Rambling around my ancestral Hainan
Feng Bao Temple & Haikou College of Economics, Guilinyang campus
After experiencing irksome delay from landing at the unintended “Qiongshan Middle School”, a delay that turns out to be a blessing in disguise, I finally find myself at the newly-erected Qiongshan Senior Middle School (琼山中学高中部; Qiongshan Zhongxue Gaozhong Bu), which is adjacent to Haikou Qiongshan People's Court (琼山区人民法院; Qiongshan Qu Remin Fayuan), 398 Xindazhou Avenue.
It is then that I realise the term “Three Kilometre” (or “Third Kilometre”), which is not printed on my map, is probably the commonly used name for that section of the expanded highway.
A trishaw waiting near the school entrance drives me back four hundred metres to the lane of Feng Village (also known as Tieqiao or Iron Bridge Village). Along that short ride, I snatch a fleeting glimpse of the green-tiled roofs of a new temple complex. I walk back to Xie Ban Bridge (斜板桥; literally, Slanting Plank Bridge), which runs over a tributary of the nearby Nandu River. The concrete bridge was built in 1995, according to the information on the plaque. This piece of information suggests to me that Xindazhou Avenue was also probably upgraded during that time.
Looking ahead, I see a large walled compound enclosing three temple buildings and their clearly visible straight-inclined roofs that, however, have sweeping ends. Two buildings are double-storey while one is single-storey. Fortunately, to my right, the new multi-storey property under construction on the edge of the curving river bank does not block my vision of the temple. I look down. This section of the narrow canal is dry, its moist bed covered with jubilant green water hyacinths.
Nine or ten large polished light-brown rocks, each about two metres in height, form an appealing rockery at the corner of the main road and the short narrow lane leading to Feng Clan Temple. One is artistically chiselled with pleasant bas-reliefs of bamboos and flowering bonsais on hills.
Beautifying both the external and interior compound walls are round and square bas-reliefs of dragons and phoenixes in golden colours. The top of the front wall is decorated with classical sweeping green-tiled roofs over its three entrances. The light-brown structural beams under the roofs are painted with attractive patterns and symbols in yellow, orange, blue, and various shades of green. The other walls are decorated with simple straight-inclined green-tiled roofs.
Inside the compound are the three temple buildings, which have been recently completed. Some workers are installing perhaps the plumbing system into the small pond under a small pavilion. The supervisor is friendly, readily giving me the permission to enter and inspect. A door of the side wall opens to a walking track beside the canal. Briefly standing there, I enjoy an unobstructed view of the Nandu tributary. Here, the stagnant water is shallow.
A gentleman arrives. He is friendly. I talk to him. Feng Ke (冯克) is overseeing the construction project. He is Executive Vice-President of the Hainan Province Feng Ancestral Hall Redevelopment Committee (海南省重建 冯氏宗祠委员会). A major sponsor of the project, a fact which I later gather from his friend, he is waiting to welcome another major sponsor, who soon enters with a beautiful young lady and some elderly gentlemen. I immediately seize the opportunity to introduce myself to the tall handsome gentleman.
Fung Chuen Kin (冯川建; Feng Chuan Jian) is very courteous and patient as I reply in my halting gibberish Mandarin to his questions. As he shows his friends around the complex and explains the role of the buildings, I closely follow them and eavesdrop.
“The statues of Feng Bao and Xian Furen will be placed here later,” he says, pointing to the empty ledge in one of the buildings.
I speak to the smiling lady, who is listening. No, she is not a Feng; she is his wife (“furen”), she replies.
Chuen Kin is a very able and busy man. Among his political achievements is his membership of both the National Committee of the CPPCC (Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference) and the Standing Committee of Hainan Provincial Committee of CPPCC. The President of a number of businesses, including Shanghai Kuyin Investment, Beijing Auspicious Raincloud Cultural Media, and Sino-Oceanland Real Estate (Hainan), he is also Vice-President of Hainan Province Charity. He is a keen sportsman, being Vice-President of both Hainan Province Sports Association and Hainan Golf associations.
God is mercifully, bestowing me with more friends than I deserve. On a weekend in Mingzhu Square, a sales team and their performers are promoting their brand of bottled milk tea. Since it is cheap and comes with a complimentary packet of facial tissue, I purchase a bottle from one of them. The twenty-year old pretty girl in beige chiffon dress has a charming smile. She is not only friendly but also considerate, offering this elderly tourist an extra packet.
