Four years of struggling, preparation and negotiation came to an end in September, when the Development Bureau (a municipal body) picked nonprofit St. James’ Settlement to become the operator of the government-owned property. St. James collaborated with grassroots organizations such as Community Culture Concern, Heritage Hong Kong and the Blue House Residence Rights’ Group. Though St. James had few competitors during the bidding process, its plan stood out because it incorporated the views and agendas of current and former Blue House residents, kaifongs (other neighbors), preservation activists and social workers, whom they consulted on a weekly basis.

“This is the biggest difference from other preservation projects,” said Ng Sze-on, who heads the community development services division of St. James’ Settlement. “People doing preservation projects seldom consider the human factor, and ‘people-oriented’ has become a slogan only. They move residents from their communities, do not think about their social networks and convenience, and assume that they are being well-handled.”

St. James’ elaborate plan for the Blue House cluster takes residents’ well-being as its top priority. Eight families have chosen to stay in the cluster, and by 2013, 12 new apartments with market-value rent will be available. On the renovation front, the first order of business is to improve the residents’ conditions. As the tenement was built in the 1920s, there are no lavatories in most flats. Currently, if residents need to go to the bathroom or take a shower, they have to walk down flights of stairs and use a public toilet. Besides in-flat bathrooms, St. James will build an exterior elevator for the safety and convenience of older residents.
Not just anyone with enough cash can live in the Blue House—new tenants will be expected to volunteer for the community, perhaps by guiding tours or doing publicity. “We want to recruit three types of tenants, including traditional craftsmen, professionals and people who have experience running social enterprises. We hope that new tenants will be able to participate in the whole project,” Ng said.

Even though it is no longer the norm for six or seven family members to cram into one partitioned flat, the kind of intimate community spirit those necessities fostered in the 50s and 60s can still exist with the right kind of encouragement. “In the past, there might have been 72 tenants in a flat and 500 people living in one single building, but that is impossible now,” Ng said. “When we improve living conditions, we can keep the spirit of tong laus through other programs. Neighbors can have a close relationship and help each other out. This is the core value that is worth passing along the generations.”

Some initiatives have started up already. St. James’ Settlement is already running the Wanchai Livelihood Museum on the ground floor of the Blue House, which is earmarked for expansion to house exhibitions, workshops and guided tours. Through interaction with residents, visitors will glean a deep sense of the history of the tong lau and its lively surroundings. On top of this, St. James plans to organize workshops that teach traditional crafts, such as creating ornate flowered plaques of the sort that hang outside shops.

There’s more: longtime establishment Lam Chun-hin Clinic, which specializes in setting broken bones with traditional medicine, will continue operation on the ground floor of the Blue House. A Chinese dessert shop, which will sell family-style sweet soups, is also in the proposal, as is a vegetarian restaurant for the Orange House. St. James’ Settlement already runs an organic food store in the cluster, which will eventually supply ingredients to the vegetarian restaurant to create an interdependent microeconomy.

Now for the hard part: Though everyone lauds these plans, many obsctacles lie ahead. The Blue House and its neighbors are 80 years old—how can architects both preserve the cluster without altering its structure and at the same time comply with safety standards? For example, the ceilings, floors and staircases inside the Blue House are all made of highly flammable wood. The architect responsible for drafting St. James’ proposal, Kenneth Tse, believes that alternative solutions should be entertained. “The government should not apply safety standards to heritage buildings indiscriminately,” Tse said. “If we use concrete staircases instead, it will be meaningless because we will lose the essence [of the building]. Maybe we should keep the wooden staircases, but we can put in more extinguishers or use some wood that is fireproof.”

Beyond that, Tse is worried about unknowns inherent in the three old houses. “The most difficult part is that there will be something that you cannot foresee,” he said. “There might be some structural problems, like loading [capacity for weight] and foundation, and you can only confirm when structural engineers finish their investigation.” Because The Blue House cluster was built for residential use, there is both a limit to how many people can be in the buildings at once and also constraints on its non-residential activities (i.e. shops, services, tours, etc.). “That means that the commercial value will be low, and it will not be a profitable venture,” said Dr. Lee Ho-yin, Director of the Architectural Conservation Program at the University of Hong Kong. The Development Bureau allocated roughly $4 million for the project and at this moment has no intention to inject new funds in the future. St. James’ Settlement estimates that 30 percent of the site’s operating budget will come from rent, 40 percent from the social enterprises housed within and the rest from the museum and tours. But because the Blue House will not be able to accommodate so many visitors, it will be a challenge to keep the project out of the the red.

