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“What is a bank” asked my granddaughter to her dad. “Ask grandpa, he worked for the bank” replied her dad.

I explained: “Well, a bank is where you deposit your money. You see, in the past people hid their money under the mattress. This is unsafe because thieves can steal the money, or fire can burn down your house and money. So, it is more secure to place your money with a bank”. This explanation is good enough for an eight-year old but of course there is more to it. It is perhaps still a mystery to many people as to how a bank really operates.

Lending money has a long history. You will remember Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice, whence Shylock demanded a pound of flesh when Antonia could not repay a loan. This is exactly what a bank does today, the lending of money, to be repaid afterwards with interest.

A bank can only lend out a limited amount of money out of its own capital. So, it needs to gather deposits from the public which it may then lend. The more the deposits the more it can lend out. To put it in perspective, in 2020 HSBC has an equity (capital) of 192 billion US Dollars while it lends 2.715 trillion. Deposits are therefore very important to the banks, and that’s why banks compete vigorously for deposits by offering attractive interest rate.

There are different options as to how you can park your money with the bank.

The most basic is the “Savings Account”. You get a passbook, though nowadays you get a statement instead, which records the money you put in as well as the money you take out. In the 1960s HSBC in Hong Kong encouraged children to save by providing widely its own iconic “piggy bank”. Children were excited to watch their passbook balance built up and earning monthly interest in the process. If you have large amount of money, you can park them in a Term Deposit Account which offers higher interest rate. Term deposit ranges from minimum 7 days to 5 years. During that period, you cannot withdraw the money, unless you pay a penalty.

Next you can park your money in a Checking Account. I think Checking Account is a marvel financial instrument. Imagine you have to carry large amount of bank notes to pay for something you want to purchase. We can go further in time, when in China gold had to be physically moved from one place to another for payment of goods, the convoy guarded by Kung Fu masters from bandits. Payment by cheque has now lost its luster, substituted mainly by on-line electronic payment. I have not touched my cheque book for the last ten years.

It is interesting to note the impact between keeping your money under your mattress and depositing it in a bank. Money kept under the mattress is dead money, it does nothing to the economy of the country. However, money deposited in the bank creates economic activity because the money is lent out to other people who can use it to do more business. In fact, one hundred dollars of deposit can increase automatically threefold and becomes three hundred eighty dollars. It works like this. Customer A deposits $100.00 in the bank. The bank can lend 75% of this deposit to B, equal to $75.00. B has now $75.00 in the bank. The bank can now lend 75% of $75.00 to C, equal to $56.00. It keeps on going until the total money increased to about $380.00. All started because of the first $100.00.

Where does the bank make its profit? It is the difference between the interest it receives from its borrowers and the interest it pays to its depositors. Of course, competition among the banks will dictate how much interest a bank pays its depositors and how much it charges its borrowers. Bank also derives income from service charges and other fees.

It is interesting to note that there is time when depositors, not only do not receive any interest on their deposits but have to pay the bank interest on their deposits. This is when there is so much money on the market which the bank is unable to lend out.

Is it absolutely safe to keep your money in the bank?  Not necessarily. Because the bank may not be able to recover the money it lends to the borrower. When too many people cannot repay the bank, the bank in turn cannot repay your money. When people hear the bank cannot repay your money, they in turn rush to try to withdraw their money from the bank. This is called a bank run and it often leads to the bank going bankrupt. In 1965 Hang Seng Bank in Hong Kong faced a bank run but was rescued from bankruptcy by HSBC acquiring a 51% interest in Hang Seng Bank. You may also remember the collapse of Barings Bank, one of the oldest merchant banks established in 1762, when a 28 year old employee lost 1.6 billion Pounds in unauthorized trades.

There is relief to small depositors though. In many countries, customer deposits are guaranteed by the Government up to a certain limit. For example, in Canada, the Canadian Deposit Insurance Corporation (CDIC), which is a Crown Corporation, guarantees the deposit of each customer up to C$100,000.00 per bank, if that bank is a member of CDIC. If you have C$200,000.00, you may place C$100,000.00 with Bank A and the other C$100,000.00 with Bank B, you are then fully covered. If you place C$200,000.00 with Bank A, only C$100,000.00 is guaranteed, the other C$100,000.00 may be at risk.

My granddaughter turned eight this summer. She wanted to ride a bike. Daddy bought her a new bicycle that fitted her height. Over two weekends, she was riding good and a happy girl she was. She was able to master riding so fast because firstly she had the perfect size bicycle and secondly, she had all the help and guidance from dad and grandpa.

In contrast as a kid in Mauritius in the 1960s, I learned to ride a bike on my own. Dad had no time to help and guide me. Further, I had to learn on an adult bike, so oversized to my small physique, that I could not sit on the saddle. Instead my left foot on the left pedal and my right foot went through the triangle frame to reach the right pedal. When I grew taller, I was able to swing my right foot over, and sat on, the horizontal bar of the bicycle frame. Many years passed before I could sit on the saddle proper.  It therefore took me longer to master the bike, and I encountered numerous crashes and bruises. Nevertheless, I was also a happy boy.

Today bikes come in a variety of shape, size and colour, and much lighter and cheaper. My granddaughter bike costs Canadian dollars two hundred and fifty, a pittance compared to the average income of a family. My bike cost two hundred rupees which was exactly my monthly salary working as a junior clerk in the Ministry of Finance. Price has really come down drastically over the decades. Bikes are now mainly manufactured in China, then they were made in Great Britain, with Raleigh and Humber as the most popular brands.

While today bikes are mainly for leisure in developing countries, in my childhood bikes were essential for a person to move from one place to another, in the absence of public transport. Also, bikes were used to carry goods, the local boulangerie used bike to deliver bread to our boutique each morning. We even carried sack of rice, furniture and more.  We carried people who sat on the horizontal bar of the bike frame or on the rear bike rack.