Her simple gesture encourages me to strike a conversation, leading to a question on her full-time vocation. Learning the name of her college, which rings vaguely familiar, I ask if she would be free to show me around the ground of her campus. “Yes.” She writes down the name and address: new campus, Haikou College of Economics, Guilinyang.
Bus No. 67 starts from East Lake (Donghu) and terminates at the car park outside her campus entrance in the rural suburb about sixteen kilometres southeast of Haikou downtown. My fare from Haifu Road, near the roundabout of Haifu Road and Haixiu East Road, costs only 5 RMB.
Since visitors are required to register their identity card details with the two security officers at the sentry post, I wait for Wang Wenjun (王文君) to bring me through. Peering from the entrance, I can see the spacious ground and modern layout of the college. She arrives shortly after my phone call, and whisks me through without the need of registration. She apologises for being five minutes late, for keeping me waiting. Actually, I should have apologised for being fifteen minutes too early.
“This campus is so huge. And the buildings are so new. When was this campus opened?” I ask.
“Only last year,” she replies.
As it is just before lunch time, our first stop, at my invitation, is the café, located in one of the two buildings that overlook a small shopping mall. With about twelve tables, the simple unelaborated shop, half-filled with students, offers affordable Chinese cuisine. I glance through the menu. Wenjun asks me for my preference.
I laugh, “Anything, but not snake.”
Jocularly, she comments, “No, there are no snake dishes here.”
To assist, I indicate fish and chicken meat. She orders the Sichuanese preparation, which includes lots of chilli. Although they have many bones, the thin deep-fried fish are crispy and tasty. Together with the bowls of rice, the generous servings in the three dishes, including her favourite vegetable, cost less than 60 RMB ($12).
Wenjun is reading her third year of a four-year course in civil aviation transportation management. Her twelve-year old brother is in the sixth grade of a primary school in Heze, a western district of Shandong Province. In their forties, her parents are farmers, working continuously throughout the year. In autumn (September), they plant wheat, which they harvest in summer (May). Corn or cotton is then cultivated, ready for reaping or picking in autumn. Shandong’s climatic conditions permit only two harvests annually, she explains.
“What then do they do during their free time, that is, when they are not planting or harvesting?”
“They look for part-time jobs to earn extra income to pay for my university fees,” she reveals.
“How much is your school fees?”
“Fifteen thousand yuan [RMB] a year.”
“Fifteen thousand yuan a year! That is quite expensive.” I said. “Do your parents also rear chicken or duck or keep sheep or goat?”
“No, after working so hard, they don’t have the time or energy to do so.”
“Yes.” I nod my head in agreement.
Wenjun is a fortunate daughter. Despite their low income, her parents have sacrificially striven to provide a tertiary education for her. She should be proud of them. Born around the early nineteen-seventies, the tumultuous times of the Cultural Revolution, they had gone through, I surmise, harsh socio-economic conditions with their own parents. They now live with a hope of a better future for their children. The love they have for her is touching.
“I have a warm family. My parents lost good time for me.” As if reading my thoughts, the twenty-one year old pretty girl adds.
“What do you wish to do when you graduate at the end of next year?” I probe.
“I have no idea what I would like to do.”
Students in Guilinyang campus live an isolated life because the shops within cater to their daily necessities. We walk around the vast ground. Every building is sparklingly clean and new. The dormitories for students are high-rise apartments, each shared by four students. In her apartment, Wenjun confides, two other girls are from the mainland while one is local. If that proportion is representative of the population, then the majority of students come from the mainland.
Haikou College has about fifteen thousand students, Wenjun informs me. I am surprised by the figures even as I am surprised by the flood of staff and students shuffling between lecture theatres. These students enjoy enviable facilities in the modern library, science laboratories, sports arena, swimming pool, and even museum. The entrance to the sports stadium is crowded with people. I decide to avoid the wall of people.
Wenjun takes me to the library. It is spacious. The shelves are filled with books. A few students are seated, reading. The museum interests me. There is no lift. Wenjun walks up the flight of stairs to the fourth floor. Unfortunately, the door is shut; the curator and staff have gone for lunch.
