by Gordon Gray
The first port of call for the “ARPA Radar World Tour” was Hong Kong. We shipped the radar to our agents there – a division of the Swire’s organisation in Hong Kong. I followed the radar out a week later. Swires were one of the old and respected Hong Kong companies and were also our customers in that they owned the China Navigation Shipping Co, which was a major shipping line in Asia.
Louis and I had been dealing with a Hong Kong Chinese gentleman in Swires called Ted Toyit, who Louis knew well. Ted had been with Swire’s marine agency business for years and knew all the Hong Kong shipowners. He had told us that he now had a new boss, an expat Brit, who had just come out to Hong Kong to join the company. He had decided to place the responsibility for all the local arrangements for the radar demonstrations in the hands of a young Chinese manager called Mr Raymond Leung, who had also only recently joined Swires. Ted explained that Mr Leung had been told to meet me off the flight on Saturday morning and arrange for the radar equipments to be delivered to the hotel on the Sunday morning.
Hong Kong and foreign travel. Here I come!
M V Horsa – Mr. G At The ARPA
Eyemouth harbour
CHAPTER 2
Hong Kong
The Arrival of Mr Gary
“Please ensure that your seat belt is securely fastened and your tray table locked away in the upright position. We are about to land at Hong Kong’s Kai Tak International Airport.”
It had been a long flight from Gatwick via Bahrain – sixteen hours’ flying time and heaven knows how many since I got up yesterday morning. The petite Cathay Pacific air stewardesses, in their red uniforms, dashed around the Business Class cabin making their final checks and collecting up the last few glasses before strapping themselves into their seats. The engines roared again as the big jumbo banked to the right to start its approach across the harbour. I hoped that Mr Leung would be there to meet me as I flexed my legs and looked forward to a shower and a few hours to sleep and relax before the work started tomorrow.
The engine roar decreased as the plane straightened and levelled out. We emerged from the low clouds; below us lay Hong Kong Harbour and then the rooftops and the bustling early morning streets of Kowloon. As we got lower, I caught flashes of the green and cream taxis and red buses and the early morning crowds down in the busy streets. We arrived at traffic lights on the corner of a busy crossroads near the airport; luckily, the lights were green and the plane’s engines roared again as it banked sharply to the right at the green grocers. Then, we suddenly dropped the last 100 feet onto Kai Tak runway. The plane bounced, the tyres screeched and reverse thrust screamed. Our seat belts bit into our laps as the plane slowed dramatically and stopped just before the end of the runway and the harbour beyond. We had arrived in Hong Kong.
As I walked out of the customs hall, I looked around for any signs of this Mr Leung. I eventually spotted a young Chinese guy in a grey suit standing towards the back of the hall holding a piece of paper down by his side that just had “Decca” written on it. I went over and asked him if he was meant to be meeting me. He was. We introduced ourselves. Mr Leung’s first comment surprised me a little.
“I am glad you have come now, I have been up long time as I come to meet you and not had any breakfast; so, we will now go to airport restaurant for breakfast.”
“Sorry, Mr Leung, but I do not want any breakfast. I want to get to the hotel,” I retorted. I may as well have said nothing as he had already turned round and was heading back into the terminal and up the stairs towards the main Chinese restaurant. All I could do was follow, carrying my suitcase.
Mr Leung proceeded to enjoy a “full Chinese” breakfast in the clattering cacophony of a canteen with its shiny, chrome-framed, formica-topped tables and hard chairs. It was full of Chinese airport workers and passengers with their families and bags, all yelling at each other as tea was slurped noisily, bowls of noodles and congee were devoured and rattled down onto the tables. I only saw one other European in there and he looked as hacked off as I felt.
As soon as Mr Leung had finished his fish congee – a type of rice soup with lumps of fish in it – I got up and said, “Right. Can we go to the hotel now, please.”
“OK,” said Mr Leung, “but no hurry, radar will not be at hotel until after 12 o’clock.”
I turned round and glared down at him. “What? You were asked to arrange that for tomorrow. Why are you doing it today?”
I got an insolent Chinese look that said ‘because I, Raymond Leung, do not want to mess about on Sunday and there is nothing that you can do about it “round eyes”.’ I was angry as he was right and I would now have to stay up all day and sort it all out. This trip was not starting well.
The drive from the airport though Kowloon’s teeming, hot and humid streets was frosty. We emerged from the Cross Harbour Tunnel on the Hong Kong Island side and were approaching the hotel. Mr Leung spoke, “ I will leave you at hotel and go to warehouse to make sure radar is ready to come here, then I return here, very soon.” I got out of the car into the hot morning air and he roared off into the traffic.
I entered the lobby through the big glass doors and was immediately hit by a wall of refreshing, cool, air-conditioned air. I looked around. The lobby was busy with people checking out and others hanging around waiting for colleagues or friends. Everyone looked clean, fresh and efficient. Everyone seemed to be fully charged up for another day’s holiday explorations, shopping or work – as Saturday was a normal work day in Hong Kong then. I felt tired, dirty, jet-lagged, and not a little angry at Mr Leung’s attitude. I should have been looking forward to a shower and a sleep, but now had to wait for Mr Leung and the radar. I sighed, resigned myself to my fate and walked over to the reception desk.
