A walk through Hong Kong Cemetery reveals a full picture of the city's contemporary history. Photos by Edmond Tang
In a city as busy and noisy as Hong Kong, one may wonder if there is any place of quiet. It turns out that there is - a place of permanent peace.
The first time I passed the Hong Kong Cemetery (also known as Hong Kong Happy Valley Cemetery) was in late December, two weeks after I first arrived in Hong Kong. On a bus to Causeway Bay, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the forest of tombstones. Against the leaden sky, the granite stones, standing in the pouring rain, exuded a profound sense of melancholy.
The sight was so incongruous against its glitzy surroundings of glass and steel, that it begged for further exploration.
So, nearly two months later on a sunny February morning, I went again - this time accompanied by Joseph Ting Sun-pao, a highly-regarded historian and former director of the Hong Kong Museum of History.
For me, the tour promised endless excitement, but for Ting it was just another visit to his usual haunt. After years of research, poking around the gravestones and tirelessly transcribing the epitaphs, Ting has just put to print his latest work - A Preliminary Study - Prominent Figures in the Hong Kong Cemetery at Happy Valley.
"Believe me, there is no better place to study the contemporary history of Hong Kong than at the graveyards," says Ting.
The Hong Kong Cemetery, founded in 1845, is one of its oldest Christian cemeteries, offering a full picture of the two opium wars.
One coffin-shaped gravestone has a rudder-and-anchor sculpture on it indicating clearly to whom it belongs.
In fact, the largest tombs were erected by officers and crew of the British Navy, often for fellow shipmates and soldiers who died during the war.
One example is the HMS "Cornwallis". Words inscribed on the north face of this tomb states that it is dedicated to the officers of the ship and "marine officers of the Expedition".
"'Cornwallis' was the flagship of the British Navy during the First Opium War," says Ting. "It had participated in some of the fiercest battles in the late stages of the war. And it was on this ship that The Treaty of Nanjing was signed."
However, according to Ting, most people in the British Navy and garrison forces lost their lives not to the battle, but to Hong Kong's tropical weather and the raging epidemics.
A group tomb, for those who died of fever between June and September in 1848, testifies to this. It carries 96 names but the actual number was probably much higher.
Not surprisingly, at that time doctors were held in extremely high regard - a status reflected in the size of their tombs. One of them was the colonial surgeon Aurelius Harland. The epitaph states that he was "admired for his skills and physiology".
Harland died on Sept 12, 1858, aged 39. Only a few steps from his tomb lies the one in memory of his predecessor, Dr William Morrison, who died five years earlier at the age of 41.
Not far from the cemetery's main entrance on Wong Nei Chong Road stands one of the island's oldest fountains - a cherub pouring water from a jar. The child is protected by a giant West Indies mahogany - one of the many imported plant species that today colonize this part of the island.
In some cases, nature has "rewritten" the epitaphs on the tombstones. Occasionally, one finds a tombstone overrun by weeds, or half-buried in the ground; a crucifix out of place or a tomb streaked with muddy rain trails.
But the place is never short of stories. Often, one can tell a person's religion and nationality by the shape of the grave. Interspersed among the ubiquitous Christian monuments are tombs for members of the Russian Orthodox Church, as well as those who belonged to the clandestine Freemasons, from which the Mormon Church evolved.
"Many buried here became known as members of the Freemasons only after their death," says Ting.
On the day of our visit, the sun was shining brightly. From behind the identical tombs for members of the Hong Kong Police Force, it cast deep shadows on the ground. Of equal length and in neat rows, the shadows, like the tombstones themselves, resembled soldiers in formation.
But they were no more symbolic than the tomb for Yang Quyun, a revolutionary who helped overthrow the Qing government, before fleeing to Hong Kong where he was assassinated by the Qing government in 1901. His tomb carries not a single word and is marked only by a crack running through the middle - a poignant reminder of a life tragically cut short.
According to Ting, the Hong Kong Cemetery is the final resting place for many who were involved in uprisings in the late 19th and early 20th century, including the Boxer Rebellions and the Xinhai Revolution. Some of them were close acquaintances of Sun Yat-sen and had been instrumental to his cause.
Sir Ho Kai, a prominent leader of the local Chinese society and teacher of Sun, is also buried here, together with his two wives.
Despite being Christians (with some converting to Christianity after arriving in Hong Kong), many of the Chinese incorporated traditional elements into their final resting place. There is one Chinese tomb that resembles a pagoda, with the epitaph written in the form of couplets.
Also buried in the cemetery is Sir Robert Ho Tung (1862-1958), the richest and most influential Chinese businessman of his time. Today, his legacy endures in the form of his grand-nephew Stanley Ho Hung-sun, "The King of Gambling" in Macao, whose grandfather was Ho Tung's younger brother.
Located directly opposite the main entrance to Hong Kong's Happy Valley Race Course, the cemetery seems the ideal place for the tomb of a man who always led a privileged life. His tomb is in white marble instead of the widely-used granite - a reflection of the owner's status.
Rich or poor, English, Chinese or Russians, the people whose tombs are located in this cemetery paint a colorful picture of the multi-ethnic, international city that is Hong Kong.
My most recent visit to the tombs was in late March. The warm air was perfumed by roses in deep, velvety red that seemed ablaze in front of the tombs. There were a reminder that the Qingming Festival - a day for the Chinese to remember their dead - was around the corner.
Butterflies danced in between the sun-gilded gravestones. The all-pervasive quiet was broken only by the twittering of birds.
It brought to mind director Ting's words: "This place is known as the Happy Valley not because of the race course but because of the cemetery. It's the path to eternal happiness."
Picking my way out through the grass I saw one tomb with a single line.
"Gone but not forgotten."
(Xinhua April 3, 2008)