My rememberance of my grandmother

In the attap house of ours (in the 50s and 60s), there were two rooms and a hall. A big kitchen was attached to the left of my parent’s bedroom. A low sliding door opened out from my parents’ room to the kitchen. My grandmother and us siblings shared the other room to the right of the hall. When I was about eight years old, my brothers and sisters and grandma shared a huge corrugated iron bed. In that tropical humid climate, mosquitoes were well in abundance. At night it was not possible to sleep without the mosquito net on. Our bed had four high bedposts to fix mosquito nets. Every night, before we got on to bed, my grandma would religiously put down the mosquito net, get a used red candle, lit it up and searched for mosquitoes that were trapped in the net. Whenever she spotted one, she would bring the flame near and torch it. The scorched mosquito would fall on the bed. Sometimes it was not fatally injured and would still struggle to move away. A quick press by our fingers flattened it on the bed mat leaving a stain on it. Sometimes, the flame leapt onto the net. As quick as lightning she would quash the flame with her fingers. To us, it seemed she was a very brave lady who was not afraid of fire. If the flame proved too much, she would sweep the flame with her hands in double quick time. The flame was wiped out, leaving behind a burnt hole on the net. After ‘burning’ the mosquitoes, all of us would lay on the bed to sleep. Grandma would lay down last as she would sleep at the edge. She prevented us from falling down the bed which was about a metre high. Sometimes she would ask me about my schoolwork. She would ask me to recite what I learnt in school. Well, I did – even if she did not know English – Nursery Rhymes, Multiplication Tables, School Children’s songs etc. She had shown that she took interest in what I learnt at school. That was the wonderful part of Grandma. As the bed was crowded, she would protest that we tossed and turned and sometimes kicked her in the midst of our nightmares. As I was the oldest boy in the family, naturally I was the first to do many things with my grandma. My elder sister, Hong Game, had her fair share of her experiences with grandma but those were of different nature. The adults believed that girls once grew up would be married and she would belong to another family. Girls were not sent to school. Furthermore, girls at that time needed to pay school fees, but not the boys. They claimed that they did not have the money to send the girls to school. This was later regretted very much by my parents. Grandma enrolled me in Bedok Boys’ School. Grandma was a very principled, modest and thrifty lady. He taught us not to boast of what we had and what we knew. Anything we needed to conserve, we must conserve. We must not let things go to waste. Whenever, she saw water gushing out from a public standpipe, she would rush forward to turn it off. When some of the kampong folks were washing their clothes at the same time left the water running, she would chide them for doing so. Usually the guilty ones would retort, ’It’s not your water. Why are you worried?’ Or ’If I don’t waste the water, others will waste it.’ Whenever she encountered such people, she would relate to us and exhort us never to emulate such selfish people. She would never allow us to spend money unnecessarily. Things that were of no use – we shouldn’t buy. Things that did not belong to us, we shouldn’t take them. “Once you have eaten your fill, don’t stuff in more, get away from the table,” she always advised after our meals. When it came to spending, she had this to say, “When you need to spend on necessary things, even ten dollars you need to spend. When you need to save, even one cent you need to save.” With her years of experienced in farming, in our farm, nothing had gone to waste. The excreta, urine and dung were used as fertiliser for the plants. The dried weeds were burnt and the ash was used as a fertiliser too. The discarded insect-infested leaves of the vegetables were fed to the pigs and poultry. One day, she asked my father to prepare a few earthen pots, (those that used for conveying salted vegetables from China). He was to wash and clean them thoroughly. She went to Chai Chee provision shop to buy big packets of salt and black beans. Then she mixed them up with some water in the earthen pot and covered them up. They were to be put in conspicuous place behind our house in the open air. We children were not allowed to go near as she did not want us to spill negative thoughts unconsciously. They were placed there for a long time. At times she would open them up and taste the content. She gave me a taste of it. It was salty just like those from Amoy salted black bean can. Not long after that, we had meals prepared from the contents in the jar. We had black soy sauce and salted beans to add to our dishes. When our papaya trees were blown down by storms, we collected the fallen fruit, and she salted them too. She did the same with our Mdm Ong Ka’s (our closest neighbour’s) star fruit. Sometimes she used vegetables like chye sim, added some salt to it and dried them in the hot sun. It was used as a flavour to other dishes. There was once my grandma and my parents bought some glutinous rice, cooked it and then mixed it with yeast. After that they stored the mixture in a jar. They closed the jar tightly for a long time. All the time while they were making, they told us to keep away and not to say anything. They themselves also kept very silent about it. About a month after that, they