Erlin Martial Arts Hall (二林武德殿)

I can be a patient person, but in some cases, enough is enough.

I’ve had a skeleton of a post about the Erlin Martial Arts Hall in Changhua sitting in my blog queue since 2017, waiting to be published. With little more than a dozen of these historic buildings remaining in Taiwan today, I figured that I’d hold off on publishing anything about this one until it was fully restored and reopened to the public.

My patience though, has sadly worn quite thin.

It got to the point that I thought if I keep waiting for Changhua County to get its act together, I’d likely be a senior citizen by the time they actually get around to restoring this building.

When I originally wrote an article about this Martial Arts Hall more than six years ago, I was still quite new to this whole blogging thing, and was likewise still new to my exploration of Taiwan’s historic buildings from the Japanese era. So, if I compare what I originally wrote years back to what I’m publishing today, it’s not even close.

This article should prove to be a much more well-rounded one that benefits from my years of experience and research on the topic.

That being said, while all of the text has been completely updated, I’m sad to say that the photos I’m sharing right now are the going to be the same as those I had prepared five years ago due to the fact that myself, nor anyone else has really been able to get many photos of the building in recent years.

Essentially, I’m publishing this article today to simply have the information in place for (what I sincerely hope) what will eventually become an updated version, which will be complete with photos of the fully restored building.

Until that happens, I’ll make use of some of the blue prints and designs of the building that have been published by the Changhua County Government to better illustrate some of the things I’m talking about. The work they have done researching the building and it’s architectural design is incredible, and without it, we would know very little about the building, so cheers to them for that!

For those of you who have been following my writing for a while, especially with regard to my Urban Exploration-related work, barriers don’t usually prevent me from getting the photos I need - Sadly though, in the case of this Martial Arts Hall, several factors that have combined to ensure that people like me aren’t snooping around. The most obvious is that building is completely locked up and a barrier has been erected around its perimeter to prevent anyone from getting too close to the historic building.

The other reason is that it is located next door to the Erlin Police Station, which has cameras watching the grounds. So, even though I found a way of getting around the barrier, I wasn't about to go snooping around while the police would be able to see me in plain sight from the police precinct.

So what exactly is the problem with the Erlin Martial Arts Hall and why have we had to wait for so long for it to get fixed up? Well, that’s a bit of a complicated issue, but I’ll do my best to explain it as briefly as possible.

To keep things simple, it’s all about money. Isn’t it always, though?

However, that’s a bit of a simplistic argument as to what’s going on here. As I mentioned earlier, the situation is a lot more complicated than that, and there is an ample amount of blame to be thrown around.

It would be easy to focus our indignation at the Changhua County Government, which as one of the nation’s most cash-strapped municipalities, has had trouble coming up with funding for the restoration of the heritage buildings within its borders - With so little cash to throw around, the county tends to spend it restoring buildings in the coastal town of Lugang (鹿港), one of the areas’s most popular tourist attractions - Obviously hoping that there will be a trickle-down effect that will help bring tourist dollars into the county.

The focus on Lugang obviously has been of great benefit to the people of Lugang, and its tourism sector, but the other townships within the county have more or less been left behind.

The blame here though cannot be placed solely on the local government as there are land ownership issues taking place here that have complicated the matter. Currently there are six land owners, who, in addition to the government own pieces of the land where the Martial Arts Hall is located.

Several years ago, the landowners got together and made an offer to sell the land to the government for NT $850 million (about $2.5 Million USD), which is an outrageous amount of money for the 400 square meter plot of land.

Link: 恢復二林武德殿風采 地主開價8500萬 (自由時報)

Unable to fork over so much of the public’s funds for the land, the Martial Arts Hall’s designation as a 'protected historic site’ ensures that the land owners are also handcuffed, and are unable to do any sort of construction on the land, making the issue a contentious one for all parties involved.

The only option at this point is for the landowners to sell the property to the government, but with the government refusing to pay the asking price, both parties have decided to just wait the other out to see who concedes first.

The most dangerous aspect of this financial stalemate is that if the landowners eventually get tired of waiting for the government to pay up, they may just enlist the assistance of local gangs to have the buildings burnt to the ground, which is something that has sadly become far too common as of late when it comes to historic and protected properties.

For those of us who care about these heritage buildings, the only thing we can do is continue being patient. However, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve grown tired of seeing this article sitting in my blog queue.

With all of that being said, on May 18th, 2023, a ceremony was held in front of the Martial Arts Hall marking the start of the restoration of the building, with several local figures in attendance. It seems like the saga of the Erlin Martial Arts Hall’s status has been resolved, and work will soon get underway to have it opened up as a cultural park, and tourist destination within the downtown core of the historic village.

Link: 彰化文化資產容積轉移首例 二林武德殿等20年今動工整修 (lian he聯合新聞網)

I will make sure to keep up with any of the updates regarding the hall’s restoration, and when it’s opened, I’ll be sure to make my way down to visit.

Before I start explaining the history of the Martial Arts Hall, it’s important to note that I’ve streamlined the way I write about these spaces.

In this article, I’m only going to focus about the history and architectural design of this specific building - So, in order to keep it shorter, I’ve removed some of the original elements that focused on the ‘general purpose’ of these Martial Arts Halls - Even though it should be fairly obvious that this building was once a space for practicing Martial Arts, the original intent and the significance of these buildings requires a bit more reading to understand the role that they played in communities across Taiwan.

To better explain all of that, I’ve put together a general introduction to Taiwan’s Martial Arts Halls, detailing their purpose, their history and where you’re still able to find them today.

If you haven’t already, I highly recommend reading that article before continuing. 

Link: Martial Arts Halls of Taiwan (臺灣的武德殿)

If you’re up to date with all of that, let’s just get into it!

Erlin Martial Arts Hall (二林武德殿)

Unlike many of the other Martial Arts Halls that I have written about in the past, the Erlin branch is probably one of the few remaining Martial Arts Hall that requires an introduction to the town where it was constructed; Even for most locals, if you bring up the name ‘Erlin’ (二林), it’s unlikely that they’ll know where it is, and even more unlikely that they’ve ever been there. So, allow me start by explaining a bit of the geography of the area, which should shed a bit of light as to why a Martial Arts Hall was constructed there.

Known these days as Erlin Township (二林鎮), it’s the largest of Changhua County’s administrative districts, with an area of 92.8578 square kilometers. Erlin features a relatively small urban sprawl surrounded mostly by farmland, which is where the town’s economy has historically been focused. With massive rice, grape and dragonfruit fields, the area isn’t particularly known for its tourist crowds, so most people tend to pass through on their way to other destinations in the area.

Originally settled by the Tackay Tribe (二林社), a group of Taiwan’s Plains Indigenous peoples (平埔族), known as the Babuza (巴布薩族), the area is and always has been an important farming community throughout the history of human settlement on the island.

During the Dutch period, a considerable amount of trade between the Dutch and the Indigenous people took place between the two groups, resulting in the Dutch constructing berths for ships along the coast. However, after the expulsion of the Dutch by Koxinga’s forces, the situation remained more or less the same for the Babuza people, who maintained their control over the land from the late 1600s until 1895, as they continued their trade with the Han people.

All of that came to an end with the arrival of the Japanese, who quickly got to work at ensuring that they maintained complete control over the island, often with violent means of suppression, especially when it came to the indigenous people.

By the 1920s, ‘Jirin (二林街 / じりんがい), as it had become known to the Japanese was designated a township within Hokuto County (北斗郡 / ほくとぐん) within greater Taichu Prefecture (臺中州 / たいちゅうしゅう).

It was during this period that the Japanese had constructed numerous Sugar Plantations (糖廠) around the island, with the vast majority of them located within central and southern Taiwan where the temperate climate allowed for massive fields of sugar cane to be cultivated.

With over 3000 kilometers of sugar-railways across the island, Erlin just so happened to find itself located in one of the geographic hot-spots, and even though the factories were somewhat of a distance away, the town benefitted economically through the industry.

Japanese-era map of Erlin with the location of the Martial Arts Hall marked in red.

Much of Erlin’s urban development started during this period with the colonial government constructing a number of large administrative buildings, schools, hospitals and clinics, and modern markets within the ever-expanding downtown core of the town. In 1928, construction started on the Erlin Police Precinct (北斗郡警察課二林分室), located within the administrative district of the town, close to Erlin Public School (二林公校).

Located on a corner that shared an intersection with a hospital, the town hall and a long row of administrative housing, the police precinct would have been situated within what would have been considered the ‘Japanese’ area of town, with some separation from the local farming community.

In 1900 (明治33年), a few years after the Japanese took control of Taiwan, the first Martial Arts Halls on the island started being constructed, with the first branches in Taipei, Taichung and Tainan. Over the years, the ‘Taiwan Butokuden Branch of the Dai Nippon Butoku Kai’ (大日本武德會臺灣支部) slowly expanded across the island, but one of the key developments with regard to these buildings came in 1920 (大正9年), when the organization was given a directive (and more importantly funding) from the government to start construction on these buildings within each of Taiwan’s prefectures towns, villages and boroughs.

