Speaking of memorable cuisines from Yim Tin Tsai, the first one that comes to mind would be “salted mandarin fish”. The fish itself is long in shape. Upon marinating, the dry-cured fillets become light coffee brown. It’s so delicious; I could devour a few bowls of rice with this as a side dish. Another one of my favorite dish would be salted river snails. We would always collect some and steam them with eggs. It tastes so good! The snails were marinated with salt as well. I used to chew on them back when I was younger and still had teeth, and they were so tasty. Among other delicacies are Hakka dishes. If you went on the day of Mass, there would be some dishes similar to “Poon Choi” with dried pike eels and bamboo shoots lining the bottom of the dish.

It was a totally different world from now. Back then, we didn’t have many food choices. When we were kids, we had to ration a single orange our mom bought. The memory that stuck with me was when we had to play Rock, Paper, Scissors just to get 3 portions of mango. Everyone wanted the mango pit because you could suck on it for quite a while. In addition to side dishes, we only had homemade Cha Kwo (Hakka Steamed Glutinous Rice Cake) as snacks. Chinese feverine, *Sau Fan and *Chinese feverine sticky rice dumplings were also well-known snacks in Sai Kung.

*Sau Fan is steamed food made from glutinous rice flour and peanut. It was commonly served as a festive snack and a food offering in the villages in the New Territories. (Source: Hong Kong Intangible Cultural Heritage Database, 2021)

*Chinese feverine sticky rice dumpling is made from leaves of Paederia scandens (Chinese feverine) glutinous rice flour, rice flour and peanuts through the steaming process. It is served as a food offering for the ancestors during the Ching Ming Festival. (Source: Hong Kong Intangible Cultural Heritage Database, 2021)

When I was a child, my mom told me an interesting story about names and seniority. Our names have a hierarchical order of “Wing, Wah, Fu, Gwei” (glory, splendor, wealth and rank). My father has the character “Wing” in his name, so I should have the character “Wah” in my name, while my son should include the character “Fu” in his. As the story goes, there was an official vessel transporting taxes to turn over to the Imperial Court, but it ended up capsizing near Yim Tin Tsai due to a huge storm. It was then in the 1910s that some people tried to salvage the anchor which was made of silver. But then, a fierce storm struck, and even those looking for the anchor were caught up in the tempest and went missing. According to the structure of the vessel, it was said that there were 18 compartments, each of which had 18 cabins with 18 rows inside each, and there were 18 taels of gold in every row. My mom said if my next generation had twin sons, they might be able to find the treasure. More accurately speaking, all twin boys in Yim Tin Tsai with a “Gwei” in their names were also blessed with this opportunity. Yes, you didn’t hear me wrong; you had to give birth to twin boys for a chance to find the treasure. Can you believe it? Speaking of which my grand-aunt also mentioned Fo Siu Leng, and said that only the pre-destined ones could see will-o-the-wisps indicating the location of some kind of treasure emanating from the ground. I’m not too sure about that one though.

Back then, there were pirates that ransacked Yim Tin Tsai in broad daylight. However, because these pirates came during the day, they were discovered by watchmen, who would then notify the villagers in time so that everyone had time to hide away their valuables. That’s why the pirates could never find anything to loot, nor could they capture any villagers as slaves. However, there was one time before New Year’s when everyone was so busy steaming Niangao (New Year rice cakes), they didn’t realize that the pirates were approaching the shore until it was too late. It was only after alerts were sounded that the villagers immediately dropped everything they were doing and fled. That’s why there were no Niangao to eat for that New Year. There was also an auntie who had to hide behind a pile of firewood because she couldn’t flee in time, and witnessed the entire ransacking through the slits of the woodpile.

The pirates came again on a dark, windy night, and even the watchmen were asleep. The pirates arrived at the pier, but just when they were about to moor the ship up, they saw an old man clothed in white. He raised his arm, and the pirates were blown out to sea by some gust of wind. The same thing happened the second time the pirates came. For the third time, they switched tactics and rowed in by boat. As they approached, however, the old man raised his arm again, and a huge gale blew all the ships away. The next morning, as some people went out to sea for fishing (besides salt making, fishing was also a prevalent industry in Yim Tin Tsai), they came across two men floating in the ocean, and holding onto decayed logs for their dear lives. It was winter then, and they did not know that the men were pirates, so they brought the men home, made ginger soup and drew a bath for them. Just then, a woman passed by and recognized one of the men as the pirates that ransacked the village. Apparently, she was the auntie who hid behind a pile of wood and witnessed the entire incident. She told the villagers that he was a pirate. The thieving pirate confessed his wrongdoings, but not before he was beaten up by the villagers, and was handed over to the police. People could not help but wonder why the old man resembled Father Joseph as mentioned by Rev. Freinademetz.

I grew up here in Yim Tin Tsai village, but then I moved to England years later. Looking back, I can see how much the village has changed since I left in the 1970s. Even back then, the village houses were already falling apart, even though the village was once quite large with over three hundred residents. What many people may not know is that the village used to have two salt ponds, one of which was at the salt farm, and the other is now the Salt and Light Preservation Centre site. We also had a dam in the village, so when the water level went up, water would flow into the dam. The area surrounding these salt ponds was filled with fields where we used to grow crops, whereas the fields where we grew vegetables were called “Che” in our village.

As the eldest son in the family, I had to help with farming despite being a boy. For example, when I was young, I used to wake up early in the morning to look after the oxen before going to school in the afternoon. Speaking of farming, it is a subject of specific knowledge too, involving two planting seasons.

The first planting season usually started after the Chinese New Year, as the weather began to warm up. We would use grains from the previous year and wait for them to sprout before scattering them in the fields to grow seedlings. The soil, rich in nutrients, facilitated the seedlings’ fast growth. Once they reached about six or seven inches in height, we would start preparing for the next planting of rice seedlings, which usually took place in June or mid-June.

During the farming process, we relied on oxen to plow the fields, which would pull the rakes and mix the mud thoroughly, so that it does not clump together. I remember the rake was quite large, measuring about four or five feet in width, and looked like some oversized needles. After the oxen had done their job, we helped our mother in placing the seedlings into the seedling trays and brought them to the fields. As the fields were filled with water, the seedling trays stayed afloat, and the adults would proceed to plant the seedlings in the rice fields.

Among the people I encountered during my time at Ching Po School, the ones I miss the most are Principal Wu Pak Yeung and Mr Tong (Tong Kai On). Principal Wu left a lasting impression on me with his kindness and care, whereas Mr Tong was my English teacher, without his guidance, I would have struggled to grasp even the basics of English in primary school. Even though my English was not particularly good when I first arrived in England, Mr Tong's effective teaching methods helped me establish a solid foundation in the language, making the English learning process much smoother for me. In 2019, upon my return to Hong Kong, I had the opportunity to meet up with Mr Tong for dim sum and tea. We did have a great reunion and have since maintained a strong relationship.

In Yim Tin Tsai, even the oxen could enjoy a time off around Chinese New Year. During this period, we would cross the “Yuk Dai Kiu” (Jade-Girdle Bridge) and head to Kau Sai Chau to let the oxen have some time of leisure. You might assume they were granted time off for only a few hours, but no- Their holiday lasted for several days or more. Instead of tying them up, we allowed them to roam freely on their own. After the Chinese New Year, we would pick them up to bring them back home. I have seen some cases where some oxen might get lost because they are injured or even dead. It also happened to me once, and it took my mother three days of searching before we found our missing ox as, you see, these animals held great importance to our family in those days.

