Former teacher Sung Chu-king is a Cheung Chau native. After graduating
from Northcote Training College, he worked as an English teacher at Tai
A Chau and Siu A Chau Public School and Shui Hau School. From 1983
to 1990, he served as the principal of Shui Hau School until its closure.
Due to the long commute to the school, he lived in Shui Hau Village for
some time. Apart from teaching, he would often go with his students to
catch fish and crabs at Shui Hau Wan after school, and joined villagers
in harvesting rice. During festive seasons, villagers would remind him
to place bamboo baskets at the school gate, which they would fill with
gifts such as chicken, taro and pineapples as a token of gratitude for his
dedication to education.
I am a Cheung Chau native born in 1943. I had a lot of “firsts” during my school years. After
graduating from Cheung Chau Anglo-Chinese School, the school happened to launch its
very first junior secondary programme, and I managed to get in. That meant I didn’t have to
travel to Hong Kong Island for secondary school. After I completed Form Three and sitting the
public exam, the school launched its first senior secondary programme, and I made it again. I
even got a scholarship every year — thank God for that. Later on, I got into Northcote Training
College (renamed Northcote College of Education in 1967), where I majored in Visual Arts and
minored in English.
Northcote was a pretty open-minded teacher training college. Students didn’t have to wear uniforms. I really agreed with the school’s philosophy: “If you still carry yourself like a student, how can you be a teacher?”
I joined a one-year programme at Northcote in 1964. Each semester included a threemonth teaching practicum at a primary school. The practicum was actually more important than the exams. Our tutors would come and observe how we taught and whether we had good classroom management. The principal would write up an evaluation. About a third of my classmates didn’t make it to graduation. It wasn’t easy. After finishing at Northcote, I spent a year teaching at a primary school. During that time, the Education Department (now the Education Bureau) would send their inspectors to observe our classes. You had to pass their inspection to qualify as a certified teacher.
Northcote was a pretty open-minded teacher training college. Students didn’t have to wear uniforms. I really agreed with the school’s philosophy: “If you still carry yourself like a student, how can you be a teacher?”
I joined a one-year programme at Northcote in 1964. Each semester included a threemonth teaching practicum at a primary school. The practicum was actually more important than the exams. Our tutors would come and observe how we taught and whether we had good classroom management. The principal would write up an evaluation. About a third of my classmates didn’t make it to graduation. It wasn’t easy. After finishing at Northcote, I spent a year teaching at a primary school. During that time, the Education Department (now the Education Bureau) would send their inspectors to observe our classes. You had to pass their inspection to qualify as a certified teacher.
I spent two and a half years teaching at a private school in Tai Kok Tsui. The pay was pretty
good. The primary school ran both morning and afternoon sessions. Teaching the morning
session paid $600 a month; doing both sessions paid $1,000. If you also taught night school,
you could earn $1,300. But private schools were not like government-subsidised schools — they
didn’t give you a yearly raise based on seniority. At the time, one of my former classmates who
was teaching at Shui Hau School wanted to resign and asked me to take his place.
In 1967, I started teaching English part-time at two primary schools on outlying islands. I was what they called a “0.5 teacher”, which simply means a part-time teacher. Every week, I spent two and a half days at Shui Hau School and two and a half days at Tai A Chau and Siu A Chau Public School. It took three hours by ferry to travel from Cheung Chau to Tai A Chau. Many teachers from Hong Kong Island didn’t want to teach there. The village head Ng Kam-chuen, who was also the school supervisor, told me: “You are from Cheung Chau. You’re used to boat trips.” He asked me to help, and if I didn’t, the school would have no English teacher. I didn’t mind, so I agreed. Both primary schools had just over 50 students, and some of them didn’t start school until they were in their teens.
Shui Hau School was not bad. They managed to hire two and a half teachers. The morning class was taught by an older teacher, who usually rented a place in Shui Hau. For the afternoon session, a younger teacher arrived at the school at 12:30pm, so he was able to sleep in a bit longer. The half-time teacher was usually an English teacher — it was not easy to qualify as an English teacher, so there weren’t many of them, and they often had to teach at two schools.
Among the teachers, I was the youngest. In 1969, I also took on a management role. My main task was to oversee the school’s finances and deal with the Education Department’s annual audits. On 1 September 1983, I became the principal of Shui Hau School. I was the very last one, as student numbers continued to drop. The school eventually closed in 1989, and I stepped down on 3 January 1990.
In terms of school subjects, textbooks and homework, there was no difference between village schools and schools in the city. The biggest difference was the class timetable. The school management had to schedule classes around the farming calendar. In particular, senior students often had to help with farm work. There were no classes during rice harvest (usually from late June to early July, and again from late October to late November). I myself would also go to the fields to help the school supervisor Fung Yau-sing harvest rice.
