A Nyonya Memoir

A Nyonya Mosaic
Memoirs of A Peranakan Childhood
William Gwee Thian Hock

A Nyonya Mosaic
A Nyonya Mosaic
Memoirs of A Peranakan Childhood

Design by Adithi Khandadai Shankar
Cover: The author’s mother, Mdm Seow Leong Neo, aged sixteen.
(Artefacts courtesy of Katong Antique House.)
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The photographs illustrating this volume do not show the family described in the
story unless specifically indicated.
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National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Gwee, Thian Hock.
A nyonya mosaic : memoirs of a peranakan childhood / William Gwee Thian
Hock. – Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2013.
p. cm.
ISBN : 978-981-4408-40-0 (pbk.)
1. Seow, Leong Neo, 1912- – Childhood and youth 2. Gwee, Thian Hock – Family.
3. Peranakan (Asian people) – Social life and customs. 4. Peranakan (Asian people)
– Singapore – Biography. – Singapore. I. Title. II. Title: Memoirs of a peranakan
childhood
CT1578.S55
959.57030922 — dc23 OCN824815400
Printed in Singapore by Times Printers Pte Ltd

To
My mother, Seow Leong Neo
– thanks for your memory
My wife, Rosie Tan Chwee Neo

My sons, Gwee Boon Kheng and Gwee Boon Kim
My daughter-in-law, Caroline Lee Kim Sweet
My grandchildren, Marc Gwee Eng Meng
and Joan Gwee Eng Neo
My god-daughter, Carolyn Lim Swee Lian
and all my friends
– thanks for your inspiration.
Contents
NOTE TO 2013 EDITION 8

PREFACE 11
1 Family 15
2 Staff and Surroundings 35
3 The Birthday 55
4 The Preparations 73
5 The Big Event 89
6 At Leisure 112
7 The Tradesmen 132
8 The Inevitable 150
9 Growing Up 168
10 New Year Preparations 185
11 A New Beginning 199
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 215
Note to 2013 Edition
THE FLOURISHING SINGAPORE Baba community was
dealt a heavy blow when the full force of the economic
downturn brought about by the Wall Street crash of 1929
reached Singapore. Babas and Nyonyas of this community had
hardly begun to pick up the pieces following world economic
recovery after the early 1930s when World War 2 struck in
December 1941, which eventually led to Singapore’s fall into
the Japanese army invaders’ hands seventy days later.
During the ensuing 3.5 years of existence under the harsh
Japanese government termed the Japanese Occupation, the
Baba community suffered enormous hardships, which gravely
eroded their once elite status. Much of their colourful way
of life failed to survive this setback. When world peace was
restored in 1945, the postwar Baba community appeared on
the brink of losing their very unique identity.
Unexpectedly, when their culture was at its nadir, interest
in their culture began to revive three decades later leading to a
proliferation of Baba stage productions, pageants, exhibitions,
lectures, media articles, academic papers and books pertaining
to various aspects of the ‘Peranakans’ as the Baba were now
widely identified to the masses. Around this period the 1985
edition of A Nonya Mosaic came into being which proved
immensely popular with the postwar generation of Babas and
Nyonyas who found the long-searched background of their
roots in this book.
It has been 28 years since and two more generations of
Babas and Nyonyas have come into existence. Due to the still
ongoing interest in all things Peranakan, these new members of
the community are regularly fed with doses of Nyonya recipe
books, Baba cultural entertainments and static displays of their
ancestral cultural artefacts as sources of sustaining their interest
and connection with their glorious past.
Thus, this 2013 edition of A Nyonya Mosaic with the word
‘Nyonya’ conforming to modern spelling is timely. This time
round, it seeks to additionally guide the new Baba generation
to discover and identify meaningful cultural gems in their
foreparents’ way of life recorded in the book, with the hope that
they will eventually tailor a modern identity which will be in
tune with and not an anachronism amidst the changing times
and values of 21st century cosmopolitan Singapore.

2013
The author at a tender age, with his mother at their
Cuppage Road home.
Preface
A NYONYA MOSAIC is my mother’s story. It is a collection
of reminiscences of her growing-up experiences, spiced with
family anecdotes that she has, over the years, shared with
myself, her son. These have now been retold here, backed by
an intimate knowledge of the Baba cultural heritage. As it is
basically a non-fiction, the identities of some of the characters
have been disguised as a gesture to avoid any unintended
embarrassment.
The story is set about seventy years ago, in the house at
Prinsep Street, a colourful cosmopolitan neighbourhood. One
savours what life was like then, especially for the Nyonya,
behind the doors of a Singapore Baba home.
It is hoped that the majority of the Babas may experience,
in the Mosaic the sweetness of nostalgia, and the identification
of at least a part of themselves with these memories. I trust
that despite the minor variations in Baba lifestyle encountered
from family to family, the reader will not find too many
moments when these are at odds with his own experience.
The Baba is a unique product of the history of this part of
the world. In him flows the blood of the pioneering Chinese
migrants mainly from South China who had settled as traders
12 A NYONYA MOSAIC
in fifteenth-century Malacca, and many of whom in the early

period had taken the maidens of local Malay and Indian
Baba (the Chetty Malacca) stock as wives. Their progeny
subsequently became known as the Babas, and their resultant
culture is a blend of their ancestral Chinese-Malay-Indian
origin, the Chinese aspects being predominant. Along with the
colonisation of Penang and Singapore by the British, (which
with Malacca became known as the Straits Settlements), some
of the Babas migrated to these territories.
The language of the Babas, popularly known as Baba
Malay, is Chinese in structure, but Malay in lexicon. Because
of this blend, those familiar with correct Malay spelling may be
disappointed by the distinct Baba spelling of words of Malay
origin. The term ‘Baba’ itself has been used to mean either the
singular for the Baba male, or as a collective term inclusive of
the Nyonya.
Today, modernisation and changing values in Singapore
have exacted a heavy toll on the Babas as a distinct local ethnic
group. However, the Babas have had their beautiful moments,
which the Mosaic hopes to have captured within its pages, for
history and for posterity. The Mosaic is the culmination of such
diverse circumstances as a Nyonya mother, who could share
so much with her son; a Nyonya wife who has been a pillar
of inspiration and who keeps the Baba flag flying high; two
young Babas, my sons, who are proud of their heritage; and the
various friends and peers who have long urged that ‘it should be
committed to paper’; to the following helpful supporters whose
different contributions have resulted in making the Mosaic a
reality: Messrs Gwee Thian Hoe, Cheo Kim Ban, Huang Tse
Yen, Andrew Tan, William Tan, and Peter Wee of the Katong
Antique House, Mdms Choo Chye Neo, Choo Huat Neo,
Seah Siew Luang, Seow Eng Neo, Josephine Tan, Rahmah bte
PREFACE 13
Abdullah, Mrs Lim Cheng Choon, Rita Balachander and Miss

Seow Kim Neo.
To all these kind people and other well wishers, I express my
deep and especial thanks, and humbly hope that this effort will
do them proud.
Gwee Thian Hock

Singapore, 1985
chapter one
Family
I WAS BORN on an August morning in 1912 and was
delivered at home by a Malay midwife.
By present-day standards it would be totally unthinkable
to have a delivery at home, much less by a midwife whose
only claim to a professional qualification was her practical
experience. But conditions and beliefs were vastly different
then. It was customary in my parents’ family and in most
Baba families to have one’s baby delivered at home. Full
confidence in the modern ways had not come our way yet.
Mother herself would never have wanted it any other way.
She had absolute trust in this midwife who had on previous
occasions efficiently delivered two of her children before
me. In her mid-thirties the midwife was neither too young
and inexperienced nor too old, when her eyesight and hands
might be suspect for the job. In fact, she was in her prime.
It was also desirable to deliver at home as one’s elderly folks
could be around to boost one’s morale and lend a helping
hand when the need arose. Thus, mother had the reassuring
presence of her mother to grip her hands and wipe the sweat
from her brow as she laboured to deliver me, her youngest
daughter.
16 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Like all expectant mothers of that era, mother did not go

through much of prenatal medical care. It was roughly about a
month or so before the expected date of delivery that grandma
had invited midwife Kak Sapriah to examine mother. Kak
Sapriah was not her actual name. Her name was Sapriah and the
prefix Kak, an abbreviation for Kakak, meaning elder sister, was
the polite form used while addressing a young Malay lady. Had
she been older we would have addressed her as Wak Sapriah
instead. Wak in this case would be the abbreviation for Wawak,
a polite form of address reserved especially for an elderly lady.
In response to grandma’s call Kak Sapriah had come, checked
mother physically and confirmed that her next visit, in about a
month’s time, should be to deliver the child. Generally, professional
prenatal care was a simple affair of a single visit by the midwife.
But prenatal self-care was a different matter altogether. Long
before the midwife was summoned, from the day her pregnancy
was confirmed by herself, mother had to observe several pantang
or taboos religiously. For example, in order to prevent a difficult
childbirth she had to avoid consuming cuttlefish head, most
importantly, the tentacles. Another particular variety of seafood
she had to avoid eating was the stingray. The taboo also indicated
that both mother as well as father should refrain from nailing any
object or using cement to patch up cracked or broken structures.
Mother must exercise the utmost care to avoid a shock, take a
whiff of smelling salt, or shift her bed or other furniture because a
miscarriage could well be the unfortunate outcome. Playing with
or being frightened by a monkey was probably the ultimate of
pantang as it would inevitably result in a child born with strong
simian features and characteristics. A pregnant woman was not
expected to attend any wedding because her presence could
adversely affect the future of the couple, resulting in a barren and
an unhappy union for them.
FAMILY 17
All these taboos were strictly observed by mother for more

reasons than mere obedience to tradition. She had witnessed
for herself enough examples of the dire consequences that had
befallen those who had, knowingly or unknowingly, defied the
pantang, to be convinced that it did not pay to take them lightly.
Similarly, she never missed her monthly dose of obat selusoh
which she had to take from the fifth month of her pregnancy.
Obat selusoh was not a specific recipe but a general term for
several combinations of herbs taken to ensure easy childbirth.
Some families preferred recipes from Malay sources while others
found the Chinese versions more efficacious. Mother’s choice
fell on a particular Chinese recipe given to her by an elderly
relative whose family had sworn by it for two generations. In
fact, during her last couple of pregnancies mother had used this
same recipe which contained not less than eleven ingredients,
one of which was glutinous rice. For this reason our family
recipe was known to us as obat selusoh pulot, the last name being
the Malay word for glutinous rice.
Father patronised a Chinese druggist at Rumah Panjang,
our name for Rochore Road, to have this prescription filled at
the cost of 40 cents. Except for this medicine mother took no
other tonic or vitamins during her pregnancy. Even if she had
wanted to grandma would have put her foot down. She would
have reminded mother that her normal diet was sufficient
to supply all the nourishments necessary for the foetus. It
would be further pointed out that, especially in this delicate
state of health, she must not risk creating complications by
taking unnecessary medicines. The fact that all my four elder
brothers and one elder sister had been born healthy without
the use of such medicines was proof enough. Perhaps it was
due to her uncomplicated diet that mother did not suffer any
troublesome symptoms when expecting me. She only had
18 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the tendency to feel sleepy during the first couple of months.

After that it was all plain sailing.
On the day of my birth, the moment mother felt the
first pang of labour pain a domestic help was immediately
despatched to summon the midwife. At that time my parents
were staying at Wilkie Road and the midwife’s house was just
round the comer at Selegie Road. Within thirty minutes or so
she had come, accompanied by an assistant, the anak dukun.
The more important task of delivery and the bathing of the
baby belonged to the midwife while the less important and
more menial tasks fell to the lot of the assistant. These duties
included the daily washing of soiled linen, the smoking of the
patient and the massage followed by the tying of the cloth
girdle round the patient’s waist. The assistant’s duties lasted a
full month whereas the midwife’s responsibilities ended the day
the baby’s umbilical cord dropped off.
Immediately after I was born the placenta was collected and
placed in a special container known as the periok uri. This was a
round bottomed earthenware pot with a wide neck and a cover.
The pot, with its contents, was placed near my head for three
days after which father took it to the nearest river to throw away.
At the riverbank he cracked the pot with the handle of a knife
so that water could seep in to cause it to sink. The moment he
had released the pot into the water he was required to walk away
without glancing back, because if he did, I would have ended
with squint eyes. The fact, that I had already been born with
a pair of normal eyes would not have made any difference. If
father had succumbed to temptation and looked back to check
if the pot had sunk, I would have suddenly developed a squint.
Happily father did not fail in this all important assignment.
Every morning following the delivery, the two Malay ladies
arrived at about eight to perform their separate duties. While
FAMILY 19
I was getting my daily bath from the midwife, mother was

attended to by the assistant who began preparing a charcoal
burner. A special incense obtained from Indian grocer shops was
then burned in this stove. We called this seng soo or by its other
name kemenian serani (Eurasian Benzoin) for we believed that
this preparation was burned in Catholic churches frequented by
the Eurasian community.
For this treatment mother had to stand with her legs wide
apart and the smoking burner was placed on the ground
between her legs. Since she was wearing a sarong the rising
aromatic smoke completely engulfed her with its cleansing
effect. Mother was required to stand as long as there were
fumes rising from the burner. While she was being ‘smoked’
the assistant busied herself preparing a lotion for the
ensuing massage. This was made up of roundish black balls
of herbs, again obtainable from Indian grocers. These small
medicaments were dispersed in brandy and slowly heated in
an earthenware cooking pot known as a belanga. This lotion
was used to massage the forehead, the stomach and the limbs.
After this rubdown, a bengkong was tied round the waist. The
length of white cotton material required for this cloth girdle
measured no less than 10 metres (12 yds) with an approximate
width of 45 cm (18 inches). It was wound round the body
repeatedly and each time the ends met in front a knot was
tied. The final outcome of this continuous encirclement of
the waisdine and the tying of knots was a tight-fitting girdle
which could not slip off. Following this operation the assistant
proceeded to wash mother’s clothes and soiled linen before
her chores were over for the day.
One week after birth my umbilical cord dropped off. On that
day Kak Sapriah performed her last two duties: one on me and
the other on mother. The chuchi rantay ceremony was reserved
20 A NYONYA MOSAIC
for me. Although the words mean ‘washing a chain’, there was no
washing of anything at all. What she did was to place flowers on
a plate together with grains of uncooked rice stained with seven
colours and three differently coloured balls of dough. With this
plate placed before me she muttered a prayer of thanksgiving and
blessing over me. Her final duty to mother was to carefully push
the womb back into position. This operation was called sengkak.
After this the midwife no longer visited us. For all her services
and that of her assistant till then, she was paid $10. In addition,
she received a bonus of $2 as transport fee although she only
had a five-minute stroll to reach our home. For the rest of the
month the assistant was retained under a separate arrangement.
In addition to her regular duties she was required to take over the
bathing of the baby and she was paid $6 when her services finally
ended on the thirtieth day of my birth.
The post delivery period had its fair share of pantang too.
Among the most important, was that mother had to be confined
to the delivery room for thirty days. This was to prevent her
from coming into contact with the elements. In order to
minimise exposure, all the doors and windows of the room were
shut all the time. During this period mother was not allowed
to wet any part of her body with water. Her ears were plugged
with cotton wool to further prevent any wind getting into her
body and the brandy massage was her daily bath. To quench
thirst, she was served ayer mata kuching. This drink is a sweet
concoction made up of the dried pulp of the longan fruit boiled
with fine sugar, a piece of old ginger and, optionally, some red
dates. The ginger had to be specially prepared. It was initially
wrapped in a coarse piece of paper, dipped in a little water and
then buried in the hot ashes at the bottom of a charcoal stove
while it was being used for cooking. When the cooking was
done the packet was then taken out and the wrapping removed.
FAMILY 21
The ginger was mashed and added into the concoction which
was decanted. Only the filtrate was drunk.
As for her meals, mother was also put on a strict health
diet. She was not allowed any vegetable or fish in her food.
However, before my umbilical cord dropped off grandma
permitted a little salted fish floss in her food. After that it was
a diet of chicken or pork cooked in sesame oil and ginger for
a whole month. One or two days after delivery mother was
obliged to take a Chinese herbal preparation we called Bantal
Budak (Child’s Pillow). This medicine was supposed to rid
the body of any residual clotted blood not fully discharged
after birth.
About a week later it was the turn for a second preparation
to be consumed. This consisted of two Chinese herbal pills
steamed together. just before this liquid was drunk the urine
of a young boy was added in. This was to assist the body in
ridding itself of excess ‘dirty’ blood. It would be interesting to
know how many mothers today would condescend to drink
this mixture even for health’s sake. Mother drank it. So did the
generations of mothers before her.
Every Nyonya of old realised the importance of postnatal
care: in fact, it was deemed far more important than prenatal
care. Failure to appreciate this resulted in the dreaded bentan,
any general ailment that came about after childbirth. Such
ailments might not be a problem under normal circumstances
but after giving birth, it would hit the patient hard and take
a longer time to cure. Furthermore, bentan had a latent side
effect which would surface in middle age as vague aches and
pains all over the body. The name for this was angin beranak
or ‘afterbirth wind’. Extreme care was therefore taken to avoid
bentan, including such a bizarre one as to avoid hurting one’s
big toes during the thirty days’ confinement.
22 A NYONYA MOSAIC
A month after I was born, mother took her first step out of
the delivery room. It was the day she had her first bath since
childbirth. Ketumbar (coriander), sireh (betel vine) leaves,
and red onions were boiled in water and the liquid strained
before being used for this bath. From then onwards, she was
given freedom of movement round the house but she was
still considered not clean enough to visit temples or attend
weddings. She had to wait a further fortnight before she was
allowed to resume full social activities.
Because I happened to be a girl and not the first-born child,
father was not obliged to host a celebration when I was one
month old. Otherwise he would have celebrated it on a lavish
scale, especially if I had been a boy. It would have been nothing
less than a popiah (spring roll) party and if it had not been
possible to hold it on the first month then it would have been
held on the fourth month instead.
In any case, boy or girl, party or none, certain age old
rituals had to be observed when a baby became one month old.
Grandma shaved me bald to stimulate new growth of hair later
on. A coconut was used as a receptacle for my baby hair. First, a
hole was made in the nut to drain away the milk. Next, the shaven
hair was placed in the nut through the hole and a sprig of spring-
onion and a stalk of bunga siantan (the ixora flower) were used to
plug the hole. This decorated receptacle was then thrown away.
Dressed in beautiful clothes, I was taken before our household
deity to pay my respects for the first time. With the help of
grandma my two little hands were clasped in worship to give
thanks for my safe delivery into this world. Grandma muttered
the thanksgiving prayer on my behalf. Close relatives then came
to congratulate my parents and to present gold ornaments to me.
With my birth the total number of our family members
reached ten. At the head of the household was father, who,
FAMILY 23
at the age of forty-nine was already a successful businessman.

He had his own rubber trading firm in Robinson Road and
a rubber estate of moderate size along Paya Lebar Road. In
addition to our home at Wilkie Road he owned another house
along Selegie Road as well as a bungalow at Cashin Road, now
known as Haig Road. This bungalow was popularly referred to
by all of us as Rumah Katong – the Katong House, and father
christened it IOLA after the title of a popular song of the era.
The four letters were prominently painted in bright red on one
of the gate posts.
Father was the youngest of three children. He had an elder
brother whom I never met. Due to a family misunderstanding
long before I was born, the two brothers had cut off all contact
with one another. I never found out the reason for their life-
long rift. Father’s eldest sister was a pint-sized kindly old lady
who was a frequent visitor to our house. She was everyone’s
favourite Mak Koh (the address for an elder aunt).
Father was by nature a rather quiet person who wasted few
words even with his immediate family members. However,
beneath this apparently stern and retiring personality he
possessed a jovial disposition, as a Baba usually did. He was
popular with elderly ladies with whom he used to joke and laugh
and be in his element. He had a passion for period furniture
and used to patronise Frankel’s shop for the better quality stuff
with which he tastefully decorated every room in the house.
For some unknown reason, he abhorred photographs. As a
result, there was not a single photograph of anyone hanging
on the walls. Instead, Low Kway Song, the famous local artist
was commissioned to paint a series of landscapes which were
expensively framed.
It was father’s privilege to keep short office hours and he
was home either by noon or 3 pm at the latest. If he had a card
24 A NYONYA MOSAIC
session arranged at home he would be back at the earlier hour.

When he came home at the later hour the rest of the evening
was spent visiting temples, mother’s grave, or Rumah Katong
where he would spend the night and be back in town early the
next morning in time to dress for work.
Father could always afford the best. His family physician was
a Dr Wilson, an Englishman. In those days it was grand for a
local to have an orang puteh (white man) as one’s family doctor.
Not long before his death, father turned to opium to cure his
illnes. He was introduced to the narcotic by a rich couple who
lived not far away from us and were, it seemed, addicted to
the opiate. Father needed a helper whenever he smoked his
opium pipe at home. My second sister-in-law underwent a
short familiarisation course with the rich lady in order to assist
father with his pipe. Tradition dictated that it was improper
for a father-in-law and his daughter-in-law to be in the same
room even though the doors were kept wide open. To prevent
tongues wagging, I was stationed in the room as chaperone
every time father smoked his opium pipe. Father only smoked
at home. While at work he took the drug orally in pellet form
also prepared by second sister-in-law.
Unfortunately, I cannot remember mother at all. The fact
that there was no photograph of her only served to aggravate
matters further. She had passed away when I was three years
of age. By then she was a mother of four boys and two girls,
including myself. There was a big age difference between her
first and her last born; eldest brother was already about to
marry when I was born. When mother died, her last three
children were very young and still needed motherly care and
attention. Yet father never remarried. This was unusual as Babas
were not known to remain widowers for long especially if they
were financially in good standing. Either on their own accord
FAMILY 25
or through persistent pressure from relatives and friends they

would waste little time in looking for a new wife the moment
the mourning period was over.
This same privilege was not accorded to widows. For them
it was considered more virtuous if they remained widowed the
rest of their lives. Anyway, for his show of faithful love father
was highly regarded and often talked about in glorious terms
by the ladies, naturally. On top of this he further enhanced
his reputation as an epitome of a truly devoted husband by
regularly visiting mother’s grave, which used to be situated just
by the roadside along the twisty South Buona Vista Road, not
far from the famous lookout point known as the Gap. This was
the spot where Singaporeans came from near and far to enjoy.
an unimpeded view of awe inspiring sunsets over the west coast.
Next in line to father was maternal grandmother. Mother
was her only child. As she never had a son of her own, she
adopted a boy in her younger days. Unhappily, the boy did
not reach adulthood. In order to perpetuate her late husband’s
surname, grandma later on in life took a step she thought was
next best. She changed the status of my second brother to that
of her deceased son’s child. Thus, he became her grandson by
her son and not by her daughter. By this unusual development
second brother became a cousin to his own brothers and
sisters and a nephew, instead of a son, to his own parents.
Needless to say he carried a different surname from his own
father. In theory this might appear to be a confusing state
of affairs but, fortunately, everything did work out. Second
brother continued to address grandma as Ma-ma as we all
did and, similarly, he continued to address father as ‘Baba’.
It was not unusual for Baba children to address their parents
with other than the normal terms of Bapak (father) and Mak
(mother). Grandma in her old age, adopted three more sons
26 A NYONYA MOSAIC
and one daughter. They were grown-ups when she adopted

them and it was for reasons other than the perpetuation of my
late grandfather’s surname.
Grandma was a most fortunate person. Father loved and
respected her deeply. After mother’s death she took full charge of
the domestic responsibilities and as father was generous she was
able to manage the household with the minimal financial bother.
Father loved jewellery. Some of it was bought ready-made
but in many instances father bought only the precious stones
and then commissioned Ceylonese craftsmen to do the setting
Grandma, Mdm Low Tuan Neo, the matriach.

