Monthly Archives: January 2016

1966 – The building swayed a couple of feet under the tremendous force of the South Easterly Wind, and I felt a shiver ran down my spine, my heart poised to jump out of my chest. Yet I was on solid ground, the ninth floor of a ten stories concrete residential building. That whole morning had seen an unabated downpour of rain and a 150 kilometer per hour whistling gale force. This was my first encounter of a Hong Kong Typhoon.

Typhoon bending trees on the streets of Hong Kong

“Don’t worry Uncle,” said my nephew noticing my pale face and sensing my anxiety and fear, “all highrise buildings in Hong Kong are built this way, they are designed to sway a couple of feet when under attack by the typhoon. If the buildings are too stiff they may snap under the force.”

Many years later I read James Clavell’s novel “Noble House”. Therein was a scene of a landslide and a highrise collapse caused by a typhoon, killing many of the residents. The building collapse was not a fiction, there was an actual collapse of a residential building on Hong Kong mid-level Kotewall Road in 1972. Sixty seven people killed. I remember this well because an ex-colleague of mine was living there and he died as a result. Miraculously and blessingly, his wife and a small baby were spared death and rescued.

1972 Hong Kong Kotewall Road Disaster

Hong Kong had always been plagued by typhoons, so were Philippines and Taiwan. Most typhoons are formed and blown from the East and South-East across Taiwan or Philippines into Hong Kong, Macau and China Guangdong Province. Each year six or seven typhoons of different degree of severity hit Hong Kong, causing landslide, flooding, property destruction, sinking boats and death. A no-name typhoon in 1937 killed eleven thousand people and typhoon “Ruby” in 1964 killed seven hundred. Thanks God, today after painfully learning how to deal with this tragic misfortune, the casualty figure is insignificant, heart breaking no more.

For over 100 years a system of typhoon warning, with some alterations made in between, was in place in Hong Kong. Before the advent of modern communications, red balls were raised on flag poles located at strategic points around the Colony, the higher the number of red balls the closer the typhoon was to land. Even up to today where typhoon warning is only broadcasted via radio, television and internet, Hong Kong people still refer to the warning signal as “Wind Ball”. For example, they would say: “No. 8 Wind Ball has been hoisted”. The first warning, worth paying any attention, always started with the “No.3 Wind Ball”. If a further ball was added, all Government Agencies and Schools would close, except essential services such as police, fire halls and hospitals. Most of the private enterprises would also close and send their employees home. The transport system would continue to operate to clear up the crowd of commuters but it could stop at any minute depending on the approach of the typhoon. Some unscrupulous taxi and mini van drivers would not miss this opportunity to make an extra buck by overcharging their customers.

The only blessing of a typhoon to Hong Kong was, I trust, first it assisted in cleaning the many filthy streets and back alleys of the city, and second it dumped enormous amount of rain water into the reservoirs which during the dry season leveled off to create a water shortage crisis. Fourteen inch of rain could drop in 24 hours. So often people had to put up with restricted water supply to a couple of hours a day for weeks, or when people had to line up with plastic and tin buckets to get their fill from Government water trucks. I was however spared the inconvenience, as I had the good fortune of being able to go to my brother-in-law’s factory in Kwun Tong to take a shower, factories then were exempt from water restriction.

Hong Kong water shortage

The illegal Chinese immigrants, and there were ten to twenty thousands on any count, who lived in shacks on the hillsides of Kowloon and Hong Kong, made of tin and tar paper, bore the brunt of the misfortune. If they were lucky their abode would be destroyed, blown away. If unlucky they might loose someone dear, a child, a brother, a mother. Then the following day after counting the dead, they would come back to rebuild the flimsy structure.

Hong Kong Squatters Dwellings, inhabited mainly by illegal immigrants from China

The second most affected people would be the “Tanka” people who lived on their boats all their lives. Though they would, on receiving news of incoming typhoon, moor their boats in the sanctuary of Typhoon Shelter shielded by breakwater which the Government had built around the shores of the Colony, it was never a full proof measure. Boats still sank, people still drowned, ocean liner still grounded.

