Hungry Ghost Festival

To many tourists and locals, the 7th Month or the Zhong Yuan Jie is probably better known as the Hungry Ghost Festival. But to the local Chinese who observe this traditional customs, it is an important time of the year. On the surface, one would see neighbourhoods, temples, offices, industrial complexes, hotels and malls organising community based offerings for the ancestors (in neighbourhood and temples) and the "Good Brothers", meaning the wandering souls and the "visiting souls".

Because it is almost impossible to translate all Chinese terms (and even for each Chinese dialect, sometime, they defy accurate translations), the English words used here would be loose translations or what is commonly used, even not meaning exactly the same.

In the old days and as much as today, although because of urban renewal, much could not be seen in Chinatown, certain business activities go into overdrive. Chinese traditional products, ranging from joss papers, joss sticks, candles to many paper offerings for the departed (from traditional parcels to iphone lookalikes and even OSIM lookalike chairs) were in big demand. In the Cantonese part of Chinatown (generally speaking), there are at least two traditional shops of such kind, one at Smith St (now better known as Food St) and the other in an HDB flat facing the Tooth Relic Temple. Business is brisk at this time of the year, other than Qing Ming and other minor Chinese traditional events.

Apart from the Cantonese who do their "public" offerings (by the side of the road) on 15th of the 7th Month, the other dialect groups such as Teochew and Hokkien would do it on the first day, 15th and the last day of the 7th month. Food offerings were also made. So, you can imagine that the shops and the wet markets (and supermarkets as well) are also doing brisk business, from fruits to meat (some would buy back to cook while others might just buy ready cooked ones like roast pork, roast chicken and duck), and even Chinese Rice Wine and Tea.

For the organised community based prayers, the organisers would buy them bulk from shops or even supermarkets which have identified this market demand. Supermarkets from Sheng Siong to Carrefour could be seen offering 7th month offerings. Specially prepared forms were prepared for the organisers to tick and place their order according to some set "menu".

In the old days, in a kampong (village) or street, there would be organisers who went round collecting subscriptions for this event. Today it is still happening. Because of the urban renewal and migration of people from different villages, you could see more than one organisers for this 7th month event in the same group of HDB blocks. Interestingly, you might find similar events organised in some faraway HDB estate where the participants are from another part of town or kampong which has become history. But the community spirit and the sense of belonging continues. At least, maybe until the people involved leave this world?

In Chinatown, it is interesting too to note that a number of similar 7th Month celebrations were being organised. There was one organised by the wet market and food stalls, another by the Chinatown Business Association and yet another by the stalls at the Food Street. And as in traditional practice, those shopkeepers who believe would also make offerings from outside their shops.

The bigger organised events might engage the Taoist Priests to conduct rituals. For the temples, they would include a Chao Du (Salvation ritual) for the ancestors of the participants. Some temples might have street wayang (opera) or marionette. Others might have getai (variety show). Getai since the days of Wang Sar Yeh Fong has come a long way and attract thousands of fans. Getais are probably the main medium with which dialects are kept alive, through songs and the skits managed by the MCs. In Chinatown, there could be more Cantonese songs, where others would have more Hokkien songs, bolstered with Mandarin and others that could range from Teochew to Malay! Singers flock from the region, from Indonesia and Malaysia and could be as far as Taiwan, the pace setter in many ways in getais.

In many of such events, there would be the traditional 8-course dinners where participants of the 7th Month prayers - the Hokkien call it Por Tor (Pu Du) - would join. Local leaders such as the MPs are also invited to grace the event. This is an important event where members of the mall or neighbourhood come together to eat, drink and do their bit, getting to know each other better in the process. There would be items raised for auction during such dinners, that sometimes irritate the neighbours who do not appreciate this community event, that helps to provide the funds to manage the next year's event. These days, most people who bid for the auctioned item would pay immediately, whereas in the old days, they have one year to pay, just before the next year's event. The difference in these two changing models must be the economic condition today compared to the past. In the past, especially in the neigbourhood, some might bid in the belief that Por Tor Kong would help them get some money to pay for it when the time comes.