FAMILY 27
at our home. An elaborately designed piece sometimes required

daily visits for about three months before it was ready. After
father’s death all the jewellery went to grandma, who made very
good use of it to keep the household running along the same
standard of luxury as when father was alive. She also loaned
out some of it as wedding costume accessories to a particular
sangkek um (mistress of ceremonies).
In the heyday of traditional Baba weddings the sangkek um
profession was a lucrative and, naturally, a competitive one.
The,popularity and reputation of a sangkek um depended
largely on the quality of jewellery, wedding costumes and other
paraphernalia she was able to offer the bridal couple, in addition
to her skill, in wedding enquette. This particular sangkek um
who had the monopoly of grandma’s exquisite jewellery made
a name for herself for many years. Unfortunately, she chose to
abuse that privilege by hiring out grandma’s jewellery to others,
when it had been loaned to her for her own use only. On being
informed of this breach of confidence, grandma immediately
cut off every connection with her. At that time there was a lady
in grandma’s employment who was paid to accompany the
sangkek um and keep an eye over grandma’s jewellery. Through
the years this lady had naturally seen enough of weddings to be
able to practise as a sangkek um herself. Grandma offered her
the loan of her jewellery and encouraged her to be a sangkek
um. This proved to be the downfall of the older sangkek um
and Ah Bee, the new sangkek um, rose to become the most
famous sangkek um of them all for a good many years. There
were few indeed who had not heard of her and who did not
look back with pride at having had her for a sangkek um when
they were married. Grandma had other investments which
brought her regular and profitable dividends. One of them was
a pawnshop along Arab Street.
28 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Typical of a Nyonya, grandma found cherki, the Baba

card game, irresistible. Her passion for this pastime was only
equalled by her uncontrollable urge to cheat during the game.
This side of her nature did not surface until after father’s death.
Perhaps she had respected father too much to embarrass him.
By the time she was given free rein to indulge in her cheating
habit she was no longer young. Being old and slightly slow
on the move she was naturally caught in the act on many an
occasion. As a result, although her contemporaries tolerated her
enough to continue to include her in their card sessions, the
younger generation would have none of it and shunned her like
the plague. In fairness to grandma she was by no means the rare
one who cheated. It seemed to be the preoccupation of those
around her age to do the same. This was a pretty well-known
fact. Many such elderly ladies, including those associated with
well-known and highly respected families, were reputed to be
cheats at cards. Fortunately people tended to accept it and
treated it as a big joke.
Eldest brother took after father in his keen interest in
business, but there the similarity ended. He did not possess
father’s acumen and luck. Time and again he failed in his
ventures and father had to quickly cover his financial losses
before they became public and an embarassment to the family.
Poor father had to endure this for many years. Born with a
shorter right leg, eldest brother walked with a limp. He was
a gifted musician who taught himself to play several string
instruments like the violin, the guitar, the mandolin and the
ukulele. During his frequent business trips to Betawi (Batavia,
now Jakarta) he picked up the keronchong and stamboel and was
able to play and sing them very melodiously.
As a young child I was excited whenever the merchandise he
ordered arrived. I willingly helped him to unpack them from
FAMILY 29
the wooden crates and was invariably rewarded with a box or

two of scented face powder which were among the commodities
unpacked. My favourite brands were Violet and Melati, both
manufactured by a firm called Toko Marie. Whenever he was
not travelling eldest brother spent his time in the court house.
He was very interested in the processes of the Law and hardly
missed the good cases being fought in Court. We all thought
that he would probably have made a better lawyer than a
businessman. Of our immediate family members, I was closely
attached to eldest sister-in-law. After mother’s death she took
over the duties of bringing me up. She was a tall and beautiful
lady, well-versed in our culinary, tailoring and embroidery arts.
She was especially good at sewing the baju panjang, the long
dress which was popular with both the young and old alike.
All our friends and relatives came to her for their baju panjang.
Products of her workmanship in embroidery were much sought
after, especially the richly designed money pouches worn by
bridal couples at weddings. Her cakes for serving at weddings
were second to none. Her other dishes, too were just as superb.
Eldest sister-in-law excelled in all the domestic skills, as a matter
of necessity. Coming from a rather poor background, the only
carrot the family had to dangle before a prospective groom.
was the daughter’s domestic assets. Without these exceptional
skills daughters from poor families faced the gloomy prospect
of ending up as old maids.
In spite of her obviously strict and proper upbringing eldest
sister-in-law, surprisingly enough, turned out to be an inveterate
joker, very prone to practical jokes. One of her favourites was
to label people with appropriately amusing nicknames. Nearly
all the visitors to our house earned themselves nicknames that
originated from her. They became known to us as Itek Annam
(Annam duck), Si-Janggot (the bearded one), Botak Gemok
30 A NYONYA MOSAIC
(the fat bald one) and Botak Kurus (the thin bald one) instead
of their real names. In the majority of cases there was no malice
or intent to ridicule behind the giving of nicknames.
My nickname was more of a pet name. When I was an
infant it seemed that my nanny used to call me chik chik mak as
she cuddled me. This was a term of endearment meaning more
or less ‘mummy’s little one’. Gradually the term was shortened
to chik mak, a name I am known by to this day by those closely
related. Sometimes nicknames would be given for unusual
reasons. A beautiful child might be addressed as Burok or Ugly
in order to ensure that her beauty might not incur the envy of
evil influences around. A child who survived a near fatal illness
would have his or her name changed to Punggot to indicate not
so much a ‘pick up’, as the word literally means, but ‘recovered’
for having pulled through a serious ailment.
It is interesting to note that ladies of the era who combed
their hair into a tight top-knot held in place by two to three
thick hairpins normally suffered from a receding hairline in
their later years. Sister-in-law herself had this hair style at the
time when she labelled our less fortunate neighbours Botaks but
being young, evidence of a receding hairline had not surfaced
on her yet. A receding hairline was so rampant that in most
ladies’ make-up boxes there was a piece of candlenut which had
been roasted black. With the aid of this nut the bald patches
were coloured black so that at a distance or a quick glance the
painted areas appeared like hair.
Second brother was two years younger than eldest brother.
Though he carried a different surname from the rest of us due
to grandma having changed his status, father treated him no
differently from his other children and we were brought up to
respect him as our own brother. In complexion he stood apart
from us. He was the dark one and was addressed as Keleng, a
FAMILY 31
general term we attached to anybody of Indian origin. Like my

pet name, this was one nickname that did not originate from
eldest sister-in-law because it had been associated with second
brother from childhood.
An unusually dark member of the family was common in
many a Baba home then. While the equally common presence
of a retarded member in many Baba families could perhaps
be attributed to the Babas’ fondness for marriage among close
relatives, the answer to the mystery of the dark one must date
back to the early days when the Baba community first evolved.
What has been generally accepted is that the Babas were the
products of Chinese traders and migrants in Malacca who
married indigenous women of Malay stock. What has been less
known is that in Singapore and Malacca there is a small Indian
community known as the ‘Chetty Malacca’. These are the Indian
Babas, who, except for their Hindu religion, are similar to us
in many aspects. A majority of them cannot converse in their
mother tongue, and their food, their cakes, their ladies’ mode
of dress and their favourite pastimes ate similar to ours. Most of
them are fairer in complexion than their Indian counterparts.
Thus, the harmonious relationship between the Chinese, the
Malays, and the Indians in Malacca four centuries or so ago
had certainly extended beyond mere trade ties and spawned the
Babas, the Chetty Malaccas as well as the dark Chinese Babas
and the fair Indian Chetty Malaccas.
Like his elder brother, second brother was a self-taught
musician. He played the violin well. Whenever he was free he
played his instrument for hours on end. Another pastime he
pursued with the same passion was kite-fighting. During the
kite-fighting season he and third brother teamed up to prepare
to meet the challenge of other neighbourhood kite-fighters.
They forfeited their meals to prepare glass-powder laced thread
32 A NYONYA MOSAIC
for the purpose of cutting the thread of their opponents’ kites,

thereby causing them to hanyot or drift away. The main source
of these fighting kites were the Indian daljis along Bencoolen
Street who sold them in addition to their tailoring trade. The
most popular type was the layang nak, a type of kite especially
good for fighting purposes.
It was a thrilling experience to stand next to a kite fighter
as he manoeuvred his kite to an advantageous position before
executing the coup de grace by pulling back his razor sharp
thread, which then severed the opponent’s thread. By swiftly
pulling back and shortening the thread he caused the kite to
dive with a whooshing sound and then shoot up again. This
sound added further excitement to this thrilling but costly
sport for boys. At every fighting session my two brothers had
to be armed with not less than three to four dozen kites and
several rolls of thread. In this sport the people who benefited
financially were the kite sellers and the neighbourhood boys
who chased after the drifting kites with long bamboo poles
and sold them back to the kite flyers at a slightly reduced
price. The glass-powder-laced thread was usually homemade
by rubbing a gummy solution of fine powdered glass onto the
thread and left to dry before use. Younger kite enthusiasts who
had neither mastered the technique of kite fighting nor were
allowed to handle the sharp thread that went with it, confined
themseives to layang tokong, a long-tailed non-fighting kite
flown with ordinary thread. Kite fighting was not confined to
boys alone. It was the favourite sport of grown-up Babas and
Malay men as well.
Third brother was yet another musician in the family. Like
eldest brother, he played most of the popular string instruments.
Untutored in formal music, my three elder brothers formed a
trio and their rendering of English and keronchong songs were
FAMILY 33
popular at the many social gatherings at home. Third brother’s

other love was kite fighting and in combination with second
brother they formed a formidable pair as they cleared the sky of
other people’s kites. I was one of their most ardent fans and was
always in the thick of their battles, urging them on and helping
them in whatever way I could. As a result, I could tie a kite
string as fast and as efficiently as any boy of my age.
There were many unusual aspects of our culture which we
accepted unquestioningly and without protest. When third
brother was young he was made to wear an earring in his right
ear. He did not protest nor was he ever ridiculed by anyone.
Just imagine, none of his peers found it strange to have one
among them with an earring on. Actually this was not an
uncommon occurrence. Some boys were made to wear single
earrings starting at different ages and for various reasons. There
were cases when this was done early in their lives after a temple
medium had prophecied that the sickly male child would be
difficult to bring up and might not survive till adulthood and
had advised this move as a remedy. In other cases, it involved
those boys who bore a strong resemblance to their fathers. It
was believed that such a boy would always be overshadowed by
his father’s luck and personality. In order to break this spell, the
boy had to be made different. Thus, the single earring again.
Fourth brother and elder sister were closer to my age so
we shared the same interests and were close playmates. Fourth
brother was another member of the family with a minor physical
defect. In his case, it was an additional digit that grew out of
his left thumb. For some unknown reason eldest sister-in-law
took a dislike to him and never hesitated to berate him for the
slightest wrong he might have intentionally or unintentionally
committed, using the most foul and unflattering words on him.
We called this unfortunate incompatibility of characters by the
34 A NYONYA MOSAIC
general term cheong. Unlike his musically gifted elder brothers,

fourth brother did not take to music.
A sharp contrast to dark complexioned second brother was
elder sister. She was so fair that she answered to the popular name
Puteh (white or fair). Her fair complexion made her grandma’s
favourite because a fair maiden was everybody’s idea of the ideal
girl. When sister Puteh was very young second brother spent
a lot of time looking after her. Eldest sister-in-law informed
me that he had a devious motive for this. At that time we were
staying at Wilkie Road and there was a girl he adored who
lived a couple of doors away. Since young maidens were rarely
to be seen out of doors, the only avenue for a desperately love-
struck youth to see his hearthrob was to find a way of getting
into her house. Second brother devised a cunning ploy to get
into the girl’s house by coaxing elder sister to run straight into
the neighbour’s kitchen every time he was looking after her. He
would then dash in after her to ostensibly drag her out. In so
doing he had a look at his favourite girl who ultimately became
his wife. This was one of the exceptional cases at that time where
the bride and groom had seen each other before marriage.
Compared with elder sister I was considered ugly for the
simple reason that I was not fair in complexion. I was not
worried about this. Father favoured me above elder sister
because his business had prospered after my birth. In addition,
eldest sister-in-law treated me as if I was her own daughter for
she never had a daughter of her own. In later years she adopted
a daughter but the baby was fostered out. So she showered all
her motherly attention on me and taught me all the domestic
skills she knew and protected me as she would her own.
chapter two
Staff and Surroundings

I WAS ABOUT seven years old when we moved into our new
home. Father had sold our Wilkie Road and Selegie Road
houses and bought a larger house at Prinsep Street. Although I
was born at Wilkie Road my recollection of that house is hazy.
It was in the two-storied Prinsep Street house that I grew up
and remember well the days of learning, laughter, and tears
spent there.
Our house was made up of three adjoining units. The one on
the left was Rumah Abu (House for Ancestral Ashes), the central
house was known as Rumah Tengah (Centre House) and the
right one we called Rumah Hylam because the previous owner
was Hainanese. On entering Rumah Tengah, one immediately
saw the household altar dedicated to Hood Chor (Goddess of
Mercy) against the back wall of the front hall. A door in the
left wall led to Rumah Abu. On each side of the altar was a
door that led to the second hall, which was our sitting room.
An air well lit the whole area while close to the left entrance
a stairway led to the first floor. We called this main stairway
tangga besar. A partition separated the sitting room from the
spacious dining room. This screen was highly decorative and
had glass panels set in a wooden base. Just before this was a
36
A NYONYA MOSAIC
The room where our ancestral tablets once stood.
STAFF AND SURROUNDINGS 37
door which led to the second hall of Rumah Hylam. Along the
left wall of the dining room were two doorways: one led to the
second hall, while the other led to the third hall of Rumah Abu.
In between them was a stairway that led upstairs. Along the
right wall of the dining room was another doorway, which led
to the third hall of Rumah Hylam. There was also an air well
in the dining room where we used to dry salted fish, shrimp
paste, prawn crackers and grandma’s jewellery after its annual
wash. At the end of the dining hall were three rooms. In the one
on the left was kept the generator, which supplied electricity
to the three houses while the room on the right was our male
domestic helpers’ sleeping quarters. In between these rooms was
father’s personal bathroom. The rest of the family had to make
use of the one in Rumah Hylam. It was only after his death that
we were able to use his bathroom.
Mother’s ashes were kept on the ancestral altar in the front
hall of Rumah Abu. This hall was also utilised as my tuition
room. Both elder sister and I were originally students of the
Methodist Girls’ School in Short Street. Unfortunately, both
of us tended to fall ill practically every morning before going
to school. Gradually father became convinced that we were not
spiritually compatible with the school and decided to have us
privately tutored at home. We had our tuition daily, Monday to
Friday, from 2 pm to 4 pm. The first of our tutors was a Eurasian
lady whose name I have long forgotten. She was followed by a
Teochew lady who styled her hair in two buns. Our last teacher
was an Indian, a Miss Thannai. She was a full-time teacher at
Nind Home, which was a boarding school for girls at Sophia
Road. Her sister, a Miss Satham, also taught in the same school
and was a close friend of second sister-in-law. Our education
came to an end when Miss Thannai decided to get married. It
is interesting to note that our tutors had all been ladies for no
38
A NYONYA MOSAIC
The Short Street Methodist School, where we had our very short sojourn.
(Courtesy of Mrs Lim Cheng Choon)
male teacher would have been allowed anywhere near us even

though we were mere children at that time.
There was no access to the second half of Rumah Abu from
the tuition room. Father had made this part of the house his
private office and nobody was allowed into the room. Our
telephone was put there but since the room was out-of-bounds,
the phone was only used by father. There were, however, two
entrances to father’s office from Rumah Tengah; one was from
the sitting room near the stairway and the other was from the
dining room. From father’s office there was a door that opened
to the last portion of the house, the kitchen. There was a
doorway from the dining room of Rumah Tengah to the kitchen
next door but during heavy showers it was not possible to get
across without getting wet because of the open air well. Only
under these circumstances did father permit passage through
his room from the dining room, to the kitchen. The section
of the kitchen opposite the entrance from father’s room was
the cooking area. To the left were three rooms. One was the
domestic helpers’ bathroom in front of which was the area for
washing clothes, the next was the household toilet and the last
was another toilet for the domestic helpers’ use.
The first hall of Rumah Hylam was hardly used at all. A
collapsible partition separated if from the second hall, which,
in sharp contrast was a busy and much utilised area. It served
mainly as a dining room for guests. We were never short of
visitors who stayed for meals, nor occasions for having guests in
the first place. There was a reclining armchair in this room and
grandma often rested in it whenever she wanted to relax. While
she rested in this part of the house most of the activities which
she strongly disapproved of would take place in Rumah Tengah
and Rumah Abu out of her hearing. Typical of the elderly
old-fashioned ladies of her era, grandma was a garang (fierce)
40 A NYONYA MOSAIC
woman with very strict and uncompromising ways. She ran the
household with a firm hand. Although Nyonyas of her era were
generally thought of as meek and submissive creatures, they
could, when it was required of them, shoulder responsibilities
far above what they had been brought up for. They proved
that they could be capable, efficient, and ruthless too at times.
Grandma’s dining cum restroom boasted of a spiral stairway
that led to the first floor, in addition to yet another air well. It
took me a while to get used to this stairway, as I felt nauseous
climbing it. A doorway close to the air well linked this section
of the house to the sitting room of Rumah Tengah.
The third hall of Rumah Hylam was divided into two sections:
a bath area and a narrow garden. This was the bathroom,
which the family used when father had sole monopoly of the
bathroom in Rumah Tengah. After his death we rarely made
use of this bathroom and it became the bathroom reserved for
guests during special events like Chinese New Year or grandma’s
birthday celebration. On such occasions, a square wooden
platform about 61 sq cm (2 sq ft) standing on legs about 10 cm
(6 ins) high was placed in the room. The platform itself was
perforated with many square holes. Female guests using the
bathroom were expected to squat on the platform when they
urinated. I have never been able to fathom the actual reason
for the platform but some claimed that it was to prevent shoes
from getting wet. Oddly, grandma only brought this platform
out on special occasions where in other homes; it was a regular
feature of every bathroom. This particular bathroom had no
roof and there was a deep cistern that partly jutted out of the
bathroom to collect rainwater.
Those were the days when modem sanitation had not come
our way. We used the bucket system, where human waste was
collected in oval shaped metal buckets, which were removed
daily or every two days and replaced with clean empty buckets.
As we had no backdoor or a back lane there was no access to the
two latrines from outside the house. Therefore, in order to get
to these closets in Rumah Abu the daily route of the ‘night-soil’
collector took him through Rumah Hylam’s first hall, through
the guests’ dining room, the third hall into the dining room of
Rumah Tengah, into the kitchen of Rumah Abu and through the
opposite route before leaving our premises. The one consolation
was that the night-soil carrier came early in the morning before
most of the household was up.
The other half of the third hall had a rectangular pond,
which was fringed by a narrow path. In the centre of the pond
was a fountain in the shape of a lotus, made of aluminium.
Once a year during the New Year celebrations the fountain was
turned on. It was not much of a decorative object really, but
it never failed to attract a lot of attention from our guests. We
children were very proud of the fountain and took great pride
in conducting guests round it.
Our neighbourhood was a cosmopolitan one. Facing
our house, the building immediately to the right of Rumah
Hylam had a large compound. The owner was a Cantonese
businessman who was an acquaintance of father. To the right
of this house lived Dr Salmon and his mother. He was a well-
known and popular gynecologist at that time. Immediately to
the left of Rumah Abu was a Japanese hotel. The proprietor’s
daughter, Sako, was my age. The two houses next to this hotel
belonged to the Hodstadt family. Mr and Mrs Hodstadt had
a son Henry (I called him Henry Boy) and five daughters. If
my memory serves me right, the girls were Annie, May, Grace,
Nellie and Alice. The youngest, Alice, was also my age. She
used to come to our home along with her niece Flora (Annie’s
daughter) to join Sako and me at play. Mr Hodstadt was an
42 A NYONYA MOSAIC
undertaker and he used one house to store imported marble. He

employed Indian workers to work the marble into tombstones.
The Japanese hotel and the two Hodstadt houses did not stretch
back as deep as our house but extended only up to our kitchen.
As a result, they had a back lane that ended at our kitchen wall.
Directly behind Rumah Abu and sharing part of our back wall
was the Bencoolen Street home of a Baba family. We knew the
lady of the house as Bibi Bulat. Next to their house was another
Japanese hotel that shared the same back wall along part of
Rumah Abu and Rumah Tengah. This hotel had a roof garden
with three rooms at the top floor. Facing Bibi Bulat’s house was
yet another Japanese hotel.
Among our neighbours facing the house were a Japanese
hotel, a large building occupied by several families of Chinese
manual labourers, and a large Chinese school attended by mostly
Hainanese children. There were regular basketball matches in
this school and I enjoyed watching the games from the vantage
point of our rooms upstairs.
By the time we moved into Prinsep Street, our family had
increased in number. Among the additions were Auntie Chye,
grandma’s niece, and her husband, Uncle Hong Kee. They had
three children, two boys and a girl, but they stayed with a foster
mother because grandma was not particularly fond of children
and had told them that their presence would not be acceptable
in the house. Second brother by this time too had already
married his neighbourhood sweetheart and they stayed with us.
However, father had not moved into this house just because
we now had a larger family. He had bought this larger house in
keeping with his social and financial status.
Our sleeping quarters were all upstairs. Grandma occupied
the front room of Rumah Tengah. However, whenever there was
a wedding in our house this room was utilised as the bridal
chamber and grandma gladly moved to another room. The hall

after this room was the card room where almost daily sessions of
card games were held: This room led to the last hall, a portion
of which was partitioned into father’s room. There were two
stairways outside this room; one led to a roof garden while the
other was connected to the dining room downstairs. It was on
this roof garden that I was an active witness to many a thrilling
kite battle between my brothers and the neighbourhood boys.
Next to grandma’s room was second brother’s room in
Rumah Abu. Outside his room was a spare room and along
its corridor was a stairway that led downstairs and another
that led to the attic. Here we stored pots and pans that were
used on certain festivals and other items such as candlestands
and brass spittoons for use during Chinese New Year. They
were all thoroughly cleaned after use before being kept neatly.
In the spare room were two large beds. One was the richly
carved wooden wedding bed or ranjang loksan and the other
was a similarly designed but uncarved bed which we called
ranjang China (Chinese bed). Grandma made use of this
room whenever her room was utilised as a bridal chamber.
At other times, this room was turned into a maternity room.
Anybody who had just delivered a baby stayed here during
the one-month confinement period. A passageway divided
this room and the back room where Auntie Chye and her
husband slept. Grandma did not permit sister and I to be seen
anywhere near our uncle or be seen talking to him. He was
deemed more than less an outsider who was merely a relative
by marriage. Therefore it was not thought to be in good taste
for young girls like us to fraternise with him. Uncle Hong Kee
was actually a pleasant person whom we liked but every time
we talked to him we had to make sure that grandma was not
anywhere around.
44 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Eldest brother and eldest sister-in-law occupied the front

room of Rumah Hylam. Outside their room was a hall with a
spiral stairway which led down to the air well. The back portion
of Rumah Hylam was another hall, part of which was partitioned
into a room with screens made of a thick cloth stretched over
wooden frames. It was a rest area but those who wished to lie
down had to be content with lying on a mattress on the floor
because there was no bed in this room. Our female domestic
helpers were not given a fixed room to sleep in. At times they
could be found using this room as their bedroom while at other
times they could be found asleep anywhere along the several
wide and spacious corridors upstairs. There was a bathroom
nearby which was rarely used. To the best of my knowledge
only elder sister’s husband made use of it.
With a house as large as ours the number of domestic
helpers required to maintain it was proportionally large. We
had nine. In Baba homes, Hainanese domestic helpers were
almost mandatory. We had three of them at anyone time. The
most senior was Ah Wan Tua (old Ah Wan). I remember him
as a wizened old man with two buck teeth. He had been in
our service for so long that he did not have to address father
as Towkay (Boss) as the rest of his workmates did. He was
privileged to use the term Baba instead. Similarly, he addressed
grandma as Nyonya in place of the traditional Towkay Mak.
This was a clear indication that he had been accepted as part
of the family. Although he was a harmless and tired old man,
I was, in my childish way, scared of his aged appearance. His
skin was scaly, particularly the palm of his hands which were
roughened by many years’ washing duties. In his old age, he was
assigned light duties like polishing the children’s shoes, putting
up and lowering the sunshade daily and occasionally, the simple
act of exorcism known as lalu lalu or buang buang.
Before the advent of bamboo chicks (blinds) a piece of thick

cloth the length of which depended on the frontage of the
house, served as an effective sunshade. Metal rings were sewn
along the edge of the cloth at regular intervals and nails were
partially driven into the beam along the frontage to hang the
shade up. Every morning old Ah Wan put up the cloth along
the beam by hooking the metal rings onto the nails with the aid
of a forked wooden pole. It was necessary to have the sunshade
because our house faced the rising sun. After sunset the cloth
was lowered and neatly folded for the next day’s use.
The act of lalu lalu in which Ah Wan had much experience was
a quick remedy for simple ailments brought about by malevolent
spiritual influences. The items required for the ritual consisted
generally of three joss-sticks and a thin bundle of ‘gold’ paper.
The paper is still made: a bulky, rough textured rectangle of
paper measuring approximately 165 mm (6.5 inches) by 120 mm
(4.75 inches) with a square of very thin ‘gold’ foil in the centre.
When an ailment had been self-diagnosed to be not serious
enough to consult a deity for specific advice, the lalu lalu
involving the joss sticks and gold paper was sufficient to effect
a cure. Otherwise a variation or an increased number of items
involved might be called for. On many occasions when I felt
out of sorts, Ah Wan was delegated to lalu lalu me. I was made
to stand at the main entrance facing the road at dusk. Ah Wan
Tua then lit three joss sticks, placed them with a bundle of gold
paper, and swept them, barely touching me, from head to toe,
twelve times in all. While performing this rite he muttered a
prayer softly under his breath for my speedy recovery and for
the malevolent influence to leave me in peace. After completing
the sweeping strokes he immediately left the house with the
bundle as I walked into the house without glancing back at
him. Ah Wan had to go a couple of doors away where he stuck
46 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the joss sticks in the ground after saying another prayer. The
gold paper was then burned.
Poor Ah Wan was not spared from being the butt of eldest
sister-in-law’s practical jokes. Normally after he had finished
his chores Ah Wan took a quick nap anywhere he found
convenient. Grandma never objected to this as long as he
had done his work. Domestic helpers in those days needed
no prodding. They knew their duties and tried to finish them
early. Whenever Ah Wan was found asleep and grandma was
not around, eldest sister-in-law would rudely interrupt his
sleep in several ways. If it was not an exploding firecracker
close to him it was by crying and wailing at his side as though
he had already died. Strangely enough, the old man did not
seem much bothered by it at all. His only reaction was to
mutter with apparent disgust, ‘Ini sudah gila’ meaning ‘This
one’s gone mad.’ This did not deter eldest sister-in-law the
slightest bit as she continued to conjure up various methods of
interrupting Ah Wan’s naps.
I have never stopped feeling sad whenever I recall Ah Wan’s
last few months with us. One night he suddenly collapsed in
pain during dinner. The next morning father wasted no time in
summoning a doctor to treat him. The doctor came every two
days but Ah Wan continued to moan loudly because of pain.
Father changed his treatment to traditional Chinese herbs which
seemed to relieve matters somewhat. He was then able to leave
his bed and move about slowly. As his ailment had obviously
drained him of his strength, he was no longer required to
perform any work in the house. One day he approached father
and expressed his wish to spend his last days in his country of
birth, China. Father could not refuse the request as Ah Wan
had served our family so faithfully for so long. All the necessary
arrangements for his early departure were quickly made and Ah
Wan was rewarded with enough money to see him through the
rest of his life. He richly deserved this. Such faithful devotion
as his died with his generation of domestic helpers. On the day
Ah Wan walked out of our house for the last time, tears rolled
down our eyes for we were parting forever, not with a domestic
help, but with a member of our own family.
Ah Pok the cook was also Hainanese. He was a moody and
temperamental man but, as a domestic help, he was worth his
weight in gold. A multi-talented man, there was no task he
could not perform well. He worked wonders with his hands
and seemed to be able to repair anything. His main duties were
marketing and cooking. In the days when the Baba’s eating
habits were fastidious Ah Pok had to do marketing twice a day
in order that every meal was made with fresh ingredients. In
the kitchen he was king. No one could tell him what to do
there – even grandma thought it more prudent not to cross
his path there when he was in one of his black moods. She
merely chided him under her breath as she beat a hasty retreat
from the kitchen. Prior to his posting as cook, he was father’s
personal valet. He helped father dress for work and it seemed
that he went as far as to comb father’s hair. Father’s breakfast
was prepared and served by him. His table setting had a touch
of class.
Being a cook in a Baba home was, to say the least, not a
simple task. Methods in the preparation of our food were
elaborate and laborious, and Ah Pok had to prepare meals twice
a day. Conditions worsened during festivals and other social
events. During these occasions Ah Pok had to prepare a more
varied menu and in large quantities too as grandma was fond
of giving substantial quantities of food to friends and relatives.
An example of how laborious and difficult it was in
preparing food for a Baba family can be seen in the preparation
48 A NYONYA MOSAIC
of pek kway (gingko nut). Whenever we prepared a soup dish

where gingko nut was one of the ingredients no less than 1.2 kg
(2 katties) of it were required. The first step was to crack open
the hard outer shell with a pestle to get to the kernel. These
kernels are covered with a thin, papery membrane which has to
be peeled off with the aid of a knife. In the centre, running the
length of each kernel is a fibrous rind-like substance, which is
bitter and therefore must be discarded. It would have been so
simple to just split the kernel and to pull off the fibrous strip.
However, this would not be acceptable to any true blue Nyonya
who valued presentation above being practical. Each kernel
must remain whole. So in order to remove the fibrous strip a
toothpick or matchstick was employed to slowly push it out.
The technique was to insert the toothpick into one end of each
kernel and push the fibrous material out the other end.
Keeping in mind this fastidiousness in the preparation of
other elaborate dishes, one can well imagine what it was like to
be a Baba’s cook.
Ah Pok had the knack of stretching time. In addition to
his work in the kitchen he could find time to be in charge
of the maintenance of the generator, to make fine wooden
miniature furniture for burning at funerals, to grow juicy and
healthy vegetables on the roof garden and to chop and stack
the monthly lorry load of firewood required in the kitchen. He
also made huge layang Hylam (Hainanese kites) about a man’s
height which he flew high in the sky and left flying overnight
by tying the kite string to one of the drain pipes along the
roof. He was almost the perfect manservant except for his
one weakness. He had an overpowering passion for gambling.
Once he landed himself in trouble and caused a stir in the
house. One evening, after he had finished his work, he sought
grandma’s permission to go out for the night. It was customary
for everyone in the house to seek grandma’s blessing before