We have walked for half a kilometre, and I am feeling slightly tired. I thank Wenjun, who accompanies me out of the gate. A No. 67 bus is waiting for passengers. I board the bus, and wave goodbye to her. Wenjun has studied English since her primary education. Unlike the other student in Haikou campus, she understands me when I sometimes express myself in English. She writes reasonably well in English too.
Huiwen, ancestral home of Admiral Chen Ce
On a free Monday morning, I return to Huiwen to sample the life in the coastal village town where Mum had once trot when she was a teenager. Although I have passed through it during my previous trips to Fengjia Bay, I have not alighted to explore the activities on foot.
Bereft of heavy traffic like cargo trucks, the main four-lane 201 Provincial Road appears deserted when my bus reaches the outskirt of town. In the heart of town however, it barely squeezes through the burst of stalls, parked vehicles, moving cars, motorcyclists, and people around lunchtime (and evening when people return from work). That is because the rural town of a square kilometre in size has only four or five short main intersecting streets. The side lanes are even narrower.
At the bus drop-off point, three motorcyclists are waiting, two receiving their fare when some passengers get off. Half an hour is sufficient for me to stride through the little town that offers practically no modern entertainment features like a large shopping complex or movie theatre. The shops on the ground levels of the three-storey buildings that overshadow the central streets stock the typical merchandise like provision supplies, clothing, herbs and medicine, fruits, and bicycles.
For 15 RMB, the remaining motorcyclist will take me to Chen Ce’s ancestral home and back. Along the way, the gentleman asks if I am interested in visiting the brothel ahead. Politely declining, I express my surprise that this small town even has one.
Shagang Village (沙港村) is about a kilometre southeast. The last two or three hundred metres to the KMT admiral’s house is merely a concretised alley that is broad enough for only one car. I shout through the shut grille gate. No one answers.
Two ladies in their fifties emerge from the adjacent house. One is a relative of the admiral; the other is her friend from the same village. The caretaker has probably gone out, the relative says. But she grants us permission to enter. Both then plop onto the hammocks that are tied to the trees to continue their interrupted chat. The gate is not locked. The admiral’s ancestral house is a typical Hainanese or Chinese family’s brick building. Some photographs and information are hung on the walls.
Better known in romanised Cantonese as Chan Chak, Chen Ce (陈策) was born in 1893 as Chen Ming Tang (陈明唐; Cantonese: Chan Ming Tong). At the age of three, he was taken to Singapore by his father, who was a courier between Hainan and Singapore.
But at the beginning of the new century, Ming Tong, now eight years of age, returned to Hainan with his two brothers. While he was undergoing his primary and secondary education, seismic upheavals were radically altering the conservative landscape across the strait.
In the aftermath of the 1900 Boxer Rebellion, Sun Yat-sen was embarking on his revolutionary course, forming the United League in 1905. Six uprisings were initiated mainly in southern China in 1907 and 1908 against the Qing dynasty, their failures inducing some of Sun’s supporters to challenge his leadership. The league was polarised, and Sun tirelessly travelled to Southeast Asian countries like Singapore and Malaya to raise funds for his faction.
Despite the national despair and gloom, loud pressing cries for a new republic of China continued, rousing an indignant sixteen-year old Ming Tong. Completing his secondary education in Hainan, the adventurous lad eagerly joined Sun’s United League and enrolled in the naval academy in Guangzhou. The success of the October 1911 uprising in Wuchang city in Hubei sparked off a series of successful uprisings throughout the country. Some provinces like Fujian, Guangdong, Shandong, and Sichuan were even declaring independence, a move that threatened the disintegration of China.
Fortunately, cool heads prevailed. At the end of 1911, Sun was elected president of the Republic of China provisional government by an assembly of seventeen provincial leaders. The following year, he declared the inception of the Republic. He generously relinquished the presidency to Yuan Shikai after the northern warlord had succeeded in effecting the last Qing emperor’s abdication. A unitary Republic of China seemed assured.
Yuan Shikai, however, harboured a monarchical penchant, his autocratic actions against the KMT, which had endeavoured to curtail his extensive power, soon leading to friction with Sun. His suspected involvement in the 1913 assassination of Song Jiaoren, the republican leader generally expected to be the first parliamentary-elected prime minister, was the last straw for Sun, who fled to Japan to organise another revolution, this time against him.