This resulted in the construction of about two hundred of them across the island (and in Penghu, too) between the 1920 and the early 1940s.

Of those two-hundred halls, thirty were constructed within Taichu Prefecture (臺中州), an area that spanned modern day Taichung City (臺中市) Changhua County (彰化縣) and Nantou County (南投縣). They consisted of two Prefectural Branches (支部), eleven town branches (支所), twelve borough branches (分會), two prison branches (刑務所) and three school branches (學校分會).

That being said, the area we know today as ‘Changhua County’ was only home to five branches: Lugang Martial Arts Hall (鹿港武德殿), Changhua Martial Arts Hall (彰化武德殿), Yuanlin Martial Arts Hall (員林武德殿), Beidou Martial Arts Hall (北斗武德殿) and Erlin Martial Arts Hall (二林武德殿). With the exception of the Martial Arts Hall in Lugang, which was constructed in 1911 (明治44年), the rest were constructed between 1930 (昭和5年) and 1933 (昭和8年).

However, one of the important things to remember is that even though a number of Martial Arts Halls were constructed across Taiwan during the early 1930s, not all of them were equal. As I noted above, the halls adhered to a hierarchical organizational structure which helped to determine their size, depending on their location and their function.

The Changhua Martial Arts Hall, for example was classified as a ‘city-level’ hall as it was constructed within Shoka (Changhua City / 彰化市 / しょうかし). A bit lower on the ladder would have been the Yuanlin and Beidou Halls, both of which were county-level (郡市級 / 支所), while the Erlin Martial Arts Hall would have found itself at the lowest level as a village-level branch (街庄級 / 分會).

Not only did these classifications help to determine the size of the buildings, but also the amount of money that would have been invested in their construction. According to historic records, the Changhua Martial Arts Hall was afforded a budget of ¥27,000, while the Erlin Martial Arts Hall had a budget of ¥7500. If we were to calculate these figures in the rates of the day, the construction costs would would be approximately ¥40.2 million ($290,000 US), and ¥11.1 million  ($80,000 US) respectively.

Note: Calculating pre-war Japanese currency against today’s standards is somewhat of a difficult process given that most records only date back to the restructuring of the Japanese economy and inflation in the post-war period. To calculate the number above, I used the following formula: In 1901, corporate goods price index was 0.469 where it is currently 698.6, meaning that one yen in then is worth 1490 yen now. (217,000 x 1490 = 323,330,000)

Link: 昔の「1円」は今のいくら?1円から見る貨幣価値·今昔物語

Suffice to say, with a considerable amount of economic development taking place within Erlin in the early 1930s, the construction of the town’s Martial Arts Hall was a no-brainer for the local authorities. Construction on the building started in 1932 (昭和7年), at a time when the neighboring police precinct was still under construction.  Located to the side of the police station, and close to the Erlin Public School, the hall, like many of its contemporaries was tactically located in a neighborhood where it could have the most effect. The building would serve as a training centre for the local police as well as providing instruction to the children as well.

Interestingly, despite both buildings being constructed almost simultaneously, the police station took a modernist approach to its architecture with an Art-Deco Baroque design. The Martial Arts Hall however, was a no-fuss traditional Japanese style building - and even though it is the smallest of all of the Martial Arts Halls that remains in Taiwan today, its architectural beauty is on par with the rest of them.

On August 4th, 1933 (昭和8年), the Jirin Budokuden (二林武德殿 / じりんぶとくでん), otherwise known as the ‘Erlin Martial Arts Hall’, officially opened for the instruction of Judo (柔道) and Kendo (劍道).

Initially the hall served as a space for the local police to hone their martial arts skills. However, as the Japanese became engaged in the Pacific War and the expansion of their empire, the colonial government in Taiwan instituted a policy of forced assimilation, known as kominka (皇民化運動), which forced the people of Taiwan to take Japanese names, speak only Japanese, and contribute to the empire through military service.

Taking effect in 1938 (昭和13年), the nearly two-hundred Martial Arts Halls across Taiwan played a major role in the assimilation process by promoting ‘Japanese Spirit’ (大和魂), ‘Martial Arts Spirit’ (尚武的精神) and ‘Patriotism’ (愛國的精神) and from then on, the scope of the instructors at the Martial Arts Hall expanded from simply training the police to providing classes to the general public and the nearby Public School as well. They were also tasked with planning speaking events that were meant to promote nationalist sentiment through the propaganda that was disseminated by the colonial government.

Nevertheless, the Second World War came to a conclusion less than a decade later, and as part of their surrender, the Japanese were forced to give up control of Taiwan (and any other territory gained through militarism).

Control of Taiwan was ambiguously awarded to the Republic of China, who sent a governor and military forces to Taiwan in 1945 (昭和20年) in order to set up shop. However, even though the Second World War had come to an end, the Chinese Civil War between the Nationalists and the Communists raged on. It was during this time that administrative control of Taiwan had become an authoritarian mess, resulting in an infamous event that would become known as the 228 Incident (二二八件事).

With the Communists establishing the People’s Republic of China in 1949, President Chiang Kai-Shek (蔣介石) was forced to flee to Taiwan with the remnants of his army, and anyone still loyal to the Republic of China.

The sudden influx of around two million foreign refugees created a housing crisis in Taiwan, and even though the Japanese had left all of their infrastructure intact, the first few years were a nightmare of governance.

Nevertheless, for the next half century, the Erlin Martial Arts Hall maintained its role as a Martial Arts training center with the Republic of China’s police taking over.

One of the areas that wasn’t entirely clear with regard to my research about the Martial Arts Hall is what happened when the Erlin Police Precinct was expanded in the early 1970s. What is clear is that when the expansion project took place, the lack of space in front of the hall caused some issues, so they ended up removing the ‘hafu porch’ that lead to the front door of the hall.

Digging a bit deeper, I discovered that the police station essentially expanded into an ‘L-shaped’ structure that completely blocked the Martial Arts Hall from view.

Even though the Martial Arts Hall remained as a training center for the police, it had essentially disappeared from the view of the general public for the next few decades after the expansion.

By 1999 (民國88年), the buildings utilized by the police in town were being reconstructed, so for a short time time, the Martial Arts Hall was used as an office space prior to their migration to a new building.

With the buildings that surrounded the Martial Arts Hall abandoned, it took a few years before the were demolished, thankfully, with careful consideration taken to preserve the condition of the hall, which had been recognized as a protected heritage property a few years earlier.

After being hidden from sight for almost four decades, the Martial Arts finally made its reappearance in 2008 (民國97年), but as mentioned earlier, its status remains a contentious one as it is a protected heritage property that just so happens to sit on land that is considered part private and part public.

This has understandably frustrated all of the parties involved, and is the main reason why the hall has yet to be restored, like so many of its contemporaries across the country. While I may be accused of a bit of bias on the subject, it really does come across as a missed opportunity for Erlin as the town has recently restored several other historic Japanese-era properties in the downtown area in addition to the promotion of its links to the historic sugar railway. These days there is more and more for tourists to see when the visit the area, so one would hope that at some point there will be a favorable solution to this stalemate.

Before I move onto the architectural design of the Martial Arts, I’m going to provide a brief timeline of events detailing the history of the hall.

Erlin Martial Arts Hall Timeline

  • 1895 (明治28年) - The Japanese Colonial Era begins in Taiwan and the ‘Dai Nippon Butoku Kai was formed in Japan in order to instruct ordinary citizens in the various Japanese Martial Arts disciplines.

  • 1900 (明治33年) - The first Martial Arts Halls start to appear in Taiwan with branches in Taipei, Taichung and Tainan.

  • 1920 (大正9年) - A governmental directive is made to construct Martial Arts Halls in each of Taiwan’s prefectures, towns, villages and boroughs.

  • 1920 (大正9年) - Due to the Colonial Government’s administrative redistricting plan, Erlin is upgraded into Jirin Town (二林街 / じりんがい), part of Hokuto County (北斗郡 / ほくとぐん) in Taichu Prefecture (臺中州 / たいちゅうしゅう).

  • 1928 (昭和3年) - Construction on the Erlin Police Precinct (北斗郡警察課二林分室) officially starts with a budget of ¥17,000.

  • 1932 (昭和7年) - Construction on the Erlin Martial Arts Hall with a budget of ¥7500 and is located next door to the police station.

  • 1933 (昭和8年) - Construction on the hall is completed in July and the munafuda (棟札 / むなふだ) raising ceremony is held a month later on August 4th, marking the opening of the hall.

  • 1936 (昭和11年) - The Colonial Government’s “Japanization” or ‘forced assimilation’ Kominka (皇民化運動) policy comes into effect in Taiwan.

