By the late 1960s, Hong Kong was one of the most densely packed places on earth. A massive wave of refugees and displaced families had flooded the city, and the government responded by building seven-story concrete housing blocks known as “H-blocks.” These resettlement estates became home to thousands of people living in remarkably tight conditions. A family of five or more shared a single room of just 120 square feet. There were no private kitchens or bathrooms. Residents cooked on small kerosene stoves in dim hallways and shared communal taps in central corridors for washing clothes and dishes. Children played hopscotch on open balconies because no parks were nearby.
Water was one of the most precious resources in the city. Severe droughts forced the government to ration the water supply strictly, with taps running for only four hours every four days during the worst periods. When the water came on, families scrambled to fill every bucket, basin, and bathtub they owned. Long lines formed at public standpipes on the street, where residents waited with plastic buckets for their share. Restaurants served tea in half-filled cups to save every drop. The phrase “water restriction” was a regular headline in local newspapers throughout the decade.
Hong Kong functioned as a massive factory city during this era. Light industry drove employment for the working class, with young men and women putting in long shifts at textile mills and plastic flower factories in districts like Kwun Tong and San Po Kong. Workers assembled artificial flowers, toys, and wigs destined for markets in the United States and Europe. The “Made in Hong Kong” label appeared on goods sold around the world. Many families extended the workday at home, with mothers and children assembling plastic dolls or hand-sewing beads onto garments inside their small apartments to earn extra income.
Getting across Victoria Harbour was a daily ritual for thousands of workers before the Cross-Harbour Tunnel existed. The Star Ferry, with its distinctive green and white vessels, carried commuters between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island for a very low fare. On land, double-decker buses and trams pushed through congested streets. Hong Kong Island’s trams — nicknamed “ding dings” after the sound of their bells — offered the cheapest ride in the city. Informal minibuses called “red vans” filled the gaps, serving neighborhoods the larger buses did not reach.
Food shopping was a twice-daily task for most households. With few refrigerators in private homes, housewives visited wet markets in the morning and again in the afternoon, bargaining loudly with vendors for fresh fish, pork, and vegetables. For meals outside the home, people turned to dai pai dongs — open-air food stalls that set up folding tables and stools directly on the sidewalk. Cooks worked over high-heat woks, frying noodles and rice dishes while customers ate amid the noise and movement of street traffic. The smell of roasted goose and strong milk tea defined neighborhoods like Mong Kok and Sham Shui Po.
