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which the government was hurriedly building from Hengyang, on the Canton-Hankow line. The embankment was finished, the culverts and bridges were in, and the construction gangs laying the rails were only a few miles off. The rails had been salvaged from sections of line abandoned to the invader in the distant north, and brought to Kwangsi despite great difficulties.
I drove on to Hengyang and on the way observed one of those curious inconsistencies to which you grow accustomed in China. The Ministry of Communications, all the handicaps of the war notwithstanding, continued resolutely with its programme of road building. Where rivers were too wide to justify bridges, ferries were used. The ferry boat, a wide pontoon long enough to carry two lorries, one behind the other, would be poled across the river, or rowed over those stretches where the water might be too deep. As the current often ran fast some skill was needed to bring the ferry safely to the far side, and it took time. You would have thought that on these main roads, on which the movement of war supplies depended, relays of ferries would have been installed at the wider rivers to avoid unnecessary delay. Not only was that not so, but the ferry men, who were controlled by the Provincial Road Bureaux under the Ministry of Communications, refused to work after dark, or at meal hours. The consequence was that again and again a long string of vehicles would be held up waiting to cross, and if the ferry-trip took half an hour, as it usually did, you might have to wait a whole day for your turn. The wooden ferry boats were of local construction and not difficult to build. It would have been easy to increase the number of boats and ferrymen, but these serious bottlenecks in transportation continued to hamper the Chinese war effort. Only too often have Japanese bombers taken advantage of the target presented by a group of vehicles bunched at a ferry.
Between Kweilin and Hengyang you pass the watershed that separates the Yangtze basin from the West river basin. An ancient narrow canal, five feet wide, recently repaired, connects the two headwaters. There is an old story of a British gunboat having come up from the West river past Kweilin to a point whence those on board could see the mast-tops of a sister ship which had sailed up from the Yangtze. The masts must have been very tall; or perhaps the story is tall, because actually the gap between them could not have been less than thirty miles.
Without stopping at Hengyang I went straight through the same