Half a century later, Woodhead is paying attention as the Chinese announcement on the high speed train informs passengers that we are now arriving in Weihai (威海) North station.
I had been drawn to visit Weihai because in the intervening years I had served in the Royal Navy Reserve and read with interest the accounts of British sailors who were stationed in the Far East as part of the so-called ‘China Station’.
I was fascinated to learn that within living memory there have been sailors who served on HM ships that exercised the UK’s extra-territorial claim to sail up China’s rivers in the name of defending British interests in the country. The British film The Yangtse Incident tells the story of how one such ship, HMS Amethyst, was attacked and disabled by artillery fire from shore batteries of the PLA in Jiangsu province in 1949.
I was aware that Britain had naval bases in Singapore and Hong Kong, as well as stationing ships in Shanghai, but knew little about the Royal Navy’s additional base in north China.
Known officially as Port Edward, Weihaiwei was something of a remote outpost that was leased by the British from China until 1930 as part of a strategic move to keep tabs on the German and Russian presences in nearby Qingdao and Port Arthur (Dalian, 大连), respectively.
The navy base at Weihaiwei was actually located on a small offshore island called Liugong and was used as a ‘summer training establishment’. It was a port that British ships visited for rest and recreation purposes, favoured because of its mild climate compared to the heat of Shanghai and Hong Kong.
After the Weihaiwei lease expired in 1930 the British navy maintained a token presence on Liugong Island under a temporary 10-year agreement with the Chinese government. The few remaining personnel departed in 1940 and the base was taken over by the Japanese military soon afterwards.
I was intrigued by these descriptions of a little corner of north China under the Union Jack, and since it was only two hours away from Qingdao I decided to pay a visit to see what remained of Weihaiwei. I’m sure Mr Bourne would have approved.
On the way to Weihai the train passed through the port city of Yantai (烟台). I had considered stopping there too because of its status as one of the first winemaking places in China. But the city looked a bit too industrial, and I had not been impressed with previous tastings of the local ChangYu wine brand - so I gave it a miss.
Weihai was one of those ‘small’ towns in China that have a sprawling hinterland. After disembarking at the new North Station I faced a 16 kilometre ride into the centre through a drab 'new town' landscape. Once I arrived on the seafront, however, it was like Surfer’s Paradise. The seafront was lined with new high rise apartment blocks and a promenade had been landscaped with artificial trees and featured cafes, viewing platforms and changing rooms featuring marine motifs. The Costa Del Shandong.
After spending a bit over my budget on the hotel in Qingdao, I opted to try the cheap youth hostel advertised in Weihai. Being off season, I found I was the only resident in the empty building tucked down a side street two blocks from the beach, next door to a Spar supermarket. And like all too many youth hostels it had an over-officious manager, who reeled off a list of rules and regulations that I must abide by or risk losing my 100 yuan deposit.
He made it clear that my e-bike was not allowed in the hostel, and I had to leave it outside on the street among the other electric scooters.
My woeful preparation and lack of background research for this trip became apparent when I went for a walk around Weihai and learned that it was just across the water from the Korean peninsula. The large ferry docked at a jetty was the daily service from Incheon, only 380 kilometres away over the Yellow Sea. I also noticed that most of the shops and restaurants on the main street were bilingual in Korean and Chinese characters - and many of them were offering Korean products and speciality dishes.
The hostel receptionist later explained to me that Weihai was the closest point to Korea in China, and the city was a regular feature on tourist itineraries for South Koreans who came over to sample the markets and buy up cheap products. She pointed me in the direction of nearby Hanlefang (韩乐坊) where I would find the Korean Night market. It was a revelation - I arrived just as it got dark and the market was a bustling mass of people in an outdoor plaza illuminated by neon signs advertising all kinds of dishes. I opted for bulgogi and rice - which I noticed when translated into Chinese was simply ‘barbecue beef’.
The next morning was a brisk clear April day and I had a pleasant ride on my bike along the beachfront. Weihai was a holiday town and the beach was dotted with sea-themed sculptures, and sunbeds. The local authorities had installed a wooden deck walkway along which were gift shops and restaurants, but few were open this early in the season. They had also put a rustic thatched roofed house on the waterfront as a tourist information centre.
There were quite a few locals fishing from the promenade - some using weighted nets that they flung into the clear waters. I’d been expecting the sea here to be the same mucky brown that I’d seen when visiting the coast in Xiamen, but the water seemed clean. Further on was a small harbour full of leisure craft and some powerboats being used for fishing. A woman from one of these called me over, inviting me to buy some of her fresh catch of prawns, lobster, flatfish, squid and crabs being displayed in plastic bowls on the dockside.