took out the jar and slowly opened it. A very strong smell emanated from it. They said it was fragrance. My grandma dipped her fore finger into the jar and then licked it. She nodded and told my parents, “Successful!” Each of them drank a little of it. I dared not drink. But I took a little of while soft solid. It tasted quite nice a little sweet and a little sour. After that they empty to jar into clean bottles and corked them up. A few days later, Hong Bian’s (my younger brother’s) complained that his buttock was painful. Upon examining it, true enough, the skin was red with pus and both of the buttocks were affected. My grandma at once said that he must be drinking the content of one of the bottles that they filled. She took the bottle that was opened poured out a little of the liquid and applied on the affected parts. Slowly, the skin dried up and then healed. She said he was allergic to rice wine. She told us that in whatever we wished to do, we needed to think positive. That was why when they were fermenting, baking, salting, cooking etc, we needed to keep very quiet and concentrate on our work. Nobody was allowed to say anything inauspicious, or else what they were doing would not be successful. We children would not believe so, but were obligated to agree and then walked away. Later in adult life, we found that what she said was true. In those days, almost everything at home was recycled and reused. Discarded metal parts, empty tins and bottles, discarded clothing and even duck feathers were collected. Someone would come and buy from us the duck feathers which could be processed into twill cloth. Old clothing was collected and sold to a vendor who would then supply them to ship repairers for soaking up oil spills. Metal objects were sold to a scrapped metal collector who would come in a lorry. He weighed them using a huge daching. He paid us by the weight of the metal we collected. Sometimes a ‘jarong’ man would bring his ware to sell. He would spread his cloth, needles, thread, feather duster, moth balls etc on a cloth on the ground for us to pick and choose. The temptation to buy many things from him was great but it was always controlled by grandma who held the purse string. In Hokkien it was - ’huah kay shi’ On certain afternoons, a man named Pek Sian Thoo, would come. He would buy from us odd farm produce - like lang gua - a species of ginger or even simpoh leaves - a type of broad leaves for packaging food. When he came, we would rush to the hills to collect whatever he wanted. He would then pay us a few cents for our efforts. My grandma was a very resourceful lady. Once she rented a place along Changi 8 ½ ms – on the opposite side of T-junction of Tanah Merah Kechil Road. It was on the fringe of a rambutan estate. On the left of the rambutan estate was big field of lallang grass. My parents used to call that place ‘Pineapple Estate’ or ’Ong Lai Hng’ in Hokkien. I did not know why. Most likely pineapples were planted there before the rambutan trees were planted. I remembered once my mother had to pay Grandma a visit at that place. It was drizzling. My mother was carrying my brother in her arms and I was trying to catch up with her to get into the shelter of the umbrella. Then we saw Grandma sitting at the doorway of an attap hut. She was weaving little protective sleeves out of lallang leaves. The sleeves were to cushion wine bottles from damage during transportation. At other times she and Mdm Ong Ka would collect the stiff tough twines of certain twining plants. They cut off the twigs, folded the stems with the two ends protruded out like a huge writing brush. They used split rattan bark to make regular patterned rattan rings to fasten the handles. The rattan rings were so beautifully done and I always admired their skills in making them. What a waste. I did not learn from them how they weaved them. A brush for washing the huge Chinese wok was made. One afternoon, I saw her holding some pieces of ‘gunny’ strings. Then she sat down on a low stool and rolled up her pants exposing her right thigh. She placed three strings 3 cm apart parallel to each other on her right thigh. Then with her right palm she pressed down the 3 strings. With a forceful forward push, the three strings rolled forward. Then with a quick backward pull of her palm, the three strings were beautifully braided into one and was well done too. I tried my hands at it. At first it was clumsy, but after a few tries I made it. I really marveled how she got the idea to do it. Today’s women spend a huge sum of money getting professionals to get facial massage. Those days my grandmother did that for my mother. Once, I saw my mother sitting on a stool outside the house. She was powdering on my mother’s face with the powder from a colourful square box, side about 2 in and a height of 1 inch. On the cover of the box was a picture of a beautiful lady. With delft fingers she pushed and pulled the two lengths of thread held taut by her fingers on my mother’s face. After a few pushes and pulls of the thread, my mother’s face looked radiant. She called it ’Bun Bin Mng’ in Hokkein or Pulling of Facial Hair in lateral translation. Few people would ever think of what a lady of those days would do. My grandmother with her years of experience in farming – both vegetables and livestocks would do just that. When the our pigs had shown signs of sexual desire, a date would be set to castrate the boars. My father would prepare the anti-septic. He would scrap out some ash from the kitchen pots and woks. Then he added camphor (Cheor Lor In Hokkien dialect) which