Don't forget the Hong Kong that once welcomed mainlanders

The Cantonese have a gloriously biting sense of humour, especially when it comes to describing people they don't necessarily admire. In the bad old days of corruption in the police force, one of the "hungriest" bribe-takers was the notorious Superintendent Peter Fitzroy Godber, who was dubbed the "Curry King" because "nothing was too hot for him". And a crusty police chief with one eye smaller than the other was "20 cents and 50 cents".

All of which brings us to the "locust song", a searingly derogatory ditty targeted at the hordes of mainlanders crowding our streets, shops, transport and especially our housing market.

The following is a familiar scenario in posh jewellery shops: the salesman is trying to sell a HK$20,000 gold watch to a mainlander. The customer flouts bilingual "No smoking" signs and puffs smoke into the salesman's face. Between bursts of his silky sales pitch, the salesman sporadically hums snatches of the locust melody. The scowling punter recognises the tune, puffs a final blast into the man's face and stomps out.

"Locust" is appropriate to the mainland visitor situation in Hong Kong only insofar as locusts arrive in swarms. The comparison ends there because real-life locusts ruthlessly devour crops, causing widespread devastation, then take their ruination elsewhere.

Our mainland visitors spread wealth among most of those they come into contact with. Admittedly, while they spend their money some are given to bad behaviour. They are acutely aware they are disliked here, and are always on guard against being cheated. Not surprisingly, they retaliate by being suspicious, nasty and so on.

So are their Cantonese hosts as a whole well-behaved, courteous, mild-mannered, scrupulously honest and polite to a fault? Whether from Beijing, Shanghai, Sham Shui Po or Sha Tin, we all have faults. But the enduring qualities of the Cantonese comprise their basic decency, resilience, capacity for hard work, desire to prosper and provide a decent home for their families, and especially to give their children a good education.

Following the Japanese occupation of 1942-45, Hong Kong emerged in an appalling state both physically and economically. The only resources it possessed were the muscles and sweat of a workforce willing to slog it out hour after hour in cramped factories and workplaces. Heroically, those men, and not a few women, too, slaved for a pittance as the city built up export markets for its modest products. But, soon, a seemingly endless torrent of refugees was pouring into Hong Kong from neighbouring Guangdong.