When I was in school, we didn't have to go to school until the afternoon, but of course we still had tasks to do in the morning. Things include taking care of the oxen and sometimes working in the fields, particularly during the farming season. School usually started at around 12 pm and ended at 4 pm, so we only had a few hours of lessons back then. At school, we learned the basics like Mandarin (Chinese), English, and Mathematics. Other than these we also had art classes where we learned how to draw and the skills of paper folding, creating shapes like boats or airplanes. The most distinctive classes we had was Bible reading and letter writing lessons.

Speaking of using a large strobe light in fishing, my uncle and I used to go fishing a lot with that. I must say he really was an expert at spearfishing with a strobe light, and I looked up to him for his amazing skills. There was a type of fish that we called “ching zam” among ourselves – it was a long, flat, greenish fish with a pointed mouth that can grow to 2 to 3 inches in body length. Whenever we went after this fish, my uncle always could accurately hit the target nine times out of ten with his sharp eyes. I was always amazed by his skill and precision. We usually went to shallow waters for spearfishing where we could also find some manila clams and grey mullet fish. Back then, people used fish bombs to catch those grey mullet fish, but this practice is now banned.

When it comes to Chinese New Year, my mother would always start making the "Hakka Style Chinese New Year rice cake" at home. It was quite a tough task that required special tools and lots of preparation work. First, we had to crush the glutinous rice into fine powder using a special tool made up of several parts- a long board with a foot pedal on one end and a granite pestle on the other end. It was somewhat like a seesaw, with a person stepping on one side and the pestle grinding down the rice. Usually it was the women, like my mother, took charge of the task, and often she would start the work at night. Given the large size of the cake, we need to have them steamed for a long time, which was why we had to prepare everything ahead of time, including cutting down the firewood and grass before Chinese New Year.

Apart from the rice cake making, we did have a vibrant celebration in the village during Chinese New Year too. On New Year’s Eve, we would take a stroll around the village, visiting our neighbors and receive red pockets containing a few cents- maybe 20 cents at most, but still enough for a slice of bread at Uncle Bo's store. We also set off firecrackers, but not fireworks as they were considered too costly for us to afford.

For the adults in our village, the first day of Chinese New Year held a special tradition of playing "Pai Gow," a traditional Chinese dominoes gambling game- not to be confused with "Tien Gow". Instead, the game only required four tiles, and it allows an expansion of players. Let’s say if there were initially eight players, they could have another eight joining the game, enabling dozens of people to participate. While mahjong and "Pai Gow" were popular pastimes among Yim Tin Tsai, including children, we never gambled with real money. What we used to play with was, at most, biscuits as bets, just for fun.

There are a few kinds of foods that I really miss after moving to the UK: Right at the top of my list is sticky rice cake, a traditional food that seems no one is making in the UK. Even if I make it on my own, the taste is simply different. Back in the days when I was living in the village, we would handle the preparation of everything ourselves- growing our own glutinous rice and grinding it into powder. However, in the UK, those ingredients can only be bought in the supermarket, and I don’t have firewood here to steam the cake, that’s why there is such a distinct difference. I remember our Hakka dumplings used to last for two to three months, but now they turn moldy in just a few days.

Another couple of foods that I really miss are Rose Myrtle Fruit and Wild Kumquat. When I was a kid, we used to see them all the time, and I miss them dearly now. Wild kumquat is similar in size to a Chinese New Year citrus, but slightly smaller, with a sweet and sour flavor, whereas Rose myrtle fruit has a purplish hue and a long, round shape once it ripens. I also miss Screw Pine, also known as Fake Pineapple. This kind of fruit is typically grown near the seaside and has a sweet taste. When the fruit gets overripe, even the core becomes soft. We usually ate them when they were half-ripe, and what we would do was to soak the core in salty water before eating it. Screw pine and pineapples share a very similar shape, but unlike pineapples, screw pine’s individual segments can be easily eaten without the need of cutting them into pieces, with a size that is slightly larger than your thumb. Pineapples, on the other hand, require utensils to be sliced before eating.

I still can recall there was a Father, named Fan loi Leung (Valeriano Fraccaro）, whom I can remember very well because of his genuine kindness towards children in our relatively poor village. He would often bring us small treats, such as candies or small cans of Eagle Condensed Milk. He also liked to play little games with us – every time he spotted us when he was docking his boat, he would give us presents by tossing them into the sea for us to fetch. These simple gestures brought us so much joy and made us feel cherished by Father Fan.

Furthermore, he showed great concern for the well-being of our village. Recognizing the struggling economy of our village, he worked with the owner of Sai Kung’s "Chan Fuk Shing Bakery", specialized in making Chinese cakes, Western cakes, and mooncakes. To support their production, we established a moon cake club. Father Fan worked closely with the bakery to create these delicious treats, generously distributing them to us children in the village. Other than cakes, bread was also made available during this time.

Father Kan was a remarkable priest with an astonishing height and a distinctive moustache. He also speaks Hakka very fluently, making me believe that he had stayed in Hong Kong for a long time. When speaking of the cannon firing practice took place in our village, I always recall Father Kan. At that time, the British often conducted cannon firing practices on Yim Tin Tsai and Kau Sai Chau (and this was why the islands were known as “Tai Pao Ling’, the mountain with big cannons). One time, the soldiers arrived on the island for the practice and pointed their guns at us, frightening us not to go outdoors. While we were scared to death, we heard them firing their guns, and the loud gunshots had probably destroyed parts of the church.

Later, Father Kan arrived on the island and noticed that the church windows were broken. He mistook us as the culprits and scolded us for being naughty. We, of course, explained what had happened on the island immediately. After he confirmed that the damage was caused by the firing practice, he apologised to us sincerely with embarrassment on his face. Later, he even wrote a complaint letter to the military, and luckily received some compensation for repairing the church. His bravery of confronting the military, as well as his fluency in Hakka had left a vivid impression on me.

There was once an unique priest on our island. Although I have forgotten his name, I do remember him wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt and dress pants, unlike other priests who dressed in wave-coloured vestments. He often played with us and he was quite playful as I recall.

The priests who visited our village in the past had a close relationship with our community. Father Giorgio Caruso was one such priest, who was from my parents' generation and was quite old. I recall a visit to St. Teresa's Hospital where we visited “Uncle”, a man of higher social status in our village (but not much older than us) who had returned from England to seek treatment for a medical condition in his hands. Along the way, we spoke Hakka to each other and were surprised when a short Westerner approached us and began speaking in Hakka, asking if we were from Yim Tin Tsai. It was Father Giorgio Caruso, whom I had never met before, but the older generation recognized him. He was thrilled to see us and even remembered the names of some of our elders, asking if they were still around. When I mentioned Uncle Hong (transliteration), who had gone to England, Father Caruso remembered him and many other people from our village very well.

When I think of the St. Joseph's Chapel feast day, memories flood back of my time as an altar boy, where I served twice and even received two service awards, it was just amazing. The highlight of the feast day was undoubtedly the Eucharistic Procession that took place throughout the entire village. We made our way to the pier to bless the boat people and fellow believers before returning to the church. The feast continued with a tea session where everyone gathered to chat, savour Chinese tea, and munch on cookies. The line was long, and the church was packed with villagers and visitors from other churches, including those from Sai Kung and the boat people. As there were not a lot arrangements, the boat people arrived in their boats from around Sai Kung to attend the feast day.