  • 1938 (昭和13年) - Jirin Public School’s Auditorium (二林公學校禮堂) is constructed and a number of ‘kominka’ events take place within, including Judo classes provided by the instructors from the Martial Arts Hall for the students of the school.

  • 1945 (昭和20年) - The Second World War comes to a conclusion and Japan is forced to surrender control of Taiwan.

  • 1949 (民國38年) - Chiang Kai-Shek and the government retreat to Taiwan and bring with them several million refugees displaced by the Chinese Civil War.

  • 1972 (民國61年) - Due to the reconstruction of the Erlin Police Precinct, and a lack of space caused by a number of buildings constructed around the perimeter of the Martial Arts Hall, the traditional front porch in the front of the building is removed.

  • 1976 (民國65年) - The ceiling within the building is reconstructed and modern lighting is installed within the interior.

  • 1999 (民國88年) - Due to a lack of office space within the Erlin Police Precinct, the Martial Arts Hall starts being used as an administrative space for the local police.

  • 2004 (民國93年) - The Martial Arts Hall is officially recognized as a Changhua County Protected Heritage Site (彰化縣歷史建築)

  • 2007 (民國96年) - All of the buildings that were constructed around the Martial Arts Hall are carefully demolished, allowing the hall to be viewed by the general public for the first time in decades.

  • 2023 (民國112年) - Restoration of the building is set to get underway with public funds allocated for the creation of a culture park with a focus on the Martial Arts Hall.

Architectural Design

Over the year or two, I’ve written about two of Taiwan’s other smaller Martial Arts Halls, the Taichung Martial Arts Hall (臺中刑務所演武場) and the Hsinchu Prison Martial Arts Hall (新竹少年刑務所演武場), which share a number of similarities with this hall with regard to its architectural design. Each of the three buildings were constructed in the early 1930s, and although two of them were used as extensions of the Japanese-era prison system, in a lot of ways the other two restored halls offer a glimpse into how the Erlin Martial Arts Hall might appear when it is restored. So, today I’ll start by describing their similarities and end with their subtle differences.

One of the defining characteristics of the early Showa-era, the architectural design of these Martial Arts Hall was at heart, traditionally Japanese, but there were also considered east-west fusion-style buildings (和洋混合風格). Constructed with a mixture of brick, wood and reinforced concrete, the hall was constructed during a period of the colonial era where the colonial government had learned through trial and error that any building constructed in Taiwan would have to be able to withstand earthquakes, typhoons and termites. This approach led to traditional Japanese-style buildings having to adapt to a bit of modernity in order to ensure their longevity.

Nevertheless, keeping with tradition, the hall was designed using the irimoya-zukuri (入母屋造 / いりもやづくり) style of architectural design. I’m sure not a lot of you are very familiar with the term, so what that means is that the design features a variation of the ‘hip-and-gable’ roof. Similarly, the base of the building, known as the ‘moya’ (母屋) was constructed in a way that even though it is much smaller than the roof, it is easily able to support its massive weight.

Suffice to say, if you’ve ever seen a Japanese building with a roof that eclipses the size of the base by quite a bit, it’s very likely designed in the irimoya-style, or at least in one of its variations.

Similar to the two buildings mentioned above, the exterior of the building consists of washed stone, giving each of them their beige-like color. Likewise, given that these halls required bouncy floors, it was constructed with elevated footings that featured an intricate system of springs below the floor (彈簧地板), which allowed it to better absorb the shock of people constantly being thrown around while practicing Judo.

The original network of springs installed beneath the floor of the building.

The elevated base featured a number of covered ventilation holes, which would have allowed people to climb under to repair any broken springs, while also keeping animals and termites out.

Despite being considerably smaller than the two halls mentioned above, another one of their design similarities is that the mixture of brick and reinforced concrete allowed for a number of large wooden-panel glass windows on every side of the building.

Even though access to the building has been blocked off, blue prints show that its design is essentially the same as every other Martial Arts Hall in Taiwan. The interior space was partitioned into two sides, with the west side reserved for Judo and the east side for Kendo.

Located in the center-rear of the room (directly facing the front door) you would have found a small space reserved for a shrine (神龕), and likely some decorative additions in addition to any trophies or awards won by members of the dojo. 

Interior floor space of the Martial Arts Hall

Now, let’s talk about two of the most important design differences from this hall, and the two mentioned above. Both of which, I’m sure you’ll agree make this one considerably more beautiful than the other two.

First, let’s start out with the piece that’s missing, the front porch. Known in Japan as a ‘kurumayose porch’ (車寄 / くるまよせ) porch, it was essentially a beautifully designed covered-porch that opened up to the front door of the hall. This particular design feature is a popular style of design indicative of Japanese architecture dating back to the Heian Period (平安時代) from 794-1185. While these porches are more commonly associated with Japanese castles, temples, and shrines, its inclusion makes the building stand out a lot more thanks to its addition.

As is the case with this style of porch, it blended in really well with the roof, creating a beautiful 3D-like curvy design. Sadly, as I mentioned earlier, it was removed in 1972 to make way for the construction of a building in front of the hall. On the other hand, we’re actually quite fortunate (compared to the Hsinchu Prison Hall) in that there are both well-preserved blue prints and photos of this hall, which should make reconstructing the porch relatively easy when the time comes.

The most obvious design difference between the Erlin Martial Arts Hall and the other two is with the design of the roof - In this case, the roof is the more traditionally designed and aesthetically-pleasing of the three, giving the building a lot of character. Amazingly, after almost a century, and the demolition of the buildings that surrounded the hall in 2008, the roof remains in pretty good shape.

Expanding on my explanation of irimoya-design earlier, the iconic ‘hip-and-gable roof’ that comes with this design doesn’t necessarily mean that the roof of each building constructed in this style will always appear the same. Introduced to Japan in the sixth century, a number of variations have appeared over the years, making the specific shape of the ‘hip’ and the ‘gable’ important.

Link: Irimoya-zukuri (JAANUS) | East Asian Hip-and-Gable Roof (Wiki)

In this case we have a combination of kirizuma-zukuri (切妻造) and yosemune-zukuri (寄棟造), which is essentially a fusion of a ‘two-sided’ upper ‘hip’ section and a four-sided’ lower ‘gable’ section.

Looking directly from the front, the two-sided hip section of the roof, which is designed to look like the Chinese character “入,” or an ‘open book’, rises to its apex, and extends beyond the base of the building at the bottom. Supporting that part of the roof is the four-sided gable section below, which covers the base of the building and is where you’ll find the majority of the roof trusses that help to distribute the weight of the upper section and keep everything stabilized.

The shape of the roof however is not the only complicated part of its design. There are also a number of decorative elements that also play a very functional role. Using a diagram provided below, I’ll explain each of these important pieces and their purpose.

  1. Hiragawara (平瓦 / ひらがわら) - A type of arc-shaped clay roofing tile.

  2. Munagawara (棟瓦 / むながわらあ) - Ridge tiles used to cover the apex of the roof.

  3. Onigawara (鬼瓦 / おにがわら) - Decorative roof tiles found at the ends of a main ridge.

  4. Nokigawara (軒瓦 / のきがわら) - The roof tiles placed along the eaves lines.

  5. Noshigawara (熨斗瓦 / のしがわら) - Thick rectangular tiles located under ridge tiles.

  6. Sodegawara (袖瓦 / そでがわら) - Cylindrical sleeve tiles

  7. Tsuma (妻 / つま) - The triangular-shaped parts of the gable on the roof under the ridge.

  8. Hafu (破風板 / はふいた) - Bargeboards that lay flat against the ridge ends to finish the gable.

Link: 台灣日式建築的屋瓦 (空間母語文化藝術基金會) 

Finally, two of the special features with regard to the roof and its decorative elements are the ‘onigawara’ end tiles, which are beautifully decorated with the Chinese character for ‘budo’ (武), which is a bit of a deviation from tradition, but makes the building more easily identifiable.

Likewise, within the triangular ‘tsuma’ (妻) on the east and west ends of the roof, you’ll find what is known as gegyo (懸魚 / げぎょ), which are simply decorative wooden boards in the shape of a ‘hanging fish’ that are used as charms against fire, similar to porcelain dragons you’ll find on the roofs of Taiwanese temples.

Unfortunately, with the restoration of the building yet to take place, the missing front porch, and the inability to gain access to the interior, it’s difficult to say much else with regard to the buildings architectural and interior design.

I might be beating a dead horse here, but I’m eagerly anticipating visiting the area again in the relatively near future to check out the fully restored building. Fortunately, as I mentioned earlier, the original blueprints and designs for the hall have been well-preserved, and there are also a number of historic photos of both the exterior and interior that will greatly assist the restoration team when the time comes. So I’m very much looking forward to the future of this hall, which should be a bright one!

