The young colonial boys.
"Every Police Station has a Pub", so concluded my sister. And she's not wrong. Messes indeed played a pivotal role in Police culture, although these days, the influence, good and bad, is waning.
It's irrefutable that the colonial Brits took their customs with them as they strode across the world. Socialising in the Officers and NCOs Mess proved a resilient feature. There was a cost. The Oxford Survey of the British Empire, published in 1914, cited alcoholism as the top ailment. Not snakes, tigers or malaria, although they took a toll. It was self-inflicted behaviour that culled many.
Even as late as 1980, graduating officers could be assigned to live in a Mess. The officer worked and resided in the same place. This gradually changed except in the more remote locations. Lantau and parts of the New Territories continued the practice until the late 1980s. Then, improved transportation, accompanied by the provision of quality housing downtown, heralded a change.
Even today, the Hong Kong Police Messes are active, woven into the fabric of the organisation. The role played is diverse, evolving and not without its detractors. But, for starters, officers get to relax away from the public, able to let off steam. Plus, the Mess is ideal for community functions and as a training venue.
It's worth pointing out that Police esprit-de-corp is partly forged through alcohol-fueled bravado. Thus, the Mess provided the ideal setting for officers to let their hair down. Young men, it's always men, full of dash and energy, need an outlet. And let's be honest, most of the alpha males revelled in Mess life, the author included. The ladies, not so much.
The importance of the Messes retreated around the reign of Commissioner Tsang Yam-pui. Some closed as the drinking culture dwindled; whether directed by him or a sign of the times is unclear. Although more sober, some of the bonds forged late at night in the Mess eroded. Drink driving laws, plus the drive to professionalism, with a healthy lifestyle, also placed Messes in jeopardy.
Further, with fewer Expats around, the natural clientele was gone. But that does not mean all the locals shunned the Mess. On the contrary, crime officers and specialist units keep an active Mess life as part of their ethos.
Messes have their own peculiar set of rules. On day one at the Police Training School, you learn Mess etiquette. Dress codes, conduct and certain quirky restrictions are drummed home; no caps, no Sam Browne and certainly no weapons. Don't sit in the commandant's chair unless you wish to invite a fine.
An honour system exists for the payment of drinks and food. The Mess Boy, hardly an appropriate name for a 50-year-old man, kept a watchful eye on transactions. He'd tally up accounts at the end of the night to ensure all bills were covered. After all, in all the fun, it's possible to forget. Moreover, if an officer failed to stand his round or absconded without signing, he risked his reputation. In the absence of the Mess Boy, an officer must faithfully record his drinks. Failure to do so could invite scorn or worse.
"If I can't trust a chap to sign his mess bill, how can I trust him with my back on the streets" goes the saying.
Mess events punctuate the weekly life of operational stations. The Wednesday or Friday curry lunch drew in everyone; police officers, community leaders and hangers-on. Amongst the cops, there were no excuses for an absence unless something urgent was at hand. Also, you'd better clear your schedule. It could extend into the afternoon and beyond.
In the past, magistrates and senior court staff joined in. Prosecutors and the odd defence counsel would dine side-by-side. Good-natured jibes abounded as cases were ruminated over. In the remote parts of the New Territories, the local Magistrate could be found most evenings swapping stories at the Mess bar.
Sometime in the 1990s, this came to a stop. An edict came down that such fraternisation with the Police should be discouraged on the grounds of judicial independence . And, of course, appearances are important; yet, a communication channel was shut down. Perhaps that's not healthy.
Maybe I'm biased. But, to me, the Police Tactical Unit Mess curry was the best. At a single sitting, 40 officers would woof down the best Pakistani curry east of Lahore.
Friday happy hours also brought together the entire command. Things kicked in late afternoon. The hardcore would press on through the night while others would slip away to families or out on the town. On reflection hardly a Saturday passed between 1980 and 1984 when I didn't wake with a hangover.
In the Force structure the Mess didn't sit apart. On the contrary, the Mess was an integral part of the system, especially at the Police Training School and the Police Tactical Unit. Within the Mess, the rank structure of the organisation is reinforced and replicated. The Committee is rank-based, with the senior officer sitting at the pinnacle. The seats at table are grade based.