I think the craziest thing I had ever done in the village was leading a team to play hide-and-seek at night. We called it "cops and robbers" and played in the village. First, we divided ourselves into two groups, each with about ten people, one group played as the cops and the other as the robbers. I had to lead my team of robbers to find hiding spots where the cops couldn't track us down. When we heard they were getting closer, we had to move to another spot. We played all night, and they couldn't find us at all.

There was actually a technique to hiding - we started by hiding in the forest near the basketball court and then moved to another place after a while. In our last move, I took my team onto our boat, and we got on board. The other team never managed to find us. Haha. As it was late at night, we had to use flashlights to see, and someone had to be on guard. If we heard someone approaching, we had to hide immediately, turn off our flashlights, and keep quiet. After they left, we switched places again. Looking back now, it was quite unbelievable that we were not afraid of snakes, rats, ants, and other animals that were common in rural areas.

At Ching Po School, some teachers used game-based methods for teaching. It was fortunate for students to be able to attend school. As I recall a teacher once said some students would go fishing at sea and often return to school without completing their homework, which would not be allowed these days. In the past, they understood that many children of fishermen had to help their fathers catch fish among other things late at night and still had try to complete all the homework when they returned home. After school, they would usually have a meal first and then take a short nap before being woken up at around 12-1am to head out and catch fish. Therefore, it was understandable that they might not have enough time to finish their homework. Even if they had to revise for exams, they could only use the limited time they had when they were at school. In the end, when they sat for examinations, their results were already expected.

As a rustic school, Ching Po School only had a few school rules and was relatively lax. One of our teachers even taught while holding a soda. The school was located next to a store selling snacks, so the teacher would walk over and buy a soda during class, teaching and drinking at the same time. We were all very happy and could have fun together. The teacher even offered me a soda, but I declined. Nowadays, it's hard to experience the same kind of rustic school life. These teachers had a significant impact on our character development, not only treated us well but also cared for our families. They took us swimming and explored the hills. I still remember picking star fruit, corn, sugarcane, longan, and lychee while walking towards the pier, there were so many fruits around the island.

We might not be good at studying nor have any academic qualifications, but we received a lot warmth from one another during our school lives. At this rustic school, we had a close-knit community even up to now. In contrast, as everyone continues living in a different way after leaving the school, graduates from other schools may not greet, or acknowledge each other after decades. Luckily, we can still keep in touch with graduates from different generation, holding gatherings occasionally and taking photos together. If we came across our teachers, we would invite them to join our gatherings as well. This kind of relationship was so valuable and cannot be found in an ordinary school.

“Miss Yuen.” Whenever we heard of this name, we would immediately feel intimidated: Her thick ruler had left a lot of invisible scars on us. While getting caned by her ruler, we had to stay still and tried not to shrink back, or else we would get beaten a few times more. Still, because of her strict personality, we had learnt a lot in her class. As children who were not fond of learning new things, our learning attitude depended on the teaching style of the teachers. When a teacher adopted a more relaxed teaching approach, we would become more sluggish. Yet, during Miss. Yuen’s Chinese class, we could only focus on her teachings and behave very well. Thanks to Miss Yuen, I achieved extraordinary results in Chinese. Later, when I studied in Tsung Tsin School afterwards, I won many awards for the Chinese subject (I cannot help bragging about my achievements!). Therefore, I am grateful to these teachers, as I would have never been so serious on my studies without their strictness.

Speaking of exams, we took paper-based exams at Ching Po School, just like other schools at that time. Our teachers would give us an idea of which topics and lessons would be covered in the exam. They would also come to school early to help us review and provide tips for the exam. We also had the opportunity to participate in the school’s sports day and swimming gala, which we had to qualify for. To qualify for the swimming gala, we would practice in the sea near the pier to see who could swim the fastest. To qualify for the sports day, we would sprint near the church to see who was the fastest or practice running on an outdoor space on Kau Sai Chau.

During those days, Ching Po School had two classrooms. The morning classes were for Primary 1-2, while the afternoon was reserved for Primary 3-6 students. During our breaks, students from different grade levels would gather and play together. But actually, even if the students from Primary 3-6 all gathered together, there were only around a dozen students or more. We would often gather at the playground near the church, where we enjoyed various games like Hide-and-Seek, Double Dutch, The Big Wind Blows, and Hopscotch. The Big Wind Blows was an interesting game, where one person took on the role of the "ghost" (who didn't have a seat), while the rest of us sat on chairs. The ghost would take away chairs one by one, and we would switch or fight for seats with the ghost until only one person remained without a seat. Then, that person would lose and face the agreed-upon punishment. We also enjoyed playing an old-school classic called Hawk Catches the Young Chicken.

We had some interactions with the Hakka people in our village. There was a kind villager who took a liking to me and often invited me to join him in the fields to pick corn and dig sweet potatoes. He would even steam the sweet potatoes for us. Because of these outings, everyone assumed I was a Hakka person. There was also an elderly lady who liked my brother and me, that she would bring us to the fields all the time as well. Hardly anyone would believe that we grew rice in Hong Kong that time, but it was indeed true. As a child, I spent a lot of time in the fields, enjoying the cool water as it gently soaked my feet—a truly pleasant experience. I remember when we were at school, the rice crops would bend toward our direction, which was truly picturesque, that’s why I still remember that vivid scene today. And that’s also the reason why my gaze, even in class, would often drift towards the direction of the paddy fields. At that time, the rice crops were not yet ready for harvest, so they were gracefully bending over. We would all find ourselves staring at the fields, thinking about when we would finish school and head home.

Let me share an interesting anecdote with you, about one time that we were playing hide-and-seek. To hide away from our friends itself was very enjoyable for us. That time we went to a cemetery in Yim Tin Tsai for our game. After the game, we returned to the classroom, with sweat all over our body. As we were taking the attendance, we realized one of our classmates went missing. Therefore, our teacher immediately asked the entire class to go outside and search for him. Eventually, we discovered him still hidden away in the sheep yard where we had been playing hide-and-seek. Although I could not recall exactly who the classmate was, we always had to take attendance during the first session of class. So if someone was missing, you would know. It turned out that he had been hiding there for quite some time. The sheep yard was quite a distance away, but in those days, we had longer recesses, giving us enough time to have a long game.

The most joyous time of the year was definitely Christmas when the entire school would come together and decorate the church. In such a happy occasion, we would head out and find the perfect pine tree, cut it down, and bring it back to the school. Then, we would decorate it with horsetail grass in preparation for the grand Christmas party. Another task we had was to clean the candlesticks in the church. At that time, Mr. Wu was still there, asking us to clean the candlesticks, which amounts to quite a lot in St. Joseph's Chapel in Yim Tin Tsai. To finish the task, we would gather in a group of about 7 to 10, working with copper cleaner to clean all the candlesticks until they were spotless. You see, all the candlesticks had a dark coating that needed to be scrubbed away. After a few months, Mr Wu would call for volunteers once again, and we would willingly step forward to clean the candlesticks anew. Most of the time, this job was carried out by girls, while boys took part in it less often. Due to the strong odor of the copper cleaner, our hands would retain a distinct, oily smell even after washing them thoroughly.

At Ching Po School, we had two classrooms. Adjacent to the classroom on the right, where the Heritage Exhibition Centre stands today, was a village house where a corner store called Bo's Store was located. It was our go-to spot for snacks and treats, conveniently reachable by just walking a few steps of stone stairs. Operated by villagers, the store offered snacks such as fish satay skewers, which are still available today, along with sausages, sodas, instant noodles, and fish balls. While the selection was similar to what you would find in a modern corner store, the prices were incredibly low back then, usually just a few cents for our favorite treats. Spending time at Bo's Store was more than just buying snacks; it was a place where we enjoyed spending time with each other, too. Looking back, those childhood memories are filled with simple but authentic happiness.