Getting There

 

Address: No. 110, Section 5, Douyuan Rd, Erlin Township, Changhua County (彰化縣二林鎮斗苑路五段110號)

GPS: 23.899570, 120.369830

Erlin Village (二林鎮) is located in south-western Changhua County (彰化縣), close to the border with Yunlin County (雲林縣). Considered a relatively rural town, getting there through public transportation certainly won’t be as convenient as it would be for somewhere like Lugang (鹿港).

It is not impossible though, so if you don’t have access to your own method of transportation, you still have some options.

If you have your own method of transportation, I’m not going to spend too much time offering directions here. Simply input the address or the GPS coordinates provided above into your GPS or Google Maps, and you’ll have your route mapped out quite easily for you.

Public Transportation

While getting to Erlin might be a bit confusing for some, one of the best things about taking public transportation to the area is that the local bus station is located directly next door to the Martial Arts Hall.

There are, of course a number of options for getting to the area, but you’re probably going to have to use a combination of train and bus to get there more conveniently. Below, I’ll provide explanations for how to get to Erlin from each of the closest train stations.

Link: Erlin Bus Station Timetable (員林客運)

Changhua Train Station (彰化車站)

From Changhua Train Station you’ll transfer to Yuanlin Bus (員林客運) bus #6713 or #6714. The shuttle bus doesn’t come that frequently, so you’ll want to be mindful of the time when you go.

From Changhua Station you also have the option of taking Changhua Bus #19 (彰化客運) directly to Erlin, but there are only ten departures per day, so, once again, you’ll want to keep track of the schedule, especially when you’re in Erlin so you won’t miss your bus back to wherever you’re headed.

Link: Yuanlin Bus #6713/6714 schedule | Changhua Bus #19 (彰化 - 二林)

Yuanlin Train Station (員林車站)

Located to the south of Changhua Train Station, your next option is to take the train to Yuanlin Train Station (員林車站) and from there taking Yuanlin Bus #6707 to Erlin. There are only a few shuttles every day, though, so this is probably not your best option.

Link: Yuanlin Bus #6707 (員林 - 二林)

Tianzhong Train Station (田中車站)

If you’re traveling north into Changhua, stopping at Tianzhong Train Station (田中車站) is one of your first options for getting to Erlin. From the station you’ll transfer to Yuanlin Bus (員林客運) bus #6709. However, the shuttle bus comes even less frequently than the option above, so you’ll want to be mindful of the time when you go.

Link: Yuanlin Bus #6709 (田中 - 二林)

Changhua High Speed Rail Station (彰化高鐵站)

Despite being named “Changhua” Station, the High Speed Rail station isn’t actually located within Changhua City, it’s located within Tianzhong Village (田中鎮). If you’re coming from a much further distance, the High Speed Rail is a pretty good option for getting to the area, but you’ll have to transfer from the HSR Station to a shuttle bus that takes you Tianzhong Train Station, and then you’ll follow the directions above and take Bus #6709.


Obviously, as it stands right now, I can't really recommend a trip all the way out to Erlin to see the Martial Arts Hall. There are of course a few other interesting tourist destinations in Erlin, but if you find yourself in Changhua, there are probably some better places for you to spend your time.

Hopefully though, at some point the ownership issues will be resolved and the government can start restoring the Hall to its original condition. When that time finally arrives, I'll make another trip down to check it out and will quickly update this article.

References

  1. 二林武德殿 (Wiki)

  2. 臺灣的武德殿 (Wiki)

  3. 二林鎮 | 彰化縣 (Wiki)

  4. 武德會與武德殿 (陳信安)

  5. 二林武德殿 (國家文化資產網)

  6. 彰化-二林 武德殿 (Just a Balcony)

  7. 二林武德殿:日本武士精神的遺跡 (京築居)

  8. 失而复得的大唐建筑-台湾武德殿 (Willie Chen)

  9. 台灣武德殿發展之研究 (黃馨慧)

  10. 武德殿研究成果報告 (高雄市政府文化局)

  11. 二林武德殿調查研究暨修復計畫 (黃俊銘 / 中原大學)


Abandoned Tea Factory

When foreign streaming services started arriving in Taiwan, a battle started over access to local content, which could be added to their extensive libraries of movies and television shows. With Netflix and Disney+ being the most popular choices for most consumers in Taiwan, both companies sought to add as much Taiwan-made content as they could, while also investing in producing new content as well.

Suffice to say, this resulted in a considerable amount of freshly-made content, which was afforded the financial backing and support of these massive media companies, and more importantly, higher quality production values, which has been a recipe for success. Television shows like Light the Night (華燈初上), Seqalu (斯卡羅) and Detention (返校) are just a few examples of the recent success that the addition of streaming services have helped bring to Taiwan, allowing the country to tell its own stories on an international level.

Link: 別再說韓劇比較好看!10大必看神作開啟台劇新高度,道盡職場辛酸血淚 (風博媒)

One of the other recent additions was the series Gold Leaf (茶金), lauded as the first-ever television show that was filmed entirely in Hoiluk (海陸腔), the most commonly spoken dialect of the Hakka language spoken in Taiwan. A co-production from the Taiwanese government’s Hakka Affairs Council (客家委員會) and the Public Television Service Foundation (公共電視), the twelve-part series focused on the family of entrepreneur Chiang A-hsin (姜阿新), who hailed from the predominately Hakka village of Beipu (北浦鎮) in Hsinchu.

Link: Hakka period drama ‘Gold Leaf’ to air in November (Hakka Affairs Council)

Telling the story of the family’s struggle to stay in business as the Japanese left Taiwan and the Chinese Nationalists took over, the series (is said to have) done an excellent job helping people learn about the booming tea trade during the 1950s, and it’s popularity got domestic tourists to visit places like Beipu Old Street (北浦老街) and the Daxi Tea Factory (大溪老茶產) to experience that history firsthand.

I have to admit though, I haven’t actually watched it..

The family of tea tycoons depicted in the television show, however, is very closely connected to the subject of today’s article, which will tell the story of an abandoned tea factory in the hills of Hsinchu. Having visited the abandoned factory on a few occasions prior to the television show coming out, I had never really made the connection between the two until I started doing a bit of research into the old building.

My personal interest in the tea factory came after my first of many visits to the recently restored Daxi Tea Factory. As I was looking for information about other Japanese-era tea factories around the country, once I found it, I visited a couple of times to get photos.

This however is where I have to add my usual disclaimer regarding my articles on Urban Exploration - In this article, I’ll provide historic information about the tea factory - I’ll even provide it’s name - What I won’t do though is provide readers with any of the other particulars, so if you find yourself so interested that you’d like to check it out on your for yourself, it shouldn’t take very long to figure out where it is.

Before I get into any details about the abandoned tea factory, it’s probably a good idea to start out by introducing talk about the man (and the family), of tea tycoons who owned it - and several others throughout the mountains of Hsinchu - and for whom the television show mentioned above is dedicated.

Chiang A-hsin (姜阿新)

The life of Chiang A-hsin was a long and eventful one, and given that there has been quite a bit recorded about the rise and fall of his family’s tea empire over the years, I’ll try to keep this a brief introduction.

Born in 1901 (明治34年), in what is now Baoshan Village (寶山鄉) in Hsinchu, Chiang A-hsin was adopted as a child by Chiang Qing-han (姜清漢), who was heir to the Beipu Chiang family, and who was described as ‘barren’ or unable to have children of his own.

Little seems to be written on the subject in English, but in Taiwan, it was common (for a variety of reasons) for well-off families to adopt children from families who would otherwise have trouble raising the child on their own. In this case, it was because the Chiang family required a male heir to carry on the family name, but in other cases it could be that the family required a daughter to marry to one of their sons, or for purposes of indentured servitude, etc.

Nevertheless, Chiang A-hsin was adopted and groomed to become the heir of the wealthy Beipu family, who struck it rich during the Qing Dynasty with their Jinguangfu Land Reclamation Company (金廣福墾號). Starting his education at the Beipu Public School (北浦公校), he then moved on to the prestigious Taihoku Kokugo Gakko (臺灣總督府國語學校 / たいわんそうとくふこくごがっこう) at the age of fourteen.

Shortly after his graduation from the college, he traveled to the Japanese mainland, and spent a year reading law at Meiji University (京明治大學) in Tokyo. However, do to pressing family matters back at home, he didn’t end up finishing his degree and instead returned to Taiwan to help out.

Over the next several years, Chiang attempted to invest in or start his own business on several occasions, but each attempt was met with opposition from his father. Chiang then took a job as the assistant to Tanaka Tori (田中利), the head of Hopposhō Village (北埔庄 / ほっぽしょう), known today as Beipu Village. He’d only end up spending two years in the position however as the opposition of his father turned into approval when A-hsin became the head of the family, and proved to his father that he was capable of investing the families wealth responsibly.