A loyal supporter of Sun, Ming Tong as well as his friends attempted to eliminate one of Yuan’s leading officials in Guangzhou. The victim was injured, not dead. Failing in the bid, Ming Tong fled to Hong Kong. Declaring himself as emperor in December 1915, Yuan died six months later from a natural cause, freeing China from another decadent dynasty. Ming Tong and Sun were safe to return to Guangzhou. But the country was on the verge of another collapse because of the resurgent warlords. During this “Era of Warlords”, Sun intended to conquer the north to reunite the country. Disagreeing, one of his followers turned against him in mid-1922.
Under attack, Sun and Chiang Kai-shek were safely escorted by twenty-nine year old Ming Tong and some loyalists to a battle ship. Losing the ensuing naval battle, they escaped to Hong Kong. Because of his loyalty and miraculous naval talent in extricating them from a certain death, Ming Tong was fondly nicknamed in Cantonese by fifty-five year old Sun as Uncle “Chak” (“strategy”) – Chak Suk. Thus, Chan Ming Tong became famously known as “Chan Chak” (Chen Ce). In 1924, Sun returned to China to appeal for a united country but the physically ill revolutionary died of liver cancer in March 1925. After a power struggle, in which he gained the KMT leadership, Chiang Kai-shek gave Chen Ce command of the Guangdong Navy.
Based in Hong Kong, Chen Ce started a married life in 1925. Two years later, the communists and KMT split, leading to a civil war. After the 1931 Japanese invasion of Manchuria, the first of the provocative “incidents” that would eventually escalate into a full-scale war, Chen Ce, as a Nationalist officer, visited Britain in August 1933 to study the naval base at Portsmouth.
By mid-1937, Japan launched the anticipated war with an invasion of Shanghai. Defending the fort at the narrow strategic strait known as Humen (literally, Tiger Gate; “Bocca Tigris” to Western navigators) at the Pearl River mouth, the Vice-Admiral’s navy bravely confronted the invaders from 1937 to 1938. During a battle, his left foot was wounded.
Hospitalised in a Hong Kong hospital, Chen Ce underwent amputation of his infected leg and was fitted with an artificial one. In a defence co-operation with the British against the Japanese, the Nationalist Government appointed him to lead its military mission in the colony. As Commander of the Chinese 4th Naval Squadron, he liaised with David MacDougall from the British Ministry of Information. By October 1938, the enemies had captured Guangzhou. Finally, on the eighth of December 1941, they attacked Hong Kong, outnumbering the British and Allied forces during the fierce two-week battle.
On the twenty-fifth morning of December 1941, the beaten British placed 2nd MTB Flotilla under Chen Ce’s charge to prevent it from falling into Japanese hands during the formal surrender later that day. Dodging hails of enemy bullets, the “One-legged Admiral”, shot in one arm, successfully steered the daring escape of high-ranking British officers in motor torpedo boats to the mainland, an event graphically recapitulated in Ou Daxiong’s Dujiao Jiangjun Chen Ce Chuan (Biography of the One-Legged Admiral Chan Chak) as well as in Tim Luard’s Escape from Hong Kong: Admiral Chan Chak’s Christmas Day Dash, 1941.
After the mission, Chen Ce was conferred the Honorary Knight Commander of the Military Division of the Order of the British Empire (K.B.E.) in August 1942.
For the rest of the war, he bravely fought the Japanese. With their surrender in 1945, he became the Mayor of Guangzhou. After a year, he resigned to assume appointment as the Commander-in-Chief of the South China Navy.
He died unexpectedly in 1949 at the age of fifty-six from stomach ulcer in Guangzhou and was given, after a posthumous promotion to full Admiral, a military burial in Hong Kong. His wife too died in 1949, but two months earlier.
Parting words
Admiral Chen Ce’s death-defying adventures remind me of the life story of Charlie Soong. Both are Hainanese who left Hainan; yet they later contributed immensely to the progress and welfare of their society. In their case, it is the larger polity of China. In a sense, Hainan has made an impact on the history - and future - of China.
Through the Hainanese emigrants and their descendants, the province has also made a similar contribution to the development of their new homes, to their new nations. In Singapore, for instance, many have served in the government, Parliament, civil service, tertiary institutions, and statutory boards, and many more have contributed in non-governmental organisations and fields.