Not in the public would be the remembrance of the ancestors by the Chinese families. In this month, families would offer prayers for their departed. Extended families would gather. Where there are Chao Du in the neighbourhood or temples and the families participated, you can see the extended families come together. In the old days, much of such activities could well be in the home, for some with simple offerings and meal. These days, with better organisation and the lack of time for many, many opt for such activities organised for them. Some families might add more to the offering by bringing the favourite food of their departed.

It was a time when sometimes, grandma would introduce her grandchildren to the departed whom they have not met. It is a time when customs and traditions are reinforced and imprinted onto the young.

While many might think that this is a month that ghosts or spirits roam wild on the streets, it is the month when families remember their roots, it is the month when community comes together - be it in the neighbourhood or the office complex.

Unknown to many, the 15th of the 7th month is when Taoists offer their respect to Di Guan, the official responsible for the Earth Realm. Hence the term Zhong Yuan Jie.

Zhong Yuan Jie can be considered as one of our intangible heritage.

Lee Dai Soh tells a story

Some were amazed that Lee Dai Soh of Rediffusion Cantonese Storytelling fame was going to tell a story. Well, it was only a recording of his storytelling. To those who have heard his stories before, it was like a journey back home in time. To those not old enough to have heard him, it was probably curiosity. In either case, a number flocked to Kwong Wai Siew Li Si She Shut (Lee Clan Association) over the two weekends (21 & 22, and 28 & 29 July 2012) at 3pm to check it out.

Lee Dai Soh, a name he coined himself, was a member of the Li Shi She Shut. His photo hung on the wall of this association was probably better known to his fans and their children and grandchildren. And hence the most appropriate place to listen to his stories. What better place too as this Association has its old world charm with the beautiful old chairs to sit on. We sat by the long table, which was and is still probably being used for the Association's meetings, enjoying Chinese tea with great Cantonese pastries (like the famous Tan-Tart - egg tart - from Tong Heng, one of the heritage shops still standing in Singapore's Chinatown), and listened to the story.

ack: Li Si She Shut

For those of us who have heard his stories before, it was like listening to an old friend again. It was like yesterday, for many. It was like a scene repeated from days gone by, be it the tenants of the house squatting or sitting together to listen to the small Rediffusion box or the men drinking coffee in the local kopi tiam (coffee shop). It was delightful to see how each had his or her own ways of listening to the verbal descriptions and imagining them. Closing one's eyes would be the most probable case although some would be staring blankly into the space.

Where there were different people turning up for each sessions, there were some die-hards who were there on every of the four occasions. In the beginning of each session, the President of the Association, Mr. James Lee, would welcome the visitors in Cantonese and explain a little about the Association. At the end of the Storytelling, when the other participants came for the URA Clan Association Heritage Walk, he would explain in Mandarin the history of the Association.

Listening to the tales told by Lee Dai Soh, in his own style with humour and invitation to his audience to feed back to him, I discovered that much of what was shared in the storytelling was about the history, legends and folk beliefs of China. It is through such stories that our folks of the old days, many of whom were illiterate, learnt and shared with their grandchildren. Do you know why in the Southern Lion Dance, there was that guy with a mask of a monk and a fan? Listen to Lee Dai Soh's story on "Drangon Dance, Lion Dance" (this was told on 28 Jul 12).

It was an interesting four days of storytelling that I attended faithfully, although my comprehension was at best 40%. But it was like a refreshing revision as I suddenly could recall some of the Cantonese words long embedded somewhere in my skull. A friend was so excited listening to the stores, akin like a dehydrated fish finding water. Suddenly one program in her brain was activated and her Cantonese came rushing out.

Many asked if they could buy a CD of Lee Dai Soh's stories. Alas, they could not be found. I hope that there could be some way of making the stories available, be it in CDs or downloadable MP3 so that we could play for our grandparents who might get to listen to them again. It would not be a great business proposition but perhaps, a great heritage initiative. It might be great if Cantonese associations and even Community Centres organise (as they had done in the past) such Storytelling sessions in one of their Audio rooms for the senior citizens. Some local or even foreign storytellers could also be invited to drop by to tell. It could be a fringe or part of the heritage festivals or even Storytelling festivals!