Our bikes came in one size, the adult size, always in black colour, but there were men’s bikes and women’s bikes. Women’s bikes did not have the horizontal bar on the main frame, for the simple reason that women did not then wear pants, and the horizontal bar was a hindrance to the woman’s dress. Very few girls rode bike though. It was a bit later that we had sportive bike, a more colourful, youthful and nice looking thing which every teenager wished they could own one.

Bike was a luxury, not many households could afford one. My family owned one as a matter of necessity, it was a second-hand bike. There were several bicycle repair shops in the city, which were kept busy everyday fixing mainly punctured tire. Most bike owners knew how to fix a punctured tire though, as well as handling routine maintenance. Frequently we oiled the moving parts of the bicycle, particular the wheel chain, and we all had a small tin of lubricating oil at home.

Our bikes at the time had some peculiar characteristics. For instance, the seat sat on springs, which today is a thing of the past. I guess the roads were uneven and bumpy, so the springs were necessary for a more comfortable ride. All bikes had mud guards on both wheels, because without these guards, the wheels flipped muds all over when it rained. The rear mudguard always had a red reflective light, so that car drivers became aware of the bike ahead. Head light was also an essential part of the bike because the streets were dark at night for lack of streetlight, further made hazardous by numerous potholes. Head lights were thus big in size and powered by a dynamo which churned by the running bicycle tire. A bicycle bell was a must as it needed to be frequently triggered as the bike zigzagged through the crowd walking on the streets, sidewalks were few and apart. The ringing of the bell became a common sound. We also carried a hand pump, just in case of a flat tire, it is hooked parallel to the V shape bar of the bike frame.

Bicycle theft is universal. We locked our bicycle with a simple lock, similar in shape and principle of a hand cuff. Not very foolproof as we all knew how to unlock it with a hair pin. This “hand cuff “style lock is ineffective today because thieves would pick the whole bike and drive away with it. Today you need to lock your bikes to a pole or bike rack. If you make the mistake of chaining the front wheel to a rack, thieves will still take your bike less the front wheel.

Have not heard of Bike Graveyard, here is the story. Around 2015 in China the concept of Dockless Shared Bicycles was put in motion, whereby people shared bikes to move around the city. Very economical and convenient to the consumers who can unlock and pick up a bike with their handphone and leave the bike anywhere at random. Over 70 Companies raised over 10 billion of US dollars to finance their projects, resulting in over 26 million bikes overwhelming the sidewalks and public space of major cities. Most of these companies went bankrupt and millions of bicycles were left rusting in open space, hence the bike graveyards.

In our visit to Mauritius in 2014, my son and I biked under the sunny blue sky of the island and amid sugar cane fields from our Hotel to Deep River to see my past aunt’s old boutique. It was one of the most enjoyable bike rides we ever had. Among the breathtaking sceneries, we found a small eat out with the best Chinese fried rice cooked by an Indian Chef.

This sister ranked 7^th out of 13 siblings, I ranked 11^th. When I was growing up at our boutique at Aleppo Street, she was the most senior sister as the other elder sisters were married and left home. I supposed therefore that she had added responsibility to look after the six siblings below her.

As was the trend then, she went to the Chinese school as opposed to an English school. I remember vaguely that after she completed Form 3 which was the highest education level at the Chinese school, she worked for a short period of time. Then hurriedly, the same for all girls her age, a matchmaker proposed a couple of prospective husband for her. Our parents, after serious consideration including consulting close relatives, set their eyes on a good gentleman whose family run a well-known Chinese restaurant, Hotel Au Ciel Bleu.

My relationship with this sister and her husband was really close. Firstly, I was, in line with the strict Chinese covenant at the time, the chaperon to my sister, whenever she went on a date. I remember my brother-in-law came to our house after our boutique was closed for the day, to fetch my sister. He came in a taxi which stayed with us for the duration of the date. I sat in front next to the chauffeur, while my sister and brother-in-law strolled at Champ de Mars and Reine de la Paix, two popular parks. We also went to the movie to watch Quo Vadis at Cinema Majestic. I was thrilled when the Ten Commandments were spoken on the big wide screen and I was able to recite it word for word in my heart. I also remember we went to an exhibition at the residence of prominent businessman Mr. Lai Fat Fur near Champs de Mars, showing products from China. There and then my brother-in-law bought a bicycle for my sister which she proudly rode to work the following day.

Courting period was by custom very short, three or four months. The Chinese Almanac was faithfully consulted to find an auspicious day to tie the knot, based on the birth dates of the bride and the groom. Most marriages were held on a Saturday or Sunday as attending a wedding on weekdays was an extreme inconvenience to the guests. Several days before the wedding day, the groom and his family, in line with tradition, came to our house to formalize the family union by bringing in gifts, the lavisher the better the prestige. All members of our family had to wear new clothes on the wedding day. For me as a kid, I had a pair of new cotton grey pants and white short sleeve shirt and a pair of new leather shoes.

My sister and brother-in-law moved in a two-room unit within the compound of Hotel Au Ciel Bleu on Dr. Joseph Riviere Street. The Hotel was run by my brother-in-law and his elder brother, with their father as the Chef, their mother had passed away a long time ago.

This sister was not in the best of health, she was always tired, dizzy at times. My mother often took time off from the boutique, to attend to her. Some relatives suggested that she drank urine which I, at my young age, was qualified to provide. It did not help. My mother suggested that I went to stay with my sister to provide assistance to her, basically in taking care of her two small sons. Thus, I lived five to six years of my early years at my sister’s home.

I looked after the two boys when I came back from school, fed them, bathed them and played with them. During that era, we heated bath water by dipping an electric rod into a bucket of water. One time, silly me, while I was drying the elder boy after a bath, he slipped out of my hand and felt from the table to the floor. Imagine an adult falling six feet, miraculously the boy was fine, no broken bone, not even a bruise. I learned later that small children have soft bones and are less susceptible to injury.