Likewise, when wives attended, they adopted the station of their husbands. This bizarre practice caught my better half out. Introduced to Mrs TO, wife of the training officer and then Mrs DC, spouse of the deputy commandant, she shrugged. "I suppose that makes me Mrs Inspector Training Team 2?"
Ma Gau, a cook-sergeant, presided over the Police Tactical Mess in the late 1970s and 1980s. While Commandant came and went, Ma Gau claimed the place as his. He was not one for respecting rank. On formal mess nights, he could be found standing at the entrance to the dining room, directing the waiters—a large glass of brandy in hand, a disdainful look on his face.
"Bloody officers, don't stain my tablecloth."
He'd invite himself into the bar. On occasions, the brandy got too much. He could get away with rude remarks to inspectors and chief inspectors, but not gazetted officers (superintendents and above). Ma Gau's passing got marked with a few brandies and stories.
Certain Police Station Messes gained a reputation for machismo. "The Bugs Retreat" in Mongkok Police Station comes to mind. Most night the bar is held up by a mixed group of Emergency Unit, Traffic or Police Tactical Unit officers. This motley crew put the Star Wars Cantina Bar to shame.
For sheer elegance, the Wong Tai Sin Mess beat most. The bar was recovered and refurbished from a cruise ship; all elegant dark wood, with a touch of brass. It provided a serene, tranquil setting for lunch that contrasted the encroaching urban blight. Entering, you moved from one world to another. A few Messes came close for such a transformative experience. Wong Tai Sin excelled.
It would be wrong to portray all Police Messes as welcoming places. The environment could be intimidating. Misogynistic behaviour by dreadful bores was not uncommon, while specific sad individuals lorded it over younger ranks. I suspect most of the ladies turned up out of a sense of obligation, not because they enjoyed it.
The Senior Officers' Mess, also known as the 'Great Hall of the People' could prove a high-risk place to voice out your thoughts.
One notable incident comes to mind. A Chief Inspector, on hearing of his promotion, decided to speak his mind. He felt it would be a good idea to let the Deputy Commissioner hear his views. Thus, after a few beers, he held forth on why his promotion was long overdue. Along the way, he threw in a few insults.
Reminded that his promotion was provisional and subject to continued good behaviour, he stalled in mid-flight. There are limits.
To keep things in check, a belling was always on hand. You'd get called out for bullshit, inflated comments or downright lies by ringing the Mess Bell. The alleged culprit's statement would then be recorded in the Bell Book, with the senior officer present judging if a fine was appropriate. Usually, more beers for consumption that night.
But the bellee took a risk. Incorrectly calling out someone could back-fire with a counter-fine if the statement was judged valid. Late at night, it all got a bit daft. The next day, reading the erratic scrawl, the antics didn't always appear so funny. It's a case of you had to be there.
Formal Mess nights started with a different tone. All dressed up in Mess kit with speeches and toasts. The head-table piped in with the pomp that wouldn't be amiss across the length and breadth of the former British Empire—stirring stuff that goes of a past now long gone and frowned upon by many. Then as now, the port was passed around, right to the left, as you served your neighbour. In turn, someone helped you.
Before 1997 its glasses raised to the Queen. After, the toast was Hong Kong. For the most part, it enthralled the regulars and visitors. With an overpowering aura of formalities, people got into the swing of things. And yet, scratch the surface, and you'd reveal little of substance. New traditions, the faux genuflection, the over-compensating gestures to distant masters all mixed. The symbolism had its defenders as some took it extremely seriously. Indeed, you couldn't fail to be moved by Pipes.
Later, after the formal events, games and silliness would prevail. Of course, no one would leave until the chief guest departed. The first to exit is the ladies. Next, the men would drift away. Some chaps would loiter chatting. A few would drink to oblivion before it all shut down.
I suppose what made it fun was the banter. In the Police, I learned the value of a communal experience. Being part of a team, we worked hard, had a clear mission, and wound down together. We spoke a common language, knew the references and context. It's our world, our syntax. If you want to join, do the job, get the time in, then, you've earned the right to judge.
Mess life continues. However, the regular long-afternoon drinking sessions have thankfully abated. Sedate community functions and lunches are the norms these days. And few, if any, would welcome a return to the old days. The boisterous heyday fed on the period; colonial policing, single young men in search of fun. Those halcyon days are over, fondly remembered as echoes of another time.