going out. For immediate members of the family they had to
reveal their reasons for leaving the house and the time they
would be back. As for the domestic helpers grandma was not
insistent to know their destination but they were reminded to
be back by ten. On that night, Ah Pok failed to come home
by the appointed time. In fact, he did not come home at all.
It kept grandma awake the whole night as Ah Pok had never
failed to come home before. The reason became apparent the
next morning when a policeman came to inform us that Ah Pok
had run foul of the law and was in police custody for gambling.
He had been arrested in a raid on a gambling den. His failure
to come home had not been communicated to father but with
the arrival of the law the cat was out of the bag. Father was
annoyed about it but, nevertheless, he bailed Ah Pok out and
later on paid the fine. Unfortunately, this traumatic experience
did not change his gambling habit at all.
The third Hainanese in our service was Ah Nyiok who
started working for us as a young sinkek, or newcomer, from
China. His main job was to assist Ah Pok in the kitchen.
As this did not appear to keep him busy, he was assigned
additional duties which, included washing dishes after meal
times, watering the potted plants in the compound, keeping the
various altars clean, and helping Ah Pok cut and stack firewood.
Later on it became his daily duty to take food to fourth brother
who was attending school at St Joseph’s Institution like all his
brothers before him. On the nights when Ah Nyiok and Ah
Pok had nothing particular to do they quietly climbed to the
roof garden above their room to peep at the going-ons in the
Japanese hotel behind our house. The Japanese prostitutes who
were attached to this hotel were uninhibited in their actions
on their roof gardens as well as in the rooms which opened
50 A NYONYA MOSAIC
onto it. After several hours on the roof, both workers would
appear to be disgusted at what they had seen and would curse
the Japanese women aloud. Eldest sister-in-law claimed that
they were both hypocrites.
After the departure of old Ah Wan another sinkek was
employed to replace him. As he was truly fresh off the boat
we called him sinkek bahru (new arrival). He was a far cry
from Ah Wan who was diligent at work. Although most of his
duties were light, like sweeping the ground floor of the three
houses, he failed to adapt to his work and environment and
appeared unhappy most of the time. It was not long after when
he tendered his resignation. His duties were taken over by Ah
Nyiok with the least bother.
Female domestic helpers were assigned duties upstairs. One
of them was Ah Sum, a Cantonese lady. She was known to have
high blood pressure which explained her flushed complexion.
Eldest sister-in-law wasted no time in awarding her the
appropriate nickname of Si Muka Merah (the red-faced one).
She attended to all the ironing for the family, which, before
the advent of the electric iron, was a heavy and hot task. The
charcoal-heated iron was a heavy contraption. When in use, the
coals had to be red hot in order to obtain good results. Nyonyas
in general loved their dresses well-pressed and well-starched.
This could be achieved only with a very hot iron and a lot of
sweat from the operator. Ah Sum’s subsidiary duties included
the cleaning of the chamber pots from the rooms upstairs and
the general cleaning of the surrounding areas.
Our second female help was Ah Sim, the washerwoman.
Our clothes were washed downstairs in the kitchen outside
the servants’ bathroom, but were dried upstairs close to the
bathroom of Rumah Hylam. Ah Sim was a faithful worker but
she had to leave us once a year for her maternity leave. Where
Ah Sim was concerned it was a baby a year until we finally

lost count of the number of children she had. She did not stay
with us but went home as soon as she had finished hanging
the clothes to dry, obviously to look after her brood. She was a
quiet but diligent worker who needed the salary so badly that
she only gave way to a locum when she was very close to her
expected date of delivery. It was a pitiful sight to see a woman
in a late stage of pregnancy hard at work washing the whole
household’s clothes each day. She was also a reliable tailor and
grandma occasionally paid her to sew dresses for our slave girls.
Slaves were a common sight in well-to-do Baba homes. We
had two slave girls. Ah Tuey, who was my age, was purchased
for $400. She had to attend to all of grandma’s needs and was
expected to be present by her side at all times. When she was
not pounding the sireh leaf (betel vine leaf ) for grandma to
chew she would be seen fanning her mistress. Sometimes she
was asked to sweep all the stairways and the whole length of
the drain that skirted the house. Poor Ah Tuey suffered the
unhappy lot of most slaves, in that she was punished physically
for any wrongs she committed.
When she was in her late teens she ran away and was never
found again. The other slave was an older girl whose name
sounded like old Ah Wan’s. She was a general domestic helper
without any specific tasks to perform daily. Her duties ranged
from the simple job of preparing grandma’s weekly hot water
bath to that of helping to scrape no less than ten coconuts at
one go. Both our slaves were unattractive looking girls. As it
was a well-known fact that slaves had the habit of running away,
Ah Wan was never allowed to go out by herself lest she might
be influenced to escape. This further lessened her prospects of
ever finding a life partner. It was therefore not surprising that
subsequently she eloped with Baboo our second watchman.
52 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Our first watchman was Bola. He was actually employed to

look after father’s office at Robinson Road during the day. Since
he was not required to be on duty in the evening he became our
night watchman at home. Bola was an Indian who was bald
except for a strand of curly hair at the back of his head. We
called him a Bengali, which was of course a misnomer. Our
house had a pavement just outside the main doors, and this was
where Bola slept. A small hut was built outside the garden wall,
just beside the main gate for Bola to do his cooking. Although
Bola was a temperamental person, he did not object to people
standing a few feet away watching him cook his meals. I
thoroughly enjoyed watching him cook his dalcha and chappatis
every evening. But for some unknown reason, he did not permit
anybody to step into his hut and approach his cooked food.
Sister Puteh unknowingly walked into his hut one day in his
presence. To her surprise, he reacted by throwing away all his
food. This happened more than once, when others accidentally
walked in while he cooked.
Bola was a ganja smoker, who usually smoked in ·the
company of several of his friends. His pipe was a funnel-shaped
earthernware contraption tapering to the mouthpiece. The
wide end of the pipe had a circumference slightly larger than
the present day 50 cent coin and had a lip round it. To smoke
the pipe he used a square piece of cloth which he wet with water
and part of which he wrapped the lower half of the pipe with.
The other half of the cloth hung loose. He then proceeded to
wind a piece of hemp rope into a circular shape of a size slightly
smaller than that of the opening of the pipe.
The hemp rope was burnt until red hot before it was
dropped into the pipe. A lump of ganja was then crushed in
the palm of the hand and poured into the pipe onto the red hot
piece of rope. Holding the pipe by the lower end he proceeded
to smoke from the end of the wet cloth which dangled free of
the pipe. After puffing a couple of times he passed the pipe to
the next person who continued the smoking chain. When he
was alone he did not smoke the pipe bur just popped a wad of
ganja into his mouth and proceeded to chew it. The ganja habit
did not seem to get him arrested. After father’s death Bola left
our service and he was replaced by Baboo.
When we were staying at Wilkie Road, father owned both
types of horse carriages available then. One was the Kreta
Bogey, a high, open-seater popular with menfolk. The other
was a covered carriage called Kreta Pelankin.
Father sold them and bought a car when we moved to
Prinsep Street. Ahmad was the name of our driver. As we did
not have sufficient space to park the vehicle at home father
rented a garage with living quarters above it, for Ahmad and
his family.
In general we were blessed with a set of faithful, reliable
and honest domestic staff. Due credit for this should go to
grandma for the way she handled them. She was strict when
necessary but she could be lenient when she had to. The staff
feared her but they did not hate her for she did not bother
them unnecessarily. As long as they had completed their
assigned duties they could loaf around the house without any
comment from her. They in turn were expected to produce
good work. Grandma always made sure her staff had enough
to eat. This was not the normal practice in other households
where the domestic helpers, especially the slaves, were at times
provided with the barest minimum at meals. We used to hear
endless complaints from friends and relatives about their staff
problems and the frequent quarrels among their workers at
home. Grandma was always able to justifiably boast that
nothing of that sort ever took place in her household.
54 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Prinsep Street circa 1912. Our house was the third building from the
right. (Courtesy of Mr Andrew Tan)
The front facade of our house.

chapter three
The Birthday
WE CALLED ELDEST grand-aunt Koh Poh Cho. She was also
known as Bongkok (Hunchback) which was such a fine name for
her that few of us ever thought it important to know her real name.
Koh Poh Cho celebrated her seventy-fourth birthday in a
grand way when I was ten years old. As the etiquette of the
period demanded, grandma, being a close relative, was obligated
to send as many lady members of her family as she could to help
serve the multitude of guests. On this occasion, grandma was
not limited in her choice to sending only the married women
of the household, for in the close proximity of the family, she
could take the opportunity to introduce anak daras (eligible
young maidens) to society.
So, besides her two grand daughters-in-law, grandma sent
sister Puteh and cousin Swee Neo who were the correct age.
Swee Neo was a distant cousin, who, as a child had lost her
parents. Although she was being looked after by her married
elder sister, it was grandma, being her closest elderly relative,
who was responsible for bringing her out.
Cousin Swee Neo was not to find out till much later, but it
was this birthday party which eventually led to another major
celebration in our family.
56 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Social gatherings of the day were held at home rather than

at restaurants because people generally lived in large houses
with spacious gardens and were never short of female relatives
to wait at tables. Food was customarily served twice a day at
parties because male and female guests were invited to different
meals: males for dinner and females for lunch. However, the
caterer for both meals would be the same Hainanese man who,
more often than not, had once been employed in a Baba home
as cook. Having mastered our culinary art and customs they
could set up their own food catering service with great success.
They were so familiar with our ways and preferences that there
was little need to go into details. All they needed to know was
the number of guests expected for the afternoon laok meja
panjang and the laok jantan at night.
Laok meja panjang was made up of specific dishes and served
on a long table for female guests at weddings and birthdays.
Today it has become popularly designated as laok tok panjang,
the word tok being the Chinese term for the Malay word
meja (meaning table) and is attached, incorrectly, to Nyonya
food served at any function. The laok jantan or ‘food for men’
consisted of more or less the same menu served at lunch but,
instead of being served all at once, the dishes were served as
separate courses.
On the day of the reception I woke up earlier than usual
because I was restless with excitement. Normally, a girl of my
age was not expected to be present at a celebration. However,
as I happened to be Koh Poh Cho’s favourite grandniece, she
had specifically mentioned that she wanted me at her party and
grandma had relented. Women rarely had any opportunity to
attend social functions, and when they did, they took pains to
dress and look their best. I was well aware that on that day eldest
sister-in-law was bound to be anxious because of the household
THE BIRTHDAY 57
duties she had to finish before she could leave for the party. On
top of this, she was expected to be there early, before the guests
arrived. Fortunately she was a fast worker and by the time I
woke up she had already almost finished her work. In no time
at all she had dressed me and gone to prepare herself, but not
before sternly instructing me to sit quietly and not move about
too much lest I got my well-starched dress crumpled. As nothing
was more abhorrent to me than a crumpled dress, I decided
to minimise movement. It was while I was dutifully seated on
one of the mother-of-pearl inlaid blackwood armchairs that
adorned most of our halls that grandma found me. She started
to deliver her usual lecture, rambling on about not forgetting to
greet everyone politely and properly, not to be in people’s way,
not to make unnecessary noises, and, most importantly, not to
forget to wish Koh Poh Cho a long life. I had been through
variations of the same lecture many times before and I just
nodded my head woodenly and replied obediently ‘Baik mama’
(Yes, grandma) at intervals without actually paying attention.
I was more concerned about keeping the beautiful creases on
my outfit! In the meantime both sisters-in-law were frantically
rushing about completing their chores and then getting ready
to be at grand-aunt’s house on time. After what appeared to be
an eternity of sitting stock-still and bearing grandma’s detailed
instructions on etiquette, they were at last ready to go. But not
yet; grandma had still to hold her inspection to see that we
were properly attired in the way she had directed days before.
Grandma’s idea of proper dressing for a party meant that one
should be festooned from head to toe with as much glittering
jewellery as possible. For wasn’t it only on such occasions that
ladies could display all their best jewellery for all to see?
Somehow, we were early at grand-aunt’s house. Most of the
guests had not arrived but several relatives were already there
58 A NYONYA MOSAIC
ahead of us. Grand-aunt was seated on her favourite armchair

to welcome her guests. There she sat, very appropriately dressed
for the occasion, a perfect picture of classic Nyonya dignity. In
her coiffure, she had struck three solid gold hairpins. Two of
these korek kupings were plain but the third, the smallest, was
a decorative piece with a flower motif in addition to several
brilliants. It was considered the junior piece and was naturally
known as the anak (baby) korek kuping.
At her age grand-aunt wore only one ornate hairpin. The
privilege of wearing three be-jewelled hairpins belonged to the
anak darahs and young brides who had not yet borne children.
Similarly, drop earrings were out of the question as far as grand-
aunt was concerned. For her it was stud earrings. The size of
the pair she had on was the envy of many of her guests – so
big they were. Her long baju Nyonya (or baju panjang) was of
fine silk material, the stra lokechuan; the background colour
was brown, with details of delicate flowers on it. In place of
buttons she wore three gold kerosangs which fastened her dress
at the front. Two of these brooches were similar in shape and
size: round with diamonds along their circumference. The third
one was a gold pin worn in between the other two. I was totally
fascinated by the design of this pin. It was an eagle fighting a
snake. On each of her third fingers she had a glittering ring. For
this red-letter day she wore a special matching sarong made of
an expensive material called kain menang bola. On her feet was
a pair of new embroidered slippers.
Following my two sisters-in-law, sister Puteh and cousin
Swee Neo, I took my tum to wish grand-aunt a long life in
our traditional way. To preserve my neat dress, I lowered myself
slowly to a squatting position before her, then put my palms flat
together and in a loud, clear tone wished her a long life. She
praised me and said I was a clever, graceful girl as she reached
THE BIRTHDAY 59
out to help me up. Imagine my feelings when she proceeded to

hug and kiss me, for she not only smeared my face with traces
of the deep-orange juice from the betel nut she was chewing,
but she had also crumpled my dress!
Bongkok Koh Poh Cho received a lot of presents that
day but there was no variety and surprise in them. Without
exception, each close relative brought a pair of red candles of
about 600g (1 kati) in weight, a dozen hen’s eggs, a box of mee
suanh (rice vermicelli), rock sugar and the occasional leg of pork
from adopted children. Friends presented almost the same
items except the pig’s leg. I was kept busy the whole morning
carrying the gifts into a room where grand-aunt had placed a
mat on the floor for the items. It was my duty to arrange each
item in neat groups on the mat. This was all too familiar for
me because I had the same responsibility each time grandma
celebrated her birthday. I knew that after the celebration was
over, the candles would be taken to the nearest candle shop to
be exchanged for the smaller household variety. The eggs would
be used in making seraykaya (egg jam) while the rest of the
items were distributed among friends and relatives.
From ten in the morning onwards the guests, including
grandma, began to arrive. The continuous greetings kept
grand-aunt glued to her seat. I was rather amazed to see that
grandma could make it so early. Normally she took so long
to get dressed. Moreover, she had not even started dressing
when we left the house. In the absence of eldest sister-in-law,
grandma had recruited the help of Auntie Chye to help her
comb her hair and to sew the three kerosangs to her dress.
Grandma’s kerosangs were so big and heavy that they tended
to fall off if only pinned on! With the arrival of guests it was
the cue for the married lady helpers to begin work. For starters
they had to serve ayer mata kuching (longan drink) as cherki
60 A NYONYA MOSAIC
(a card game) groups were formed. All guests were considered

important and their every gesture amounted to a command.
Thus, helpers were kept busy, for under no circumstances
were guests given occasion to find the service wanting. Any
inattention could possibly give rise to unflattering comments
about the function later on, which, of course, was the last
thing a host wanted.
Most Nyonyas chewed sireh (the odd man who joined in
tended to be thought of as effeminate) and an adequate number
of tempat sireh (sireh sets) and appropriate spittoons had to be
borrowed from friends and relatives for the occasion. For those
who sat at a table for their game of cherki, porcelain spittoons
The tempat sireh is still well-utilised today.

(Venue: the residence of the late Mr Tan Cheng Kee)
THE BIRTHDAY 61
were placed near their feet while those who sat on the floor for
their card session had aluminium spittoons placed close to them.
This cherki session was interrupted around noon when
chicken macaroni soup was served as a prelude to lunch. Young
unmarried helpers like sister Puteh and cousin Swee Neo would
then serve water to the guests to rinse their mouths before the
main meal. It was at this juncture that these young maidens
came under very close scrutiny from would-be matchmakers or
the real professionals. During lunch, guests were seated in two
rows of ten facing each other at a long table. The food served,
the laok mejah panjang, consisted of three types of dishes. Two
or three dishes of each category were served as standard fare by
the caterer while remaining dishes were left to the customer’s
choice. The first type was the laok mangkok or soup dishes from
which there was a choice from bakwan kepiting (crab and pork
balls with bamboo shoot), hee pio soup (dried fish maw soup),
perot babi (pig’s tripe soup), ayam sarang burong (chicken with
bird’s nest soup) and buah keluak (Indonesian black nut with
pork or chicken). The second category was the laok pingan
besar or “food on large plates” which was made up of such
dishes as babi panggang (roast pork, Hainanese style), mee suanh
thau (rice vermicelli served at birthday celebrations only), hoo
sit telor (scrambled egg fried with sharksfin), ayam roast (roast
chicken), ayam curry (chicken curry), and sayor char (fried mixed
vegetables). Lastly came the laok piring (food on medium plates)
which consisted of side dishes such as udang sambal (spicy
prawns), udang asam (fried prawns in tamarind), satay babi
(spicy barbecued pork), achar (pickles), ikan goreng (fried fish),
sambal jantong (banana heart with rich coconut milk), sambal
timun (cucumber, meat and dried prawn salad), sambal blachan
(toasted shrimp paste pounded with chillies), sambal serondeng
(fried coconut in spices) and sambal nanas (pineapple in spices).
62 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Since the table could seat a total of only twenty people at

a time guests took their lunch in several sittings. Grand-aunt
had invited many people that afternoon, so lunch was not over
till late in the day. I had been unfortunate to be seated next to
grandma. As a result I ended half as hungry as when I started.
Among grandma’s reminders earlier in the day was that I should
not eat too much lest it might create the impression that I
was a greedy, ill-bred child. I was repeatedly warned not to
stretch out for food but to wait for someone to serve me. This
naturally resulted in my getting tiny portions because it was not
considered proper in those days to take large portions. Grandma
herself ate very little. She confined herself strictly to the dishes
immediately in front of her and well within her reach for it was
not becoming of a lady to stretch for food. There was really no
need for anybody to do that since several sets of the same dishes
were placed at regular intervals at the table all within easy reach
of everybody. In a lunch such as this, where everybody observed
such a rigid code of conduct, the experienced host knew that
she should cater for a much smaller number of people than that
invited. Otherwise there would surely be a lot of food left over.
The moment our sitting had finished lunch, the helpers
led us to a table nearby for dessert. This was the kueh chuchi
mulot (cakes to wash the mouth with) which actually meant
cakes to round up a meal. Just as the laok meja panjang was
a collection of selected dishes, these were also selected cakes
considered appropriate to the occasion. The most important of
them was the red coloured kueh koo (glutinous rice flour cake
with green pea paste) which was served especially at birthday
celebrations. The remaining selection was chosen from cakes
such as kueh dadar (coconut roll with coconut sauce), onde
onde (glutinous rice flour balls), kueh sarlat (glutinous rice
with custard topping), pulot seraykaya (glutinous rice with
THE BIRTHDAY 63
rich egg custard), kueh keledek (sweet potato cake), kueh lapis
(rainbow layered cake), apom bokwah (pancake with gravy),
and chai thau kueh (carrot cake). Surprisingly, amidst these
cakes was a meat dish which was either sek ark (stewed duck),
mohiang or ngohiang (minced pork roll) or sehnh wan lo (stewed
pig’s ovary). On this particular occasion it was sek ark that was
served. This was my favourite dish and when grandma had
gone back to her card session, I returned to the kueh chuchi
mulot to make up for the little I had to eat at lunch. Contrary
to the code of conduct, I ate my fill.
Around four in the afternoon, soft drinks were served. This
was more or less a signal that in an hour it was time for the ladies
to make way for the men who came for dinner. Among those
who took their leave were grandma, sister Puteh and cousin
Swee Neo. I stayed back at grand-aunt’s request to await father
just as some close relatives stayed to wait for their husbands.
It was during lunch, while she served the guests, that cousin
Swee Neo attracted much attention. She was, by far, the most
eligible among the anak daras present that day. At fifteen, she
was a matchmaker’s dream: graceful, fair and attractive, the
perfect age. Two years younger and she would not be ready
and if eighteen, already considered not quite ideal. No wonder,
then, that many guests took more than a passing interest in her.
Among these was a certain distant relative, who because
of her short stature, was known as Bibi Pendek. An inveterate
semi-professional matchmaker, she had been an occasional
guest at our house. However, since cousin Swee Neo and sister
Puteh became eligible, grandma no longer permitted them
to be seen by visitors who were not close relatives. Therefore,
when Bibi Pendek saw what a lovely young lady cousin Swee
Neo had become, she decided there and then that she had the
perfect match for her. “I so happen to know a family with an
64 A NYONYA MOSAIC
eligible son,” she claimed. And thus, quite simply, cousin Swee
Neo’s fate was sealed on that day.
The male guests began to arrive around seven-thirty. They
immediately went into the house to congratulate grand-aunt
before going to the garden where the dinner tables had been
laid out. In contrast to the women-folk, the men-folk did not
have to squat when they expressed their birthday greetings.
They merely stood before her, lightly clasped their fists together,
and bowed slightly. This was not unlike the gesture used when
men prayed before altars to the gods. It amused me to think
that living persons received almost the same form of greeting as
the immortals.
My two elder brothers came with father. But at dinner time
both sisters-in-law did not join them because men and women
were segregated during the meal. Ladies ate inside the house
while their husbands took their food outside in the compound.
Even at my young age grand-aunt did not think it proper that I
should be with father and the menfolk. My place was with the
ladies. Moreover, she was worried that the boisterous behaviour
of the men when they succumbed to the effect of excessive
alcohol might frighten me.
Male relatives tended to drink heavily, especially those who
had wives around to escort them safely home. However, both
my brothers confined themselves to soft drinks because it would
have been improper for them to get tipsy in front of father. If
he had not been present, they would have thrown caution to
the wind and got themselves stone drunk. Both of them were
known to be heavy drinkers and their wives did not relish the
thought of going home with them after a bout of drinking.
Within a week of grand-aunt’s birthday, Bibi Pendek had
completed some of the preliminaries of her matchmaking
assignment. She had visited the prospective groom’s parents
THE BIRTHDAY 65
who were her friends and had successfully persuaded them

to think of marriage for their son. “After all” she had said,
“your young Baba is holding a steady job and ideal at the age
of twenty-two.” She had assured them that they would not
regret the decision. Bibi Pendek’s success actually came the
moment she mentioned grandma’s name. She was well-known
and highly respected in the Baba community and whatever
doubts the young man’s parents might have had about the
proposal immediately gave way to delightful consent. So Bibi
Pendek was given the full mandate to go ahead and arrange
the needful.
For this she wasted no time and came to see grandma with
the proposal. As expected of a matchmaker, Bibi Pendek was
all praise for her friend’s son who, she reported, possessed all
the desirable qualities of a prospective bridegroom. He held
a steady job, she emphasised, earned a good salary and “does
not play-the-fool like some young men do. No gambling, no
drinking and also no womanising – the perfect husband”.
Grandma herself was not unfamiliar with the groom-to-be’s
family. She had heard of them through the grapevine and
since there was no adverse gossip about them she too gave her
consent to the match.
Bibi Pendek was overwhelmed with delight and suggested
the nearest auspicious day for her to bring her friend to meet
grandma and to take a look at Swee Neo. A lucky date was
selected in several ways depending on the occasion as well as its
importance. One could go to a diviner to consult the almanac or
go to a temple to choose a significant date, a full-moon day or a
deity’s birthday. In this case Bibi Pendek had chosen the nearest
full moon day to bring the young man’s mother to meet grandma.
The day after Bibi Pendek’s visit, grandma summoned Swee
Neo’s sister for an important discussion. On being told that
66 A NYONYA MOSAIC
grandma had decided to arrange Swee Neo’s marriage, she was

more than happy that grandma had decided to trouble herself
over the matter. At her age she lacked the necessary experience
for such a project and so gave grandma her blessing to take
complete charge of the whole marriage process.
I was not aware of the reason for Bibi Pendek’s visit nor the
significance of Swee Neo’s elder sister’s meeting with grandma
until later that night. While helping me with my embroidery
eldest sister-in-law told me everything that had taken place
the last two days. She added that at Bibi Pendek’s next visit,
she would be accompanied by the young man’s mother who
would be here to specially look at Swee Neo. All this, she
made me promise to keep to myself. Strictly speaking, I was
not even supposed to be in the know about such matters. In
return for my promise eldest sister-in-law assured me that she
would show me a vantage point from where I could view the
proceedings without being detected. My excitement knew no
bounds that night and it was so difficult to restrain myself
from boasting to both sister Puteh and cousin Swee Neo
about what I had learnt.
As the days slowly drew closer to the full moon there was
no indication that cousin Swee Neo was aware of what was in
store for her in the very near future. I began to feel anxious
and worry for her and told eldest sister-in-law so. Smiling, she
assured me that Swee Neo would be told about the event and
would be instructed on her role for that day in good time. The
suspense of wondering if Swee Neo would really be told in
time became almost unbearable. The urge to tell her everything
became stronger and stronger and I had to keep fighting the
temptation. Even on the eve of the event, cousin Swee Neo did
not seem to know the better and in a moment of weakness,
I broke my promise of silence and strongly urged her to seek
THE BIRTHDAY 67
eldest sister-in-law’s help and advice. Her reaction puzzled me;

she didn’t even say a word but just patted my shoulder gently
and walked away. I felt so let down by this apparent show of
indifference that I turned to eldest sister-in-law for solace and
to admit my indiscretion. She explained that cousin Swee Neo
had behaved in the peculiar manner mainly because she was
nervous. She had just been told, quite simply by grandma that
there was to be an important guest the next day and that Swee
Neo was expected to serve the drinks. Nothing more was said
but needless to say, cousin Swee Neo straightaway understood
the implication of the visit for this was a subject often discussed
when anak daras met.
After dinner that evening, cousin Swee Neo, under
grandma’s instructions, was invited into eldest sister-in-law’s
room to be tutored in her conduct. I sat quietly on the bed
watching the whole proceeding. Cousin Swee Neo was told that
unlike normal occasions where one should verbally invite the
guest to drink. She should, for this occasion, serve the drink
silently. “Remember that you must neither look sober nor flash
a smile,” eldest sister-in-law counselled “just look and behave as
naturally as possible.”
The next day, the visitors arrived soon after lunch and were
welcomed at the front hall of Rumah Tengah by grandma herself.
Unknown to anyone, eldest sister-in-law and I were peeping
from the tuition hall next door. Bibi Pendek’s friend was clearly
overweight. Nudging me, eldest sister-in-law whispered in my
ear, “Ini Bibi Bulat.” “Auntie Rotund” – what an appropriate
name, I thought, and had to keep myself from laughing out loud.
By then, grandma had led the visitors into the guest hall
in Rumah Hylam where the crucial meeting was to take place.
We snoopers followed at a discreet distance and out of sight,
stationing ourselves by the door.
68 A NYONYA MOSAIC
The conversation in the adjoining room was genteel and