When I was in Primary 1, I had a pretty remarkable school bag. Back in those days, a school bag could be used for one to two years. Have you ever come across those green canvas sling bags from Mainland China? They were the earliest type of school bags we used. Later, they were replaced by green backpacks made of leather and plastic, which became the new norm. Our school uniform consisted of a white top, blue trousers, and white canvas shoes we called "bak fan yu". If you could afford it, you could opt for a pair of sneakers, but if not, you had to settle for a pair of white canvas shoes. Most students had only one set of uniform, which they wore throughout the entire year. Unless you experienced a sudden growth spurt or put on a significant amount of weight, otherwise there was no need to buy a new uniform. Consequently, the school uniform gradually transformed from white to grey, or even to brown, as it endured such a long time of being worn.

Back in the 1970s, Ching Po School had a school emblem. From what I can recall, the emblem featured the sea and the sun, symbolizing our school's proximity to the ocean, and showed the name of our school, Ching Po, too. All of these were crafted on a piece of fabric, and we would carefully sew it onto the pocket of our shirts. But the emblem I just mentioned is the one in my time, I am not very sure if the school had an emblem before.

Each and every teacher at Ching Po School dedicated themselves to their students. I remember a particular incident from my childhood when I had a mishap while on a boat. As a Marine Police vessel passed by, I stumbled and fell, entangling my left foot with my right. Being malnourished, my feet were quite skinny. However, my foot swelled up like a pig's trotter as the result of that accident. My grandmother or father took me to seek help from Mr Tong, who had recently gotten married. I was still in primary school back then. We made our way to Mr Tong's home, where he treated me with great care and even gave me his family's traditional Chinese herbal medicine to rub on my foot to help with the swelling. We spent a long time there, and eventually, my foot healed thanks to the effectiveness of Mr. Tong’s herbal medicine. Actually, Mr Tong had opportunities to teach at more prestigious schools or pursue further studies abroad, but he willingly chose to remain at Ching Po School and continue with his teaching. One time I asked him if he had any regrets about the decision, and it turns out that he expressed no regrets at all. He explained that the reason is the bond he shared with many former Ching Po students was priceless and much more important. Even in his later years, many former Ching Po students kept in touch with him, akin to a family. There is an old Chinese saying that goes, “Once a teacher, always a teacher”. As persons who hold traditional values close to our hearts, we firmly believe in this principle. Even if Mr. Tong had only been my teacher for a single day, he would forever be my teacher in life.

Speaking of the lives of villagers in the past, it was common for them to seek help from fishermen if they suddenly felt ill and needed to go to Sai Kung for medical treatment. This was because there were only two kaito ferry services that went between Yim Tin Tsai and Sai Kung, one in the morning and one in the evening. The fishermen would dock their boats near the Yim Tin Tsai pier and whenever there was an emergency, the villagers would immediately seek assistance from the fishermen to get to a clinic or hospital. You could tell everyone had a good relationship with each other. At that time, there were plenty of food on the entire island, and you could hear the cicadas chirping during spring.

My father is Mr Wu Pak Yeung and he taught at Ching Po School in Yim Tin Tsai from around 1948 to 1974. My father had been teaching in Yim Tin Tsai ever since I was born in 1952. According to my father, he was originally from Mainland China, but then he relocated to Sai Kung in Hong Kong. With the referral of a priest, he initially taught Tsung Tsin School but eventually moved to Yim Tin Tsai. As Sai Kung was separated from Yim Tin Tsai by the sea, the villagers were not able to attend school in Sai Kung every day. This was why Ching Po School was built, so that children of villagers and fishermen could go to school more easily. It was common for teachers to take up multiple roles in a village school, so my father also taught almost every subject. Still, when he became the Principal later, he focused more on administrative tasks, such as managing the development of the school. At that time, the priest was the school supervisor, so my father had to meet the priest and report school affairs to him every week.

My father, Mr Wu, was a busy man. Apart from teaching, he was also in charge of church duties, such as coordinating for Parish Feast day. At home, he spent time grading homework, exam papers, assignments, as well as making exam papers. He sometimes invited his colleagues (some even visited every day for the whole week) over to plan the exam questions, and to have a casual chat together. Besides that, my father and other teachers were responsible for planning the St. Joseph’s Feast Day, which was held on the first Sunday of every May in Yim Tin Tsai. In preparation for this, they would invite a priest for the mass, make arrangements for the liturgy, allocate tasks to each other and prepare refreshments. As far as I know, my father had to take care of other religious activities at the same time, for instance, the joint-school sports day. All Sai Kung village schools, including those from Sha Tsui, Sai Wan and Long Ke, were invited to the Sports Day at Sai Kung Tsun Tsing College. My father would then cooperate with other representatives to allocate roles to different schools, make arrangements for the student athletes and complete other related tasks. Due to his busy schedule, my father rarely talked with us, and we could only learn about his work from the sidelines.

My father Mr Wu was a teacher and alumni of Ching Po School, and had a great bond with the former students. Many of his students that went to the United Kingdom (especially for those that went there) would often return to Sai Kung and Yim Tin Tsai every few years to visit him. They would even bring their spouses, family members and children along. Even though there wasn’t any proper transportation to the village, the villagers and former students all kept in touch with my father, and they were willing to travel to visit my father on the island.

Among the nine siblings in our family, we rarely took photos with our father, Mr Wu, nor were there any family portraits, because we believed that our father was always in our hearts. Despite being a teacher, he wasn’t very demanding towards us, and would even give us some advice occasionally. I vividly remember the time we had to practise Chinese calligraphy with a writing brush on a 3x3 square grid, and my father would try to snatch the brush from my hand to check if we held the brush strongly enough. If he managed to snatch it out of my hand, he would give me an earful and asked me why I wasn’t holding onto the brush properly when writing. My father had his own expectations on us, but he wouldn’t force us to study. Even if our grades were not satisfactory, he wouldn’t scold us and question why we performed poorly. To my father, he was very proud that all of his nine children studied and managed to attend secondary school.

When I was young, my father (Mr Wu) would bring us to join the St Joseph’s Feast Day. I recall dressing up as a “Little Angel” and attended the Eucharistic Procession, where we made our way from the chapel down to the current pier. The priest would then bless all the fishermen and returned to the chapel with the Eucharist. As a Little Angel, I carried a white basket and wore a floral headband, a white dress with a white veil on my head. I was probably the prettiest girl in the village on that day.

Despite the St. Joseph’s Chapel feast day in Yim Tin Tsai, other villages in Sai Kung had their own feast days at their churches once a year. The priest would also bring us over whenever there was one. When we were members of the choir, Father would bring us to the churches in Sai Wan and Sha Tsui to spend a night there, just like an overnight camp. During the day, we attended mass, sang hymns and chatted with the local villagers. If we had school in the next morning, we would return to Yim Tin Tsai on the same day of arrival. At that time, there weren’t even roads connecting the villages. While we can now walk to Sai Wan and Long Ke, we could only travel by the boat in the past. Still, we treated our sailing journey as a vacation and felt excited whenever we had to leave our island. Moreover, all feast days were held during the summer holidays, so we didn’t have to take any leave days.