In 1967, I started teaching English part-time at two primary schools on outlying islands. I was what they called a “0.5 teacher”, which simply means a part-time teacher. Every week, I spent two and a half days at Shui Hau School and two and a half days at Tai A Chau and Siu A Chau Public School. It took three hours by ferry to travel from Cheung Chau to Tai A Chau. Many teachers from Hong Kong Island didn’t want to teach there. The village head Ng Kam-chuen, who was also the school supervisor, told me: “You are from Cheung Chau. You’re used to boat trips.” He asked me to help, and if I didn’t, the school would have no English teacher. I didn’t mind, so I agreed. Both primary schools had just over 50 students, and some of them didn’t start school until they were in their teens.
Shui Hau School was not bad. They managed to hire two and a half teachers. The morning class was taught by an older teacher, who usually rented a place in Shui Hau. For the afternoon session, a younger teacher arrived at the school at 12:30pm, so he was able to sleep in a bit longer. The half-time teacher was usually an English teacher — it was not easy to qualify as an English teacher, so there weren’t many of them, and they often had to teach at two schools.
Among the teachers, I was the youngest. In 1969, I also took on a management role. My main task was to oversee the school’s finances and deal with the Education Department’s annual audits. On 1 September 1983, I became the principal of Shui Hau School. I was the very last one, as student numbers continued to drop. The school eventually closed in 1989, and I stepped down on 3 January 1990.
In terms of school subjects, textbooks and homework, there was no difference between village schools and schools in the city. The biggest difference was the class timetable. The school management had to schedule classes around the farming calendar. In particular, senior students often had to help with farm work. There were no classes during rice harvest (usually from late June to early July, and again from late October to late November). I myself would also go to the fields to help the school supervisor Fung Yau-sing harvest rice.
When I first started teaching at Shui Hau School, I couldn’t stand the infrequent bus service in
Lantau so I quickly bought a car. For a while, I lived in Shui Hau Village to make commuting
easier. I was the first person in the village to own a black-and-white TV. In the evenings, the
students would gather to watch TV together. The TV picked up whatever signals it could, and
we just watched whatever was shown. I distinctly remember watching the Macau car races.
I got along well with the villagers. Once, the village head reminded me that a festival was coming up. I thought he was asking me to contribute money, but actually I was supposed to place two bamboo baskets at the school entrance for the villagers to leave gifts. During Lunar New Year, they would bring chicken and sticky rice cakes; for the Mid-Autumn Festival, there was taro; and during the harvest season, there were pineapples and sugar-apples. The villagers were incredibly kind to the teachers. The students were well-behaved and innocent, and the parents cared deeply about their children’s education.
I was like a big kid. After school, I’d tag along with the students to go up into the hills to pick wild fruit and catch turtles. At night, we’d head to the beach with a big lamp to catch crabs and fish. The students taught me a lot about wildlife. When a chicken died in the village, we’d bring it to the big stream at Shui Hau Wan and weigh it down with some rocks. At night, many Chinese mitten crabs would be attracted to the spot and we’d catch them to make crab congee. The whole pot was full of crab roe. It was a real treat. I’d also buy derris at vegetable seed shops in Sheung Wan. I’d crush the roots and soak them in water, then head to the elevated pineapple fields in Shui Hau and pour the milky derris water into the river. When Hong Kong catfish and snakehead were stimulated by this, they’d surface to breathe fresh air. We’d then catch them. The next morning, giant marbled eels near the mudflats downstream would also appear.
After I left Shui Hau School, I went on to teach art at Cheung Chau Church Kam Kong Primary School. My students won many awards. Even after I retired, I’ve kept in touch with them. We’d meet for yum cha on Hong Kong Island or Cheung Chau. They’re in their 70s now, and some had gone to heaven.
I got along well with the villagers. Once, the village head reminded me that a festival was coming up. I thought he was asking me to contribute money, but actually I was supposed to place two bamboo baskets at the school entrance for the villagers to leave gifts. During Lunar New Year, they would bring chicken and sticky rice cakes; for the Mid-Autumn Festival, there was taro; and during the harvest season, there were pineapples and sugar-apples. The villagers were incredibly kind to the teachers. The students were well-behaved and innocent, and the parents cared deeply about their children’s education.
I was like a big kid. After school, I’d tag along with the students to go up into the hills to pick wild fruit and catch turtles. At night, we’d head to the beach with a big lamp to catch crabs and fish. The students taught me a lot about wildlife. When a chicken died in the village, we’d bring it to the big stream at Shui Hau Wan and weigh it down with some rocks. At night, many Chinese mitten crabs would be attracted to the spot and we’d catch them to make crab congee. The whole pot was full of crab roe. It was a real treat. I’d also buy derris at vegetable seed shops in Sheung Wan. I’d crush the roots and soak them in water, then head to the elevated pineapple fields in Shui Hau and pour the milky derris water into the river. When Hong Kong catfish and snakehead were stimulated by this, they’d surface to breathe fresh air. We’d then catch them. The next morning, giant marbled eels near the mudflats downstream would also appear.
After I left Shui Hau School, I went on to teach art at Cheung Chau Church Kam Kong Primary School. My students won many awards. Even after I retired, I’ve kept in touch with them. We’d meet for yum cha on Hong Kong Island or Cheung Chau. They’re in their 70s now, and some had gone to heaven.