Even though his position as assistant to the head of the village might have been short-lived, Chiang used his time in office to familiarize himself with the growing tea manufacturing industry in the village, which was praised for the high-end product that it was producing. Using what he learned and the important networking opportunities that he had, Chiang threw his own hand into the industry by organizing the Beipu Tea Collective (北埔茶葉組合), which grew exponentially over the next few years - starting with the Beipu Tea Farm (北埔茶場) in 1934 (昭和9年), Emei Tea Factory (峨眉茶廠) in 1935 (昭和10年) and then the Hengshan Tea Factory (橫山茶廠), Wufeng Tea Factory (五峰茶廠), and finally the Daping Tea Factory in 1936 (昭和11年).

To give you of an idea of the high-quality nature of the tea that was being produced by Chaing’s Beipu Tea Collective, the tea being produced in the mountains of Hsinchu at the time was sold at a price ten times to typical market price for Oolong Tea at the time. Given the high quality of the tea and the reputation that came with it, Chiang formed partnerships with the Mitsui Agriculture and Forestry Association (三井農林會社), which brought the benefit of having the most modern tea-producing technology available at the time.

However, during the Second World War, the Governor General’s Office in Taipei moved quickly to control certain areas of the economy, especially those with regard to the supply of commodities. The production of tea was an important one for both domestic and international consumption, so the government took control in order to better siphon off the profits, which could be distributed for the war effort.

By 1941 (昭和16年), the “Beipu Tea Collective” was restructured into the Chikuto Tea Company (竹東製茶株式會社). Yet, thanks to his experience in the industry, and his notoriety, Chiang was able to continue as president, maintaining his position and influence within the industry.

After the war, the Chikuto tea Company was dissolved and the ownership of the tea factories was returned to their original owners. By that time, the reputation of Beipu’s tea was pretty solid, specializing in what is known in Hakka as “phong-fûng chhà” (椪風茶) or Oriental Beauty Tea (東方美人茶). In the Hakka language, the name of the tea was essentially “Braggers Tea”, which was used because the producers were ‘so proud of their product that they bragged to everyone’ about how much money they were making from selling it.

Link: Dongfang meiren 東方美人茶 (Wiki)

Shortly after the Chinese Nationalists took control of Taiwan, Chiang renamed the company Yung Kuang Tea Company (永光股份有限公司) and started exporting tea under the Three Star (三星) and Ho-ppo Tea (北埔茶) brands. The success of the global export industry apparently surpassed even that of India’s Darjeeling Tea for a short time, putting Taiwanese tea on the world stage and attracting guests from all over the world to visit Taiwan. With all the foreign tea trading companies visiting Beipu, Chiang decided to build his famous mansion in Beipu where his family lived and received guests.

However, things changed in the 1950s when other tea producing areas around the world, affected by the war resumed production. With its competitive advantage lost, Taiwan’s tea production started to suffer and the relationship between Chiang and his foreign partners suffered.

At wits end, Chiang eventually retired and the company was taken over by his daughter, who attempted to make changes to save the business. Ultimately, the international market, Taiwan’s political situation and the amount of loans proved too difficult to overcome and they were forced to file for bankruptcy in 1965 (民國54年). I don’t want to give you too many spoilers, so if you have the time to watch ‘Gold Leaf’ on Netflix, you’ll be able to see the struggles the family had to go through.

Chiang later moved to Taipei with his family and lived there until his death in 1982. Today, his historic mansion has been restored, and is open in Beipu for tours.

Daping Tea Factory (大平製茶厰)

The Daping Tea Factory (大平製茶厰) opened in June of 1934 (昭和9年) under the official name “Dapingwo Tea Cooperative Factory” (太平窩茶葉組合製茶工場), and was one of the first tea factories in the area that was able to make use of modern technology in the production process.

While the tea factory was officially part of Chiang A-hsin’s ‘Beipu Tea Collective’ mentioned above, throughout its history, it has been managed by a number of different groups of local tea farmers, more specifically after the war, the Hsinpu Liu family (劉氏), one the prominent clans of Hakka residents of the area.

Link: Hsinpu Ancestral Shrines (新埔宗祠)

The history of the factory is one that is reminiscent of many of Taiwan’s agricultural industries in that they had to find a way to deal with the transition of political control from the Japanese to the Chinese Nationalists. For the locals, the ability to successfully stay afloat in business during either era was a delicate (and dangerous) balancing act that required a considerable amount of political knowhow. The Beipu Tea Collective under the leadership of Chiang A-hsin, though, was one of the fortunate pieces of Taiwan’s agricultural industry that was able to successfully navigate the transition.

However, as I’ve already pointed out, Taiwan experienced somewhat of a ‘golden era’ of tea production after the war with the support of the Chinese Nationalist regime. When that golden era came to an end, not even endless government subsidies were even able to keep successful businessmen like Chiang A-hsin afloat, and many of the tea factories across the island started to shut down.

Tea baskets that have seen better days.

Despite the decline in the fortune of the Chiang family, the Daping Tea Factory was able to outlive many of the other tea plantations across the country, and with the cooperation of the government, the owners cultivated several varieties of tea. Transitioning away from Oriental Beauty (東方美人 / 青心大冇) to other types of of tea leaves, they produced popular varieties such as Black Tea (紅茶), Baozhong (包種茶) and Dong-ding (凍頂茶), which continue to be the most common varieties of tea that are cultivated in Taiwan today.

Interestingly, in the post-war period, the cultivation of tea in Taiwan expanded upon some of the experimentation that took place during the Japanese-era, and the result was a number of hybrid species that combined indigenous teas with those more common in India, and other major tea producing countries around the world. The cultivation of these new ‘Taiwan teas’ was streamlined throughout the 1950s and 1960s, and the teas being produced received official classifications based on the experimental process that was used to create them.

Instead of having a bunch of confusing names, the government promoted teas with a number - for example “Taiwan #1” (台茶1號) through “Taiwan #13” (台茶13號), a classification system that remains in place today - and was a beneficial exercise in marketing Taiwanese produced teas to the international market.

In the 1950s, there were over three-hundred tea factories spread throughout Taiwan, a third of them located in Hsinchu. Working together with the other fifteen factories in Hsinpu Village (新埔鎮), the tea produced in the area maintained a high reputation for quite some time, and the success of the export market helped to stabilize a tea industry that was showing signs of decline.

Nevertheless, the decline, which was brought on by international market trends dealt a decisive blow to Taiwan’s tea industry, and even though earnest attempts were made to revive the struggling industry, by 1988 (民國77年), only nine of the original fifteen factories in Hsinpu remained in operation. Less than a decade later, only two of them remained.

By 2013 (民國102年), almost all of the tea factories in the area had been abandoned, with the few remaining converted into tea wholesale businesses.

Unfortunately, information regarding the closure of Daping Tea Factory’s business operations is difficult to find, so I can’t give you an actual date as to when it went out of business, but it’s safe to say that it fell victim to the number of closures that took place between the late 1980s and 1990s.

It’s also difficult to say when the place was abandoned, but given that there was a residence and/or a dormitory within the building, it might have been occupied for a period of time after going out of business.

Recently, the arched wooden roof of one of the buildings collapsed, and out of concern for the local community, the owners of the properly planned to have the building torn down, but the Hsinchu County Bureau of Cultural Affairs (新竹縣政府文化局) stepped in and sought to have the building ‘protected’ for future use, although it is currently unclear as to what that will entail.

One would hope, given the popularity of the television series, as well as the Daxi Tea Factory as a tourist destination, that it’s likely that it might receive some attention sooner rather than later. But that’s up in the air at this point.

Link: 百年大平製茶廠 竹縣爭納古蹟 (自由時報)

Now, let me take a few minutes to detail the architectural design of the building, which even though is in pretty rough shape at the moment, remains quite interesting.

Visiting the factory today, its rather obvious that the original tea factory, constructed during the Japanese-era, was expanded upon several times over the post-war era to meet the needs of a modernizing industry. When we view the factory today, it is essentially split into three different sections - each of which varies with regard to its architectural design and construction methods.

It probably goes without saying that, as far as I’m concerned, the section that remains from the Japanese-era is the most interesting - but taking into consideration that it was constructed primarily constructed of wood in the 1930s, it’s also the part of the factory that is currently in the worst condition.

The original section of the tea factory was actually quite similar to what you can still see at the Daxi Tea Factory in Taoyuan in that it was a two-story brick building, which featured load-bearing walls. In both cases, the top floor was used as a drying area, while the first floor was where the tea was processed.

The roof that covered the drying area was a typical hip-and-gable roof (歇山頂) which was covered with red roof tiles (閩式紅瓦), a type of clay tile which are ubiquitous with traditional Hokkien (閩南) and Hakka (客家) buildings in Taiwan. While the decorative elements of the roof are subdued compared to most other historic buildings in Taiwan, the roof’s fusion of Japanese-style architectural design with that of Hakka elements is an interesting one, but not entirely unique, as you’ll see in the link below.