“Good morning, I think you have a reservation for me. My name is Gray.”
The trim, young Hong Kong girlie, dressed in a full-length, deep red cheongsam tapped away at the keyboard. I noticed she had a cute little smile that made her look quite vulnerable.
“Ah, so sorry, sir, no reservation.”
“Oh? Are you sure? Our agent’s office made it some time ago. There is meant to be a room for me and a conference room booked as well?”
“Yes, sir, very sure. No reservation in that name, no conference room booked also.”
“OK, but I know the reservation was made; can you please check again? The name is Gray, G.R.A.Y., Gordon Gray?”
“No, sir, nothing, so sorry.”
“Do you think that you could check with your supervisor or duty manager?”
She scurried away into the back office. I knew the reservation must be there as Ted had telexed me to confirm it. A few moments later, an older, black suited Chinese lady appeared from the back office. “Is there a problem, sir?”
I explained what had happened and gave her the company name, agent’s name and details. She tapped away, then smiled.
“Ah, yes, we have the reservation made by Swire, but it is for a Mr Gary Gordon.”
“Could that not be for Mr Gordon Gray?” I asked, hopefully.
“Oh I see! Your name is Gray! So sorry, on the computer screen Gray is Gary.”
Gray is an unusual name for the Chinese but Gary is a much more familiar name to them. Also when two apparent Christian names appear together, the receptionists do not know which name is the surname, so they can get transposed!
“OK, that’s me; Mr Gordon Gray.”
“I am so pleased sir, now my colleague will check you in. Have a nice stay, Mr Gary.” I was too tired to worry about it so I just said thank you, took my key and headed for the lifts. I did not realise it at the time but I was now Mr Gary, forever. I smiled, Oh well, if you can’t take a joke! Over the following years, the number of times that I appeared on hotel computers around the world as Mr Gary was countless. It got to the point that my wife could ring a hotel and ask for Mr Gary and get put straight through.
The hotel, the Furama, was a fine modern one in the business centre and was handy for o
ur customers to get to. The room that Swires had booked was called a junior suite, but it was just a large room. Half of it had a bed in the middle and the other half was just open space with the bathroom to one side. I stood and stared at it. Was this meant to be just my room or was there another room booked for the demonstrations – and, if so, where? If not, then there was no way I was sleeping beside the radar. I would need another room. There was nothing I could do until Mr Leung chose to return. At least the room had a fantastic harbour view. I stood and watched the activity out on the harbour while I waited.
I recalled my very first visit there in 1973 when I was in the Royal Navy. From the sea, Hong Kong is fascinating and full of contrast. The ships pass silent, hilly, tree-clad islands with little sign of habitation; then, as they round the end of Hong Kong Island, the mass of buildings and glistening glass-clad skyscrapers appears through the heat haze. Ships are everywhere, coming, going, anchored, while tugs and barges are constantly moving freight through the harbour. ‘Where did all that come from?’ is the normal reaction. Here, around one smallish island, it seems that half of Asia is working non-stop and the atmosphere, noises and smells of the harbour and the city convey that.
Our frigate had arrived in the main harbour area in the early morning and we rolled gently in the wakes and washes of the many tugs, freighters and ferries that churned across the “Fragrant Harbour”, turning it into a churning turmoil of water. We waited while a small tug, towing a huge barge with a big red derrick crane and a two-storey deck house on one end, slowly chugged along the quay side where we were meant to berth. We slowly approached our berth at HMS Tamar, the RN base on Hong Kong Island. It was situated right in the middle of the busy business district and set amid the growing forest of skyscrapers. As I concentrated on my bridge duties, I tried to absorb the atmosphere, the noises, the scents and smells that drifted across the harbour. It was like nowhere else that I had ever seen. It was just as I remembered it. The green and white double-ended Star ferry boats still plied across from Kowloon to Central, the tugs and lighters still churned up and down the harbour and the freighters still moored between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. Local ferries plied all over the harbour and surrounding waterways, linking all the other islands to Central and Kowloon.
Hong Kong is one of only two major cities in the world that were exactly as I imagined they would be before I visited them. The other one was New York. Hong Kong is manic; there is a smell to Hong Kong – a scent of money and hard work as six million Chinese try to earn a bowl of rice or a new Rolls Royce. Everyone is working, working all hours; everywhere, there is bustle and activity. Everywhere, there are people carrying, pulling, pushing, driving, rushing, selling, buying, moving things. Produce from the PRC, electronics from Japan, machinery from Europe, ducks and vegetables from the New Territories.