polite, each party surpassing the other with complimentary
remarks. However, no direct reference was made to the purpose
of the visit. It would have been inappropriate to do so.
The small talk ceased almost abruptly when cousin Swee
Neo entered the room carrying a cup of coffee. She wore a
plain baju panjang and a matching sarong with a simple set of
jewellery. Bibi Bulat smiled with approval at the tastefulness
and naturalness of the outfit and grandma knew that she had
made the right choice in selecting what cousin Swee Neo wore.
Without a word, the drink was placed before the guest of
honour. Cousin Swee Neo could not, of course, look at the lady
but Bibi Bulat’s eyes were glued on her, studying critically her
features, digesting her every gesture and movement.
Cousin Swee Neo made two more appearances to serve Bibi
Pendek and grandma their drinks. Those few moments must
have seemed like an eternity to her but to the young man’s
mother, cousin Swee Neo’s presence must have been all too
brief. After all, she was choosing herself a daughter-in-law and
a wife for her son. And she only had that one opportunity to
make an assessment and make up her mind.
After cousin Swee Neo had finished serving the drinks and
left the room, grandma broke the silence by inviting the guests
to take their drinks. Casual conversation was carried on for a
suitable time and the visitors soon took their leave.
The moment they left their seats, eldest sister-in-law and I ran
upstairs as quickly as we could. I did not need to be told. Neither
of us wanted to be seen by grandma anywhere near the scene.
For the next two days, cousin Swee Neo remained quiet and
tense. Even sister Puteh commented on the change in her mood.
It was not difficult to understand the predicament she was in.
If Bibi Bulat approved of her it would mean a step closer to
THE BIRTHDAY 69
marriage and the unknown that lay ahead. On the other hand,
if she were rejected, all sorts of conclusions could be drawn
and spread by gossip to the great detriment of her marriage
prospects. She could do nothing but be anxious and wait.
By tradition, the matchmaker would be the one to convey
the message. A negative decision was usually accompanied with
the excuse that after consultation with a deity the answer had
not been favourable because it was ‘bukan jodoh’, meaning not
a blessed love match. Fortunately, in Swee Neo’s case the lady
had been impressed and it was a beaming Bibi Pendek who
brought the glad tidings three days later. The next step was
to prepare cousin Swee Neo’s pek ji essential to the remaining
marriage process. The pek ji or horoscope was a red piece of
paper upon which was recorded in Chinese characters a person’s
name, the date, day and time of birth and the zodiac animal
under which that person was born. Both the pek ji of the girl
and the young man were required to be taken to a diviner to
verify if the intended union would be a blessed and lasting one.
If the horoscope reading turned out to be not favourable all
the wedding plans would ·be cancelled. Nobody dared to risk
defiance of a horoscope warning. Both parties would accept
the decision in good grace and without hard feelings. After all,
nobody was at fault and the outcome had been decreed by a
force much more superior than mortal man.
Every step of the marriage preparations had to occur on an
auspicious day. Some of the steps were deemed more important
than others and the days chosen had truly to be especially
auspicious ones. The day for the collection of the girl’s pek ji did
not have to be extra special and Bibi Pendek was requested to
come in several days’ time to collect it. This interval served two
purposes. Firstly, it gave us time to prepare Swee Neo’s pek ji
and, secondly, it gave us the opportunity to check on the claims
70 A NYONYA MOSAIC
made about the young man’s background. There had been

many instances of grandiose claims that proved to be untrue
and grandma was cautious.
I was told that father went to a professional Chinese
calligrapher the very next day to have Swee Neo’s horoscope
written. The red piece of paper was subsequently carefully
wrapped in a red silk handkerchief to await its collection by
the matchmaker. Being Chinese at heart we regarded red as an
auspicious colour and used it in most important events in our
culture. Next, father enlisted the help of friends and relatives
to check on the young man’s career and his personal character.
Although it is said that the couple involved in a wedding in
those days had no say in the matter, elders had their welfare
at heart and no stone was left unturned every step of the way
to ensure that the marriage would be a blessed one and that it
would endure. If it was learned that the matchmaker had lied
or had exaggerated her claims she would have been summoned
and told that a deity had been consulted about the proposed
marriage and proclaimed it not a blessed match. The whole
affair would then be called off. Happily it turned out that Bibi
Pendek had been truthful in her claims of the young man’s
virtues and so cousin Swee Neo’s pek ji was handed over to her
on the appointed day for the next and more crucial step in the
early stages of a match-made marriage.
On being handed the girl’s pek ji the young man’s parents
made a bee-line to a diviner to check the compatibility of the
young couple. The sinseh, as we addressed the diviner, was the
renowned Tan Boon Cheng who was a household name in
Baba circles because of his reputation for accurate readings of
horoscope charts. In the case of cousin Swee Neo’s horoscope
sinseh Tan announced a good reading when it was matched
with that of the young man’s. Another crucial step had been
THE BIRTHDAY 71
surmounted but the good news did not reach us until three days
later. This was because the pek jis were retained by the young
man’s parents as another precautionary measure. If anything
unusual and untoward had taken place in their household
during those three days, the marriage plan would have to be
reappraised. Fortunately nothing remotely resembling an
ominous sign indicative of a divine warning had taken place
and the pek ji was returned to us.
Bibi Pendek in handing it back had a message for grandma
from the young man’s parents. It was a suggestion that the
wedding should take place on the eighth moon of the lunar
calendar the following year, the exact day of the wedding to be
decided in due course. After consultation with father, grandma
gave her agreement for there would be ample time for actual
wedding preparations.
With this latest development, the road to the match was
cleared of the last possible obstacle. Everyone in the house was
excited at the coming wedding – except cousin Swee Neo. She
showed the least enthusiasm, and every time I tried, she did
hot seem to want to talk about her forthcoming wedding at
all. I found this to be rather bewildering. Eldest sister-in-law
later explained cousin Swee Neo’s attitude. While no one could
deny that the elders had done everything possible within their
power to ensure a good marriage for her, this did not in any
way reduce the many uncertainties that faced her future. Not
knowing what her intended husband looked like was just one
of them. If his overweight mother was anything to go by, her
prospect of having a handsome beau appeared very remote
indeed. Moreover, after the wedding she would be moving into
his household. What sort of treatment would be in store for her?
In our family she was accepted as a girl with above average talent
in domestic skills but would this measure up to her mother-in-
72 A NYONYA MOSAIC
law’s expectations? Fat people were generally supposed to have

an easygoing disposition. Would her overweight mother-in-law
prove to be so? Would her husband permit her to keep in touch
with her sister and our family or would he sever all connections?
The questions could go on and on. Fortunately girls of cousin
Swee Neo’s era were made of stern stuff. They accepted the
uncertainties bravely, kept their anxieties to themselves and
were not known to have gone to pieces over them.
While cousin Swee Neo was apprehensive, grandma was
beside herself with joy. She was delighted that her bringing
cousin Swee Neo to grand-aunt’s birthday reception had paid
such handsome dividends.
chapter four
The Preparations
ONE DAY DURING the fourth lunar month of the new year,
matchmaker Bibi Pendek came to see grandma to inform her
that the wedding day had been decided upon. By tradition it
was the prerogative of the young man’s family to choose the
date. They had again consulted sinseh Tan Boon Cheng who
had chosen auspicious dates for the necessary pre-wedding
rituals and the twelfth day of the eighth moon as the wedding
day. Needless to say even the day when all these dates were
made known to grandma, had to be auspicious. With the actual
wedding date fixed, all activities in preparation for the big day
began in earnest.
The eighth month of the lunar calendar has always been the
most popular month for weddings, other popular months being
the fourth, tenth, eleventh and the twelfth moon. Sangkek ums,
the all-important mistresses of ceremonies, were heavily booked
throughout these months so grandma had taken no chances.
The moment the two horoscopes had been found compatible
she had contacted sangkek um Ah Bee and had engaged her
services for a tentative date in the eighth moon the following
year. For other customers, sangkek um Ah Bee might have
demanded a downpayment but in this case, the question of a
74 A NYONYA MOSAIC
deposit did not crop up at all. Afterall, it was grandma who

had been instrumental in giving her a big boost when she
started in her profession. With grandma’s exquisite jewellery at
her disposal, she had outstripped her rivals in no time at all to
become the number one sangkek um for a great many years.
After Bibi Pendek had taken her leave grandma straightaway
visited Ah Bee’s premises to make her choice of the various bridal
costumes for hire. She brought both sister Puteh and I along with
her. It was an unforgettable sight; such beautifully embroidered
and colourful costumes they were. Cousin Swee Neo was very
lucky in that fairly recently sangkek um Ah Bee had imported
new sets of costumes from China. She had ordered them as
replacements for those already the worse for wear through the
many years of having been worn by numerous brides.
The first costume grandma picked for cousin Swee Neo was
the one she would wear during the chianh lang kek ceremony
on the eve of the wedding when female guests were invited to
lunch and to admire the bride. She chose a simple one with a
pink background, for the chianh lang kek costume did not need
to be the best one. The most outstanding costume was the
one reserved for the hari kahwen or the wedding day. For this
ceremony the costume had to be red. The costume for the third
day ceremony was of the same design but purple in colour.
Altogether grandma chose four gorgeous costumes. She was
certainly seeing to it that although cousin Swee Neo was but
a relative she was not being discriminated upon and was, in
fact, being given the best. Grandma went as far as to arrange a
wedding procession for cousin Swee Neo. The procession was
actually optional and many had been married without it. A
wedding without a procession was known as a kahwen dudok (a
sitting marriage) probably because the couple did not walk in
a procession.
THE PREPARATIONS 75
The celebrated sangkek um Ah Bee and a well-known female

impersonator bride.
76 A NYONYA MOSAIC
At this stage of her career sangkek um Ah Bee was already

much sought after. She was in her prime and had the gift of
producing beautiful brides with her make-up. Her professional
fee included the loan of jewellery to adorn the wedding costumes
but did not include the hiring of costumes and her assistant’s
fee. In gratitude for the help that grandma had rendered her she
charged a very nominal sum for cousin Swee Neo’s wedding.
Not unexpectedly the young man’s parents also made use of
her service. Somewhat similar to the bride’s needs, the groom
required a costume for chianh lang kek, an optional costume of
the same design but different colour for the hari kahwen and
a final one for the procession. For the twelfth day ceremony
modernisation had crept in by then and the traditional Chinese
costume had been replaced by the western lounge suit.
Normally, a bride-to-be began to be busily occupied sewing
and embroidering as soon as her exact wedding day had been
made known. She was expected to embroider a pair of slippers
to be presented to her groom during the lap chai or exchange
of gifts ceremony. In addition, she had to sew a couple more
pairs for herself to decorate her bridal room. Some brides-
to-be relished this moment when they could show off their
needlework. Unfortunately, cousin Swee Neo took more to the
kitchen than to stitchery. Although she did possess some skill,
the standard demanded for a wedding was beyond her reach.
Knowing this, grandma resorted to a more practical step: she
purchased the items from a family that specialised in supplying
such high quality products. The bride-to-be was also required
to sew her own dresses, the baju Nyonya, for daily wear and
the curtains for the bridal bed. Eldest sister-in-law came to
her rescue with the curtains but due to time constraints she
could not sew the dresses. They were eventually made by Indian
tailors, the very ones who sold fighting kites as a sideline.
THE PREPARATIONS 77
Eldest sister-in-law was kept very busy sewing not only

for the bride-to-be, but also for the other members of the
household, for close relatives whom she could not tum down,
and for herself. I really marvelled at her capacity to absorb
work and her ability to complete the many tasks so quickly.
Grandma was aware of the volume of sewing assignments that
eldest sister-in-law was involved in and was not unsympathetic.
She did her part by arranging for the bridal pillowcases to be
purchased from a shop along Bras Basah Road instead of having
them sewn at home.
Along this same road was our family dentist. He was a
local lad unlike most dentists of the neighbourhood who were
Japanese. An appointment was arranged for cousin Swee Neo to
have her teeth cleaned and filed for the wedding. In the old days
when girls were kept strictly indoors, they were not permitted
to visit the dentist even though they might be suffering from
the most excruciating toothache. The dentist would have had
to make a house call instead. They often obliged and would call
with dental tools, leg-powered drilling machine and all.
The cutting of the cloth for the all-important cheon
thau ceremony (vowing ceremony) costume required a very
auspicious day. Even the exact time to begin the job was
carefully predetermined. This was the hari mengoyah which
literally meant the day for tearing. It was really a day when a
tailor went through the symbolic gesture of starting to work on
the cheo thau dress. So much importance was attached to this
ceremony that even the tailor’s horoscope had to be checked to
ensure that he was not spiritually incompatible with the time
of the ceremony or with the bride-to-be. I remember, in this
instance, the time prescribed for the event was eleven in the
morning. Long before the hour all the clocks in the house had
been painstakingly synchronised, and as we waited for the tailor
78 A NYONYA MOSAIC
to arrive grandma became noticeably tense as time wore on.

Luckily the tailor was on time and did not keep her waiting
long. This was one unhappy aspect we had to go through
whenever there was an important function celebrated at home.
Everyone was so determined that nothing should go wrong
that tension reigned and an exciting event was often marred by
bickering and a show of tempers.
On the dot of eleven, a signal was given by grandma, and
the tailor got up from his chair and moved to the table where
the length of material and a pair of scissors had been placed
an hour or so before. All the tailor did was to begin cutting a
little of the cloth – with that the ritual ended on a successful
note. After this formality, the tailor unceremoniously gathered
the material in a bundle and took it back with him to complete
the sewing in his shop.
The bridal room was one of the focal points in a traditional
wedding and grandma took great pains to make sure that
nothing was left wanting in its decoration. It so happened that
the couple who were to introduce father to opium later on had
celebrated their daughter’s wedding two months back. By then
we were already planning cousin Swee Neo’s wedding. So, when
grandma sent her two granddaughters-in-law over as helpers,
she instructed them to study the bridal room decorations
closely so that when the time came for cousin Swee Neo’s
wedding, grandma could decorate the bridal room better than
theirs. Both sisters-in-law were repeatedly reminded that they
should not miss any detail of the designs on the bed curtains
because grandma did not want to repeat the same pattern for
cousin Swee Neo. In order to compete with others grandma
bought nothing but the best for her.
About a week before the ann ch’ng (bed blessing) day,
the bridal room was ready. I was rather taken aback when a
THE PREPARATIONS 79
few days before this I discovered that the beautifully carved

wooden ranjang loksan would not be used for the wedding. I
had always associated this bed with weddings and there were
even people who knew it by the name of ranjang kahwen
(wedding bed). It seemed that it was no longer fashionable to
use this ornate bed and in its place a Victorian four-poster brass
bed had been chosen. This brass bed was as beautiful as they
come, but to my mind it was not in character with the carved
wooden cupboard and furniture in the room. However, all my
misgivings about this modem four-poster gave way to complete
amazement and admiration the moment eldest sister-in-law had
finished decorating it. The embroidered curtain round it, the
embroidered bedsheet, the embroidered pillowcases and all the
other trimmings that festooned the bed had transformed it into
a most charming wedding bed. Close to this bed was a table
which would play an important role on the marriage day but in
the meantime was rather bare. Two chairs stood nearby. Both
had embroidered covers on them and at the foot of each was a
richly carved footstool with a velvet covering. The other chairs
in the room were not as elaborately decorated but each of them
had a piece of white lace covering the backrest and held in place
with red ribbons tied into bows. During the Chinese New Year
celebrations all the chairs in the sitting rooms were decorated
in this manner. The windows and doorway of the room had
new curtains on them. They had bows artistically folded into
the shape of lotus flowers along their lengths. Hanging along
the wall were square wooden shelves on which were put small
China figurines for decoration.
At one comer of the room could be seen all the bride’s
footwear ranging from those for use at home to those for
outings. There were several pairs of slippers and shoes all
colourfully embroidered with gold thread. These had been so
80 A NYONYA MOSAIC
strategically placed that for anybody entering the room they

commanded immediate attention and admiration. A large
exquisitely carved teakwood cupboard stood in a corner of
the bridal chamber. The doors were kept ajar to show off the
bride’s trousseau which was neatly arranged on the shelves.
There were several piles of baju kebayas (kebaya dresses),
sarongs, undergarments, and bolts of cloth placed quite deep
in the cupboard leaving some space in the front portion of
each shelf. These were filled with bottles of different brands
and varieties of perfumes and toiletries.
After the furnishing was done, grandma meticulously
inspected the room and after a few minor adjustments and
additions she was satisfied that everything was perfect. She then
ordered the room be locked until further orders were given.
About a fortnight before the wedding day, two experienced
helpers were employed to deliver the wedding invitations. One
of them was a lady whose racial background remains a mystery
to me. She was a typical elderly Nyonya-looking lady with her
baju panjang (long dress) and a flawless Baba tongue. She was
rather dark complexioned and her big round eyes frightened
me at times. It was her name that cloaked her in mystery.
Wak Chik Mak Sabtu: the word ‘Wak’ is our respectful
term for an elderly lady, ‘Chik’ is probably the abbreviation
for kechik meaning small in stature or youngest in a family,
‘Mak’ is mother and ‘Sabtu’ literally Saturday in Malay but
also a common name. Therefore, she was Wak Chik, mother of
Sabtu – clearly a Malay name. There were so many possibilities
to her racial background but we never found the real answer.
It was popularly believed that she was a Javanese Chinese who
had married a Malay man. The second person employed to
distribute the invitations was Ah Meng, another ubiquitous
Hainanese who was part of the Baba scene of that time.
THE PREPARATIONS 81
By the 1920s, western-style invitation cards had already got

a toe-hold in our society. Father, however, preferred to stick to
the tradition of hantar sireh (to send betel-vine leaf, a form of
invitation which involved a tiny thinly sliced piece of areca nut
wrapped in a small piece of sireh leaf and folded into a small
triangular bundle and held in place by a sharp stick. From this
act of handing over the tiny bundle of sireh one indicated an
invitation to a wedding.
Both Wak Chik Mak Sabtu and Ah Meng had moved
intimately in our society for so long that they became a walking
directory of the Baba community. There was even no need
to provide them with a guest list. They were so familiar with
so many families that they knew who to invite when called
to deliver the invitations. All they needed was the date of the
event. It was alleged that in some cases they were so up to date
with social developments in the Baba community that they
even knew who not to invite!
On the day for the distribution of the sireh bundles Wak
Chik Mak Sabtu, who also prepared them, passed about half
to Ah Meng. She placed her portion in a small round silver
container which she wrapped in a red handkerchief. Thus
equipped, she was ready to go inviting.
Ah Meng and Wak Chik Mak Sabtu took separate routes
to cover different parts of the island but their modus operandi
was the same. On reaching a particular house they announced
that they had come to hantar sireh on behalf of so-and-so whose
son, daughter or dependent was to be married on such-and-
such a date. Having said this a sireh bundle was handled to the
person who had received them at the door. Their parting words
were another reminder to attend the function. Their choice of
words differed somewhat. Ah Meng usually said ‘towkay mak
mesti pergi, tau’ (mistress of the house, you are expected to go,
82 A NYONYA MOSAIC
you know). In contrast, Wak Chik Mak Sabtu was brief with
her ‘Pergi, tau’ (do go). I know their exact words because on
those occasions when other families had employed them to
go round issuing invitations they had come to our house to
invite grandma using these very same words. Both of them
monopolised this profession for many years. In the case of
cousin Swee Neo’s wedding they were employed by the groom’s
family as well to convey their invitation. Travelling on foot and
by rickshaws they took two days to cover our guest list.
In the years past, the majority of families did their own
cooking for wedding receptions held at home. Special days were
set aside for preparing the spices and other raw ingredients for
cooking on a large scale when relatives willingly came forward
to volunteer their services. We did not observe this ritual for
cousin Swee Neo’s wedding as we had contracted a caterer to
prepare the food. Unlike the sangkek um who had to be booked
early, there was no hurry where a caterer was concerned.
A caterer could cope with many contracts because it was a
simple matter of hiring more hands to work under his general
supervision. A sangkek um could not do likewise. The dressing
up of a bride needed her very special personal attention.
There were several well-known Hainanese caterers, but the
two most popular ones were Ah Kew and Ah Seow. The former
was the older of the two and had been in the business for a long
time while the latter was an up and coming addition to the
profession. There was little to choose between them but on this
occasion grandma’s choice fell on young Ah Seow.
Such unique services which Ah Meng, Wak Chik Mak
Sabtu and the food caterers provided would never come our
way again. In the days before high-pressure advertisements these
caterers of old had their own promotion technique that was
rather effective. When grandma last celebrated her birthday Ah
THE PREPARATIONS 83
Seow had been recommended to her by a friend as an up-and-

coming caterer whose food was above par. Grandma decided to
try him out. A few days after the event when he came to collect
his fees he brought along a generous helping of hee pia soup
(dried fish maw soup) as a gift to our family, partly as a gesture
of thanks and partly to ensure that he left a good impression on
us so that we may remember him the next occasion we required
a caterer. This gesture had the desired effect. Ah Seow was to
remain a popular caterer among the Babas till he retired.
After months of expectation and preparation the wedding
took another step closer with the lap chai ceremony. It was
akin to the parting of the curtain at a bangsawan (Malay opera)
to signal the start of a long awaited drama. This ceremony
involved the exchange of gifts between the two families about
ten days before the hari kahwen or Marriage Day. I had gone
to bed early the previous night in order to be up early for this
first of several pre-marriage day ceremonies.
At the appointed hour of eleven in the morning a retinue
comprising of six elderly ladies left the groom’s residence for
our house bearing four tray-loads of gifts. In all the activities
and events at a wedding, strong emphasis was placed on the
active participation of elderly ladies in the hope that the various
events would be as much blessed as these elderly folks had been
blessed with many years of life. Some of our relatives had come
early in order to be present when the gifts arrived.
On arrival, the group bearing the four large brass trays were
entertained to a simple tea. I squeezed myself as unobtrusively
as I possibly could to the front in order to get a good view of
the gifts. Three of the four trays were each lined with a beautiful
embroidered cloth. On one tray was a wedding dress to be worn
on the twelfth day. It was a green coloured costume of the same
design as the pink one grandma had hired from the sangkek um
84 A NYONYA MOSAIC
for the chianh lang kek ceremony. The next item on the tray was
a pair of shoes which matched the green dress. The second tray
contained two diamond rings and two ang pows (red packets
with money inside). This tray was lined along its circumference
with silver coins with a red dot on each of them. Eldest sister-
in-law subsequently explained to me that one of the ang pows
contained wang tetek and the other, wang belanja. The wang
tetek (breast money) was a gift expressing thanks to the bride’s
parents for having weaned her and this ang pow was graciously
accepted by the bride’s parents or guardians. The wang belanja
was a pure offer of money. It was not expected of us or any
parent for that matter to take this red packet. To take it was
tantamount to selling off one’s daughter. The third tray had
two pairs of candles on it: one pair with an intricate paper-
cut of a dragon pasted on it and the other pair had a similarly
intricate phoenix. The last tray was lined with red paper and
there was a leg of pork and two bottles of Three Star Brand
brandy. These were presumably meant to be consumed at the
two dinner tables contributed by the groom’s parents on the eve
of the marriage day at the bride’s house. Our relatives helped to
carry the trays inside. I was hard on their heels in order to see
how we reciprocated these gifts.
The contents of the first tray were exchanged for a pair of
men’s slippers which should have been sewn by the bride but
in this case was purchased by grandma. The second item was a
fan for the groom to carry during the procession. It was neatly
wrapped in a red silk handkerchief. The two diamond rings
and the wang tetek were removed from the second tray leaving
the wang belanja. In their place a diamond ring tied to a silk
handkerchief, a silver belt and a gold belt buckle were placed on
the tray. The silver coins with the red dots remained untouched.
The pair of candles bearing the dragon design was removed and
THE PREPARATIONS 85
replaced with a pair of unadorned red candles. As for the pig’s

leg in the fourth tray, only a piece was taken and the remaining
left in the tray. The two bottles of brandy were replaced with a
dozen oranges. After the four trays were returned to the groom’s
retinue, they bade us leave and carried our gifts back to the
groom’s family.
Because of the presence of the rings in the exchange of gifts
the lap chai ceremony was akin to an engagement in western
custom. Our relatives who had come early to witness the
ceremony had done so mainly to note the quality of the rings
that had been exchanged in order to gauge the financial status
of the groom’s family. Those who did not witness the ceremony,
of course, wasted no time in contacting those who did for a
first-hand account. When other weddings were celebrated
the quality of the rings involved in the lap chai was similarly
the main topic of conversation in our house for a long period
afterward. The rings which cousin Swee Neo received were of
very good quality. Everybody in the house felt that cousin Swee
Neo was lucky to have married into such a financially secure
family. During the course of the excited conversation about
the exquisite items the groom’s family had presented the bride
someone remembered Bibi Pendek and said that she had truly
done a good matchmaking job.
In the light of our old tradition when girls were kept
virtually under lock and key, most of them would have remained
unmarried had it not been for the existence of amateur and
professional matchmakers. Unfortunately, in later years when
we were discarding our old ways some of us not only totally
rejected the matchmaking concept for our children but even
went as far as to condemn the matchmakers as an unscrupulous
lot who were out for nothing else but monetary reward.
While admittedly there were failures in a few of the arranged
86 A NYONYA MOSAIC
marriages, in general the accusations against the matchmakers

were unfounded. Their monetary gain was in fact not much.
After a wedding was over a matchmaker was generally rewarded
with a leg of pork, two bottles of brandy and an ang pow; one
set of each from the groom’s and the bride’s parents. There was
no fixed rate for the ang pow and it was left to the generosity of
grateful families. However, I was told that it usually contained
$24, not too large a sum. Matchmakers had played a useful
role and had little opportunity to be unscrupulous. They
were merely instrumental in the preliminary arrangements in
the attempt to bring couples together for life but were never
in any position to make the final decision of marriage. To the
best of my knowledge they had always respected our beliefs. For
example, no matchmaker had been known to attempt to match
a widow and a bachelor. The deterrent factor could have been
the fear of the curse brought about by a mother’s tears if her son
were to be matched to a widow. Other taboos like matching
a widower with an anak dara and a widower with a widow
were also respected by the majority of matchmakers. Another
situation that was strictly avoided was involvement in arranging
a Baba girl to end up as a secondary wife or a concubine to a
married man. With very few exceptions the majority of parents
would rather their daughters remain unmarried than end up
blakang kerosi (behind the chair) as that fate was called. It
was believed that in the world of the after-life there were two
chairs awaiting every married couple. There was no seat for the
additional wife – her place was to stand behind the chairs.
Besides the professional matchmakers there were many
amateurs who indulged in matchmaking for the sheer love of
bringing people together in marriage. These amateurs were
ever on the look out for sons or daughters of their friends
and relatives who they could match. When these amateurs
THE PREPARATIONS 87
could not be of help, parents turned to their last hope, the

more experienced professionals. Like grandma, parents often
introduced young and not so young daughters at relatives’
birthdays and wedding functions in the hope of catching the
attention of a wider circle of matchmakers. Another occasion
when daughters were more or less paraded for the benefit of
matchmakers was on the sixteenth night of Chinese New Year
when parents brought their children along to pray at the temple
at Telok Ayer. Many a maiden had been rescued from a life of
spinsterhood by such excursions.
The ann ch’ng ceremony took place soon after the lap chai,
five days before the marriage day which had also been pre-
determined as an auspicious one for this ceremony. The ann
ch’ng involved the blessing of the bridal bed. Months before
this day a young lad in his early teens had been carefully
selected from our circle of relatives for the important task to
be performed during the ceremony. The boy had to satisfy
two criteria. It was highly desirable that he was a relative’s
son and imperative that both his parents should be alive and
well. On the appointed day sangkek um Ah Bee came early to
perform a short ritual where she placed gold offering paper
under the bed and then said a short prayer to the guardian
spirit of the bed. When the appointed time came, the boy
was made to lie down at one end of the bed. The mistress of
ceremony then assisted him in rolling to the other end of the
bed, back to his original position again and once more to the
other end. In all the boy rolled three times on the bed and for
his effort he earned himself an ang pow plus an appreciative
audience. I had to control myself from bursting out laughing
because when the boy got down from the bed he appeared to
be a bit unsteady on his feet. He definitely looked groggy to
me. For those who had turned up to witness this ceremony it
88 A NYONYA MOSAIC
was a case of killing two birds with one stone. They had come
to see the bed-rolling ritual as well as to be among the first to
have a look at the bridal chamber.
By this time enough pre-wedding ceremonies and rituals had
taken place to fuel gossip and conversation sessions. However,
there was yet one more ceremony to come which excited the
lady folks a lot. This took place two days before the marriage
day. Eldest sister-in-law did not satisfactorily explain to me why
everyone seemed so excited about this ceremony and all she
would tell me was that I would understand in good time.
This ceremony was the berandam which involved the
ritual combing of the bride’s hair. In the mid-afternoon of
that day sangkek um Ah Bee arrived. She started by combing
a fringe for cousin Swee Neo and then carefully trimming
it nearly. I was to learn later on that a knowledgeable and
experienced sangkek um was reputedly able to tell if a bride
was a virgin or not during this ritual. It seemed that if the
hairline along the forehead refused to respond to the comb
but tended to curl, then it was indicative of the bride’s loss of
innocence. The sangkek um ended by tying some hair at both
ends of the fringe with a piece of white ribbon. We called this
ikat cheng tong – the white colour of the ribbon symbolising
purity. These ribbons were taken off that night but the fringe
on the forehead remained throughout the rest of the wedding
ceremonies. There were brides who had been known to retain
this symbol of virginity until after the birth of their first child!
chapter five
The Big Event