As tough as architectural and financial challenges may be, there is another factor far more threatening to the historical integrity of the Blue House cluster. Even though the three buildings in question will be revitalized, that development will be grossly meaningless if the neighborhood around it is turned into a sea of luxury high-rises, especially if the other tong laus nearby (which were built in the 60s) are torn down. The claws of redevelopment have already extended to southeastern Wan Chai. Just a few steps from the Blue House stands the Queen’s Cube, a fancy development project that has been asking more than $15,000 per square foot. “If luxury properties are erected like incense around the area, it will be very bad for the community of the Blue House cluster,” Lee said. “The shops on the ground will disappear because property developers need a lot of space to build big and luxurious lobbies. Then the street [life] will slowly wither because the shops are gone.”

Property developers may eye that part of Wan Chai with greed, but Lee says the government can always take action to prevent the Blue House from becoming entrapped in a luxury-flat-labyrinth. “The government should gradually impose limits on the capacity of development in the Blue House area,” Lee said. “In Singapore, the government always designs some zones with height limits imposed. But it is too late in Hong Kong to implement such a policy because of huge political consequences.”

That’s why Lee suggests the government not cap the heights of the buildings but rather prohibit developers from buying several plots near each other. With a rule like that, developers could only buy single buildings, and there would be no way for them to build a giant complex. In this way, big property developers would be deterred from even entering the area because they’d face a lower profit margin from a single project. This kind of regulation would benefit small property developers, too. “They are now working on projects in areas such as SoHo and Sai Wan. They will buy some 60s walk-up apartments, and turn them into nice serviced apartments,” Lee said. “This is a form of development, but it is a small-scale one. Small property developers do not have sufficient capital to demolish a whole building and reconstruct it.”

The Blue House is consistently portrayed as the big success story among Hong Kong’s myriad preservation efforts. No doubt the government’s approval of the revitalization proposal is encouraging to Hongkongers who care about heritage buildings in the city, but after all the applauding and congratulating, there is still a lot to be done to guarantee the project’s execution is genuine. It is not a matter of capability but a matter of willingness. The government has taken a big step by approving St. James’ plans. But it will take an even greater commitment to truly preserve the Blue House and its neighborhood—and, in the face of those who wish them to remain history, to keep them not only alive but vibrant and growing.

Mr. Chan - Former Resident

Everyone living on Stone Nullah Lane knows Uncle Chan. Regarded as a walking encyclopedia of the Blue House, he was born there in 1930. Even at age 80, he is still as sharp as ever, remembering incredible details about the pre-World War II building. Uncle Chan’s life has been marked, at various times, by war, separation and reunion—but the Blue House always brings back memories of his happiest moments.

Uncle Chan has seven siblings, but they do not have the same mother because Uncle Chan’s father had three wives. (He is his mother’s only son.) In the beginning, many of his relatives also lived in the Blue House; his paternal grandfather lived upstairs while the maternal one occupied a room downstairs. “My [maternal] grandmother treated me very kindly, and raised me,” Uncle Chan said. “Even though I’ve reached old age now, I still miss her very much. If she hadn’t taken care of me, I would not be living today.”

Uncle Chan’s first 10 years in the Blue House were a time when he knew no grievances or sadness. He attended Kiang Ham Free School, which was located on the first floor of the Blue House, and he studied classical Chinese literature such as “The Romance of Three Kingdoms,” a 14th-century historical novel. During his free time, he played happily with neighbors, strolled about the hills of Wan Chai and played in an open drain, or nullah. (That’s what Stone Nullah Lane was named after.) “In Blue House, we could play with little stones and marbles. We would play soccer and, of course, we would play with ‘Hor Lan Shui Kok’ [soda bottle caps],” Uncle Chan reminisced fondly.

The good days did not last long; they stopped abruptly when Japanese troops started bombing Hong Kong. Uncle Chan was forced to move away from his mother and the Blue House and to flee to Guangzhou. He returned after 22 years—and, much to his dismay, a lot of things about the neighborhood had changed. “The Blue House hadn’t changed at all when I came back,” he recalled. “But all the kaifongs I knew were gone. I was shocked to discover that the nullah was no longer there and all the surrounding buildings were reconstructed.” In 1964 he once again left the Blue House; this time, because he got a job in Kowloon.

In the 1980s, Uncle Chan’s mother passed away, and he returned to the Blue House for the second time. At the age of 53, Uncle Chan got married on the mainland. His wife and daughter accompanied him to Hong Kong in the late 1980s and they all moved into the Blue House.

