Empire's last batsman

London's last man in, helped Britain declare at 155 all out. On a night when showers lashed Hong Kong, rain was not going to stop play on June 30, 1997.

Chris Patten, the 28th and last governor of Hong Kong, was to lead the retreat. Britain was signalling not just its departure from Hong Kong, which was a crown colony since 1842, but an effective end to empire.

Most politicians build their careers upon successes. Patten was astute enough to turn a humiliating failure into political success. When John Major's Conservatives won the 1992 election, Patten, who had helped organise the party's victory, lost his own seat in Bath, Somerset.

When the news came in, there was cheering and backslapping at the Conservative headquarters. Patten had never been right-wing enough for many Tories who questioned what they viewed as his “soft'' social policies. Thatcher did not like him and let it be known.

Not an imperial bystander

Major, though stood by him and made the former MP Governor until handover night on June 30, 1997. Whitehall wanted a safe pair of hands — no ruffling of the feathers — with the emerging China market. There was no point putting commercial gains at risk. Patten, a failed politician, seemed a safe choice. He was meant to appreciate the perks, build up a nice retirement fund; surely he wouldn't be too worried about Hong Kong. They were spectacularly wrong.

No plumed hat for this governor, no traditional role as imperial bystander above the fray, battle was being joined. Upon his arrival in July 1992, he made the wrong noises — he mentioned rights, liberties and democracy. Beijing, like a former British queen, was not amused. Neither was London but Major resisted pressure to bring him home.

A heart operation in 1993 revealed just how distanced he was from the commercial establishment. News reports that he was undergoing the operation saw the stock market surge. There was a slight sell-off when it was announced that he was on the road to recovery.

Popularity versus commerce

Patten was a family man and his wife and three daughters lacked the reserve of previous governors' families and were obviously comfortable with life in Britain's most prosperous colony. They were approachable. His wife's visits to hospitals and charity organisations were relaxed and free of undue protocol.

Newspaper cartoonists even sketched the Pattens' dogs, Whiskey and Soda, depicting them as Norfolk Terriers snapping at the heels of Chinese politicians. Sometimes they were doing more than snapping.

Then horror of horrors, Patten started to go on walks, not to where the elite lived on the Peak but to Hong Kong's more traditional districts. His popularity was obvious.
Ordinary people, grandmothers, labourers on building sites would try to shake his hand.

When he visited teahouses and chatted with staff, he got a reception no Chinese politician could ever have dreamt of. Under Britain, Hong Kong was not a democracy. The lack of franchise was something Patten was determined to make right but major commercial interests in the colony as well as Beijing were dead set against his plans. Neither were the general public, who had little idea of democracy, clamouring for the right to vote.

They appreciated a Hong Kong governor standing up to Beijing. People in Hong Kong had long harboured deep grievances about Beijing but only 35 per cent of the electorate voted in Legislative Council elections.

The low turnout took the steam out of Patten's reforms. This council had limited powers and by the time Patten left Beijing, felt confident enough to keep the colony's pro-democracy politicians at arms length.

Patten was vilified by Beijing in 1997 but in the years since, Hong Kong's tea shops have never had a more popular customer.