By Sifu David Peterson

“Following what doctors in Hong Kong described as a ‘subarachnoid haemorrhage’ and lapsing into a coma lasting 16 days, Wing Chun’s “King of the Challenge Match”, Sifu Wong Shun Leung, passed away peacefully on January 28th, 1997... he was just 61 years of age. Wong had been with a group of friends at the “Wing Chun Athletic Association” on Sunday January 12th, enjoying a few games of cards and Mahjong when he complained of feeling unwell. Soon afterwards he collapsed into a coma from which he never awoke.....”

Sunday the 12th of January, 1997, had been a fairly uneventful day for me. Being in the middle of my vacation from work, and in the lazy days following Christmas and New Year celebrations, I had not been giving much thought to anything of great importance, except that I was wishing that my financial situation had been better that year so that I could have spent a couple of months in training at my beloved teacher’s school in Hong Kong. This had been a tradition over many years, going back to my first trip to Hong Kong in the December of 1983, and the fact that hard times had forced me to remain in Australia since 1992 weighed on my mind.

The last time that I had enjoyed the company of my dear teacher, Sifu Wong Shun Leung, had been in February of 1994, the very last time that he had travelled “Downunder” to pass on his knowledge to my students in Melbourne, and those of my sihing, Sifu Barry Lee in Sydney. We had spoken on the telephone a few times since then, and I wrote him occasional letters during the intervening years, but I really missed not being able to be with him in person, to share in his jokes, help him with his English (and be helped in turn by him with my Chinese!), to drink coffee at his little table or eat at the “Shun Tak Yu Wong” restaurant in Mongkok where many a long evening had been enjoyed eating and drinking while talking with Sifu and my Sihing-dai about training and the “good old days” of the past.

I had in fact, just a few days before Christmas, written Sifu a long letter, half in English, half in Chinese, apologising for being such a bad student by not keeping in more regular contact, and also apologising for not being able to visit him for yet another year. I had told him that, while times had been hard for me and my little School, things were looking better and we were hoping to be able to invite him to visit us again in the coming year, ...a visit that was, sadly, never to take place. I had also written for his help in trying to rectify a situation in my country, whereby an instructor of somewhat “questionable” Wing Chun training had been claiming, falsely and without basis in fact, to be Sifu’s student and representative, and I had asked Sifu to compose a letter which would state clearly that the man concerned was not his representative, that only Sifu Lee and myself were authorised and qualified to represent him in this country.

I do know that he received this letter, and that he had considered the issue to be serious enough to ask one of my good friends, Sydney-based Sifu Victor Leow, to assist him in composing the letter in English so as to put the matter to rest once and for all. They had sat down one night after training and Victor had assisted Sifu in doing the rough draft of the letter, afterwhich Sifu had placed it in his little carry-bag that he always took with him, telling Victor that he would have one of his sons type it out for him, then sign it and send it off to me so that we could have it published in the local Australian martial arts press. Between that night and the day of his collapse, the letter disappeared, presumably lost amongst his personal papers at home, never to reach me as he had planned.

A few weeks went by and I had heard from Victor that the letter had been drafted and would probably reach me soon. Then, out of the blue, I received a phone call that I had never anticipated receiving, at least not for many, many years to come. It was quite late, around 11.30pm on January 12th, and on the other end of the line was one of my Australian “Wing Chun Brothers”, Sifu John Smith, another of Sifu’s Hong Kong-trained foreign devotees. His tone was serious and his voice had an urgency which struck me immediately. “Sifu has had a stroke and is in a coma!”, he told me. I was stunned, and one thousand thoughts went through my mind in an instant. I quizzed John for more details, but at that point in time, details were not very precise. John had received a call from Rusper Patel in Hong Kong, who had received a phone call from someone else in Hong Kong, and so on. It was going to be at least a while longer before the facts were known. In the meantime, my telephone went into meltdown as I quickly informed friends and students all over the world of what had taken place. At the same time, in the back of my mind, through the clouds of disbelief that were quickly taking over, a decision was quickly being made; I had to somehow get to Hong Kong, ...as quickly as possible.

