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Loo Hin

Loo Hin, 80, is a retired fishmonger who began as a stall assistant at the Wan Chai wet market during the second world war. He recalls that the biggest drawback of the job then was keeping a sharp lookout for ghosts while getting supplies during the night. He laments the mechanisation of his industry and worries about the seas being gradually emptied of fish.

I was born in Chungsan and came to Hong Kong in my teens. I came with my mother to join my older brother and sister, who were already here. When I arrived, I could not find work. Times were tough and I did anything I could find as a labourer. I worked on bomb shelters and pillboxes on the hillsides before the second world war reached us.

After the Japanese arrived in December 1941, I went to work for fishmongers in the Lockhart Road market in Wan Chai. My uncle had dealings with the live fish trade, so it was not difficult for him to slip me in. There used to be a stone jetty with steps leading into the sea at the Wan Chai waterfront. My job was to get seawater to keep the fish in.

The toughest part of working for fishmongers was getting up at 3am daily. I could never balance properly on a bicycle, so I had to ride a pedicab to Shau Kei Wan to get supplies. Roads were deserted and my greatest fear was coming across ghosts. Thankfully, I never saw one, but others insist they witnessed strange happenings. There was a certain stretch between Tai Koo and Shau Kei Wan where a shiver always went through you. The story was that if you were on your own, you would acquire a very chatty companion who would vanish if someone else showed up. We never went there alone, always in pairs. We believed the Japanese killed people on the hillside in that area.

Once the fish were collected and taken to the Wan Chai market, we filled the tanks with seawater and laid out the frozen fish for the bosses to start the day's trade. They usually showed up about 6am, and if we'd finished everything, they treated us to bowls of congee for breakfast. We closed at 1pm for a little rest and then started again from 2pm to 6pm. During the war we worked for our meals. When it ended, I was paid $30 a month, with the boss giving me small increments annually and a bonus at Lunar New Year. The increments were only a few dollars at a time, but they made you feel the boss appreciated your efforts.

I stayed on and eventually became a stallholder and employed at least two workers at any given time. I spent more than 40 years in the business, moving from Wan Chai to Causeway Bay and finally to the Happy Valley wet market. It was a good business to be in because Hong Kong people have always been fond of all types of fish, particularly all the different varieties of pomfret, golden thread and red snapper, which have always been plentiful.

At one time, fish were plentiful in the seas around Hong Kong. Cheung Chau had its own fishing fleet because you could catch good fish around the island. Sadly, this is no longer so, and prices keep going up and profits are smaller. The seas are emptying now that vessels are mechanised and fishing goes on all year round. Also, fish are getting smaller. Soon there won't be enough to go round.

I met my wife, Chan Yuet-ngor, at the Wan Chai market. She was a worker in a nearby stall. She became really upset one day when she accidentally broke her drinking mug. I teased her about it and bought her a new one. I knew when she didn't tell me off that she liked me. Our courtship lasted less than half a year. We have been married for more than 50 years and had five children. I refused to allow her to work after we were married. In our day, married women worked only if their husbands didn't earn enough to feed the family. Things are different today. My daughters and daughters-in-law work outside the home. One has no choice because my younger son died while working in China. My eldest son is a bus driver.

My wife and I were never well off, but we were happy. It wasn't always smooth sailing. A female worker in the market became attached to me. She was working for no pay for a friend of her father's and was very unhappy. I took pity on her and treated her to meals and bought her little gifts. I was flattered that she had attached herself to me. She was pretty, and I am a man, after all. It stopped abruptly when my wife found out and threatened to leave me. That was almost 40 years ago, and I have never strayed since.

My biggest regret was allowing my daughters to talk me into retirement. It was a mistake. We moved in with one of them. The place was small and cramped and the grandchildren complained about having to sleep in the living room. I became very unhappy and a friend suggested I apply to Helping Hand. I am now a resident of the self-care home in Tseung Kwan O. My wife is still with our daughter because they need her to look after the grandchildren. So now, after more than 50 years of marriage, we live apart. I am not ashamed to say it hurts. I miss her.

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