Electric Commission, had met Nee Ling at the Chinese Mission. She was one of the well-meaning women who volunteered to bring their evangelism to the “heathen” Chinese, beginning with teaching them English. An attractive blue-eyed brunette with an alabaster complexion, she had an artistic temperament. She liked to sketch, taught herself to play the piano, and sang in the church choir. The Mission wasin the neighbourhood of her church, Dominion United, and a bakery she patronized. It was also close to the house where the Joes lived and ran their hand laundry, where once a week she dropped off and picked up the Randall family’s sheets.
By the time Sarah met Nee Ling, he had joined the household staff of the wealthy Bremner family. Nee had worldly experience far broader than anyone Sarah might have imagined meeting. In 1908, Nee, aged fourteen and pining for adventure, ran away from his home in the central Chinese city of Nanjing and made it to Shanghai, where a captain in the navy took him on as a cabin boy. He worked his way up, and eventually became a chef for the navy. He had a repertoire of dishes from around the world, and particular skill in French cuisine, including the art of making
petits fours
, acquired during a lengthy deployment in Marseille. Nee had also picked up a smattering of foreign languages, including Japanese, French and English. In 1921, he jumped ship in Montreal. Within less than a year, Nee’s evident talent landed him in the brief employ of J.R. Booth, head of one of Canada’s richest families. A powerful lumber king of the Ottawa Valley, Booth supplied the wood to build Canada’s Parliament buildings. J.R. had family and business connections with the Bremners, where Nee ended up, joining a staff that included a chauffeur, housekeeper, maid and gardener.
Contrary to what Mrs. Randall might have imagined, the family of her disowned daughter appeared more white than Chinese. To white people, the children born of Sarah and Nee were “half-breeds.” To the Chinese, they were
ban min bao—
“half white bread.” But it was not enough to apply the label. A judgment was called for. Did so-and-so look more white ormore Chinese? The verdict on the Ling children was that they looked more white.
In the Ling household, English, not Chinese, was spoken. When Nee Ling first arrived in Ottawa, he’d gone to the Mission not for English lessons but to find others with whom he could practise Toisonese, which the Chinese here spoke. Attuned as he was to his native Shanghainese, he found Toisonese as strange as a foreign language. Although he would never learn to speak it, for a brief time, he enrolled his sons, Alan and Douglas—not June or Helen; he wasn’t going to spend such money on a daughter—in after-hours Chinese school at the Mission, where they would learn the dialect.
On the family’s table, usually the last place an immigrant surrenders his or her past, Sarah only ever set out knives and forks. Chopsticks were kept in the cutlery drawer, but they lay unused. On nights when Sarah cooked, she made shepherd’s pie. If she put more effort into it, liver with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes. On the Sundays when the Bremners called Nee in to work, Helen would walk her siblings the several blocks to their mansion on Laurier Avenue. Nee would show his children what he was preparing for the family and their guests, typically roasted partridge or pheasant. Then he would sit them down at a table in the kitchen, and set out cake and ginger ale for each of them. Members of the Bremner family always came into the kitchen to say hello to the four children. At Christmastime, they sent over dolls for the girls and toy trucks for the boys. Throughout the year, they set aside gently used clothing for Mr. Ling to take home—once, a fur coat. As Sarah did with every item of clothing, she took apart the coat at the seams in order to get maximum use of the material, to re-make it into something else.
On the
By the time Sarah met Nee Ling, he had joined the household staff of the wealthy Bremner family. Nee had worldly experience far broader than anyone Sarah might have imagined meeting. In 1908, Nee, aged fourteen and pining for adventure, ran away from his home in the central Chinese city of Nanjing and made it to Shanghai, where a captain in the navy took him on as a cabin boy. He worked his way up, and eventually became a chef for the navy. He had a repertoire of dishes from around the world, and particular skill in French cuisine, including the art of making
petits fours
, acquired during a lengthy deployment in Marseille. Nee had also picked up a smattering of foreign languages, including Japanese, French and English. In 1921, he jumped ship in Montreal. Within less than a year, Nee’s evident talent landed him in the brief employ of J.R. Booth, head of one of Canada’s richest families. A powerful lumber king of the Ottawa Valley, Booth supplied the wood to build Canada’s Parliament buildings. J.R. had family and business connections with the Bremners, where Nee ended up, joining a staff that included a chauffeur, housekeeper, maid and gardener.
Contrary to what Mrs. Randall might have imagined, the family of her disowned daughter appeared more white than Chinese. To white people, the children born of Sarah and Nee were “half-breeds.” To the Chinese, they were
ban min bao—
“half white bread.” But it was not enough to apply the label. A judgment was called for. Did so-and-so look more white ormore Chinese? The verdict on the Ling children was that they looked more white.
In the Ling household, English, not Chinese, was spoken. When Nee Ling first arrived in Ottawa, he’d gone to the Mission not for English lessons but to find others with whom he could practise Toisonese, which the Chinese here spoke. Attuned as he was to his native Shanghainese, he found Toisonese as strange as a foreign language. Although he would never learn to speak it, for a brief time, he enrolled his sons, Alan and Douglas—not June or Helen; he wasn’t going to spend such money on a daughter—in after-hours Chinese school at the Mission, where they would learn the dialect.
On the family’s table, usually the last place an immigrant surrenders his or her past, Sarah only ever set out knives and forks. Chopsticks were kept in the cutlery drawer, but they lay unused. On nights when Sarah cooked, she made shepherd’s pie. If she put more effort into it, liver with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes. On the Sundays when the Bremners called Nee in to work, Helen would walk her siblings the several blocks to their mansion on Laurier Avenue. Nee would show his children what he was preparing for the family and their guests, typically roasted partridge or pheasant. Then he would sit them down at a table in the kitchen, and set out cake and ginger ale for each of them. Members of the Bremner family always came into the kitchen to say hello to the four children. At Christmastime, they sent over dolls for the girls and toy trucks for the boys. Throughout the year, they set aside gently used clothing for Mr. Ling to take home—once, a fur coat. As Sarah did with every item of clothing, she took apart the coat at the seams in order to get maximum use of the material, to re-make it into something else.
On the
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