At around two o’clock in the morning I received my second phone call from Hong Kong, this time from my student Angus Macnab who was at that time training and working there. By then, more details were known, and the news wasn’t good. That night, sleep was impossible to contemplate, and I continued making phone calls to friends on the other side of the world. I also busied myself preparing press releases for the major martial arts publications both here and overseas. I have a particularly good professional relationship with the editors of ‘Combat’ and ‘Inside Kung-fu’ magazines, having written many articles over the years for those journals, so I knew that I could rely on them to make the news of Sifu’s situation public, and therefore began the first of several reports to them on the matter. Then, it was time to await further bulletins from Hong Kong, ...and so began the dawn of what was to be 16 days of torment as the calls continued backwards and forwards, and hope began to fade for Sifu to make a recovery.

All of us who were aware of the grave condition that Sifu was in, know that surgery occurred several times to relieve the pressure that the stroke had put on Sifu’s brain, but the coma continued, and the longer that it did, the more we all began to realise that maybe the “King of the Challenge Match” had finally met his toughest opponent. All the while, I desperately tried to figure out how I could get to Hong Kong, afterall, like the rest of the “WSL Wing Chun Family”, I desperately wanted to be by my teacher’s side, to let him know that we were there for him at his time of greatest need. Several of his long-time students from around the world were either already by his side in the hospital, or en route to Hong Kong, and I too wanted to make the journey. Several of my friends and students came to my aid, giving me gifts of their hard-earned money so that I could afford the airfare, and just as I had finally found the means by which to go to my Sifu’s aid, the news that I had dreaded came in the form of a terribly sad telephone call from my dear friend and sidai, Rusper Patel. Sifu Wong Shun Leung, the “Living Legend of Wing Chun”, was with us no longer. It was the worst phone call that I had ever received, ...the tears flowed freely, as they would many more times over the next few days, ...and the rounds of telephone calls began again in earnest.

My dear friend and student, Ian Squires, had been determined that he would accompany me to Hong Kong, regardless as to whether Sifu had recovered or not, and he quickly made use of business contacts to obtain last minute plane tickets for the two of us. Accommodation was quickly arranged with a close friend in Wanchai, himself a one-time student of both myself and Sifu, and bosses were informed that Ian and I would be absent from our respective jobs for at least a week. Less than 36 hours after we had received the news of his passing, Ian and I were on our way to the airport to mark the first leg of our sad journey to bury our beloved teacher. The conversation on the plane was sparse during the eight hours of the flight, but when we did exchange words, it was mostly of our glowing memories of Sifu, and what a loss it was to the martial arts world now that he was gone. I started to wonder whether or not I was going to handle the events to come, but I knew that I wasn’t alone on that score because there were going to be a lot of other very sad people there to greet me when I stepped into the door of the Club for the first time in so many years.

The next couple of nights were spent at the Club where students and friends gathered to talk over old times, work out the details of the funeral service, organise wreaths, banners and floral tributes, and basically make sure that no stone was left unturned in making sure that the entire procedure ran as smoothly as possible. It struck me as to what an amazing gathering I was taking part in. There, in that one not-so-large training room, stood some of the finest Wing Chun practitioners in the world, men and women who, collectively, represented many thousands of hours of training, and scattered in their midst were several other famous faces from the “Wing Chun World”, such as Sifu Chu Shong Tin, Sifu Siu Yuk Man, Sifu Yip Ching, and several others. People huddled together in little groups, trying to find a common language of communication amongst a group made up of many different races, with many different languages.

