Frank Wilson

Last month my son celebrated his birthday, reaching middle age in the process and making me feel elderly. Among the congratulatory cards he received, one especially made me smile. It read: “From your Hong Kong Uncle Yu, with fond regards.” All this years later, and Uncle Yu still remembers my adult son’s birthday. It was a mark of his loyalty to our lifelong friendship that began many years ago when I first arrived in Hong Kong in the late 1970s. I made many good friends in the more than twenty years I lived there – both expatriate and Chinese – but my relationship with Yu was always special; largely because it was unusual. How did a fresh-faced idealistic young British teacher come to hit it off with a rather stern looking traditional Chinese teacher at least a decade older than him?

We met in the lunch queue at the Hong Kong school where he was an established figure and I was a temporary English teacher – the only gweilo in the place (apart from the deputy head teacher). My attempt to show off and order my chicken and rice in Cantonese had resulted in a gale of laughter from the canteen staff and surrounding pupils. I’m sure I blushed a deep red. Mr Yu stepped up to the rescue, his mere presence commanding immediate hushed silence and respect.

He leaned towards me. “I think the problem is, Mr Wilson, that your tones were slightly askew and you ordered chicken shit rather than chicken pieces.” He made me repeat it correctly and everyone said “Ho ye!” and gave me the thumbs up. Yu’s stony demeanour broke into a broad smile, and I decided right then I liked the man.

We were chalk and cheese in many respects. I was long-haired at the time, very athletic and out for a good time. Yu, on the other hand, was small, skinny, had close-cropped hair and wore circular mandarin-type spectacles. He reminded me of Emperor Hirohito. Yet over the course of the subsequent months, we discovered a common love of teaching, of history, which we had both studied and taught, and of languages. I was keen to understand more about Chinese history and culture and he was keen to pick my brains about European language and literature. We became good friends, enjoying discussion and debate in each other’s company.

But it went further than mutual academic appreciation. I quickly found out that Yu (I always just called him “Yu”) had a fondness for a good lunch, a few glasses of beer and a shot or two of decent whisky. He had a mischievous sense of humour, and a twinkle in his eye when dealing with the ladies.

As a teacher, however, he was the old-fashioned Chinese pedagogue – stern and demanding of high standards. He scoffed at my liberal views on education. Nevertheless, I observed then, and continued to observe over the years, how he inspired respect and loyalty from his students. He was rightly proud of the fact that he was continually invited to old boys’ reunions and feted like a VIP. Often, he would show me photos of these events, with his students themselves successful business, political and academic figures, grown into their fifties, showering their old teacher with affection and gifts.

After I left teaching to pursue another career, while remaining in Hong Kong, I stayed in contact with Yu and we met regularly for lunches or drinks. I got to know his wife and family and he attended my wedding party when I eventually married. We shared in the experience of seeing our children grow into adults. Even after I returned to live in London, we kept in touch via email and post, and one priority date to fix up on Hong Kong visits in later years was a dim sum meet-up with Yu and his wife.

As he aged he lost none of his passion for learning, or discussing history and politics, nor his wish to teach. Though long retired he still privately tutors and coaches students. He inevitably enjoys a glass or two of whisky, though Yu tai-tai ensures the portions are these days modest.

He was a product of that generation which was educated and prospered in the old Hong Kong, and is saddened by current events. His family being originally refugees from the Communist advance in the late 1940s, he is no friend of China’s current government. While sympathetic to the aims of the protesters last year, he abhorred the destruction and brutality. His primary concern was the safety of the students.

“For many years I taught such young people the values of liberalism and democracy,” he told me last time we talked, “and I admire their courage, but I don’t want to see any of them hurt.”

I just hope my old friend Yu will live out the remaining years of his life – and he will never leave Hong Kong – in peace, enjoying his books and ex-students, his dim sum…..and the occasional glass of comfort.

(The writer lived in Hong Kong for more than twenty years, arriving soon after the death of Mao and leaving after the handover of the territory to China. He experienced the seismic transformation of Hong Kong on its journey from plastic flowers and T-shirts to global front runner in trade and high finance.)

---------------------------------

Apple Daily’s all-new English Edition is now available on the mobile app: bit.ly/2yMMfQE

To download the latest version,

iOS: bit.ly/AD_iOS

Android: bit.ly/AD_android

Or search Appledaily in App Store or Google Play