After a couple of kilometres I had arrived in the centre of Weihai, and it looked like Miami. The seafront was dominated by a shiny new community of high rise condos, which could only be reached by a bridge closed off by a barrier and security guards. On the landward side was a prominent viewing platform centred around a fancy bit of modern art sculpture. There was also a swish ’cafe and bistro’, in which I got a latte and planned my excursion across to the former naval base at Liugong Island (刘公岛). My map app showed me there was a ferry service across to the island which ran every 30 minutes. It even offered me the option to buy tickets online, but I thought I would try in person, in case there were any restrictions on foreigners visiting a military facility.
I found the ferry terminal another kilometre along the seafront, in a massive new building and car park complex billed as the ‘Liugong Island Passenger Transport Centre’. In the ticketing office the price for the ferry across the island was listed as 160 yuan (US$22), but I noticed that there was also a concession price of 30 yuan for people aged 60 and above. I qualified! After showing my passport I got a ticket that allowed me through the barrier to the wharf - and they even allowed me to take my folded up bike with me.
The small ferry had only a few tourist passengers and was not dissimilar to the boats that run on the Sydney to Manly route. Standing outside the cabin at the stern under the flapping Chinese national flag, among bobbing and swooping seagulls, it took a leisurely 20 minutes to cross the few kilometres to the small island of low-lying hills.
As we docked at the wharf on Liugong Island there were signs in Chinese stating that this was a military restricted area, but no signs of the PLA Navy other than a small patrol vessel. The island still looked like the training establishment it had once been under the Royal Navy. There were a couple of distinctly British-looking barracks with white facades and mock-Tudor black beams, now topped with a red star and the ba-yi (八一, 8-1) symbol of the PLA. I wheeled my bike off the jetty and found myself surrounded by warehouse buildings that could have been from Chatham or Rosyth naval dockyards.
The only modern building was a brutalist concrete structure that was a museum commemorating the Sino-Japanese War of 1894-95, something I knew nothing about. I should have paid more attention to Mr Bourne in 1973 when he was explaining the Treaty of Shimonoseki.
The Chinese displays in the museum told of how the northern fleet of the Manchu Qing dynasty’s navy had been established on Liugong Island before it was defeated by the Japanese fleet at the Battle of the Yalu River.
The battle had been the culmination of Japanese expansion in the region, which saw them defeat the Chinese and occupy Korea then move into Manchuria and take over Port Arthur (Dalian, 大连). The Chinese navy had been outclassed by the well trained and modernised Japanese fleet: the Chinese ships were obsolete, poorly armed and maintained, and the crews lacked discipline and training in modern naval warfare.
The displays in the museum came with a not-so-subtle propaganda message that the western colonial powers had been responsible for China’s defeat. They implied that European countries had worked to keep China weak by preventing it from building up a modern navy, whereas the British had provided strong support to build up the Imperial Japanese Navy.
The museum made little mention of the subsequent British acquisition of Liugong Island and its development as a northern base for the Royal Navy’s China Squadron. But the rest of the island was like an open air museum for the British colonial naval base. A road along the southern coast of the island led from the site of the old British naval barracks and sailors’ canteen and featured the Fleet Commander’s Residence, a 1920s style detached house. Further along there was an elegant beachfront bungalow described as “The Johnston Villa”. This is presumably the summer residence of Weihaiwei’s British Commissioner, Sir Reginald Johnston.
Johnston was a notable senior diplomat and sinophile, and at one time the personal tutor to the last Emperor Pu Yi in the Peking (as portrayed by Peter O’Toole in The Last Emperor). When Pu Yi was expelled from the Forbidden City, Johnston returned to the Colonial Service and in this capacity served as the final British Commissioner at Weihaiwei until 1930.
The Commissioner’s residence was next to a golf course, which appeared to be still in use by the PLA Navy. A map of the island also showed tennis courts and swimming pools, all built by the British for when Liugong was a training and recreation facility. In more recent times the Chinese had added a sailing and windsurfing centre on the beach below the villa.
Back in the centre of the naval administration block there was still the old Masonic Hall and even the remains of the British-built church. However, much of the centre and western sections of the island were off limits and presumably still in use as military facilities for the Chinese navy. There was a decommissioned Chinese submarine alongside that was open to the public - but when I tried to go inside I was told that entry was not allowed for foreigners.
Having seen everything there was to see on this small island, I took my bike back to the ferry wharf to wait for the next boat back to Weihai. An older Chinese man sitting opposite me was eyeing my bike with interest and gave me the thumbs up. He told me he was an engineer and looked over my e-bike with a professional eye, asking some technical questions about its function and performance. When he learned that I was from the UK, he asked me if I had visited the museum about the Sino-Japanese War.
“That was when China was weak, but not any more,” he said. “Now we have a strong navy. We need one to resist America.”