I remember having a joyful and carefree childhood. Back then, I used to play Hide and Seek at night. Because we were not allowed to go into the chapel, we would hide near the chapel instead. Being a child, we feared nothing at all and could manage with just a single torch. Now, I definitely wouldn’t hide in the pitch-black forest again! We only had time to have fun and play at night since we had to do chores for our mother during daytime for both weekdays which involved looking after the cattle and trimming the weeds.

During Chinese New Year, we made various kinds of food such as rice crackers. Back then, it was up to mum to decide how much to fry. After choosing the proper glutinous rice, we deep-fried it in the wok until it was crispy and puffed. The cooked crispy grains were then mixed with sugar to become rice crackers. We also made other homemade festival foods, including rice cakes and turnip cakes. There were also round basked glutinous rice cakes that were as large as a wok for villagers to eat together.

The dish I miss the most is braised pork belly with taro which my father used to cook. At that time, weddings for daughter-in-laws were usually held outside a Hakka village house. Preparation works were like an assembly line. They would prepare large woks and set up 8 tables, with the men responsible for cooking while the women washed dishes and chopped food. The banquet was similar to the wedding ceremony, in which we ate and had fun for the whole day, and the large amount of food was enough to be consumed for lunch and dinner for the following days. Another dish I like the most is braised pork with water bamboo shoots. It is very delicious and is not complicated to make at all. What we do is to marinate, pan-fry and braise the pork until it becomes tender. Then, we season the pork with chili bean sauce, fermented red bean curd and oyster sauce. It's just another typical homemade dish and there’s no secret to it.

Nowadays, if you walk up to the pier and turn left, you will see a pavilion. Surprisingly, we used to call the place “Poopy Corner”. In the past, pythons sometimes lurked on the island and tried to eat our chicks. After catching them, we would beat them to death at the Poopy Corner and threw their dead bodies into the sea. Sometimes, we would also cook them and make them into a meal. Still, I have no idea why the pavilion had such a name. The only reason I can think of is that someone had pooped there before. We didn’t know the meaning behind its name and just called it like the adults did.

On the subject of marriage, people from the 1950s and 1960s, including me, got to learn about our partners before getting married. But people from my mother’s generation had no idea who their husbands were right until the day of the wedding. Being from the younger generation, we were fortunate enough to choose our husbands. One time, my grandpa wanted to introduce someone from the United Kingdom to me, but I rejected because I did not want to move there. Fortunately, no one mentioned it again, or I would have already settled on the other side of the planet! Although we had the freedom to choose our own partner, my mother’s generation were not granted such liberties. Despite that, women who married beyond the village like me would return to the island and play mahjong with our besties during Chinese New Year.

In the past, we invented and made our own toys, such as the skipping rope, Chinese jump rope (skipping rope made from rubber bands), as well as playing with stones. We also made a slingshot with a rubber band, which could be used to shoot birds in the sky. When a bird got unfortunately hit and fell from the sky, we would pick it up and cook it for dinners! We also loved Thiania (a kind of spider) fighting, which involved gluing two screw pine leaves together with a white substance. In order to contain the spider, we even folded the spiky leaves into a ‘cage’ to stop it from climbing out.

As kids, we had to do the housework and help our mother grow crops. Luckily, there would always be a harvest. I remember that we once planted a longan tree. Whenever there was a typhoon, the longans that could not be picked in time were blown off the trees, so we could have longans to eat then. We would even pick those that had fallen in cow dung, mainly because there wasn’t much to eat for us back then, so we would have whatever we could get our hands on. Why was there cow dung in the first place, you ask. Because the cattle were tied to the longan tree and would leave their faeces on the ground. So, when the typhoons came, we would just pick the longans up, wash them and eat them anyways. After all, we children couldn’t afford to be picky back then.

Catholic funeral rites really moved us to tears, so that’s why all villagers were devoted to Catholicism. Our traditional way of handling the corpse was just plain and simple. We laid the dead body on the carpet at home, and carried away it after three days of their death. However, the Catholics would sing funeral hymns for the dead and the priest even wore his robe to express his sincerity. We villagers were touched by their great respect to the deceased and were amazed by this inconceivable religion. This is why we believe that there is more to this religion than meets the eye. It is more than just a few lines of prayers or teachings about being a decent person, but it offers a relatable and nuanced guidance from birth to death. This was truly a down-to-earth religion.

After Yim Tin Tsai villagers became Catholic, we stopped making offerings in Ching Ming Festival and Chung Yeung Festival. Instead, we commemorate our ancestors on All Souls’ Day, which is in November. In the past, he would come to conduct the Mass whenever he had the time without a fixed schedule. After the commemoration, we would share some food, but there were very few offerings as we were quite poor at that time. The food we shared would typically consist of biscuits, or some meat and candies. We had a piece of unallocated ancestral farmland, and every year a different family took turns to cultivate the land. The family would use the income generated by the harvest from the ancestral farmland to purchase items for the commemoration, such as the biscuits and candies mentioned earlier. Additionally, they were responsible for preparing the food for after the commemoration. As our village had three different clans, each with their own ancestors, we usually commemorated our ancestors separately.

When we were young, we didn’t know when the priest would visit, but we could always tell by the sight of boats approaching. It was a joyous occasion for us children, because in addition to receiving candies and cookies, we would also be given some oil. It came in round cans that were roughly one litre, and was either yellow or white in color. It also had a texture similar to butter, meaning it was in solid form instead of liquid. The oil became a family favorite because it smelled so good and would feed us for quite a while. We would scoop a spoonful into a bowl of steamed rice and mix it thoroughly with soy sauce. The aroma from this was heavenly. The yellow type would be corn oil, but I’m not sure what the white-coloured oil was made from. We were poor at that time, so something as simple as this would already make our day.

I remember seeing a dog hole on the wall to the right of the house’s entrance for small cats and dogs to come and go as they please. However, when we were still kids, we would use the dog hole for fun. Why? Back then, I was an extremely playful kid. Sometimes, my mom would go to bed very early well before night fall (we lived in a village where people had dinner and slept early). Whenever I saw, through the window, that my classmates were still playing in the classroom, I would want to join them. So, I would quietly crawl out through the hole, and then back in after a night of fun. Maybe it’s just me, but I was such a naughty kid! To be honest, crawling through holes was easy peasy for kids like us. It might look difficult now, but it was quite easy to do so. Once your head was through, your body would follow easily – I'm not joking, I could still do it even when I was eight or even ten years old. Of course, not everyone was like that as not every mom would shut their doors before bed. It's only the mischievous kids like us that would do such a thing.

If you looked closely, you might notice an empty plot of land in front of every Hakka house which we called a "drying field". In the past, when there were no air conditioners or fans like nowadays, we would sleep in the drying field when the nights were warm and clear. On scorching nights, we would sleep on foldable canvas beds. Have you ever heard of them? A foldable canvas bed is a frame with a canvas sheet stretched over it. You just need to unfold it when it’s time to sleep. These beds were not very large; I’d say it’s typically about two feet wide. Kids in those days would sleep on a canvas bed if they could afford one. Otherwise, they would simply lay a mat on the ground and sleep on it. Because it was so hot, many people would rather just sleep on the ground. Our family only had one canvas bed, so my six siblings and I would take turns sleeping on it. No one would fuss about who got to sleep on the canvas bed.

Have you ever heard of "porcelain pillows" or "Malacca leaf pillows"? When we were young, pillows weren't very common. My grandfather used to sleep on "porcelain pillows", which were greenish and rectangular with slight curves on the sides. They had a hard texture unlike the soft and fluffy pillows we have now. Meanwhile, the other type of pillow was made from Malacca tree leaves. We would gather the leaves ourselves, wash and then dry them under the sun. Because the leaves were thin and oval-shaped, they had to be dried first before sewing them into a bag to make a pillow. Pillows made from Malacca tree leaves are very comfortable, breathable, and can also calm the nervous system. You can still find them in stores these days.