Link: Zhongli Elementary Teachers Dorms (壢小故事森林)

Starting with the shape of the roof, ‘hip-and-gable’ in this case is better referred to as irimoya-zukuri (入母屋造 / いりもやづくり) as it is one of the most common forms of traditional Japanese architectural design, and is used on anything from Buddhist temples and Shinto Shrines to buildings like this one. Roofs in this style tend to vary in the level of decorative elements added, and in this case the decorations are quite subdued.

Nevertheless, this style of architectural design tends to be quite practical given that the ‘hipped’ section provided excellent stability to the base of the building, while the ‘gable’ section ensures the stability of the roof. All of this was accomplished through a genius network of trusses (屋架) located within the ceiling that assists in distributing the weight and support the four-sided sloped hip roof (四坡頂).

If you explore the tea factory today, you can see the original wood used to help stabilize the roof in the section left standing and contrast it with the section that has already caved-in. In the latter, the trusses remain in pretty good shape despite having caved in and being open to the elements for a number of years, which likely points to the fact that they weren’t the cause of the cave in.

As mentioned above, the roof tiles feature as part of the roof’s decorative design, but the fusion of Japanese-style architecture with Taiwanese red roof tiles here tends to play a more functional role than a decorative one. Along the arched section of the roof, you’ll find what appear to be lines of cylindrical roof tiles separated by flat sections of tile that make it seem like ocean waves. The functional nature of the roof tiles placed in this way assist in controlling the flow of rain water.

With the building constructed during the Showa-era, construction techniques in Taiwan had become considerably more refined, so even though the weight of the roof was stabilized by the trusses within the building, the load-bearing brick walls allowed for a number of windows to be placed on all sides of the building to assist in the process of drying the tea leaves. Surrounding the remaining second-floor section of the second floor on three sides, the windows allow for a considerable amount of natural light and in the summer sun, the room tends to shine, making it the most interesting section of the building, photographically.

Diagram of the three sections of the tea factory based on when they were constructed.

Located to the rear of the original section of the building you’ll find a post-war addition to the original tea factory. This section, similar to the building in front is a two-story structure, but it also includes a basement where you can still find a considerable amount of the original machinery that was used in the process of tea production. Having all of this historic machinery just sitting there open to the elements is actually quite sad as it is just wasting away in its current condition. The basement of the building tends to be quite damp and muddy, so it’s hard to say that much of anything inside would be of any use other than for display purposes.

Finally, the most recent addition to the tea factory is simply a three-story reinforced concrete building that is typical of post-war design. The building features very little in terms of decorative elements and was never painted.

Essentially it looks like almost every Taiwanese house that was constructed over the past forty or fifty years. Within the interior of the building however you’ll find what was probably the factory’s administrative section as well as an area reserved as the dormitory for the factory’s employees, who were likely migrant laborers.

What is probably the best part of this section of the factory is that you can easily access the roof to get a better view of the caved-in section of the original tea factory, but if you do explore the building, you’ll want to be careful walking around as it could be somewhat dangerous as well.   

As mentioned earlier, this article is currently classified as one of my ‘urban exploration’ articles, which means that I won’t be sharing much about the location of the building, or how to gain entry to the building.

I do hope that at some point that I’ll be able to offer readers an update if and when the building is restored and re-opened to the public as a tourist attraction - So here’s to hoping that the popularity of “Gold Leaf” will rub off on local officials in Hsinchu looking to cash in on the renewed interest in Taiwan’s golden age of tea, something which this (and many other) tea factories played a role in.


Tamsui Police Commissioners Residence (淡水日本警官宿舍)

I’ve you’ve lived in Taiwan long enough, you may have noticed that the Taipei MRT has changed the romanized name it uses for Tamsui Station (淡水捷運站) on a couple of occasions. Whenever these things happen, it usually follows with heated public debate and questions as to why they’re once again wasting money on these unnecessary changes. Suffice to say, whatever ‘official’ reason is given for the change, most people know that they’re actually politically motivated.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember during the most recent incident, one of the reasons given for the change to ‘Danshui’ was that International tourists couldn’t pronounce ‘Tamsui’, so they had to change it to something more recognizable. ‘Danshui’ which is the Mandarin pronunciation romanized into Hanyu Pinyin (漢語拼音) was thought to be more foreign-friendly than the original name of the area, ‘Tamsui’, which is the Taiwanese-Hokkien pronunciation. Nevertheless, the change didn’t last very long as it was quickly changed back.   

Given that the area has been referred to as ‘Tamsui’ for hundreds of years, it comes across as a bit odd that there are all of these contemporary naming issues, but Taiwan can be a pretty complicated place at times, and it’s well-known that the Chinese Nationalists were never really big fans of the local language. The irony however, is that during the Japanese-era, the original name remained exactly the same. During that half-century period, ‘Tamsui’ (淡水) simply became known as Tansui (淡水郡 / たんすゐぐん), the Japanese pronunciation of the original name.

Geographically, the Tamsui District (淡水區) of today is considerably smaller than the Tamsui District (淡水郡) of the Japanese era, in that the latter consisted of districts that currently make up New Taipei City’s Shimen District (石門區), Sanzhi District (三芝區) and Bali District (八里區) - known during the Japanese era as Sekimon-sho (石門庄 / せきもんょう), Sanshiba-sho (三芝庄 / さんしょう) and Hachiri-sho (八里庄 / はちりしょう) respectively. The district also included the main town of Tansui (淡水街 / たんすいまち), where a considerable amount of commerce and international trade was taking place.

The area ended up being so vital to the Japanese colonial government that they quickly got to work on the construction of the twenty kilometer-long Tamsui Branch Line (淡水線 / たんすい) that followed the east bank of the Danshui River from the capital. The railway was a game changer for the district, which originally acted as a port of trade with China, in turn sending products down the river into Dadaocheng (大稻埕) or Bangkha (艋舺). The completion of the railway in 1901 allowed for a more efficient process of getting things to the capital, making the port town an important one for the colonial government with regard to transporting things from the Japanese mainland to Taiwan, easing some of the congestion from the other northern port in Keelung (基隆). More importantly however, the branch railway kept the people of the area connected with the capital in a way that ensure that it would always remain an important part of Taipei.

Note: The Tamsui Line consisted of the following stations: Daitotei (大稻埕), Hokumon (北門), Taihoku (台北), Taishogai (大正街), Soren (雙連), Maruyama (圓山), Miyanoshita (宮ノ下), Shirin (士林), Kirigan (石牌), Hokuto (北投), Kanto (關渡), Chikui (竹圍) and Tansui (淡水). For those unaware, these historic stations, which were in service from 1901 (or added in 1915) and make up much of what is today the Red Line (紅線) of the Taipei MRT, which replaced the original railway.

The ability to maintain it’s economic prosperity meant a lot for the people of the area, which is something that continues to be celebrated today with both domestic and international tourists making their way from the city to enjoy the Tamsui Old Street, it’s beautiful riverside, and a large number of historic buildings and tourist destinations. The prosperity enjoyed by the people of Tamsui during the colonial era is clearly visible along the old street today, where the architectural design of the buildings is indicative of what we’ve come to expect from any of the historic “Old Streets” (老街) that have been converted into tourist destinations.

Covering an area of 227km², and with a population of nearly 60,000, Tamsui was one of the many districts under the governance of Taihoku Prefecture (台北州 / たいほくしゅう). In 1920 (大正9年) however, the colonial government refined and redistricted Taiwan’s geographic and administrative system. This was when  ‘Tansui District’ (淡水郡), or county depending on your translation, was brought to life. The changes in administrative control required the construction of a new town hall, namely the Tamsui Town Office (淡水郡役所 / たんすゐぐんやくしょ) in addition to a number of new civic buildings in the port town including the post office, telecommunications office, etc. Likewise, even though there was already a police presence in the area, the redistricting now meant that police service in the area would be carried out by the local Tamsui Police Branch (淡水郡警察課) of the Taihoku Prefectural Police Service (台北州警務部).

All of this new local governance brought with it a number of important positions that had to be filled, similarly requiring a number of new official residences. While there were already a number of official residences in the area made available for teachers, police and other civil servants, the redistricting required the construction of housing for the mayor and the police chief, among others. Unfortunately, unlike a lot of other areas around the country, many of these official residences in Tamsui have already been torn down to make way for modern construction projects, making the few that remain quite important. Today, I’ll be introducing one of them, namely the former residence of the Tamsui Police Chief.

Recently restored and re-opened to the public as a tourist destination, the house is one of the few remaining wooden residences in Tamsui today, and given its proximity to the old street, it makes for an interesting stop if you find yourself in the area for the day.

As always, I’ll start by explaining the history of the residence, followed by its architectural design, and then end by offering directions on how to get there.

Tamsui Police Chief’s Residence (淡水日本警官宿舍)

Coinciding with the establishment of Tamsui District in the 1921 redistribution of Taiwan’s administrative regions, a number of buildings were constructed within the port town to facilitate the administrative upgrade the town was receiving. One of those buildings was the official residence provided to the district’s Police Chief.