Kudos to Kwong Wai Siew Li Si She Shut, National Heritage Board and URA for the great initiative and collaborations to make this possible for us to experience. Looking forward to repeats with more stories.

Rediffusion Story Tellers

Starting tomorrow, 21 Jul 12, with the Heritage Fest, at the Kwong Wai Siew Li Si She Shut Clan Association, 25 Ann Siang Road, over two weekends, many people will get a chance to listen to Lee Dai Soh's tales. For the young, it would be a chance to hear what their grandparents used to enjoy when there was no TV and even radios were rare. For the older, it was like being transported back to the old days.


What better place to have this event than at the Li Shi She Shut Clan Association where Lee Dai Soh was a member. Go and spot his photograph, lined amongst the many elders of the Lee Clan.


When I was very young, being a Hokkien, I was not conversant with Cantonese. But sitting and listening to the Rediffusion was one way to pass the time, especially, sitting with the old ladies and men. By and by, some words would get into the head.


I always remember that very familiar sound in such a warm tone starting his session in the Rediffusion, "Cham Mun gor de kong tho ... " (Last night we were saying till ...). Somehow, when the time was almost up, he would be able to end with us all hanging "on the cliff" furious that we would have to wait for another 24 hours to know what happened. I remember that it was a daily programme of about 45 minutes (or was it less?) during the weekday.

From a pack of CDs of Lee Dai Soh's stories

Rediffusion has a few storytellers who had their faithful followers. There were Ong Toh, the Hokkien storyteller, again, with his own familiar tones, somewhat higher than that of Lee Dai Soh. And there was Ng Chia Keng, the Teochew storyteller. And a couple more (if you can remember, please add to the comments. (^^) )

For me, faithfully, every night, at about 9pm (or slightly earlier?) I would sit on the ground in the open air-well in the middle of the "pre-war" house, where I grew up, feeling the cold damp ground (of granite) while my grandma would sit on a chair with the landlady (a very strict Peranakan Matriarch), all listening intently to the story. Most of the stories would be gongfu stories.


I remember that there were also some erotic parts, described in such a nice way that would leave everyone to his or her imagination. One particular that I could remember goes like this, "Chew jit eh yet, huay jit eh sit, .. " (with a wave of a hand, the light went out ...) During those times, we could not ask the old ladies what happened then? (^^) Children were meant to be seen and not heard.


In those days, for me, in the 50s, storytelling was a favourite programme for many. In the wet and dirty market place off Craig Rd, in the night, benches would appear, lining around a small table (made from boxes). On the table was a tin converted into a lamp with a chimney like tube going up from the cover. This tin was probably made from used Ovaltine tins, a popular beverage then. This was the carbide lamp, where pouring water into the tin of carbides would create a flammable gas. So with a match stick, the end of the tube will light, providing quite a good light, at least good enough for the storyteller to read from his book.

Most the people, I think all men, probably the coolies ending the hard day sitting, somewhat more like squatting on the bench, would gather around the storyteller. I did not get near to watch or listen but was told that they would have a joss-stick lit just before the story telling. The listeners would pay (5 cents or was it 10 cents) for the length of the story determined by the burning joss-stick. I suppose if there was a draft, that joss -stick was going to burn out faster. (^^)

In the early 60s, when there were still storytellers around, I remembered seeing community centres providing such storytelling sessions to the old men who would gather there. The storyteller would probably have to compete against other distractions especially in terms of noise that he would have  a very primitive loudspeaker with a microphone to work with.

The last time I came across a storyteller was a couple of years back when a chain selling "Pau" (dumplings) invited a Hokkien storyteller from Xiamen to come to tell stories. Alas, I could only attend one of his sessions before he had to rushed home on some domestic emergencies (we were told). He was explaining, as part of the storytelling, the Hokkien idioms and the differences in the way of pronounciations of the Hokkiens from Xiamen (Amoy), Zhangzhou and Quanzhou. Imagine pigs being call Ti, Tu, Ter. I cannot remember which is from which area now.

For the experience, register for a session in the heritagefest website. Chinatown Visitor Centre is also having an exhibition of Lee Dai Soh's storytelling.