But about two years ago, Uncle Chan moved away from Blue House for the third and final time. His family accepted a generous offer from the government and moved to a public housing estate in To Kwa Wan. Uncle Chan admitted that he didn’t want to leave the Blue House—but his family wanted to improve their standard of living and so he reluctantly agreed.

Apart from the happy childhood memories, it is the friendships with neighbors he misses most. “We had the most intimate relationships with our kaifongs. We could see each other, and chat on the balconies. There was no talk of privacy at that time, and we treated everyone like family,” Uncle Chan said. “I know very little about our kaifongs in To Kwa Wan. People nowadays just shut their doors and have no interaction with neighbors. You may not even say hello when you bump into them.”

But even though Uncle Chan has left Wan Chai, he is still a vibrant part of the community where he spent most of his life. He goes back from time to time: sometimes to sit inside the three-year-old Wanchai Livelihood Museum; sometimes to lead guided tours and detail the long history of the Blue House for visitors. Let’s hope the octogenarian stays as healthy as ever—that way his stories will live on even after renovations at the Blue House are complete.

Kenneth Tse - Architect

Whenever Kenneth Tse arrives at the doorstep of the Wanchai Livelihood Museum, he stirs up a buzz in the quiet community on Stone Nullah Lane. A few kaifongs spot him and, eager to talk, surround Tse like bees hovering around a fresh flower.

Tse is not a resident of the Blue House, nor does he live in Wan Chai. Nevertheless, as the mastermind behind its revitalization plan, he is an integral and beloved part of the Blue House community.

You don’t usually see such warmth between architects and people who live in the buildings they design. In Hong Kong, architects just work with property developers. They sketch blueprints, oversee the construction process and call it a day. They seldom interact with residents, and seek their feedback even less often—so the close relationship between Tse and the Blue House’s tenants appears peculiar.

But suffice it to say that Tse is not merely an architect employed by St. James’ Settlement to draft a plan for the renovations. For tenants and activists, Tse was and is a comrade in the fight to preserve the Blue House. Said Tse: “It is a journey that we came through together.”

It began by chance. In 2006, Tse got acquainted with social workers from St. James’ Settlement and soon after became a volunteer for the nonprofit. His architectural expertise later came in handy when St. James wanted to rent space on the ground floor of the Blue House and turn it into what is now the Wanchai Livelihood Museum.

Tse helped to negotiate with Lands Department officials, and the nonprofit finally got approval to start the museum project. All was good until the Urban Renewal Authority and the Housing Society announced their own plans for the Blue House. They wanted to turn the cluster into a tourism site with exhibits and instruction related to Chinese medicine and tea—which would necessitate evicting tenants from the Blue, Yellow and Orange Houses.

The government’s proposal ignited opposition and Tse joined the cry, helping residents petition for their right to stay. Drawing on his own expertise, he wrote objection letters to the Town Planning Board and attended meetings with residents in an attempt to subvert the tourism-minded plan.

Tse’s voluntary work for Blue House tenants was also an outburst of activism. He didn’t think the original proposal was the proper way to preserve the historic group of buildings. In the end, the government shelved its plan due to mounting pressure.

Then the familiar chain of events kicked into gear: The government opened the door for other ideas; St. James’ Settlement asked Tse to be the architectural consultant on its revitalization proposal; its proposal won. The buildings are set to be preserved in an authentic way, with residents’ comfort and safety as a top priority and money as an irrelevancy.

“The Blue House is not going to be a profitable project, but it can help people. It shows that urban renewal is not just about demolition and erecting another skyscraper,” said Tse, who also works as a director at the Meta4 Design Forum on other cultural and preservation projects. “But this project is special to me. I have been accompanying them [residents] for a long time. I was there when they had to move out originally. Then they succeeded and were allowed to stay. I have witnessed the improvement.”

Tse and the Blue House tenants have come a long way, but it is not a guarantee that he can participate in the final stage of the revitalization project—that is, the actual renovations. Even though he has already devoted a lot of time and energy to the project, the government has said that anyone can apply to oversee the reconstruction. On the surface, open bidding may appear fair, but there’s a chance some other firm will swoop in and succeed in capturing the project’s management if they offer the government a super-low pricetag for the construction process. The residents of Stone Nullah Lane certainly hope that doesn’t happen; it would be an imperfect ending to a heartwarming story of how volunteerism unwittingly fostered an unexpected passion.

