In 1949, at the age of 23, I was appointed Lecturer in English, specialising in Linguistics, at the University of Hong Kong. It was an exhilarating time: Mao’s Peoples Liberation Army had swept down through China, and a Communist government had been established on the mainland - hardy more than a stone’s throw away..
In Hong Kong the old colonial regime was only just being re-established after the Japanese occupation, and refugees were pouring in. These included a new type of student at the University - .sophisticated young men and women, with excellent English most of whom had matriculated from mission schools in Shanghai.
Some time after term had begun, we received a late application supported by acadenic transcripts from Peking University which were entirely in Chinese. To test the applicant’s English, we asked him to write an essay on a subject of his choice. I thought the essay brilliant: it was on art history and I marked it at 90% ,However, my colleague, who had counted up the mistakes in grammar and syntax, said it was so badly written as to be unintelligble. After heated argument at the Faculty Board, it was agreed to accept the student, on condition that I took responsibility for improving his English. His name was TSENG YU.