Tell me your experience, or what your granny told you. (^^)

Beer on the rocks, anyone?

Last night I was at a dinner in a local kopi-tiam style restaurant serving duck rice. While some of us had lime juice (which I believed started off with the famed Singapore signature dish, Fish Head Curry, and has been with this Duck Rice for quite a decade or two), home-made barley, two opted for beer. This lady, speaking only Teochew with a spatter of Mandarin brought a bottle of ice-cold Tiger Beer and two mugs with ice inside. My friend looked in horror. "Where got drink beer with ice?"

And so I started my story that before she was born, we (I mean the older folks) used to drink beer with ice. Why? Well, for one, there weren't much refrigerator in the local coffeeshops, home too. It was a luxury. And so, pouring beer onto a mug of ice seemed a logical solution. I think the habit went on right into the 70s and possibly till 90s. For some, habits die hard.

In the old days, the old men might gather at the local coffee shops to have a beer or two, or more if they have a gathering of neighbours or friends. But although beer was cheap them, it was still a luxury item. For some who like to start with beer and probably get into something heavier, like the popular "sa tiam chi" (Three Stars Brandy), they would go into a bar which had shelves of all kinds of hard liquor.

I remembered helping my maternal grandma in her kopitiam. Selling beer or stout was regular. I found out then that there was this stout that they called "Ohr Kao" (Black Dog), which was popular with the tough looking guys. Interestingly, if I took the bottle caps and put in a bowl of warm water, the Alsatian on the cap came off. It was a sticker. Beneath it, if my memory holds, was the Guiness Harp (?) drawing. There were also similar bottles with the bulldog. For some reasons, the men preferred this warm. No ice!

Drinking beer or stout in the local coffeeshops seemed to be isolated in the old days. Many of the older folks would take them with a plate of duck necks, wings and legs, and even the "bishop's nose" (as they called). Nothing like chewing on these bony parts of the duck and downing with beer or stout.

In the past couple of years (or more?), with the aggressive promotion of the beer and stout companies, with the promotion girls (from young ones to aunties), going to the neighbourhood coffeeshops, the number of people drinking beer and stout in the coffeeshops seem to be more visible, and in certain places, very visible!

Walking into the hawker centre in Chinatown in the afternoon and evening is like walking into a hive of many bees. Given the built of the place that was designed more for "eat and go", the low hum of the place with the old folks drinking and chatting, with their mugs filled almost as instantly by the beer girls serving the different coffee stalls turned bar, it was a vibration not for everyone. But for the drinkers, they did not seem to notice it. Almost every table in the general eating area would have a pail or two of ice to keep the beer cool. No more ice for beer? Apparently not. Beer of many kinds could be seen. Some relatively unknown. I could not help that if more people were drinking, could we overtake the Germans in per-capita consumption of beer. Unlikely, but this was a big evolution in Singapore, given what I am exposed to.

First there were men drinking. Now I see the occasional tables with women joining in. Even those selling and serving (are there free lance servers?) have to be good drinkers as they would be offered a mug or two. Reminded me of the time when I was in China where in the private dining rooms, the girl serving the meals would also have to be good drinkers. The host would get them to do the toast to encourage the guests to down their drinks. Not beer but more of the fiery Bai Jiu category.

I missed the corner coffeeshop at Sago Lane from which I could get a bottle of Weiss Bier and walk over to the Wurstelstand (Sausage Stand) to enjoy a Bratwurst or two. Beer drinking has also changed over time, from the typical Lager to more exciting imports from Japan (I remember I liked the Asahi Super Dry) to the German Weiss Bier. Oktoberfest has also arrived in Singapore.

Would it be retro and hip to offer a mug of Beer on the Rocks? Anyone?

My neighbour left without bidding goodbye

I have not seen him for days, actually weeks. In our busy lives, the chance meeting is always at the lift landing or inside the lift. There's no common gathering place like the local kopi-tiam. Yes, there are kopi-tiams but these are more commercials than for the local residents for the sitting together to "liao-tian" (chat).