The “Tanka” people who lived all their lives on boats in the waters of Hong Kong

The rest of the populace was pretty safe except when some people were unable to get home in time and were exposed in the wet gusty streets of Hong Kong with thousands of threatening neon signs dangling over their heads, ready to snap and fall with a split of a second.

There was always a group of optimistic people who welcomed the typhoon. As most if not all workplaces were closed, it became a public holiday for the employees, no work with pay. What a way to take a break. Mahjong was a national pastime and what better opportunity was there for the family, locked up within four walls, to sit round the table and engage in this exciting noisy game. All around town the clacking sound of the mahjong tiles would be competing with the howling sound of the wind and the furious splashing rain on the window panes. If all the clacking sounds could be concentrated in one spot, you might not know that a typhoon was running wild outside. Many restaurants were specialist caterers, supplying the food and the venue, to diehard mahjong enthusiasts who would excitedly have made earlier arrangements with their favourite friends for a mahjong marathon which could run for 24 hours.

Mahjong a national pastime of the Hong Kong people

After the storm the tranquility. City workers would be promptly but nonchalantly cleaning the streets of debris, leaves, branches and falling trees, planting pots, neon signage, roof metal sheets, card board and sometimes an old air-conditioning unit. All souls back to work, back to school, back to routine, as if nothing had happened. The only impact the men and women on the street would feel and mumble for a little while, was the new price of vegetable and fish at their local market. The price now was doubled due to the devastation of farm produce and the immobility of fishing vessels.

Vegetable market in Hong Kong

1966 – One bright afternoon after work I took the office elevator in a hurry, walked to the Star Ferry to cross Victoria Harbour to Kowloon, eager to meet my friend at his place in Mongkok. It was the last day of the month and I had in my pocket a wad of banknotes, 200 Hong Kong dollars to be precise, my first pay.

Most salaries were paid monthly by way of cash. It was not common for employers to pay their employees by cheque or by direct deposit to their bank accounts. Besides most people did not even have a bank account. While the banks would readily open a savings account for anybody possessing an acceptable piece of identification, it was extremely difficult to open a chequing account. Having a chequing account was a privilege. To obtain one you would be required to complete an application form and provide detailed personal and sometimes sensitive information for the bank’s consideration and approval. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank was the strictest of all banks with an additional requirement that you provide the names of two of their existing chequing account holders who would vouch for your integrity. So on the last day of each month Banks were kept busy compiling banknotes of various denominations for companies to disburse their payroll, a routine that festered money bag snatching in the streets or in elevators as payroll staff left the bank premises.

Boarding the bus at the Kowloon Star Ferry Terminal was less of a hassle as there were railings for orderly queuing. As usual there were more passengers than the bus could accommodate and we were not concerned to be squished like sardines as long as we could reach our destination in a shorter time. As the bus speeded off, I felt a trace of sweat on my forehead from worrying about the pay money I had in my back pocket. I was very conscious of the severity of pick pocket trend in Hong Kong and I thought that I had two choices at that instance. First I could simply put my hand in my back pocket, hold and protect the notes. Second I could remove the notes from the back pocket and put them in the safety of my front pocket. I did neither because my conscience would not allow me to do such, according to my way of thinking, a “vulgar thing” as to suspect the people around me. Either of the actions would be tantamount to accusing these persons of dishonesty before the event had happened. My mind kept struggling along the trip, should I or should not I do something about my money. My conscience took the upper hand and I did nothing. To me, like under the law, a person is always innocent until proven guilty. To me all people are good people until proven otherwise. This was how I think then, this is how I think now, this is my philosophy, not necessarily a good one though.

