Most historians, like all good noir-ish
detectives or private eyes, have cold-case files piled up in a desk drawer
somewhere. The research projects that never got properly started, or had to be
abandoned for lack of evidence. Promising leads that tailed off or simply led
to dead ends. They get shelved rather than binned in the hope that something
will eventually turn up which will set the wheels in motion again. Flipping a
blue flashing light on the roof. Spurring us into action as some new source
material provides us with a fresh scent to set the tracker dogs onto; something
which might enable us to pursue our enquiries to a successful conclusion.
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| Kowloon Railway Terminal before demolition, all that remains today is the clock tower. |
I have one such cold case regarding
the opening of the Kowloon-Canton Railway (KCR) in 1910. And, as with all good
noir-ish detective stories, it begins with a location, a suspect, a probable
motive, and a part confession. All the signs are there, but I still just need
that one crucial bit of evidence to clinch it and make my case watertight. It
all began with a passage in Paul Henry King’s memoir, In the Chinese Customs Service: A Personal Record of Forty-Seven Years:
“The
last Viceregal function I assisted at was on the 7th April, 1909, on the
occasion of laying the foundation-stone of the Terminal Station of the Canton-Kowloon
Railway at Tai-sha-tan, just outside the East Gate of Canton City. The Governor
of Hong-Kong and the Colonial Secretary came up for the ceremony, which was
very well staged and came off without a hitch as far as the Chinese were
concerned. It struck some of us that the Hong-Kong Governor's speech seemed to
insist rather too much (for good taste) on the benefit to China of railway
connection with Hong- Kong. His whole attitude reminded me of Sir Robert Hart's
anecdote about Wen Hsiang's remark — "That the British invariably gave
good advice to China in an unpalatable form" — and almost produced the
impression that he was taking advantage of the occasion to let the Viceroy know
what he thought of the Canton Government. However, His Excellency Chang seemed
not a penny the worse and beamed on the just and unjust alike, as only a man
with a swivel eye can. I was close by their two Excellencies most of the time
and enjoyed the situation not a little.”
This passage came to mind when I
was working in Hong Kong over ten years ago. I’d often walked past the old clock
tower down by the Star Ferry terminus. It’s all that’s left of the original
Kowloon terminal of the KCR line (which still operates today). But it was only
when I had a spare day free, and was wondering what to do, that I decided to
visit the Railway Museum at the old Tai Po Market Station. This station was
taken out of service when the KCR was electrified in the early 1980s. It was
decided to preserve the station building, which was built in 1913, due to its
unique architectural style which is reminiscent of typical south China temple
buildings. Now run by the Hong Kong Leisure and Cultural Services Department
(LCSD) the museum is free to visit and consists of the main station building
with its original ticket hall, plus a number of railway carriages and a couple
of locomotives, all preserved from different eras. It was in one of the station
side rooms in which there are display panels explaining the history behind the foundation
and construction of the KCR where I came across the following photograph:
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| Banquet to celebrate laying the foundation stone of the Canton Terminal, 1909. |
This image shows Chinese and
British officials at a banquet in 1909, celebrating the laying of the
foundation stone for the Chinese Section of the line at the Canton Terminus
(Tai Sha Tan). Given Paul Henry King’s account of this event in his memoir it
seems almost certain that he is present somewhere in this image (or in the
close vicinity of it), but where exactly is another question altogether! – I’ve
no idea if he’d be seated at the top table or if perhaps he’s one of the chaps
seated at the two tables flanking the sides, perhaps with his back to the
camera? All the versions of this photo which I’ve since found are far too grainy or
faded to see sufficient detail. Nevertheless, it’s fascinating to think he’s
there and that this is a photograph he’d recognise intimately. But what really
caught my eye that day were the following two photographs which the caption
indicates were taken about a year or so later:
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| Lo Wu, 1st Ocober 1910. |
The first shows the Acting Governor
of Hong Kong, Sir Henry May, and his wife “inspecting the tracks”, and the
second is a more general view of the guests attending the opening of Lo Wu
station on 1st October 1910, where the Chinese and British sections
of the KCR met. You’ve probably noticed that the same unnamed yet clearly
eminent Gent appears front and centre of both images. In the second he appears
to be standing with a woman whom we might suppose to be his wife, and to his
left are three Chinese officials, who – to my mind’s eye – look like they might
possibly be local Customs officials. This could also make sense if the
unidentified Gent is Paul Henry King, then Commissioner of the Chinese Customs
Service at Canton. In terms of dress and demeanour, the couple do look a lot
like the photos I’ve seen of Paul Henry King and his wife, Veronica (also known
as Madge, but whose real name was Alice Margaret). His moustache and his
distinctive collar, neck tie and dress coat do seem similar to one of the
fellows seated at the top table of the 1909 Canton photo – if you squint really, really hard! … Initially I
couldn’t help feeling really excited – but I knew I’d have to check my facts
before I properly congratulated myself on the 'sure certainty' of my remarkable find.
It’s important never to let imagination impinge too far upon instinct and so
over-determine an inclination towards an idea, no matter how probable or likely
it might outwardly seem ... Nothing is ever certain until it is totally
clarified beyond any doubt and backed up by genuine, demonstrable proof.