It's irrefutable that the colonial Brits took their customs with them as they strode across the world. Socialising in the Officers and NCOs Mess proved a resilient feature. There was a cost. The Oxford Survey of the British Empire, published in 1914, cited alcoholism as the top ailment. Not snakes, tigers or malaria, although they took a toll. It was self-inflicted behaviour that culled many.
Even as late as 1980, graduating officers could be assigned to live in a Mess. The officer worked and resided in the same place. This gradually changed except in the more remote locations. Lantau and parts of the New Territories continued the practice until the late 1980s. Then, improved transportation, accompanied by the provision of quality housing downtown, heralded a change.
Even today, the Hong Kong Police Messes are active, woven into the fabric of the organisation. The role played is diverse, evolving and not without its detractors. But, for starters, officers get to relax away from the public, able to let off steam. Plus, the Mess is ideal for community functions and as a training venue.
It's worth pointing out that Police esprit-de-corp is partly forged through alcohol-fueled bravado. Thus, the Mess provided the ideal setting for officers to let their hair down. Young men, it's always men, full of dash and energy, need an outlet. And let's be honest, most of the alpha males revelled in Mess life, the author included. The ladies, not so much.
The importance of the Messes retreated around the reign of Commissioner Tsang Yam-pui. Some closed as the drinking culture dwindled; whether directed by him or a sign of the times is unclear. Although more sober, some of the bonds forged late at night in the Mess eroded. Drink driving laws, plus the drive to professionalism, with a healthy lifestyle, also placed Messes in jeopardy.
Further, with fewer Expats around, the natural clientele was gone. But that does not mean all the locals shunned the Mess. On the contrary, crime officers and specialist units keep an active Mess life as part of their ethos.
Messes have their own peculiar set of rules. On day one at the Police Training School, you learn Mess etiquette. Dress codes, conduct and certain quirky restrictions are drummed home; no caps, no Sam Browne and certainly no weapons. Don't sit in the commandant's chair unless you wish to invite a fine.
An honour system exists for the payment of drinks and food. The Mess Boy, hardly an appropriate name for a 50-year-old man, kept a watchful eye on transactions. He'd tally up accounts at the end of the night to ensure all bills were covered. After all, in all the fun, it's possible to forget. Moreover, if an officer failed to stand his round or absconded without signing, he risked his reputation. In the absence of the Mess Boy, an officer must faithfully record his drinks. Failure to do so could invite scorn or worse.
"If I can't trust a chap to sign his mess bill, how can I trust him with my back on the streets" goes the saying.
Mess events punctuate the weekly life of operational stations. The Wednesday or Friday curry lunch drew in everyone; police officers, community leaders and hangers-on. Amongst the cops, there were no excuses for an absence unless something urgent was at hand. Also, you'd better clear your schedule. It could extend into the afternoon and beyond.
In the past, magistrates and senior court staff joined in. Prosecutors and the odd defence counsel would dine side-by-side. Good-natured jibes abounded as cases were ruminated over. In the remote parts of the New Territories, the local Magistrate could be found most evenings swapping stories at the Mess bar.
Sometime in the 1990s, this came to a stop. An edict came down that such fraternisation with the Police should be discouraged on the grounds of judicial independence . And, of course, appearances are important; yet, a communication channel was shut down. Perhaps that's not healthy.
Maybe I'm biased. But, to me, the Police Tactical Unit Mess curry was the best. At a single sitting, 40 officers would woof down the best Pakistani curry east of Lahore.
Friday happy hours also brought together the entire command. Things kicked in late afternoon. The hardcore would press on through the night while others would slip away to families or out on the town. On reflection hardly a Saturday passed between 1980 and 1984 when I didn't wake with a hangover.
In the Force structure the Mess didn't sit apart. On the contrary, the Mess was an integral part of the system, especially at the Police Training School and the Police Tactical Unit. Within the Mess, the rank structure of the organisation is reinforced and replicated. The Committee is rank-based, with the senior officer sitting at the pinnacle. The seats at table are grade based.