he bought from one of the shops in Chai Chee. He mixed it up with kerosene. Then he stirred the mixture thoroughly. The day for castration came. My father would get hold of a boar, draped its body with a gunny sack. Then he pulled it up by the hind legs. He then sat on a stool with his thigh gripping on the boar’s torso. His two hands held up the two hind legs, spread it wide to show the two testicles. My grandma would wash the testicles, then pressed one of them tight. She took out a NACET razor blade and made a slit on the skin covering the testicle. The pig would squeal and struggle. With the gunny sack over the pig, there was no danger that the pig would bite my father or the boar would wriggle off. After making the slit on the skin, she pressed out the dissected testicle. Then she made for the second one. After both of the testicles were removed she stitched the laceration up. Then anti-septic preparation was applied on the wound. The operation was done. My father returned the neutered boar to its fold. This was done for all the boars in that group. As for the sows, an appointment had to be made with a specialist. This specialist would tie up all the sows on a long stout pole on the ground revealing the part where the ovaries were. Then, he washed the skin where the laceration should be. With a skilful slit using his surgical knife, he had punctured a hole on the abdomen where the ovaries were. Then he pushed his pointing finger into the hole to feel for one of the two ovaries. When he had felt it, he used the other end of the surgical knife, which was a hook. He hooked up the first ovary and detached it with his knife. Then he went for the second ovary. When both were done, he stitched up the laceration. Then anti-septic preparation which my father had used for the castration of the male pig was applied. It was then untied and removed to the sty. He would move to neuter the second one and so on until all sows were done. He was paid by the number of sows he neutered. As for my grandma, she herself had never been to school. But the way one conversed with her, one would think that she was a highly educated lady. Whenever she was with another adult, we were not to go near them. She considered it rude to listen to adult conversation. Up till today, I still believe she was right. What do children know? Sometimes we adult needs to present arguments bending in our favour but should a child come to know about it, he may just spill the beans, leaving us embarrassed. Whenever, there were visitors, we were told to address and greet them in the proper order of seniority. Then when drinks or food were served to them, we were taught the proper ways of doing – using both hands to serve and receive. When talking to elders, we must observe the proper manners like keeping still and spoke in clear correct language. When it came to eating at table, we were taught the correct way of handling the spoon, the chopsticks and the bowl. We must never point the chopsticks at anybody or even poke them standing on a bowl of rice. We must let them rest on the bowl with the front tapering end pointing forward. When using a pair of chopsticks one must not hold it too near the picking ends or too far away. We must never use the chopsticks for other purposes. After washing they must be put in chopsticks holder with the picking ends upright. While eating, proper protocol must be observed. No talking but to concentrate on what we were eating. Hold the utensils with care – never let them knock against each other. We must never pick the final piece of food on the dish. Always leave for someone who needs it most. After having eating our fair share, we must quietly leave the table carrying the eating utensils with us to be deposited in the container for the purpose. Whenever we met people who were more senior than us we must always greet them with the proper greetings and with a bow. Whenever we want to give and receive something we must do it using both hands as well as words of appreciation. If things were done improperly, she would instantly ask us to do it the correct way. To me she was always my wise granny. Seeing the healthy children of the sixties, she had all praise for the health care services. Clinics and government dispensaries were built within reach and the fees were affordable. She would compare the health care of her own era and the sixties and commented that infant mortality was seldom heard off. It was 1970. Her saddest moment was when she found out my uncle had died. She cried days and night at the same time exhorting Buddha to take her away before my uncle. She went without food or drink. Our whole family kept the sadness in our hearts and did not what to do. Everyone did our share of the farm work in silence as the farm work could not be neglected. By and by she returned to her normal self but her body was rather frail. Then she was bedridden for a while as she had fractured one of her legs. Well, she lived to a ripe old age of 90. She died on 25 June 1972. While dying, my sisters and I were with her. She groaned a few times that she was dying, then her breathing became slower and slower and finally she kept very still. Dr Lee Kim Hwee from Kampong Chai Chee was summoned. She told me that grandma had gone. He put the stethoscope on my ears to heart her heart beat. It was silent. Although she was gone, her spirit still lives in our hearts. Every year we have an observance ceremony at the Heong Lian See Temple in Koon Seng Road where her tablet is and we had remembrance ceremony on Ching Ming every year at Bright Hill Crematorium.