Lee Ho Fook's and the First War on Drugs

Paul Campbell
2 days ago
9 min read

Updated: 4 hours ago

Long before Richard Nixon started the “War on Drugs” back in the 1970's (and a hearty congratulations to drugs for winning that war), there was another war on drugs that produced no better results—two wars, in fact, and not in name only, but actual wars. Before we dive into the real Lee Ho Fook's and how all this ties into the fictional opium den featured in Grayhound, we need to know where it all started.

The First War on Drugs

The first historical war on drugs is a sad display of greed triumphing over good sense. At the turn of the 19^th century, Britain had firmly expanded into a global empire with more claimed landmass than even China, though China had more population. These two world powers had been in trade competition for some time, and though British fleets and military prowess far outmatched China, China had tea. Britain needed that tea. Unfortunately, China was entirely self-sustaining and wanted nothing from Britain other than silver. This arrangement worked quite well until Britain started running out of silver. Something had to be done, and Britain—the British East India Company specifically—found a more lucrative means of getting their English tea: through an ingenious combination of opium and crime.

Brilliant.

Opium had been illegal in China as far back as 1729, with further edicts enacted by Chinese emperors in 1799, 1814, and 1831. And just as Prohibition made alcohol consumption explode in the states, so too did opium explode in China. The war on drugs had begun. But drugs had a powerful ally on their side: the East India Company. Opium production in nearby Bengal greatly increased due to Chinese demand. Rather than empty Britain's coffers of more silver, European traders began illegally selling opium to Chinese smugglers. By the turn of the 19^th century, the amount was a staggering 680,000 pounds a year. By 1833, that number had soared to over 5,000,000 pounds a year—enough for Britain to start regaining some of their lost silver.

Just like in modern day, the nation suffering under the effects of the illegal drug wanted its trade abolished, while those selling the drug had interest only in the profits they gained from its sale. We cannot wholly blame Britain for this. Opium was legal in Europe, and Britain had no interest in enforcing Chinese law on British citizens. Not only the East India Company, but Chinese smugglers and drug dealers continued the trade. While the British government had no interest in stopping what—from their view—was an entirely legal arrangement, China felt differently. When the Chinese Governor General Lin Zexu ordered the seizure of all opium in Canton, one of Britain's major ports, the East India Company appealed to Britain for military intervention. After nearly a year, and heavy arguments for and against by British politicians, Britain decided to side with free trade and, consequently, the drug cartels of East India. The British Navy used their superior firepower to bombard several Chinese ports and fortifications. In 1842, the war ended with the Treaty of Nanking, which drastically opened trade in China. The island of Hong Kong and the smaller islands surrounding it became British land. Five of China's largest ports, including Canton, became permanently open to British trade by law. Additionally, China was required to pay a grotesquely hefty payment for all the illegal drugs they had destroyed.

The Rematch

**Man smoking opium with a cat. Date Unknown**

Though opium was still technically illegal in China, the drug smuggling continued unabated. The East India Company and the drugs they sold now had a firmer hold on China. By this time, many Chinese had begun secretly growing and producing their own opium, increasing the usage and addiction. After the Taiping Rebellion in 1853, the new Imperial Commissioner of Canton, Ye Mingchen, again tried to end the illegal opium trade with no better results. In 1856, Ye seized a British ship and arrested the crew on smuggling charges. Britain responded. The governor of British Hong Kong called up the East Indies and China Station Fleet, which bombarded the forts guarding Canton and then Canton itself, but the British Navy lacked the ground forces to hold the city and reestablish trade. Riots broke out in Canton, and multiple European warehouses and properties were set ablaze.

As the old saying goes: “Never let a crisis go to waste.” An unrelated and tragic incident brought France into the war. Earlier in the same year, Father Auguste Chapdelaine, a French missionary, had been tried, tortured, and executed by the Chinese Authorities for preaching a prohibited faith. While Chapdelaine's murder was itself an act of evil, it incentivized France to join the cause of the equally evil drug trade. France, Russia, and the United States all rallied against China. The 2^nd war was soon over, and Britain pushed for even greater access to China, including the legalization of opium, which was reluctantly granted.

The War Reaches Britain

The results of the Opium Wars had some unintended and ironic consequences for Britain, however. One of the stipulations of the new treaty was for the transportation of Chinese laborers, who would work for less pay than their European peers. Some went to America, working for pittances on the railroads or in mines. Many stayed with or near the shipping industry. Soon, practically every port city had a “Chinatown” somewhere near the docks. And as the Chinese spread across the globe, so too did their habit. By the late 1800's, one could find dozens of opium dens throughout London, most of them centered near the East End Docks. Before this, Britain had mostly used opium for the creation of laudanum, and though it certainly had its abusers, it was considered primarily as medicine. As the recreational use of opium spread, Britain quickly realized the potency of the drug which their trade wars had finally brought to the shores of both Europe and America.

The Victorian Opium Den

**A Chinese Opium Smoker with the Standard Tools. Note the wooden "Pillow."**

The opium den has become as much a part of Victorian London as the cobblestone streets or the Hansom cabs that rode upon them. Most existed in places where proper Londoners never dared to tread: in slums, near dockyards, and the places where foreigners settled—places all generally synonymous. Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, and Arthur Conan Doyle all make use of these dark places in their stories. Take, for instance, Dr. Watson's description from The Man with the Twisted Lip:

“Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-luster eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowels of the metal pipes. Most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbor. … As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.”