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| Lo Wu, 1st October 1910. |
So firstly, I went back to Paul
King’s memoir. Naturally, I didn’t have a copy of the book with me at the time
of my visit to Hong Kong. I could only very vaguely remember the passage in its
broadest outline. And so later on, re-reading it closely, I encountered a
problem. The passage quoted above was preceded by the following sentence: “But my sands at Canton were now running out,
as I had been granted two years' leave of absence as soon as my successor could
take over the port.” And the concluding lines of the passage (and of that
chapter) only reinforced the fact: “I
handed over charge of the Canton Customs to my old friend and colleague, J. F.
Oisen (now Danish Minister in Peking), on the 8th May, 1909, and left for
Hong-Kong on the 11th May. I had paid a farewell visit to the Viceroy on the 10th,
and he did me the great honour of coming in person to see me off. All our
friends—native and foreign—did the same, and overwhelmed us with kindness and
regrets.”
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| Lo Wu, 1st October 1910. |
The pages of the subsequent chapter
only bore this point out further. The Kings were “back home” in the UK when the
event at Lo Wu had taken place. They didn’t return to China until March 1911. But
I couldn’t help staring at the figure in the two photos. The more I looked the
more I wanted to doubt the published
memoir with its black and white dates regulating the text to a clear timetable
of events. I suspect Paul King may well have kept a diary which he’d most
likely referred to religiously whilst writing his memoir, like a metronome
keeping the chapters neatly and orderly to time. But I kept coming back to
those images of Lo Wu. The chap in the photos looked so similar to Paul King to my mind’s eye that it niggled me – I wanted to be sure. If
this fellow wasn’t Paul King, who was he?
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| The inaugural train at Lo Wu, 1st October 1910. |
The only other way I could think of
to be completely certain was to go back to the original source and see if
anyone I knew in the LCSD might have access to the original photograph, and to
ask them what records there might be connected to it which might name the individuals
it pictures. A friend of mine who works at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum very
kindly said she’d look into it for me and see what she could find. A few weeks
later I received an email from her. She’d spoken to a couple of colleagues, but
all they could find amounted to much the same information as that which was
used in the captions given on the wall at the Railway Museum. There were no
names known other than that of the Acting Governor and his wife. Hence all my
lines of enquiry and all my leads in this process of investigation didn’t just
reach the end of the line, but rather firmly hit the buffers and could go no
further. Whoever this couple is remains a mystery to me. – Unless something
else turns up, in due course, which manages to get me back on the tracks and
under full steam again. Until then, all I can do is stare at these black and
white figures in these grainy old photographs and wonder who these people are.
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| Lo Wu, 1st October 1910. |
Meanwhile, despite the clear
evidence of Paul King’s own memoir, there’s still a part of me that doubts the
seemingly incontrovertible evidence of his own writing. Hence, whenever I look
at these photographs, I still can’t help vacillating between my ardent wish for it to be the Kings
(simply based on the similarities of their looks, their dress and their demeanour
– but then, how many eminent Edwardians all look exactly like this? – Answer: Lots of them!), and my equally strong scepticism, which wonders if
either the photos or the memoir might perhaps have been incorrectly dated? – The
fact-checking historian in me still obsessively requires that I see the names (theirs
or someone else’s) pencilled on the back of the photograph, or typed up on a
guest list published in some forgotten contemporary local newspaper, or someone
else’s memoir which says they were or weren’t there in the same company as Paul
and Veronica (or, more likely, their doppelgangers) at this event on that particular
day in October 1910 …
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| Canton Railway Terminal, 1st October 1910. |
But then, these are exactly the
kind of sources which might very well suddenly appear as if out of nowhere;
stumbled upon in some obscure publication, hidden in some library somewhere;
chanced upon by accident whilst looking out for something else entirely. The
key documents that will answer the riddle as to who this man really is and why
he was there – was he the man who replaced Paul King in his post at Canton?
Quite possibly. – If I look at all the facts, my prime suspects are much more likely to be J. F. Oisen, or the unnamed Colonial Secretary. – But the niggle is that need to know. And that’s the joy and
the frustration of doing this kind of research. It goes in fits and starts
sometimes. Answering one question may well simply end up posing another in its
place. Hence, tugging at threads which get knotted for a time, but then someday
suddenly and unexpectedly start to unravel again. Like all good detective
yarns, cold cases are never truly closed cases, just stories which haven’t
been concluded – yet. – Best to keep
‘em peeled, eh! You never know what might turn up …
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| The modern Kowloon-Canton Train passing through Sha Tin Station, 2008. |
Postscript: (21st January 2020) - Well, at long last it seems like the cold case I've described above might finally be closed ... Late last year I was made aware that Paul Henry King's diaries were due to be sold at an auction at Sotheby's, which was held on 12th November 2019 (Sale L19405 - Lot 277, see here), and so I was given a chance to see the contents pages fronting each diary, including the volume covering 1910 - and yes, it seems clear that, as indicated in his published memoir, Paul King was not in China at the time of the ceremony at Lo Wu. Hence it very likely is not him nor his wife in the photos of that event. Who these individuals are remains an open question; maybe it is J. F. Oisen, who took over from King as Canton Customs Commissioner, or perhaps it is someone else entirely? ... As is often the way when conducting historical research, answering one question, more often than not, tends to beget yet another question - and so it goes, question after question after question ...