As I scanned the room, I recognised some faces immediately, people I knew from my own training days, and other faces that I recognised, but had not met before. For example, this was the first time that I had the opportunity to meet with my German contemporary (and happily may I say, now my dear friend), Sifu Philipp Bayer and several of his students. Gradually, people began to move from group to group, exchanging words of regret and sorrow, or sharing happy memories of the past, and soon most people had spoken to the majority of those present, or at least given them a nod and a smile. It was somehow ironic that we had all come together like this, and the only missing ingredient was our Sifu. Every now and again, heads would turn at the sound of another arrival, and I know that I wasn’t the only one who almost expected to see Sifu come in through the heavy metal gate, his little bag clutched under one arm, cigarette in hand, smiling and asking us if we wanted to share a coffee with him. You could really feel his presence in the room that first night, ...it was uncanny.

On the second night that we met together, the discussions were held in earnest, with last minute details being hastily arranged. Then, Simo took out a photograph of her late husband that had been prepared as the official funeral picture, and there was a sudden increase in the level of the discussion in the room. It appeared that the majority of those present did not approve of the choice of photo, and it was quickly suggested, by a couple of my German Sihing-dai, that amongst my collection of photos that had accompanied me on my trip to Hong Kong, was a photograph which they approved of. I was quickly summoned to the table, photo album in hand, and asked to provide a better shot for the occasion. Once it was chosen, a photo of a smiling Sifu taken in Australia in 1988 on the occasion of his first meeting in 23 years with student Sifu Rolf Clausnitzer, a group of us raced down the street to locate an all-night processing store where we quickly enlarged the photo to a more suitable size. It was received enthusiastically on our return to the Club, and it was decided that Simo would arrange to have it retouched and mounted in time for the funeral ceremony.

Due to my ability to communicate in Chinese, I was nominated to sit in on discussions so as to represent the views of the foreign students, and to translate the proceedings for them. This was a great honour for me, and I really felt accepted at last by many of my Hong Kong Sihing-dai whom had previously not taken me all that seriously. Our common grief was quickly breaking down old barriers between the races, and this was, in my opinion, yet another achievement for Sifu, ...even in death he had a way of uniting his followers, ...I’m sure that I detected his smile shining down on us at that time, ...I think that he was very pleased with us at that moment! After that, it was arranged for everyone to meet at the funeral home in Hunghom the next day, at the appointed hour, and the groups then divided up and moved off into the Hong Kong night to various supper destinations.

Sifu Wong Shun Leung’s funeral was a very moving affair for his family, friends and students. Taking the form of the traditional two-day ceremony, the funeral service contained much in the way of Daoist and Buddhist imagery and ritual, the immediate family, Sifu’s wife, two sons and daughter donning the traditional white robes worn on such occasions, as did his brother and sisters. His students, both local and overseas (including men and women from England, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, Poland and Australia) also wore a white sash and badge indicating their relationship to their teacher. Our main task was to act as an honour guard for Sifu, greeting mourners as they arrived at the service and escorting them to the signing of the official attendance record, to the altar and, in some cases, to the rear of the altar to pay their respects to Sifu in person as he lay in state. This duty was shared amongst us over the next several hours, with groups of us taking a supper break at some stage into the night.

The entire hall where the ceremony was conducted, and the entrances and hallway leading to it, were filled with floral tributes of all shapes and sizes, from Hong Kong and places all around the world. Reading the tributes written upon the wreaths and banners was like reading a “Who’s Who” of the martial arts, indicative of the respect that Wong Shun Leung commanded amongst his peers. In the centre of the rear of the room stood an altar, upon which rested the now enlarged, retouched and framed photograph of a slightly smiling Sifu, looking out on the proceedings with his tell-tale glint in the eyes. At that moment, as my eyes first fell upon the photo, a combination of grief and pride rushed through my body, and it was then that the realisation of his death started to really sink in.

The full impact of his loss finally hit home when I was taken to the room at the rear of the altar in which Sifu’s body lay upon a trolley. Dressed in traditional clothing, a small Mandarin cap on his head and his body draped in a red and gold blanket, Sifu rested peacefully in the silence of this cold little tiled room, while outside, guests were led to the altar where they, like the rest of us on our arrival, placed smouldering joss sticks in front of his portrait after bowing three times before his image. During the hours that followed, I “visited” Sifu on several occasions and had the little chats with him that I had missed over the preceding couple of years. At other times, I accompanied several of my students and Sihing-dai as we stood in the presence of our teacher and remembered the good times that we had shared with him over the years. These were all very special moments that made the bond between us even stronger, ...but also increased the sadness of the occasion.

