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Now there were no more flights out: the gates had closed. No more boats out either, the boom firmly locked. But the Japanese didn’t need to come in by sea. On land, the lightly equipped soldiers in their rubber -soled, split-toed canvas shoes crossed the New Territories faster than anyone had thought possible. Moving by night on mountain paths, they took the Shingmun Redoubt—the key point in the Gin Drinkers’ Line—by catching its few Royal Scots defenders napping inside their pillboxes and dropping hand grenades down the air shafts. Only three days after crossing the border, they were now coming up out of the nullahs*on the edge of urban Kowloon. Plain-clothed Japanese agents mingled on the streets with Chinese rioters armed with staves and axes, as the British Mainland Brigade prepared to beat a retreat across the harbour in a hastily assembled fleet of Star Ferries, sampans and motor torpedo boats. Nor had there been any let-up in the attack from the air, now focused firmly on Hong Kong Island. The principal targets were the big guns on the commanding heights; the fishing village of Aberdeen, where the motor torpedo boats were now quartered; and a few key military sites along the built-up northern shore, such as the main naval yard (on the site of today’s Admiralty). After years of unfettered spying, the Japanese could pinpoint the location of every last pillbox. And they soon proved there was nothing wrong with either their eyesight or their flying skills, whatever the defending troops may have been told beforehand to the contrary.* David MacDougall left his flat in Barker Road and drove to work, skirting the worst of the shell holes and debris along Magazine Gap 3 Men from the Ministry 11 December nullahs: local name for the storm-water drains that run down from many of Hong Kong’s hills. to the contrary: Senior British officers had assured their men that the Japanese were too short-sighted to make good pilots or to be able to aim their bombs with any accuracy. Soon after the successful airport raid a rumour spread that the planes must have been flown by Germans. Men from the Ministry 21 Road. In more peaceful times, he might have taken the Peak Tram, or even walked all the way down to Central along leafy Chatham Path. But he had recently, in his mid thirties, bought his first car—and he had plenty to do before his 9 a.m. appointment with Chan Chak. The Admiral had wasted no time in setting up a daily meeting to exchange information. Apart from Chan himself, these meetings were attended by Charles Boxer, on behalf of the British military, and MacDougall, representing the colonial government. He and Chan already knew each other. They had met more than ten years previously, when MacDougall was in China for the second half of a two-year Cantonese course. They had played tennis and had later arranged matches between teams from Hong Kong and Canton. Alternating each weekend between the two cities, these were the sort of tennis matches that ended up as drinking parties. The two men had become close friends at a time when relationships between any British and Chinese, let alone senior officials, were rare. MacDougall also wanted to get a telegram out to his wife, Catherine, while he still could. She and their small daughter Ann were in Vancouver. They had gone there from Scotland, hoping to come on to Hong Kong, but he had insisted it was too dangerous and they should wait. He decided to keep his message short and upbeat. ‘All well here,’ it read. ‘Don’t worry. Much love both. MacDougall.’ He and Cathie had met soon after his arrival in Hong Kong in 1928. He had joined the colonial service as a cadet and was soon settling rural land cases as District Officer South. It was a job he later recalled in lyrical terms: Get up in the morning, not a cloud in sight. Launch waiting for me at Queen’s Pier . . . I’d tour the islands on a beautiful blue warm sea . . . They’d meet us at the pier at Lantau . . . whisky and lemonade. I’d say any cases? They’d say a few; to the village hall, settle the case; then off to Cheung Chau . . . Three gorgeous years. It was out of this world; nothing was ever like that again. In 1939, with Britain at...

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