My brother-in-law was responsible to source provisions for the restaurant, including early morning visit to the Central market to buy meat, fish, vegetable and ingredients. He routinely brought home for me a pair of roti from a famous roti stall at the market. I have not since found a close match.

My brother-in-law was a good and generous person. He gave me a monthly allowance of twenty five rupees and I was able to save two hundred rupees over two years to buy a brand new bicycle. Raleigh was the Cadillac of bicycle, followed by Humber, both manufactured in England. My saving was disappointedly only good for a less popular brand, nonetheless I was really excited with my new bike.

The elder brother of my brother-in-law took care of the business during daytime, and after five my brother-in-law took over. Therefore, my sister systematically played cashier after six in the afternoon. Business closed at about 10 pm and my brother-in-law stayed behind to tie any loose end until close to midnight. When he came up to the room, he regularly brought me a bowl of shark fin soup or other delicacies, and at time a glass of Porter beer. He said Porter beer was good for health.

My brother-in-law and my sister did not have a lot of leisure time as they had to be at the restaurant 7 days a week. Occasionally they went to see a movie or attended some Chinese theatrical performances such as “Butterfly Lovers”, a legendary Chinese tragic love story.  My brother-in-law in his spare time read book and played the accordion with a local band. He taught me harmonica. My sister had a foot pedal Singer sewing machine, Singer was the best and most popular brand, and she made simple dress as well as sewing tablecloth for the restaurant. By extension, I also became skillful in operating the sewing machine and doing stitching work.

The wife of the brother of my brother-in-law also participated in the running of the business, such as wrapping wonton, coordinating take out and acting as cashier. Her five children came in after school and together with my two nephews, they brought life and colour to the environment, though the two sisters-in-law kept a tacit distance, a common phenomenon.

Summer in the city of Port Louis was very hot, and the best quencher was a cold Coca-Cola. Shy at asking my sister for a coke, I often pushed my nephew to plead for one which we then shared. Coke came in glass bottle only, two sizes small and big, and refrigerated in a rectangular cooler filled with cold water and lumps of ice.

My sister was fond of certain snacks, namely green or red bean soup. In the evening an old Cantonese folk often roamed the streets, with two containers dangling over a bamboo pole sitting across his shoulder, shouting in Cantonese “Red bean soup, Green bean soup”. I hurriedly descended, not wanting to miss him, with a huge enamelware mug, to meet the seller on the street. My sister was also extremely fond of French pastries, the Éclair and Cream Puff, which I rode my bike to buy at a French pastry shop close to Government House.

Both my sister and brother-in-law were one of a kind. They were extremely good hearted, I never heard either raising their voice or getting angry or emotional. I was deeply saddened when I received news after I had left for Hong Kong, that my sister passed away due to blood complication. She was only 32 years old. In 2016 when I visited Mauritius and went to pay my respect at her burial ground, I saw a picture of her fixed to the tomb. Somehow, I was stunned to realize that she was the prettiest among all my already pretty sisters.

We hear much about Boot Camp but not much about Outward Bound School.

Outward Bound is an international network of outdoor education organizations that was founded in the United Kingdom by Lawrence Holt and Kurt Hahn in 1941. Today there are organizations, called schools, in over 30 countries which are attended by more than 150,000 people each year.

Outward Bound encourages individuals to test their physical and emotional limits in challenging outdoor adventure programs. The experiences are a means of building inner strength and a heightened awareness of human interdependence.

It was a prerequisite at HSBC in the 70’s for all Resident Officers In Training to attend the Outward Bound Standard Course, before they would be confirmed as Resident Officers. One Trainee who continuously declined to attend the Course was promoted many years late, then only because HSBC in later years changed compulsory Outward Bound attendance to voluntary participation. Earlier one attendee had died by lightning strike and one by over exertion.

The Standard Course was a 26 straight days outdoor training at the Outward Bound School situated in beautiful Sai Kung Peninsula of Hong Kong. It was a gruesome 26 days of hard physical and mental endurance, some participants could not endure and quitted midway. But surviving the course was a great triumph that had a positive impact for the rest of our lives.

One summer morning in 1972 with a small bag of clothing, boots and personal essentials, I set foot at the Outward Bound School in Tai Mong Tsai, Sai Kung, Course No. 17. The school was a two story concrete building on a large property by the sea shore. There were about 50 participants, mainly from large corporations as well as police officers and firefighters. After a thorough briefing, we were divided into 4 teams and directed to our dormitory modestly equipped with bunker beds and lockers.

While the police officers and firefighters were physically fit and seemed to have an advantage over the office people, they were particularly targeted and mentally pressured into submission. They were good to giving orders but not good at taking orders. One police officer, pushed to his mental limit, was heard saying that he was close to putting up a deadly fight with the instructors.

Our first taste of hardship arrived quickly on the first morning. At 6 a.m. before the cock crowed and still in darkness, we woke up to the frantic call of the instructors. We ran up and down and around the school building to warm up, before we were forced to plunge in the chilly water of the bay, that was the daily “morning dip”. Then we went to wash up, cleaned the lavatory and maintained the dormitory neat and spotless, to satisfy the stringent inspection by the School Principal. Breakfast was served in the dining room, the food was good, here we had a small window to mingle freely. Soon we were on our way to the great outdoor.

We climbed a lot of mountains and learned a lot about direction, map reading and teamwork. Sai Kung Peninsula provided a perfect environment for that. Everyday we were on the road, carrying heavy knapsacks on our back with essentials for two to three nights camping in the woods. We lived on canned food but cooked our own rice, the inviting aroma of freshly cooked rice was an incentive to get us through the day. Occasionally, we were feasted when we passed through remote villages. The village head, feeling sorry for us, invited us to some delicious home-cooked meal.

We participated in a variety of obstacle courses, including walking swinging rope bridge and climbing over a ten feet wall. We were also exposed to rock climbing as well as mountain rescue operation, I spontaneously volunteered to be the pretended injured person needed to be lowered from a cliff on a stretcher. Sounded scary but I was completely at ease as I had full trust in my fellow mates. I would not do it again though.