THE CEREMONY FOLLOWING the berandam was chianh
lang heh or Guests’ Day, celebrated on the eve of the marriage.
This was the day cousin Swee Neo was finally to don her
bridal costume.
Excitement got me out of bed well before the arrival
of the sangkek um. As soon as she arrived she went about
dressing up the bride in the pink costume which grandma
had picked. With confidence borne out of the well-earned
reputation of being the best in her profession, sangkek um
Ah Bee transformed cousin Swee Neo before our very eyes.
When she had finished there was a gasp of admiration from
those privileged to watch. Cousin Swee Neo was no longer the
young playful cousin I knew. She was not even sister Puteh’s
contemporary any longer. She was a mature person now. As a
bride she was as shy and as beautiful as a dream bride of old
should be. There she sat, on one of the chairs by the bridal
bed, her hands resting coyly on her lap and her feet lightly
on the velvet covered footstool. Nor did she smile, but as
instructed by the sangkek um, cousin Swee Neo kept sober and
cast her eyes downward as she sat in her full glory waiting for
the guests to come and admire her.
90 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Time seemed to rush by that morning. By a quarter past

ten our house was already filled with people. The early arrivals
were close relatives bent on being the first to see the bride. They
were followed by the volunteer helpers, made up of married
and unmarried women from various families. I noticed that
the unmarried ones were dressed more elaborately than their
married sisters. The reason was obvious. After all, cousin Swee
Neo’s marriage was made at a party where she had been sent
as a volunteer worker. I had no doubt that a number of them
were, in turn, matchmade at our function. The last to arrive
were friends of grandma. They brought gifts of fruit carried in
the popular red and black lacquer baskets known as the bakol
sianh After exchanging greetings and congratulating grandma
on her grandniece’s wedding they were served with longan
drink before being invited upstairs to have a look at the bride
and the bridal chamber.
The guests, who arrived all morning and afternoon, were
female. The room soon became crowded and stuffy. With so
many people moving in and out, I could well imagine how
uncomfortable the bride felt. Surprisingly she seemed none the
worse for the experience despite having several layers of clothes
on. I did not believe that the slow fanning of the sangkek um’s
assistant could help in any way relieve her of the heat in the
room. This assistant, or the bukak kun, was a sharp contrast in
age to sangkem um Ah Bee. She was as old and slow as Ah Bee
was energetic and in her prime.
Many had claimed that it was usual for a sangkek um to have
an elderly assistant so that the latter could never pose a serious
threat as a rival in the future. After the guests had left the bridal
chamber, cousin Swee Neo was led to another room to take a
rest in anticipation of the many non-stop strenuous ceremonies
and rituals to follow.
THE BIG EVENT
The bride is assisted by the sangkek um. Likewise the groom has his Boyanese pak chindek to help him.
91
92 A NYONYA MOSAIC
The guests had in the meantime formed themselves into

several cherki groups and wasted no time in starting their card
game sessions. An hour or so before lunch they were served
with a bowl of chicken macaroni soup each. The menu for
lunch was, as usual, made up of selections from the laok meja
panjang. Similarly, the kueh chuchi mulot which followed lunch
was of the standard fare – except that on this particular occasion
grandma had served an additional cake known as kueh peria
(bittergourd cake). This was a kueh about 4 cm (1.5 inches)
long made of green pea flour. These bittergourd shaped cakes
were differently coloured and were served with grated coconut.
I have not seen these cakes since.
As no Baba wedding of the era was complete without
the Malay joget (dance) and the singing of dondang sayang
(Malay repartee sung in quatrains) father had arranged for the
lunchtime guests to be entertained by a troupe. This particular
troupe had brought along only female dancers and singers to
appropriately entertain the all female guests at lunch. Thus,
during the joget the female dancers danced with one another. At
functions where menfolk were present the joget was definitely
popular as it gave the Babas the opportunity to dance with the
lovely dancing girls. In spite of this the joget was never as closely
associated with Baba culture as dondang sayang. However,
few Babas could really sing the dondang sayang that well and
at anyone party the number of Babas who could genuinely
engage in a session of singing impromptu replies was limited.
There were many who knew several common pantons (Malay
quatrains) and could sing them to the dondang sayang tune
but this was far from what it really was all about. Anyway, on
that day during the troupe’s performance there was hardly an
audience to appreciate it as the guests were at the card session. A
few of the guests who were not at cards joined me to watch the
THE BIG EVENT 93
joget dancing but when the singing of dondang sayang started I

stopped watching because I could not understand most of what
was being sung.
Due to the fact that I had got up early that morning I made
up for it by napping in the afternoon. By the time I woke up it
was evening and the afternoon guests were beginning to leave.
I was happy that I had slept enough so that I could stay up to
witness several exciting events that were to take place late that
night. Just after six-thirty the members of the seroni band began
to arrive. This band played an important role in our culture.
Their presence was essential at weddings as well as at funerals,
without its music most of the rituals would not have their
flavour and solemnity.
The band that had come to our house was led by Bah
Yam, a renowned seroni band leader. His band consisted of
five musicians one of whom was a Malay man, the rest being
Chinese. Among them they shared instruments such as the
seroni which was a Chinese clarinet which came in two sizes, a
bamboo flute which we called the suilin, a big drum, a smaller
drum, a pair of cymbals, and a gong.
Father stood by the main door to welcome the male guests
who were mostly his friends. The moment after a few guests
had arrived the seroni band started to play and continued until
all the guests were seated. The music was rendered by the
seroni besar, the big clarinet, accompanied by the big drum, the
smaller drum, the cymbals and the gong. When the last guest
had been seated the band switched to music which was led by
the seroni kechik, played in ensemble with the smaller drum, the
bamboo flute and the cymbals only.
The seroni kechik melody was also the cue for the bride in
her room to belajar sohja (to learn to pay obeisance) which was
in actual fact a full-scale tuition on how to be a traditional bride
94 A NYONYA MOSAIC
under the expert guidance of the sangkek um. Woe betide the
slow learner if her sangkek um happened to be an impatient
and short-tempered mentor. Besides scolding the nervous bride
some sangkek ums had been known to have pinched them for
every mistake they made. Fortunately for cousin Swee Neo
sangkek um Ah Bee did not belong to this fierce category of
sangkek ums. When I saw that most of the guests had arrived I
rushed upstairs to the bridal room before the start of the seroni
kechik and was lucky to be allowed into the room. At my age
most elders found me cute and tended to pamper me and so,
not surprisingly, I was not chased out from the bridal room for
this rather private affair.
To the plaintive strains of the belajar sohja, cousin Swee
Neo went through her paces of paying obeisance to man and
God. ‘In addition she was coached in the correct swaying gait
becoming of a bride. Finally she was led to the table close to the
bed where empty bowls and plates had been placed and she had
to learn the actions of taking food with her groom at the same
table the next day. Cousin Swee Neo was a fast learner and was
graceful in her movements much to the satisfaction of her tutor.
Long after she had completed her lessons the seroni kechik was
still being played. It only stopped when dinner was over and
the guests had begun to take their leave. Unlike the afternoon’s
female guests who were invited to see the bride the male guests
at night were not accorded the same privilege.
Of the many ceremonies performed at a traditional wedding
the most important, sacred and solemn one was the cheon thau or
the vowing ceremony. This ceremony was normally performed
between 11pm and 5 am the next day. Cousin Swee Neo’s cheon
thau was predetermined to be at 11:30 pm sharp. Had I not
taken my afternoon nap I would not have been allowed to stay
up to witness the rituals. Both the bride and her bridegroom
THE BIG EVENT 95
went through the rites at the same appointed time but at their
respective homes. Prior to this ceremony a two-tiered altar had
been set up at both houses. This was the very holy sam kai altar
dedicated to Ting Kong (God of Heaven, Earth and Moon). The
back of this altar faced the doorway and its front directly opposite
the family altar to the Gods. In between the two altars was an
empty space specially reserved for conducting the cheon thau.
The offerings on the sam kai table consisted of tea, flowers
and lime. There were two glass lamps close to the offerings.
Great pains were taken to see that the flames from these lamps,
once lit, should not go off during the wedding. Occupying a
central position on the altar was a richly carved wooden stand
known as the chanab on which was stuck five beautifully
decorated sticks. The decorations were made with young papaya
cut into shapes of flowers and leaves alternating with a roundish
red fruit known as lemo kek ya. There were, of course, two large
candles on stands on this altar. Under the altar three tiles had
been placed, two lying side by side with their concave sides
facing the floor and the last tile with its concave side facing up
resting atop the other two. Upon this last tile, kayu chinana was
burned for its very aromatic scent.
Placed on the floor between the sam kai and family altars
was a large round bamboo tray, the nyeru, the centre of which
was painted a red circle about a quarter of the tray’s diameter.
On this red spot a wooden tub was placed mouth upwards and
covered by a red cloth. We called this tub the gantang.
Before undergoing this sacred ceremony cousin Swee Neo
had to take a bath. She was then dressed in the all-white cheon
thau dress and trousers which signified purity. Ten minutes or
so before the ceremony the seroni besar struck up the Pasang
Lilin as the candles at the sam kai, the household god’s and
the ancestral altars were lit. I rushed downstairs the moment
96 A NYONYA MOSAIC
I heard the seroni playing and was in time to see father, being
cousin Swee Neo’s guardian, solemnly lighting the candles.
After paying obeisance at the altars he went upstairs to lead
cousin Swee Neo down for the cheon thau. This ceremony was
considered so important that great pains had been taken to
check with the diviner the horoscopes that were not compatible
with this particular ceremony so that neither the onlookers nor
the bride would suffer the grave consequences of defying the
warning. I had an uncle who had to continually avoid being
present at such a ceremony because he was born in the year
of the tiger and it was strongly believed that the tiger could
never be in harmony with such a holy ceremony. There were
others who believed equally that those born under the monkey
year shared the same disharmony as the tiger. Fortunately, I was
given the green light to witness this ceremony.
At the appointed hour sharp, cousin Swee Neo stepped into
the nyeru to sit on the cloth-covered open end of the gantang.
She sat facing the sam kai altar. As I was looking intensely at
the goings-on I became aware that there were a few whose
horoscopes had been declared safe who, nevertheless, turned
their gazes away from the bride as she stepped into the nyeru in
order to be doubly sure of avoiding any untoward side effects.
The same young boy who had rolled on the wedding bed during
the ann ch’ng ceremony was enlisted for this ceremony too. He
was known as the koo ya or page boy. To the accompaniment
of the seroni kechik the sangkek um handed the koo ya several
objects which he in turn either handed to the bride or used
to perform specific rituals. First cousin Swee Neo was handed
the Book of Fate which she placed on her lap as the sangkek
um loosened her hair. A Chinese scale was next handed to
the koo ya who carried it above the bride’s head and lowered
it slowly downward towards her feet as a reminder that she
THE BIG EVENT 97
should weigh all her actions fairly in her life. A cheok or Chinese
ruler came next followed by a pair of scissors and a razor. The
ritual was repeated with each of the items, indicating that she
should exercise sincerity, good judgement and care in all her
actions. This vowing ceremony affected some of the audience
emotionally and I noticed them dabbing their teary eyes with
their silk handkerchiefs and sniffing softly. Even the bride had
tears running down her cheeks. I was too young then to fully
appreciate the reason for the tears which were certainly not
due to happiness. The word we used to describe what brought
on this reaction was pilu. The dictionary definition of pilu is
‘sorrowful’ which does not fully convey the feeling behind this
word which could only be appreciated by one coming from a
total Baba upbringing. Other factors lending impact to this
word on such a night included the melancholic strains of the
seroni, the sanctity of the occasion as the bride made her vow
before God, the late hour of the night when the ceremony was
enacted and the sudden lonely feeling of a bride without a
mother and a father.
As I watched, starry eyed, the unusual reactions at this
ceremony, little did I foresee that in a matter of a few years when
I went through this same ceremony my reaction and the reaction
of those around me would be an exact duplicate of this scene.
Just before the end of this ceremony I began to feel the full
effect of too much excitement for one day and had to rush to
bed before the end of the cheon thau. What I had missed was the
bride changing into her bridal costume and paying obeisance
before the sam kai and the other altars at home.
Early the next morning I could hear the bustle of activities in
the house in my half sleep. Under normal circumstances these
noises would have fully awakened me but I was so exhausted
that I went back to sleep in spite of the ever increasing noises.
98 A NYONYA MOSAIC
When I finally woke up at eight-thirty everyone in the house

was already dressed and most of our relatives had arrived. They
laughed to see me so bed-raggled and urged me to waste no
time if I did not intend to miss any of the excitement of the hari
kahwen, the Marriage Day. As usual, eldest sister-in-law came to
my rescue and helped me to dress up. She laughingly admitted
that she had purposely allowed me to continue sleeping to
enable her to complete her chores unhindered by my presence.
When I woke up the bridal room was locked but by nine-thirty
when the bride had finished dressing, the doors were opened. I
wasted no time in rushing to the room the moment word had
gone round that the bride was ready. There she was all dressed
and dolled up in the most gorgeous red wedding costume
imaginable. The best of words would be inadequate to fully
describe the beauty and colour that surrounded the Baba bride
of old in all her splendour on her wedding day.
Although it was still early in the day and the weather was
cool the bride was continually being fanned by the bukak kun.
This was understandable considering the heavy headgear she had
on coupled with the four layers of costumes she wore. What at
a distance might appear to be a crown on her head was actually
made up of over a hundred gold pins, each with a floret, stuck
into her top-knot so close to one another that they gave the
appearance of being joined together. Upon her chest was the best
of grandma’s jewellery. There were so many of them that they
literally covered her whole chest which glittered brilliantly.
The innermost of the four costumes she had on was the
white cheon thau dress of the night before. This was followed by
the baju getah, a layer of clothing of rubbery texture to absorb
the sweat, the baju bamboo which was a fairly stiff sort of coat
of finely interlaced bamboo strips, and, finally, the elaborate
wedding dress on top. Cousin Swee Neo, who kept her eyes
THE BIG EVENT 99
downcast appeared calm and collected, not betraying the inner

tension building up as the hour drew closer when she would
have her first glimpse of the man with whom she was to spend
the rest of her life. By that time, there were already many brides
and grooms who had seen each other in photographs or at social
receptions before their marriage day. Cousin Swee Neo was
probably among the last few who did not enjoy the privilege of
even seeing a photograph of her future husband and was kept in
suspense right up to the moment of the chim pang. Even then
she was not expected to look at him square in the eyes; she had
to steal glances of him surreptitiously.
As a contrast to the solemn ceremony of the night before,
the morning’s chim pang promised excitement. Besides the
bride, all of us were on tenterhooks, waiting to get our first
look at cousin Swee Neo’s husband. This chim pang ceremony
was another occasion where great pains were taken to divine
the incompatible horoscopes. The findings were not merely
made known by word of mouth, it was written down and
pasted on the front gatepost for general information. Those
who chose to ignore the warning of clashing horoscopes had
only themselves to blame for the consequences.
When cousin Swee Neo was all ready she came downstairs
to pay obeisance before the sam kai and to father, grandma,
her sister, her brother-in-law and other close relatives who
were present. After this her face was covered with a thin black
veil. All she had to do now was to sit and wait for the arrival
of her husband.
As I stood staring at her resplendent costume, eldest sister-
in-law nudged me and whispered that I should sneak out of
the house via the Rumah Abu in order to catch the procession.
I quickly complied and was soon standing outside our house
with a commanding view of the direction in which the groom
100 A NYONYA MOSAIC
and his retinue were expected to come. After about ten minutes
of waiting there was an excited murmur from the crowd lining
the roadside as all eyes turned to the direction of several cars
that had stopped a few doors away. One or two excited cries of
‘Lai lo, lai lo’ (They have arrived, they have arrived’) confirmed
that the groom had indeed come. As the occupants of the cars
arranged themselves in proper order for the procession, some
of the people around me ran towards the assembly so that they
could walk alongside the procession. I stood firm at the same
spot and soon heard both the seroni band, and the four-piece
band that had accompanied the groom, strike up to signal
the beginning of the short procession. At the beginning my
attention was naturally focussed on the groom but, alas, he was
too far away to be seen clearly. All I could make out was a tallish
man in red.
Walking at the head of the procession were two lantern
bearers who carried six sided lanterns on red poles. These were
the lanterns which bore the groom’s family surname. We called
them the teng ji sehnh. Then came two young gong beaters
known as the pah kims who beat the instruments they were
carrying as loudly as they could. We named these brass gongs
breng breng for the sound they made. The bearers of the red
buntings known as the chai ki came next. After the tasselled
chai kis came the sinseh flanked by two pages, the kiak tengs.
The sinseh was the master of ceremony for the day. He carried
an open fan with which he fanned himself as he walked slowly
towards our house. All three of them were shielded from the
sun by umbrellas carried by bearers who walked close to them.
Behind them were carried another pair of six sided ceremonial
silk lanterns, the keong tengs. The groom flanked by a pua kianh
on each side followed behind these lanterns. These pua kianhs
like bestmen of today, were the groom’s contemporaries who
THE BIG EVENT 101
were still unmarried. Walking close to the groom was the same
koo ya who had helped the bride with her cheon thau the night
before. Close behind the groom walked his pak chindek, the
male equivalent of the sangkek um to the bride. Like all the
bearers of the lanterns, the umbrellas and the buntings, the pak
chindek was a Boyanese and was in Malay costume.
The Boyanese are people who originated from the Bawean
Islands of Indonesia. In later years whenever it was not possible
to get Boyanese to be the bearers or the pak chindek for our
traditional weddings, Chinese were employed to do the job
but they had to dress in Malay costumes. Close on the heels of
the koo ya were four elderly ladies who represented the groom’s
family. The seroni musicians walked ahead of the procession.
Altogether it was a noisy affair with the two pak kims competing
with the seroni band by beating the breng brengs with all their
youthful vigour.
The centre of attraction was naturally the tall groom. He was
dressed in a red tng suanh beh kua which consisted of a short red
jacket with dragon motif and gold border over a long gown. He
had a Chinese skull cap on his head. In the front of the cap was
a brooch of brilliant stones and the top was diamond studded. I
felt so happy for cousin Swee Neo because her husband did not
take after his mother at all. He was tall and presentable. With
an open fan in his right hand he walked with the dignified steps
he had been taught by the pak chindek.
In front of our main doorway a ko pow had been placed
on the ground earlier on. This was a framework of bamboo
covered with colourful paper flowers. On the circular base of
this structure a packet of firecrackers had been placed. As soon
as the groom stepped over the ko pow the firecrackers were
lit. The ko pow was subsequently hung in front of the main
doorway until the rain and sun took their toll. In the days when
102 A NYONYA MOSAIC
some weddings had taken place without a procession the ko pow

hanging in front of the doorway was an indication that there
had been a wedding in the house and that there had been a
procession as well.
The procession came to a halt at the main doorway. Some
of our relatives sprinkled the groom with rose water and
showered him with beras kunyet (saffron coloured rice). An
orange was presented to him as a token of welcome. Then a
couple of our male relatives came out to perform the kianh lay,
a form of greeting executed in stylish moves. The groom’s party
reciprocated with the master of ceremony leading the gestures
supported by the two pua kianhs.
During these elaborate movements the Boyanese pak
chindek joined in and ‘stole’ the two hard boiled eggs from a
table nearby. These eggs were meant for the bride and groom to
consume on their wedding night as a symbol of oneness. This
was the churik telor ritual (stealing the eggs ritual) which was
a speciality of the pak chindek. Everybody knew he would be
‘stealing’ the eggs but it seemed that a good pak chindek could
still manage to do it without being detected by all present who
were watching him intently. I failed to see the pak chindek take
the eggs on this occasion because the kianh lay had somewhat
distracted my attention for a while. Those who claimed to have
caught him in the act were rather proud that they had been
sharper than the rest. After the kianh lay the groom and his party
were invited to sit down for a cup of tea to await the exact time
for the next ceremony, the chim pang.
At the appointed moment the sinseh stepped into the hall
and called out loud and clear in Hokkien ‘Sangkek um, si kau
lai chim pang’. It was a call to the sangkek um to tell her that
the appointed time had come for the bride and groom to meet.
Without further ado the sangkek um led the veiled bride out to
THE BIG EVENT 103
meet her groom. At the precise moment when they faced each
other for the first time many of us averted our gaze momentarily
from them. This we did as an extra precautionary measure
even when we had beep given the green light to witness the
ceremony. I was rather surprised that at this stage cousin Swee
Neo did not really look at her husband full in the face. True to
the traditional prim and proper bride she had continued to look
down when brought face to face with her husband for the first
time. He was privileged to look at her but could not have seen
much of her face through the thin black veil. Flanked on either
side by the sangkek um and the pak chindek the bridal couple
walked slowly and gracefully, upstairs to their room. There the
groom unveiled his bride with some help from the sangkek um
in case the veil should get caught in the myriad of gold and
silver pins that studded her hair. Again, there were those who
averted their gaze at the moment of unveiling. The surrounding
area of the bridal room was packed with relatives waiting to
see the next ceremony when the bridal couple were to take a
meal together. With much tolerance from the adults I squeezed
myself in front to get an unobstructed view of the proceedings.
On the table were twelve dishes of food and a pair of
burning candles. Every care was taken to ensure that the candles
remained burning for it was believed that should the candle
close to the groom be the first to go off it meant that his death
would precede his wife’s and if the candle near her were to go
off she would predecease him. What we all wanted to see at
this choon toke ceremony was how graceful the bridal couple
were in their movements. Both of them went through a series
of movements and gestures symbolic of having a meal together
without actually eating anything from the dishes on the table.
Among those dishes were two small bowls of kueh een (glutinous
rice balls in syrup). Later that evening the contents of these two
104 A NYONYA MOSAIC
bowls were combined into one bowl and the syrup discarded.
The bowl with the kueh een was then covered with the other
empty bowl and placed under the bridal bed. Twelve days later
the contents of the bowl was checked for the quality of maggots
found in it. If a large number were present it indicated a fruitful
marriage blessed with many children. If few were found, it
meant the opposite.
At the conclusion of this make-believe feasting cousin Swee
Neo left the room leaving her husband and his pak chindek in
the bridal chamber. The doors were then locked and the groom
changed into a lounge suit. It seemed so unfortunate that a
wedding so oriental in flavour should suddenly find a western
touch in it just for the pride of being ‘modernised’. As soon as
he had changed his clothes the doors were opened and the bride
came back to her room when she symbolically combed his hair
as a gesture of serving him. He then took his leave and the bride
had an opportunity to rest.
In the mid-afternoon the, pak chindek came to fetch the koo
ya back with him to the groom’s house to invite him for lunch
at our house. Tradition dictated that the groom would come to
our house only when properly invited. Still in his lounge suit
he ate his meal alone while his bride was busy changing into
another costume. After lunch he exchanged his western suit for
the traditional wedding costume and accompanied the bride
downstairs to pay their respects to the altars and to the elders
before setting off for the groom’s house. Prominently displayed
on a table for all to see were the jewellery and ang pows which
had been presented to the bride. These barang teck pai or gifts
were placed on two trays each lined with red velvet material.
One tray contained gifts from immediate family members
while the other contained presents from relatives and friends. I
was informed that in weddings among the well-to-do the gifts
THE BIG EVENT 105
of jewellery from the parents alone could fill more than a tray.
Names of all those who had given the presents were placed
against their respective gifts.
Four elderly representatives from our family accompanied
the bride and groom to his home. In a classic twelve-day
wedding, this trip home was celebrated on the third day taking
the marriage day as the first day. At the time of cousin Swee
Neo’s wedding, however, it had been modified to take place in
the mid-afternoon of the first day. The bridal couple travelled
in separate cars: he with his pak chindek, his two pua kianhs and
his koo ya and the bride with her sangkek um, the assistant, and
a page girl, the pengapet. I had originally been nominated to be
the pengapet but as I was rather tall for my age, a distant cousin
who was a few months younger and not as tall was given the
role instead.
Cousin Swee Neo subsequently related to me what
happened at her first visit to her in-laws. There was a short
procession to the house. This was the berarak tiga hari (third
day’s procession). As soon as she reached the house the sangkek
um quickly took the pengapet inside ahead of the rest where
she was given two pomegranates to welcome the bride with.
When these fruits were offered to cousin Swee Neo, the sangkek
um accepted them on behalf of the bride. Strangely enough,
although pomegranates were used this ritual was known as
sambot lemo meaning ‘to be welcomed with lime!’ The groom’s
mother personally led the bride into the house. The usual
obeisance to the various altars and family members followed.
The wedding gifts from the groom’s relatives were also displayed
on trays for all to admire. When the bridal couple came back to
our house these gifts accompanied them for, after all, they were
meant for the bride. I was still having my afternoon nap when
they came back. It was an exciting moment for those who had
106 A NYONYA MOSAIC
waited for this balek tiga hari (the third day’s home coming) for
they wanted to see what sort of wedding gifts had been given by
the groom’s family and friends. Eldest sister-in-law told me that
the groom did not accompany the bride up to the bridal room.
He merely took a few steps up the staircase, turned round, and
went off. On his way home he visited and paid his respects to
all his and our relatives who had been invited but could not be
present because of old age or infirmity.
There was a wedding dinner at the groom’s house that
evening for his friends and relatives. After a heavy bout of
drinking his friends were ready for the chianh sia which was a
form of ragging for the bride especially. Immediately after
dinner they came in several carloads. As they arrived they made
their presence felt by throwing firecrackers out of their cars as
they sighted our house. At the sound of the bursting crackers all
the young unmarried girls in our household ran into the bridal
chamber to conceal themselves behind the bridal bed and to peep
at the goings on through the thin lace curtains. I was among
them as we waited with bated breath for the fun to begin.
Cousin Swee Neo was ready for the ordeal. Soon they
came into the room: the inebriated, the not so inebriated and
those who pretended to be inebriated. The groom stood there
helpless. This was their moment to tease the bride with a hope
of raising at least a smile from her which would automatically
qualify them for another dinner which the groom was obliged
to give. Although their main purpose for being in the room was
to tease the bride and perhaps be rewarded with a dinner, the
other reason was the presence of the girls behind the curtain.
They played to the gallery and the giggling hidden audience
gave them added incentive.
In order to prevent cousin Swee Neo from laughing or
smiling at the antics of her tormentors her sangkek um had
THE BIG EVENT 107
instructed her to look down and had given her a piece of areca
nut to clench tightly between her teeth. Cousin Swee Neo stood
there offering cup after cup of drink to the groom’s friends as
they took their turn at this si koo (literally quatrain). Every time
one of them came to accept the drink he either danced, pranced
about, cracked jokes, sang funny pantons or performed comical
antics like sucking a baby’s dummy or exposing a pot belly just
to attempt to raise a smile from the bride. But, of course, it was
the presence of the girls behind the curtain that inspired them
to bring out their best. In spite of all the rowdy behaviour there
was a code of conduct that had always been fully respected by all
in that nobody should disturb or frighten the young maidens in
the room. It was also an unwritten law that as long as the koo ya
remained in the room the guests could remain too. They had to
leave the moment he stepped out of the room. Amidst shouting
and laughing a tug of war ensued between some members of
our family attempting to tempt the boy out of the room while
others tried to hold him back. Finally, when the koo ya did
step out of the room the young men left as riotously as when
they arrived and we came out of our hiding place thoroughly
entertained. The groom left together with them. Cousin Swee
Neo was typical of most brides in that she had managed not to
smile at their antics.
A while later the koo ya bearing a lantern was sent to the
groom’s house to invite him back to the bridal room. He came
accompanied by the pak chindek. The moment he stepped
into the room sangkek um Ah Bee left the room. Then the pak
chindek took his leave and closed the door of the room behind
him. Cousin Swee Neo and her husband were left alone for
the first time.
A quaint and romantic sequel followed in the wake of
the couple’s first night together. Out of shyness and modesty
108 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the groom was not expected to be seen leaving our house the
next morning. The best time to do so was therefore naturally
in the very early hours of the day. Well before dawn, the
pak chindek came to wake him up in time to dress and leave
the house while it was still dark. And to make doubly sure
that the groom was not recognised, the pak chindek covered
his face with a fan as they both walked quickly to the car.
Needless to say there were many who did not want to miss
this ritual and had got up early and stationed themselves at
strategic concealed points to catch the groom leaving our
house. Neighbours peeped through tiny openings in their
windows and doors. In fact, when the groom walked out of
the house there was a large hidden audience watching his
every move. It was all one big farce and everyone enjoyed
participating in it.
From the wedding day onwards it was expected of the
bride’s family to supply nourishing food to the groom who
came nightly. Not only he, but even his parents were pampered
with this thiam sim for four evenings up to the twelfth day
of the celebration. On the first occasion grandma sent bird’s
nest in syrup. I accompanied our maid Ah Sum who carried
a bakol sian containing the soup in a kam cheng (porcelain
bowl with cover). I remained in the car while Ah Sum went
in to deliver the soup. She did not mind the chore because
she was rewarded with an ang pow for it. On the second and
third occasions it was steamed spring chicken in ko lay som
(a chinese herb) and a pair of pigeons steamed in bird’s nest
respectively. For the final occasion it was the same sweet dish
as the first one. This was in keeping with our adage: Manis
di-kepala manis di buntot (sweetness to begin, sweetness at the
end). The nourishing food served at the bridal room nightly
was consumed by the bridal couple together.
THE BIG EVENT 109
The climax of the wedding celebrations was the twelfth

