Slice of life
Aids, parking scams and runaway bovines: from the South China Morning Post this week in 1985
Aids was beginning to cause alarm in 1985 and the Post picked up a story run by The Times of London which reported that hundreds of churches had contacted doctors, concerned that parishioners could catch the disease by sipping communion wine from the chalice.
Medics said while the risk was slight, some precautions should be taken. These included wiping the chalice and rotating it after each communicant, or using a ceremony that avoided the parishioners' lips touching the vessel. Just the wafer could be taken, or it could be dipped into the wine. The risk could be further reduced by using wine of normal strength, instead of the non-alcoholic type favoured by some parishes.
In a letter to the editor, a Mr K.W. Chan wanted to know the difference between a Toyota and a Mercedes when it came to parking fines. He complained his Japanese car had been ticketed for illegal parking, while next door a German model had escaped a fine. In a mischievous reply, K.D. McCoy explained how the Mercedes had been parked with impunity. 'The driver had availed himself of my latest invention for the avoidance of parking tickets, known as the 'windscreen wiper caper',' explained Mr McCoy.
When intending to park on double yellow lines in Central, motorists should replace their normal wipers with his patented 'brake back' type. The parking attendant would then raise the wiper with the intention of tucking a ticket underneath, only to have it snap off in his hand. He would then hurriedly drop the apparently broken wiper and kick it under the car, out of sight, said Mr McCoy.
'He then moves to the other side of the windscreen where the embarrassing incident is repeated,' wrote Mr McCoy. Fearing a charge of malicious damage to the car when its irate owner returned, the parking attendant then takes off. 'When the owner returns, he fishes the 'broken' bits from under the car, reattaches them and drives off - without a $200 fine.'
Rents were beginning to rise. A three-bedroom 1,400 sq ft flat in Macdonnell Road was offered at $8,500 a month, with no commission. Asking rent for a three-bedroom, two-bathroom flat in Mid-Levels with a full harbour view and balcony was $7,500 a month. In Happy Valley, a 1,000 sq ft apartment with car parking was offered at $9,000 a month.
Christmas was in the air and the paper was packed with advertisements for luxurious food, drink and fur coats. Hongkong Telephone was pushing its International Direct Dial Service, extolling customers to ring their friends and families with an advert showing a syrupy couple in an unlikely pose, clutching a Christmas present and the telephone.
More mundane matters had been occupying the Kowloon-Canton Railway Corporation and the Agriculture, Fisheries and Conservation Department after a big black bull escaped during unloading from a China train at Hunghom station. The animal rampaged into the Cross-Harbour Tunnel, forcing its closure in both directions for three hours while it was recaptured.
'Prevention of escaping cattle is always part of our game because we transport 60,000 cows a year,' said KCR's commercial director Abraham Kazak, as if it was an established sport. His idea was to render future runaway cattle unconscious with a tranquiliser dart injection. Considering the hapless beast was slaughtered the next day at Ngau Tai Kok Government Depot after being sold to a meat merchant, the AFCD's statement to the KCR that it did not kill runaway cattle seemed somewhat irrelevant.
Sex hogged the headlines, with Guangzhou, the showcase of liberal economic policies, proving just as free with its morals. A vice bust netted 800 prostitutes, pimps and customers, mostly Communist Party cadres and Hong Kong businessmen.
Ringing up for Christmas in 1985