We also made Hakka steamed dumplings with popcorn filling, the exterior of which was black in color. Why was it black? We used a plant called “ramie,” which is a pretty a commonplace herb with leaves that are green on top and white underneath. We would ground the ramie leaves into a paste and knead it with glutinous rice flour. The resultant dough would have a color similar to that of Chinese fevervine sticky rice dumplings. It is only after steaming it that the colour would change from green to black. After kneading the paste, we stuffed the dumplings with popcorn that had been pre-fried with sugar, instead of other fillings. Then, we would start steaming the round dumplings. The result was a delicious treat – the steamed popcorn was sugary and tender. We could buy the popcorn in Sai Kung or pop them ourselves, but it took a lot of effort to pop it from scratch. That’s why Hakka steamed dumplings with popcorn filling were considered a luxury item for us.

Hakka “Hee Pan":

Hakka “Hee Pan” is the most challenging item to make. As it requires fermentation (using ingredients such as glutinous rice flour, sugar, and yeast), and the timing and proportion rely entirely on personal experience, making it more complicated. I learned how to make it from someone about 10 years ago, but it wasn't very successful. In the past, people used to make it all the time, so it was easier. However, if you haven't done so in a while, you might forget how to make it.

Double Hakka Steamed Dumplings:

Double Hakka steamed dumplings are relatively easy to make as there isn’t much involved in terms of the process and ingredients. First, you mix glutinous rice flour with sugar and shape the mixture into two thin oblong shapes resembling fingers. Then, you place the glutinous rice paste on top of bamboo or lotus leaves in a large bamboo steamer which can steam many dumplings at once. The dumplings can either be sweet or savoury. For the former, brown sugar can be added to make Sweet Double Dumplings. For the latter, ingredients such as salt, five-spice powder and peanuts can be added to make Savoury Double Dumplings.

There is also a snack with ingredients similar to that of Savoury Double Dumplings, which is called "Savory Ban Tau” (transliteration). The only difference between the two is that the latter is round in shape.

Hakka Steamed Radish Dumplings:

Hakka Steamed Radish Dumplings were made using similar ingredients like glutinous rice flour and rice flour (I don't quite remember the exact proportions as my mom used to make it). However, the filling was made with radish instead. First, we would cut the fresh radish into thin strips and add five-spice powder. Sometimes, we would also add a little bit of dried shrimp if we could afford it. Then, we would stir-fry the radish strips before stuffing them into the dumplings. Before steaming, we would mould them into fun shapes and then look forward to enjoying the dumplings.

Hakka steamed pork belly is also a Hakka specialty dish. In our generation, we used terra-cotta bowls with a black interior and clay-coloured exterior for steaming. The bowls were round in shape and came in two sizes, one large and one small. First, we would buy a piece of pork belly with a little bit of bone attached and then sever the bone in the middle. This made it easier to place the pork belly into the round bowl. To season it, we would use fermented black soybeans, a little soy sauce, and a little salt. Some people would also line the bottom of the dish with pickled greens and fermented black beans. How you season the dish is up to your preference. We would steam the pork belly not just once, but multiple times. After steaming the first time, we would take it out and steam it again the next day until the pork belly became tender, smooth, and most importantly, soaked up the flavour of the fermented black soybeans. In Hakka culture, when a married woman returns to her parents' home, she is expected to bring the steamed pork belly with her. To eat it, we reheat it by steaming it and then adding some vegetables (usually lettuce) which can absorb the sauce from the dish itself. Of course, we also eat the pork belly, which is very smooth, tender and flavourful.

Not wearing shoes and not needing to wear shoes are two different things. When we were young, we didn't need to wear shoes even when we took a walk on the pebbles near the seaside. Also, when people finished mowing the grass on the hill, we would still tread on the sharp grass blades. To be honest, it was a matter of habit, like how some people could walk on burning coals. In the past, buying a proper pair of shoes was expensive, right? Still, we wore clogs, which are a kind of shoes from Japan. The body of the clogs was made with plastic, and you had to slide your feet through them. Clogs were also a commodity to us, so we wouldn't wear them all the time. For example, we would only wear them after taking a shower and cleaning our feet as we were no longer out and about. We bought them in Sai Kung, and I don't remember if they were 10 or 20 cents a pair. If the rubber surface wore out, we would find a piece of rubber and nail it to the sides.

Why the school was called Ching Po School? I think it had something to do with the geographical environment since we lived on an island surrounded by the sea, which meant there would inevitably be wind and waves. The character "Ching" means calm, while "Po" means waves. Therefore, the name "Ching Po" is auspicious like the Tin Hau Temples in Hong Kong where fishermen prayed for calm seas. I'm not entirely sure, but it might have been the founder, who could have also been a teacher of a shishu (old-style private school), that named the school Ching Po when it was being built. The school emblem was probably created later since I hadn't seen it for the six or so years while I attended the school.

Back in the days, there was a well that provided drinking water for the entire village. I recall during times of drought, there would be very little water in the well and one would need to lower themselves down to the bottom to fetch water. Mothers typically did not head down there. Instead, they would ask their children to do so, which is what my mom did. She would attach a rope to me and lower me down to the bottom of the well. When I reached the bottom, I would scoop the water into a bucket until it was full. My mom would first retrieve the bucket with a rope, and then pull me up with the same rope. During one of the drought periods back in the days, there really wasn’t much water in the well, but we still needed water. Since we didn’t have a proper plumbing system, we had to ration our water usage. Occasionally, there was even a line to fetch water from the well. When we brought the well water home, we had to set the muddy water aside for some time, allowing the yellowish sediment in the water to settle. The clear water on top would then be used for consumption while the water in the bottom would be used for watering vegetables.

"Wan Tin" is a term used by the Hakka people to describe the practice of removing weeds from a field with one's feet. Back then, when we planted rice crops, we would arrange the crops in a triangular pattern with space between each plant. Weeds would grow in the gaps between the crops, and if left unattended, they would take up the nutrients in the soil, leaving little behind for the rice crops. So what did the Hakka people do? We didn't pull out the weeds directly. Instead, we would walk barefoot into the field and rubbed our feet against the weeds. Then, we would step on the weeds, pushing them into the mud and using our feet again to cover them – this was what we called “Wan Tin”. The benefit of this method was that it was less laborious and saved our efforts. It also made good use of the pest plant because the weed could also be used as fertilizers after it was covered by the mud.

Back when there were Cantonese operas in Sai Kung, we used to carry cool boxes filled with ice popsicles from the store on our backs and sell them at the carpark across the Tin Hau Temple, where the operas took place. At that time, each popsicle could be sold for 10 to 20 cents, while shaved iced could fetch up to 20 cents. Back in the days when 5 cent coins (dou ling*) were still in circulation, we could order a bowl of congee with deep fried dough sticks for only 10 cents – hence the term “10 cents, 2 courses” (yat ho leung mei), similar to the more common saying of “1 pot of tea, 2 baskets of dim sum” (yat chung leung kin). With a 5 cent coin, you could also purchase a pack of “ho ho fruit” (transliteration), which contained different preserved fruits like plums and more, while soft drinks such as Cosmo orange sodas were slightly pricier at 10 to 20 cents a pop. The most significant event that affected a lot of people back then was definitely the rationing of water, where water was supplied only once every four days and people had to queue on the street to get their buckets filled with water. As our family was neither Dan nor Hakka people (we were not local and moved into Sai Kung from the city), we faced discrimination from others. Sai Kung was a destination for outdoor activities, but whenever we went into the waters, my mother would punish us for fear that we might get into an accident. Despite all that, I actually learnt to swim in the Kap Pin Long river. The funny thing was that you could actually swim along with the ducks in those waters.

