In July, 2014 I traveled to Hong Kong along with a group of my students to train with Chu Shong Tin. Over several decades I made this trip dozens of times, usually with fifteen to twenty students from Chi Sau Club. Recently we had visited three times per year and it was my intention to continue at this rate until Chu Shong Tin retired from teaching.
I advised my students to participate in these training expeditions. This sifu knew more about Wing Chun than any living person. He could do remarkable things and pass on a measure of his knowledge and skill to even the dimmest student. The experience could be life-changing and Wing Chun skills that seemed beyond reach would become achievable. However, my personal reason for making this trip again and again was simply because I loved Chu Shong Tin.
When we entered, things were not quite right. CST was sitting surrounded by a group of older students, some who I had not seen in many years. I realised with a jolt that in all these visits I had hardly ever seen CST sitting while his students trained. Despite being twenty six years his junior I definitely needed to rest at times through our 6 hour training sessions. Chu Shong Tin however seemed indefatigable. He was the hardest-working sifu I had ever met and took pride in his vitality. Something was wrong.
My first order of business was to pay our training fees. CST explained that he was unwell and would not be able to teach properly so we could train this time for free. I insisted on paying and thrust two envelopes into his hand; one with the standard fees and another red envelope with extra cash that I and all my students always paid on each trip as a gesture of respect and gratitude. As usual he did not bother to count any of it. Chu Shong Tin’s relationship with his students had very little to do with money.
We found places and started standing meditation then practicing forms as usual. A growing unease descended upon me. Siu Nim Tau normally fills me with calm and a heightened sense of being. However this time I found that my concentration was floundering. More disturbingly my eyes began to brim with tears. My conscious mind was confused but on a deeper level, I had begun to form conclusions.
After training I spoke with Nima. He said that CST’s cancer had come back. He had been advised to enter hospital but refused as he knew we were coming and did not want to disappoint us. He wanted to carry on for this one last week – for our sake! And so carry on we did.
It was obvious that CST was very seriously ill. He was literally unable to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. However, from Monday through to the end of Wednesday evening he was in the school. At one point I suggested to CST’s son Horace, that we would be happy to have a night off training if his father wished to rest. Horace was horrified and told me that this was the worst thing we could do. In his words, he said that his father’s mind was empty now and he needed these few days as much as we did.
This trip was different to all the rest. The atmosphere was grim, punctuated with moments of poignant sadness. I did not really enjoy a single minute but I am incredibly thankful to have been there during CST’s very last days of teaching. Certain memories stand out.
On the Tuesday evening I found myself in the rickety old elevator along with just Nima and CST. I said with more hope than conviction that he looked a little better than the previous day. CST quietly said with Nima translating that the cancer had come back and that he realised that this was it this time. He looked directly at me and seemed to speak without speaking. I tried to hold back my tears.
That day he had managed to stand and teach for just a few minutes. As he demonstrated a certain aspect I started to imitate the movement. He looked over towards me and said, “He can do this”. I actually looked behind me to see whom he was pointing to! In all the years I had been visiting I cannot actually remember CST complimenting me. He then pulled me out and had me do the move. After that he spoke a few sentences to the students gathered round. A student translated in real time; He actually said positive things about my skill and my teaching. CST was finally giving me a break. He knew this would be our last few days together and this affirmation was a final gift. I am not presenting this as evidence of my ability. That moment is just a lovely example of Chu Shong Tin’s great generosity and thoughtfulness towards others. Even under the weight of his imminent passing his heart strode towards kindness.
Wednesday evening I felt that I could see the life force draining from Chu Shong Tin. As always he rose above circumstance and with what must have been a superhuman effort rose to his feet and managed to stand for a few moments in front of each of my students as they practiced. He was a picture of courage and dignity. I guess he felt that he owed them this as they had come all that way. We all knew that we owed him so much more.
Later he managed to rise to his feet on one more occasion. I was practicing a movement with some of his senior students and thought I was doing okay. Chu Shong Tin struggled to his feet and clasped his hand on my elbow to restrict the move. I felt awful because I did not want to finally manage to move him because of his weakened state. I gently started the movement prepared to stop when he could not hold me. I should have known better. He stopped me with ease. I applied more force – still he clamped my elbow like a vice. Eventually I gave it everything. It felt like my arm was chained to the floor! I had no chance. Chu Shong Tin’s last gift to me was a final display of his seemingly magical ability and one last lesson to stop my pride getting in the way of learning. Despite his kind words of praise I was still miles away from achieving anything like his standard.
The next evening we arrived at the school to find that Chu Shong Tin had been taken to hospital. He died a matter of days later.
~ Mark Spence