PIGEON'S LUCK, which reads with the pace and suspense of a thriller, is the extraordinary life story of one of the most successful artists of our time. The adventures of Vladimir Tretchikoff, whose lithographs are said to out-sell even those of the Mona Lisa and hang in literally millions of homes throughout the world, began at an early age. Born in Russia, he grew up in Manchuria and, at the outbreak of the 1939 war, was working for the Ministry of Information in Singapore. When the Japanese attacked, he was suddenly separated from his wife and young daughter, and a few weeks later found himself drifting in an open boat through the Java Sea: his courage, ingenuity and luck contributed decisively to the survival of his companions. His subsequent capture by the Japanese, solitary confinement, interrogation by the Secret Police, release on patrol and the strange seances in which his spectacular career was fore­ told in detail, make enthralling reading. After the war, reunited with his family in Cape Town, he struggled against misfortune and ill-will until his fame began to spread through South Africa, Canada, the United States and Britain (where nearly 205 000 people visited his first exhibition at Harrods). In all, over two and a half million people have flocked to forty-three international exhibitions to see, discuss and buy his pictures and to fulfill the predictions made so many years before on the remote island of Java. £3.50 net The Russians are a superstitious people, and one of their beliefs is that a bird can bring good luck. On a number of occasions in Tretchikoff's career, especially when things have been going badly, a pigeon has arrived as if by magic. Suddenly all his problems have seemed to solve themselves. This fascinating story is illustrated with some of Tretchikoff's most famous and controversial pictures and not least of the book's many attrac­ tions are his accounts of the strange stories which lie behind so many of them. Anthony Hocking is an Englishman, born in 1944 and educated at. Monkton Combe and Christ Church, Oxford, where he spent most of his time rowing. After several years' globe-trotting in the British Merchant Navy he settled in South Africa in 1968, and for two years wrote features for The Argus in Cape Town. It was as a journalist that he first encountered Tretchikoff. He was so entertained that later he gladly seized the chance of collaborating with him on this book. It has involved him in a fascinating detective hunt for information, tracking down sources on five continents and in twenty countries. Anthony Hocking has now quit journalism to devote his time to serious writing. He has a small clutch of books behind him and plans for many more. His work involves him in a good deal of travel, but his home base is Johannesburg. Pigeon's Luck Pigeon's Luck VLADIMIR TRETCHIKOFF and ANTHONY HOCKING COLLINS St James’s Place, London 1973 William Collins Sons & Co Ltd London • Glasgow • Sydney • Auckland Toronto ‘Johannesburg To Natalie, my wife, who says that life with me is one moment in heaven, next in hell hut mostly in purgatory JSEBINGTON PUBLIC LIBRARIES No. 249629 ' o|"73 C I C- I First published 1973 © Vladimir TretchikofF 1973 isbn o 00 211335 x Set in Monotype Bembo Made and printed in Great Britain by W & J Mackay Limited, Chatham Illustrations printed by the Westerham Press Contents Part One: the Japanese attack ] Goodbye to Natalie ge 7 2 Escape 25 3 The Giang Bee 30 4 Open Boat 38 Part Two: java 5 Capture 69 6 Solitary Confinement 82 7 Life in Djakarta 114 8 Red Jacket 126 9 Secret Police 146 10 Journey to Nowhere 163 Part Three: the west ii The Lucky Pigeon 174 12 Turning Point 185 13 America 209 14 Canada 221 15 A Home of Our Own 230 i6 London 254 17 Around the World 260 18 Envoi 274 Acknowledgements 281 CHAPTER I Goodbye to Natalie I woke up to the thunder of explosions and a humming drone that filled the night air. Natalie was sitting up already, staring at me in fright. ‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘It’s war,’ I said. ‘What war?’ ‘Darling, the Japs have arrived.’ It was quarter past four in the morning, December 8, 1941. The arri­ val of the Japanese heavy bombers over the city took Singapore com­ pletely by surprise. We all thought the nearest Japanese flying bases were six hundred miles away, in Indo-China. The idea that we were vulner­ able to blitzkrieg had no more occurred to us than that Singapore island would sink into the sea. Singapore was caught with its pants down. All the lights were ablaze. There was no blackout of any description. The authorities wanted to disconnect the electricity but could not find the man w th the key. In any case, the street lights in Singapore were all gas burning, and had to be turned off by hand. And the warning that Japanese aircraft were approaching Singapore had come only half an hour before they arrived. The sound of the aircraft filled the skies: a heavy reverberating hum that came as a shock to those of us who had basked in peace while the rest of the world was at war. The din was punctuated with the blast of the bombs: heavy, shattering explosions that rocked our house and the crockery on the shelves. Mimi was awake and crying. Natalie hurried through to comfort her. Our old Chinese nanny was with her already. Amah was devoted to Mimi, even sleeping in the passage outside her room to make sure she came to no harm. I lifted aside the mosquito net and went to the win­ dow. The trees round our house hid most of what was going on, but I could see the thin beams of searchlights playing in the dark sky. Now and then they picked out the shape of some fat-bellied bomber, one of the scores dropping their deadly cargoes. My friend Valentin came in, a Russian like ourselves. We had known him in Shanghai and he had been staying with us for some months. To­ gether he and I stood silent as we watched the battle outside. At last 7