The only decent way to protect my money, I decided, was to keep a close feel of any stranger’s hand that might linger around the pocket. I would catch them if they dare to try. “So far so good” I breathed. The bus stopped many times to let passengers off and to pick up new passengers, and with each stop the standing passengers were bumped, swayed and pushed, but all the time my mind was focused on my back pocket and its content. I did not feel anything suspicious, I did not feel any hand around my pockets, the money must be safe, so I trusted. When I alighted at my destination I immediately put my hand in my back pocket to check the money. Empty, my heart sank, the money gone. I was shocked, sad and disappointed to the point that tears were building inside my eyes. Then I accepted the fact that a lucky person that evening was having a sumptuous dinner at my expense, a lucky person had been paid a month salary without reporting for work. When I arrived home I told my brother-in-law and my sister of the incident, and I felt a bit silly and a bit ashamed of myself for being so easily tricked, so easily taken for a ride.

Throughout the years my wife had her fair share of poking fun at me in front of our children and friends over this incident, giggling at my clumsiness as if this could only happen to me and no one else. I might have felt a bit silly, but the repetitive reminders were beneficial, I believed, a small price to pay for an important lesson to remember in life. From there on I always took great care of my valuables, be it money, jewellery, important documents or my family. For the last fifty years I have travelled quite a bit, moved around quite a bit and I have never lost a cent.

1966 – My several job applications paid off a dividend. I received a letter from Harley Mullion to come for an interview. It was then not customary for the Personnel Department to telephone and summon you for an interview, but rather the appointment was scheduled by the Company and advised to me by way of a letter.
On the appointed day I tried to look my best, hair well groomed with the popular traditional Yardley green hair pomade that held, helped shape and added shine to my hair, Elvis style. I also wore a suit for the first time, light metallic grey, a colour that many car makers around the world use today for their cars. In Mauritius I never worn a suit, not even when I attended formal function such as wedding or funeral, a new long sleeve white shirt and a new pair of English wool pants were the norm.

Yardley English Lavender, an icon of a hair pomade in our youthful time

When I arrived in Hong Kong one of the things which my brother-in-law did was to order a pair of business suit for me, knowing full well that I would need them when the time came for a job interview. Good foresight, I could not be more grateful and thankful. He had summoned his personal tailor to our home and one evening he arrived, took my measurements, showed us a range of sample materials and colours and the price to choose from. I clueless and unfamiliar with local fashion and taste my brother-in-law and the eldest nephew made the decision for me. One week later the tailor came back with the skeleton suits, I put them on and with a tailor chalk he marked dots on the materials around my arm pits, shoulders, back and chest to ensure a proper fit. Another week passed and he was back with the finished suits, fitted perfectly.

The tailor working on the first fitting of a new suit

I took a bus from home at Waterloo Road, Kowloon, bus No. 7 it was. That morning I did not have to fight to get on the bus as it was past peak time. Other times it would have been the survival of the fittest, Hong Kong commuters were not in the habit of lining up and they were always in a hurry. As soon as the bus was spotted from afar the waiting passengers prepared to pounce as if they were on their mark for a 100 metre race. Barely the bus had stopped than the crowd was swarming in front of the door, blocking every inch of free space, the alighting passengers fighting their way out. The ride was straight forward, only half an hour off peak, down Waterloo Road, left turn on Nathan Road and right turn on Salisbury Road to the “Star Ferry” in Tsim Sha Tsui. From here a short ferry ride to Hong Kong Island, Central District, the business centre of Hong Kong

Bus No. 7 took me from Waterloo Road to Star Ferry

The “Star Ferry” is famous all over the world, rated “Top 10 Most Exciting Ferry Rides” by the Society of American Travel Writers in 2009. The iconic look of the ferry always painted “white and green” has never changed for over a century. Before the advent of the Cross Harbour Tunnel which opened in 1972, the only way to cross to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon was by way of ferry services or “sampan”, a small relatively flat bottom wooden boat operated by the local fishermen. There were then also large ferries which carried vehicles across. Most of the ferry lines were discontinued but the Star Ferry still runs as it has been doing for over 100 years. When the service was first introduced, the ships were moored by having a sailor on the vessel toss a rope to another on the pier, who would then catch it with a long billhook. This is still done today a century later. Once off the ferry, it was an easy 10 minutes walk to the office of Harley Mullion.

