Born in 1946, Fung Shui-chun is a native of Shui Hau Village. Her father
Fung Yau-shing served as the village head after the war. Fung, also
known as Sister Chun, was a labourer on the Shek Pik Reservoir project.
At the age of 20, she began working in plastic and garment factories in
Tsuen Wan. With a wide circle of friends, Sister Chun loved going out
and meeting new people. In her younger years, she would gather herbs
from the hills and then walk all the way to Mui Wo to catch the ferry to
Hong Kong Island, where she sold the herbs to Chinese medicine shops.
Sometimes she would accompany her father to social events to meet
government officials, hang out at his friends’ shops, and also ride the
tram for fun.
I was born in 1946 and my birth name was Fung Yu-san. When I applied for my ID card, the
officer said my name didn’t sound girly enough, so it was changed to Fung Shui-chun. My mum
passed away when I was three. My dad Fung Yau-shing was born in 1899. He went to a traditional
Chinese private school in Shui Hau Village. After the war, he became the village head.1
Dad ran Shui Hau School in the village. He was the supervisor from the moment it was founded until he retired in his 70s. He did a lot of good things for the villagers. For example, when local farmers were in need, he would reach out to Kadoorie Farm2 to get them livestock like cows, pigs and chickens, and fruit trees like pineapples. This helped the farmers earn a living by raising animals and growing crops.
Dad and I were really close. He often went to Hong Kong Island to meet with government officials. When I finished my farm work in the morning, I’d go with him in the afternoon to hang out at his friends’ shops. Eventually I knew my way around, so I’d sometimes hop on a tram and ride all the way from Kennedy Town to Shau Kei Wan. Whenever I felt like it, I’d hop off and wander around. I even visited the Tiger Balm Garden myself. I was quite the mischievous one. I’d go to Cheung Chau with my cousins during the Bun Festival. After the Mid-Autumn Festival, I’d tag along with my aunt to Hau Wong Temple at Sha Tsui Tau in Tung Chung to watch Cantonese opera for appeasing gods. In those days, you couldn’t reserve tickets in advance. We’d just bring a stool and watch the opera in the bamboo theatre.
I studied at Shui Hau School for a year but had to stop afterwards because I needed to work on the farm. In the morning, I’d take the ox out to graze. Twice a day I’d carry water from the stream, once in the morning and once in the evening. When I was 12, my elder sister got married, and I had to take care of the whole household. Still, life was good because I could play on the beach or swim in the stream after working in the fields.
The stream water flows down from Lantau Peak and runs through Shui Hau Village. The water in the upper stream was clearer and drinkable. In the middle and lower reaches, it was for washing clothes. It would eventually flow into the fields for irrigation. The stream used to be very deep, full of living things like freshwater shrimps and giant marbled eels. Now, silt has built up and the water is low. No one swims there anymore.
Dad ran Shui Hau School in the village. He was the supervisor from the moment it was founded until he retired in his 70s. He did a lot of good things for the villagers. For example, when local farmers were in need, he would reach out to Kadoorie Farm2 to get them livestock like cows, pigs and chickens, and fruit trees like pineapples. This helped the farmers earn a living by raising animals and growing crops.
Dad and I were really close. He often went to Hong Kong Island to meet with government officials. When I finished my farm work in the morning, I’d go with him in the afternoon to hang out at his friends’ shops. Eventually I knew my way around, so I’d sometimes hop on a tram and ride all the way from Kennedy Town to Shau Kei Wan. Whenever I felt like it, I’d hop off and wander around. I even visited the Tiger Balm Garden myself. I was quite the mischievous one. I’d go to Cheung Chau with my cousins during the Bun Festival. After the Mid-Autumn Festival, I’d tag along with my aunt to Hau Wong Temple at Sha Tsui Tau in Tung Chung to watch Cantonese opera for appeasing gods. In those days, you couldn’t reserve tickets in advance. We’d just bring a stool and watch the opera in the bamboo theatre.
I studied at Shui Hau School for a year but had to stop afterwards because I needed to work on the farm. In the morning, I’d take the ox out to graze. Twice a day I’d carry water from the stream, once in the morning and once in the evening. When I was 12, my elder sister got married, and I had to take care of the whole household. Still, life was good because I could play on the beach or swim in the stream after working in the fields.
The stream water flows down from Lantau Peak and runs through Shui Hau Village. The water in the upper stream was clearer and drinkable. In the middle and lower reaches, it was for washing clothes. It would eventually flow into the fields for irrigation. The stream used to be very deep, full of living things like freshwater shrimps and giant marbled eels. Now, silt has built up and the water is low. No one swims there anymore.
When dad wasn’t working, I’d follow him up the hills to pick herbs. We worked from seven or
eight in the morning until three or four in the afternoon. Afterwards, we’d dry the herbs in
the open space outside our house, then pack them into burlap sacks. I’d carry them to Sai Wan
and sell them to herbal shops. Each time, I only made $10 to $20. They weren’t worth much,
but everything at home needed money — oil, salt, sugar and kerosene. No way around that.
Dad knew a bit about herbal medicine because during the war a man fled to Shui Hau and stayed in our old house for a while. Before he left, he gave dad a medical book teaching him how to use herbs for medicine. But it got lost when the Japanese arrived and burned some of our houses.
