William Kam, fortune teller
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Fortune teller William Kan operates a stall on Temple Street, home to Hong Kong's soothsayers since the 1970s. Credit: Gary Jones
William Kam is a self-proclaimed, 100%-accurate face and palm reader. Located at the end of the Hong Kong's famous Temple Street night market, Kam's brightly-lit stall proudly displays his accreditation and 25 years of experience.
Soothsayers first set up shop on Temple Street the 1970s, offering everything from palm and tarot card readings to "bird fortune telling," where a small wing-clipped bird would peck out your future from a deck of cards.
Kam expresses optimism about the future of his trade -- perhaps he knows something we don't.
"Twenty-two years ago, most of my customers were locals or people from (mainland) China, but now that this street is famous, I get people from all over the world. Tourists love it here. Hopefully that helps conserve this place."
"I tell people the whole truth according to what I see, even if it's bad news."
Cheung Shun King, mahjong tile maker
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Cheung Shun King learned his trade from his father and grandfather in the family shop, where his first job was painting the tiles. Credit: Gary Jones
Mahjong, a four-player game of skill and strategy, has been popular in Hong Kong for hundreds of years. It involves drawing and discarding tiles, each with a different character on it, to form winning hands.
Today, most people opt for factory-made tiles, but Cheung Shun King continues to carve and sell them from his family shop. He mostly replaces lost or damaged tiles, though he occasionally engraves and paints entire sets from scratch. These sets cost about 4,000 Hong Kong dollars ($510) and take months to complete.
Ironically, between work and his personal life, Cheung has never learned the game. "I would rather rest than learn how to play mahjong," he said. "But my children love to play."
"We can't do anything to help the industry, as mechanic production is replacing us," he added. "I foresee that all mahjong shops in Hong Kong will disappear (within) ten years."
Kan Hon Wing, tailor
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When qipaos were widely worn in Hong Kong, tailor Kan Hon Wing's family store, Mei Wah Fashion, would sell hundreds of the garments a week. Credit: Gary Jones
Established in the 1920s, Mei Wah Fashion is the oldest and last remaining tailor of its kind, specializing in traditional qipaos and cheongsams. Master tailor Kan Hon Wing grew up in the store, which was originally opened by his grandfather.
The qipao, or "Mandarin gown," was once everyday attire in Hong Kong. They were worn by almost all women, regardless of social class, so tailors were in high demand. But nowadays, the garment is reserved for more formal occasions, such as banquets or weddings.
Every piece must meet Kan's exacting standards, so it takes him more than a week to make one qipao. But with shrinking trade comes exclusivity: While a qipao in the 1920s could cost as little as one Hong Kong Dollar (13 cents), Kan's dresses today sell for up to 20,000 Hong Kong dollars ($2,549).
"Every qipao is unique," he said. "Tailors need to be very detail-minded. I will give people suggestions if their 'dream qipao' is too ugly."
Leung Lo Yik (Chen Kau), letter writer
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Originally from Vietnam, Chen Kau has been a letter writer in Hong Kong for nearly 40 years. Credit: Gary Jones
Letter writing was a profitable business in Hong Kong during the 1950s and 1960s, when the city's literacy rate was as low as 60%. Professional letter writers would help people contact relatives overseas, write legal documents and fill out forms or applications.
But with the introduction of compulsory education, and the rapid evolution of technology, demand has fallen. There may now be fewer than 10 professional letter writers in the city.
One of them, Chen Kau, has a handful of regular customers who he helps with tax forms, welfare applications or visas. Most days, he has none at all, so sits reading the newspaper or chatting.
"The development of technology like smartphones and computers is the biggest enemy of our industry," he said. "But at the same time, it is essential for a city or any society to improve with time. There must be some jobs that are replaced or even eliminated."
Wu Ding Keung, stencil maker
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Stencil makers like Wu Ding Keung begin by drawing the Chinese characters onto thin iron sheets, before carefully cutting them out with a hammer and chisel. Credit: Gary Jones
Stencil making is among Hong Kong's oldest trades and was once a thriving industry. The delicate process requires a sharp eye, a steady hand and expert calligraphy skills.
Craftsmen first draw the Chinese characters onto thin iron sheets, then very carefully cut them out with a hammer and chisel. These hand-cut stencils were used for advertising, wall notices and shop signs, though they've have been largely replaced by digital or laser-cut alternatives.
Wu Ding Keung is among Hong Kong's last stencil makers. Stooped over a small table with only a hammer and bag of chisels, the 82-year-old can go for days without seeing a single customer, but he continues working to keep himself busy.
"I've forgotten how long I've been working here, but I know I started before the handover of Hong Kong," Wu said.
"I once helped a couple make a stencil for their wedding party. I liked that."
Lo Sai Keung, photofinisher
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Lo Sai Keung's store, Sunrise Professional Photofinishing, is packed with new and second-hand cameras, some of which date as far back as the 1930s. Credit: Gary Jones
In the 1990s, there were about 1,000 shops developing film around Hong Kong. Now, there are fewer than 50. Most shop owners responded to the demise of film by switching to digital cameras, lenses, photo processing or printing, but a few hardy shops still sell film and analog camera equipment to passionate enthusiasts.
Lo Sai Keung's shop, Sunrise Professional Photofinishing, is packed with new and second-hand cameras dating as far back as the 1930s.
Nowadays, he develops about 20 to 30 rolls of film a day; however, in the 1970s and 1980s, he would process about 200 a day. Most of Lo's customers are young, curious photography students looking to try their hand at analog photography.
"Hong Kong people love selfies," he said. "You can still do them with film cameras although it's harder and you would probably need a mirror."
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