When Lam Kiu-chung, Nam Wa Po's village representative since 1979, decided to renovate the village school and church, he got a nasty shock. The 71-year-old former construction worker discovered that the wooden roof beams were being eaten away by termites. There was genuine concern that the building, part of the village's 'collective memory' may collapse.
'Thank goodness it wasn't in the foundations,' said Mr Lam. 'We quickly started fund-raising and getting donations. We spoke to the government but they were no real help. So we did it on our own. It will cost us about HK$150,000. The work started in August and we expect it to finish by Christmas. It has been a long struggle, but it's something we have to preserve. It's part of our history.'
Collective memory is a contemporary phenomenon. In Hong Kong, it came to the fore over the government's demolition plans for the Star Ferry and Queen's piers. I felt nothing for Queen's Pier, but I had fond memories of the former Star Ferry pier, which I first stepped foot on in 1968.
This is the crux of collective memory: one person's beloved recollection is another's anathema. Everyone has their own view. How do you judge what is the collective memory of the majority? Seen this way, collective memory is a lot nonsense, because many people will not agree with my choices. I would like to see public marinas, like we have public golf courses. I'd like to replace all the concrete on country paths with wooden and stone trails.
In the case of Nam Wa Po's school, it holds the esteemed position of being Hong Kong's first village-owned school. Constructed in the 1920s, more than three generations of Hakka farming children have studied there.
In the past, education was for the prosperous. The poor Hakka farmers couldn't afford to send their children to a school in Tai Po. So, with a view to future generations, they pooled their money and built their own school. Other communities followed suit.