Constructed a short distance from the Town Office mentioned above, the modest residence was built on the side of a hill that overlooked the bustling commercial area of Tamsui and the river, with a nice view of Guanyin Mountain in the distance. In terms of it’s size, the Japanese-Western fusion style residence was modest to say the least, especially in comparison to some of its contemporaries.

Unfortunately for all of the Police Chiefs who served in Tamsui over the next two and a half decades of the colonial era, and then into the post-war era, the building was constructed a year prior to the Governor General’s Office enacting a law (台灣總督府官舍建築標準) regarding official building standards in Taiwan - Those new standards specified a clear set of regulations regarding the size of buildings provided for civil servants of various ranks, divided between Senior Officials (高等官 / こうとうかん) and Junior Officials (判任官 / はんにんかん). Meant to improve the living standards in the housing provided for civil servants as well as to encourage staff to work hard and earn a promotion in order to receive more comfortable housing for their families.

Granted, the Police Chief of Tamsui District wouldn’t have been on the same level of the bureaucratic hierarchy as the Police Commissioner of Hsinchu, but if you compare the two residences, you’ll notice a considerable difference in their size.

Link: Shinchiku Police Commissioner's Residence (新竹州警務部部長官舍)

According to my research for the article linked above, under the new housing system, the Police Commissioner’s Official Residence was classified as a Level Two Senior Official (高等官官舍第二種) house, meaning that the building should be at least 165㎡ (50坪) in size accompanied, by a plot of land that was at least 1003㎡ (303.5坪). The Tamsui District Police Chief (淡水郡警察課長), however would have been considered a Level Four Senior Official (高等官官舍第四種) and thus would have been afforded a residence up to 109㎡ (33坪) in size, with a plot of land up to 440㎡ (132坪). Constructed a year prior to the new regulations, the residence is 73㎡ (22坪) in size and the total size of the land is 241㎡ (73坪), considerably smaller than it would have been if it were constructed a year later.

If you’re wondering why I’ve gone off on this size tangent, the answer comes in a few different forms - The first being that it would have been one of the reasons that the position as the Police Chief of Tamsui district would have been considered a stepping-stone to something bigger and better. This will become more obvious in the list of residents I’m providing below. The second reason is that in the post-war era, the residence continued to be occupied by the local police chief, but when the housing crisis in Taiwan (brought on by the influx of several million Chinese refugees) stabilized, officials elected to find their own housing.

Below you’ll find a list of the residents of the building during the Japanese era, or at least from 1921-1945. You’ll notice there was quite a turn around for these Police Chiefs, but it’s not that the job was terrible, as mentioned above, it was essentially a position that would have propelled people to bigger and better things. In each case though, whether it was for a few years, or a few months, the residence was made available to the chief and his family.

Japanese-era Residents (淡水郡警察課長)

  1. 1921 (大正10年) 竹內健藏

  2. 1924 (大正13年) 高橋秀二

  3. 1924 (大正13年) 手貝千代志

  4. 1925 (大正14年) 倉持泰

  5. 1926 (昭和元年) 高橋政吉

  6. 1927 (昭和2年) 小泉清

  7. 1928 (昭和3年) 蘆田俊

  8. 1931 (昭和6年) 酒井林藏

  9. 1936 (昭和11年) 金丸繁治

  10. 1938 (昭和13年) 清水增吉

  11. 1939 (昭和14年) 久保田豐太郎

  12. 1941 (昭和16年) 神代文治

When Japan surrendered at the end of the Second World War, the shame of defeat was too much for some of it citizens, especially for some of the police who had also served as members of the military. In what is possibly the first case I’ve come across where something like this happened, the humiliation of defeat was so unbearable that two of the residents of the house hung themselves inside, which would cause some complications during the post-war era.

From what I found during my research, the residence continued to serve as the official residence for the Police Chief of Tamsui in the post-war era - The thing is though, that no one lived in the building until a few years after the arrival of the Chinese Nationalists. Given the housing crisis that took place in the early years of the Nationalists retreat to Taiwan, it’s a bit strange. The reason for this, I’m assuming was based on a couple of different reasons - The first is that the house was constructed on the site of a Qing-era graveyard. The second is that the two Japanese who hung themselves in the building would have made it a ‘haunted house’ (凶宅) according to Chinese cultural standards.

It wasn’t until 1951 (民國40年) that the house started being occupied again. Similar to what happened during the Japanese era, the men who served as Police Chief in Tamsui only ever lasted for a few years, with the house being occupied by a number of police chiefs, including Sun Zhao (孫肇), He Qi (何琦), Chang Yifei (張一飛), Chang Jianxun (張建勳) and Jin Fuhai (金福海). Going back to a point I made earlier though, as the housing situation stabilized in Taiwan, few actually wanted to continue living in the residence provided to them.

Thus, the last official residents of the building were the Deputy Police Chief (淡水警分局副分局長), Jin Fuhai and his wife Lin Meimei (林美美) who moved into the residence in 1968 (民國57年). Living in the house long after the death of her husband, Lin Meimei enjoyed the comfort of the historic building for well over four decades until she moved out in 2007 (民國96年). Ms. Lin could have lived out the rest of her life in the house, but even though she absolutely loved all the time she spent there, she also recognized that if she continued living there, the nearly one-hundred year old historic property would eventually be lost completely, like so many of Taiwan’s other historic buildings. Vacating the residence in 2007, the building was quickly registered as a protected New Taipei City Historic Property (新北市歷史建築) that same year, with plans to have it restored.

Sitting abandoned for over half a decade, Ms. Lin was unimpressed with the long bureaucratic process that slowed down the restoration of the building and it’s reported that she pressed authorities on several occasions throughout the years to start the restoration work before it was too late. Still, it took until 2013 for the government to send researchers to the building to start the process of documenting the building and coming up with a plan for its restoration. The restoration proposal was completed in 2015 and the government opened up a tender for companies to bid on the project. Finally, twelve years after Ms. Lin moved out, the historic residence was reopened to the public in December of 2019 under the operational control of the Tamsui Historical Museum (淡水古蹟博物館), which curates a number of exhibits within the many historic buildings in the area.

Although it may seem like I was criticising the size of the building earlier, it is actually one of the buildings strongest aspects at the moment as they haven’t been able to fill it with a bunch of pointless exhibition pieces; It’s possible that this could change in the future, but during my visit, I highly enjoyed that the few things put on display within the building focused solely on its history and architectural design. They didn’t add a bunch of needless display pieces to take up space, they just left the building open, which allows visitors to enjoy the space a lot more than a lot of the other buildings that have been restored in recent years.

Now that I’ve gone over a bit of the history of the building, I’m going to spend some time explaining its architectural design.

Architectural Design

I had a bit of a good time with some of the ‘official’ descriptions of the residence’s architectural design, especially those coming from the government - Described as a fusion-style of architectural design, some of the information available about the building from the tourism bureau will claim that it is a fusion of Japanese, Western and Taiwanese design. While that is partly true, the building was originally designed as a Japanese-Western fusion (和洋並置), with what I suppose you could refer to as ‘Taiwanese’ elements added to the building in the post-war era.

The problem with describing these additions as ‘Taiwanese’ elements however doesn’t give much credit to Taiwanese architectural design. The residence was expanded during the stay of Police Chief Sun Zhao (孫肇), who lived there for seven years from 1951-1958. The expansion which merely added a reinforced concrete section to the back of the house provided a bit more space, but wasn’t inherently ‘Taiwanese’ in design, so I’d go as far as to say that anyone who makes these claims is doing a disservice to traditional Taiwanese design.

For you naysayers, I assure you, there is far more to Taiwanese architectural design than the pouring of concrete.

Not sure what happened here. It’s probably where the restoration team removed some of the additions.

As mentioned above, the residence is a total of 73㎡ (22坪), making it quite small in terms of Japanese-era houses. Nevertheless, the layout of the building adheres to traditional Japanese architectural design with the interior space divided into three separate spaces, a living space (起居空間), a service space (服務空間) and a passage space (通行空間). To explain, the “living space” is essentially a multi-functional space where the residents spend time together having meals, drinking tea and sleeping. The “service space” on the other hand includes a number of functional spaces including the kitchen, bathroom, washroom, etc. Finally, the “passage space” generally refers to the various entrances, and the corridors within. One of the important things to keep in mind with regard to traditional Japanese-style residences like this is that the fusion of all three of these spaces skillfully separates the ‘public’ parts of the home from the ‘private’ through the usage of walls, sliding doors and corridors that reach around the building.

