A WALK IN HER FATHER’S FOOTSTEPS
(by Faye Gillis)
October 27, 2007. As the plane starts its descent into Chek Lap Kok airport, I gaze out at the island of Hong Kong with deep sadness and apprehension. I have left my home and job, my family, my comfortable life to move here for 2-3 years with my husband. This is the eighth move in our married life relating to his work. My mind tries to comprehend what an 19 year old farm boy from Runnymede Quebec, aboard the SS Awateah might have felt as he landed in Hong Kong on November 16, 1941.
68 years ago, my father, Pte. Harold Wilfred Englehart, Royal Rifles of Canada was one of 1975 soldiers who were deployed to assist the British in their defense of Hong Kong. One quarter of these soldiers died in battle or during the ensuing 3 years and 8 months as Japanese POW’s. His survival and return to civilian life in which he married and had three children, and consequentially my living in Hong Kong is a remarkable example of how life is interconnected. He was an active member of the Hong Kong Veteran’s Association and my childhood is filled with memories of their yearly reunions and the special bond that he had with his comrades.
Unfortunately, in my youth, I was impatient with his difficulties connected to “the past” and did not understand the impact and long term effects that this experience had on him. To his credit, he managed to move beyond the nightmare and found pleasure in being outdoors, fishing, camping, maintaining his home, reading and studying scientific theories. His children and grandchildren were a delight and his eyes would brighten when we were around. I would catch glimpses of his suffering, sometimes around Christmas or Remembrance Day, sometimes when he thought we were not looking. Yet, incredibly, his stories of that time were mainly humorous tales, which never dwelt on the illnesses, starvation or abuses that he suffered. He worked diligently to provide for our family’s comfort and our education so that we could have a better life.
Hong Kong has changed tremendously since 1941. It is one of the major financial centres of the world with sparkling skyscrapers and luxury items on every corner. Exotic cars, wonderful Michelin rated restaurants, multiple shopping arcades with high-end fashion houses and a constant stream of people are confronted daily. Ships crossing the harbour and numerous construction projects- the sights, smells and sounds are overwhelming to me even though I have spent much of my life living in cities in North America. But, there are also many reminders of another time. Bullet and shrapnel holes in the lions that stand guard outside the HSBC head office on Chater Road, concrete patches that repair the damages to the clock tower near the Star Ferry in Tsim Sha Tsui and the Legislative Council Building east of Statute Square, the altar piece and crucifix from the chapel at the Sham Shui Po internment camp located in St. John’s Cathedral and the Sai Wan war graves cemetery which contains the remains of many of my father’s friends, these remind me of those terrible times.
My tears have shed freely since I landed in Hong Kong. Standing at the Cenotaph watching Adrienne Clarkson, former Governor General of Canada lay a remembrance day wreath and attending the Canadian war remembrance ceremony at Sai Wan where I met Brigadier Christopher Hammerbeck in the early days of my arrival were poignant reminders of my father’s struggles. The term “post traumatic stress syndrome” was not used prior to the end of the Vietnam War to explain the psychological and physical effects that manifested in these survivors. I was on my way to learning the impact of these experiences on his development transitioning from adolescent to young adulthood. Indeed, when I was a teenager, at times, I would consider what it would have been like to have been captured, starved and mistreated instead of attending college, partying with friends, attending rock and roll concerts and having every privilege and freedom possible. If nothing else, I have always felt deep appreciation for their sacrifices that allowed me to live such a privileged life.
I’ve had difficulty adjusting to life in Hong Kong in spite of living in a luxurious apartment with daily contact to family and friends back home. I often feel bored and unfulfilled in spite of the many social groups and activities that I participate in. Even the inability to watch my favourite television shows annoys me. Then, I stop and think about what it must have been like to have all your freedom taken away from you, no communication with family, to feel hungry all the time, to be ill and not be able to obtain necessary medical treatments…to not know if or when you would ever get to go home and I wonder, how did he ever survive?
One of the things that I do in Hong Kong is assist with the preparation and serving of food to men who are homeless at the Home of Love run by the Missionaries of Charity in Sham Shui Po. Ironically, the site is located where many of the POW’s including my father was interned until he was drafted to Japan in January 1943. The men receive 2 meals a day of rice, vegetables and meat or fish and may have second or third helpings. The Sister’s make sure that no food is wasted; every kernel of rice is precious. The men look hungry and eat quickly and quietly before they leave to go off into the surrounding park and busy streets. My heart aches when I see my father in the eyes of these men, knowing that his daily ration would have been considerably smaller and less nourishing…knowing that there was no door that he could freely walk through, no social worker to help him find shelter. It is a humbling experience.
One story that my father did share with me was that they had been commanded to surrender by the Governor on Christmas Day, 1941. The surrender documents were signed at the Peninsula Hotel a few blocks from where I live. He often said that they would have preferred to fight until death and thus I grew up with very strong feelings about the word surrender. Through everything my father endured, he never gave up. He often stated that what kept him going was his determination that he was not going to return to Canada in a box. I always admired his courage and strength. For many years, I have studied and practiced yoga and I have encountered difficulty “surrendering” into certain postures and to life’s many changes. Through my understanding of his experiences, I have learnt that to surrender is not a weakness, but sometimes a necessity in which to survive.
My regrets for not spending more time with my dad while he was alive, to paying more attention to his stories and to trying to better understand his experiences cause me grief. I have found myself on an emotional roller coaster in the last place on earth that I would have chosen to live. Yet, I have grown tremendously as I encounter my thoughts and feelings about his experiences and how they shaped my life. I feel that he would have approved of my quest and often feel his presence as I explore some of the battlefields, walking though the tunnels at the Shing Mun Redoubt, peering down into a pillbox at Wong Nai Chung Gap or gazing at the South China Sea from the Stanley Cemetery.
I encounter sailors, young men and women the same age as my father was, in the busy streets of Central and Wan Chai as they enjoy some well deserved leave time from their duties. I realize that our world still needs these brave individuals to fight for the freedoms that we so often take for granted. I smile or offer some directions and see my dad exploring some of these same streets in the short time before he was engaged in his valiant effort to fulfill the Royal Rifles motto “able and willing”. In the words of Lieutenant Colonel Price “ they never surrendered to overwhelming force. Defeated by it, yes, but conquered, never!”1)
- Penny, Arthur G. Royal Rifles of Canada A Short History.1962