Activity on the water was an essential part of the training. We learned canoeing including what to do when the canoe capsized.  Sai Kung Bay had clean and clear water, making canoeing a joyful experience. We also played “Viking”, sitting in tandem along the two sides of our cutter, we rowed with long heavy oars in unison. Then set up sail far out into the turbulent waves of the great sea, not returning till most of us had threw up.   

We were told about the Solo program, where each participant was marooned incommunicado on a secluded island alone for three days and two nights. It scared the hell out of many of us. What if we were bitten by a snake, what if we had an accident, what if we were sick.  But the “Solo” turned out to be a favourite program, for the simple reason that we were spared the harsh daily physical activities. It was a good three days of rest. After I disembarked on the island, I walked around to survey the area, and was taken aback when I bumped into an ancestral tomb, sending a shiver down my spine. We were given just a few match sticks to start a fire to cook rice. If the match got wet, raw rice was dinner. There were not a lot of spot to sleep for the night, the beach was littered with pebbles and the grass area could attract snakes. I slept instead on a rough boulder by the beach, five feet in diameter. In the middle of the first night thunder stroke, the wind intensified, then it poured heavy, leaving me completely cold and drenched. I had no choice but to curl and wrap myself head to toe, under my poncho. Unknowingly I felt asleep, probably one of my best sleep ever, no dream, no discomfort. When I woke up in early dawn, I was completely dry and refreshed. Amid the soothing sound of the waves breaking onto the shore, I watched serenely across the sea as the sun rose over the horizon and the peninsula slowly sprang back to life.

The course ended with a 25 miles walk, leaving the school early morning and returning late in the evening, climbing one mountain peak after another. This time it was just another walk, a piece of cake.

I returned home 26 days later, tanned to the core, barely recognizable, physically and mentally fit, and happy. I had enjoyed Outward Bound so much, that when a new 10 days Program was launched for Executives four years later, I immediately volunteered to participate, Course No. 59.

If you check the dictionary, “La Cour” will be translated as “The Court” or “The Courtyard”. But in Mauritius “La Cour” means property which consists of the land and any building erected on it. We often said in amazement, with gleaming envious eyes, that this and that gentleman owned several “la cour”. Because owning a “la cour” was an indication of wealth and the owner automatically placed in high regard.

Our family did not own any “la cour” when we were growing up, whereas my two uncles owned one or more properties. We did not own a property earlier because my father, as a teacher at the Chinese Sing Wah School, had limited income. My two uncles, on the other hand, ran a boutique at a much earlier stage, in a middle class neighbourhood, and earned good profit to buy properties. My family started to run a boutique much later and saved many years before we could purchase our own “la cour”, by then I was 18 years old.  I remember Mr. Lai Fat Fur, a prominent businessman and philanthropist, loaned our family eight thousand rupees to buy building materials for our new boutique on Magon Street.

Under the British system, the streets in the City were built straight, North to South and East to West. And land was divided in square or rectangle shape. My family ran a boutique in Camp Yoloff, a heavily Muslim neighbourhood. The boutique was part of one large “la cour”, owned by a Muslim gentleman, who was a legal clerk at the City magistracy. Legal clerks in many less developed jurisdictions, were powerful intermediaries who were often privately compensated for their favour. I remember one time my mother had to discreetly tip our landlord for assistance in a litigation case.

The ”la cour” which our shop was part of, had a relatively large land area. I believe it was a couple of arpent, a French unit of land measurement which is roughly one acre. Our shop was located at the corner of Aleppo Street and Yoloff Street, a standalone stone building with corrugated roof. At the back of the building we had a makeshift fence made of flimsy wooden poles, planks, odds and ends tin and recycled metal sheets from empty kerosene or oil drums. Luckily, we had our own small private primitive kitchen cum bathroom as well as a “basin”. Basin is a Mauritian term for an area, nothing more than a sizable concrete or stone slab with a drainage and a water tap, where we washed our dishes and clothes.

Along Yoloff Street was a row of townhouses, separated from our boutique by an entrance to the interior of the La Cour. If you had pictured the townhouses as seen in England or Canada, think again. It was just a row of six or seven rooms, each room had a door opening on the main road and one door opening to the interior of the property. Each room represented a house for a family, be it Indian, Muslim, Creole and Chinese. Facing the back door was a small makeshift kitchen always leaking when it rained. There was not much furniture in each domain, and the floor was the bed. But customarily the tenants kept the floor spotless and shiny. A layer of wax was applied to the floor. When the wax dried, the floor was polished with a coconut brush, made up of a slice of dried coconut top, looked like an overturn bowl. With hands on hip, left foot firmly on the floor, the right foot on the coconut top brushed the floor to and fro in a fine African rhythm.

By the main entrance to the property were a communal bathroom, toilet and basin. The bathroom had no light nor tap water, you brought your own bucket of water for a bath. The toilet, likewise, had no electricity nor tap water, but had a water tank cistern, often not in working condition, installed up five or six feet with a long metal chain which when pulled dispensed a flow of water to the toilet bowl. The basin had only one water tap which dispensed water for a limited number of hours each day. The tenants gathered round the basin to wash clothes and dishes. Clothes were washed with a bar of soap on rectangular flat stones, and pot and pans were scrubbed with crumbled charcoal with the help of a piece of dried coconut fibre. Tenants socialized while waiting for their turn to access the water. It was a good place to gossip and hear things that had happened in our neighbourhood. In the courtyard, there was a small area for drying clothes, on ropes attached to two wooden poles. And some open space area with small shrubs, frequented often by domestic chickens, ducks and goats.

We did not have any fruit tree in our La Cour and I felt disappointed when other La Cour in the neighbourhood had fruit trees, such as mango, guava, jambalac, mason, pomegrenate and even lychee.

