70 years ago: Hong Kong's wartime diaries

On this day, or hereabouts, policeman Norman Gunning, his wife Nan, their 6 month baby Richard and others in their party are expelled from their quarters by the Japanese. They seek refuge for the night in the house of an important Government official on the Peak, but they are turned away. They are welcomed into 357, the Peak, a former HKSBC house  which has been taken over by an American family, the Larsons.

The bulk of the police are confined to their stations awaiting a Japanese decision on the organisation of policing. George Wright-Nooth finds it hard to feed his men, but his friend Lance Searle (at a different station) does manage to get a pass from a Japanese general for this purpose.

The Maryknoll Fathers are still confined in a garage. They finish yesterday's meal of hardtack biscuits and evaporated milk for breakfast. During the morning they're given a few more biscuits and a pail of water from a nearby well. In the afternoon the guards untie their hands for an hour so they can eat their biscuits and drink their water. They are also allowed an hour's exercise and given permission to send a party to the well for more water and another party to their House to get clothing and blankets. After supper their hands are tied again, this time in front, so they sleep more comfortably.

The two day Christmas break spared the British press from having to report the fall of Hong Kong. On the front pages today the Daily Mirror both laments and celebrates The Heroic Tragedy Of Hong Kong, while the Daily Express notes the surrender of the 'gallant garrison' . Page 4 of the latter carries reports from both Japanese and British sources. The British report is a history of the fighting provided by the War Office. The Japanese is understandably more vivid:

A Japanese cable from Hongkong yesterday said that “Sir Mark Young and the commander of the garrison surrendered unconditionally at 7.5 p.m. Their parley with the Japanese military and naval authorities had begun at the Peninsular Hotel at Kowloon at 6.50.

Sir Mark stayed at the hotel overnight under the protection of Japanese troops, and returned to Hongkong, to prevent the destruction of establishments and materials in the colony, with the Japanese staff officer Tada.”

But my guess is that it's the Daily Mirror's page 2 columnist Cassandra who, if he could have been read in Hong Kong, would have found himself speaking for most of the defeated:

The defenders of Hong Kong put up a brave show. The Governor takes his place in history and many courageous soldiers died in the same tradition that is honoured by the name of Calais.

I suppose this loss of life was unavoidable.

The British Government advised Sir Mark Young to "hold on," and then after a week's desperate fighting, they told him to let go. It seems a pity that we couldn’t have made up our minds some time ago as to whether Hong Kong was a reasonable defensive position.

The Japanese provided a sharp and cruel answer.

We never stood a chance.

Sources:

Gunnings: Norman Gunning, Passage to Hong Kong, 2009, 126-127

Police: George Wright-Nooth, Prisoner Of The Turnip Heads, 1994, 69-70

Maryknoll: Maryknoll Diary, December 27, 1942

We still have to solve our water problem; the neighbours have begun to resent our drawing on their wells. There is still no electricity, and we made an oil lamp using peanut oil and candle ends. There is also the garbage menace. It is now over a foot deep in the streets all around us and is continuously being augmented despite our shouted protests. A great pile of it graces our front entrance. The flies are becoming a disturbing nuisance. In addition to their rubbish, our neighbours are discarding everything that would connect them with our fighting forces. Steel helmets are being thrown away and sent clattering down the streets. In the nullah in front was the complete outfit of a European police officer - spiked helmet, puggaree, cap and all.

In the afternoon, three more soldiers called upon us. Surly and suspicious, they brushed me aside. To our anxiety a young Russian woman who had been living with the Indian family downstairs had decided that our flat seemed safer. Fair and attractive, she sat on our sofa, pretending to read a book but nervously trembling, while we hoped for the best; but the Japanese ignored her. One helped himself to a pair of my socks, leaving his own stiffly filthy pair in exchange. Another went down the hall to the kitchen and the servant's room. I followed, but one of the trio with his rifle barred my way. In a little while the first man returned, and later our amah came in muttering and telling her beads. She would not say what had happened.

Soon afterwards, a better type of caller presented himself - a bright young Japanese, self-conscious in a brand new uniform. He asked for the Chinese resident upstairs, who had apparently at one time worked in his father's firm. He gave the Chinese resident his card and promised him protection, adding that the foraging might continue for ten days more. On leaving, he stuck a paper on the front door downstairs so that we would not be further bothered.

((Date is approximate))

The Shell House Episode

The company which had employed my father in the construction of air raid shelters had carefully selected a good one for the families of their employees. We were evacuated from Kowloon to Victoria Island.

Before that evacuation, I had seen what I thought was a British warplane being shot down by a Zero in a dogfight. This must have impressed me greatly as I had reason to recall that event soon after with considerable effect.

After the surrender of Hong Kong, the Japanese quickly began the process of deciding what to do with the European population they had captured. I was only four years old at the time (that unlucky number again) but I still have vivid images in my mind from that time.

We were taken to Shell House on Victoria Island for processing. I recall a large room filled with nervous Europeans, several in uniform. Reports had filtered through that the Japanese had committed various atrocities such as bayoneting wounded soldiers in hospitals. What happened next I recall only vaguely, but the story was told to me later by my parents and confirmed by several others who were at Shell house at that time.

A day or two after Christmas, a squad of Japanese soldiers led by an officer carrying a large samurai sword burst into the room. The soldiers seemed to be a little drunk, perhaps having celebrated the fall of Hong Kong. They were furious that the British had resisted effectively for 17 days and seemed to be in a mood for revenge.

Just as it seemed likely that a massacre may occur right there and then, I apparently walked up to the Japanese officer in charge and said to him, “Japanese plane go up, English plane go down”. I had remembered the dogfight which I had seen a few days before.

The Japanese officer was delighted. “Sodaska”, he exclaimed. He then put me on his knee, patted my blond head, and barked out an order to his troops. Two of them left the room and returned soon after with three gigantic walking and talking dolls which were presented to me. They had taken them from a department store which had been full of Christmas gifts.

When the Japanese left, many of the British in uniform came over to me and also patted me on the head. They believed I had helped to avert a massacre of the civilians of Shell House, and they politely ignored the fact that I may have belittled the British Empire and its air force, which was close to treason for a little British chap like me.

Shortly after, two of the dolls given to me by the Japanese were taken by other, bigger children. I quietly wished that the Japanese would return to kill these nasty, thieving bullies! There is little mercy to be found in the heart of a swindled four year old.

The Japanese sent all the British to Stanley, which became a prisoner of war camp. Those Europeans who belonged to neutral countries were allowed to remain free in Hong Kong. Some Americans were sent to the USA in a prisoner exchange, and among them were friends of our family.

Since my mother, father and brother were stateless aliens, they were freed. Although I was a British citizen, having been born in Hong Kong, as a four-year old I must not have been considered a security risk by the Japanese and I was permitted to remain with my family.

Years of hardship and danger had begun.

There is an embarrassing postscript to this story. Much to my father's dismay, when I was little my mother had insisted on giving me the nickname of “Pussy”. He had lived in America for 10 years and knew what the word pussy stood for there. Many years after the war, well-meaning strangers would come up to me on the Star Ferry or on a bus, address me as Pussy, and thank me for my treasonous act in Shell house. It was mortifying.