My mum’s Great Aunt Bessie sailed the China Seas, to go inland with Gladys and the Mission. God’s Will be Done, she wrote from the lurching bridge, with a stub of pencil on the back of a tea chest label. Delivered to a dry land, she drank a teacupful of dust and built churches from whalebone and laces. A parcel arrived, first class from Yangcheng. Weathered as an old boot, it sat patiently under the clock in the hallway until my mum finished her homework. A box of pastels and a note that said, Rose, paint some flowers for me.