Gladys May Aylward
Gladys May Aylward
(24 February 1902-3 January 1970)
Gladys Aylward was born in London in 1904 (or a few years earlier). She worked
for several years as a parlormaid, and then attended a revival meeting at which
the preacher spoke of dedicating one’s life to the service of God. Gladys
responded to the message, and soon after became convinced that she was called to
preach the Gospel in China. At the age of 26, she became a probationer at the
China Inland Mission Center in London, but was failed to pass the examinations.
She worked at other jobs and saved her money. Then she heard of a 73-year-old
missionary, Mrs. Jeannie Lawson, who was looking for a younger woman to carry on
her work. Gladys wrote to Mrs. Lawson and was accepted if she could get to
China. She did not have enough money for the ship fare, but did have enough for
the train fare, and so in October of 1930 she set out from London with her
passport, her Bible, her tickets, and two pounds ninepence, to travel to China
by the Trans-Siberian Railway, despite the fact that China and the Soviet Union
were engaged in an undeclared war. She arrived in Vladivostok and sailed from
there to Japan and from Japan to Tientsin, and thence by train, then bus, then
mule, to the inland city of Yangchen, in the mountainous province of Shansi, a
little south of Peking (Beijing). Most of the residents had seen no Europeans
other than Mrs. Lawson and now Miss Aylward. They distrusted them as foreigners,
and were not disposed to listen to them.
Yangchen was an overnight stop for mule caravans that carried coal, raw cotton,
pots, and iron goods on six-week or three-month journeys. It occurred to the two
women that their most effective way of preaching would be to set up an inn. The
building in which they lived had once been an inn, and with a bit of repair work
could be used as one again. They laid in a supply of food for mules and men, and
when next a caravan came past, Gladys dashed out, grabbed the rein of the lead
mule, and turned it into their courtyard. It went willingly, knowing by
experience that turning into a courtyard meant food and water and rest for the
night. The other mules followed, and the muleteers had no choice. They were
given good food and warm beds at the standard price, and their mules were well
cared for, and there was free entertainment in the evening–the inkeepers told
stories about a man named Jesus. After the first few weeks, Gladys did not need
to kidnap customers — they turned in at the inn by preference. Some became
Christians, and many of them (both Christians and non-Christians) remembered the
stories, and retold them more or less accurately to other muleteers at other
stops along the caravan trails. Gladys practiced her Chinese for hours each day,
and was becoming fluent and comfortable with it. Then Mrs. Lawson suffered a
severe fall, and died a few days later. Gladys Aylward was left to run the
mission alone, with the aid of one Chinese Christian, Yang, the cook.
A few weeks after the death of Mrs. Lawson, Miss Aylward met the Mandarin of
Yangchen. He arrived in a sedan chair, with an impressive escort, and told her
that the government had decreed an end to the practice of footbinding. (Note:
Among the upper and middle classes, it had for centuries been the custom that a
woman’s foot should be wrapped tightly in bandages from infancy, to prevent it
from growing. Thus grown women had extremely tiny feet, on which they could walk
only with slow, tottering steps, which were thought to be extremely graceful.)
The government needed a foot-inspector, a woman (so that she could invade the
women’s quarters without scandal), with her own feet unbound (so that she could
travel), who would patrol the district enforcing the decree. It was soon clear
to them both that Gladys was the only possible candidate for the job, and she
accepted, realizing that it would give her undreamed-of opportunities to spread
the Gospel.
During her second year in Yangchen, Gladys was summoned by the Mandarin. A riot
had broken out in the men’s prison. She arrived and found that the convicts were
rampaging in the prison courtyard, and several of them had been killed. The
soldiers were afraid to intervene. The warden of the prison said to Gladys, “Go
into the yard and stop the rioting.” She said, “How can I do that?” The warden
said, “You have been preaching that those who trust in Christ have nothing to
fear.” She walked into the courtyard and shouted: “Quiet! I cannot hear when
everyone is shouting at once. Choose one or two spokesmen, and let me talk with
them.” The men quieted down and chose a spokesman. Gladys talked with him, and
then came out and told the warden: “You have these men cooped up in crowded
conditions with absolutely nothing to do. No wonder they are so edgy that a
small dispute sets off a riot. You must give them work. Also, I am told that you
do not supply food for them, so that they have only what their relatives send
them. No wonder they fight over food. We will set up looms so that they can
weave cloth and earn enough money to buy their own food.” This was done. There
was no money for sweeping reforms, but a few friends of the warden donated old
looms, and a grindstone so that the men could work grinding grain. The people
began to call Gladys Aylward “Ai-weh-deh,” which means “Virtuous One.” It was
her name from then on.
