30 August, 2025

Hong Kong

A Eulogy for Peter Frederick Rhodes

WELCOME & INTRODUCTION:

Distinguished Guests.

Dean Xi of CUHK Law and Deans Chan, Chen and Fu of HKU Law.

New Zealand Consul-General Lund.

President Ma of the Auckland University Hong Kong Alumni Association.

CUHK and HKU Faculty Members, Colleagues and Students.

Members of the Rhodes-Chan Family.

Members of the Vis Family.

Friends, all.

We are here today to remember my father, Peter Frederick Rhodes, Professor of Law, who left us on July 13 at age seventy-six, just thirteen days into his retirement.

If we lost him too soon, we can at least say that he went out in full stride.

His mind was as sharp as ever, and in his last weeks, he wrapped up a fifty-five-year career with heartfelt tributes from his colleagues and students.

He visited mainland China with his eldest grandson. 

And when he died suddenly of a heart attack or a stroke, he was on safari in Tanzania with my mother and two dear friends, enjoying a trip he’d planned for months. 

His last message to me, from earlier that day, was to share photos of a herd of elephants that had walked past their breakfast. 

He was happy, excited and at his best. 

His end was quick and relatively painless.

Trust me when I say that he would have appreciated the poetry of dying in a dusty corner of the old British Empire.

Or that there would be a twinkle in his eye if he could tell you that he was cremated at a Hindu crematorium under the watchful gaze of Lord Shiva.

He would have been proud to see his two children fly halfway around the world at a moment’s notice, without hesitation or diffidence, to be there for him and our mother at their hour of need.

And he would have commended my sister, also a lawyer, who shouldered the paperwork and bureaucracy needed to expedite his return home. 

But I think Pete would be surprised to see us all here today.

He was nothing if not modest.

He never promoted himself or trumpeted his achievements.

And he certainly would have been too shy to call for a public memorial.

If you asked him about his professional success, the generations of lawyers he trained or the countless young lives he set in motion, he would probably just shrug his shoulders.

A gentle giant, he’d cast his eyes downward, shuffle a little on his feet and say, “Aw yeah. I was just an ordinary bloke, doing my job. Nothing special”.

He was not ordinary, however.

He was himself and that was enough.

CURRICULUM VITAE:

To do justice to my father, let me sketch three things: the outline of his life, the qualities that defined it, and my reflections as his son.

This, then, was his life.

Peter Frederick Rhodes was born in 1948 at St. Theresa’s Hospital in Kowloon City, the first child of George Frederick Rhodes and Patricia Anne Blythe. 

His father escaped rural poverty in England through service in the Grenadier Guards and then as a policeman in Shanghai’s International Settlement. 

His mother came from a Chinese family that rose through colonial society by converting to Christianity and learning English. 

They met in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp in Shanghai, where they were interned during the Second World War. 

When that war ended and the Chinese Civil War resumed, they escaped to the sanctity of Hong Kong, like millions of others, to begin anew.

My grandfather became Head of Security at Wharf, securing a middle-class life for my dad and his younger brother, Michael. 

They grew up between English colonial traditions, Chinese aunts and uncles, and a dizzying constellation of my grandparents’ friends and social events.

In 1956, at the encouragement of one of my grandfather’s Masonic brothers, the family travelled to New Zealand for several months of long leave. 

They must have liked what they saw because in 1958, they sent my dad to Auckland to attend boarding school.

Pete embraced New Zealand and all it had to offer: rugby, mateship and 1960s rock’n’roll. 

He studied hard and performed well, but weak grades in math and the sciences left him with only one viable option for a professional career: the law. 

And so it was at Auckland University Law School that Pete found his metier.

By the time he left New Zealand in 1971, being a Kiwi had become core to his identity. 

He was immensely proud of his Kiwi connection and always wore it on his sleeve. 

He was no longer Peter Rhodes from Hong Kong; he was Peter Rhodes from New Zealand.