We are living in a vertical village, if you like. A late friend, not from Singapore, once lamented about his days here. He said that his children tried going from floor to floor to inform them of their living in that block and trying to make contacts. It was a challenge. Chances of anyone noticing a new neighbour would be almost nil, save two doors away from each side if you live in those flats with common corridors.

The area where our postal mailboxes are is also linked to a little pavilion that was carved out in the last upgrading. This is the place where, sometimes, funeral wakes are held. To the Chinese, one should die in the house. In these days, it is difficult. For one, it is difficult to put anyone in a coffin and carry the coffin down from the apartment down the lift. Even in cases when one died in the apartment, carrying the body down the lift to a place downstairs was already a challenge.

While modern Singaporean Chinese might be less likely to worry about seeing people in mourning clothes, many still do not feel good. Traditionally, the bereaved family would make it a point to paste a square red paper on every lift landing. Kind of informing the neighbours and warding off the negative elements, I suppose.

In my apartment block, where most of the older residents were relocated from the Teochew area of Chinatown (from Ellenborough market to Teochew St) and Cantonese areas as well (around Taofu kai (Upper Chin Chew St) area), it is not uncommon to listen to the music and "singing" of funeral rituals based on Teochew and Cantonese Taoist rituals. To the older residents, who might understand the singing, and it being a "sad" rendition, reminding them that their time could well be soon, it was also soothing to hear such music that were not dissimilar to those of the Teochew and Cantonese operas. Occasionally, there were Buddhist chants.

These days, funeral wakes are mostly held for 3 days. In the small space, high costs, small families and everyone busy earning a living, 3 days are already a challenge for a funeral wake. But at least, it is long enough for relatives and old friends to make it to pay their last respect. The counting of the day starts from the day of the death (from midnight, it is counted as a day) and the funeral being the third day. So, in effect, there is only a full day.

Imagine to my shock when I learned that my neighbour - whom I only get to meet on the lift landing or inside the lift, and he trying to speak in this heavily Cantonese accented Mandarin, and I trying to speak in Hokkien-Cantonese) - had passed away. His funeral was at the little pavilion downstairs. I used to make it a point to check out the funeral when there is one and I was around there to pick up mail. But I missed this one.

And so, one less familiar face, someone to greet and chat in the lift amidst strangers. To him, I can only bid him farewell here. "Wherever you are, po-zhong!" (Po-zhong is take care in Cantonese).

Recycling & a means to survive

Long long ago in Singapore, as one can see as well in many parts of the world, it was more a means of survival than recycling. But indeed, it was and is also recycling. Amongst many things that could be recycled, one is the cardboards used for cardboard boxes which are growing exponentially. To most shops, after taking out the contents from the boxes, they are of no use. And so they throw them away.

In the old days, it was cardboards, newspapers, magazines and any paper products that one could rummage from the garbage bins to put them together and sell to agents who bought them and resell them to the recycling companies. These people, mostly those who were illiterate and might not have the means to carry out normal work, could earn a small income using their strength and efforts as their investment. And there were also the karang-guni men who were more entrepreneur who would go from house to house crying out loudly (could well be one of the best baritone or bass!) "Kaaarrraaaang Guuu ni", followed by more offerings like they are buying all kinds of things from newspaper to spoilt TVs. They all knew where to resell what they bought from these households at a pittance. For us kids, we would be thrilled to be able to sell our read newspapers at 10 cents per kati. Somehow, the Chinese papers were bought at cheaper rate than the English papers. Almost anything can be sold, and so, we didn't throw them away.

Besides, certain bottles could be sold too. There were different prices for coloured bottles and no-coloured bottles. From the friendly neighbourhood sundry shop (we call Ket-Ai in Hokkien), they would offer something like 5 cents for a beer bottle returned.  I still saw this practice in Europe some years ago. I have not come across this in Singapore these days. Karang-guni men are also becoming more selective and do not want to carry such heavy stuff that they could probably sell for a small amount. Interestingly, these days, there are people who want to buy very old liquor, of which we might have considered as too old to consume.

There are also active recycling movements which work with the big recycling companies to go from door to door to collect recyclable materials for free - either ways. To the residents these days, it was great for anyone to pick up from their doorsteps a particular day each week. To the volunteers or recycling companies, this is free and so, they probably have more to profit from. But what many might not know is that there are still people who survive through collecting such items to sell to the recycling company, bringing back some money to feed the family.

