The motor-vessel "Citos", one of the fleet of the Australian West Pacific Company, on which I served as the Chief Officer, maintained a regular route of service between ports in Australia and in Far East, including Japan. One of our frequently visited ports was Hong Kong with its mainland concession Kowloon. Usually, loading and discharging our cargoes took place in the bay, with anchor cable of the ship tied to a buoy; only occasionally the vessel was berthed alongside a wharf at Kowloon.
On arrival, this time, in the morning of September first, 1953, we were instructed to moor the vessel at Wharf No. 2 in the Kowloon harbour. The wharves on the western side of the peninsula are of robust construction and point in south-westerly direction. For the crew, this berth was much to their liking: for visiting Hong Kong, it was more convenient to use the "Star Ferry" for the seven minutes crossing than to wait for a random boat if the vessel were moored to a buoy in the middle of the bay.
The weather was warm with bright sunlight and a gentle breeze was blowing from the north where, in the distance, blue mountain tops of Socialist China were glistening in the sunshine. New high-rise buildings on the Kowloon peninsula, where the Chinese workers lived, looked like upright matchboxes, jutting into the skyline. Bamboo poles full of washings hung from the balconies of the buildings, and looked like hundreds of multi-coloured flags fluttering in the breeze. In stark contrast with this was Hong Kong on the island of Victoria, across the bay. Towering over the bay was the majestic 1,300 feet high Peak, dotted with mansions and apartments of the wealthier class of population. The strait that separates Hong Kong from Kowloon was a hive of activity. Among flashy motor-boats and modern liners darted junks and barges, presenting a striking contrast between the new and the ancient. Adding vivacity to this bustle were the arriving and departing planes on the landing strips of Kai Tak airport, which itself was built partially in the bay, on reclaimed land.
Discharging our cargo, which consisted mainly of bags of flour and canned goods, progressed rapidly. Work in the harbour proceeded incessantly 24 hours a day. During the stay in port, the engineers were busy in repairing and maintaining the machinery. Unlimited number of labourers was available at Hong Kong; besides, Chinese workers were speedy and diligent.
In the evening of the following day all work on the ship came to a halt. A team of Port Authority men arrived to prepare the vessel for an emergency. Typhoon Rita, which was known to be slowly moving in the South-China Sea, had unexpectedly changed direction of its advance, and a fringe of it was now threatening the Hong Kong area. We were requested to prepare the vessel for leaving port if it became necessary. In case of a tropical storm approaching port, all ships were requested to put to sea, where they could find shelter behind the island of Victoria, where the swell was expected to be less devastating. Normally, ships would anchor there with reasonable safety, provided they kept their engines running to avoid dragging anchors under pressure of wind.
As parts of our engines were being repaired, we could not be seaworthy for leaving port until the following day. There was no alternative but to ride out the typhoon alongside the wharf. The Port Authority employees brought us ropes, wires and fenders, and began to secure the vessel to the wharf. Heavy coil springs, made of twisted coco-nut fibre, were attached on bollards far beyond the bow and the stern of the vessel. These springs were made fast to the ship at each end by steel wire ropes. To prevent damages to the ship's hull and to the jetty wall, large rubber tires were hung from the wharf to act as shock absorbers between the ship and the jetty wall.
The weather was already changing. A dense layer of clouds spread from the north-east sky, which itself took a hue of dark olive. Bolts of thunder flashed in the low clouds; the setting sun looked like a brown wheel in the sky. Soon the whole sky was covered by a threatening shield of cloud and daylight became dimmer. Quickly, darkness prevailed, and we were surrounded by an ominous silence.
Alongside the ship were tied up rows of junks and barges into which our cargo was being discharged. Some were already fully loaded, others partially, and still others were empty, awaiting cargo. Unloading of cargo ceased and all hatches were battened down. A tug towed away some barges, into a section of the harbour that was considered safe from the fury of the approaching typhoon. The light westerly breeze increased noticeably quickly to a strength of brisk wind. The swell, coming from the same direction, set the ship into an agitated motion. Junks and barges that were left alongside the vessel began to bob up and down with the increasing waves. As the intensity of the motion developed, their mooring lines to the ship snapped, and they began to be crushed and battered by collisions with each other and against the side of the ship. Some were already making water and began to sink.