A sailor on the ferry throws a rope to another on the pier who catches it with a billhook, a procedure unchanged for over a century

The iconic look of the ferry, always painted white and green, unchanged for over a century

Harley Mullion was a branch office of Harley Mullion, London, England, a ship brokerage firm with a good reputation. The branch office, incorporated in Hong Kong in 1957, was not huge, there were only two or three Expatriate Staff and a handful of local staff. I recently made some research and learned that the Hong Kong Company was dissolved in 1990, the London Headquarter however seemed to be still in operation.
I could not remember the interview process but since I got the job I believed that I should have impressed the interviewer. It was a clerical entry level job, not much skill or credentials were necessary apart from a good knowledge of spoken and written English, something which we as Mauritians were better equipped than the local English educated counterparts.

Hong Kong Central District shoreline in the 1960’s

Central District, the business hub of Hong Kong today, a far cry from the 1960’s scene

My monthly salary was Hong Kong dollars 200 which was probably equivalent to what I was earning earlier at the Ministry of Finance in Mauritius. A happy man I was.

The job was fairly straight forward and after a couple of days I became proficient in the routine which involved receiving and despatching telex messages to various parties namely the Harley Mullion Headquarter, the sellers and buyers of vessels, ship owners, charterers and shipping related organizations. My responsibility also entailed keeping tracks of all correspondences pertaining to a particular ship including its location on the high seas, until it was sold and the file closed.

Each Expat had his own portfolio of customers, those with ships to sell and those looking to buy ships, as well as those who were looking to charter a vessel. Our brokers had access to a wide list of ships from all over the world which were on the market either for sale or for charter.

This could very well be a ship which Harley Mullion would be brokering in the 1960’s

Unlike buying a car where the buyer takes possession of the vehicle as soon as he pays the seller, ship brokerage is transacted differently. Most of the ships for sale are not anchored at the dock where you can go and take possession of them, but rather they are running somewhere on the high seas with cargo to be delivered to destinations thousands of miles from home. So, more often than not, ownership of a vessel changes hand when the ship is in the middle of a voyage far from shore, a new flag designating the new residency of the vessel also replaces the old flag on high seas.

1966 – Now landed in Hong Kong and mesmerized by the highrise buildings, the wide roads, the neon lights, the crowd that never dissipated and the incessant diffusion of Cantonese Opera, it was time to wake up and face the world. I needed to look for a job. Talking about opera, my sister, so did most residents along the streets, always turned on their radio every afternoon to listen to Cantonese opera. After bombarded daily by the broadcast one either went cuckoo or started to appreciate it. Fortunately I fell into the later. Inexplicably the TV at home was never turned on in the afternoon. It was only switched on after dinner when the whole family sat in the living room watching the one and a half hour popular variety show “Enjoy Yourself Tonight” which had a 27 years run. I did not know if the home TV was banned for the afternoon, a directive of my brother-in-law to keep my young nephews and nieces in check, or simply because there were no suitable programs to watch during the day.

Cantonese Opera was broadcasted over the radio every day all over town. You could see live show performed regularly at local theatres

I was lucky to have accommodation at my brother-in-law’s home. It was a very large flat by local standard, 2000 square feet of living space, master-en-suite plus three bedrooms, a second bath, a dining room, a spacious living room plus kitchen with attached servant’s quarter. The floor plan was well designed and functional. The main door opened into a long corridor leading to the living room, on the right were two bedrooms with a shared bath followed by the master-en-suite in tandem, on the left was the kitchen, the dining room and the third bedroom. The servant quarter was out of sight hidden behind the kitchen.

The main door was solid wood with a peephole with double locks and further protected by a metal gate. On the left side wall of the entrance at eye level sat a plastic sign with the name of my brother-in-law and the flat address. Pretty cool I thought. Access to the flats was by way of two elevators installed side by side, one serving the even number floors and the other the odd number floors. The elevators were rather tiny, accommodating maximum 4 adults. We had to pull open a heavy metal door with a small elongated glass window to enter into the elevator, then drew close a wooden/metal retractable grill gate before we pressed the round black buttons to the desired floors. We lived on the ninth floor just below the top floor. Security was of paramount importance in that era due to the large influx of illegal immigrants from mainland China who were eyed as a threat to the safety of the neighbourhood. Many of these immigrants had swam across shark infested water to reach Hong Kong. For every one who made it who knew how many perished. Every residential tower then, if the owners were agreeable and willing to spend the money, had a 24 hour concierge who checked on any stranger trying to enter or leave the building.

