‘Tom.’
*
Glover was undeterred, took another order from the Shogun’s agent, made a return trip to Shanghai, exhilarated. Again the delivery was made at night, the consignment transferred directly to the Shogun’s own ships. Once more Glover was disparaging about the state of the vessels, and this time the agent indicated the Shogun might indeed be interested in the purchase of Scottish-built ships. The agent also asked about bigger and better weaponry, specifically cannon. Glover remained businesslike, said he would make discreet enquiries, but his heart was thudding in his chest.
The combined profits on his two previous deals amounted to $10,000. The order under discussion would be worth ten times as much. He discussed it with Walsh, who let out a rush of air through his teeth. ‘Serious money, Tom.’
It would take time, an order on this scale would probably have to go to Europe. Glover set things in motion right away. He contacted Armstrong & Co., the munitions manufacturers in Newcastle, worked out costs. He met the Shogun’s agent again, discussed specifics, drew up a detailed order, for delivery to ‘The Japanese Government’. It was for some 15 muzzle-loaders, 70-pounders with carriages and slides, 20 breech-loaders and, in total, 700 tons of shot and shell.
Walsh was impressed. ‘Christ, Tom, you really are learning fast!’
A down payment on the consignment, in the sum of $40,000, was paid into Glover’s account.
*
Glover had still been living in the clapboard house behind the warehouse. Now he wanted something more in keeping with his ambitions. His credit was good; he took advice and employed a master craftsman, the architect Hidenoshin Koyama, to design and build a bungalow. No half measures, he wanted the best.
The site was spectacular, on Minami Yamate, the southernhillside. Koyama had chosen it for its outlook, down to the waterfront, north to Dejima, across the bay to the hills beyond. Koyama spoke no English, had no intention of learning. Glover’s Japanese, though improving, was still basic: the sweet-talk of the teahouse, the formalised evasiveness of the business gambit. They communicated in signs and gestures, where necessary used an interpreter. Koyama made sketches and diagrams, full-blown plans, showed them to Glover, pacing out dimensions and layout. Glover took a liking to him, his energy, his straightforward workmanlike manner. There was a sense of strength contained, disciplined and held in check, nothing wasted.
There was one thing that was not negotiable. Koyama insisted on it. In the centre of the open space which would be the garden was a pine tree. Koyama was adamant it should stay, not be uprooted. The language he used did not readily translate. One word in particular seemed to recur. Wabi . The translator had difficulty, came up with emptiness .
‘ Wabi ,’ said Koyama again, and he pointed at the tree. ‘ Ipponmatsu .’
‘Lone pine,’ said the translator.
‘Fine,’ said Glover. ‘Ipponmatsu it is.’
At the next meeting, though, he had to set his mind at rest about this wabi , this emptiness.
‘I mean,’ he said, ‘I’m not wanting tatami mats and cushions. I want room inside, proper tables and chairs.’
The translator explained. Koyama chuckled, twinkled. ‘ Hai. So desu! ’
Glover needn’t have worried. Even from the finished drawings he could see it would be something special.
*
The building had a character all of its own, its three sections honeycomb-shaped, interlinked. It was a marriage of East andWest: solid foundations, spacious, airy rooms, meticulous attention to the detail, the craftwork – ceramic roof-tiles, a hardwood porch, a rising sun design in the windowframes. When it was complete, Glover held a reception for his colleagues and friends – Mackenzie and Walsh, Groom and Harrison, Shibata and Nakajimo, Ringer and a few others.
They stood sipping drinks on the lawn, looking out across the bay as the evening light touched
*
Glover was undeterred, took another order from the Shogun’s agent, made a return trip to Shanghai, exhilarated. Again the delivery was made at night, the consignment transferred directly to the Shogun’s own ships. Once more Glover was disparaging about the state of the vessels, and this time the agent indicated the Shogun might indeed be interested in the purchase of Scottish-built ships. The agent also asked about bigger and better weaponry, specifically cannon. Glover remained businesslike, said he would make discreet enquiries, but his heart was thudding in his chest.
The combined profits on his two previous deals amounted to $10,000. The order under discussion would be worth ten times as much. He discussed it with Walsh, who let out a rush of air through his teeth. ‘Serious money, Tom.’
It would take time, an order on this scale would probably have to go to Europe. Glover set things in motion right away. He contacted Armstrong & Co., the munitions manufacturers in Newcastle, worked out costs. He met the Shogun’s agent again, discussed specifics, drew up a detailed order, for delivery to ‘The Japanese Government’. It was for some 15 muzzle-loaders, 70-pounders with carriages and slides, 20 breech-loaders and, in total, 700 tons of shot and shell.
Walsh was impressed. ‘Christ, Tom, you really are learning fast!’
A down payment on the consignment, in the sum of $40,000, was paid into Glover’s account.
*
Glover had still been living in the clapboard house behind the warehouse. Now he wanted something more in keeping with his ambitions. His credit was good; he took advice and employed a master craftsman, the architect Hidenoshin Koyama, to design and build a bungalow. No half measures, he wanted the best.
The site was spectacular, on Minami Yamate, the southernhillside. Koyama had chosen it for its outlook, down to the waterfront, north to Dejima, across the bay to the hills beyond. Koyama spoke no English, had no intention of learning. Glover’s Japanese, though improving, was still basic: the sweet-talk of the teahouse, the formalised evasiveness of the business gambit. They communicated in signs and gestures, where necessary used an interpreter. Koyama made sketches and diagrams, full-blown plans, showed them to Glover, pacing out dimensions and layout. Glover took a liking to him, his energy, his straightforward workmanlike manner. There was a sense of strength contained, disciplined and held in check, nothing wasted.
There was one thing that was not negotiable. Koyama insisted on it. In the centre of the open space which would be the garden was a pine tree. Koyama was adamant it should stay, not be uprooted. The language he used did not readily translate. One word in particular seemed to recur. Wabi . The translator had difficulty, came up with emptiness .
‘ Wabi ,’ said Koyama again, and he pointed at the tree. ‘ Ipponmatsu .’
‘Lone pine,’ said the translator.
‘Fine,’ said Glover. ‘Ipponmatsu it is.’
At the next meeting, though, he had to set his mind at rest about this wabi , this emptiness.
‘I mean,’ he said, ‘I’m not wanting tatami mats and cushions. I want room inside, proper tables and chairs.’
The translator explained. Koyama chuckled, twinkled. ‘ Hai. So desu! ’
Glover needn’t have worried. Even from the finished drawings he could see it would be something special.
*
The building had a character all of its own, its three sections honeycomb-shaped, interlinked. It was a marriage of East andWest: solid foundations, spacious, airy rooms, meticulous attention to the detail, the craftwork – ceramic roof-tiles, a hardwood porch, a rising sun design in the windowframes. When it was complete, Glover held a reception for his colleagues and friends – Mackenzie and Walsh, Groom and Harrison, Shibata and Nakajimo, Ringer and a few others.
They stood sipping drinks on the lawn, looking out across the bay as the evening light touched
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