He gestured out over the bay: “America is surrounding China. They have bases just over there in Korea, and (pointing further south) in Japan and in the Philippines, and they are still in Taiwan … America is trying to contain China from all directions,” he said.
I grew wary of which direction this conversation might be going, though the man wasn’t hostile, just giving me a little lecture.
“China is a peaceful country and always welcomes foreign guests with good intentions,” he went on. “A lot of Koreans come here for the seafood in Weihai. Have you tried it? It is very fresh, the best in China …”.
I was relieved when the ferry docked and I was able to leave, carrying my folded-up bike on board the boat to head back across the water.
There wasn’t much else to see in Weihai of what had once been Port Edward. It was hard to imagine this had once been a British leased territory with its own courts, postage stamps and even a Weihaiwei Regiment of Chinese soldiers serving under the British Crown. As if in rebuke and to assert its Chineseness, the seafront now had an array of statues of Chinese cultural and historical figures, most of whom I had never heard of. I turned my bike around and pedalled back to the youth hostel, to ready myself for the next day’s train trip to the mouth of the Yellow River.
第2章 威海卫的海军日
1973年利兹北郊圣托马斯·阿奎那文法学校某个沉闷的周二下午，1R班正在上历史课。某个11岁学生凝视着窗外操场走神，完全没听伯恩老师絮叨那些没完没了的条约年份——什么1896年《马关条约》啦，什么不冻港旅顺威海卫啦。"伍德黑德！你小子到底听没听讲？！"显然没有。
半个世纪后，当高铁广播宣布"威海北站到了"时，伍德黑德终于集中了注意力。我专程造访威海，是因为这些年间我曾服役于皇家海军预备役，并饶有兴趣地读过驻远东"中国舰队"英国水兵的回忆录。
得知就在不远的过去，竟有英国军舰以保卫在华利益之名，行使着在中国内河航行的治外法权，我不禁着迷。英国电影《扬子江事件》就讲述了1949年英舰"紫石英号"在江苏遭解放军岸防炮击的故事。
我知道英国在新加坡、香港设有海军基地，在上海也驻泊军舰，但对华北这个皇家海军基地知之甚少。官方称"爱德华港"的威海卫，是英国为监视青岛德军与旅顺（大连）俄军而向中国租借的偏远前哨站，租期至1930年。
威海卫海军基地实际位于离岛刘公岛上，被用作"夏季训练基地"。相比闷热的上海与香港，这里气候温和，成为英舰休整首选。1930年租约到期后，英国依据十年临时协议在刘公岛保留象征性驻军，最后一批人员于1940年撤离，基地旋即被日军接管。
这处飘扬过米字旗的华北角落令我神往，既然距青岛仅两小时车程，我决定去看看威海卫的遗迹。相信伯恩老师定会赞许这个决定。
列车途经港城烟台时，我曾考虑下车——这里是中国最早酿造葡萄酒的地区之一。但窗外工业化的城市景观，加上此前品尝张裕葡萄酒的糟糕体验，让我最终放弃了这个念头。
威海属于那种"小城大郊"的中国城市。从崭新的北站出发，我不得不骑行16公里穿越单调的新城区前往市中心。但当抵达海滨时，眼前景象恍若冲浪者天堂：新建高层公寓鳞次栉比，人工绿植装点的滨海步道分布着咖啡馆、观景台与海洋主题更衣室，堪称"山东的太阳海岸"。