Mr. Lee - Preservation Activist

Mr. Lee doesn’t look like your average activist.

He doesn’t appear angry, nor does he harbor a deep-seated hatred of bureaucracy. The soft-spoken man even describes himself as timid, so it’s difficult to imagine a person like that taking on the government and its original plan for the Blue House. But he did—and today he and his fellow kaifongs are finally triumphant after several years of struggle and hard work.

“My experiences with the Blue House made me understand the meaning of preservation,” Lee said. “In the past, we would demolish whatever we had. But now I know my home has always been a real treasure.”

In 2006, after 30 years of living in the Blue House, Lee was on the brink of being evicted when the government wanted to turn it into a tourist destination. That’s when he started fighting to protect his home. He started by poring over numerous government documents, undeterred by their dense and technical nature. He used as many channels as possible to express his opinions: he talked to Wan Chai District Councilors, attended meetings with the Town Planning Board, wrote letters to the Development Bureau and even talked face-to-face with Secretary for Development Carrie Lam. All these actions were not easy, especially for a man in his sixties.

Lee plucked up courage to protect his way of life. If the government had gotten its way four years ago, he not only needed to part with the Blue House but also bid farewell to Wan Chai, where he grew up. At the time, Lee was already retired and lacked a stable income. If he were evicted, he couldn’t afford expensive rents in other parts of Wan Chai, and he would be uprooted from his beloved community. Making the situation even more difficult, his eldest sister lives nearby and he feared losing her support.

When Lee was small, his father ran a local shop that sold Chinese wooden shoes. The shop was located on Queen’s Road East, where a luxury building called the Zenith now stands. Lee fondly recounted the allure of his father’s profession: “My father’s shop was the largest wooden shoe shop in Hong Kong, and my father was the chairperson of the trade association. Wooden shoes are beautiful and special.” The shop’s success was short-lived, as plastic shoes became increasingly popular and the wooden-shoe business started to dwindle. Eventually, the shop closed down.

But Lee’s connection to Wan Chai continued to strengthen. In 1975, he moved into the Blue House with his mother to share a partitioned room. It might sound crowded, but they had enough space. In the early 1980s, his mother suffered a stroke and became very ill. He still remembers the tough days that followed, when he and his siblings took care of their mother. His mother passed away in 1983; he still keeps a spirit tablet, or small shrine, for his parents in his room.
Though Lee is not married, he seldom feels lonely living in the Blue House. Kaifongs, past and present, keep him company. About a decade ago, a family with two children moved into the house. The children were mischievous, bringing liveliness and laughter to the tenement. The family has since moved out, but Lee showed off the paintings the children drew on the walls, smiling when he recollected the memories. Another neighbor named Uncle Kan, who used to live on the same floor as Lee, was also a friend. Together they would go hiking in the hills south of Wan Chai and head to Aberdeen for dim sum. Sadly, Uncle Kan no longer lives in the Blue House because he accepted the government’s offer to move to a public housing estate.

Lee has witnessed that over and over again. The Blue House may seem empty and lonely right now, but he is hopeful that the revitalization plan will give rise to more tenants—and more joy along Stone Nullah Lane.

Maria Kwok - Volunteer

If you venture into the Wanchai Livelihood Museum, a smiling Maria Kwok will welcome you. One of the regular volunteers who helps out at this quirky little museum in the Blue House, she is happy to share with anyone who’s interested every tale related to the brightly-colored tenement or the Wan Chai community.
“I think this alley has something special,” said Kwok, a Wan Chai resident for more than 20 years. “Behind the veil of prosperity, a lot of residents are still living in the Blue House, and there are many unique tong laus in the area.”

Because she is so knowledgeable about the Blue House, it’s surprising that she’s not actually a resident—but she developed a deep attachment to the old building and its environs over the last two years. Though she lived nearby, she did not know much about the Blue House before she retired. One day she walked by and caught a glimpse of the Wanchai Livelihood Museum. Attracted by an exhibition about temple decoration and religious rituals, she then spotted a kaifong (neighborhood resident) she recognized. She inquired about the place, and that’s how she started working for the museum, pro bono. Her love affair had begun.

The successful preservation of the Blue House is heartening for Kwok and her fellow kaifongs. After all, Wan Chai is a district over which every real estate developer is drooling. In light of the threat of demolition and property development, it almost seems too good to be true that this bit of history—along with its residents and their living memories—can be maintained. After the Blue House’s renovation is complete, it will have space for new tenants, and Kwok is seriously considering applying for a spot. New tenants will be required to give back to the community in some way, which isn’t a problem for her because she’s doing that already. If she gets in, her journey as a community historian will come full circle.

