Then & now: let's hear it for the Chans

Every other month, it seems, wellintentioned “heritage activists” bewail another long-established shop’s closure; further evidence, they claim, that Hong Kong’s “collective identity” is under threat. While the passing of a popular landmark always prompts wistfulness, inevitably there are two sides (at least) to every story.

Here’s a composite example: Mr and Mrs Chan came from the mainland in 1952. Voting with their feet late one night during an early political campaign, they crossed the border at Lo Wu (after a tip to the police) with one child holding her father’s hand, another sitting on his mother’s back, and some bundles slung on a carrying pole. And that was it; like thousands of others, the couple began new lives in a strange, frequently hostile place with little to rely on but themselves.

The first few nights were spent under a Kowloon shop awning; fortunately it wasn’t raining or too cold. A room in a squatter hut precariously perched on a bare hillside above Wong Tai Sin was eventually found, and the Chans started hawking noodles.

When more children arrived, the Chans just worked a bit harder. And so did their offspring, when they were old enough to help out. In due course, through constant thrift, the couple managed to buy a small shop. In the 1950s and 60s, several far-sighted local developers, most notably the late Henry Fok Ying-tung, offered reasonable mortgage terms to those who conventional banks might not normally serve.

Eventually, the shop was paid off, and the noodle business turned a healthy profit. Mr and Mrs Chan kept on working long hours – that was simply what they did. And so the years passed.

Fast forward to today. That affordable Kennedy Town corner spot bought in 1961 is now seriously up-and-coming; a jewellery chain, a bar and a restaurant all want to rent it. A family talk decides the matter.