While it is rare these days, there still are such people who probably only know this trade and it keeps them alive, perhaps, on top of any aid that they might receive. In the old days, these people, doing such work could raise a family. I met an old man who would collect what was thrown away within the block of flats and patiently cart them to sell. Through such efforts he has raised his family. One day, he even proudly told me that he had a son who was doing his PhD. Alas, after I met him once with a domestic help after he had suffered a stroke (probably his children were already working and taking care of him, but then, old habits die hard), I never saw him again.

There was also another man, who probably is now in his late 70s or 80s, who still carry on this "trade". In his typical blue shirt and pants (like those one could remember seeing in the 50s of the Tng-Sua (Tang Shan) Ah Pek) and his hat (which was fashionable in the 50s and almost gone by now), he would walked the corridors of the flats to pick up what was thrown away. A few of us would offer him to come and collect our read newspapers. He was so grateful that each them he meets me, his first words would be "Kamsiah". And then, the typical Chinese greetings of yesteryears, "Jia Ba Buay?" (Have you eaten enough?). I still meet him in the lift, but his movements have been somewhat slow these days. He has become almost deaf. A full suntanned man - the skin showed - this man has seen the growing part of Singapore.

Today, there is another interesting trend in such "recycling". Collecting used cans from can-drinks became another "business". One could see locals and foreigners involved too. And another interesting demands seem to be the pulling tab of the cans. It is said that these tabs could be melted to make artificial limbs.

In Chinatown where there are various retail businesses, where the products come in cardboard boxes, the amount of such boxes being thrown away is big. There was a silent symbiosis being evolved where a few old men (and there was an old lady too, but I have not seen her for months) would wait patiently for the shops to throw the boxes away. You have thought that the shopkeepers would make a mess out of the common corridors. No, these old men would patiently clear whatever rubbish there were (such as plastic sheets) and put them into a rubbish bin, and then, flatten these boxes. One by one they worked. On a good day, there were loads. All neatly arranged, tied and packed. Waiting for the next morning to be carted to the "centre" somewhere in Chinatown to be sold.

As in business, there could be pilferage when the goods are left alone. And so, many months ago, I would find this old lady (who used to mumble to herself as she packed the cardboards) sleeping on the pile of cardboards. Each time, a quick thought would flash across my mind if she was still alive. I watched for sign of live, and then, walked on.

From time to time, one would see the old men or ladies pushing heavy make-shift carts to carry their collections to the "centre". Once I found one old lady who was fuming mad and scolding this young lady who was working in a pub. That old lady tried her best to speak in Cantonese with Mandarin while the young lady replied in Mandarin that the van that block her way (from a backlane) was not from her pub. A few of us passer-by tried to help but it did not bring her temper down. She kept complaing, "I need to bring this to the place and I have not had my meal!" It was already 1pm. And so, the few of us tried to check out the shops around there who had parked the van there, and well, illegally too. Finally, another young lady appeared and was apologising profusely in English. Ah, nothing is going to please this old lady until her cart could move on. Two of us helped her to push up a slight hump onto the road. The load on her cart was very heavy!

Muttering to herself, she moved painfully on. We stood, looked, probably sighing within ourselves, and parted.

Coke with Salt, anyone?

Somehow I have already forgotten about this way of drinking the Coke or Sarsi. But, recently, a young friend (well in his 30s I think) joined me for lunch. And he asked for Coca Cola with salt on the ice. Huh? I thought this practice was extinct! But the fact that the kopi tiam (coffee shop) or kopi tua (coffee stall) could come up with a salt shaker (way more hygienic than the old salt in a Brands' Essence bottle with a small plastic spoon) shows that it is still very much alive, except that its users might have gone "underground". In the past, it would have been very usual to see a bottle of salt on every table.

Many people believe that Coca Cola or Sarsi with salt will "cool" down the body. If you believe or subscribe to the theory of yin and yang and what is "heaty" and what is "cooling" you might be able to follow this belief or practice. And so, on a hot and humid day, nothing beats a glass of Coke with salt in it!

