day as I was walking down the street, an old man ran up to me. He was an opium den owner—an important man in the Walled City. He had the skeleton face of an opium addict, with gray-tinged hollow cheeks from a lifetime of taking the sweet stuff. He was beside himself with rage. “Poon Siu Jeh—Miss Poon,” he cried. “You must complain to the police!”
“Why should I complain?” I asked him.
“They’ve closed all the opium dens.” He was outraged and indignant.
“I’m delighted the police have closed the opium dens,” I replied. “Why do you want me to complain?”
“Because they’ve let the heroin dens stay open, and we’ve all paid them the same money. It’s not fair!”
No right and wrong. Just fair and unfair.
A young man named Joseph was one of the earliest Youth Club presidents. Unlike Nicholas and Chan Wo Sai, he had no overt connections with vice. His father had remarried when he was six, and his new wife did not like her stepchildren, so she did not feed them. Joseph and his sister, Jenny, were sent out to beg with plastic bowls or to grub through a rubbish heap for food. They were rescued by a pastor in the New Territories and sent to Mrs. Donnithorne’s Mission School. Having finished primary school, Joseph got himself a room and worked as a coolie whenever he could. His sister soon joined him there.
Characters such as Nicholas would drop in on him and stay the night, and his room became a breeding ground for gangsters. His sister, Jenny, however, was in moral danger. At 15, she was very pretty and reveled in release from her highly supervised Christian hostel. Now she could talk all night with her brother’s friends—or go out with them. She was not at school, and it was great fun. I thought that if she remained in Joseph’s room, there was only one way she could go.
I could not offer them both a home, as I was already sharing my Hong Kong room with another Walled City girl, Rachel. But I thought I could squeeze Jenny in, so I bullied her out of the Walled City to live with me. I found her a secondary school and bought the uniform, the books and the lunches. She was not grateful; she wanted to be back in the Walled City, and she caused many headaches during the next year that she lived with us.
One of our regular attendees, Christopher, lived in the Walled City in a house that could only be described as a loft. To find it, you had to walk down a narrow street where nolight penetrated; the houses were built so close to each other that it was like going down a tunnel. When you reached a couple of hencoops made from soft drink crates, you had found their home. It was very, very smelly. Beside the coops and up some wooden ladders you reached the living level; you had to open Christopher’s door from underneath, exactly like a trap door. There was just one room over the chickens; should it catch fire everyone would be burned to death. Escape was impossible except by lifting the door and going down the wooden ladder. The family sleeping quarters were behind a curtain; there you found a pair of wooden bunk beds, one on top of the other. Everyone slept in these two beds—everyone being six brothers and sisters, plus the parents.
The rest of the single room was taken up with huge piles of plastic objects, which Christopher’s mother assembled. She earned about HK $1 a day for this work. All the children had to help her assemble these plastic parts; they began working as soon as they were three or four years old. Christopher’s younger sister did not finish primary school; she was sent to work in a factory as soon as she was 13. She was badly paid for the sweated labor and every dollar and cent she earned had to be given to her mother—she was not allowed to keep anything for herself. Although already exhausted by a 10- or 12-hour day and a crowded bus journey, when she eventually returned home, she had as many as 4 more hours of work ahead of her sewing on sequins. One sweater would
“Why should I complain?” I asked him.
“They’ve closed all the opium dens.” He was outraged and indignant.
“I’m delighted the police have closed the opium dens,” I replied. “Why do you want me to complain?”
“Because they’ve let the heroin dens stay open, and we’ve all paid them the same money. It’s not fair!”
No right and wrong. Just fair and unfair.
A young man named Joseph was one of the earliest Youth Club presidents. Unlike Nicholas and Chan Wo Sai, he had no overt connections with vice. His father had remarried when he was six, and his new wife did not like her stepchildren, so she did not feed them. Joseph and his sister, Jenny, were sent out to beg with plastic bowls or to grub through a rubbish heap for food. They were rescued by a pastor in the New Territories and sent to Mrs. Donnithorne’s Mission School. Having finished primary school, Joseph got himself a room and worked as a coolie whenever he could. His sister soon joined him there.
Characters such as Nicholas would drop in on him and stay the night, and his room became a breeding ground for gangsters. His sister, Jenny, however, was in moral danger. At 15, she was very pretty and reveled in release from her highly supervised Christian hostel. Now she could talk all night with her brother’s friends—or go out with them. She was not at school, and it was great fun. I thought that if she remained in Joseph’s room, there was only one way she could go.
I could not offer them both a home, as I was already sharing my Hong Kong room with another Walled City girl, Rachel. But I thought I could squeeze Jenny in, so I bullied her out of the Walled City to live with me. I found her a secondary school and bought the uniform, the books and the lunches. She was not grateful; she wanted to be back in the Walled City, and she caused many headaches during the next year that she lived with us.
One of our regular attendees, Christopher, lived in the Walled City in a house that could only be described as a loft. To find it, you had to walk down a narrow street where nolight penetrated; the houses were built so close to each other that it was like going down a tunnel. When you reached a couple of hencoops made from soft drink crates, you had found their home. It was very, very smelly. Beside the coops and up some wooden ladders you reached the living level; you had to open Christopher’s door from underneath, exactly like a trap door. There was just one room over the chickens; should it catch fire everyone would be burned to death. Escape was impossible except by lifting the door and going down the wooden ladder. The family sleeping quarters were behind a curtain; there you found a pair of wooden bunk beds, one on top of the other. Everyone slept in these two beds—everyone being six brothers and sisters, plus the parents.
The rest of the single room was taken up with huge piles of plastic objects, which Christopher’s mother assembled. She earned about HK $1 a day for this work. All the children had to help her assemble these plastic parts; they began working as soon as they were three or four years old. Christopher’s younger sister did not finish primary school; she was sent to work in a factory as soon as she was 13. She was badly paid for the sweated labor and every dollar and cent she earned had to be given to her mother—she was not allowed to keep anything for herself. Although already exhausted by a 10- or 12-hour day and a crowded bus journey, when she eventually returned home, she had as many as 4 more hours of work ahead of her sewing on sequins. One sweater would
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