Elevator in the 1960’s with collapsible gate that we drew to close and open, with clanking sounds

My other two travel companions were less lucky in finding accommodation. One I remember had to temporarily sleep on the bunker bed vacated by his uncle in a shared crowded flat in busy bustling Mongkok. The other had to share a room in a flat situated in a less desirable area of Yau Ma Tei

For several mornings after breakfast prepared by the maid I would walk from Waterloo Road to Mongkok , a nice fifteen minutes walk, where all the people of Kowloon seemed to flock to. Mongkok was the main business centre for Kowloon, just as Central District was for Hong Kong Island. Mongkok was acknowledged as the busiest district in the World by The Guinness World Records, with a population density of 340,000 per square mile (Wikipedia Quoted), a fact hard to comprehend, hard to digest, hard to believe. To put this in perspective, The Hong Kong Government from 1968 to 1978 built the Wah Fu Estate Public Housing consisting of 18 residential blocks on 9 hectares of land accommodating 50,000 people. One square mile has 259 hectares, you do the math. Another private housing estate, the largest in the world then, built around the same time, Mei Foo has 99 towers shoulder to shoulder and back to back on 16 hectares of land accommodating 80,000 people. Both Wah Fu and Mei Foo are still thriving communities today. Simply mind boggling.

Mongkok in the 1960’s

Mongkok at night 2010’s, the most densely populated district in the world per Guinness World Records.

Wah Fu Estate Public Housing built on 9 hectares of land, accommodating 50,000 residents

Mei Foo Estate Private Housing in 1970’s built on 16 hectares of land, accommodation 80,000

My brother-in-law ran an Import/Export Company on the third floor of the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building at the corner of Nathan Road and Argyle Street. The Hongkong and Shanghai Bank’s Mongkok office was the most important branch after the Head Office which was located in Central District on Hong Kong Island. This Bank had since grown by leap and bound, locally and internationally. Today it is known as HSBC around the world ranking in the top five.

The Bank building was built in 1954 in grand Colonial Style, eight stories high. Though it had elevators I always walked up the stairs, hating the wait, which for a young lad like me was no sweat. The Import/Export office was around 1,000 square feet, pretty much open plan, with a small room at the end separated from the rest by wooden and glass panels, my brother-in-law’s office. There were four or five working desks each with its own manual Remington typewriter. I was introduced to Mr. Chan the Manager. He was in his fifties and the only person in the Company with a good command of English, the rest could hardly read or write a single English word, including my brother-in-law.

The Head Office of Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building in 1960’s, today known as HSBC

Mr. Chan was very polite as he should be by custom towards a relative of the boss. He directed me to an empty desk and handed me a copy of that day’s South China Morning Post, the most important and influential English newspaper in Hong Kong. The other English newspaper was The Hong Kong Standard which was quite a tad behind in term of prestige and popularity. Both newspapers are still selling in Hong Kong today. Mr. Chan said “Please check the Job postings and apply for the jobs that seem most suitable and promising to you”. After I had typed my job letters my brother-in-law would ask Mr. Chan if he could be kind enough to review them for me and to suggest any changes that should be made. Fortunately my letters were quite well written, so I believed, as I had some previous experience in writing job application letters when I was looking for my first job in Mauritius. Besides I suspected that Mr. Chan considered my knowledge of English superior to his and he would probably feel uneasy to correct me. The mailing of my job letters was taken care of by the “messenger”, that was the office boy whose duties were to take care of odds and ends in the office and running errands for the staff.

In the afternoon there was not much to do and I would go to see my other two Mauritian friends, to check on one another’s progress and walk the streets of Mongkok.