Likewise, when wives attended, they adopted the station of their husbands. This bizarre practice caught my better half out. Introduced to Mrs TO, wife of the training officer and then Mrs DC, spouse of the deputy commandant, she shrugged. "I suppose that makes me Mrs Inspector Training Team 2?"
Ma Gau, a cook-sergeant, presided over the Police Tactical Mess in the late 1970s and 1980s. While Commandant came and went, Ma Gau claimed the place as his. He was not one for respecting rank. On formal mess nights, he could be found standing at the entrance to the dining room, directing the waiters—a large glass of brandy in hand, a disdainful look on his face.
"Bloody officers, don't stain my tablecloth."
He'd invite himself into the bar. On occasions, the brandy got too much. He could get away with rude remarks to inspectors and chief inspectors, but not gazetted officers (superintendents and above). Ma Gau's passing got marked with a few brandies and stories.
Certain Police Station Messes gained a reputation for machismo. "The Bugs Retreat" in Mongkok Police Station comes to mind. Most night the bar is held up by a mixed group of Emergency Unit, Traffic or Police Tactical Unit officers. This motley crew put the Star Wars Cantina Bar to shame.
For sheer elegance, the Wong Tai Sin Mess beat most. The bar was recovered and refurbished from a cruise ship; all elegant dark wood, with a touch of brass. It provided a serene, tranquil setting for lunch that contrasted the encroaching urban blight. Entering, you moved from one world to another. A few Messes came close for such a transformative experience. Wong Tai Sin excelled.
It would be wrong to portray all Police Messes as welcoming places. The environment could be intimidating. Misogynistic behaviour by dreadful bores was not uncommon, while specific sad individuals lorded it over younger ranks. I suspect most of the ladies turned up out of a sense of obligation, not because they enjoyed it.
The Senior Officers' Mess, also known as the 'Great Hall of the People' could prove a high-risk place to voice out your thoughts.
One notable incident comes to mind. A Chief Inspector, on hearing of his promotion, decided to speak his mind. He felt it would be a good idea to let the Deputy Commissioner hear his views. Thus, after a few beers, he held forth on why his promotion was long overdue. Along the way, he threw in a few insults.
Reminded that his promotion was provisional and subject to continued good behaviour, he stalled in mid-flight. There are limits.
To keep things in check, a belling was always on hand. You'd get called out for bullshit, inflated comments or downright lies by ringing the Mess Bell. The alleged culprit's statement would then be recorded in the Bell Book, with the senior officer present judging if a fine was appropriate. Usually, more beers for consumption that night.
But the bellee took a risk. Incorrectly calling out someone could back-fire with a counter-fine if the statement was judged valid. Late at night, it all got a bit daft. The next day, reading the erratic scrawl, the antics didn't always appear so funny. It's a case of you had to be there.
Formal Mess nights started with a different tone. All dressed up in Mess kit with speeches and toasts. The head-table piped in with the pomp that wouldn't be amiss across the length and breadth of the former British Empire—stirring stuff that goes of a past now long gone and frowned upon by many. Then as now, the port was passed around, right to the left, as you served your neighbour. In turn, someone helped you.
Before 1997 its glasses raised to the Queen. After, the toast was Hong Kong. For the most part, it enthralled the regulars and visitors. With an overpowering aura of formalities, people got into the swing of things. And yet, scratch the surface, and you'd reveal little of substance. New traditions, the faux genuflection, the over-compensating gestures to distant masters all mixed. The symbolism had its defenders as some took it extremely seriously. Indeed, you couldn't fail to be moved by Pipes.
Later, after the formal events, games and silliness would prevail. Of course, no one would leave until the chief guest departed. The first to exit is the ladies. Next, the men would drift away. Some chaps would loiter chatting. A few would drink to oblivion before it all shut down.
I suppose what made it fun was the banter. In the Police, I learned the value of a communal experience. Being part of a team, we worked hard, had a clear mission, and wound down together. We spoke a common language, knew the references and context. It's our world, our syntax. If you want to join, do the job, get the time in, then, you've earned the right to judge.
Mess life continues. However, the regular long-afternoon drinking sessions have thankfully abated. Sedate community functions and lunches are the norms these days. And few, if any, would welcome a return to the old days. The boisterous heyday fed on the period; colonial policing, single young men in search of fun. Those halcyon days are over, fondly remembered as echoes of another time.