Along Aleppo street adjacent to our boutique was also a row of townhouses which were of superior built. Each townhouse was one room unit, built slightly elevated, with two or three steps in front of the door that opened to the street. Our landlord lived in one of the units and I always said hello to the family whenever they sat on the steps for relaxation. The rent here was a tad higher than those townhouses along Yoloff street.

The other two sides of the property were fenced from the streets by a row of cactus plants. The cactus plants were irregular, about four to five feet tall, and were home to lizards and camaleons, I guessed they felt protected. Rats also roamed and hide within the cactus fence for protection from the local cats. While learning bike riding as a kid, I often crashed into the cactus fence, I had my share of serious pricks.

One day there was a great commotion in the La Cour, and I and my sisters and brothers could not help joining the crowd that had gathered, curious of what was happening. It turned out that the Police was here to arrest a young Creole girl. Her father and mother were divorced and she lived with her father elsewhere in the city, but she often ran away to be with her mother living in our La Cour. We felt sorry and sympathized with the poor little girl.

In our La Cour, we had a tenant, a single mother with a teenage daughter. She lived in one of the several detached structures erected inside the courtyard. The mother was big and fat, a rather jovial lady who got along with us very well. She was a prostitute and entertained regular clients. Her daughter always brought a pail of dirty water from the house, for disposal into the basin of the courtyard, after each client’s visit.

It was also in the courtyard that the body of a deceased tenant was exhibited for the night before the funeral procession the next morning. Also, bed mattresses were custom made in the courtyard. The craft man used two long rattan canes to beat balls of cotton placed on a large cloth on the ground, mimicking the beating on a drum. The cotton balls in time loosened into fluffy cotton, which were filled in a mattress shaped thick cloth shell, the opening then stitched closed. To prevent the cotton from shifting inside the shell, a long needle with thick thread, was inserted from one side of the mattress to the other side at six or eight evenly distributed spots, and each end of the thread was tightened and secured with a large shirt button.

La Cour was part of the Mauritian culture and I would say a great culture that I had enjoyed every minute of it.

Finally, I stepped into the HSBC Head Office in March 1971 to start my training. The Assistant Manager Operations welcomed me and walked me to the “Export Department” to meet the Officer-in-charge. All eyes were on me, as it was a great honour and privilege to join the Resident Officer Trainee Camp.

It was fitting that I started with the Export Department, because this was the original heart of the Bank, the nucleus of the “Finance of Trade” which was the original purpose of the Bank establishment.

The Export Department was located on the mezzanine floor on the left side of the grand banking hall.  There were about 50 staff, headed by a Head of Department of Portuguese descent. There were stories of the dedication of Portuguese staff, in sticking with and defending the Bank, during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong in the Second World War. This dedication was rewarded when peace returned to Hong Kong, resulting in a good number of Portuguese staff promoted to important positions. Besides, the Portuguese staff spoke fluent English as well as Cantonese, and their culture more compatible to that of the British. The Portuguese staff came from Macau, three hours ferry ride from Hong Kong. From 1960s onward, the Chinese overtook the Portuguese in job advancement as more western educated Chinese joined the working force.

I got along very well with my Portuguese colleagues, but I noticed that there was a gap between Chinese and Portuguese because they had different values and way of life. Intermarriage was rare, but young Chinese girls fervently chased young Portuguese boys for their good look, not so much for pursue of matrimony, more for pleasure.

What exactly was the function of the Export Department!  Let’s step back a little and see how trade is financed.

Cash payment. An oversea buyer can pay the manufacturer upfront and wait for the goods to be delivered. The risk is big for the buyer because the seller may fail to ship. Or the manufacturer can ship the goods first and wait for the buyer to make payment. The risk is big for the manufacturer as the buyer may fail to pay.

A safer payment system, called “Documents Against Payment” was created, whereby the manufacturer ships the goods and hands over the Bill of Lading (along with invoice, packing list and other relevant documents), to his bank. His bank forwards the documents to the buyer’s bank, who hands them over to the buyer upon payment. The payment is then remitted to the manufacturer. A Bill of Lading is a formal document issued by a shipping company acknowledging receipt of goods for shipment. When the goods arrive at destination, the Bill of Lading must be presented to the shipping company, in order to take delivery of the goods. This Documents Against Payment system has its flaw though. What if the buyer changes his mind and refuses to take delivery of the goods at destination. The manufacturer will have to warehouse the goods and look for another buyer, incurring additional expense and possible loss. This system is only practical where the buyer and manufacturer have great trust in each other.

A second more secure payment system, called “Letter of Credit” was created. A Letter of Credit is a sort of promise by a Bank, acting on behalf of the buyer, to guarantee payment to the seller when the goods have been shipped. The seller ships the goods and presents the Bill of Lading to the Bank to get paid. Under this system, the buyer is guaranteed that the seller will ship the goods, and the seller is guaranteed to get paid once he ships the goods.

Letter of Credit is not, however, foolproof. Though the bill of lading is evidence that the Shipping Company has received goods for shipment, there is no guarantee that the goods are genuine goods. There were cases where unscrupulous manufacturers shipped rocks, and by presenting the relevant bill of lading to the Bank, they got paid and disappeared. The buyers unfortunately had to bear the loss as the terms and conditions of the Letter of Credit had been fulfilled.

To prevent manufacturers from shipping non-genuine goods, the buyers can put an extra condition in the Letter of Credit, requiring an Inspection Certificate by a renowned Inspection Firm, confirming the authenticity of the goods loaded on board. Many of the world trades today are still conducted using Letters of Credit.

A third system of trade finance is called “Documents Against Acceptance”. Here the manufacturer ships the goods, presents the Bill of Lading and other relevant documents to his Bank and gets paid immediately. The Bank mails the full set of documents to the buyer’s bank. The buyer accepts the Documents and signs a Bill of Exchange which is a promise to pay after a certain number of days, typically 30, 60 and 90 days. This allows the buyer time to sell the goods and receive income to make the payment thereafter. If the buyer fails to pay on maturity date, the Bank can sue the buyer under the Bill of Exchange. The financing Bank will do due diligence as to the financial ability and creditability of both buyer and seller, before agreeing to this system of trade finance.