As I’ve done in the past, I’ll make use of the floor plan to briefly introduce each of the various spaces within the residence to better explain their function. To make things easier to understand, I’ve numbered each of the space on the plan above so that you know which part of the house I’m referring to:

Passage Space (通行空間)

(1) The front entrance, or the ‘foyer’ to the residence is known in Japan as a ‘genkan’ (玄關 / げんかん), and features compartments for shoes, umbrellas, etc. The foyer is located on ground-level as opposed to the rest of the building, which is elevated. Once you enter the building you’ll find a set of stairs that brings you up to the core parts of the building. As part of the separation of the public and private parts of the home, the foyer has two doors, one directly ahead that leads to the private space and another on the left that leads to the reception room.

(2) Regarded as a ‘transitionary’ space, the ‘toritsugi’ (取次 / とりつぎ), or the second foyer was directly in front of the main entrance to the residence. Once you walked up the stairs to the main area, you’d find a small space with another set of sliding doors that opened up to the tea room. This space is somewhat ceremonial, but also functional in that it offers another storage space for coats, while the space below was reserved for shoes and umbrellas.

(3) What I’d consider the best part of living in this house, and the part of every traditional Japanese home that I appreciate the most is what is know as the ‘engawa’ (緣側/えんがわ). This is essentially a wide corridor on the side of the building that overlooks the river and features sliding glass doors that open up to the yard in addition to sliding panels that open up to the living space, with another door connecting to the guest space. The sliding glass doors would have allowed for a significant amount of natural air to breeze through the residence, offering a natural air conditioner of sorts, but the best part of this space is that the residents could spend hours sitting on the covered veranda watching the hustle and bustle of the street below as well as the boats passing by in the river.

Finally, within the building you’ll find a number of corridors that connect each of the spaces with each other. I haven’t listed each of them on the photo above, but the ‘rou’ (廊 / ろう) are essential in these buildings as they play an integral part in separating each of the spaces. Most of them are located on the northern and southern sections of the building, with the middle section reserved as the living space.

Living Space (起居空間)

(5-6) Within the private area, you’ll find the most spacious area of the home, which is typically separated into two sections known as the ‘zashiki’ (座敷 / ざしき) and the ‘ima’ (居間 / いま), which together act as what we’d consider a ‘living room’ and a ‘bedroom’ however, they’re a bit more complex than that. Within the ‘ima’ section, which acts as the sleeping space, you’ll find alcoves known as ‘oshiire’ (押入 / おしいれ), which are used for storing bedding during the day.

Likewise, within the ‘zashiki’ you’d find similar alcoves known as tokonoma (床の間/とこのま) and chigaidana (違棚 / ちがいだな), which are both spaces reserved for decorative elements of the living space. In these traditional homes, sleeping spaces were communal, and the living space was used by the family as a space to hang out, or entertain close friends.

The important thing to remember is that during the day all of the clutter would have been stored away, making these two spaces quite open and enjoyable. One of the things to take note of when you’re in the living space are the sliding wooden panels that can be closed to separate the two spaces. These panels are said to be originals and feature some beautiful calligraphy-style paintings on either side.

(7) Separated from the foyer and the waiting room by a sliding door, you’d find what was known as the tea room (茶之間 / ちゃのま), which essentially served as the dining room as it was connected directly to the kitchen. In smaller residences like these, the tea room also acted as a reading room (書齋 / しょさい) when the larger reception space wasn’t being used.

(8) One of the spaces that was extended over the years, the ‘ousetsushitsu’ (應接室 / おうせつしつ) could go by a number of names in English; Essentially it was a meeting room, or a space where residents could receive guests. Over the years, the various Police Chiefs likely received guests during their off-hours to discuss work-related issues. Separated from the private area of the living space, it was connected to the rest of the house by the ‘foyer’ and the ‘veranda’ making it easily accessible whenever anyone visited. This is one of the ‘fusion’ areas of the house though as it was also considered a ‘western style’ living room with sofas and later a television, etc. Located in the southern corner of the house, the room would have had a nice view of the river and the afternoon sun.

Service Space (服務空間)

Finally, the ‘service space’ is admittedly the most difficult space of the building to explain, as most of it is not open to the public. These space were restored along with the rest of the building, but are currently occupied as spaces by the administration of the building as storage space. Nevertheless, for clarity sake, the service space included the (9) lavatory (便所 / べんじょ), the (10) kitchen (台所 / だいどころ) and the (11) bathroom (風呂 / ふろ). Truth be told though, tourists aren’t probably all that interested in checking out a one-hundred year old bathroom, right?

Now that I’ve explained the interior, let’s take a few minutes to talk about the exterior of the building. Constructed in the irimoya-zukuri (入母屋造) style of design, which basically means that the base of the building is smaller than the roof, the weight of which is supported by a network of trusses (屋架) in the ceiling that helps to support the weight of the four-sided sloped hip roof (四坡頂). However, when you look at the roof from above today, it is clear that the shape of the original roof has been altered considerably. Likewise, the the original roof tiles were replaced with plastic-looking tiles and the onigawara (鬼瓦) end tiles have all been replaced. Also, the wooden shitamiita (下見版 / したみいた) siding on the buildings has been replaced. They are currently quite dark in color, but as they age the colors will fade.

Although the additions to the building over the past century have increased its size, they have also altered the original shape. The space in front of the veranda is quite narrow as it overlooks the hill, while the space on the ends of the building on the kitchen side as well as the meeting room side have reduced the size of the space in the yard. These additions however haven’t really been reflected well in the restoration of the building, which offers a pretty good view of what the building would have originally looked like, with the additions making up the administrative sections of the building.

Getting There

 

Address: #5, Alley #12, Zhongzheng Road, Danshui (新北市淡水區中正路12巷5號)

GPS: 25.170740, 121.439940

Located within the heart of Tamsui’s Historic Old Street (淡水老街), the former Police Chief’s dorm sits on prime real estate just to the rear of what would have been one of the most important places of worship in town. A short walk up a set of stairs to the rear of Fuyou Temple (淡水福佑宮), otherwise known as the Tamsui Mazu Temple (淡水媽祖廟), the former residence is within walking distance of both the Tamsui MRT Station (淡水捷運站) as well as the Tamsui Ferryboat Wharf (淡水渡船碼頭), making getting there rather easy.

Taking into consideration that the Tamsui Old Street is quite narrow, your best option for getting to any of the tourist destinations in the area is to simply walk. The stretch of Zhongzheng Road (中正路) where the temple is located is quite narrow, making it difficult for buses to get in and out, but makes it great for pedestrian traffic with wide sidewalks.

From the Tamsui MRT Station, the walk to Fuyou Temple is about 550 meters, an estimated six minute trip according to Google Maps. To get there simply walk out of the MRT station and walk straight until you find yourself on Zhongzheng Road. Once you find yourself on the Old Street, simply walk straight until you reach Fuyou Temple. On either side of the temple you’ll notice a set of stone stairs that leads you up behind the historic temple to the residence, in addition to a neighborhood that overlooks the harbor and is close to a number of other historic tourist destinations.

While you’re in the area, in addition to the historic old street and the riverfront, you may want to also consider visiting the Tamsui Longshan Temple (淡水龍山寺), Tamsui Qingshui Temple (淡水清水巖), the Tamsui Customs Officers’ Residence (小白宮), the Tamsui Presbyterian Church (長老教會淡水教會) and the Huwei MacKay Hospital (滬尾偕醫館), all of which are within walking distance of the old street. Similarly, you may also want to visit Fort San Domingo (淡水紅毛城), the Tamsui Martyrs Shrine (新北市忠烈祠) or the Tamsui Fisherman’s Wharf (淡水漁人碼頭), which are both a little further away.

Recently restored and reopened to the public, the Japanese-era Police Chief’s residence is probably one of the lesser known of Tamsui’s tourist attractions, but that also makes it one of the most relaxing places to visit. There isn’t a whole lot to see when you visit the house, but the building has a great view of the harbor and you may want to sit on the veranda to take a break from your travels prior to moving on to your next destination. If you find yourself visiting on a hot day, the respite from the sun should be a welcome-enough experience for a weary traveler, especially with the peace and quiet offered by the house.

References

  1. 淡水日本警官宿舍 (Wiki)

  2. 淡水郡 | 淡水街 | 台北州 | 淡水線 (Wiki)

  3. 淡水日本警官宿舍 (淡水維基館)

  4. 淡水日本警官宿舍 (國家文化資產網)

  5. 新北市歷史建築淡水日本警官宿舍修復或再利用計畫 (新北市政府文化局)

  6. 終於修復完工!淡水「日本警官宿舍」開放參觀,重現日治時期「和洋折衷式」建築風貌 (Shopping Design)

  7. 淡水重建街添一好拍景點 超美日本高階警官宿舍今開放 (新北市政府警察局板橋分局)

  8. 日本警官宿舍 見證日本警察統治的漢人社會 (國家文化記憶庫)

  9. 淡水老街又ㄧ重要歷史建築將獲保存 前縣議員林美美老宿舍可望指定為歷史建築 (許慧明 / 淡水文化基金會)