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| Grandfather riding his Lambretta scooter, heading out on the driveway of No. 154 Jalan Ngee Heng in JB |
Thanks to the photographers who captured shots in the
house and its surroundings that enabled me to highlight interesting anecdotes
to family members who have never been to grandfather’s house and share our fond memories more effectively.
In our
school-going years, our cousins, siblings and I lived with our grandparents and
life at 154 was a regimental routine because grandmother ran a tight ship.
After
all, grandmother had given birth and brought up 11 children almost
single handedly, lived through World War Two and after struggling for survival
in hiding from the foes, returned to 154 where the family rebuilt their lives.
Among
other nasty nicknames we had for her, grandmother was also known as stereo
because the volume she adopted to manage us kids, was simply loud!
Grandmother
could be in any part of the bungalow – inside or outside – but when she called,
we heard her.
Meanwhile
grandfather, who was always ready with a comforting wink and smile, sympathized
and sided with us because he was a fellow sufferer.
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| Grandmother, seated on grandfather's Lambretta scooter, Registration Number JB 8048; The badminton court is in the background. |
Looking
back on our experience, I know that 154 was an excellent training ground for us because grandmother did not let us idle – or we would be up to mischief – especially during the weekends.
One of
our important chores was to wash our own school shoes – canvas white shoes –
which should be scrubbed with soap, rinsed out and while the canvas was still
damp, to finish with a coat of shoe whitener and set the shoes to dry outdoors.
But
that was not all. We had to keep an eye on the weather and remember to collect
them if it suddenly rained.
Meanwhile,
each of us also had a share of duties in the household maintenance.
For
instance, sweeping different sections of the compound to ensure that the areas
were free from fallen leaves or any other debris.
Just
as grandfather had fashioned the poop-pan to collect dog poop from the
badminton court, he also made dustpans.
By
cutting up old kerosene tins or biscuit tins (different sizes!) and attaching
them to short poles, he made dustpans that were used at various sections of the
house and compound to collect rubbish that was conveniently dumped into the drain next to
the back gate.
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| Collecting doggie poop from the court using the poop-pan that grandfather made |
Meanwhile
our two older sisters had the task of sweeping the wooden floors upstairs.
Later I was also roped in for this task, so I too learnt the technique that
grandmother had demonstrated to teach us how to do a thorough job.
Grandmother
provided two types of brooms: a hard lidi broom and a soft paddy broom
along with a dustpan.
First,
we had to use the lidi broom to sweep lengthwise through the slits in between
each wooden plank to dig out the dust and then use the paddy broom to sweep the
dust into the dustpan.
There
were two halls upstairs – the front hall was built above the front porch and a
square table was there for us to do our homework and studies, and the rear hall
– a much wider space that opened to three bedrooms.
This was
a back-breaking task and the least popular among all the tasks assigned to us.
A thorough sweep of the wooden floors was done every now and then,
as in another task, polishing silver.
For
this task, we were provided with rags and a bottle of Silvo, a
silver-polishing product, to bring all the tarnished trophies stored in two
cupboards and on display shelves, to a bright shine.
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| Uncle Steven [Right] serving tea to our parents in the traditional Tea Ceremony on his weeding day; Note the two cupboards filled with silver trophies which we had to polish one-by-one till they shined! |
One by
one, we had to remove the dull looking trophies, dust them and then apply a
layer of Silvo on the surfaces, leave aside to dry before using another soft
duster to polish the surfaces so well that we should be able to see our own
reflections.
I didn’t
count the number of silver cups and trophies – and there were plenty – and by
the time the shine was returned to their surfaces, our fingers would not only
be crooked with fatigue, they would also be wrinkled and ugly.
Another
unpopular task was peeling fresh prawns.
I’m
not talking about a few prawns but literally a mountain of small and large
prawns that could cover the entire top of a low small table that measured about
two feet by two feet square.
After
spending so much time in front of this square table, I can still remember that
it was green in colour.
Our
eldest sister, Ruby, often ended up with this unpopular task and it had such an
adverse impact on her that to this day, she dislikes eating prawns.
