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Wilson Leung

IN A BRITISH ARMY camp close to the German lines in World War II, a Gurkha unit commander asks for volunteers for a mission. The job, he says, is to airdrop a group of soldiers into enemy territory for some light action. To his surprise only half of his men come forward.

An English reporter, who came to the camp hoping for a glimpse of the Gurkhas' legendary valour, leaves disillusioned.

Years later, the journalist meets one of the Gurkha soldiers who was at the camp that day, and asks why so few of the men volunteered. It turns out that none of the men, including those who came forward, were aware that they were to be given parachutes.

Though apocryphal, this anecdote is typical of the way in which people have come to regard the Nepalese men known as the Gurkhas: loyal and courageous to an extreme. Notwithstanding that some popular Gurkha myths - such as the fiction that they never unsheathe their distinctive kukri knives without shedding blood - were fabrications deliberately spread by their British commanders to instil fear into enemies, their bravery is a fact which has withstood countless tests on the battlefield.

But it is not as fearsome warriors that most Hong Kongers encounter Gurkhas; it is as security guards. The men once deployed in the rainforests of Brunei or the swamps of Belize, now patrol apartment blocks, shopping malls, and construction sites. The majority of them have been recruited from Nepal after leaving the British army. Have these fierce fighters been reduced to glorified watchmen?

Not everyone feels this contrast so keenly. 'Military service, even for the toughest, most feared soldiers, is very often unglamorous and requires that they do menial jobs,' says Tony Gould, author of Imperial Warriors. 'In that sense, it may not be unlike being a watchman.' Gould, quoting a Gurkha friend who is a serving soldier, says that 'the first thing the army teaches you is to do menial things'.

Security guard Mani Prasad Rai begs to differ. An ex-British army soldier - like most of the estimated 2,500 Gurkhas in Hong Kong, though there are a handful from the Indian army - Rai is frustrated by the long working hours that many of his colleagues face.

'In the army we did two-hour shifts in pairs. In security work, one person has to do 12 hours' duty alone, whether by day or at night,' says Rai. 'Just imagine how a single person can stand alone for the whole night without any rest.'

By law, all security companies and personnel must be registered with the Security and Guarding Services Industry Authority. One requirement is that security personnel must not work for more than 12 hours a day. 'Beyond that, we prefer to leave it up to market forces,' says an authority spokesman.

Shyam Gurung is also an ex-British soldier. He is now recruiting and training manager for Gurkha International, a firm that employs about 60 former servicemen. He acknowledges that the long hours - compounded by long commutes from Kam Tin or Yuen Long, where most Gurkhas live - are a contrast to the schedule in the army, where soldiers wake at 7am and train until 4pm, leaving them plenty of free time, mostly to play sports. 'Gurkha guards have little time to spend with their families,' says Gurung. Rai adds: 'Many security personnel suffer from back ache, knee injuries, neck problems because of the long hours of standing and the lack of time for proper eating and sleeping.'

However, Gurung says that tough competition in the security services market means that it is impossible for firms to implement eight-hour shifts as they would have to pay more wages. Harry Harkins, business development manager for Jardine Securicor Gurkha Services, which employs more than 600 Gurkhas - more than any other company in Hong Kong - says: 'We would rather they work eight hours, but the market will not accept it.'

A manager of another security company, who preferred to remain anonymous, says that many clients are unwilling to pay the extra money that is required for three eight-hour shifts every day.

Interestingly, the Housing Authority, which employs a number of Gurkha guards, recently announced a change from 12-hour shifts to eight, 'to enhance the service standards of the security personnel'.

The problem is that Gurkha exservicemen lack what economists call labour mobility. After 15 years as an army clerk, Raj Bahadur Limbu is now, thanks to a commerce degree, assistant manager of Gurkha International. Most of his former comrades-in-arms are not so lucky.

'The majority of them lack academic qualifications and language skills,' Limbu explains. 'They are also getting older.' This means that post-army options are extremely limited.

