Wanchai → Kowloon Tsai → Argyle Street → Chuk Yuen (Mount Lion Rock)
I was born just after World War II in Wanchai, at 37 Stone Nullah Street. Life was simple yet full of character. Our home was close to the old market streets where hawkers sold vegetables, meat, and steaming street food. Today that neighbourhood has become a heritage area, preserving the charm of pre-war Hong Kong — but back then, it was simply the place where ordinary people lived, worked, and struggled.
Along the large nullah (open waterway), crowds gathered every day to enjoy cheap and delicious cooked food — congee, Chinese donuts, and steamed rice rolls. You could add soy sauce, hot sauce, or even white sugar. My favourite was puppy congee (仔仔粥). I loved it so much that I often asked my mother to buy two bowls, and I finished them right on the spot.
The Move to Kowloon Tsai — And the Night of the Great Fire
When I was around five, we moved to Kowloon Tsai, into a two-storey wooden house sitting at the foot of a small hill. Many families around us made their living weaving rattan furniture. The neighbourhood was filled with the sound of rattan being split and shaped, and the earthy smell of rattan strips drying in the sun.
But our stay there was short-lived.
One Christmas Eve, in the freezing cold, a huge fire suddenly broke out right in front of our wooden building. The flames spread with terrifying speed. My father immediately led us up the small hill behind the house. We escaped just in time before the building was engulfed.
The sky turned fiery red, glowing like a furnace. I watched in shock as huge burning planks and pieces of timber were lifted into the air by the rising heat. It was a frightening sight — one that has stayed with me my whole life.
Homeless in Argyle Street — Life in Palm-Leaf Shelters
After the fire, we were left with nothing. The government temporarily housed us in shelters made of palm leaves and branches, somewhere along Argyle Street and Hau Wong Road, near where the Prince Hotel later stood.
During that period — about a year and a half — there was no proper schooling. For kids my age, there were only occasional group play sessions organized to keep us busy. But deep inside, I longed to go to a real school, to see teachers, to sit in a classroom, and to learn like other children.
Those early days of waiting, hoping, and growing up in hardship became precious memories — simple but meaningful moments that shaped my childhood.
A New Beginning at Chuk Yuen — My First Real School
Eventually, we were told we would be resettled in Chuk Yuen, right at the foot of Lion Rock — the mountain that later became a symbol of Hong Kong's resilience.
By then, I was around seven years old.
There was a newly built school nearby called Chuk Yuen Ling Tao Primary School. By great fortune, I was admitted directly into Primary 3, partly because I was a tall boy and looked older.
That school was where I truly began my learning journey — English, Chinese, and arithmetic. I still remember the English textbook from those days. One of the very first lessons was called “A Man and a Pen”. Simple words, simple sentences — but to a young boy who had longed for education, it was exciting and fun.
I completed my primary education there and graduated at age 12.
Time flies quietly, and without noticing it, 68 years have passed since those days.
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