No,
she does not have any allergy towards shellfish but her bad experience in
prawn-peeling left such an indelible mark on her that she chooses not to eat
prawns now.
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| Our brother Kennth [on tricycle] with cousin Jesssie; Note the driveway and gate next to the badminton court |
To
feed the group of adults and children who lived at 154, grandmother would buy
fresh produce like prawns, fish, meat and a variety of vegetables on her weekly
trips to the fresh market.
She
would need ingredients enough to cook daily meals for a week because in those
days, every meal was homecooked and we hardly ever ate any meals outside*.
The
quantities were simply huge, and we helped to peel prawns, pluck vegetables,
among other chores, while grandmother cleaned fish and chopped chicken, before
these items were packed and stored in the refrigerator.
One of
the family’s favourite vegetables must be long-stalked spinach (Malay: bayam)
and I learnt how to peel each stalk and to separate the stalks from the leaves before
it was packed away for later.
Market
days were also quite fun because grandmother often brought me along with her to
the wet market, maybe just for company.
We
would carry a stack of empty rattan baskets on a short walk from the back gate
of 154 to Jalan Wong Ah Fook where the wet market was located, at the site of
present-day Johor Baru City Square.
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| Seated on the wooden bench that grandfather had made; We could also stand on it to reach the open window of the provision shop next door! |
Besides
dealing with the pong of fresh produce and picking my way across the pitted
floor of the wet market, the market trip was usually a colourful and
exciting adventure.
Grandmother
would go to a familiar fresh vegetable stall run by Liang Chow, a Teochew family friend,
and store her full baskets there while she shopped around until we were ready
to leave.
My
only grouse was how this stallholder would always greet me with a
nickname, Keling-Mui (Cantonese) translation: Indian Girl. [I didn’t
know it then but now I know that he was rude to use such a politically incorrect
nickname!]
With
her regular trips to the market, grandmother was familiar to the trishaw men
because one would come forward to help carry the heavy baskets to load them
onto the floor of the three-wheeler’s carriage.
While
he held the trishaw firmly, grandmother would board to sit on its narrow seat.
Her broad hips would fill the entire seat so I would end up squatting near her
feet, next to the laden baskets.
My
adventure to the wet market with grandmother would then end with a trishaw ride
to the back gate of 154.
[Read more
in my story on, Old markets and bus terminals, featured in My Johor
Stories: True Tales, Real People, Rich Heritage.]
But it
was not all work and no play at 154.
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| A rare shot of playing Masuk Belon with the aunties on the badminton court at 154 |
When
our parents visited during weekends, we would go for a drive and often ended up
at places like Lido Beach or the Istana Gardens.
Enjoy the photos and story of our regular outings to this park in, Family fun at Istana Gardens.
Enjoy the photos and story of our regular outings to this park in, Family fun at Istana Gardens.
Sometimes
our cousins and other relatives visited 154 and we would have fun together
playing on the badminton court or enjoying a meal together.
Back
then, we would create our own games and when she was in the right mood, Aunty
Sylvia would gather us around and amuse us by telling us tall stories which she could cook up spontaneously!
I had shared
in Remembering our grandfather, that before serious
training started on the badminton court, our uncles and aunties would play with
us to warm-up.
They
were good sports to play other games on the court with us, not just badminton.
One of
these energetic games was what we called Masuk Belon or Belon Achar
a team game which made use of the lines drawn on the badminton court.
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| Our brother Kenneth, on the jungle gym that grandfather had designed in the compound |
The
objective of this game was for a team to get to the opposite end of the court
by avoiding being caught be members of the opposing team who were guarding the
lines.
There
would be a whole lot of yelling and screaming but a whole lot of fun too!
Another
fun thing to do was to play on the jungle gym that grandfather had constructed in
the compound for the children to play.
I
don’t care for it (ugh!) but I know the boys enjoyed searching for and catching
spiders from the bamboo fence that grew along the fence to keep out any breezes
that may disrupt the badminton training on the court.
