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King of the
Cloud Forests
Also by Michael Morpurgo
Arthur: High King of Britain
Escape from Shangri-La
Friend or Foe
The Ghost of Grania O’Malley
Kensuke’s Kingdom
Little Foxes
Long Way Home
Mr Nobody’s Eyes
My Friend Walter
The Nine Lives of Montezuma
The Sandman and the Turtles
The Sleeping Sword
Twist of Gold
Waiting for Anya
War Horse
The War of Jenkins’ Ear
The White Horse of Zennor
The Wreck of Zanzibar
Why the Whales Came
For Younger Readers
Conker
Mairi’s Mermaid
The Best Christmas Present in the World
The Marble Crusher
King of the
Cloud Forests
MICHAEL MORPURGO
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
I AM CALLED ASHLEY ANDERSON, ASHLEY AFTER my mother’s father so I was told, and Anderson after my father of course, whom I remember so well that I only have to close my eyes to have him standing before me. He was an American by birth, from New England, who grew up with one single-minded and determined ambition – to go to China and spread the word of God. Some people run away to sea, or to join the army. My father ran away to become a missionary when he was fifteen. By then he was already an imposing figure, over six feet tall and broad with it, and able to pass himself off as a twenty-year-old to the Missionary Society who were only too anxious to have someone of his youth and enthusiasm. By the time he was nearly twenty he was establishing his own mission outside the town of Ping Ting Chow. With his own hands he built a chapel and hospital compound, and within a few years had become so successful that he had to send for help. There were just too many people flooding into the Mission, mostly for treatment and medicine and not for God; but as my father often said, how you bring a man to God is unimportant, just so long as he comes.
It was only a few yards from the hospital to the chapel and all the patients had to come to chapel in the morning if they did not wish to incur my father’s anger; and no one ever wanted to do that. He stood fully a foot higher than everyone else and with his thunderous voice and obvious physical strength was not a person to tangle with. He was feared, respected and even worshipped by the congregation to whom he had devoted his life. I never once heard him preach a sermon to them. He always said Jesus had done that better than he ever could. Example was the only way to bring Jesus to the Chinese. That is what he said, but if example did not work he would resort to persuasion of almost any kind. He was not a man to be thwarted. So they came to the Mission in their hundreds and that was why he had to send for another doctor, and that was why my mother came.
I have no face to remember my mother by, but my father spoke of her so often that I feel I know her as well as if I had grown up with her. My father first saw her, so he often told me, at the railway station in Ping Ting Chow when he went to meet her. She had been working as a doctor at the Mission headquarters in Shanghai for some years. She did not come alone, but with a Tibetan, called Zong Sung, soon to be known by all of us as Uncle Sung. My father adored her the moment he first set eyes on her. ‘Sent from God,’ were the first words he spoke to her; and she replied: ‘Stuff and nonsense, Mr Anderson. Now you’d best help Sung with the luggage. Sung is not my servant, he is my medical assistant. There’s a lot of it, Mr Anderson. It’s very heavy and you’re a lot younger than he is – Oh, and by the way, Sung is a Buddhist and he’s staying a Buddhist so don’t even try to convert him. If you do he’s quite liable to convert you – I know, I’ve tried.’
‘Perhaps you haven’t tried hard enough,’ said my father.
‘She has,’ said Uncle Sung.
‘We’ll see,’ said my father. And that challenge was to make them allies in life from the first meeting. How often I was to witness their long, philosophical debates, under-standing little or nothing of what was said, but sensing always their deep mutual respect and affection.
As the years passed Uncle Sung became the cement that held the Mission together. He was the tireless organiser, the foreman, the negotiator, the peacemaker. As the Mission flourished he became more and more indispensable to my father and mother, indeed it was Uncle Sung that brought them together. I suppose you could say I wouldn’t ever have been born without Uncle Sung.
With Uncle Sung’s help and encouragement my father courted my mother for a full year before she even realised it. All the while the Mission became more and more overstretched. The people poured in as news of the wonderful new lady doctor from Shanghai spread throughout the Province. Uncle Sung always told me that it was he who suggested that the two of them went out together into the countryside to take medicine to the villages,