Equal parts interesting, entertaining and informative, a compact new book, Diamond Hill, Memories of Growing Up in a Hong Kong Squatter Village (2009, Blacksmith Books, Hong Kong, 195 pages) opens the floodgates of nostalgia for anyone who lived near the mouth of the Pearl River in the 1950s and '60s.
But not all the memories are pleasant. Author Feng Chi-shun spent his childhood coping with poverty. His memoirs show the value of perseverance, street smarts and good luck. “Diamond Hill was one of the poorest and most backward of villages in Hong Kong at a time when Hong Kong itself was poor and backward. My family moved there in 1956 when I was almost 10. I left in 1966 when I was 19. Those were the formative years of my life. It's a time that I remember well and cherish.”
With Hong Kong then “a city of dirt-poor refugees who had fled post-war hardship or communist rule in Mainland China”, Feng reflects a survival mentality. “Esthetics aside, all food consists of protein, carbohydrate and fat in varying proportions and mixed in with minerals and water and perhaps some vitamins. Food was food, and the cheaper the better.”
Rich or poor, people can enjoy themselves. “I had lots of fun growing up, even though I don't remember my parents ever bringing home any toys for me. I managed to create fun playing with things that were free or dirt cheap. For example, we collected and played with bottle caps….”
Sometimes lack of money actually brings benefits. “They sold beer to juveniles in Diamond Hill. We even drank it in front of the storekeepers. But no worries, the beer drinking never got out of hand, not because of my mental fortitude, but because of my cash flow problem. Being poor had its advantages.”
Feng discusses many issues. His chapters cover the likes of food, gambling, gangsters, the local movie industry and even dogs. “We gambled on anything…. When no other gambling tool was available or allowable (for instance, in a classroom), we gambled by flipping a book and using the page number as a card surrogate….”
Corrupt policemen accepted bribes. “Many thugs wore hats…. We watched a policeman trying to chase down a thug, and dramatically the hat fell off, and that stopped the policeman in his tracks because he had to pick up the hat and look for clues inside. Some older guy told us, in a conspiratorial tone, that there would be a hundred-dollar bill tucked inside.”
Animals too faced daily perils. “All the feral dogs were Chinese breeds. They were known to be intelligent, loyal and unfortunately, edible. Foreign dogs… usually could find a home. No one would eat foreign dogs either because their meat was considered ‘poisonous’. They were the lucky ones…. When a stray dog walked past a few hungry young men, anything could happen.”
Even for readers from other backgrounds, the details fascinate. “Apart from the main road, all access roads in Diamond Hill were narrow lanes or paths crisscrossing all over the place. Houses were built in a random fashion and were of two types: legal ones built of bricks and mortar, and illegal shanty huts built in whatever space was left.”
Rough-and-tumble Diamond Hill had more villains than saints. “Real fights were spontaneous, and usually involved weapons. They were scary, because, fueled by testosterone and the ‘face’ thing, no one ever backed down. There would be blood.”
Like all of Hong Kong, the Diamond Hill district has changed. Urban renewal obliterated Feng's old haunts. “The unique Diamond Hill way of life made us, its one-time inhabitants, for better or worse, what we are today. We, in turn, played a part in making Hong Kong what it is today. There is no more Diamond Hill the way it was and never will be again.” Without this book, even the memories would fade.
Some reviewers liken Feng's work to Martin Booth's memoirs, Gweilo, about a blond-haired foreign boy in 1950s Hong Kong. Longer, more comprehensive and full of youthful fascination, Gweilo is the better book, but Diamond Hill has a big advantage too. Truly an insider's view, it more fully shares certain aspects of Cantonese culture, habits and history.
Unfortunately, Feng didn't write nearly enough. Surely, the rich experiences of his “poor” childhood could have filled twice as many pages. Thin books may be best when the authors have little to offer, but no one reading Diamond Hill will accept that excuse.
Luckily when relying on memories, Feng recalls a lot, everything from a Chinese medical practitioner “with snakes and baby mice in Chinese wine on exhibit in his shop window” to a wide stream where “households nearby did laundry and washed dishes”. One schoolteacher, “a pretentious man who had greasy hair and wore a bow-tie all year round”, even resembles Hong Kong chief executive Donald Tsang.
Yet recollections alone sometimes fall short. “Nobody knew why it was called Diamond Hill. There were certainly no diamond mines, nor diamonds on anyone's fingers…. It felt like a sick joke on the thousands of people there struggling to survive in poverty.” Most writers would have researched and properly explained how the place got its name.
A pathologist, Feng has written scientific articles and newspaper columns. Now a grandfather and more affluent, he enjoys wine, cigars, a little gambling and playing golf, tennis or pool.
With Diamond Hill, small publisher Blacksmith Books persists in a delightful habit of finding new authors to tell worthy tales. Let's hope for more of the same.
Approval rating: 71 per cent.
For more information: www.blacksmithbooks.com
(November 18, 2009)
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