02/10/2026
A new blog for the Historical Photographs of Hong Kong platform by Prof. Ray Yep, Research Director of the Hong Kong History Centre. Ray’s research focuses on Cold War history and colonial governance of Hong Kong. His latest publications include Man in a hurry: Murray MacLehose and Colonial Autonomy in Hong Kong (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press 2024).
https://blog.hphkbristol.net/2026/09/22/island-boy/
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I could easily summarize my childhood in one word: immobility.
Like many of my peers growing up in the early 1970s, Hong Kong Island was my whole world. It was a big deal to cross the harbour! This was a time when the idea of the Mass Transit Railway was still on the drawing board, and Hong Kong Island was connected to Kowloon Peninsula only by ferries. For some unknown reason, Kowloon was seen as mysterious and “dangerous.” The older generation had this impression because, until 1967, major riots such as the Double-Tenth Riots in 1956 and the Star Ferry Riots in 1966 were largely confined to Kowloon and beyond. On the Island side, you could easily find symbols and statues of colonialism, government buildings, and architecture that projected a sense of public authority and prosperity. For many people, these were reassuring signs of stability.
I never had a good sense of the geography of the Kowloon Peninsula.
For a Hong Kong boy, the traffic on this side of the harbour was straightforward and simple. You just got on the tram in Shau Kei Wan, where I lived, and if you travelled all the way west, you would eventually arrive at the western end of the harbourfront in Kennedy Town. There were not many twists and turns along the way, unless you preferred to make a diversion to Happy Valley or North Point. Kowloon, by contrast, was a maze for me. I could manage Tsim Sha Tsui, Yau Ma Tei, and Mong Kok simply because you could follow Nathan Road. But I would get lost almost anywhere beyond the end of the road.
An excursion to Kowloon was a special occasion, and I can, in fact, recall the first time I landed on the other side of the harbour: 2 August 1972. It was the day the Cross-Harbour Tunnel opened. I still have a vivid memory of that day. The opening was marked by the spectacle of Governor Murray MacLehose, together with TV star Lydia Sum, travelling in an open-top antique car, followed by a cavalcade of guests and reporters. I was, of course, not part of the parade, but my father took me down to the tunnel later that night. It was literally and metaphorically a journey into uncharted waters! This was probably the longest bus journey I had ever taken up to that point. For an island boy, a journey from Shau Kei Wan to Lai Chi Kok was nothing short of monumental.
It is, however, an overstatement to claim that I was an island boy. My childhood was much more parochial than that. My universe was, in fact, confined to the district of Shau Kei Wan. I lived in Ming Wah Estate, a gigantic public housing estate with thirteen blocks housing more than 15,000 residents. It was a time when the colonial government had finally decided to invest more in addressing the housing needs of a rapidly growing population. I went to Tung Wah Primary School, which was within a 15-minute walk from home. During my six years there, I cannot recall a single classmate who did not live in Ming Wah!
Shau Kei Wan was regarded as a backwater in those years, but you did not really feel the urge to go elsewhere, as everything you needed was within easy reach. Shau Kei Wan Main Street East, or locally known as Tung Tai Street, had already established the reputation it has today as a destination for good and inexpensive street food, now celebrated by KOLs and influencers. You could easily feed yourself with noodles or fish-ball soup at a very cheap price. Around the corner was the Wing Wah Theatre, where I saw Bruce Lee’s The Way of the Dragon six times. You could easily sneak into a cinema without buying a ticket in those days.
The new school year always began with a visit to the Chinese Products Company opposite the cinema, where you could find cheap stationery. However, we usually stayed away from it because it was regarded as a “leftist” establishment. The term “leftist” was used to describe those who were sympathetic to Communist China and were regarded as troublemakers after 1967.
Although shopping was not a regular pastime, working-class kids liked to earn some pocket money every now and then. The good news was that there were opportunities aplenty nearby. You could find workshops on Factory Street that offered a small sum for helping with packaging. All you had to do was put the different body parts of Barbie and Ken together and pack them into a box! This was a time when toy production in Hong Kong was at its peak.
We always rewarded our hard work with a treat at an “American restaurant.” Believe it or not, a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant opened in Shau Kei Wan in 1973. It unfortunately closed shortly afterwards, but the image of Colonel Sanders remained one of the Western faces I was familiar with.
Life was parochial, but life was cool. This is where I called home.