day ceremony which was observed on the sixth day by some
but for grandma, it had to be on the twelfth as dictated by
tradition. For this final ceremony cousin Swee Neo wore
the green costume which had been presented to her by the
groom during the lap chai. Accompanied by her sankek um
and representatives from our family she arrived at her in-laws’
house around noon. In this instance it was not compulsory
that the entourage should be made up of elderly people, so
cousin Swee Neo’s sister was among those who went along.
There was a nasik lemak (rice cooked in coconut milk) party
there on that day. I was not included in the entourage but
managed to enjoy the nasik lemak because the groom’s family
had sent some over to us. At such a party the host was expected
to serve plain rice and fish maw soup as well as other dishes for
those with hearty appetites who found the nasik lemak to be
but an appetiser. On arrival, the sangkek um announced loudly:
‘Kemanteng menyembah’ so that all present were aware that the
bride had come to pay her respects. Lunch was immediately
served during which the bride stood dutifully behind her
mother-in-law’s chair as a mark of deep respect for her. A tea
ceremony followed where the bride was introduced to various
members of the groom’s family to whom she had to offer a cup
of tea. Cousin Swee Neo subsequently told me that at the end
of this ceremony she could not remember a single name or
face because there were so many relatives around. Before she
took her leave the bride was presented with a pair of sugar cane
stalks and a live cockerel and hen. Just as her groom had done
at the end of the Third Day ceremony, cousin Swee Neo had
to visit all our relatives as well as her in-laws’ relatives who had
not been able to attend the wedding. She received a pair of red
candles at every stop she made.
110 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Usually a pair of chickens would be released under the

bridal bed and the sex of the first bird to emerge was supposed
to indicate the sex of the first born from the marriage.
Experience, however, had shown that more often than not the
birds refused to move from under the bed, probably due to
fright or poor blood circulation in their legs due to the many
hours of being trussed up. It requited considerable coaxing and
prodding with sticks before either would make a move. Many
a time this frightened the birds further which caused them to
give way to nature’s call under the bed. For cousin Swee Neo’s
wedding grandma would have none of this. It was perhaps not
all that important to know the sex of the first born as it was to
be blessed with many children. To predetermine this, the bowl
of kueh een which had been placed under the bed twelve days
back was taken out and opened. It had lots of tiny maggots in
it. I was squeamish but everyone else was delighted and felt
that this had more than made up for not knowing the sex of
cousin Swee Neo’s first of many children.
Towards evening sangkek um Ah Bee performed her last
formal duty. It seemed that on the second morning of the
wedding after the groom had sneaked out at dawn, grandma
had gone into the room later on to collect cousin Swee Neo’s
cheon thau trousers which she was wearing the previous night
and kept it in a lacquer box for this final wedding ritual.
Just before handing the box to the custody of sangkek um,
a penknife, a lime, and jasmine flowers had been also put
in. The knife was meant to cut the lime to perform a test to
determine if the blood stain on the trousers was truly virginal
blood. It was alleged that the lime juice would wash away
any type of blood stain except that of virginal blood. The box
was taken to the groom’s house and on arrival sangkek um Ah
Bee openly invited its contents to be inspected and tested by
THE BIG EVENT 111
announcing in a clear voice: ‘Benda datang. Marilah pereksa.

Marilah uji.’
The fact that the proof was required to be sent on the last
day did not impose upon the bride the absolute necessity to
consummate her wedding on the very first night. After all
the careful divination for an auspicious day and time for the
wedding the bride could still have her monthly period on
the wedding night. Contrary to popular belief, a mother-in-
law rarely accepted the invitation to look at or perform the
test to prove her daughter-in-law’s chastity. She normally
declined the invitation, thanked the mistress of ceremonies
and awarded her an ang pow instead. There were two probable
reasons for this. If she had inspected and tested the blood
stain it could be construed that she had had doubts about
the bride’s chastity and this was seen as a slur on the girl’s
parents. It was claimed that a long time ago a few very strict
grandmothers-in-law did check the proof but they were in the
minority. In all probability it was mere hearsay rather than
the truth. Moreover, we believed that to look at the stained
trousers was suay or unlucky and might even result in blurred
vision. As a matter of fact, a bride’s mother-in-law would
already have known about her daughter-in-law’s purity before
the proof was delivered to her. Her dutiful and filial son would
have already reported to her everything she wanted to know
the moment the marriage had been consummated!
chapter six
At Leisure
IT TOOK THE best part of a month for the excitement of Swee
Neo’s wedding to wear off. For that duration the wedding
remained the main topic of conversation in the household. All
other activities practically ground to a stop or took secondary
importance. Every aspect of the wedding ceremonies was
dissected and studied most thoroughly. Friends and relatives who
happened to visit joined in the discussion adding their opinions
and comments. It was a relief for me when life finally returned
to normal because during the period of the post wedding debate,
father joined in and he tended to stay at home more.
As a young girl I was more fortunate than most of the girls
of my age. Father took me along on most of his outings and
so at a young age I had seen more of the world outside our
house than perhaps some grown-ups. Furthermore he gave me
full rein to be my age. Thus, I was not ‘domesticated’ as my
contemporaries were till a much later age.
In the evenings at IOLA, the bungalow at Katong, father
permitted me to explore the surrounding neighbourhood,
which was then like a forest, and to make friends with the
neighbours. There was a cowshed behind our house. Every
time I visited the Indian cowherd’s family I was offered fresh
AT LEISURE 113
milk to drink. The sight of the container in which the milk was
served to me, would have put most people off today. It was a
badly dented little aluminium mug that could certainly have
done with a bit of proper washing. Nevertheless I was none the
worse for the experience. At home, we took our milk boiled.
After being thoroughly heated the cream would separate from
the milk and float on top: the richer the milk, the thicker the
layer of cream formed. This layer of cream was popular with us
children and we rushed for it the moment it was solid enough to
be lifted off the milk with the fingers. Those who did not take
to it objected to its rich taste rather than for dietary reasons.
People were very much less conscious of weight problems then.
In fact with tuberculosis (or consumption, as we knew it then)
being quite rife, to be thin or underweight was thought to be
risky whereas to be fat was considered healthy.
One of my delights was to watch the cows being milked. If
I happened to visit the family after milking time was over, in
order not to disappoint me the cowherd would milk just one
more cow for my benefit. Conditions at a cowherd’s home were
far from sanitary especially since young calves shared the same
sleeping quarters with the family. A strong odour of decaying
grass and cow dung pervaded the surroundings all the time.
There was cow dung everywhere. In one corner of a shed for
the cows, not far from the cowherd’s kitchen, was a pile of dung
that was meant for sale as fertiliser. The cowherd’s eldest son was
Pakri. He was about fourth brother’s age. Whenever he was free
he took me round the neighbourhood in search of adventure.
Sometimes we had frightful escapades as when we were chased
by unfriendly geese, while at other times pleasant surprises like
when we discovered turkey eggs in the bushes.
The trips to father’s rubber estate at Paya Lebar were just
as interesting and educational. The Paya Lebar Road that I
114 A NYONYA MOSAIC
can still see clearly in my mind had lots of buffaloes and was
flanked by vegetable farms. When father was busy in his estate
office he left me to roam round the estate. The perimeter of the
property was bounded by a large vegetable farm. The. farmers
were friendly and took a liking to me, sister Puteh and fourth
brother. Occasionally they offered us vegetables free of charge.
They fertilised their vegetables with human waste which they
stored in a covered well-shaft in the middle of the field. Most
of these Chinese farmers spoke bazaar Malay and they did
not mind my presence when they were at work. They went as
far as to teach me to identify the various types of vegetables
they grew. Besides the common vegetables which they grew
in abundance they had smaller patches of ground where less
popular types which catered mainly to Baba tastebuds were
grown. Some of these leafy shoots and vegetables had exotic
names like puchok buas buas (buair buair as pronounced by
Babas), kadot kadot, temu konchi, puchok lampong, lempoyang,
tapak itek, and sireh mengkaboh. Nowadays some of us have
modified the original age-old recipes which require such
ingredients because they are no longer available. In so doing,
the results are unfortunately a far cry from the taste of the
authentic dishes.
Besides all these outings I had my share of tuition at home.
I was privately tutored in English by a series of female tutors
whereas for my upbringing as a typical Nyonya, one skilled
in domestic expertise, I had eldest sister-in-law to guide me.
She did not have much trouble because I was interested in
sewing and cooking. With the minimum of guidance I often
produced good results with my needle. As for cooking, I
learned more by observation rather than by actual practical
work. In addition to watching Ah Pok at work, eldest sister-
in-law also shared her cooking expertise with me. In this
AT LEISURE 115
respect I did not differ from my contemporaries who spent

much time learning to cook and sew.
In spite of these domestic pursuits I still had time for other
activities in the house. One which I looked forward to was the
feeding of a freshwater fish, the ikan betok, which most Baba
families reared at home in large earthern jars. We bought ours
from a Hainanese who also sold buah keluak (Indonesian black
nuts) and temu konchi (a type of tuber). These fishes were
reared to a suitable size before landing in the cooking pot. It
was said that the longer they were reared at home the more
they would loose their muddy odour when eaten. We fed them
either with kang kong (water convolvulus) or chunky pieces of
pork fat. I enjoyed feeding them and found it fascinating to
watch them gobble up their food. However, I did not fancy the
manner in which they were killed. Leaving them out of water
to die was not the answer as they were a hardy species. The
gruesome method employed was to bash them on the floor till
they expired. Each of them needed several bashings before they
died. Removing the scales was not an easy matter either because
these were small and sharp, with barbs near their mouths. An
inexperienced worker would most probably end up with a few
cuts while trying to clean this fish. There were two dishes made
with this fish. One was masak pedas (a hot dish) and the other
was goreng chilli asam (fried in chilli and tamarind). They were
both equally delicious and were among our favourites. At one
time we reared labi labi (freshwater turtles) too. They were fed
with kang kong. Father took its blood in the belief that it was
good for his health.
At other times I busied myself with handicrafts. One of the
items I was pretty good at making was lekair. This was a thick
coaster for placing cooking pots on. Those that were sold in
the shops were made of bamboo but I made use of a totally
116 A NYONYA MOSAIC
different material to weave them: discarded cherki cards. Supply

of such cards was plentiful because of the regular cherki sessions
in the house. I could also make a good job of weaving a tudong
saji. Every household had such a dish cover and ours more often
than not was homemade. In order to make one I had to wait
patiently for a couple of months until I had amassed enough
cigarette box covers for the purpose. For these cigarette box
covers I depended mainly on my brothers who collected them
from schoolmates or picked them up from the roadside.
At other moments especially when grandma was not in,
I joined my brothers in mischievous pranks. At that time
there was a certain gentleman by the name of Teck Guan
who was said to be of slightly unsound mind. He had the
unusual passion for collecting ladies’ handkerchiefs. On
entering the house of a person he knew, he went straight to
the point saying, ‘Ada mimpo tak? Kasi gua boleh?’ (Have
you any handkerchiefs? Can I have them?). Teck Guan was a
rather tall man who still kept a queue and he walked with a
gait. In his right hand he carried three folded handkerchiefs in
the formal fashion of elderly ladies and in his left hand was a
large bundle filled with more handkerchiefs. Above all he was
rather effeminate in nature. All this naturally made him the
butt of a lot of name calling from the neighbourhood children
who repeatedly teased him, ‘Teck Guan gila, Teck Guan gila’
(mad Teck Guan, mad Teck Guan). Whenever he was in the
neighbourhood we could hear the children shouting and
teasing him. When grandma was not around, I too never
failed to join the other children in teasing him. However, Teck
Guan did not react to our catcalls but just continued along his
way collecting as many handkerchiefs as he could. As no one
in our family was on friendly terms with him he never called
on us for handkerchiefs.
AT LEISURE 117
When social gatherings were held at our house and the

guests had brought their children along, organised children’s
activites were occasionally arranged by eldest sister-in-law. We
had our own little party in a room with singing, story telling
and riddles. The theme of most of the stories tended to centre
around cruel stepmothers and their helpless step children, with
a happy ending for the latter and due punishment of the former.
Among the most famous of those that were told and retold was
Bawang Puteh, Bawang Merah.
Bawang Puteh was a beautiful and filial girl whose father
had married a second wife. Her stepmother had a daughter
named Bawang Merah and they were both jealous and cruel.
One day, Bawang Puteh’s stepmother and stepsister plotted to
kill Bawang Puteh’s mother. They pushed her into a river and as
the woman could not swim, she drowned, and was transformed
into a fish. When Bawang Puteh discovered this, she went to the
riverside daily and fed the fish that was her mother.
These clandestine meetings were soon made known to
Bawang Puteh’s stepmother and she and Bawang Merah caught
the fish, cooked it and served it to Bawang Puteh who ate it
without realizing what she had done. From then onwards,
although Bawang Puteh continued to go to the river, her
mother no longer appeared to her. Meanwhile, the discarded
bones of the fish grew into a tree and it was on one of her visits
to the river that a voice revealed to her the whole story and
told her that the tree was now her mother. From then onwards
Bawang Puteh spent time each day with the tree.
One day, while she was seated on a swing tied to the tree
a Prince first set eyes on Bawang Puteh and decided to court
her. However, her stepmother and Bawang Merah were jealous
and made several attempts to harm the Prince. They were
unsuccessful and were soon put under arrest and sentenced
118 A NYONYA MOSAIC
to death. When Bawang Puteh learnt of this, she graciously

pleaded for their lives in spite of what they had done. And how
does the story end? Like all good fairy stories, Bawang Puteh
married her Prince and they lived happily ever after.
As for the sing-along sessions our favourites were ditties.
Among the best known ones were:
Dang dang Si-Bongkong

Si-Bongkong kampong saga
Nak beli bunga rampay
Nak minang anak dara
Dance along my master Bongkong

Master Bongkong of Kampong Saga
Time to buy the scented flower
Time to court your maiden lover
Pak pak lang bertuntot buntot

Ayam katek bergendong telor
Pechah sabiji telor
Minta ganti bunga melor
Pesan Inche Ali Inche Awang datang
Let us follow the leader

Mother hen upon her eggs
Break an egg
Replace with a flower
Call for Mr Grundy, came forth Mr Gower
Hai, hai, mak sarong

Pergi pasair beli terong
Pulang rumah terserong serong
AT LEISURE 119
Hail, hail, my sarong-clad maid

To market street for Brinjals make
Then homeward bound heavily weighed
Tabor tabor jawi

Tabor sakerat pinggang
Datang anak Betawi
Tak tao kupair pinang
Chorus: Hassan Hussain anak emak
Satu sen mintak emak
Scatter the jawi grain

Scatter from the waist
Along comes a Batavian bairn
Who cannot cut Areca nuts
Chorus: Hassan Hussain, mother’s boy
Ask for one cent to buy a toy
Teng teng gula batu

Naik loteng pukol satu
Turun bawah jumpa antu
Teng, teng, sugared rock

Upstairs we go at one o’clock
On coming down a ghost we’ll block.
The first line of each ditty formed its tide. It has indeed
been a long time since I last heard these ditties sung so I crave
the indulgence of my living contemporaries for any possible
slip-up in the lyrics. The second ditty was sung accompanied
by action play. We walked in single file one behind the other in
follow-the-leader fashion. The riddles we fired at one another
120 A NYONYA MOSAIC
were rather tough and occasionally controversial. I did not

quite take to our teka teki (riddles) and I failed miserably to
answer any of them. To quote just two typical examples:
Satu barang empat segi

Boleh pakay tak boleh chuchi
A four-sided certain something
Meant for use but not for washing
Answer: A box of matches
Satu lorong sempet

Dua budak terkepet
Along a certain narrow alley
Found two children clinging tightly
(Answer: A peanut – with presumably two nuts in it. This is
to me controversial as a peanut can have one, two, three or even
four nuts in it).
Conditions changed the moment a girl reached puberty. A

strict and rigid code of conduct was expected of her. As an anak
dara she had to be prim and proper at all times. Marriage did
not help matters very much either. A young wife had always to
be at her best before her husband, in-laws and their families.
Otherwise accusations of not having been properly brought up
might be hurled at her at every opportunity. Therefore, for many
a girl, marriage was the beginning of difficult times. By and large
Baba sons were obedient and filial to their parents and siblings.
It was all too natural for a young bride to have to face a fierce
and uncompromising mother-in-law and several equally fierce,
spiteful and wicked sisters-in-law, especially those who were
not married and were no longer considered young. Brothers-
in-law, however normally did not pose a problem. To top it all,
AT LEISURE 121
a typical Baba husband tended to consider wives as being akin

to pebbles on a seashore and so his full and unswerving loyalty
was always with his family. There were a lucky few who did
not go through these unpleasant experiences. Eldest sister-in-
law was one of them. She had a gentle mother-in-law and her
sisters-in-law were mere toddlers. It was true that grandma was
strict and fierce, but she behaved in this manner to everybody
so there was no real hardship. A housewife in general began to
enjoy a certain amount of respite and respect when she reached
middle age when her children had grown up, her fierce mother-
in-law had passed away and all the sisters-in-law had married
and moved out.
Young women were generally kept on their toes with daily
duties of cooking and sewing as well as preparing for the many
regular memorials and festivals held in a year. The average
family could expect to observe not less than six memorials
annually in addition to the birthday celebrations of the senior
members of the household. Each of these social events entailed
a lot of work. In our house there were four memorial days each
year. Not every home was as privileged to have a large retinue
of domestic staff to help in the kitchen as we did. It was not
unusual then, that the womenfolk of the family had to bear
the burden of all the cooking and preparation for each event.
However, all this does not necessarily imply that they were kept
so occupied all the time that there was no leisure for them at all.
While busy at work with their hands they were just as busy with
their mouths – gossipping.
Nyonyas were as good listeners as they were at spreading
the latest news. There were several of our elderly relatives who
had earned apt nicknames like Si Mulot Bochor (the one with
the leaky mouth), Si Jaga Pantat (the one who watches others’
backsides) and Si Keras Meleteh (the incessant nagger), not
122 A NYONYA MOSAIC
without good reason. At their age they had freedom of movement

and were the bearers of the latest scandal from the community
to those not yet privileged with such free movement. It was only
natural in a close-knit society that after a visit to a few houses
they had gathered enough material to fuel a gossip session. Their
topics included family disputes, forthcoming marriages, and
weddings just taken place. Even during these sessions, certain
rules of etiquette prevailed. The policy that the young should be
seen and not heard nor be detected anywhere near when adults
talked was never relaxed. I continually received a tongue lashing
for my persistent attempts to surreptitiously include myself
in such sessions. Much as I was reputed to be her pet, eldest
sister-in-law did not spare me her verbal chastisement whenever
attention was drawn to my uninvited presence.
Another pastime that was indulged in with even greater
vigour was gambling. Among the most popular was, of course,
cherki. Both father and grandma spent the best part of their
leisure hours at home playing the game and so there was a card
party in the Rumah Abu practically every day. Play normally
began after eleven in the morning with father being the only
male in the group. His presence was tolerated because the
female players were much older than he. If it had been a group
of younger women it would have been totally unseemly for
him, a widower, to join them. No self-respecting young woman
would have wanted to be present in a cherki group if there was
to be a man in it. Young unmarried girls did not dare indulge in
this pastime openly for fear of earning a bad reputation of being
‘tak seronoh’ (without decorum). However, in the confines of
their bedrooms and among sisters and cousins they did play
the game and in those situations, the adults usually turned a
blind eye. I picked up the game from such clandestine sessions
organised when grandma was out. We made it a point to find
AT LEISURE
123
Nyonya ladies playing cherki.
124 A NYONYA MOSAIC
out the time she was expected home and always stopped before
she returned. Young men rarely participated in the game.
While we young children played for fun, the adults,
however, played for money although stakes were nominal.
During the game the old Chinese coins with a hole in the centre
were used in place of real money and were exchanged for cash
at the conclusion of the game. The term tikam pee was given
to these coins. In the early days there were three games that
could be played with the cherki cards. These were the Cholek
Tiga, the Bukak Lima Belas and the Pak Tui. Through the years
three further games known as Choke Ramay, Balek Satu and
Choke Kiong were introduced. The last could only be played by
four players whereas the other types could involve as many as
a dozen people during each game. The old Chinese coins were
later replaced by small black and white dome shaped celluloid
pieces known as pee chees.
Cherki sessions were rather expensive to host. Players had
to be supplied with drinks, snacks and meals depending on
the length of the game. In order to cover such expenses some
households levied a nominal sum for the refreshments served.
Generally this developed into the lucrative business of punggot
tong where, for every win, each player was obliged to make a
contribution to a collection box, the amount depending on the
points of the winning hand.
Grandma’s neighbourhood cherki friends were a cosmo-
politan group. All her contemporaries, some were her personal
acquaintances while others were brought along by her friends.
In general, this same group of ladies would be invited to come
for a card game every day. One of them was Mama Alice,
a bulky Eurasian lady usually attired in a long gown and a
large hat pinned onto her hair by a long pin. Every time she
came to gamble I had the pleasure of donning her hat which
AT LEISURE 125
she left on a table near the entrance and imitating her slow
lumbering walk. I often accompanied one of our domestic
aides who was sent to her house to invite her for a game. It
was spotlessly clean. Mama Chik was another Eurasian lady
very fond of cherki. Like many of her race at that time, she
dressed in the Nyonya’s baju panjang and looked every bit
like one. Then there was Si Mati Badan, a Nyonya married
to an Eurasian. The nickname was given to her because of
her frequent exclamation of ‘Mati badan’ (Goodness gracious)
in her conversation. She probably gambled against her
husband’s wishes because she had to rush home by four with
some excuse or other. Everyone suspected that she was trying
to avoid not being found at home when her husband came
home from work at five. Kak Neng was the only Malay lady
in the group. She was a rather stern and moody person who
practised card fortune telling. Surprisingly father did not
patronise her. Being a Muslim she was served different snacks
from the others. For her there was little variety; it was almost
always hardboiled eggs, bread and butter.
Some of these ladies came from well-to-do families. Among
them was Bibi Ah Thor a Teochew Nyonya who had a slave
girl who accompanied her. Throughout the card game the girl
sat next to her and fanned her continuously. Bibi Ah Thor was
very fond of father and his jokes. Father seemed to be at his
jovial best among these ladies and he was popular with them.
After father’s death Bibi Ah Thor never stepped into our house
again because, as we learned later, the very first time she came
to visit us after father was no more she could not bring herself
to come into the house; the moment she saw our front doors
sad memories of father started to flood back. She made several
attempts on other occasions but couldn’t go through with it.
Finally, she decided to give up the idea of visiting us totally.
126 A NYONYA MOSAIC
There was another Teochew Nyonya and she spoke our

language very fluently. We knew her as Pee Ting. She was
occasionally accompanied by a daughter who was addicted
to the card game. Pee Ting’s daughter was the first person I
witnessed who breast-fed her baby in front of everybody. It
happened during a card game and there she was with one hand
holding the cards and the other hand around her baby who was
breast-feeding. Fortunately father was not present on that day.
The third Teochew lady was younger than either Bibi Ah
Thor or Pee Ting. I can never suppress a feeling of sadness when
I recall this lady. There was a time when she was in financial
crisis and she pawned a young daughter of my age to grandma
in order to secure a big loan. The poor girl spent her first few
days in our house crying for her mother. After a week she began
to settle down to her new surroundings and became a playmate
to me. Unfortunately, less than a fortnight later her mother was
able to redeem her but, by then, she was so used to us that she
refused to leave our house. She cried in protest as much as when
she was first brought to us. Finally, she was forcibly dragged
home by her mother. I was subsequently informed that she had,
in fact, been sold to a rich merchant in Malacca to be one of his
concubines. It was this merchant who had provided the money
for the child to be redeemed.
The next regular member of the group was Nek Ah Wan,
a Chinese Nyonya of Javanese origin. The last Nyonya in the
group was Wak Jee Neo who lived diagonally opposite us. She
was extremely old fashioned and could not tolerate anything
not conforming to the old ways. She was unable to pronounce
the word kalu (if ) properly. She was always saying ‘alu this’ and
‘alu that.’ Although she lived but a stone’s throwaway from us, a
servant girl had to help her cross the road and this same girl had
to sit by her side throughout the card game to attend to her needs.
AT LEISURE 127
Occasionally she brought along her neighbour Wak Burok. Wak