This description is not all that different from an eyewitness account from 1889 that jack-the-ripper-tour.com reproduced on their website (linked here and below). This fascinating description, written by a newspaper reporter more than a hundred years ago, still instantly conjures the same images of dark, dangerous places. I highly recommend the article, as it presents the typical opium den through an honest and authentic lens of a first-hand eye-witness.

**Woman Smoker, likely at home or in a fine smoking parlor. Date unknown**

Not all opium dens were dark and horrid. There were those who catered to a higher class of addict, though they were rare. Most of the affluent and well-to-do had their own private smoking rooms at home, where they could smoke their drug in perfect comfort and class. For everyone else, those who lived in crowded tenements or cramped, single-room homes, it was better to go to a den, where everything was provided. Whether fancy and expensive or dirty and cheap, the equipment was much the same: a bit of sticky opium paste, an open lamp or candle, and a long pipe with a bowl toward the far end. The opium paste was dabbed into this bowl, then held inverted over the fire for heating. Most places also provided a pillow made of porcelain, wood, or stone, which were far less prone to catching fire once the user became too inebriated for such worries. While we might imagine such hard pillows as uncomfortable, the opium soon made them feel like the softest down. Some of these pillows were quite ornate, often with an internal chamber which the user could place his valuables for “safekeeping,” though how truly safe they were depended mostly on the establishment itself, rather than the pillow. Many were simple boxes, but some took on rather bizarre and disturbing shapes, at least to modern eyes.

Opium dens, and especially cheaper ones, could be dangerous, not only due to the often shady clientele, but mostly from the risk of fire. Cheap dens piled in customers as closely as they could, often on bunks of two or even three high. Even for places that kept bunks free of fabrics (which was rare in the West) and used non-flammable pillows, clothing could still catch fire. Rather than lighting a single match and then putting it out (like one might do with a tobacco pipe) opium smoking required a constant flame.

The fictional opium den from Grayhound, Lee Ho Fooks, catered to a richer clientele, but like many opium dens in London, it was the secondary role of a different establishment. Opium dens often hid in the back room of otherwise reputable shops, like the tea house on the ground floor of Lee Ho Fooks. My fictional owner, Lee Ho, is partly inspired by a famous opium connoisseur of the time called Ah Sing (whose opium parlor is famously mentioned in Charles Dickens's “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” Like Lee Ho, Ah Sing's business was fairly reputable. However, the Pharmacy Act restricted the sale of opium and other dangerous drugs to any besides registered chemists and pharmacists. Of course, people could still purchase drugs from official pharmacies, but not in quantities for business. However, this crackdown on opium dens, like modern crackdowns, only pushed opium dens further into the darker corners of London, as did similar crackdowns in the eastern US. New York City's last opium den did not shut down until 1957.

In 1878, Britain's Opium Act limited the sale of opium to registered Chinese smokers and Indian users. Though intended to limit opium usage, it forced many Europeans to hunt down less reputable dens—those who would be willing to ignore the restrictions on non-Chinese smokers. Reputable dens, like Ah Sing's, were shut down. Happily, we know the end of Ah Sing's story, who lived to the age of 64 and was buried in Bow Cemetery in 1890 under the consensus of his mourners that “a more devout Christian than Ah Sing had not been buried in Bow Cemetery since the latter was a mere infant.”

In the later half of the 19^th century, opium began to fall out of popular favor, but like modern drugs today, usage continued. By 1893, when Grayhound is set, opium dens would have still been widespread, though legally off-limits to anyone but Chinese or Indian users. However, as most of them were in places where police rarely—if ever—patrolled, this did little to prevent English usage if one had the daring to enter places where “good and proper” Englishmen did not go. Eventually, opium was replaced by other drugs: heroin at first, then harder drugs, and the war continues today. The players have changed, and the drugs have grown stronger, but it is the same old war, and we still aren't winning.

A Big Dish of Beef Chow Mein

**The Real "Lee Ho Fook" Restaurant in London**

On a cheerier note, the great influx of hardworking Chinese immigrants to both England and America—due in part to the trade wars between Britain and China—did have some positive repercussions, not the least of which was Chinese cuisine, which quickly became ubiquitous to both British and American life. While the fictional “Lee Ho Fook's” in Grayhound is inspired partly by Ah Sing's, the name was actually not inspired by an opium den at all, but rather a popular Chinese restaurant from London. The real restaurant, “Lee Ho Fook,” closed its doors in 2008, though other restaurants under the name still exist. It is perhaps most famous now for its mention in Warren Zevon's song, “Werewolves of London.”

I have been unable to find any record of when the real Lee Ho Fook started, though it must have opened during or before 1968, when a review in The Times was written about it, ten years before Warren Zevon forever immortalized it in verse. The real Lee Ho Fook was originally praised for authentic Chinese cuisine, though it naturally westernized somewhat in later decades. Since I cannot find any proof of when Lee Ho Fook first opened, I like to imagine that sometime after 1893, when opium fell further out of fashion, that old Lee Ho, just like Ah Sing, decided to leave the opium trade and transform his tea house into a full-fledged restaurant, famous for bringing authentic Cantonese food to London—a place where, perhaps, a werewolf walking through SoHo in the rain might find a hearty portion of beef chow mein.

Ah-woo....