He went to Canada on a government scholarship to teach in Manitoba at a time when Canadian Law Schools were expanding and looking for talent. 

By his account, though, his first year was a disaster. 

He received awful reviews from his students. 

Determined that it would never happen again, he knuckled down and taught himself how to teach. 

It was then that Pete found his vocation.

He settled in Saskatchewan, where he met my mother by chance at a New Year’s Eve party in 1973.

The party was organised by the Canadian Naval Reserve and she was the Chief Recruitment Officer.

Besotted, it wasn’t long before my dad answered the call and enlisted, making him perhaps the first man in history to join the Navy for the women.

He earned his tenure in 1977 and in 1978, he married my mother in the backyard of their newly purchased home, a handsome and happy couple, surrounded by friends and family.

Life might have continued in Saskatoon if not for an ad my dad saw calling for legal scholars to join the newly elevated School of Law at Hong Kong University.  

And so, by pure serendipity, in late 1978, Peter Rhodes from Hong Kong and then from New Zealand, came back to Hong Kong.

Of course, Hong Kong was a different place by then. 

‘Reform and Opening’ was underway, and Hong Kong was on the cusp of a historic boom in trade and services. 

It would soon face a reckoning too, as Britain renegotiated the colony’s relationship with Beijing.

In short, Hong Kong was going to need a lot more lawyers.  

That made HKU’s Law School, Hong Kong’s only law school at that time, of central and growing importance.

Pete fit right in. In fact, he excelled. 

In 1982, HKU sent him to Harvard for an LLM, cementing his credentials and the Law School’s international credibility.  

I have my own debt to Harvard: if you do the math, I was born about ten months after my dad graduated.

In 1987, my dad was elected by his peers to be Dean of the recently created Faculty of Law.  

He was just thirty-nine years old, two years younger than I am today.  

He widened who taught and studied the law, gave colleagues room to speak, and stood by them when they ruffled feathers.

My sister was born in 1990, completing our family of four.  

He returned to teaching in 1993 after two terms as Dean, and in 1996 made the bold decision to move our family to New Zealand. 

It was entirely out of character for Pete to leave the security and familiarity of HKU without even a job to go to.  

But he did it, and we followed.

Hong Kong wasn’t done with him, though. 

In 2001, a British law firm tapped my dad to be their regional training manager, essentially making him a teacher to practising lawyers.  

His sojourn in the private sector took him around Asia and even to San Francisco for a year.

When CUHK established its School of Law in 2006, Pete seized the opportunity to come home.  

His role as a Professional Consultant was a perfect fit, allowing him to dedicate himself to teaching and, by pure serendipity again, to coaching the Vis Moot.

He spent almost two decades here and, in spirit, died with his boots on.

Personal Qualities:

Now, how about the man himself?  

During the COVID lockdowns, I asked my parents to complete a ‘Grandparents’ Memoir’ for their firstborn grandchild.  

Pete’s response to one question stood out to me.  

Asked what traits he inherited from his parents, he wrote:  “My father had a great sense of adventure. My mother was stubborn. I guess I became a stubborn person with a great sense of adventure”.

Gregor Mendel would have approved.

There was a wry, playful side to Pete you might have seen once you got to know him.  

He loved a silly hat, a quirky street sign, or an over-the-top slice of Americana, especially if it was sweet and served with ice cream.

He had his rituals, like eating Sachertorte and pork knuckle in Vienna, or a shave and a haircut at his Shanghai Barbershop in TST.  

His favourite pastime was turning on CNN to exercise his moral outrage.

Oddly enough, we never spoke much about his work.  

I have learned more about his career in the last month through your tributes than in a lifetime at home.

What shines through is how he built people as much as he taught arguments. 

He remembered your stories, took pride in your wins and made you feel like you belonged. 

Small acts of kindness became the touchstones of lifelong friendships.

My dad taught the law in plain English. 

The ordinary man on the Shau Kei Wan tram. 

“Justice demands,” with a raised finger. 

“Deep pockets,” with a pat on the trousers. 

