Where circuses might be left to the publicity division, the daily bread was baked in the GIS news room, which from the outset has remained the powerhouse driving the entire department. "News equals information," as one news room incumbent put it. "The rest is just icing on the cake."

Geared to instantly transmit press releases by teleprinter (nowadays through a computerised newswire service and on the Internet), or dispense them through an ever-growing array of dedicated press boxes for local and overseas media, the news room has long been the department's 'perpetual flame'.

A 24-hour vigil, manned on a 12-hour shift basis, has kept this unsleeping nerve centre alert to the possibility of suddenly and inconveniently breaking news that must be communicated, at any hour of the day or night, to those with a need to know.

Crisis always brought out the best in the news room, as was the case in April 1962 when, without warning, thousands of people began pouring across the border from the Mainland. By the end of May, more than 60 000 were apprehended and returned, in an operation which taxed police and military patrols to the limit of their endurance.

The eventual estimate was that the numbers who evaded capture, to swell an already burgeoning populace, probably exceeded those who were caught. Information officers worked alongside security forces and immigration officials, whose own department had only come into formal existence the previous year, to report on the phenomenon and raise the alarm regarding its potential consequences.

As the Colonial Secretary was later to state in a policy speech: "Nothing could wreck both our plans and our achievements more rapidly or certainly than a further flood of immigrants."

No one relished crisis more than long-standing news room supremo David Willis, who was never happier than when winds were rising, rain clouds gathering and barometers dropping to herald another typhoon.

Out would come movable blackboards, with chalk at the ready to record incidents, evacuations and casualties. Out would go instructions as to which shift would be manning the desks in relays around the clock until all signals were lowered and Willis would reluctantly put himself to bed. If he snatched any sleep at all before the storm abated it would be on a camp cot near to the phones, with instructions to be awoken if anything singular occurred.

This emergency footing met its severest test when Typhoon Wanda swept through Hong Kong on the weekend of September 1-2, 1962. It was the worst typhoon since 1937 and killed 138 people. A further 34 were missing, presumed dead, two tugs sank, with the loss of their 39 crew members, 75 000 people were made homeless and 20 vessels of more than 100 000 tonnes were driven ashore. Sha Tin experienced a three-metre tidal wave which flooded the town - then at the head of a long inlet from Tolo Harbour - more efficiently than technology could later devise for The Magic Stone.

The news section operated on an emergency basis for three days. Its teleprinter transmitter ran non-stop for 36 hours, sending out weather reports and forecasts, situation reports, warnings and news of the damage. The pace was so hot that the printer head had to be replaced.

Perhaps the worst year for the sheer number and intensity of direct hits and near misses was 1964, when five typhoons struck and five others came close enough to trigger warnings. The five that hit Hong Kong waters with gale force winds and more did the greatest damage. Local storm signals were hoisted for a record of 570 hours that year, equivalent to some 24 days.

Although they brought relief from a desperate water shortage, which had restricted supply to only four hours every fourth day, the storms did so in such abundance that streets and cars were left buried in mud sweeping down from the hillsides. The season began early, with a visit from Typhoon Viola in May. Next came Winnie, succeeded by Ida, which killed five in an avalanche of mud, followed by Ruby, which left 38 people dead, six missing and 1,336 squatter huts together with 400 fishing boats damaged or destroyed.

Then came Sally, which killed another nine with a dislodged boulder at Shau Kei Wan, just ahead of Tilda, which hung around close enough to keep signals raised for a record 161 hours. Next were Anita, Billie, Clara and finally Dot, whose centre passed 20 miles east of the Royal Observatory as late as October 13.

The GIS summary of these extraordinary events, in the 1964 year book, is restricted to the following comment: "In a severe storm, when movement for the public, and even for reporters, may be difficult, the department's direct links with police stations, fire stations, hospitals and other key points provides a steady flow of news which might otherwise not be available."

No mention is made of the difficulty GIS staff might have experienced in their own movement, but then that was ever the case. If there was a chance you couldn't get to your shift on foot or in a taxi you'd better be there well before such obstacles might arise; failing which Willis could always send the duty van for you, with its windshield protected by wire mesh against falling trees and flying debris.

Even in the quietest of times, there was never a moment when the news room was left unmanned. In this respect it has maintained the same record of round-the-clock service as hospitals and emergency services. Somebody has to be there to stand guard for incoming missiles in the way of press agency reports that might have sufficient bearing on Hong Kong affairs to warrant a rapid response.

In the course of 1958, just a year before PRO Jock Murray became DIS, the Daily Information Bulletin (DIB), distributed to all newspapers, foreign news agencies and correspondents, totalled between 2,500 to 3,000 items. By 1964 that output had doubled to more than 600 items per month, or 7,200 in all - and that was without counting the typhoon bulletins. By then the DIB, as it came to be known, was going out in English and Chinese to more than 100 recipients, while the teleprinter service reached 31 subscribers, who were fed instant reportage in order to meet publishing deadlines.

Murray persuaded the government it was in their best interests to bear the costs of installing teleprinter links in the offices of those newspapers and press services which agreed to accept them. But it was to be a long, hard battle persuading subscribers that what they received through these channels was not propaganda but information, pure and simple, without embroidery and without editorial comment. For years the GIS teleprinter installed in the Hongkong Standard newsroom bore a label describing it simply as 'The Enemy'. Kevin Sinclair, who merits a stack of files all to himself in the GIS newsroom for his many requests of - and complaints - to the department noted early on in his long and colourful Hong Kong journalistic career that GIS stood for "God Is Speaking".

Alongside Willis in the newsroom was Bob Sun, who had joined the department in 1957 as an Assistant Press Officer, equivalent to an AIO, and rose through the ranks to become the first 'home grown' Director (1980 to 1983). Sun was also the first information officer to receive overseas assignments. He recalls taking a team of local craftsmen to give demonstrations at the Ideal Home Exhibition in London: "Most of those people did not speak much English and would follow me around. Pushing through a crowd, I would normally say: "Excuse me. Excuse me." One ivory carver attempted to follow my example but did not hear me clearly. To a group of ladies standing in his way, he politely said: 'Kiss me. Kiss me.' Wondering why they gave him a strange look, he asked me for an explanation, which he thought funny enough to relate to his friends back in Hong Kong."

Sun accompanied Bill Fish across the border to Shenzhen in 1964 to witness the signing of the original water supply agreement. The actual signing ceremony - a major historical event - was completed in a matter of minutes, but the Hong Kong delegation spent the rest of the day being wined and dined at a sumptuous eight-course dinner.

Sun remembers: "The wide variety of Chinese liquor served created the deepest impression on those present. Hong Kong guests included editors of the Ta Kung Pao, Wen Wei Pao, New Evening Post and Xinhua News Agency with all of whom I was well acquainted. The spirits provided by the hospitable hosts ranged from mao tai and kao liang to ta chueh and wu chia pi. There was indeed a great deal of drinking that evening.

"When I returned to the office, it was about 9.30pm. I learned that by 9pm, the local press had become fidgety for news about the water agreement. Because the delegation had not returned after an early morning departure, it was suspected something had gone awry. The managing editor of the Sing Tao Jih Pao, the late Cheng Yu-long, telephoned my house and said to my wife: 'Vivian, I think Bob has been detained. He's not likely to be coming back tonight.' She of course did not believe him and countered it was a preposterous speculation. Before such a rumour could gain momentum, an official press release on the agreement appeared on the teleprinter."