Once Hong Kong came under direct attack, ordinary activities in the city came to a halt. For children such as Robert Hung Ngai this meant no more school. For adults, the major problem, he recalled, was that the banks had closed. “And I mean they were closed in every sense of the word,” Mr Ho said.

Living on only what was in your pocket

"You could not take money out. You could not go to the safety deposit boxes. For the next 3½ years, most people had to live with what they had in their pockets or at home at that time. In our case, we lived on my mother’s jewellery. She had taken it out of the safety deposit box for my grandparents’ anniversary celebration on 2 December and still had it with her. Of course, she got ripped off as always happen when you need to hawk something. But it helped keep us going over the next few years.”

By 25 December 1941, the Battle for Hong Kong was over. The British and Hong Kong forces surrendered and the Japanese took over. At Idlewild, the Ho’s family home, there was uproar as the Japanese commandeered the house to serve as quarters for their officers. Sir Robert had fortuitously left for Macau to recuperate from the anniversary celebrations a few days ahead of the first attack. Lady Margaret had elected to stay behind. When the Japanese arrived, she was confined to living in the basement, along with other family members who had taken shelter with her.

For a few weeks, Robert Hung Ngai, his sister, mother and amah lived in the basement. The Japanese were hunting for his KMT officer father, but did not realise that his wife and children were actually encamped just below them. It was a time of great uncertainty, with little public order and Japanese soldiers often on the rampage, creating great fear among the Hong Kong population.

The execution

“While we were still sheltering at Idlewild, we were all forced to witness an execution. The Japanese gathered the whole community living around Seymour Road, Caine, Road, and Bonham Road at the intersection where the Hop Yat Church had been built. They dragged in three Chinese men. The Japanese called them criminals and said they had stolen rice, which was very dear at the time as there was not enough to feed everyone. These men were executed right there by sword. This cannot be erased from my memory. It was awful and really frightening as I was only nine years old.”

It soon became clear that the Ho family could not stay at Idlewild for long. The family took to hiding in other relatives’ homes, spending one night here, one night there. Then they heard that temples were being respected by the Japanese. They moved into Tung Lin Kok Yuen, built by Sir Robert’s late second wife Clara in the 1930s. The Abbess had been schooled in Japan and spoke the language fluently. When soldiers looked as if they were going to enter the grounds, she would talk to them in Japanese and get them to leave. Eventually, she posted a notice in Japanese on the gate: “To all Japanese military: do not enter.” This kept the temple and the family safe, until plans to leave Hong Kong were in place.

The great escape

“To encourage people to leave Hong Kong, a Japanese boat resumed regular sailings between the city and Guangzhouwan, a French enclave on the southern coast of Guangdong. By this time, we had acquired false identity papers in the name of Hung, my mother’s maiden name, and someone bought us tickets – at the cheapest level so as not to be conspicuous. On the day of the sailing at Ocean Terminal – then known as Kowloon Wharf – we took a wallah wallah to the old Star Ferry pier. We ascended the steps and found there was a curfew. No one could move.

“Luckily, the inspection started from the other end from where we were standing. But both my mother and I were very scared as we didn’t want to miss our boat. We also didn’t want them to look at our papers in case they spotted the documents were false.

“All of a sudden, a Chinese man came over and said in Cantonese: ‘Mrs Ho, follow me.’ We didn’t know what would happen, but we had to follow him to avoid drawing attention. He was dressed in plain clothes, just a shirt without a coat or tie. Obviously, he was a collaborator, but he took us through that curfew, put us on the boat and left.

“We did not know his name. We did not know why he did it. Even after the war, we were unable to trace him to find out. The only explanation, we surmised, was that my grandfather did some good deed to him or his family and he was now repaying a debt. Until today, we still have no answer as to why this happened.”

Once at Guangzhouwan, the family started out on the long, 400-kilometre walk to meet up with Robert Shai Lai, then based in Liuchow, Guangxi.