因青岛酒店超支，我选择了威海这家廉价青旅。淡季里，这栋藏在距海滩两个街区小巷的建筑空无一人，隔壁是家SPAR超市。和太多青旅一样，这里有个刻板的管理员，他滔滔不绝宣读着规章制度，警告我违反就要扣100元押金。他明确禁止电动自行车入内，我只好把它停在门外电动车堆里。
漫游威海时，我才惊觉自己行前准备多么不足——这里与朝鲜半岛隔海相望。码头停泊的大型渡轮是每日往返仁川的班次，横跨黄海仅380公里。主街商铺几乎全是中韩双语招牌，许多都在销售韩国商品与特色菜。前台后来告诉我，威海是中国离韩国最近的城市，是韩国人来扫货的热门目的地。她指引我去附近的韩乐坊韩国夜市，那里霓虹闪烁人声鼎沸，我点了中文直译为"烧烤牛肉"的石锅拌饭。
四月的清晨晴朗微寒，我沿海滨愉快骑行。作为度假城市，威海沙滩点缀着海洋雕塑与躺椅。当局修建了木栈道，两侧礼品店餐厅因淡季大多未营业。他们还搭建了茅草顶游客中心。不少当地人在防波堤钓鱼，有人正把沉网抛入清澈海水——与厦门浑浊的海水不同，这里水质干净。前方小港停满游艇与渔船，有位渔妇招呼我买她摆在塑料盆里的活虾、龙虾、比目鱼、鱿鱼和螃蟹。
骑行两公里后，市中心竟像极了迈阿密。海滨耸立着需刷卡进入的高档公寓群，陆侧是环绕现代艺术雕塑的观景台。我在一家时髦咖啡厅喝着拿铁规划刘公岛行程。地图APP显示每半小时有渡轮，虽可网购船票，但为防军事设施对外国人设限，我决定现场购票。
前行一公里抵达气派的"刘公岛客运中心"。售票处标价160元（22美元），但60岁以上优惠价仅30元——我达标了！出示护照后，我获准带着折叠自行车登船。这艘类似悉尼曼利渡轮的小船乘客寥寥，站在船舷国旗下的二十分钟航程里，海鸥随波翱翔，低矮的刘公岛渐近。
码头中文标识注明此为军事禁区，但除巡逻艇外不见解放军踪影。岛上仍保留着皇家海军训练基地的模样：几座黑白仿都铎风格营房如今顶着八一红星，仓库建筑恍若英国查塔姆或罗赛斯造船厂。唯一现代建筑是纪念1894-95年中日战争的粗野主义混凝土博物馆——早知今日，当年真该好好听伯恩老师讲《马关条约》
博物馆的中文展板讲述了满清北洋水师如何在刘公岛建立基地，最终却在鸭绿江海战中败于日本舰队。这场战役标志着日本在东亚扩张的巅峰——他们击败中国占领朝鲜，继而进军满洲夺取旅顺（大连）。中国海军在训练有素、装备现代化的日本舰队面前相形见绌：舰船陈旧、武备落后、维护不善，水兵更缺乏现代海战所需的纪律与训练。
展陈带着不加掩饰的政治宣传意味，将中国战败归咎于西方列强。暗示欧洲国家通过阻挠中国建设现代化海军来维持其衰弱，而英国却大力扶持日本帝国海军发展。博物馆对英国后来取得刘公岛作为皇家海军中国分舰队北方基地的史实几乎只字未提。
但岛屿其余部分宛如英国殖民海军基地的露天博物馆。南岸道路从英军旧营房和水兵食堂遗址延伸，途经舰队司令官邸——栋1920年代风格独栋别墅。再往前是标注为"庄士敦别墅"的海滨优雅平房，想必是威海卫英国行政长官庄士敦爵士（Sir Reginald Johnston）的避暑行宫。这位著名资深外交官兼汉学家，曾在北京担任末代皇帝溥仪的私人教师（即电影《末代皇帝》中彼得·奥图尔饰演的角色）。当溥仪被逐出紫禁城后，庄士敦返回殖民部任职，并作为末任威海卫行政长官工作至1930年。
行政长官官邸毗邻的高尔夫球场似乎仍被解放军海军使用。岛上地图还显示有网球场和游泳池，均为英军建设训练娱乐设施时修建。近年中国人在别墅下方海滩新增了帆船和帆板中心。
海军行政区的中心地带仍保留着共济会堂旧址，甚至还有英国建造的教堂残迹。但岛屿中部和西部大部分区域禁止入内，推测仍作为中国海军军事设施使用。码头旁有艘退役潜艇对公众开放——但当我试图进入时，被告知外国人不得入内。
看完小岛所有景点后，我推着自行车返回渡轮码头。对面坐着的老者对我的车表现出兴趣，竖起大拇指。他自称工程师，用专业眼光审视我的电动车，询问了些性能参数。得知我来自英国后，他问我是否参观过甲午战争博物馆。
"那时中国积弱，但现在不同了，"他说，"我们有了强大海军。必须用这个对抗美国。"他指向海湾外："美国在包围中国。他们在朝鲜（手指向南）日本和菲律宾都有基地，还霸占着台湾...美国正试图从四面八方遏制中国。"我开始警惕谈话走向，尽管对方并无敌意，更像在给我上课。
"中国是爱好和平的国家，永远欢迎善意的外国客人，"他继续道，"很多韩国人来威海吃海鲜。你尝过吗？非常新鲜，全中国最好的..."当渡轮靠岸时，我如释重负地带着折叠自行车登船返程。
曾经的"爱德华港"在威海几乎无迹可寻。很难想象这里曾是英国租借地，拥有自己的法庭、邮票甚至效忠英王的华勇营。仿佛为了强调中国属性，如今海滨立着一排我大多闻所未闻的中国历史文化名人雕像。我调转车头骑回青旅，为次日前往黄河口的火车行程做准备。
2 comments:
仔细看过您的这篇文章，相信您应该懂得中文。我作为一个对威海当地历史感兴趣的本地人，想对你说一下，普通威海人对英国人不仅没有恨意，并且感谢英国人给威海带来了现代文明，带来了现代教育和教会医院。
Thanks!
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