Prayers had been offered on and off during the first few hours as mourners arrived to pay their respects, bowing at the altar, then bowing to the family members present. Eventually, the ceremony proper got under way, with various incantations being made, accompanied by ritual costumes, gestures and acts of devotion, all delivered like a kind of surreal theatre performance, complete with musical accompaniment, incense and chanting by a steady stream of priests and priestly assistants. Sometimes members of the immediate family were actively involved, one at a time and as a group, and these activities went on well into the night, with all of us finally leaving the building well after midnight had passed. Perhaps the most moving of these rituals took place when we all moved outside into the chilly night air to witness the burning of paper and bamboo artefacts, representing the possessions that Sifu would need to accompany him on his journey into the next world. Among these items was a car, a house, a bridge and wads of paper money for him to “spend” on the other side.

Day two began early in the morning, again a steady stream of mourners arriving at different times to pay their respects. Some sat quietly for ages, others spoke briefly with the family, then quietly left, but most stayed on for the final part of the ceremony, whereby Sifu’s body, now placed in a traditional Chinese-style wooden coffin, was wheeled into the main room and placed in the centre, just ahead of the altar. At this time, everyone was again asked to come out and bow to Sifu in his coffin, then the official speeches began. I was personally honoured to be able to speak to the gathering on behalf of all of the foreign students, addressing the audience briefly in Chinese, before reading aloud the lines that we, his foreign students, had collectively written two nights earlier. As I waited for my turn to read our simple speech, my emotions rose up inside of me, and I feared that I would let everyone down by not being able to complete the task.

However, as I listened to my Hong Kong Sihings Anthony and Cliff speak before me, I regained my composure and determined to face all those present with pride and self-control, and I was able to get through the speech successfully. When I had finally finished, I began to walk back to my place in the line of honour, and it was only then that I allowed the sadness that I had been holding inside to burst forth. Thank goodness for the kindness and compassion of several of my dear Sihing-dai who saw my distress and quickly comforted me. I treasure that moment very much indeed, and I am so grateful for their act of friendship at that, and other moments, during the course of the funeral service. I am not ashamed to say that I cried for my Sifu, ...I know that we all loved him very much, and always will. It goes without saying that we all shed many tears over those days, with even the toughest amongst Sifu’s students feeling the enormity of our collective loss. After a long drive by bus, from the funeral home to the eastern side of the peninsula beyond the airport, the funeral service culminated in Sifu’s burial at a beautiful location overlooking the ocean at an area known as Junk Bay, situated on Kowloon-side.

Following a brief service at the graveside, and the offering of a toast of wine to Sifu by all of his students present, we all made our way back into the hustle and bustle of East Tsimshatsui where we gathered in a restaurant and shared a meal with Simo and the family. Sadly for Ian and I, our stay in Hong Kong was then over, and after saying our goodbyes to all present, we quickly returned to our place of lodging where we then packed our bags and headed off for the airport and our flight back home to our jobs and families. While I can’t say that this trip to Hong Kong was in any way a happy one, unlike trips prior to this occasion, it was a journey that had to be made, regardless of how painful it proved to be, and I am eternally grateful to my students for making it possible for me to attend and represent them at Sifu’s funeral service. I am also indebted to Ian Squires for accompanying me there and supporting me during such an emotionally taxing time. I know that I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn’t made the journey, no matter how painful an experience it was. Sifu deserved nothing less from me in return for the wealth of knowledge and friendship that he shared with me since we first met. In conclusion, I would like to leave the reader with the words that were spoken by me at the funeral, composed by and on behalf of all the foreign students of the late, great Wing Chun Gung-fu Master, Sifu Wong Shun Leung, the undisputed “King of the Challenge Match”.