The Export Department handles the shipping documents, pays the manufacturer instantly, so that the latter has cash flow to embark quickly on new production. The Bank recovers its money sometime later, and charges interest for the number of days it is out of pocket. The Bank also makes money by charging a fee for handling the documents, as well as benefit in the currency exchange. The Export Department, therefore, plays an important role in facilitating trade around the world and contributes significantly to the bottom line of the Bank.

Asked a child today: “What is a candle?”. He or she will tell you: “Oh those tiny colourful stick that we dip into a birthday cake and blow”. To me, a candle is a 9 inch long, 1 inch in diameter white wax stick with a wick embedded through the length of its centre. We used it for illumination as its original purpose was thousands of years BC. “Don’t you have electricity?” the child may ask. Well we did. But electricity was not continuous, every couple of days we had a blackout. And blackout meant complete darkness throughout the neighbourhood, if not the whole town, and the bright moon became instantly our best friend, especially on a clear night. I did not know if the city electrical grid failed or there were just not enough power for distribution. A dark night was a scary moment for us kids, but also a blessing in disguise as we could lay down our book and had a break.

Children found enormous pleasure running their index finger to-and-fro through the flickering flame of the candle, and magically experienced no pain nor burn, but our hands occasionally got scalded from the hot dripping wax. There were candle holders to keep the candle up and safe, but most households could not afford that luxury. Instead, we dripped some melting wax in the middle of a small plate and pressed the candle’s end into the wax. When the wax set, the candle stood tall and straight.

As the youngest boy in the family, I always acted as a chaperon to my sisters when they needed to use the toilet at night. Visiting toilet at night was a scary experience because the toilet was located away from our abode and had no lighting. We had to light a candle. While inside the toilet, we took the opportunity to roll small sheet of paper into the shape of a cigarette which we smoked, playing adults, all decent kids enjoyed this game. I think the puff tasted or smelled like burned toast.

Blackout was a perfect time to tell ghost stories. “Once upon a time a young boy got lost, and in the attempt to find his home, he walked through a cemetery under a bright moon partly shrouded by clouds… he heard the cry of a wolf  from afar, suddenly a ghost jumped out of the tomb….”. At that point panic struck, we sprang from our seat and clung into one another, amidst our own loud shrieks. When the power came back, we all sighed with relief.

The locals bought from our boutique candles to offer to the bereaved families at a funeral. I remember when I was around 6 or 7 years old, a neighbour died. That night, his body was placed on a wooden board laid over two benches, in the courtyard in front of his home, kept company by the swaying flames of candles. Relatives as well as neighbours came to pay their last respect, all sitting in small group around the corpse, chatting or playing cards. I noticed that the two toes of the deceased were tied together with a piece of rope, upon enquiry I understood it was to keep the body in a respectable position.

Our boutique also sold candles to religious worshippers when they attended Church. Candles came in a pack of 10 candles or so, wrapped in a strange bluish colour paper, but we could only sell one candle at a time because of its prohibitive cost. On religious days, Churches were packed with people, young and old, men and women, and the altar encircled by a sea of bright lights from the candles. A mystical and peaceful impression. For safety reason, candles are now not allowed in most Churches, a colourful tradition lost forever. The Chinese had a similar tradition, lighting candles and joss sticks in the temples, except the candle was always red in colour, with a bamboo stick protruding from the bottom, which dropped conveniently in candle stand slots.

Many of our neighbours did not have electricity and not much could be accomplished in the dark except to retire early. Some families used candle for light but most used oil lamp as a cheaper alternative. The oil lamp was basic, simply placing a wick in a small circular clay or metal bowl filled with oil. The wick drew the oil and burned, occasionally the wick needed to be advanced by hand, to keep it above the oil level. Or the more sophisticated version, consisting of a brass base containing oil and a glass funnel over the wick to prevent fire accident and to protect the flame from draft.

In the developed world today, candles are used mainly for their aesthetic value and scent, particularly to set a soft, warm, or romantic ambiance, and to a lesser extent for emergency lighting during electrical power failures, and for religious or ritual purposes. Candle now comes in all size, shape and colour, a big contrast to my “la bougie”.

Although this sister was third in line, she was the most senior among the siblings while growing up in Mauritius. The first child died at birth and the second sister was left in China with grandmother.

I was around 4 years old when she got married. Her husband was from a relatively rich family who owned the popular Magasin Boulet Rouge on Route Royale, Port Louis. At the time most, if not all, marriages were arranged through a matchmaker because it was almost impossible for Chinese girls to meet boys. Secondary schools were boys only or girls only and Chinese girls rarely worked outside home, so little opportunity for them to socialize. They stayed home and waited to get married. Girls married before they turned 20, else they were considered past age, and it became harder to find an ideal husband. Because there were many girls in our family clan, I could not help hearing frequent gossips about girl things, and who and who eligible bachelors in town. Girls were not at liberty to choose their lifemate, the approval of the parents and sometimes the blessing of the aunties, was necessary to tie the knot. Our family was blessed as the girls were born pretty and finding a suitable husband for them was not too difficult an endeavour.

This brother-in-law had an English name, Richard, an anomaly at the time. The older Chinese generation did not have an English name. An English name was given only when the person baptized into the western faith. Richard was an Anglican and my sister had to convert to his faith before she could enter and receive the nuptial blessing in the church.

My brother-in-law was a “Nationalist” whereas our family was “Communist”, but this did not cause a rift in the matrimony. We got along just fine. Ironically, my brother-in-law’s house was on Dr. Joseph Riviere Street, opposite the Sin Wah Chinese Communist School, a sort of an eyesore. The Communists celebrated their national day on October 1 and the Nationalists on October 10. Tensions tended to flare up on these two National days between the two camps. I remember my brother-in-law on one October 1 celebration, tense and agitated, holding a rifle, threatening to shoot at the marchers from his balcony.