In my young days, I love to watch the reactions of the glass of Coke or Sarsi as I started sprinkling the salt into it. Nothing like the bubbles and fountains of Coke or Sarsi hitting your face as you attempt to drink. If you have never tried this, go give it a try. Nothing great not serious, but could be a novelty, just like eating ice cream with salt in Okinawa.

What else is missing in the modern kopi tiam? Ever seen the old man dropping a slab of Cold Storage Butter (they would ask for "col-storee gu yew") into a cup of kopi-O? Kopi-O is coffee black.

Rickshaw Noodles aka "Kan Chia Mee" or La Che Mian 拉车面

In Hokkien, this is called the "Kan Chia Mee" which means the "pull-vehicle-noodles" or in Chinese La Che Mian 拉车面.

This is a very simple noodle soup prepared and served where ordered (not the usual cook upon order noodles) and hence has thicker gravy and a more tangy taste because of the contents of the yellow noodles.

I suppose it must have been the cheap and easy to eat meal for the rickshaw pullers in the old days. When I asked the lady of this stall at Maxwell Market Food Centre (I wonder if this could well be the only heritage foodstall selling a dish of this kind) how long her stall has been operating. She answered, "60+ years", and without much of a pause, "since 1943". As there was a steady (not heavy) flow of customers, I could not engage her with more questions. She is also selling the mee-sua, another Hokkien cuisine. And I was told that her fried beehoon (rice vermicelli) is very good. There are also other typical southern Chinese breakfast food such as the yam-cake.

I guess, in the 40s, a bowl of the kan-chia-mee must have costed less than 5 cents. (^^). In the 50s, it was in that range. I heard from wife that in the 80s, it was 50 cents a bowl (from this stall) and when I tried it yesterday, it was 80 cents. Not much but good to keep the tummy from growling.

I know that in some temples, where there is an event, the kan-chia-mee is still one of the dishes being served. For convenience, it could be cooked in a big pot and served throughout the day. For many of the older folks, it was a nostalgic trip and they ate with relish.

In Maxwell Market Food Centre, there are many foodstalls that started life in the old Hokkien part of Chinatown. This Kan-Chia-Mee stall was from China Street. During the urban renewal, many of the foodstall in the Hokkien part of Chinatown - China St, Nanjing St and Kiao-Keng-Kao (Outside the Gambler's Den as translated literally) moved to this vegetable market turned food centre. As part of its continuity, (in the old days, there were hardly any names for any of these stalls), the signage at Maxwell Market Food Centre would indicate that that particular stall was from China St or Nanking St. You can do a food heritage journey through these stalls here.

Would the kan-chia-mee be one of the soon-to-be-disappeared food? Like the rickshaw pullers? (^^) Take a look, take a taste ... and get the taste of the lives that some of our forefathers have gone through.

Postscript:
Thanks to James Seah for the lead and National Archives Singapore (NAS), here is a better image of what a kan-chia or rickshaw puller is like.

Those kerosene lamps

On this Sunday evening when wife and daughter decided on a meaty Bak Kut Teh, and well, there are Bak Kut Teh, and Bak Kut Teh, daughter decided on the "young" establishment of Song Fa Bak Kut Teh. This is another classical example of how a typical Bak Kut Teh stall has been transformed into a successful business by the next generation. OK la, the contents are almost the same, only the ambience is different. Well, it has the look and almost the feel, but not the smell. It was cool some more.

But it was the lamps on the wall that brought me back to my young days. It is now retro and hip infact for restaurants to make their places look retro. For me, and probably for those senior citizens, these lamps would bring back memories - fond or otherwise. And I am sure, it will trigger many a granny to share the tales to their grandchildren. Imagine the scholar who studied with the tiny light from this kerosene lamp.