I always tell young people to learn to read the lunar calendar, so that they know what fruits are in season. In spring and summer, there’s so much flowering and fruiting. In the fourth lunar month, there’s the sour fruit (twig-hanging embelia). Its leaves can be eaten raw. They quench thirst. Microcos, prayer-beads and pandanus can be used to make Chinese herbal tea. The Dragon Boat Festival in the fifth lunar month is the time for making alkaline rice dumplings. People would burn rose myrtle tree branches into ashes, soak the ashes in water, and extract the alkaline water through a bamboo sieve. The dumplings are wrapped in banana leaves or pandanus leaves. By the sixth to seventh lunar month, many plants start fruiting, like rose myrtle, Indian gooseberry and guava. I used to run around the hills picking and eating wild fruits. Indian gooseberry is one of the offerings during the Seventh Sister Festival (Chinese Valentine’s Day). If there’s a good harvest, it can be preserved. It tastes a bit like preserved tangerines. In autumn and winter, there are not many flowers or fruits. In the past, villagers would chop firewood and keep a bunch of old world forked fern to prepare for the cold. They would burn the wood and grass to keep warm.
“If you live by the mountains, live off the mountains; if you live by the sea, live off the sea.” In the past, food and daily necessities were sourced locally. We would make a dish called lai wok pin. After digging up some Asiatic hard clams and rock oysters, I’d pick some Chinese celery and spring onions from the fields on my way home. First, I’d make a batter using rice flour. I’d cook the clams and oysters with mushrooms, Chinese celery and spring onions to make a broth. The batter was poured around the edge of a wok. Once it took shape, I’d scoop it into the broth and eat it all together. Plants on the hills were also used to make everyday items. There’s a climbing vine called Japanese climbing fern. You pick and dry it and tie it into a bundle. Then you can use it as a brush to clean cookware. I’d say if you know what it’s good for, it’s a treasure; if not, it’s just a weed!
Dad knew a bit about herbal medicine because during the war a man fled to Shui Hau and stayed in our old house for a while. Before he left, he gave dad a medical book teaching him how to use herbs for medicine. But it got lost when the Japanese arrived and burned some of our houses.
I always tell young people to learn to read the lunar calendar, so that they know what fruits are in season. In spring and summer, there’s so much flowering and fruiting. In the fourth lunar month, there’s the sour fruit (twig-hanging embelia). Its leaves can be eaten raw. They quench thirst. Microcos, prayer-beads and pandanus can be used to make Chinese herbal tea. The Dragon Boat Festival in the fifth lunar month is the time for making alkaline rice dumplings. People would burn rose myrtle tree branches into ashes, soak the ashes in water, and extract the alkaline water through a bamboo sieve. The dumplings are wrapped in banana leaves or pandanus leaves. By the sixth to seventh lunar month, many plants start fruiting, like rose myrtle, Indian gooseberry and guava. I used to run around the hills picking and eating wild fruits. Indian gooseberry is one of the offerings during the Seventh Sister Festival (Chinese Valentine’s Day). If there’s a good harvest, it can be preserved. It tastes a bit like preserved tangerines. In autumn and winter, there are not many flowers or fruits. In the past, villagers would chop firewood and keep a bunch of old world forked fern to prepare for the cold. They would burn the wood and grass to keep warm.
“If you live by the mountains, live off the mountains; if you live by the sea, live off the sea.” In the past, food and daily necessities were sourced locally. We would make a dish called lai wok pin. After digging up some Asiatic hard clams and rock oysters, I’d pick some Chinese celery and spring onions from the fields on my way home. First, I’d make a batter using rice flour. I’d cook the clams and oysters with mushrooms, Chinese celery and spring onions to make a broth. The batter was poured around the edge of a wok. Once it took shape, I’d scoop it into the broth and eat it all together. Plants on the hills were also used to make everyday items. There’s a climbing vine called Japanese climbing fern. You pick and dry it and tie it into a bundle. Then you can use it as a brush to clean cookware. I’d say if you know what it’s good for, it’s a treasure; if not, it’s just a weed!
I had worked as a labourer in Shek Pik Reservoir. When I was 20, I started working in a
garment factory and a plastic factory in Tsuen Wan. At the time, a relative of mine relocated
from Shek Pik to Tsuen Wan because the government was building Shek Pik Reservoir. I
rented a place from this relative. After I got married, my family and I lived in the Tai Wo Hau
Resettlement Area for a while. Later, we moved to Tsing Yi and stayed there for more than 40
years. In the 1960s and 1970s, we watched Tsuen Wan and Tsing Yi develop. Now I’ve returned
to Shui Hau to live with my children.
When I was young, I often visited Tai O and Mui Wo, so I made a lot of friends. We still get together for tea. When we celebrated Weiya and paid tribute to the gods on the 16th day of the 12th lunar month, I’d invite my friends to Shui Hau Village. We’d cut up a suckling pig and worship Tai Wong Yeh. I like walking. Sometimes I walk alone from Tong Fuk to Shek Pik. It only takes half an hour. That’s nothing. I’m getting old and my bones are stiffer. They’ll get rusty if I don’t walk. Moving around helps loosen up the muscles and promote blood circulation.
When I was young, I often visited Tai O and Mui Wo, so I made a lot of friends. We still get together for tea. When we celebrated Weiya and paid tribute to the gods on the 16th day of the 12th lunar month, I’d invite my friends to Shui Hau Village. We’d cut up a suckling pig and worship Tai Wong Yeh. I like walking. Sometimes I walk alone from Tong Fuk to Shek Pik. It only takes half an hour. That’s nothing. I’m getting old and my bones are stiffer. They’ll get rusty if I don’t walk. Moving around helps loosen up the muscles and promote blood circulation.