* "Dou ling" refers to the 5-cent coin that was in circulation in Hong Kong until 1989.

Sai Kung is sometimes known as “Little Macau” as most Sai Kung residents are great gamblers. I knew how to play Mahjong at the age of six because my mom taught my eight siblings and I how to play Mahjong whenever she had time, fearing that my siblings and I would get picked on by everyone else who knew how to play. At that time, we would use animal-shaped cookies or life-buoy shaped biscuits as gaming chips, and would snack on the “chips” while we played. Sometimes, there were no “chips” left because we would devour them all! Luckily, we didn’t really play with adults. Things were even more intense during Chinese New Year, when the entire street was dotted with gambling stalls and tables. One of the games the locals played, which may be unheard of outside of Sai Kung, was to guess a person’s family name. Similar to the more popular game of Hoo Hey How (Fish-Prawn-Crab), the amount you won depended on the number of correct guesses for a person’s family name. While I am not certain about the specifics of the game itself, I remember that it was only played during Chinese New Year.

When I returned to Sai Kung in my teens, I learned how to play the games of the boat people because of my sister, though my memory of the games is fuzzy now. I also know how to play “15 Wu” (transliteration) and “Hakka Cards” with diagrams of dolls, hieroglyphs, vases and the number “5”. When I was young, I already knew how to play the game of “Show Hand”, which involved character cards, as a bet with other kids in the neighbourhood. The cards were not “lottery scratch tickets”, but made up of around 60 figures that were cut outs of characters like Monkey King, Tang Sanzang, Old Master Q, “Tai Zi Kao” (transliteration) and others you probably have never heard of. There were other ways of playing with the character cards such as slapping them on a wall – you won if a card fell off the wall and stuck on your opponent’s. Another method of playing was called “hitting yellow,” which was to find the only yellow card in the deck by slapping the cards. Second-hand character cards could be sold at the price of 10 cents for a deck of 100 cards. We would use these cards as cash or traded them among peers after gaining some from winning the game.

Back in the days, there was an unique snack in Sai Kung that I’m sure you haven’t heard of – it was basically a banana cut in half and then frozen in the freezer. It was sold for 5 cents each and the texture was like shaved ice. There was also “doggie congee*” that was authentically made by a vendor across the harbor. The ‘doggie congee” was not made of handmade silver needle noodles; instead, it was white and had a pudding-like consistency. Another Sai Kung dish was noodles in soup that was sold near the ice cream stall, the dish was either sweet or savoury.

Across the ice cream stall was a bakery called “Sam Yik Shing” (transliteration), where I sometimes worked at when I was still young. In months leading up to when mooncakes were sold at Mid-Autumn Festival, I would head over to the bakery early in the morning to join the queue for a chance to work at the bakery. My job was mainly to pit lotus seeds, and I earned around 60 cents for every kilogram of lotus seeds I pitted. To earn extra income for my family, I also worked at the artificial flower factory in Sai Kung where I assembled plastic flowers, in addition to making small watch components and Christmas ornaments.

* Doggie congee is a variation of doggie noodles, which is named for their stubby, tail-like shape.

In the old days, there were three schools that were most well known in Sai Kung – Sai Kung Sung Tsun School, Sai Kung Government School and Ching Po School. Most residents chose to send their children to Ching Po School as it was run by foreigners whom the locals trusted more. Also, the name “Ching Po” sounded pretty cool! It was said there was already a school in Yim Tin Tsai circa 1940-50, which was later renamed “Ching Po” circa 1960-70. Apart from evaporating salt, most villagers would also engage in farming and fishing; back then, locals would fish for moray eels, sea urchins and cutlassfish on trips lasting 8 to 10 days. Locals would even pan fry some of the cutlassfish they caught, either consuming the fish immediately or storing it until long later. I have actually seen a lots fishing boats with a lot of fish on board, but most of the fish the residents caught cannot be sold. When I was still at school, I had a classmate called Ma (I don’t remember his full name) who was really nice – he usually had to fish, but whenever Standby Signal No. 1 was hoisted, he would help us retrieve our homework when we skipped school.

Taikoo Lau felt like a walled village in its own unique world, yet it was not entirely cut off from the outside world. Taikoo Lau had its own school, allowing children to receive an education, and a few corner shops where you could purchase basic necessities. There were also some mini stalls, but their selections were limited, and it usually sold food items such as congee and fried noodles. However, unlike Kowloon City, where everything was done inside the walls, we sometimes had to venture outside to buy groceries or to hold funerals because we could not bury people inside Taikoo Lau. However, that was possible in Yim Tin Tsai Village.

Nowadays, Pokfulam Gardens stand where Taikoo Lau once did. In the past, it used to be a dormitory for members who worked for the church. There wasn’t much food, so we often had to venture out to find a good meal. Luckily though, some vendors would come in and sell snacks like fish balls, Ding Ding candy, and malt candy. Our days at Taikoo Lau were filled with joy, especially during the New Year holiday. Back then, every household would open their doors and set up a large wok outside to deep fry sesame balls and crispy dumplings. Once a household finished cooking, another would take over, and we would all help each other out. My aunt was the best at making candies and Niangao (rice cakes), while my mom was skilled at making crispy dumplings and its fillings. She also enjoyed kneading the pastry dough. Everyone was working on what they did best, and we had a wonderful time in Taikoo Lau.

When it comes to foraging for mountain herbs, we would search in the nearby area of Taikoo Lau as we used to live there. Only the elders knew exactly how to gather herbs, while we, as children, were too young to understand how to do so. After collecting enough herbs, we would cook them at Taikoo Lau. If someone fell ill, we would brew some bitter tea (Twenty-Four Flavors) for them. In Yim Tin Tsai Village, one could find 6 or 7 of the herbs out of the 24, which included the Gotu Kola.

When we were young, we lived on an island isolated from the mainland (Sai Kung). There were no toys to play with, so we had to make do with anything we had. We played with everything from spearing fish and night fishing by shining big lights, spider fighting, catching crickets, to shooting with bamboo guns. Take night fishing as an example. I’m sure you’ve heard stories about how the boats headed out to sea for this purpose (this was mostly done by adults who would usually sail out to deeper waters), and their night lights would reveal groupers, stonefish and stuff like that. We kids, however, didn’t need to use boats. We simply dived into the shallow waters near the coast to spear fish (the Hakka called it “peering into the waters”). We would sharpen umbrella ribs until it resembles a bow and arrow, and directly shoot towards the waters. Another core memory we had was bird catching. We had to set a trap (not unlike those used for catching wild boars) and attach a rubber band on one side. Inside the trap, grains and seeds were placed inside to lure them in. Once they step into the trap, it will get triggered so that they can’t move. (In the past, we would pin a board with the umbrella rib so that it would bend over. Then, we would put grains and seeds in a matchbox-like container to lure them in. On the backside of the box, there were 4 nails hammered on it and a rope to catch the bird once it stepped in the trap)

Back in the 60s and 70s, there were already tourists that went camping and sightseeing in Yim Tin Tsai Village. I didn’t like some of them back then because they didn’t respect Yim Tin Tsai at all. At that time, the village was left unsupervised unlike now as everyone had to head out to work. Those tourists would force our doors open and head straight into the houses without our permission and took the hay that we painstakingly dried and carried home to start fires for their BBQ. Not only that, but they also littered everywhere. What a nuisance they were.