When I was young, before I moved to an HDB flat, I was staying in a so-called pre-war house in this place known as Turn-Tiam-Hung. Compared to these days, the rent was, well, affordable. Our room (with the extended family all sleeping together) was reasonably big to take nine persons, unlike those smaller cubicles in the heart of Gnau-Chair-Sui. But the Bibik (whom we kids had to call her Ko-po - grandaunt) was a strict matriarch. We, the tenants were also like part of her extended family) was very much concerned about expenditure, since we only paid for the rent and that included light and water and well, the bucket system. And so, each night, at 11pm sharp, she or her eldest son would switch off the lights. Only a few tiny lights along the staircase were lit to allow us to find our way to our rooms.

When we were very young, we were terrified of the dark, not to mention the calls of the cats, fighting or mating on the tile roof which was just above our room. And so, we tried to get to sleep by 10pm. You can imagine the importance of the spittoon as many of us, especially kids, would not want to venture downstairs to the toilet. And so, each night, before 11pm struck, Grandma or Ma would light up the kerosene lamp.

The lamp would be hung on a wall. The light was just enough for us to figure out the forms lying on the floor so that we don't step on them if we need to use the spittoon. If anyone of us needs to find something, we would have to carry the lamp. And in the rare occasions when we had to study, well, that was our source of comfort.

In the days when we had to wake up early, like 5am, to get ready to go to school, it was the lamp that would help me to change and get into my school uniform.

Ah the days ... I could still remember the smell of the kerosene being burned as the light flickered in the occasional breeze. I wondered how I survived the hot dark nights.

Chinatown Buskers

Long long ago, there were buskers, but not the type that we know today. Or maybe, they are not buskers that we know today. It was in 1959, when I was in Primary One, when my "driver" (you would have thought that this was like my chauffeur, but no) whom my Mum paid to fetch me to school - it was Tanglin Boys' School and I was living in Turn Tiam Hung (Pawnshop Alley, Craig Rd) and in those days, apart from trying to ride the wild wild east buses, getting a car that went round putting all the kids into one Morris Minor (like chickens in a coop) was the other option - brought me with other kids to the show on ice in Happy World (I think that was the name before it became Gay World and then, disappeared with the change of the meaning of the word) followed by supper in the open air People's Park. That was the time when I saw this lady, or was it girl, who would put some sweets and dried kanna (Chinese olives) on the table and proceeded to sing. I was not sure if anyone paid.

And there was the lonely old men, some were blind, sitting by the corner of a street playing his erhu producing mournful sounds and singing equally mournful songs.

Those were the pre-licensed days. These days, buskers have to be "licensed" to perform, as I understand.

Long gone were the singers of yesteryears. For a while, there were no street entertainers in the streets of Chinatown. Not even the koyok man (street pedlars and performers who would use drums and gongs to welcome the onlookers like Ah Hia, Ah Chek in Hokkien, followed quickly by his assistant in Cantonese like Ah Kor, Ah Jie, each accompanied with a hit on the gong). There might be one or two "medicine man" demonstrating his prowess in gongfu and selling the traditional Chinese oil for rubbing tired muscles in some of the fairs organised.



Interestingly, with the onslaught of Karaoke (Empty Orchestra in Japanese - my first encounter was in a fair in Tokyo in 1976), many people discovered their talents. No more bathroom singing. Many took to singing like fish to water. Be it the popular songs or even the Cantonese Opera. One could sing with just a tape or now, a  DVD. While many youngsters in the western world or even in Japan might perform with their musical instruments, a number of the older folks started lugging their small Singapore made DVD player with a small amplier and a loudspeaker to a good spot to sing. Soon, like honey to bees, old folks gathered to sit and listen to the crooning of the songs sung in their young days.I was tempted to go by these folks to ask, "A penny for your thoughts." I am sure, many must be reminiscing about the old days, good or bad, happy or sad. Perhaps, I could scan with my video camera to catch the facial expressions that might have inadvertently been released as the person gets deep into thoughts with the journey in time.



While some old men, and even old ladies, would join in as a group singing, there is also another group that entertain the older folks. The ladies were singing to the delight of the old men, and they even invited them to come forward to do a duet. The bolder men would join in doing some dances that were probably their signature movements of the younger days.



And so, if you are feeling bored, on a not too hot and humid evening, you could park yourself by some of these spots in Chinatown to enjoy the songs of time gone by. Reminisce or explore, depending on your age and experience. (^^)