Burok was a Teochew Nyonya and she was considered rather
unique in those days in that she was a Christian.
Another form of gambling that had a powerful grip on the
Baba community was Chap Ji Kee, the twelve numbers game.
From time immemorial this illegal betting game had been
organised on a large island-wide scale by several syndicates.
Punters were not confined to the Babas alone but included
others of various racial backgrounds coming from varied stations
of life. The game involved the correct forecasting of two out
of twelve numbers to be drawn by a particular syndicate. For
a successful bet of one unit a payment of ten units was made.
There were hundreds of runners who collected the betting
slips and they earned a commission of 5% from the winning
numbers. As an incentive, bettors were offered a 30% discount
on the bet placed. The various syndicates had cooperated among
themselves and had divided the island into several sections, each
of which came under the influence of a particular group. One
had to know which syndicate one’s bet had gone to because
different alliances announced different results each day.
In my childhood days there was only one draw per day per
syndicate. Betting slips had to be in by noon and the result was
known by 10 am the next day. As this form of gambling increased
in popularity the daily draw was increased to two. One syndicate
took care of the first draw of the day and another looked after the
second draw. The last bet for the first draw was at 11 am and the
result was out by 5 or 6 pm while the final entry for the second
draw was around 9 to 10 pm and the result was known by 11 am
the next day. The well-established syndicates had peculiar names
like Tow Kuanh (Bean cake) and Paya Lebar.
All bets were expected to be written in Chinese numbers.
This proved a dilemma to most Nyonyas who could not even
128 A NYONYA MOSAIC
converse in Chinese let alone write the numbers. In order not

to lose the patronage of such a large number of bettors, the
syndicates permitted the Nyonyas to use a set of symbols to
represent the numbers 1 to 12. I often wondered who originated
these unique symbols.
For the numerals 9, 10, 11 and 12 it would certainly have

been a much simpler task to have attempted to write the
Chinese numerals instead of the quaint drawings. However,
grandma and her contemporaries insisted that it was not so.
They stubbornly refused to attempt the Chinese characters
but doggedly struggled on with their symbols for those higher
numbers. The notations used to indicate the bet placed was just
as unique. Instead of numerals a system of circles and crosses
was employed instead. Here are several examples:
For bettors who could not write at all, the additional service
rendered by the runners who came to collect the betting slips
included writing out the bets for such helpless souls.
A variation of Chap Ji Kee was Chap Ji Kee Panjang. Unlike
the former where punters did not get the opportunity to witness
AT LEISURE 129
the drawing of numbers they were present and witnessed the

draw for the latter. There were many illegal gambling dens
catering to Chap Ji Kee Panjang addicts. At the same time there
were itinerant operators of this form of gambling. A session
at a private home began with the owner of the house making
contact with one of these operators and inviting him and his
partner to the house where a group of eager punters made up of
friends, relatives and neighbours were waiting.
Slender Chinese playing cards bearing numerals from 1 to 12
were used for the purpose. Each punter was given a set of these
cards while the banker himself had a similar set which he placed
in a cloth bag. The session began with the operator placing the
bag out of sight under the table as he drew a card out and put it
into an empty matchbox. He then placed the matchbox on the
table and the game was on. Each punter endeavoured to match
the card in the matchbox by placing one or more cards from his
set of cards face down on the table with the bet on top of each
card. Those who were busy in the kitchen could participate by
placing their bets on a tray which was placed on the table. After
everybody had placed their bets the banker’s assistant gave two
to three raps on the table to signify that no further bets would
be entertained. Because of the assistant’s rapping on the table
this game was also known as Tok Tok. To indulge in it was,
therefore, to main Tok Tok.
The banker revealed the drawn card by tipping it out of
the matchbox. The punter who had successfully predicted the
winning card was required to tum his card face up. All the
money bet was then scooped up by the assistant before payment
was made to the winners. The dividend paid out was 10 to 1.
Unlike Chap Ji Kee with its one or two draws a day, Tok Tok
could have hundreds of draws in a day-long session and many
punters have been known to have sustained heavy losses.
130 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Nevertheless, there were punters who boasted of knowing a

system of knowing the card in the matchbox successfully. They
claimed that all they had to do was to mention the number or
numbers they intended to bet on and then watch the reaction
of the operator. If this was true then punters stood a good
chance of making money out of Tok Tok. However, to the
best of my knowledge bankers had not been heard to go bust
whereas punters had very rarely been heard to have won. The
government banned both forms of Chap Ji Kee but the ‘fine’
for those guilty for indulging in Tok Tok was heavier because a
punter risked losing a lot of money playing it and many in fact
had lost vast fortunes by it.
On rare occasions grandma had Tok Tok sessions at home
but that was only after father had passed away. Father was fond
of cherki which he considered a harmless pastime but he did not
tolerate other forms of gambling which he thought could ruin
a family. The authorities did not agree and cherki was deemed
to be as illegal as Chap Ji Kee. Many a time elderly womenfolk
from well-known families found themselves in court as a result
of being caught playing cherki. It was said that grandma had
once landed in this predicament. In court, grandma acted as the
spokeswoman for her friends. She pointed out to the magistrate
that she and her peers were all elderly folk and if they were
not permitted to indulge in a harmless pastime once in a while,
life would be very boring. After all they had gambled in the
privacy of their homes. The magistrate sympathised with her
and acquitted all the ladies after ticking off the police officers
for being over zealous.
As a child whenever the older folks gambled I emerged the
winner. This was because winners were always generous and
they seldom failed to give me some pocket money after the
game. Some gamblers were sore losers. We could tell whether
AT LEISURE 131
Above: A Portuguese
Eurasian Nyonya lady.
Right: Grandma’s
contemorary, a Chetty
Malacca Nyonya.
(Both photos courtesy of
Mr Cheo Kim Ban)
Ah Pok had won or lost by his mood after a gambling session.

Whenever he had sustained a loss he would be sullen and would
be heavy handed with everything he handled. Grandma was
even worse. She tended to unleash her frustration on those
around her. The moment we discovered she had had a bad
day at cherki we made great efforts to avoid her. The hapless
domestic staff who could not do the same fell victim to her
tantrums.
chapter seven
The Tradesmen
THERE WERE NO food centres or shopping complexes in
the early years of the century but we did not miss them because
similar facilities were literally available at our doorsteps. Staying
at Prinsep Street, which was an important road in the heart of
town, meant that a regular stream of itinerant tradesmen passed
our home throughout the day.
The first hawker to make the daily rounds was the chee yoke
chok (pork porridge) seller. Our household patronised this food
vendor regularly but I never had a good close look at his stall
which was normally stationed a distance away from our house.
The hawker’s assistant carried a tray on his head upon which
were several bowls of steaming hot pork porridge. Each bowl
was covered with a lid made of zinc. Any customer who placed
an order was required to transfer the porridge from the hawker’s
container into his own bowl. The pig’s blood seller was a rival
hawker who came around the same time. His call of ‘Buay too
huake’ attracted a lot of customers including grandma who
patronised him fairly regularly. He carried two wooden tubs
slung on a pole and he sold both the uncooked as well as cooked
pig’s blood. Grandma never permitted us to consume any pig’s
blood after noon because she firmly believed that it was not
THE TRADESMEN 133
good for the health as the blood became ‘hidop’ (alive) once
again. Until today, I have not been able to find a satisfactory
explanation for what was meant but I have nevertheless avoided
consuming pig’s blood in the afternoon.
Besides the food sellers, other itinerant pedlars were a
common sight throughout the day. Some called their wares
by making some sort of sound while others went around
noiselessly. The latter did not attract any fewer customers
because once they had built a clientele the customers would
wait for their arrival daily. The Chinese barber who could be
seen around the neighbourhood twice a day belonged to this
category. Besides having customers who waited for him, he
studied some of his customers’ habits so well that when he
knew they wanted a haircut he would just walk straight into
their houses unbeckoned.
Barbers in those days served both the sexes. Young girls had
their fringes trimmed by him while ladies had their strands of
false hair known as the chemara reset by him. Womenfolk who
fashioned their hair with a topknot required additional false
hair to lend bulk to their hair style. This process of resetting
and retying the hairpiece was known as ikat chemara.
While the barber could be said to be important to the
ladies the ting ting man was every child’s favourite pedlar. His
arrival around nine-thirty started our day on the right note.
Whatever his trade may be known in the Chinese language he
was the ting ting man to us because of the sound he created by
striking a short metal rod on half a bicycle bell to attract his
young customers. He carried two small glass cupboards slung
on a pole. Each of these cupboards, packed with toys, dolls and
other playthings, was a veritable chest of delight to all those
young at heart. He catered for both boys and girls with his large
selection of toys that ranged from paper balls to stuffed dolls.
134 A NYONYA MOSAIC
On top of one of the glass cupboards was a glass showcase with

compartments, filled with different types of preserved fruits of
doubtful hygienic quality. Grandma never stopped me from
buying the toys and dolls but she strictly forbade me to touch
these preserved fruits. She never had to worry about my going
against her instructions because they did not look attractive and
never proved tempting to me.
Following the ting ting man was the trader with the answer
to housewives who had problems with their kitchen utensils. At
that time few kitchen appliances slightly worse for wear were
discarded. Instead they were repaired and continued to be used
for as long as possible. The poh tianh man specialised in this field
of minor repairs. He did not perform the actual mending job
on the spot. When given, say, a leaky wok to patch up he took
the appliance away with him and returned it duly patched up
in the evening during his second visit to the neighbourhood.
Another mender of sorts who could be seen around the
same hour was the Indian ketok batu man who called out his
trade as he walked along armed with a hammer and a chisel.
He specialised in chipping the surfaces of grinding stones that
had become smooth due to heavy and regular use to render
them effective again. These grinding stones were popular with
some older Nyonyas who ground their own spices but to others
it was an impossible skill to master. I could never successfully
manipulate this appliance which appeared so simple to use
in the hands of experts. Most of the Eurasian families in the
neighbourhood also had grinding stones in their kitchens.
Unlike the poh tianh man, the ketok batu man performed his job
in front of his customers and to their satisfaction. This Indian
tradesman was not the only one who went about with minimal
equipment; the potong ayam man was another. He was an
elderly orthodox Jew with a long white beard· and a skull cap
THE TRADESMEN 135
on his head. His customers were from the Jewish community

around our neighbourhood who depended on him to slaughter
their chicken according to their religious requirements. He did
not call out his trade and seemed to know the very customers
who needed his service for the day.
Considering that cooking at home was a way of life it was
surprising that there were so many of these food hawkers.
Undeniably food vendors of old served inexpensive but tasty
foodstuff but still this did not justify the eating habits of most
people. Take our family for example. We were never short of
home-cooked food at anytime of the day yet we still patronised
many of the hawkers. Obviously Singaporeans had been bitten
by the eating bug long ago and the habit has persisted and
worsened through the years.
By lunch hour the number of food sellers on the road
increased by leaps and bounds. They went from house to house
to sell their food and when they were delayed at a particular
house because of a good sale other potential customers further
down the road like us just had to wait their turn patiently.
Where we were concerned the lor mei seller was an exception.
He stayed not far from us and he normally made a beeline for
our house the moment he was on the road to start his business
for the day. Father was simply addicted to his food. This was
one hawker who was so confident of our patronage that he
would walk straight into the kitchen every day where father
and all of us were waiting for him. His lor mei consisted of a
wide selection of roasted foodstuff: roasted duck, chicken, pork
and pig’s tripe. In addition there was char siew (grilled pork),
siew cheong (a type of Chinese sausage), pai kuat (roasted pork
ribs) and ark keok pow (duck’s leg stuffed with liver). Father
liked them so much that he encouraged the hawker to continue
serving us. After we had all eaten our fill the hawker was paid,
136 A NYONYA MOSAIC
without questions, whatever price he named. Considering that

he spent about twenty minutes in our house I often wondered
how many other customers he could serve in a day. After all he
started his business only after noon and so the number of houses
he could visit before sunset must have been rather limited.
As the afternoon wore on, more and more tradesmen could
be heard calling out their wares and services. Most of them
walked but among the exceptions was the cobbler with the
loud voice whose call of ‘Tampal kasot’ could be heard over an
impressive distance. He rode a tricycle. Most of the menfolk
then did not discard their shoes when the soles had worn out.
They had them replaced with new ones and a pair of good
quality shoes easily lasted two to three changes of soles. Another
repairman who passed by around the same hour was the tampal
kerosi man who specialised in patching up the rattan seats of
our chairs. This man was usually seen with a coil of rattan
round his shoulder. A complete change of the seat of a reclining
chair took him about three visits to complete.
Two haberdashers helped to increase the variety of tradesmen
who plied their trade in our neighbourhood. The Hokkien
man, identified by the felt hat he wore, carried a limited range
of products and was rarely patronised by the ladies in our
house. His Teochew rival, recognised by his tall bamboo hat,
however, had a wide selection of goods and was popular with
our household. Both of them utilised a unique instrument to
advertise their presence in the neighbourhood. It consisted
of a little leather drum about 10 cm (4 inches) in diameter
fixed to a handle. On each side of the drum along its diameter
were tied two short strands of strong thread, each with a solid
metal piece at one end. When this instrument was held by the
handle and twirled about, the threads were flung about and the
metal pieces struck the drum at the opposite faces giving out
THE TRADESMEN 137
a ‘kelentong, kelentong’ sound. From this we coined the name

Kelentong Man for the haberdasher trader. Another peculiar
feature about them was that the pole employed to carry the
goods was curled up at both ends in contrast with the straight
poles of other hawkers. All our sewing and embroidery supplies
were met by these traders, especially the Teochew one and at
dream prices.
Cloth was sold by three different cloth sellers. There was a
Malay cloth seller who made his appearance daily with his call
of ‘Kain, kain’. He carried the cheaper varieties of cloth and was
not much sought after by most of us. Another cloth seller we
never patronised was the Cantonese man who carried a limited
stock on his shoulder. He catered mainly to Cantonese families
among whom was the family who lived to the right of our
Rumah Hylam.
The Arab cloth trader or ‘Habib’, as we addressed him, had a
large clientele. He carried with him two bundles of largely batik
sarong materials and enjoyed better sales because all of us women
wore sarongs then. He had different quality sarongs to cater for
different budgets but his materials were generally moderately
priced and well within the reach of most families. The more
expensive fabrics were sold by a fat Bengali we named Baboo.
He publicised his silk and lace materials with the loud call of
‘Kain stra, kain renda’. He had a large quantity of cloth which
he loaded on a rickshaw pulled by a rather elderly Chinese man.
He himself, however, did not travel in the rickshaw but walked
alongside it. We patronised him so frequently that even without
being summoned he used to walk into the house with the
rickshaw puller, carrying the bundles from the vehicle, trailing
behind him. He would then proceed to open each bundle to
tempt us with its contents. If he had not brought anything new
or exciting to capture one’s fancy he was automatically chided
138 A NYONYA MOSAIC
by the ladies for wasting their time and letting them down.
Baboo had a good rapport with his customers and he took it
all in his stride. He was never annoyed if nobody made any
purchase. Patiently he would bundle everything up again and
instruct the old man to carry it back to the rickshaw. They then
took their leave, but only after Baboo had first assured us that
he would bring something new on his next visit. Whenever he
had new chee bee material he was bound to make a good sale.
This was a type of material that stayed crisp when starched and
there was nothing more popular with the ladies of the era than
a well-starched and ironed dress.
There were so many hawkers and traders passing by our
house each day that before the voice of one faded away another
loud call would be heard approaching to take its place. Closely
following Baboo’s heels came the tikar rombong woman.
Sometimes, several of them would pass by in a single day. These
unusual traders were usually middle-aged Malay ladies from
Malacca who bore on their heads, gripped in between their arms,
and carried in each of their hands a wide range of mengkuang
mats and fancy rectangular lidded baskets. The mats, which
we sat on during cherki sessions came in all sizes and designs
and the receptacles ranged from tiny ones used as a coin purse
to those that could be filled with a big pile of neatly stacked
clothes. These items were not meant for sale. They were traded
for old clothes. Doing business with these ladies involved a lot
of haggling but, in general, the unofficial exchange rate was two
secondhand sarongs and a secondhand baju or dress in exchange
for a medium-sized rombong, the lidded receptacle. Men’s used
clothing were just as acceptable. Even after the barter rate had
finally been agreed upon it was not unusual for them to nag
and plead with us to tokok or to add a few more old garments.
These secondhand kebayas and sarongs were meant for the rural
THE TRADESMEN 139
folk in Malacca who had woven the mats and receptacles in

the first place. If one of these traders happened to have a lot of
goods to carry she might be accompanied by a man who carried
two stacks of various sized rombong tied to several rolls of mats
of different sizes slung on a pole. I enjoyed it immensely when
these traders were called to our house. At times eldest sister-
in-law traded some of my old clothing for a couple of small
receptacles in which I kept my needles and thread.
For some unknown reason many of these ladies suffered
from a nervous affliction known as ‘melatah’. When subjected
to a sudden unexpected shock or a fright they reacted in a most
bizarre manner that might range from uttering unintelligible
sounds hysterically, screaming obscenities most unbecoming
of women and dancing and prancing about to some extreme
cases where they lifted their sarongs much to the delight of their
tormentors and the others around. Their hysterical outburst
might last from a few seconds to a good many minutes.
The moment one of them was known to be suffering from
this affliction she became the butt of a lot of sudden short
unexpected jabs in the ribs and loud clapping of the hands to
trigger off the comical reaction. Actually this affliction was not
confined to the Malacca lady traders alone. Many of our elderly
lady folk suffered from the same malady.
Coming from Malacca, these ladies were naturally exponents
of Malay pantons and were occasionally asked to share some
good ones with us. They generally obliged without any
hesitation. It is a great pity that in later years malicious rumours
started circulating round the island alleging that these women
were skillful in black art and were not to be trusted in one’s
home. It was said that they were able to put the whole family
under their spell and if there were young girls in the home they
would entice these helpless victims into slavery. Unfortunately,
140 A NYONYA MOSAIC
many among us believed wholeheartedly in the rumours and

these traders found their clients dwindling with each passing
day. There were many instances where, the moment they were
heard coming down the street, doors and windows were hastily
shut until they had left the neighbourhood. Business rivalry
was probably the culprit behind these cruel rumours. The final
outcome was that these traders were pushed out of business and
away from the local scene.
Another trader who was somewhat different from the rest was
the mai tong see man who carried two small cupboards on a pole.
Of all the hawkers and traders who plied our neighbourhood, he
was the most impressive with his height and a well-built body.
His two cupboards contained very contrasting items. In one
were several types of preserved vegetables from China. It was
what he had in the other cupboard that made him a favourite
of young maidens like me. This cupboard was jam-packed with
everything that could possibly attract a girl. They were nearly all
made in Shanghai and consisted of combs of different sizes and
colours, face powders, bead necklaces and lace handkerchiefs.
I patronised this stall so regularly that Auntie Chye often said
that, besides the man who sold mee siam, this trader was the
person whom I would one day be induced to elope with.
Among the food vendors who arrived early in the afternoon
was the Hainanese breadman who sold mainly two types
of bread. The warm and crispy French loaf was everybody’s
favourite. It was as delicious when taken plain or with curry
gravy. The other type was the light square loaf just like those
sold in coffee shops and roadside coffee stalls today. In the
early days it was known as the roti Tanglin (Tanglin bread)
because it perhaps originated in the Tanglin neighbourhood.
Malay cooked food sellers generally appeared around three in
the afternoon. The satay (skewered meat), mee rebus (steamed
THE TRADESMEN 141
vermicelli) and the tauhu goreng (fried bean cake) sellers made
their rounds about the same time.
Satay is meat (chicken, mutton, or beef ) skewered on a thin
stick slightly more than 2 cm long. A satay hawker charges a
customer by counting the number of bare sticks left behind after
a meal. Mischievous boys employed a ruse to leave less number
of sticks for the hawker to count. The technique was age-old.
After the meat had been consumed, one end of the bare stick
was held tightly clenched between the teeth while the other end
was pressed down by the fingers. At the correct moment the
stick was released and it was propelled a distance away. I did not
succeed in learning to do this. Moreover, I doubt I would have
had the courage to do it even if I had mastered the move. Every
time I joined my brothers in a satay meal at a hawker’s stall I
was scared and worried that they might be caught in the act.
Happily this never happened.
Eldest sister-in-law’s favourite hawker was a Malay lady who
sold mee siam (Siamese rice vermicelli) and jaganan (mixed
vegetable salad). She did not carry her paraphernalia on a
pole like most hawkers did but she carried the ingredients in
a large round rattan basket held close to her side by a sarong
that was slung over her shoulder and in a covered aluminium
tray balanced on her head. For customers who patronised her
along the roadside she served her food on banana leaves. Her
mee siam was prepared with the finer rice vermicelli known as
mee hoon. She had a rival who sold mee siam that was equally
if not tastier. He was the young Siamese hawker Auntie Chye
warned me about. It was a common belief among us that, in
general, people of Thailand were well-versed in black magic.
We were especially scared of their monks who were alleged
to possess such power as to cause locked doors to fly open by
merely repeating the appropriate mantras.
142 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Some Malay hawkers sold fruits and vegetables. There was

a particularly popular one who sold the sweetest buah binjay
(Binjai fruit) in addition to buah kelondong (Hog plum), petay
(pungent bean), jering (strong smelling pods) and blachan
(shrimp paste) which he kept in strong lacquer baskets on
both ends of a pole which he carried on his shoulder. When
he had the sweet variety of binjay he called out ‘Buah binjay
manis, binjay kueh’ . (Sweet Binjai fruits, Binjai cakes). On the
occasions when he had only the sour variety for eating with
rice as an appetiser, he had a different call, ‘Buah binjay serba
rasa’. What made him popular was he invited all his potential
customers to sample a piece of the fruit to verify his claim that
it was the sweet variety. Moreover he was not stingy with the
portions he offered for sampling.
His blachan or shrimp paste came packed in a tight coconut
leaf bag. Again, potential customers were invited to test the
quality of his product for sale. Shrimp paste is an ingredient
of sambal blachan (chillies pounded with roasted shrimp paste)
without which no Baba meal is complete. We thus consumed
a fair amount of blachan each day. Grandma never bought
blachan without first assessing its quality. The test involved
taking a small piece of the blachan and rubbing it on a plate
with a little water to detect the presence of sand which was
an indication of poor production technique. Naturally, every
time grit was discovered the blachan seller would deny that it
was sand and claim that it was salt instead. After all salt was an
ingredient that went into the manufacture of blachan.
Another appetiser sold by this Malay hawker was buah
remnia. This is a sour greenish fruit the size of a marble with
a purplish seed inside. As an appetiser it was pounded with
sambal blachan and then soya sauce, sugar, and a pinch of salt
added in. Sometimes grandma pickled the fruits. I did not have
THE TRADESMEN 143
the patience to wait until the pickle was ripe for consumption
and furtively gorged myself on the half-ready pickle, much to
grandma’s disgust.
To add to the cosmopolitan nature of our neighbourhood
there was a fair share of Indian hawkers as well. There were,
These worn baskets carried some of the most delectable eats.

(Courtesy of Antiques of the Orient Pte Ltd)
144 A NYONYA MOSAIC
hawkers selling the popular vaday (Tamil fried cake) which was
taken with fresh chilli. We noticed that Tamil hawkers carried
only vaday whereas the Bengali vendors also had other types of
Indian delicacies to offer. Both put their goods in a basket which
they carried on their heads. Every Tamil vaday hawker who
passed by our house was an adult but for some strange reason
those who hawked the same commodity along the Esplanade
were inevitably Tamil boys. Most of us at that time were not
aware that this food item’s name was vaday. We pronounced it
either wadah or wadak for we thought the hawker pronounced
it that way: Vaday was popular with us especially when it was
fresh and warm.
The Indian rojak (mixture of fritters taken with salad and
peanut gravy) hawker carried two cupboards with him. In
one, he stored his gravy in a big pot and on top of this same
cupboard were the different types of fritters that went into the
rojak. The other cupboard had a drawer in which he stored the
bean sprouts, cucumber and yam beans. Under this drawer was
an opening in which he placed his wooden tub of water to wash
the dishes and his round chopping block which he used to cover
the tub. On reaching a convenient spot he would place his two
cupboards on the ground. He then proceeded to take the tub
of water, with its cover, out and place them in between the two
cupboard stalls. While seated on a stool he struck the chopping
block with the back of his chopping knife loudly, to announce
his presence. The mee goreng (fried yellow noodle) seller rode a
tricycle. As he pedalled he made use of his frying ladle to bang
away at the wok as his trade sound.
In the days before the average Singaporean had acquired a
cosmopolitan taste, except for the Babas, the traditional Chinese
very rarely took non-Chinese hawker food. However, where the
Indian kachang puteh (assorted nuts) hawker was concerned he
THE TRADESMEN 145
catered to everybody’s taste. He carried his different varieties

of nuts in a covered basket on his head. Some of his nuts were
fried while others were boiled. He sold them in units of 1¢
and he utilised a small bamboo cup as his unit measure. For
the purchase of as little as 1¢ worth of nuts he provided the
extra service of removing the skin from the nuts without extra
charge. He did this by pouring the nuts onto the inner surface
of the basket’s cover, rubbing the nuts gently with the palm
of his hand, and gently tossing the nuts in the air to catch the
breeze (and a little bit of blowing with the mouth) to separate
the nuts from the skins. It had been a strange but established
fact that in spite of selling their nuts for as little as 1¢ at a time,
peanut sellers were still able to maintain a wife and children in
India and travel back to see them at regular intervals.
Towards evening hours more and more hawkers appeared
on the streets. The tick-tock, tick-tock sound brought about
by the striking of two pieces of short bamboo sticks together as
a trade sound of the Hokkien mee (noodles Hokkien style) and
the kway teow kuah (rice noodle soup) seller, mingled with the
loud call of the loh kai yik seller who carried his cooked food
in an earthenware jar in a rattan basket with a long handle. He
catered for those with a taste for stewed food, which included
chicken wings, pork meat, dried pork skin, kang kong (water
convolvulus) and towkua pok (dried soya bean cake). These
hawkers were followed by the fruit drink seller, the ham sar
lay man who sold a tangy drink which was a favourite of mine
although grandma had repeatedly pointed out to me that she
did not consider this drink safe as it had not been hygienically
prepared. Other types of food hawkers who appeared around
this time included tradesmen selling goreng pisang (banana
fritters), yew char kway (crullers), fried kway teow (fried rice
noodles), hay pianh (prawn in batter), sek bak (stewed pork
146 A NYONYA MOSAIC
in soya sauce) and heng chai jiu hee (water convolvulus with
cuttlefish).
At times there were different varieties of the same type of
food to choose from. For example, for those who did not fancy
Malay chicken, mutton, or beef satay (skewered grilled meat)
there was always the Hainanese pork satay with its pineapple
and sambal gravy. The ketupat (rice packed in coconut leaves),
which was eaten with satay, inspired another dish known only
simply as ‘Ketupat’ which was sold by Hainanese vendors.
For twenty cents one could eat to one’s fill three packets of
Ketupat and the following dishes: ikan masak asam (fish in spicy
tamarind gravy), kang kong char rempah (water convolvulus
fried with spices), sayor kachang char lemak (long beans in
rich coconut gravy), kelapa goreng (fried coconut), gorago
goreng (fried shrimp fry), sambal udang (prawn fried in spices),
belimbing lemak (belimbing fruit in rich coconut gravy) and
sambal blachan. This particular hawker always emphasised to
his customers that the foodstuff he was selling was cooked by
a certain Nyonya Tikus, someone who obviously commanded
respect because of her culinary expertise. It did not impress us
because we did not know who this lady, with the nickname of
‘Rat’, was although we generally agreed that she certainly knew
how to cook the ketupat dishes well. The evening hours’ hawker-
parade ended with the wan tan mee (noodle soup) seller who
was among the few who pushed a handcart to sell his food. By
dusk the streets were quiet while in every home the womenfolk
were busy preparing more food for dinner.
Of the many hawkers who passed by in the afternoon hours
I can never forget the tay lah pow seller who sold dumplings
of several varieties in an aluminium carrier. He played an
important role in a crisis in our family. It all started one
evening when father and grandma accepted a friend’s invitation
THE TRADESMEN 147
for a short evening session of cherki at their home. Grandma

