40
are the ones to be found remounted in the City today. Inscriptions on them indicate that they had been cast in 1802 and apparently transferred to Kowloon from the Tung-lung Forts in 1811. We do not know the origins of the other cannon, and since the War, there has been no trace of them.
And so the City languished. Although squatters had filtered in after 1899, in the 1930s, the population was still less than 500. Conditions there were insanitary but at least it escaped the horrific over-crowding of some other parts of the Colony. In 1933, however, the government announced plans to demolish the houses, ostensibly for sanitary reasons, sparing only those used for public purposes, and to make the area into “a place of popular resort and antiquarian interest". There was some resistance from the residents; the Chinese authorities protested on their behalf while objecting to British disregard for the Convention. After several years' hesitation, the Hong Kong government finally took steps, despite Chinese objections, to evict all residents. By 1940, all buildings, except the old people's home, the former Lung-chin Communal School and the private home of a native resident, had been demolished. The dismantling continued under the Japanese: the wall was completely torn down to provide material to extend Kai Tak Airport.
The "Walled City" was no more.
After the War, as refugees fled to Hong Kong, a number of them settled in the "Walled City”; by 1947, its population had risen to about 2,000. Once more, the Hong Kong government's attempt to expel them provoked diplomatic conflict. But this time, no eviction took place. Instead, the City was left to its own devices, and to develop, as Governor Sir Alexander Grantham described it, into “a cesspool of iniquity, with heroin divans, brothels and everything unsavoury. From the early '60s, squatter huts gave way to high-rise buildings, which seem designed to break every conceivable construction regulation. Built with no open space between them, but with passages connecting each other like rabbit warrens, they are fire and health hazards and perfect criminal hide-outs. The old people's centre, formerly the Kuang-yin yuan, provides the only open area, and the mass of concrete around this
+65
40
are the ones to be found remounted in the City today. Inscriptions on them indicate that they had been cast in 1802 and apparently transferred to Kowloon from the Tung-lung Forts in 1811. We do not know the origins of the other cannon, and since the War, there has been no trace of them.
And so the City languished. Although squatters had filtered in after 1899, in the 1930s, the population was still less than 500. Conditions there were insanitary but at least it escaped the horrific over-crowding of some other parts of the Colony. In 1933, howev- er, the government announced plans to demolish the houses, os- tensibly for sanitary reasons, sparing only those used for public purposes, and to make the area into “a place of popular resort and antiquarian interest". There was some resistance from the resi- dents; the Chinese authorities protested on their behalf while ob- jecting to British disregard for the Convention. After several years' hesitation, the Hong Kong government finally took steps, despite Chinese objections, to evict all residents. By 1940, all buildings, except the old people's home, the former Lung-chin Communal School and the private home of a native resident, had been demol- ished. The dismantling continued under the Japanese: the wall was completely torn down to provide material to extend Kai Tak Airport.
The "Walled City" was no more.
After the War, as refugees fled to Hong Kong, a number of them settled in the "Walled City”; by 1947, its population had risen to about 2,000. Once more, the Hong Kong government's attempt to expel them provoked diplomatic conflict. But this time, no evic- tion took place. Instead, the City was left to its own devices, and to develop, as Governor Sir Alexander Grantham described it, into “a cesspool of iniquity, with heroin divans, brothels and every- thing unsavoury. From the early '60s, squatter huts gave way to high-rise buildings, which seem designed to break every conceiv- able construction regulation. Built with no open space between them, but with passages connecting each other like rabbit warrens, they are fire and health hazards and perfect criminal hide-outs. The old people's centre, formerly the Kuang-yin yuan, provides the only open area, and the mass of concrete around this
+65
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