Magasin Boulet Rouge, a partnership between my brother-in-law’s family and his cousin’s family, was doing brisk business, selling superior household items such as kitchen utensils, toys, shoes, decorative items, watches and pens. On Christmas day, Boulet Rouge was packed with customers, and on a couple of occasions, I was posted at the door to keep a watch on potential shoplifters. Every year, my brother-in-law went to China to attend the Canton Trade Fair which exhibited a wide range of products that China produced. There was no direct flight to China then, and he had to transit in Hong Kong.

My parents liked this brother-in-law very much, as they did to all my other brother-in-law. Once a week, my brother-in-law, my sister and their small son, came to our home after dinner, to replenish their provisions.  While my brother-in-law got entangled in a lively, loud and jovial conversation with my mother, my sister and I sneaked in our boutique to pick, weigh and pack the items from her provisions list: rice, sugar, salt, tea, cooking oil, kerosene, alcohol and spices. Quite often, my sister signaled me to be easy on the quantity as I weighed the product, to enable our boutique to make a little more profit. My sister’s son was around 3 years old, a lively, talkative infant. While modest kids like myself were devoid of attention, this flamboyant nephew, like other offspring of well-off families, was a spoilt brat but adored. He got all the attention and got everything he wished for. One time he played a trick and hide himself, sending the whole household into a panic.

My brother-in-law was always generous to our family, bringing goodies to us on Chinese festive days, such as New Year, Mid-Autumn festival and Christmas. The most appreciated bite was the juicy delicious crispy roasted pork belly and barbecue pork buns from the famous Cantonese restaurant “Lai Min” situated on Royale Road. Lai Min is still here alive and kicking. My brother-in-law wore “Dormeuil” woolen pants in winter, a luxury at the time. While the fabric around the seat wore off, the fabric covering the legs stayed decent, which the local tailor used to make me a pair of short pants. I felt proud wearing them for a couple of years. When I left for Hong Kong in 1966, my brother-in-law gave me a watch, I think it was an Enicar, which I had cherished for many years.

The greatest pleasure this brother-in-law brought us as kids was that on many Sundays when our shop closed, he drove us to the beaches, four adults and eight kids sardined in his Austin Morris. The favourite beach was Mont Choisy, with its great open space, lush filao trees, fine white sand, calm lagoon, bright sun and warm breeze. We also spent time at Cape Malheureux and Grand Baie, just to the north. Once, he took us to a hotel at Pointes aux Sables, where siting under a large parasol in the hotel patio, we were served ice cream in a glass cup which we scooped with a small spoon, an unforgettable treat. We also spent many happy and playful weekends at Baie-du-Tombeau, where my brother-in-law owned a “campement”, a local term for summer home by the beach. I also remember him fondly for spearheading my transfer to a new school to escape from a bully at my first school, and orchestrating the hospitalization, surgery and recovery of my dad when he was taken seriously sick.

We are eternally grateful to this brother-in-law who cared so much for our family, he had a good heart and was unconditionally ready to help us at every turn. He sprinkled lot of colours into our juvenile life.

In 1971, I joined a group of elite Resident Officers in Training at HSBC Main Office in Central District, Hong Kong. HSBC (prior to 1991 was known as Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation) was growing by leap and bound in the 1960’s, and rightfully then opened up its executive position to local staff. ROT (Resident Officer Trainees) were a privileged batch of local staff, on the way to take up executive positions of the Bank. We jumped many levels, and after two to three years of intensive training in a wide range of the bank disciplines, we were appointed Resident Officer, a grade way above the local branch managers. Potentially, Resident Officers could move up the corporate ladder to the Chief Executive Officer position.

HSBC was then very much a British Institution, run on the British system of governance. Having earlier worked in a British environment at the Ministry of Finance in Mauritius, I felt comfortable and adapted to the Bank system very easily.

The rank of a Resident Officer came with a generous salary and attractive perks.

Similar with other British Empire administrations around the World, Bank officers were served morning and afternoon tea in formal cup and saucer. At 10 am and 3 pm the bank office boy brought the tea to our desk, a privilege that was much envied by the lower rank personnel. The office boys, headed by a Head Boy who exclusively served the General Manager, were at our disposal to carry out our personal errands, whether it was delivering a parcel or buying a movie ticket.

We had lunch at the Officer’s mess on the 7^th floor of the Head Office bank building, where servers dressed in white uniforms attended to our needs, starting with soup of the day, bread and butter, a main course, dessert and tea or coffee. Every Thursday was “Curry Day”, a favourite of many of us. Expatriates usually started their career at HSBC in India before progressing to Hong Kong, and they had developed a craving for authentic Indian cuisine.

The greatest benefit I personally earned was the interest free and no down-payment housing loan available to Resident Officers. The zero down-payment privilege meant that I was able to buy an apartment many years earlier when the price of housing was at a lower level. To put it in perspective, when I left the Bank seven years after purchasing my apartment, the capital gain was enough to buy outright a standard house in Toronto.

The Bank owned several Bungalows on Lantao Island, an hour boat ride away from Central. We were entitled to enjoy the bungalow for a week every year. This perk included the use of a car. Also, we could use the Bank boat, equipped with a full crew, twice a year to cruise the magnificent Hong Kong harbour, and to go visit the hundreds of islands that make up Hong Kong. We also enjoyed a 50% discount on air ticket on Cathay Pacific Airways in which the Bank was a major shareholder. There was also a squash court in the Head Office building which we were entitled to use.

Ranks were a serious matter in the British scheme of things. Many would not know that Officers had their own washroom, separated from the rank and file. Management of certain ranks further had their own exclusive washrooms. There was even a “Chairman Lift”, for use by the Chairman exclusively, which stopped only at the Chairman’s flat on the top floor of the Head Office building.

