I’m the youngest of five brothers in my family. My birth name was Chan Pak-wah, but later my dad changed it to Chan Chau-wing. I’ve always gone by the name “Chau-wing” since my school days and throughout my time working in the city. It sounds more approachable than “Pakwah”. Back in the day, everyone had several names. I also had a childhood nickname — Ah Yan. Some people even got a “courtesy name” when they married.

My grandpa went to school, so he could read and write. He taught at a traditional private school in Shui Hau and spent eight years teaching on Lamma Island. My dad Chan Kee-sang also taught part-time at a traditional private school. My mum Cheung Yiu-tai was Hakka Chinese from Pui O. She wasn’t really literate and mainly worked in the fields. Dad was one of the few educated people in the village. Everyone respected him. Towards the end of every lunar year, he would be busy writing fai chun for the villagers. My job was to hold the couplets. When he wrote, I slowly straightened the red paper.

I was one of the early graduates of Shui Hau School. The school supervisor was Fung Yau-shing. My dad was on the school board. They were both elected by the villagers. Back then, there were about 30 to 40 pupils in the whole school. I had three teachers who taught Chinese, English and maths respectively. The principal Wong Tam-fat rented a house at No. 52, Shui Hau. He had lived there for more than 10 years. The maths teacher came all the way from Kowloon every day; the English teacher, Mr. Sung, lived in Cheung Chau. We had PE classes in the park next to the school. There were two goalposts. Both the boys and girls would play football, sometimes even barefoot. If I didn’t know a Chinese character, I’d ask my dad. But he couldn’t help me with English. After school, all of us kids would finish our homework at school. Then we’d go swimming or head to the fields to catch Hong Kong catfishes, shrimp and crabs.

There were no secondary schools on Lantau, so after finishing primary school, we had to go to the city to continue our education. Most of my classmates became apprentices, or worked in restaurants or textile factories to earn a living. Around that time, a relative of mine who had moved to Tsuen Wan from Shek Pik told me about The Course of Training for Teachers Alumni Association School N.T. at Block 40 of Tsuen Wan New Town.1 I ended up repeating Primary Six there. My classmates were pretty friendly. Some of them asked why my skin was so dark, and I told them I came from the countryside on Lantau. My dad’s generation never went to the Mainland. All he knew was that his ancestors were natives of Dongguan. I didn’t feel any connection to that place, so I’d just tell people my hometown was Shui Hau. During PE classes, we played football. Nobody could run faster than me, so I ended up becoming the head of the football team.

I liked studying. The first time I took the school exam, I came 35th, then later got up to 15th. But I narrowly failed the secondary school entrance exam. After that, my parents told me to go out and get a job. So when I was 13 or 14, I started working as a tailor’s apprentice. I got the job through a relative. The shop was on Castle Peak Road in Sham Shui Po, near Garden Bakery. They gave me food and a place to stay. At night, after we closed up and finished sweeping the floor, I’d sleep on the cutting table. I once got bitten by a rat. It left three teeth marks on me.

I did many things — sweeping the floor, cleaning the display cabinets, pouring tea, cleaning the toilet and looking after senior tailors. I never slacked off. The boss was fond of me. At the beginning I got paid $50 a month. Within three months, I got a raise of an extra $100. Wow, I was so happy! But a lot of the time I was just doing odd jobs. I rarely got the chance to practise on the sewing machine. I picked things up slower than others, but I couldn’t call it quits too soon or that would reflect badly on that relative. A few tailors didn’t want to see my potential go to waste. They said this place was like a “corrupt temple”. They helped me transfer to another tailor in Mong Kok and passed me some orders. Eventually I worked as a tailor for three years and took on jobs here and there. I also took English classes at the Hong Kong Fong’s English Tutorial School and Newtown English School. I studied part-time for more than three years and reached Form Five level.

At one point, denim jackets and jeans became all the rage in Hong Kong. On top of that, suits only sold well when the weather was cool, so my income became unstable. After working in the city for eight years, I moved back to Shui Hau to take care of my aging parents. Later, my brothers and I cleared the orchard and built a ding house (a small house that male indigenous villagers are entitled to build under the New Territories Small House Policy). In 1982, we started a holiday home business. I also helped my elder brother run his cottage factory that produced plastic goods for export. I had been a tailor making a living with a needle, and suddenly I was hauling cement and mixing concrete. It was tough.

Fung Wong Bungalow Store has a long history. It used to be called Kee Kei Store. My dad started it after the war. The shop was originally a small house with a tiled roof. My mum, dad and I lived in the room on the left. The open space in front of the door was used for sun-drying rice. We only had one fridge, and business was slow. Around 6pm every day, the store turned into an after-dinner hangout for the local villagers. Dad would tell stories, sometimes about history, sometimes from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. Some people played mahjong. Things didn’t wind down until after 9pm. After shutting the store for the night, dad would cook glutinous rice or stir-fried vermicelli. He’d wake me up at around 10pm and I’d eat late supper half-asleep, eyes barely open.

About 20 years ago, we had an awning at the front of the store to provide shade for dad when he went outside in his wheelchair. There was a longan tree in the open space. It was more than 100 years old. After it withered and was cut down, the front of the shop became very exposed to the sun. Some villagers suggested we extend the canvas awning to cover more than 1,000 square feet of space. But in recent years, we received some complaints, so we had to take it down. After dad passed away, the old house was rebuilt into a three-storey village house, and the shop was renamed Fung Wong Bungalow Store since we are backed by Fung Wong Shan (Lantau Peak). You don’t make much money running a grocery store, but in those days, because we also rented out holiday homes, we needed a store to go along with them. We also used to sell film rolls and rent gas lamps to campers.

Nowadays, few visitors to Shui Hau stay overnight, but clam digging at Shui Hau Wan has become very popular. About 10 years ago, a magazine wrote an article about clam digging at Shui Hau Wan, and the news spread online. Since then, more than 100 — sometimes even over 1,000 — tourists have been coming here on weekends to dig clams. At first, the villagers thought it was fun and lively, but they didn’t expect the clams to start running out.

About seven years ago, Urban Diary came here to do research, and then green groups also came to find out about the local ecology, trees and insects. That was when the villagers started to become more aware of conservation. Now, if reporters want to interview me about clam digging, I always say no.

Many villagers in Shui Hau are related and know each other. Because we’re close to the airport, more people have bought land or moved here to rent long-term in recent years. I recognise most of the locals. The younger generation still comes by to play mahjong and chat.

Our store sells daily essentials — cooking oil, salt, sauces, vinegar, soft drinks and beer. When there’s a typhoon, people come here to stock up on canned food and bread. I also help sign for villagers’ registered mail and parcels. People often stop by to discuss things like festival arrangements. If there’s something important, they hold a formal meeting at the rural office. To me, the store is part of home. I live here and eat here. During Lunar New Year, when my relatives and friends visit me, I host them right here. That’s why the store is never closed. It’s open all year round.