On
weekends, grandfather would seek an opportunity to take us to watch an
afternoon matinee or a morning show at the Rex or Lido cinemas.
Two by
two, we would hold hands and walk to the nearby movie theatres that were
accessible via Jalan Wong Ah Fook and Jalan Trus from Jalan Ngee Heng.
[Read,
Escape to the movies, a story on our movie treats with grandfather featured
in My Johor Stories: True Tales, Real People, Rich Heritage.]
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| Cousin Malcolm, up to his usual mischief, trying to ride on Bonzo while Rajan looked on |
At
mealtimes, the girls would help to lay the table, clear the table and wash the
dishes while the boys helped to arrange the chairs and stools around the
tables.
To
eat, grandmother preferred to use chopsticks with a bowl while everyone else
used fork and spoon with dining plates, so we had to count the number of people
and made sure there were places set for everyone (adults) at the table.
Grandmother
also preferred to serve soup in individual bowls so there was a whole lot of
crockery and cutlery to lay out and wash up.
And
because the adults had fully occupied the dining table, the children would take
our food and sit at a separate table for children.
After dinner, the boys
would feed our pet dogs – Rajan and Bonzo – while the girls did the dish
washing.
One to wash and another to
dry because grandmother wanted all items to be replaced in their respective
places within the cupboards and cabinets.
Once the draining board
and sink was wiped dry, we closed the windows, shut the back door and turned
off the lights before leaving the kitchen-dining area.
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| Aunty Sylvia [Right] amusing us with her tall tales! |
By this time, members of grandfather’s Companion
Badminton Party would be training on the court but the children should head
upstairs to do homework or study.
One window of the front hall upstairs overlooked the
gate and badminton court, so it was impossible for us to ignore the sound of
people coming or going, shouts of scores from the court, clapping, cheering and
even (*#!) cursing.
Sometimes we could not help ourselves but were drawn
to this window to watch an exciting rally between promising players but the
need to finish homework or studies would send us back to our books on the
table.
Schoolwork was always a priority and any fun had to
wait.
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| View of the front hall upstairs, furnished with a square table for our study and homework; That's Aunty Nellie getting her hair done by Irean AKA Sau Leng, one of the Hakka Sisters hairdressers. |
*About outside food, the treats we (the kids) enjoyed at
154 was from spending the Five Cents that grandfather often handed out to us, on
a variety of preserved fruits or ice-balls (shaved ice on our dinner plates!) at
the neighbouring provision shops.
When she started working at Universal Pharmacy, Aunty
Polly discovered popular street food in town and acquired a taste for food like
Teochew kway teow soup, wantan noodles and tau foo fah, a
beancurd dessert.
Some of these hawkers would push their mobile stalls
and pass by 154 on their way to JB’s first food court at Jalan Ungku Puan.
[Read about
this popular Chinese food center known as pasak-kia or Chinatown in, JB’s
first food court, featured in My Johor Stories: True Tales, Real People,
Rich Heritage.]
To peddle their fare, the mobile hawkers did not call out a shout but
created repetitive rhythmic sounds by knocking bamboo sticks together.
I guess they were pioneers in the Tik Tok scene
because each hawker sounded a tok-tik-tok percussion as their unique identity while
they pushed their stalls.
These rhythmic sounds could be heard from afar as the hawkers
approached 154 and if Aunty wanted a street food snack, she would tell us to go
to the nearest upstairs window to give a shout to signal the hawker to stop and
park for us to buy from him.
Aunty or one of us would go out to buy a takeaway using
our own container and before eating, Aunty would share a portion with us. Looking
back, this was my introduction to the taste of good street food.
In fact, it was Aunty who also introduced me to my
first taste of Mee Ho Seng Kee, a family recipe of traditional wantan
noodles that I featured under Heritage Traders in My Johor Stories 2:
Interesting Places and Inspirational People.
To be continued. More about Aunty Polly at 154 in the
next exciting episode…
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| Archive Photo of a scene inside the Johor Baru main wet market at Jalan Wong Ah Fook |
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