While physically it was constantly changing, the atmosphere and excitement of Hong Kong never changed. I always loved Hong Kong. There is a “Must Win” atmosphere about the place. To lose in Hong Kong is a sin. The Hong Kong Chinese strive to better themselves and losing is not on their agenda. They all seem to respect the other person’s right to strive in his own way – be it as a grocer or a banker, a bar girl or a bus driver. They all have the same goal: to make money to improve their lot. The streets are a mass of shops and stalls. From the high fashion houses in the posh Central shopping malls to the souvenir stalls in the side alleys of Kowloon. All that Mainland China can produce finds its way to Hong Kong. From cheap plastic toys to beautiful arts and crafts; huge silk carpets, lacquer vases, painted porcelain, ginger jars, silks of all sorts, cheap silk underwear, paintings of misty green hills with the Great Wall stretching away into the distance – they all jostle for space in the shops and stalls. Hong Kong used to be a great place to buy cameras, stereo or HiFi sets and watches. ‘Johnny, you come back. I give you better price!’
I have spent many hours bargaining with stall holders to get an extra $10 discount; always great fun, if done in a happy friendly way. I was with a pal in one of the underground markets looking at watches one day when he saw one he liked. After an hour of negotiating, he got one poor lady shopkeeper so frustrated that she went off and came back with her stock ledger and waved the page in front of him shouting, “Look! You see I pay more than what you offer for watchy!” In the end, he did a deal at cost price plus $10 – but it took three days and it was a long time ago.
There was a knock on the door. Mr Leung walked in and stood in the empty part of the room. “Crate is coming. Is now on lorry. It will stand there,” he said, pointing at a blank piece of wall.
“Hang about, the radar presentations are meant to be in a proper business meeting room or conference room, not my bedroom!”
“None available, bed there for you is OK,” was all he said in a haughty way. He lifted his nose in the air and hurried out knowing that by now I was blazing.
Mr Leung had shown himself to be arrogant, confrontational and determined that his way was the only way. He clearly had absolutely no idea how to stage a series of demonstrations and I was sure he had not met any of the people that had been invited and knew nothing about marine radar.
“Mr Leung, I am not sleeping with the radar and its equipment in my room, nor am I having all the shipowners of Hong Kong tramping through my bedroom. This is meant to be my home for the next two weeks. Is there not another room booked for the presentations? ‘No’ was his reply. “Right, you wait here, I am going to see reception.”
The supervisor who had found my booking earlier was still there. She quickly checked her computer. “Unfortunately there are no free conference rooms for Monday or the next two weeks, so sorry.”
“Can you tell me when the room was booked?”
“Room booked last week. If you had booked even two week ago, then we had conference room available.” She then managed to find me a standard bedroom two floors below the suite.
I went back up. Raymond was looking out at the view. “If your company had done what we asked you, when we asked you over a month ago, we could have had a proper function room. Now we are stuck with this room for the demonstrations, but I will be staying in another room. This is my new room number.”
Raymond ignored me. There was a noise outside in the corridor and a babble of Chinese. The radar crate had now arrived. I stood aside as three sweaty, T-shirt clad Chinese labourers manhandled the large wooden case into the room.
Raymond took this as his cue that his job was done and left calling over his shoulder, “See you at the cocktail party.”
“Hold on! What cocktail party, Raymond?”
“The one that I have arranged on Monday morning at 0930, before your demonstration.”
I was speechless. “You have done what? No one has a cocktail party at that time anywhere! You must change it to a proper time.”
“It is arranged. Invitations sent out. It is too late” – and with that, he was gone.
I decided that I needed to talk to Ted before I got to work setting up the radar. I rang Ted at home. Before I had a chance to say anything, he said, “Oh Gordon, I am sorry about things.”
“What’s going on Ted? This guy Leung is a lunatic and an arrogant one, too.”
“Yes, I know, but he is being groomed for higher management and the new managing director wanted something to test him, so he was given the Decca radar demonstrations to organise.”
“Well, what is done is done,” I said, “but, Ted, I need you here on Monday as you know all the shipowners. Also, we will expect your company to pay for this farce of a cocktail party he has arranged and I am afraid that Louis will not be happy either. We are not your new managing director’s guinea pigs for Raymond Leung to play with!”
Ted agreed and promised that he would be there on Monday. The demonstrations were scheduled to run for two full weeks with morning and afternoon sessions each day.
I then set to unpacking the radar, the video player and the slide projector; connecting it all up and hopi
ng it was all OK. This was the first time I had set the whole thing up from scratch so I was a bit anxious. I should not have worried as when I switched it all on, it worked like a dream. I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I did a few function checks to make sure all was well, then rang Louis back in the UK where he was enjoying a lazy Saturday morning at home. I related events to him and he was as disgusted as I was, but agreed we would not say anything until the end of the demos as Louis was due to come out for the last few days and had a meeting planned with the new managing director anyway. As it was now after 6 o’clock, I shut the radar display down, went down and found my new room and, gratefully, finally had the shower I had promised myself on the plane nearly twelve hours ago.
This trip was my first real experience of jet lag and I struggled to get myself alert and ‘switched on’ in the mornings. I found, however, that I was fine in the afternoons but started to fall asleep at about 6 o’clock at night. I had once asked John Gunner, the USA manager in Decca how long it took to get over jetlag.
“Gordon, it takes one day for every hour of time difference.”
“No, surely not? You are winding me up, John.”
“No, I’m not. Seriously you should plan not to be 100% for at least a few days. If you ever have to go to the Far East then it will be a full week before you feel normal.” John was right.