan Coal Mine Administration Bureau to Qinhuangdao.Mr. Schmidt's two daughters were very happy about this, because their travel destinations were the same as mine, but they were not allowed to go from Shanghai to Beidaihe without a man's protection.Later they cut my trip and time short with singing and humor in the most pleasant ways.The ship was rather dirty, but my cabin was spacious and cool.If I had known that the diplomat's desk in the stateroom is dual-purpose, and that the desk can be lifted to become a sink, then I would have enjoyed the trip better without having to go to the bathroom so often.One should never curse this shabby little internal-combustion engine boat until one actually knows it.The Norwegian captain with his family was excited about his passengers (we were the only ones on board) and upon arrival in Qinhuangdao he invited us to the Coal Mine Administration Club for coffee.The small gathering that night later developed into a music tea party, which was very pleasant, especially the prestigious people from Qinhuangdao also came one after another.At this tea party, I met a manager of the Kailuan Coal Mine Administration Bureau that I was familiar with before, and I jokingly asked him about the Japanese manager who worked with him. "Shh!" He made a gesture, "Don't call the ghost, he'll just stand behind!" Qinhuangdao had already been occupied by the Japanese at that time.There are trains carrying troops to Tientsin, and each train is equipped with anti-aircraft artillery, which makes me a little nervous. The situation seems to be much more serious than I estimated!

In Beidaihe (about an hour away from Qinhuangdao), people didn't seem to notice that the Japanese army had already occupied the area, but the air was a little tense, which prompted me to immediately ask someone in Qinhuangdao to book me a plane ticket back to Shanghai.The answer was: "The air tickets within two months have been sold out." Just as I was thinking about how to return as soon as possible, a news came that Shanghai was attacked by the Japanese.Therefore, it is impossible to expect to return via Shanghai Port at the moment.This leaves me at a loss as to what to do.Afterwards, news gradually came that Japanese planes had attacked Nanjing, and Nanjing had been heavily bombed. At this time, I realized the seriousness of the situation.Now there is only one way to go from Tianjin to Yantai or Qingdao by sea, and then take the Jiaoji Railway train back to Nanjing via Jinan. On August 28, 1937, I said goodbye to my wife at night.I arrived in Tianjin about 15 hours later, a little late.Some good friends got me tickets there for a British ocean liner that was packed with Chinese refugees even down the chimney.I happened to have time enough to see the devastation wrought by the war in Tientsin, as evidenced by the damage to an automatic telephone exchange that we had worked so hard to build.Barbed wire barricades were set up on the streets, but Japanese soldiers let us Germans pass through every where.In the pouring rain, a small tugboat towed two small boats full of fleeing Chinese.Driving downstream from the Baihe River, it took several hours to reach Dagu.There, the ship that was supposed to take us to Yantai was overwhelmed by many Chinese refugees. I lost my luggage in the crowd, and it took me a long time to find it.Other than that, nothing happened along the way.

In Yantai, it was pouring again when I disembarked, and after climbing several barbed wire barriers, I managed to find a rickshaw to take me to the hotel.It was dusk now.I pushed the top of the rickshaw aside to get a glimpse of the place I'd ventured into.We passed one, two, three, four taverns frequented by sailors, and a church, and one, two, three taverns, two churches, and more taverns.Afterwards, the rickshaw arrived at Pratcha Hotel, where the driver wanted to stop.Although I am not too rigid, as a grandpa with two grandchildren, it is very disproportionate to so many girls in thin clothes in front of the Pracha Hotel. I still understand this. .I had to use the most ugly Chinese swear word I am familiar with, "Bastard" to scold him.It's an uncivilized statement, but it works.So the poor rickshaw driver had to pull me on his weary legs to the seaside hotel near the end of the promenade, which was much more presentable.By the time I got there I was a "drowned chicken".Our agent in Yantai is Anz Company, and one of its bosses, Mr. Busser, is an old friend of mine. I was repatriated with him in 1919 (he was then manager of the contingency money bank I had established on board the Novara, which had its own temporary notes).I got him on the phone: "Dear Busser, I've been through nine taverns and three churches before I got out of the Pracha Hotel. Is there anything else to see here?" "My fellow," he replied, "you haven't seen half of it!"