Bachelor Junior Expatriates lived in a resort like residence nestled on the Peak, with swimming pool, dining room, recreation room, lounge, squash court and tennis court, with a grand view of Hong Kong and Kowloon and the spectacular Victoria Harbour. The “Peak” is a prestigious neighbourhood on top of the mountain looking down to the Central District of Hong Kong. The residence was accurately named “Cloudlands” as the place was often wrapped in clouds. Married and Senior Expatriates lived in houses or plush apartments, while the Chairman lived on a huge house on a hill up on the Peak, which we called Chairman House.

To westerners, the Far East was a mystic place, and young International Officers freshly recruited from London could hardly hold their breath when they first arrived in Hong Kong. Many were excited with the dynamism of the City and all the things that were told them but only now could be experienced. Wanchai, a favourite place for visiting American soldiers on recreation, was drenched with girlie bars and massage parlours where the movie “The World of Suzie Wong” was filmed. Young International Officers were not spared the temptation of frequenting Wanchai, now and then ended up in ugly brawls. When caught, they had to pack overnight and leave Hong Kong on the next available plane for a “hardship” posting in India or Bandar Seri Begawan.

Working at The Banque Nationale de Paris (BNP) in the Tourist District of Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong from 1967 to 1970, I had the opportunity to meet with a large number of tourists from all over the world, American, British, Australian, Vietnamese and last but not least French speaking nationals.

They came in the Bank mainly to exchange their home currency into Hong Kong dollars. Others came to park some of their money in a stable and free of exchange control Hong Kong, the Vietnam War (1955 to 1975) was a destabilizing factor to many of the countries in Asia.

Moroccan Encounter: In the 1960’s, Hong Kong was a manufacturing hub. Well before “Made in China” goods filled the shelves of western establishments starting around 1990’s, “Made in Hong Kong” goods were king. Businessmen from all over the world flocked to Hong Kong to place orders for goods ranging from toys to household appliances, from footwear to wigs to garments. Import and Export Firms sprang all over Hong Kong, serving as middleman between overseas buyers and local manufacturers. Because I speak French, I was often asked to help interpret for our Bank customers whenever their French speaking buyers were in town. Here I got acquainted with a Moroccan businessman, a Mr. Bennis. Strangely, he spoke French but could not write. Often, I wrote letters for him in French as he dictated the contents. It never crossed my mind that I should charge for my service, I just enjoyed doing it. On one occasion though, as he was having some custom shirts made, he also had a couple made for me, with my initial “gy” embroidered on the cuffs in blue threads. It made me feel stylish and awesome wearing these shirts. On another occasion, he said to me “Would you like to go and work for me in Casablanca”. I was taken aback with this offer but deep inside I felt proud of my usefullness and abilities. The prospect of living in the mysterious and exotic Moroccan city of Casablanca really excited me. The movie “Casablanca” featuring Humphrey Bogart must have impressed me deeply. I was fascinated with Morocco’s unique architecture, music, cuisine, belly dancers. Yet, it was queer that hardly had I settled in Hong Kong that I was ready to embark on another adventure. “Yes, I like to go to Morocco” I told him with gleaming eyes. I provided him with the necessary information for immigration purposes. Somehow, the plan never materialized, in hindsight I wondered if he was just pulling wool over my eyes or it was just my destiny.

African Encounter: One sunny afternoon a High-Ranking Minister from Ivory Coast, came to the branch to look for our Manager, a Mr. Tomatis, who was prior posted in Abidjan, hence the acquaintance. Among other things, The Minister and his wife wanted to buy some Chinese style furniture. Hong Kong was then known as the Pearl of the Orient and an Asian shopping paradise. You could find anything here, camera, toys, electronics, furniture, ivory carvings, custom made suit. I was asked to be his guide. The Bank car was at our disposal and the driver, a Cantonese speaking smart fellow, drove us to several furniture shops. As the distinguished guests were browsing through the shop, the driver discreetly hinted that we could ask the Shop owner for some commission or “kick back” as commonly known. It was fashionable for shop owners to pay commission to anybody bringing in customers to their shops, I was aware of but never expected to experience it. The driver had a quick chat with the owner, and when our adventure was over, we had each earned two thousand Hong Kong dollars from the purchase of forty thousand dollars worth of Chinese traditional furniture. To put it in perspective, two thousand dollars was equivalent to six months of my salary, and forty thousand dollars could buy a small apartment. What an Afternoon!

French Encounter: One time, a French gentleman in his fifties came to the Bank to exchange money, he suggested that I showed him around a little bit, his English being poor. No problem, I said. So, after finishing work, I met him in front of the Bank and took him around Tsim Sha Tsui, visiting a number of shops. He invited me to dinner which I graciously accepted. Afterwards he suggested that he had a small gift to offer to me in appreciation of my assistance, we went to his hotel room. He dug into his luggage for a small souvenir gift, sat on the edge of the bed, signalled me to sit next to him, and offered me the gift. As I was looking at the item, he caressed my right thigh. My immediate reaction was to move away, and I thought “what a weird man he is”. I was so innocent and did not know his intention. It was only a long time after that I learned about “Homosexuality” and hence the explanation for this strange behaviour.

Japanese Encounter: It was an amazing feat for Japan to emerge as the most advanced economy in Asia, just two decades after its surrender in 1945. In 1960’s, Japanese tourists came to visit Hong Kong in large number, most of the time in group tours, led by a guide brandishing a small flag on a long stick. The local people admired and have great respect for the Japanese tourists for their good, quiet, discreet, disciplined behavior. Somehow, I made acquaintance with a Japanese gentleman in his late thirties, he was posted to Hong Kong and lived in a Company paid apartment on Austin Road. He was learning French and at his request, I spent several months helping him practice his French. It was free lesson, but this gentleman unselfishly reciprocated with a gift. It is in me to help anybody who seeks my assistance, to the best of my ability, without expecting any reward. It is my philosophy that if everyone can help one other person, this world would be a better place to live.