Realising the situation was becoming critical, the women and children who lived on the junks, were beginning to climb on board ship with the aid of rope ladders. The men remained on the fragile craft, attempting to replace the snapped ropes and lost fenders. They fought valiantly but lost the struggle. Now, they too began to climb up by the rope ladders, bringing with them their personal belongings bundled on their backs.
I kept watching one of the junk captains desperately trying to prevent the waves from smashing all his worldly possessions to pieces against the ship. The wind had increased to storm force, and his junk was already seriously damaged. It was obvious that it would not remain afloat much longer. The captain ran to the stern of his sinking junk and opened the gate of his chicken coop, releasing his birds. Then, with astonishing speed, he climbed on board on a rope hanging down from the ship.
There, stunned into despondency, he stood looking down at his junk. His yellow face, void of emotional remonstrance, indefensibly watched his home, and his means of income, being battered an destroyed by the storm. It was a pathetic sight, enough to shatter any white man, but somehow, he seemed to possess some form of inner strength, which allowed him to cope with what was happening. Maybe, it was a form of fatalism that we cannot fully comprehend.
Soon, there were no more junks or barges tied to the ship; they were aimlessly floating in the basin between adjacent wharves, most of them filling with water. The waves moved them backwards and forwards, slowly but surely crunching them to pieces. The cargo they were carrying either sunk or was left floating in the water. Hundreds of tons of flour in white bags were joining the flotsam of the junks. The water level had been rising considerably as the typhoon was approaching, and was already reaching to the top of the wharf. Soon the waves began to go over the top, and flood adjoining streets, carrying with them floating rubbish and a large number of bags of flour.
The first heavy rain came with such force that the drops seemed to be mixed with pellets of lead. The wharves and streets were illuminated, but completely deserted by people.
Lantau, Peng Chau and other smaller islands, which were in the approaches to Hong Kong bay, in a south-westerly direction from the Kowloon peninsula, protected the wharves from the violent breakers, coming into the bay from the South China Sea. Inside the islands there was a stretch of five miles of open water; over this distance the gale force wind raised waves of immense boisterousness, which mercilessly smashed the ship against the wharf. From the windward side, the incoming waves raised the ship up, pounded her against the jetty and carried her forward, stretching the coir spring and strained the wire ropes to breaking point. When the wave swept over the quay, part of it ricochetted, carrying the ship backward, thereby tightening the wire moorings in the bows. These destructive movements were repeated with every incoming wave, each one placing tremendous strain on the coir springs and wire ropes.
All corridors and any corner offering protection on board, were full of men, women and children, refugees from the junks. They were shuddering in the only shelter available to them, while heavy rain was falling outside and the storm raged. No one could safely leave the ship while the waves were continuously washing over the wharf, carrying debris over the quays and further, into the nearby streets. Some of our passengers had gone on shore, now they needed alternative accommodation for the night, as no one could take the risk of approaching the wharves or hoarding the ship.
We were anxiously making plans for the perilous possibility that our moorings may snap. If such calamity befell us, the ship would be helplessly smashed against the jetty and be eventually damaged to such extent that she would sink. We could not visualize any safe manner to get off the ship in case we would have to abandon her. All we could do was to hope and pray that such disaster may not come to pass.
It was still dark when the storm showed signs of abating; the rain had already stopped. The level of water was gradually dropping, and the crests of waves were less sharp. The eastern sky was beginning to clear and the first rays of the sun appeared. The wharf was full of frenzied activity. The Chinese had found bags of flour on the wharves and streets. To them it was like a bounty from heaven. The bags were there for the taking — the only restriction being the limitation of a man's strength. It was this way, that the bags, marked in large letters 'Product of Australia', found themselves in the hands not originally intended.
Once the storm had passed, clear and calm weather followed. The beautiful day gave no hint of what had passed the night before. Inspection revealed that the hull plating on the Starboard side at amidships had been buckled and forced in between frames, and looked now like a starved farm animal. A diver examined the bottom of the ship and found it undamaged. The Classification Society gave us permission to continue our voyage to Japan, where the ship was to be dry-docked.
In Japan, the visible traces of typhoon Rita were easily eliminated, but impressions and trepidations caused by it could not be erased from my memory.