First, we had to catch thiania spiders. Then, we made a cage out of Pandanus leaves for them. The leaves came from the Pandanus tree and were long and sharp with saw-like edges. The entire point of the game was to let them fight to the death until one of them emerged victorious. Aside from such memorable entertainment from my childhood, my mom’s cooking was so good, I already feel hungry by just thinking about it. My mom would sun-dry radishes and pickled salted vegetables. Then, she would fry the salted vegetables with meat, and cooked mullets with the dried turnips.

When we were young, we’d never been out to Kowloon before. All of us kids would just roam here and there in the mountains. So, how did we spend our school days and holidays? The boys had to herd and watch over the cattle right after they woke up in the morning because they had to plow the fields. At the same time, the girls had to water the vegetables, cut weeds, and prepare a large pot to boil water for baths. My grandfather was so cool; he knew how to weave baskets, the kind that we used to carry fish in. Also, we used to have a lot of ceramic rooster bowls, but they’re all stolen now. There was even a house (jointly owned by 3 families) that was specifically for storing rooster bowls for the entire village. Whenever there were festivities, everyone in the village would take all the rooster bowls out when food was cooked. For instance, during weddings, there would be around 40 banquet tables, which meant there were a lot of people. We also had to make a large brick stove. The men were responsible for cooking, while the women had to wash and cut the ingredients. Back then, there were 2-3 of us that were practically master chefs. Their signature dish, the Hakka braised pork belly, was simply mouth-watering.

When we were young, we didn’t have many snacks to eat. We could only have hill gooseberries, Embelia Laeta fruit and pandan that were foraged from the mountains. However, when it comes to seafood, we had no shortage of those because we lived quite near the sea and could catch them ourselves easily. I mean, we did what we could to get by. Back then in primary school, if we had nothing to eat, we would walk to where the salt fields are now and fish for shrimps. We would then head back home and fried them with rice. How did it taste? Simply delicious.

Speaking of Ching Po School, I was a full-time student back in the 60s (around that time). There weren’t a lot of students at school back then. Later on, more and more boat dwellers and students living in Sai Kung came to study here. So, to accommodate the influx of students, the school changed from full-day school mode to having both morning and afternoon classes instead. Morning classes were usually for junior students, while afternoon classes were for senior students. During the peak period, there were 5 teachers offering classes, namely Principal Wu Pak Yeung, Mr. Chan Kai Sang (who taught P.E. and Music), Mr. Tong Kai On, Mr. Zhang Nga Naam (who taught Math), and Mr. Tam Kwai Sang.

Q: Did anyone misbehave when you were a student in Ching Po School?

A: Haha, of course we did. Some of my classmates would steal cigarettes from the adults and smoke them. If our teacher caught us, he would make us chew the tobacco shreds as punishment. Some teachers would also hit our palms with rulers or send naughty kids off to clean up dog and cat feces. Actually, it was normal for teachers to do so. Anyways, it’s still a memory for better or for worse.

When classes ended at around 7 p.m., we would go and pray if the nuns were in the village. We never slept that early, and sometimes stayed up to chat with our friends. If the weather was good and if the tide receded, we would even go and shine lights in the water to catch fish. Only the young (Primary 1-3) kids would play tag; we Primary 3-4 children were too old for that. Instead, we would either play a game of shooting marbles or fish for frogs in the fields. There was that one time when we even fished out a snake. We were all surprised like, “Wow, that’s a heavy frog there!” Little did we know it was actually a snake. We would usually sleep at around 9-10 p.m. because there was no electricity and therefore, no lamps to light up the house. If the weather was warm, we would spread our woven mats, lie in a row on the area above the chicken coop, and chatted away. Those were the good times. Sometimes, we would also sleep at the open clearing in front of the school, which felt really pleasant.

My friends back then were quite cheeky. I remember a “lazy pig” being hauled to the toilets (pit latrine) while he was asleep the entire time. When he finally woke up, we would tease him by saying that “the ghosts did it”. It was just so hilarious.

Speaking of the most memorable priest, it would have to be Father Fan Mou Ki（Rev. FAMIGLIETTI, Giuseppe PIME） Why? Thanks to him, I was able to taste chocolate for the first time in my life. He also loved to invite us to play bingo and other games with him after our night Mass prayers.

Speaking of the role of altar servers, they’re also usually known as the priests’ assistant. In Yim Tin Tsai Village, there is a Catholic ritual called St. Joseph's Feast Day, in which there are 2 roles, namely the priests (at least 2 of them) and “child angels”. The priest would usually appoint young boys as altar servers. Back then, they were clad in red attire. During the St. Joseph's Feast Day, the priest used to go around the entire island to pray for blessings, but now it’s all simplified. The former route would be to walk along the pier all the way to our place of worship without stopping by Jade Girdle Bridge and Twin Pavilions. They would also head to the salt fields, because back then it was still a field and hadn’t become mud flats yet. After all that, they would finally head back to the church.

We came across students who came to the island to mend roads (1964) and repair bridges (1967). They were students from various local universities, and they would live on the island as well. The members of the Legion of Mary did so too, but only during the summer holidays, and they usually resided in the local church. Later on, I also kept in contact with those members.

Our village was invaded by pirates. It’s true, I heard about it from the adults. The pirates would charge straight into people’s homes and robbed them. They weren’t even scared by the fact that we had guns, and even asked us villagers to help carry their own property onto their ship. Who wouldn’t be afraid if someone put a gun to your head and ordered you to carry all your belongings to them? Also, when the Japanese army arrived, my grandfather told me that the coffin my great-grandmother made was placed in our house. He would then put the guns he owned into the coffin. Thankfully, the Japanese army didn’t open the coffin, so nothing was being taken by them.

Back then, we Catholics couldn’t marry people of other religions because our partners had to be allocated by the priest. Later on, we told the priest that the women in other villages were told to get baptized or were taught the Bible just to become Catholics and marry into those families.

If women in our village were married off, the groom’s family had to carry a bridal sedan chair to our village with the Hakka unicorn dance parading alongside. Similarly, if women from other villages were to marry into ours, the people of Yim Tin Tsai also had to send such a parade off for the bride. The entourage, along with the accompaniment of the Suona horn, also consisted of 11 to 12-year-old kids carrying red flags. We would usually hire the Suona horn players and sedan chair carriers from beyond the island, while the rest (Hakka unicorn dancers, flag bearers) were Yim Tin Tsai villagers. If we were to marry a daughter-in-law who lived beyond the village, we would have to leave the island to pick the bride up at her place.

We would also have 3 meals a day with special arrangements. Let’s say if the groom’s family were to marry tomorrow, they would then slaughter a pig for tonight’s dinner. Breakfast for the next day would consist of some simple foods such as vermicelli or congee, along with pork entrails from the slaughtered pig. Meanwhile, we would have a hearty lunch as it was the main meal of the day. Dinners were somewhat as filling as lunches, as we had to save our strength for teasing the bride (a form of wedding game). After that ended, there would be time reserved for having Siuye (night snacks), but most of the time we just drank alcohol. The next day, as some relatives may not have left yet, we’d have to cook another meal for them. It was so fun back then to see the place come alive with the crowds.