EDITOR’S Note:

Human development in the past century has been dramatic, but it seems that the faster we go forward, the more interested we become in the past. Minhang, covering 370 square kilometers, is a tiny spot on the map, but it looms large as a bellwether of both change and nostalgia. Shanghai Daily has compiled the stories of Minhang locals to record the history of the district in a new series entitled “Minhang Geographic.” The stories are told in the voices of those sharing their memories. In the first of the series, a retired schoolteacher recalls village life. Qu Linhai, a 67-year-old retired teacher, remembering Xingfu Village in Wujing Town during the 1950s and 60s, before it succumbed to urban redevelopment.

I like to take a walk every day after dinner. Usually I walk along Lianhua Road, toward where my old home once stood. I lived in Xingfu Village until its structures were dismantled in 2012 and moved south of Wujing Town. More than 100 people once lived in the village, working farmland of about 13.3 hectares.

Two rivers were the source of life in the village. The Cherry River traversed the village. I remember farmers loudly talking with people across the river in Yingwu Village. On the south side of Xingfu Village flowed the Huangpu River. When I was little, ships sailed there, and we were always serenaded by the songs of the boatmen.

The riverbanks were spots for social gatherings. After the day’s farm work was done, villagers congregated on the sandy banks to catch fish, crab, snails and clams. We children dug up reeds that tasted a bit like sugar cane and were a favorite snack.

There was only one road in the village. It started on the banks of the Huangpu River and went along to Minhang Old Street. It was a dirt road, less than two meters wide, but it was called South Official Road because it had been built by the government.

There were no markets at that time in the village. People had to walk along the road to Old Street to buy basic necessities.

My brothers, sisters and I were all born in the small village. In 1950s, after years of war, it was a quiet place – like spring finally coming after a long, long winter.

People worked hard on the farmland, and most of them never had the chance to go to school. So after work, they gathered for classes taught by a teacher from a local elementary school. She taught Chinese characters and simple math. After class, the room where they met was transformed into a dance floor, and village people danced until late at night.

But the good times didn’t last long. During the Great Chinese Famine (1959-61), our village suffered badly. No grain was harvested, and food stockpiles dwindled quickly.

During that time, the only thing people talked about was food and what to do to survive. We ate the tender parts of grasses, but they weren’t enough to ease hungry bellies. We ate a type of pig feed that we called “Huaren biscuits.” They tasted okay, but we quickly learned that they were hard to digest and we suffered severe abdominal pains.

My grandfather decided that he would eat the biscuits as his only food so that children could eat whatever else was available. The biscuits were the death of him. We watched as he breathed his last breath.

Soon, the whole family was so hungry that we all seemed on the verge of death. My mother decided it was time to take desperate action.

She and several other women from the village took clothing and boarded ferries for Zhejiang Province to barter for some rice. Zhejiang had long been called “the granary of China,” and even during the most difficult times, the situation there was better than in Shanghai.

The Zhejiang forays were risky for my mother. Private bartering was illegal back then, when everything had to be bought with government-issued vouchers. People dealing privately could be jailed if caught. So the women embarked on their trip before dawn and returned after dark, to escape detection.

Some food was better than no food. We had small amounts of rice and barley. A small bowl of congee made from barley flour had to serve everyone. The only savory was a bit of soy sauce or fried salt. Due to extensive malnutrition, everyone in the village was skinny and pale.

The famine ended in three years, but shortages of necessities lasted a long time after that. Even if a family had some money, there was nothing to buy.

In times of crisis, people become inventive. Nothing was wasted and everything was put to its best use. Shampoo was made from hibiscus, which grew everywhere around the village. I don’t know who first figured out that the leaves made good shampoo, but it was a discovery welcomed by everyone.

We picked the leaves, added water and mashed them into a paste. It helped wash the greasiness from our hair and the itchiness from our scalps.

We didn’t have a government voucher to buy me a bicycle that I needed when I started senior high school. So my father made one from scratch. He used a broken water pipe to weld a bicycle frame and bought tires, a seat and other parts from second-hand markets.

I rode my bicycle to school every day, but when it was raining, I carried the bike because I was afraid it might fall apart on the wet road.

In my mind, the watershed between the past and the present came when the first television set arrived in the village. From that moment, a new phase of village life seemed to open and the darkness of the past receded.

The tiny, black-and-white TV set was bought by the production team of the village with a government voucher. Every evening after dinner, the TV set was placed in front of the barn, and the entire village congregated to watch what was called “the fancy new thing.”

I remember there were only three channels available, and the visual quality was poor by today’s standard, but back then, it was the best entertainment we had ever seen in all our lives.

The development of the economy improved daily life but also brought problems. For thousands of years, the villagers had tapped the Huangpu River and its tributaries for drinking water. Alum was added to purify the water.

But as factories mushroomed in Minhang, the rivers were quickly polluted. The government somehow convinced villagers to dig wells, which we did.

The underground water was cool and sweet. In summer, the wells also served as fridges. We put household dishes in a basket and lowered the basket into the well.

By the 1980s, however, the underground water was polluted as well, and tap water finally reached the village.

In late 1980s and early 1990s, farmers started to leave the village to make a better living in the city.

In that period, local markets also opened, selling fresh fruits and vegetables. Small shops began appearing. But as benefits came, neighbors seemed to socialize less and less, and fewer and fewer young people stayed in the village.

Eventually my family had to leave as well. The village was designated as the site for part of the Zizhu High-Tech Industrial Park. Villagers were relocated to modern apartment complexes.

It’s with sweet sadness that I look back and think about all the changes since my childhood. I think those memories will never leave the people who once called Xingfu Village home.

(Compiled by Lu Feiran)