He began tutorials with the news of the day and kept the pace steady so everyone could follow. 

He prepared rather than performed.

Pete loved coaching because it multiplied good. 

He called you his Vis Family, deliberately big so more people could be lifted by the experience. 

You’ve spoken of Wednesday nights with drafts marked up, his patience and high standards. 

Or him and Connie celebrating your milestones with a barbecue and carrot cake. 

Pete believed in all of you. 

He lent you his confidence until you found your own. 

That is why you still hear his voice, why you still quote his phrases and why you still stand on his shoulders.

Colleagues saw the same man: honest, modest, organised; the opposite of a grandstander. 

He spoke when it mattered and then he did the work. 

They remember his desk at day’s end, clear of paper. 

That tells you something.

If you measure a life by work, relationships and integrity, my dad did well. 

The secret to his success was simple: he made his achievements your achievements. 

I think that is as high a compliment as one can offer a teacher. 

In Tanzania, when we were bringing him home, a mural caught my eye: “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” 

If my father went far, it is because he went together with you.

My reflections as his son:

My reflections.

It took me thirty-six years to reach the age my dad was when I was born.  

Time and becoming a father myself have helped me see our relationship more clearly. 

People express love in different ways: words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service and physical touch.

For us, his family, it was gifts and acts of service.  We never went without.  We travelled the world.  We were educated well.  We could always count on him in a crisis.

For you, his students, it was quality time.  

We envied that time.

As a child, I don’t remember spending much of it with him.  

His predictable work hours allowed him to play sports most nights and weekends.  

He’d run with friends, come home soaked in sweat and eat dinner in front of the TV. 

I remember trying on his running shoes once for fun.  

They were such big shoes.  

He was such a big man.

Pete idolised his father and his adventures in China.  

My grandfather was his hero, sparking his love of history and faraway lands.

For my dad was a shy man, and he made his best friends in the books he read: the Kings and Generals; Adventurers and Conquerors.  Natural Leaders.  Great Men.  Successful Men.  

Is it any wonder, therefore, that he inspired my sister and me to think so high?  

Is it any surprise that we felt a struggle to live up to him, or to be worthy of his attention?

Books paint two-dimensional portraits.  

Real life is messier, more complex and, in the end, more beautiful for it.  

Greatness comes at a price. 

It’s hard to take your father off the pedestal and see him as a man. 

His care could feel like control.

His consistency could become rigidity. 

He thought he was invincible until he wasn’t.  

But it’s also as a man that I begin to understand my dad’s true strengths.  

His kindness, loyalty, devotion, generosity and patience.  

His love for us.  

Those are the qualities of a real-life, flesh-and-blood Great Man.  

Out of the blue, my eldest son Austen asked me recently about death and dying.  

It made me think about conversations with my dad on this subject.  

He was stoic about what lies ahead for us all. 

He might have answered that we have but this one life, so live it well.

Pete grew nostalgic as he grew older, preferring to relive the adventures of his past.  

Perhaps that was how he accepted his mortality.

I’ve wept imagining his final moments.  

What were they like for him, as that long black cloud came down?  

His last breaths.  His final urges.  

What did you see, Peter Rhodes?  Who did you call out to?  Were you scared?  Was anyone waiting for you?

I hope you found peace.

Concluding thoughts:

Let me conclude by saying what is evident in this room. 

My father’s life is braided with yours. 

He found joy in his work and built communities that lasted. 

The city of Hong Kong and the institutions he served are better for it, but the proof is in you, his colleagues and his students. 

He made you feel seen, he taught you how to carry yourselves and inspired you to excel.

The best way to honour my father is to keep his virtues alive. 

Speak plainly. 

Make room at the table. 

Prepare rather than perform. 

Finish what you start. 

And believe in someone a little earlier than they believe in themselves.

Thank you for standing with us today and for the years you stood with him. 

This is not a farewell. 

Grief does not culminate and disappear. 

We will carry it forever.

Our love for him will not die.