These names swiftly spring to my mind: Claire Chiang See Ngoh, Mrs Fang Ai Lian, Mrs Yu-Foo Yee Shoon, Ann Jong Juan, Cham Tao Soon, Chao Hick Tin, Chau Sik Ting, Chiang Hai Ding, Chin Harn Tong, Cedric Foo Chee Keng, Foo Kok Pheow, Han Cheng Fong, Ho Ho Ying, Ho Hua Chew, Lim Chong Yah, Loh Meng See, Mah Bow Tan, Ngiam Tong Dow, Ngiam Tong Tau, Pang Hee Hon, Pang Tee Pow, Sin Boon Ann, Sin Boon Wah, Tan Boon Wan, Tan Chuan-Jin, Tan Jee Say, Lawrence Wong Shyun Tsai, and Wu Teh Yao.
Mah was the Minister for Communication and then National Development from 1991 to 2011. Cedric Foo was Minister of State for three years from 2002. Elected as Member of Parliament and appointed soon after as Minister of State in 2011, both Wong and Brigadier-General Tan Chuan-Jin were promoted to full minister in 2014. With more than four decades of civil service, Ngiam Tong Dow was permanent secretary in the various ministries, including the Prime Minister’s Office, for twenty-two years. His Reflections made him a household name in Singapore.
Pang Tee Pow (冯世宝; Feng Shi Bao) was Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Defence when he succumbed to a swift and debilitating lung cancer in November 1977. In his kind condolence letter to Mrs Moonlight Pang Tee Pow, Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew wrote:
“I cannot find words equal to my sorrow at the death of Pang Tee Pow….
I first knew him some 15 years ago. He was my secretary. He was dependable and unflappable. The last 7 years he spent in the Ministry of Defence. His competence, hard work and judgement, stemming from long experience handling men, these qualities made him a pillar of strength in Mindef. He never evaded his responsibilities nor shirked unpleasant decisions – qualities essential for the management of a large disciplined force.
We shall all miss him. I understand how grievous your loss is for I feel the gap that has been left in the top ranks. This gap is not easy to fill….”
Born in Singapore in 1928, Pang Tee Pow entered the civil service as a laboratory assistant in 1949 on completion of his war-interrupted secondary education in Raffles Institution. His diligence and talent saw him promoted to be labour inspector the following year as well as later awarded a bursary to further his education. Burnished with a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Economics from the University of Malaya (the precursor of National University of Singapore) in 1955, the fresh graduate was streamed into the administrative service division.
September 1959 marked a turning point in the administrative officer’s career. Transferred to the Prime Minister’s Office, where he became the secretary to Lee, the newly-elected Prime Minister of self-governing Singapore, his promotion between September 1959 and December 1961, was rapid: Registrar of Citizens (October 1959), Acting Controller of Immigration (1960), Registrar of Societies (October 1961), Deputy Secretary in the Ministry of Home Affairs, and then Commissioner of Labour (December 1961).
Elevated again in 1965, the Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Labour was tasked with a similar role in the Ministry of Interior and Defence (MID) in September 1969 as well. When MID was restructured in August 1970 into two ministries - Home Affairs and Defence (Mindef) - he was embedded as Permanent Secretary in the latter. During the course of his public service, he concurrently chaired Central Provident Fund (1966-1970), Housing and Development Board (February 1969-August 1970), and Sembawang Shipyard (1973-1977).
Pang Tee Pow’s ancestors Feng Bao and Lady Xian should be exceedingly proud to have such an illustrious descendant, a descendant worthy to bear the honoured “Bao” (宝) name.
I leave Hainan with a gratifying sense of accomplishment. I have discovered my ancestral home in Wenchang; I have discovered my genetic roots in northern China. For a fleeting moment, I bask in the transient glory that I am a royalty, a prince, and even a descendant of a fierce Lingnan Li warrior-goddess! A divine royal, to boot! It is a momentous discovery, a discovery from my rambling around my ancestral Hainan. Could I be a kin of Kublai Khan?
Through God’s graciousness I live a blessed life, surrounded with wonderful friends and relatives. I am forever grateful and indebted to them as well as to the researchers, new friends, and fellow Hainanese who have unstintingly assisted me during my search and trips around the tropical paradise. To them, especially to my maternal niece Zhang Cai Hong and nephew Zhang Fa Geng, this mendicant writer has nothing to give in return except only his heartfelt thanks.
Copyright 2015
Photos
The End
Copyright 2015
Page 482 - 492
Feng Bao-Xian Furen Memorial Hall
Haikou College of Economics
Admiral Chen Ce
Copyright 2015