'There are only three jobs that they are qualified to do: security guard, bodyguard, or driver,' says Gurung. Unfortunately, a return to Nepal is generally an unpalatable option. Bholanath Thapa Magar, another ex-British soldier and chairman of the Gurkha (Nepalese) Federation, says: 'If we go home, we would have nothing to do. We would just sit at home, chat with people, and eat.'

For overworked Hong Kongers, that may not seem so bad. But Nepal is among the poorest and least-developed countries in the world, with nearly half of its population living below the poverty line. 'Gurkhas may be the toughest, most feared soldiers in the world, but they are also realists and come from one of the poorest countries,' says Gould.

Poverty is compounded by corruption. Krishna Bahadur Gurung, a guard with Gurkha International, tells how some friends tried to set up restaurants back home, but 'every day the police come and [levy] taxes, and have drinks and don't pay'. Those friends are now back in Hong Kong - working as security guards.

However, Magar, who also works as a senior controller for Lik On Security, insists that most guards in Hong Kong are not the poor ones - 'some have two, three houses and large amounts of farming land' - and stay because they are interested in the job. Depending on experience and rank, Gurkha guards make $10,000 to $15,000 per month, according to one security firm's manager. Pay scales vary, but for property work one company pays a starting salary of $11,000 per month, while charging the client $22,000.

Yet, despite the long hours and often poor working conditions - Rai claims that aside from Jardine Securicor, many companies do not even provide drinking water or proper winter attire - most Gurkhas retain the good cheer and courtesy for which they are renowned.

Dil Bahadur Gurung, a Jardine Securicor guard in charge of a residential block on the Peak, says he enjoys his work. He and his men are responsible for access control, patrols, night-time management duties and helping out residents. Though he is clearly nostalgic about the excitement of his 21 years in the British army - he went to Korea, Cyprus, Germany, Belize, Brunei and Britain and once met Queen Elizabeth - Dil Gurung seems content with his present situation. 'Hong Kong is like my second home,' says Dil Gurung. 'I feel very comfortable here.'

He attributes this contentment to good relationships with local Chinese people, who generally respect the Gurk-has. Hem Bahadur Tamang, chairman of the British Gurkha Ex-Servicemen's Association, agrees. 'The local people respect us, because they believe that Gurk-ha soldiers are very honest,' he says. A familiarity with Hong Kong is also a reason why many guards are content with their lot. 'They are happy because Gurkha soldiers have been serving Hong Kong for a long time and they know every part of it very well,' says Tamang.

Hong Kong was the centre of operations for the British Gurkha Brigade from 1969 until 1994 when the training depot at Malaya Lines closed and relocated to Church Crookham in Hampshire, southern England.

The world first knew of the Gurkhas in 1814, when war broke out between the tiny kingdom of Nepal and the mighty British Empire. The latter eventually won, but the Raj was so impressed by the mettle of the Nepalese troops that it recruited the fierce hillmen into its army.

Because Nepal's rulers came from a town called Gorkha, these soldiers became known as the Gurkhas - actually a misnomer because it was men from the hill tribes, not the ruling group, who came to be recruited. (The term is not generally used in Nepal; lahure is the common word for a soldier who has served in foreign armies.) Since that time, they have won glory and praise in the service of their foreign commanders. 'They are a naturally good-humoured, generous people,' says Harkins, who served eight years in the British army as a Gurkha officer.

Peter Gardiner, general manager of Gurkha International, praises the Nepal-ese as a 'hardy people'. Dil Gurung puts it down to the discipline that the army taught him, combined with the innate cheerfulness of the Nepalese. Another Gurkha says: 'Before I joined the army, I might have hesitated to do these things. In the army, I had no choice - that is part of the discipline.'

But what lies behind that good-natured smile? 'Our people's habit is not to express grief for minor things,' says Limbu. 'Even if a Gurkha is not happy, his appearance is still very friendly.' Tamang concurs: 'Even though we have pain inside, we cannot show it on the outside.'



Unsung heroes