The Harmony Silk Factory

BY THE TIME Snow was of marriageable age, Johnny was already well known across the Valley. He was the sole owner of the most profitable trading concern in the Valley and was widely admired in all circles. As with all beautiful young women of a certain background, Snow had already had a good deal of experience of suitors and tentative matchmaking. All of these possibilities had been created and choreographed by her parents. They took her to Penang, KL, and Singapore, where she was displayed like a diamond in a glass box. Yet it was closer to home, at the races in Ipoh, that they found the first serious contender. He was a beautiful-looking boy with a powder-pale complexion to match Snow’s. He had large, clear eyes and stood tall and erect with all the dignity you would expect from a son of the chief superintendent of police. When he was introduced to Snow he kissed her hand—kissed it — a gesture he had learnt during his days travelling in Europe. He complimented Patti on her sumptuous brocade dress and quietly whispered a tip for the next race in T.K.’s ear.

It wasn’t long before Snow and the superintendent’s son were allowed to take tea together. They sat exchanging polite conversation. She talked about books — novels she had read — while he nodded in agreement. Although T.K. and Patti were pleased with his dignified manner and solid background, it was his family’s home which brought greater excitement to them, for the superintendent had recently built a modern, Western-style house in which many of the rooms had wall-to-wall carpets. The main dining room had one wall of pure glass so that it served as an enormous window. Such daring was indicative of considerable wealth, an impression which was confirmed by the quality of the jade jewellery worn by the boy’s mother: dark in colour with a barely marbled texture. To top it all, Snow and the boy looked such a pretty pair and would surely attract all the right comments when the time came for them to venture into the public eye.

Thankfully, before an understanding was reached between the parents, T.K. and Patti discovered that the boy’s parents were not quite as wealthy as they seemed. The superintendent’s lavishness at the races had taken its toll on the family’s finances, and it was thought that much of his wife’s fabulous jewellery was borrowed from sympathetic relatives. It was clear that the hopes for dowry which T.K. and Patti expected in return for the hand of their daughter could never be fulfilled.

Scarred by this experience, T.K. and Patti became cautious and especially thorough in their appraisal of potential suitors. They asked many questions, they made enquiries. They did not want to make the same mistake twice. In letting the match with the superintendent’s son progress to the extent it had, T.K. and Patti had been careless. One such mistake was forgivable; two mistakes would not be. Not only would it reflect badly on them, it would also diminish the value of Snow’s attractiveness — and the size of her dowry. Yet their diligent investigations made the prospect of a match more and more remote. Every search turned up some unpleasant detail about the family in question, ranging from full-blown scandals to questionable associations: lunatic grandfathers, homosexual uncles, bastard children, gambling debts, hushed-up divorces.

The plain truth of it was that it was 1940, and there was little money in the Valley, certainly nothing that could match the wealth of the Soong family. Snow was not yet twenty. There was still time, but a suitable match had to be made soon.

For all their meticulous planning, T.K. and Patti’s first proper meeting with Johnny was precipitated by events beyond their control. It so happened that a new man was appointed as head of the British mining concern in the Valley, a fine young gentleman called Frederick Honey. He arrived with impeccable credentials, having gained a rugger Blue at Oxford and a keen grasp of tropical hygiene and colonial law from the School of Oriental Studies. His reign over the British tin-mining enterprise was, ultimately, short-lived, for he was lost to a boating accident in 1941, when he drowned in the waters off Pangkor Island in a treacherous monsoon storm; his body was never found. It is clear, however, that during his short tenure in the Valley, he was much admired. T. K. Soong was, as you can imagine, quick to see the value of having Mr. Honey as an ally, and eager to make an impression on this formidable new tuan besar as soon as possible. It was decided in the Soong household that a gift should be sent to Mr. Honey, something instantly suggestive of the Soongs’ status and influence in the Valley; something unusual and beyond the reach of an Englishman newly arrived in the country. But what? A whole roast pig, perhaps? No — too ostentatious. A scroll of the finest Chinese calligraphic paintings? No — not grand enough.