Author: Martin Liu
Date: 10-11-02 22:12
South China Morning Post
Saturday May 23 1999
Far-flung clans return to the fold
Kevin Sinclair
IN the spring of 1799, the To clan was celebrating a wedding on the
fishing
island of Tap Mun. Suddenly, an incredible thunderstorm lashed Mirs
Bay.
Lightning snapped like cannon, enormous seas broke over the sheltered
harbour, and the winds tore at the furled sails of the clustered junks.
The terrified hosts and their guests from other fishing hamlets in Sai
Kung
and Tolo Harbour fell to their knees and beseeched Tin Hau and her
attendant
gods of mercy and war to save them from the fury of the storm. As
always,
Tin Hau heeded the calls of the Tanka fisherfolk.
Two centuries later, the descendants of the wedding party survivors
gathered
last week to thank the goddess, just as they have done every 10 years
since
the great tempest.
The sole lane on Tap Mun, usually empty save for a couple of gossiping
great-grandmothers, was crammed with thousands of visitors, many of
them
Tanka and Hakka who have settled overseas. There were accents from
Edinburgh
and Birmingham. You could hear conversations in German, French, Dutch
and
Swedish. For the first time in a decade, the sojourners of Mirs Bay had
come
home for the elaborate festival to honour the merciful Tin Hau.
They came from California and Sydney, from Scottish villages and the
great
cities of Europe. For some, like Annica Ho, who was born and raised in
a
small town in Sweden where her father Ho Ngau worked in a Chinese
restaurant, it was the first glimpse of her ancestral roots.
The guest list in 1799 included visitors from surrounding islands and
coastal villages, places such as Kau Lau Wan, Kat O, Wong Wan and Sam
Mun
Tsai. Ten generations later, the same families were there to remember
the
miracle. There were the scattered villagers of the Lee, Lai, Lam, Wong,
To,
Lau, Chan, Cheung, Ho, Fong and Shek families.
They were keeping faith with a promise made 200 years ago. As dawn
broke on
Tap Mun after the storm, elders vowed that every 10 years they would
hold a
'Tai Ping Ching Chiu', a ceremony for peace and worship that dates back
to
the Han dynasty.
It was a hugely enjoyable and colourful six-day ceremony. In January,
villagers started intoning the names of all known descendants to the
gods in
the ornate Tap Mun temple. In March, a 99-member organising committee
began
final preparations.
After the Ching Ming festival in April, there was a ban on funerals,
and no
boats could leave the enclosed harbour.
Like many other fishing communities, Tap Mun has lost its young
generation
to city life. The catches in over-fished Mirs Bay have dwindled for
years;
coastal fishing is no way to make a living.
But those boats left in the fishing fleet, dominated now by mighty deep
sea
trawlers, gathered for the flotilla that was the highlight of the Tap
Mun
10-year party.
It was a stirring, majestic sight, a spectacle to excite and thrill.
From
the pier at Wong Shek, at the tip of the Sai Kung country park, fast
ferries
shuttled visitors to Tap Mun, 10 minutes away.
The harbour front was decked in scarlet and gold. Three large fishing
junks
led the procession, with scores of multi-coloured triangular clan flags
snapping to attention in the stiff breeze. They were followed by 40
sampans,
many of them decorated with themes of worship and messages to the gods.
Drums roared, lions danced, dragons pranced, cymbals clanged and
fireworks
woke the gods. Spectator boats carrying 2,000 celebrants followed the
flotilla out of Tap Mun cove.
The fleet circled the island, coming to a halt on the sheltered lee.
Incense
and paper offerings to the deities were lit. Prayers were made to the
sea
and thanks given to Tin Hau.
On board one of the boats, Lai Siu-kau, 67, explained how he had left
Tap
Mun 20 years ago, following his sons who sought a proper education for
their
children.
Many of his generation had already left, with a major exodus in the
hard
years of the 1950s when the first wave of migrants pulsed out of the
New
Territories seeking economic salvation in Britain. They opened the
Chinese
takeaways that are now a culinary feature of almost every town in the
UK.
Chan Fong Kam-mui headed for Edinburgh. She was one of hundreds
returning to
the native village, seeking blessings for her family and to keep the
pact
with the gods.
We chatted on a massive 35-metre trawler named Lai Koon-yau, after a
fabled
Mirs Bay fishing skipper. It was a jolly expedition, with about 400
people
on board. Among them was a martial arts team made up of the Tap Mun
Youth
Association; most of the burly young fellows beating the drum and doing
the
traditional dragon dance lived in Kowloon. One of them had a cap with
Liverpool embroidered on the back - one of the many returnees seeking
his
cultural heritage.
On another vessel, monks intoned gratitude for the intercession of Tin
Hau
during the great storm, and for her mercy in saving islanders facing
peril
on the sea. They also remembered those who even the benign goddess
could not
save, the fishing families who had drowned while seeking the elusive
harvest
of the deep.
The offerings were enormous. First 36 bundles of paper money, clothes
and
offerings bearing the names of the clans were scattered on the water.
Then
360 more. Then another 720.
Throughout the two-hour ceremony, the drums beat and the fireworks
thundered.
It was more than just worshipping, but a gathering of the scattered
clans.
Fong Luk-yau was back from Glasgow, one of a party of 26 friends from
Scotland who had travelled together. It was a chance for a reunion with
relatives from the port of Sam Mun Tsai in Tolo Harbour.
Like many of the returnees, he had donated money to fund the 10-year
celebration. The festival, which cost $4 million, was totally funded by
the
villagers. That figure covered the cost of vegetarian meals,
transportation,
Chinese opera, paper offerings and incense.
For many of those who came to the ancestral home, it was a chance to
show
foreign-born children their native villages. Ms Ho, a charming
17-year-old,
goes to school in Kristianstad in Sweden. On Tap Mun, she met other
young
people born in America, Europe and Australia, as well as relatives from
Hong
Kong.
'This is an important occasion for us,' her father said. 'Sweden is a
lovely
place, but in our hearts, Mirs Bay is our home.'
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