Soon after, she saw a woman begging by the road, accompanied by a child covered
with sores and obviously suffering severe malnutrition. She satisfied herself
that the woman was not the child’s mother, but had kidnapped the child and was
using it as an aid to her begging. She bought the child for ninepence–a girl
about five years old. A year later, “Ninepence” came in with an abandoned boy in
tow, saying, “I will eat less, so that he can have something.” Thus Ai-weh-deh
acquired a second orphan, “Less.” And so her family began to grow…. She was a
regular and welcome visitor at the palace of the Mandarin, who found her
religion ridiculous, but her conversation stimulating. In 1936, she officially
became a Chinese citizen. She lived frugally and dressed like the people around
her (as did the missionaries who arrived a few years after in in the neighboring
town of Tsechow, David and Jean Davis and their young son Murray, of Wales), and
this was a major factor in making her preaching effective.
Then the war came. In the spring of 1938, Japanese planes bombed the city of
Yangcheng, killing many and causing the survivors to flee into the mountains.
Five days later, the Japanese Army occupied Yangcheng, then left, then came
again, then left. The Mandarin gathered the survivors and told them to retreat
into the mountains for the duration. He also announced that he was impressed by
the life of Ai-weh-deh and wished to make her faith his own. There remained the
question of the convicts at the jail. The traditional policy favored beheading
them all lest they escape. The Mandarin asked Ai-weh-deh for advice, and a plan
was made for relatives and friends of the convicts to post a bond guaranteeing
their good behavior. Every man was eventually released on bond. As the war
continued Gladys often found herself behind Japanese lines, and often passed on
information, when she had it, to the armies of China, her adopted country. She
met and became friends with “General Ley,” a Roman Catholic priest from Europe
who had teken up arms when the Japanese invaded, and now headed a guerilla
force. Finally he sent her a message. The Japanese are coming in full force. We
are retreating. Come with us.” Angry, she scrawled a Chinese note, Chi Tao Tu Pu
Twai, “Christians never retreat!” He sent back a copy of a Japanese handbill
offering $100 each for the capture, dead or alive, of (1) the Mandarin, (2) a
prominent merchant, and (3) Ai-weh-deh. She determined to flee to the government
orphanage at Sian, bringing with her the children she had accumulated, about 100
in number. (An additional 100 had gone ahead earlier with a colleague.) With the
children in tow, she walked for twelve days. Some nights they found shelter with
friendly hosts. Some nights they spent unprotected on the mountainsides. On the
twelfth day, they arrived at the Yellow River, with no way to cross it. All boat
traffic had stopped, and all civilian boats had been seized to keep them out of
the hands of the Japanese. The children wanted to know, “Why don’t we cross?”
She said, “There are no boats.” They said, “God can do anything. Ask Him to get
us across.” They all knelt and prayed. Then they sang. A Chinese officer with a
patrol heard the singing and rode up. He heard their story and said, “I think I
can get you a boat.” They crossed, and after a few more difficulties Ai-weh-deh
delivered her charges into competent hands at Sian, and then promptly collapsed
with typhus fever and sank into delirium for several days.
As her health gradually improved, she started a Christian church in Sian, and
worked elsewhere, including a settlement for lepers in Szechuan, near the
borders of Tibet. Her health was permanently impaired by injuries received
during the war, and in 1947 she returned to England for a badly needed
operation. She remained in England, preaching there.
In 1957, Alan Burgess wrote a book about her, The Small Woman. It was condensed
in The Reader’s Digest, and made into a movie called The Inn of the Sixth
Happiness, starring Ingrid Bergman. When Newsweek magazine reviewed the movie,
and summarized the plot, a reader, supposing the story to be fiction, wrote in
to say, “In order for a movie to be good, the story should be believable!” Miss
Gladys Aylward, the Small Woman, Ai-weh-deh, died 3 January 1970.