Architectural Value

For years, tenants, activists and social workers have been fighting zealously to protect and preserve the Blue House cluster. But why, specifically, did they care so much—and why should you care, too?

You’d think the most obvious reason the Blue House is unique is its eye-popping color. But its bright facade is an accident; the blue finish was added relatively recently. If you look closely, one part of the building retains the original gray walls. Here’s the story: In the 1990s, when the government carried out maintenance, officials used vivid blue paint left over from some Water Supplies Department work to repaint the exterior. However, one section of the Blue House was still under private ownership, and so that wall wasn’t painted. Nowadays most people think that the color adds liveliness to the neighborhood—but at the time kaifongs actually were against the idea because the color reminded them of funerals and had an unlucky association.

Its component materials also tell a story about the development of construction techniques in Hong Kong. The house’s cantilevered balconies are made of reinforced concrete—one of the earliest uses of reinforced concrete in Hong Kong buildings. Architects only started using the material, which puts supportive dowels made of metal within a concrete block to strengthen it, throughout a whole building when the technology matured in the 1930s. The rest of the Blue House, with its brick walls and wooden ceilings, floors and staircases,
is more reflective of the time in which it was built.

The Blue House is also a classic mixture of eastern and western styles, according to Wendy Ng, research project officer at the Center for Architectural Heritage Research at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. The bone-setting clinic on the ground floor used to contain a temple dedicated to Wah To, the god of medicine in Chinese mythology. “Even today, you can still see some of the Chinese decoration in the space,” Ng said. “But Blue House as a whole has a more westernized architecture.”

It is valuable as a textbook example of early tong lau architecture, something that represents the everyday, not the exceptional. “The Blue House is a crappy tong lau,” said Dr. Lee Ho-yin, Director of Architectural Conservation Program at the University of Hong Kong, with a chuckle. “It was a building constructed by developers for speculation [profit-turning] during that time. So the Blue House design was very common by then.”

The 1920s-era Blue House, then, is by no means special from a traditional standpoint, that is, because of its aesthetics. The building itself is neither glamorous nor grand; no important historical figures lived there or even stopped by. Instead, its value lies in its relative rarity. Explained Lee: “Buildings of similar designs were demolished, and the Blue House remains one of the very few of its kind.”

Community Value

Stone Nullah Lane is quiet and traditional, and the Blue House plays a key role fostering its peaceful ambience. “If the government didn’t keep the shop-house structure of Blue House, and had changed it into commercial use, it would disrupt the mood of the whole community,” HKU’s Lee said.

The Blue House has become an icon for the neighborhood because of its distinct exterior—so much so that its effect has spread to neighboring buildings beyond the Yellow House and the Orange House, which are included in the Blue House’s preservation plan. Opposite the Blue House, there is a tong lau from the 1960s with a pink facade.

Socio-historical Value

The Lam Chun-hin Clinic, which specializes in setting broken bones using traditional Chinese methods, is located on the ground floor of the Blue House. Still active today, it is considered the oldest bone-setting practice in Hong Kong that has been operating continuously at the same address.

The same spot used to house a temple dedicated to the god of medicine, Wah To. Later the space was rented to Lam Cho, a Chinese martial artist practicing the art of folk hero Hung Kuen. Lam Cho was actually the nephew of Lam Sai-wing, himself the most famous disciple of the legendary kung-fu master Wong Fei-hung. Lam Cho used the space to both set up the bone-setting clinic and teach martial art students. (Often those two practices occur near each other, to ensure that the injured martial artists have access to fast and effective treatment.) Later, Lam Cho passed down the shop to one of his sons, Lam Chun-hin. The son passed away more than 20 years ago, but his widow is still running the clinic today.

Get Involved

The revitalization of the Blue House won’t be done until 2013—but you don’t need to wait for three years to enjoy the history and culture of this 1920s tenement building and its denizens. Sign up for the English-language Heritage Walk, organized by the Wanchai Livelihood Museum, and an experienced guide will escort you to the Blue House, the Pak Tai Temple, a historic post office and the 80-year-old Wan Chai street market. Tickets are $180 per person, which includes a non-alcoholic drink at the Pawn and a souvenir from the museum. All the proceeds go to nonprofit St. James’ Settlement, which is leading the Blue House preservation effort.

Bookings are required, so call 2835-4376 for details.