The location in Yantai is very good, and Mr. Busser and Mr. Schmidt, the owners of Ainz Company, are lovely people.I was quickly ushered as a VIP into the International Club, which has the most exciting club bar on the Chinese coast.It is said that there used to be a hidden button behind the bar table, and if a foreigner (a VIP) lost a round in a game of rock, paper, scissors, a dramatic scene would ensue.Once the foreigner's fate dies, the trap falls down to reveal a sign that reads "We always stick foreigners".Busser is a Yantai expert. The German club was established in his living room in the past. The club rules are embedded in the wall mirror frame. The content is:

Article 1: Alcohol abuse is prohibited in principle. Rule number two: You can drink a lot on Sunday at most. Rule 3: The meeting between two people should be on Sunday. Because I am a diabetic, I want to bring myself some insulin back to Nanjing for backup.Busser and I went out and we searched every local pharmacy.After we got two full tubes of insulin, Busser said, "Okay, let's go to my warehouse now and see if there is any stock. Because I sell insulin on a consignment basis, there were a lot of insulin in the warehouse." Goods." He didn't take full advantage of the opportunity to kill me.He really made a fortune the next day when all the drugstore owners came to order from him to fill their empty shelves.

Busser and Schmidt took turns treating me to dinner.I was as happy in both of their homes as I was anywhere else in Yantai.At the Schmidts' house, there was a group of children jumping around and playing, and I didn't know for a long time which family they were.They all called a young lady called "Miss" as their mother, which puzzled me.I later learned that this lady (Mr. Schmidt's daughter) was a married woman whose husband's name was Mies.All the insiders made fun of my "stupid brain".I was even happier when Busser's daughter (later Mrs. Kroeger) arrived from Nanking via Tsingtao.But the news she brought was not good: Nanjing had been heavily bombed in mid-August, and residents were fleeing.In addition, the surrounding areas of Yantai were flooded.It is not advisable to go to the Jiaoji Railway by motor vehicle, because the car that Miss Busser was on had to stop many times on the way, and all the passengers were forced to get out of the car before the car restarted.

"Let me do it." Booth said, "I'll get you a ferry ticket to Qingdao." Sure enough, the boat ticket was obtained. When I said goodbye to Yantai, I was very sad.There were so many happy people there, I almost forgot about the war.The ship I boarded was also full of Chinese refugees.I'm ready for steerage.But the captain, who was very friendly with Busser, would not consent to this, and he gave me a comfortably and handsomely furnished cabin. The first German I met in Qingdao was "Uncle Ali" - Baron Albrecht von Lamechan.He is a military adviser to the Chinese government in Nanjing, and he is preparing to return home. By the way, he will accompany the son of General Regius, Jochen, and his wife to Qingdao, because the latter had a heart attack when Nanjing was attacked by air, and he came to Qingdao to recuperate. .From these two people, I learned the details of the Japanese plane's first air raid on Nanjing.Mrs. Stretius described with emotion how she feared for the life of her boy who was playing in the street when the bombs fell on her side.The boy was safe and sound, but unfortunately, his mother died of a heart attack a few days after I left Qingdao.Later I went to visit my old friend Obering, and Hermann Schlichtiger, who had bought a house in Tsingtao and lived like a country gentleman.I took a walk with him to get another look at the places that had once belonged to Germany, and we also saw where the Japanese had evacuated.I myself am sure that it was in good condition then, afterward it is said that it was badly damaged by the Chinese.

I took the train from Qingdao to Jinan very smoothly.Villages and fields far and near on both sides of the Jiaoji Railway were flooded, and some residents squatted on the beams of their collapsed houses.As soon as the train stopped, the miserable cries of the beggars came from every window.In Jinan, I was again accommodated in a German hotel.The inn is famous for its delicious sausages - and the people there sing: Then, I arrived at Pukou smoothly via the Jinpu Railway, and from there I crossed the Yangtze River to Nanjing.A curious Chinese official stupidly asked me who I was, and I replied: Dehua Dabing (that is, a German military adviser).This hint was told to me by "Uncle Ali". "Dehua Dabing" is very popular there.