brought along a young maid she had just employed to be her
companion. This girl was our domestic help Ah Sum’s niece.
Before the evening was over the young maid had been accused
of stealing the hosts’ money based on an allegation made by
their children. To worsen matters some loose change was indeed
found on the girl who protested her innocence and said that the
change had come from a purchase of dumplings from the tay
lah pow man earlier in the day at our house. This was a bad loss
of face to father. The next day father waited for the hawker who
confirmed the girl’s story and father immediately sent word to
the family that our maid had been proven innocent. It was a
well-known fact that their children were naughty, unruly and
prone to mischief. Father could not bring himself to forgive this
lack of etiquette on the part of the couple for the embarrassment
caused and immediately cut all contacts with them. It was only
long after father’s death that a friendly relationship was again
established with them by grandma.
Dinnertime was at seven with the menfolk privileged to be
at the first sitting followed by us females at the second sitting
(husbands did not eat together with their wives). Around this
time hardly any food seller passed by our house. I suppose
common sense taught them that very few would buy hawker
food during and immediately after dinner hour. They were
replaced by a host of other miscellaneous tradesmen who ranged
from the blind masseur to the guitar-strumming Chinese
fortune-teller. The first on the scene was the Jewish camphor
balls seller. He carried his camphor balls in a wicker basket
which he slung over his shoulder. He called out in Malay ‘Kapor
barus’ as he walked his rounds. At times he brought along with
him a limited stock of needles and thread as well. His call was
usually mingled with that of the ‘Kok kok, wang wang’ cry of
148 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the man who sold live frogs and turtles which buyers reared to
a suitable size before slaughtering them for food. Frogs were
consumed for their supposedly blood purifying property. It was
taboo for people with household gods to consume the meat of
turtles and their related kind.
The blind masseur was a middle-aged Chinese man who had
a companion to guide him along the way. This escort carried an
unusual device to attract potential customers. It was a wooden
catapult-shaped object with a metal rod joining the two arms of
the catapult. At either end of this rod were metal plates which
were struck by a free moving metal ring sliding along the metal
bar. By shaking the catapult, the noise given out was loud
enough to be heard many doors away. Japanese women living in
the neighbourhood hotels were regular customers of this blind
masseur. I noted that he spent a pretty long time at each house.
Perhaps each body massage took time or was it that the masseur
had to attend to more than one customer in the house?
With a neighbourhood of a fair number of Japanese, it was
not surprising that there were Japanese hawkers as well. One of
them was a noodle seller who appeared on the road when all the
local food hawkers had gone home for the night. It was about
nine-thirty when he came pulling his 4-wheeled pushcart,
hurricane lamps dangling on each side. He rang a bell to attract
his customers. We did not patronise him because it was close
to bedtime when he appeared on the scene. The other item he
had to sell was the Japanese bean cakes. The Chinese fortune-
teller was usually the last to come to our neighbourhood. With
the streets already quiet the sound of his mandolin, which he
played as he walked, could be heard long before he was seen.
A small lantern hung from his instrument. Dangling at the
bottom of this lantern was a cord about 30 cm (1 foot) long
while encircling it was a ring of narrow cards with Chinese
THE TRADESMEN 149
characters and numbers on them. These cards hung tasselled

along a rotating metal ring which rotated around the light.
Women consulted this man not so much to have their fortunes
told as to request him to divine lucky Chap Ji Kee numbers. I
remember on one occasion when eldest sister-in-law paid for
my fortune to be told. To have my fortune told I twirled the
metal ring to set the cards spinning. When the momentum
slowed down I was required to catch hold of anyone of the
moving cards. The selected card was handed to the man who,
after taking a quick glance at the card, proceeded to strum his
mandolin as he sang a song which foretold good or bad fortune
in general terms. It was not much of a prediction. The lang ting
tang man who derived the name of his trade from the sound
of his mandolin rarely predicted anything bad for anybody.
Because of this he never went wrong with his customers.
This cosmopolitan crowd of hawkers and traders with their
varied sounds and products were once a way of life. Today
they are no more. They knew suffering as they walked the
streets in the rain and sun carrying their heavy loads on their
shoulders. Their modern counterparts in the food centres and
the shopping complexes today are a far luckier lot who are a far
cry from their forefathers in many many ways.
chapter eight
The Inevitable
FATHER WAS DIFFERENT from the other Babas of his
day. Unlike most who tended to be distant and aloof to their
offspring he was close and warm to his younger children. He
rarely failed to include me, Sister Puteh and fourth brother
in most of his outings, be it to IOLA, his rubber estate, his
visits to several temples near Kebun Lemo or the evening car
rides round the island. Perhaps he was trying to play mother
to us – for she had died when I was only about three years old
and both Sister Puteh and fourth brother were not very much
older than I.
When he was not out with us he was usually at home
playing cherki. Otherwise, he would be found reading. He
was rather fond of reading the Chrita Dulu Kala (Stories of
Olden Days). These were books of old Chinese romances that
had been translated into romanised Baba Malay and they were
very popular with the Babas. Practically every home had these
volumes which were highly treasured. Father had his bound
in leather with the tides as well as his name embossed in gold
along the spine and on the cover of each book. Among the
most famous of these translated works was Sam Kok which
was a translation in thirty volumes of The Romance of the Three
THE INEVITABLE 151
Chrita Dulu Kala (Stories of Olden Days) were books of old Chinese
romances translated into romanised Baba Malay. They were very
popular with the Babas. (Courtesy of Katong Antique House)
152 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Kingdoms. The translator was Chan Kim Boon who had several
other well-known translation works to his credit.
Among a certain section of the Baba community it was
believed that because of the many intrigues and machinations
in the plot of the Sam Kok, those who read it were bound to
pick up bad ways. As such, those who were known to have read
the stories were shunned and avoided. Father never hid the fact
that he had read the translated classics of Chinese literature
and the fact that the womenfolk included him in their cherki
sessions was a clear indication of the respect they had for him
inspite of his having read Sam Kok. Occasionally, father would
relate to us interesting tales from some of the other translated
works he had read. That was how I learned why we dubbed
people with a hearty appetite Seet Jin Quee. This legendary hero
was reputed to have such a voracious appetite that he was able
to eat forty people’s share of food at any one time.
The idyllic evening drives and outings began to tail off
when father’s health started to break down. The next three
years saw him desperately turning to various avenues in
search of a cure. After a while it became increasingly obvious
that Dr Wilson’s treatment was not doing him any good at
all. In fact, there were several occasions when I learned from
whispered conversations that father had thrown up blood. As
Dr Wilson increased his home visits, father similarly increased
the number of sessions he had with the card fortune tellers.
One of them was a Eurasian lady who wore the sarong kebaya.
Father had made use of her services long before he fell ill and
had depended on her for his business decisions. This lady
was never popular with the rest of the household and so on
her daily visits she would walk straight into father’s office
for a scopong session and straight out without stopping to
fraternise with anyone else in the house. As father grew more
THE INEVITABLE 153
sick he would even summon her twice a day to bukak scopong.

As his illness gradually worsened father stopped the western
medical treatment and resorted to traditional Chinese herbal
cures instead. Self medication was very much the order of the
day. In general, nearly all Baba families had prescriptions for
Chinese herbs for the treatment of various ailments. These iok
tuanhs (medicinal scripts) were written in Chinese either on
pieces of paper or white cloth. The purpose of each prescription
was written in Baba Malay on the reverse side. At times even
the person from whom the prescription had originated was
recorded. Each family jealously guarded their collection of
prescriptions which sometimes had been handed down several
generations. Copies were made only for the closest of relatives or
friends. Some families possessed a wide variety of prescriptions
which ranged from herbal cures for internal injuries due to
assault, to those for body odour. When a sickness had been
diagnosed by an elderly member of the family the appropriate
prescription was taken to a Chinese druggist to be filled. The
amount to be purchased was occasionally written down on the
reverse side of the prescription too.
Some families made money out of certain prescriptions that
were reputedly very efficacious. I remember a particular case
involving a prescription for mouth ulcers. Grandma possessed
several cures for this but they were not as effective as that owned
by a distant relative who refused to loan us the prescription.
Thus, every time we ran short of this medicament we had to
buy it from this person at quite an exorbitant price. There
were families who were so confident of their prescriptions that
they never consulted any medical authority for any sickness
in their homes.
Other than the iok tuanhs which had to be dispensed at
Chinese druggists, most Baba families possessed a variety of
154 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Examples of iok tuanh

(Courtesy of Katong
Antique House)
THE INEVITABLE 155
folk cures in the form of roots, barks and other miscellaneous

objects of vegetable and animal origin with which they treated
themselves when necessary. Grandma had a cloth bag full of
bizarre objects, some of which were purchased at great expense.
Among her prized items were a rhinoceros’ horn, a python’s
dried gall-bladder and bezoar stones originating from animals
such as monkey and porcupine. These were remedies for
various maladies ranging from fever to insect bites. Although
some of them were prescribed for internal use, grandma never
used them internally.
One particular item in grandma’s possession which
fascinated me a lot was the bulu kong kang. This was a piece
of hard shiny black wood upon which grew a thick bunch of
fine golden coloured hair. This hairy substance was employed
to stop bleeding. One day Sako, my neighbourhood Japanese
friend, had a fall while playing in our house and bled profusely.
Grandma quickly pulled a tuft of the hair and plugged it into
the wound. Very soon a clot formed and the bleeding stopped.
It was a miracle that Sako did not get tetanus as a result of
this treatment. The substance that grandma had pushed into
her wound was anything but clean: it was dirty and dusty. It
was believed that when all the hair had been pulled out fresh
hair would grow on the wood. We never had a chance to test
whether the bulu kong kang could really replenish itself. Except
for this one occasion in stopping Sako’s bleeding, grandma did
not use this remedy again.
Father’s use of traditional herbal medicines showed hopeful
signs in the beginning. However, after several months, it became
apparent that these medicines had merely provided temporary
relief and that the sickness was getting more severe. Just before
he finally abandoned these herbal medicines he was introduced
to opium. While most of us are aware today that opium does
156 A NYONYA MOSAIC
not cure any diseases, people in those days had confidence in

it and believed that it was a miracle drug. After all they had
seen with their own eyes how a pellet or two of opium enabled
an emaciated elderly rickshaw puller to carry a passenger from
Chin Swee Road to Haig Road and back again at a running
pace. It was this belief that made father an opium addict and,
although it did not help to improve his health, he continued to
take it till he passed away.
Father also turned to spiritualism. It was easy enough for him
to tum to it because from his early days he had as much faith in
spirit mediums as he had in card fortune telling. He depended
on their advice very much for his business dealings. There were
three temples around the Kebun Lemo area which he frequented
regularly. One was the Siong Lim Si temple now along Jalan
Toa Payoh. There was no spirit medium at this temple so father
merely visited it to bum joss-sticks and to pray before the gods
there. The next one was a spirit medium temple not far away.
The medium was a man known as Ah Tuck and the deity was
known to us as Datok Siong Bo. Ah Tuck’s ritual of going into a
trance was a simple one. First he burned a piece of charm paper
and held the burning piece in his right hand. While standing
before the altar he muttered a few incantations, at the same time
waving the burning paper at intervals before his face. With that
he would go into a trance and normally would ask father. ‘Mo
tanya apa?’ (What do you wish to ask?) in good Baba Malay. The
ensuing conversation was all in Baba Malay.
The second medium was a Teochew lady and her deity was
Ma Cho. In the trance this lady spoke Teochew and probably
because most of her clients might have been non-Chinese
speaking Babas like father, she had an interpreter to do the
translation. Each time father decided to visit this spirit medium
he had to fetch the interpreter who lived not far away. The
THE INEVITABLE 157
relationship between our family and this medium subsequently

deepened to such an extent that second brother’s first daughter
was fostered to her. This step was taken because the baby
tended to cry a lot every morning and grandma felt that it was
ill fortune for tears to flow the first thing every morning. After
a short while the baby was fostered to another person when the
Teochew medium decided to return to China for good. I did
not quite relish the visits to these two spirit medium temples as
they were situated amidst pig sties and dirty squatter colonies.
As father grew progressively weaker he could no longer
make the journey to consult the two mediums at Kebun Lemo.
He then turned to other spirit mediums. There were several
Baba and Nyonya mediums to choose from. It is interesting
to note that the spirits associated with the Nyonya mediums
were inevitably those with Malay names. Well-known Chinese
deities like Kwan Kong (the Warrior God) and Lo Chia (the
Third Prince) seemed to be associated with non-Baba mediums
only. Just as there were many kinds of deities there were as
many ways these deities made their presence felt. In general,
it was the case of a spirit taking possession of the medium’s
body to manifest itself. An interesting variation was the Datok
Bakol where the deity manifested itself in a wicker basket which
suddenly possessed motive power of its own.
Since father had become less ambulant, arrangements
had to be made for the medium to come to our house. This
was nothing unusual because there were mediums who made
house calls. One such person was a lady by the name of Nya
Chik Mambang. Nya Chik was her given name and she
was the medium to a group of spirits known collectively as
mambang. There was another lady medium who was her rival
in the business but our family preferred Nya Chik Mambang
because of her quiet and businesslike attitude. The other lady,
158 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Tang Tuck, was a stem and fierce person who behaved likewise
even during her trance. Every time Nya Chik Mambang was
summoned to the house transportation and a meal had to be
provided for her and her assistant. Each mambang consultation
lasted three nights. Spiritualism did appear to improve father’s
condition for a while but it was probably more psychological
than physical. Finally, we had to accept the painful truth
that he was not ever going to recover at all and that his
days were numbered.
Late one afternoon father’s elder sister was hastily summoned
when father’s condition became critical. Dear old Mak Koh
came as quickly as she could. When she entered the house she
was already sobbing audibly. Some of the other relatives who
had arrived ahead of her joined her in silent tears. I followed
closely behind her as she laboured to climb the steps as quickly
as she could to be in time to see her brother for the very last
time. There were several people milling outside father’s room
all dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs as Mak Koh quickly
pushed her way into the room. I was held back by eldest sister-
in-law. When I began to cry, Ah Pok who was standing nearby
came and led me away from the room and began to weep
himself. Suddenly there was a loud wail from father’s room
and as Ah Pok hugged me close I knew that I had become an
orphan from that moment.
Everybody was shaken by father’s death but they were not
taken by surprise. Father had been ill for nearly three years and
was slipping away with each passing day. Grandma now became
the head of the household. In spite of the disadvantages of
illiteracy and a sheltered upbringing she was to prove her mettle
right from the start. She was steady and efficient. Immediately,
grandma quickly directed the domestic help to inform some
of our relatives of father’s death. She did not have to worry
THE INEVITABLE 159
very much about mourning clothes because two weeks back

she had already arranged for the purchase of black material.
Within hours most of our relatives and close friends had come
and some volunteered to sew the mourning dresses for those
without them. Her next instruction was for the undertaker
to be contacted to do the necessary. He was none other than
the famous Bah Yam who led the seroni band at happy times.
During moments of grief, he was an equally capable undertaker.
As soon as Bah Yam had been informed of father’s death,
he sent the tokong, a general purpose labourer, to come and
bathe the body. He brought with him a wooden platform called
the pah een. This was placed centrally in the first hall of Rumah
Tengah. All my brothers helped to carry father’s body down and
placed it on the platform. It was customary for sons to perform
this duty but in cases where there were no male heirs then the
daughters were expected to take over the responsibility. The
body was covered while awaiting the arrival of the coffin. With
father’s death eldest brother became theoretically the head of
the house and he had to wear his mourning dress inside out and
put on a conical hat. He was served a bowl of mee suanh (rice
vermicelli) to ensure longevity – that for him, his life might be
as long as the strands of noodles.
Besides informing all friends and relatives verbally of father’s
death, one of father’s felt hats was hung outside the house as an
indication that the owner of the hat had passed away.
Father’s coffin was typically Chinese and was a huge and
awesome looking structure. As a young girl I was terrified of
its ugly shape and massive appearance. The coffin must have
been an expensive one of good and heavy quality wood for it
took four able bodied men a lot of physical effort to unload
it from the lorry and carry into the house. After its arrival we
children were ushered to the back of the house for we were not
160 A NYONYA MOSAIC
permitted to witness the ritual to come. This was one where

the tokong bathed and dressed father’s body before placing it
into the coffin. The water required for this purpose was not
supposed to come from our house, but had to be ‘purchased’
from another source. This responsibility of ‘buying’ the water
or beli ayer belonged to eldest brother who had to go to the
nearest public standpipe to obtain the water. At the standpipe
eldest brother had to light joss-sticks and pray and burn some
silver papers before turning on the tap for the water.
As the body was being prepared by the tokong, silver paper
was burned piece by piece at home in a clay pot until the body
was safely placed in the coffin. The clay pot was later placed
outside the house by the roadside. A short prayer preceded the
dressing of father’s body. After the body had been placed in the
coffin a pearl wrapped in sireh leaf was placed in his mouth
and another pearl was sewn into the cloth that was to cover his
face. This was to prevent the deceased from speaking. Another
two pearls were put in his shoes. Some of his favourite clothes,
including his cheon thau costume, were put into the coffin to
be interred with him. Nothing made of leather however was
allowed in the coffin (the shoes were made of rubber). A lot
of silver paper was used to cover the body completely before
the coffin was closed and nailed shut. For the formal ritual of
nailing the coffin a young lad with both parents still alive was
chosen to carry out the task. The boy did not hammer the nails
in all by himself but was assisted by the tokong.
By the time other friends and relatives arrived at our house,
the coffin had already been securely closed. At the foot of the
coffin was a table covered with a white tablecloth on which was
placed a pair of burning white candles and a joss-stick urn. In
father’s case we used green-stemmed joss-sticks when we prayed
before this altar. If he had passed away as an octogenarian,
THE INEVITABLE 161
an age considered to be ripe and old, the dominant colour of

the altar would have been red and red candles, red-stemmed
joss-sticks, and an elaborately designed table cover with red
background would have been the order of the day. In another
variation, yellow candles would be used to honour the deceased
who had been acknowledged as a pious and saintly person in
life. Offerings of tea, rice, and food were made twice a day
on this altar in the morning and in the evening. All hanging
pictures and photographs were taken down from the walls and
kept out of sight. Anything with a reflective surface was covered
with strips of white paper. This was to prevent the reflection of
the dead from appearing on these reflective surfaces. Our front
doors were similarly pasted with strips of white paper in an ‘X’.
As long as father’s body was lying at home it was customary
for the female members of the family to shed as many tears as
possible as a sign of their profound grief. I joined sister Puteh and
my sisters-in-law when they wailed every morning, afternoon
and evening as they prayed before the altar and invited father to
partake the drinks and food that had been offered on the table.
We continued to cry at night when we invited father’s soul to
come home to sleep. My grief was spontaneous because I had
been so close to father and he had loved me above the rest.
The obligation requiring the womenfolk to cry was not
just before father’s altar. It was further expected of all female
household members to rush to every female visitor, fall before
her feet loudly wailing, and cling to her legs while pouring out
tears of extreme grief and anguish. While attempting to console
the mourners at her feet the visitor herself gave way to her
emotions and the din multiplied. I did not go to all this extent
to show my grief – I felt it enough within me. Daughters-in-
law particularly were obligated to perform this ritual to show
how very sorry they were at the loss of their in-laws. I can never
162 A NYONYA MOSAIC
forget the scene when my two sisters-in-law were in the kitchen

and word reached them that relative so-and-so had arrived.
They immediately stopped what they were doing, rushed out,
and performed the obligatory falling on their knees and crying.
This went on throughout the five days father’s body was at
home. During this period of deep mourning no female in the
house was permitted to powder her face or comb her hair. A
dishevelled appearance was proof of one’s extreme grief. Even
animals were not unaffected. Ah Pok’s pet cat was tied up for
fear that if the animal were to walk under the coffin the dead
might be awakened. It was pitiful to see how restless the cat
was because it had never been tied up before. Its loud mewing
of protest only earned it a sound thrashing from Ah Pok who
was in no mood to tolerate this. Ah Pok was not alone, the rest
of the domestic aides were similarly emotionally upset for they
had lost an employer they respected and loved.
In spite of the fact that we were all very miserable it did
not diminish our obligation to feed every visitor well. Those
who came during the day were served rice and a dish known
as gerang asam at lunch but without its usual main ingredient
of buah keluak. Daytime visitors were mainly womenfolk. The
men came at night to jaga malam (keep a night vigil) but they
need not necessarily stay the whole night. Most of them went
home after a couple of hours. They were served either with bread
and a curry dish or bread with pongteh (stewed pork). Relatives
contributed money for the funeral expenses and records were
kept of their contributions. Friends brought along a bundle or a
toh of silver paper, a bunch or soke of green-stemmed joss-sticks
and a pair of white candles. As visitors took their leave we gave
them a length of red thread each which they threw away before
reaching home and a pair of red candles which they burned
outside their homes. This was a gesture which ensured them
THE INEVITABLE 163
good luck. Nightly, three Taoist monks came to chant prayers

by the coffin.
Father’s funeral took place five days after his death. It was
an elaborate affair which was typical of the funerals of old. That
morning my brothers, sister Puteh and I changed our mourning
clothes of black blachu, a coarse material we had been wearing
the last five days, to one that was yellowish-red known as the
blachu merah. As children of the deceased we were further
identified by a karong or head cover of the same material. Sons-
in-law, nephews and nieces were identified by their white blachu
clothes. The funeral rites started at about ten in the morning
when several coolies carried the coffin to place it along the
roadside on a low platform. The senglay prayer was held there
as we all knelt near an altar before the coffin. A big drum was
beaten during this ritual. It was the same drum that had been
used when father’s body was placed in the coffin five days before.
At this prayer the names of sons and male relatives who had
contributed money were read out by a master of ceremonies.
As each name was called out the person stepped forward and
knelt before the altar. Next, the women were similarly called
and we knelt before the coffin one by one. After this the coffin
was placed on a highly-decorated hearse with a photograph of
father displayed at the front.
There was a short procession from our house. Walking in
front of the slow moving hearse was a man who scattered silver
paper about. All of us walked behind the hearse and we gave
way to uncontrollable wailing as we saw father off from his
home for the very last time. Eldest brother carried a tong guan
which consisted of a bamboo stave with some leaves at the tip
and a paper lantern hanging from it. This lamp was meant to
guide father’s soul along the way. My other brothers, nephews
and nieces carried similar bamboo staves but they were topped
164 A NYONYA MOSAIC
with a piece of red cloth each. Brother-in-law had to carry a red

banner known as the len cheng on which were written father’s
name and age in Chinese characters. For a good many years,
being unable to read Chinese, most of us thought that the name
on the len cheng belonged to the one who carried it, that is, the
name of the son-in-law. It was years later that I discovered that
this was not so.
Flanking brother-in-law was the seroni band, this time
blowing funeral tunes. There were also people who carried white
and blue mourning buntings, lanterns bearing our surname, and
paper effigies of domestic help to serve father. The procession
continued for several hundred metres after which we continued
the rest of the journey to the graveyard in motor vehicles.
Father’s final resting place was off North Buona Vista Road
not far from mother’s grave. Whereas mother’s grave was close
to the main road, father’s was situated further away up a hill.
When we reached the burial site I saw that a deep hole had
already been dug there. A prayer ceremony was held as the coffin
was slowly and carefully lowered into the grave. A lot of tears
flowed and I cried my heart out. Eldest sister-in-law hugged me
tight. From that moment she became both my parents to me.
Each of us was given a clump of earth to symbolically cover
the grave before we turned away to go home. I stole a glance
back after walking a few steps and saw that the labourers had
already proceeded to bury the coffin with spadefuls of earth. We
brought back some soil from the grave site in an urn together
with two of the paper effigies known as Kim Tong and Geok
Lee and I knew that soon father would be all alone, with only
the tong guan drifting sadly on his grave.
Several of our relatives did not accompany us to the burial
site. They remained at home to wash the whole house while we
were away. After the cleaning was over, they readied the leng
THE INEVITABLE 165
tok which was an altar set up close to a platform to await our

homecoming. The urn with the soil from the grave was placed
on this altar and the two paper effigies on either side. Candles
were lit. On the platform were placed father’s bed sheet, pillow,
blanket, shoes and shirts. The first three items were arranged
such that the platform became a makeshift bed. It seemed that
on the next day these items appeared to have been shifted about
as though the bed had been occupied the previous night. I was
not aware of this at that time. It was only years later that in
the course of a conversation reminiscing about father’s death
that eldest sister-in-law mentioned that she was sure that the
bedding had been moved. Had I known it then I might have
been very frightened. On our return from the graveyard we
were served rice, a variety of dishes, and fried noodles. The last
mentioned dish was a must for it symbolised longevity for the
members of the family.
One week later we went again to father’s grave. All the items
at the leng tok and the platform at home were taken along. A
Taoist priest accompanied us on this trip to conduct the
necessary prayers. Female members of the family wore a hood
while the males each tied a piece of white blachu material around
the forehead. The ceremony ended with the burning of all the
items we had brought along. The same sadness and sense of loss
pervaded the household as it did the previous week. The wound
was still raw and had not started to heal. Time was its sole balm.
At about six that evening we went to the temple at Telok Ayer
Street. We brought along the two lanterns that were hanging
outside our house. There, prayers were said to the temple deity
to solicit her help to lead father to a good and blessed place.
We entered the temple by the front entrance but left by a side
entrance, the idea was to confuse father’s soul and to discourage
him from accompanying us home. After all, he had gone to a
166 A NYONYA MOSAIC
better place and should have no reason to want to linger in our

mortal world. Along the way home we ate sweetened peanuts to
signify the blessings of longevity and prosperity to the family.
When we reached home eldest sister-in-law knocked at the
locked doors and one of our aunts who was inside the house
asked aloud: ‘Apa kabar?’ (What is the news?) She received this
reply: ‘Kabar baik’ (Good news). With this password given the
doors were opened to let us in.
My next visit to father’s grave was about three weeks later
to observe the sia toh rite. This was the formal installation of
father’s gravestone which was expensive and elaborate. However,
there were other gravestones on nearby graves that were very
much more elaborate and massive than father’s. These belonged
to the very rich who even in death were inferior to nobody.
A short and simple prayer was conducted by a Taoist priest to
invite the deceased to his permanent home.
To the non-Babas the next rite was observed on the
hundredth day after the death. They called this the Cho Kong
Teck. We, however, observed the rite on the anniversary of
father’s death and called it the Wan Ko Chinh. Apart from this
difference, the rituals observed were similar: we burned paper
effigies and miniatures for the dead. On this occasion we
invited close friends and relatives for lunch, cherki sessions and
to witness the ceremony. The guests came dressed in sombre
colours. We had to obtain a police permit to burn the many
paper structures along the roadside. I remember the whole of
our frontage was packed with many items to be burned. They
included a huge paper and bamboo mansion complete with
miniature furniture, a retinue of paper servants, a paper car,
several trunk loads of paper clothing and enough sacrificial
paper money to last the recipient a long time. All these products
were purchased from the undertaker and burned as an offering
THE INEVITABLE 167
in the belief that the dead would make use of them in the other
world. Ah Pok was very skillful at making four poster beds with
coloured paper, bamboo strips, chopsticks and round beads
of the Chinese abacus. He contributed several beds for this
ceremony. To supplement what was supplied by the undertaker
we bought some more miniature tables and chairs of paper
and bamboo from a Baba at Blair Road who was famous for
his very life-like miniatures. It was a well-known fact that he
charged a high price for his products but they were worth it.
We were happy to spend so much money because father was
the recipient. We wanted him to have, as always, the best of
everything.
We continued to perpetuate his memory by a series of
regular prayers. During the first year of his death a memorial
was held on his birthday. The other regular memorials were
the anniversary of his death which we called the see kee, during
Chinese New Year, during All Souls’ month which is the second
month of the lunar calendar and during the month of the
hungry ghosts. At all these memorials between eight to twelve
dishes of food were offered. We Babas certainly upheld the
tradition of ancestor worship very strongly.
chapter nine
Growing Up
ON FATHER’S DEATH our household went into deep
mourning. The only member of the family exempted from
this obligation was grandma because she was older than the
deceased and, in the family hierarchy, she occupied a higher
position. Life continued as usual with her. She could attend
social gatherings like birthday and wedding parties without any
impediment.
As for the rest of the family, the period of mourning was
three years. However, this three-year period was only in theory.
In actual practice we merely mourned for eighteen months.
Daughters and daughters-in-law were required to dress in
all-black outfits for the first twelve months. This was the tua
ha besar (heavy mourning), which was followed by the three
months of wearing black and white clothes. Lastly came the
tua ha ringan (light mourning) in which we were permitted
to dress in shades of blue for the next three months. Towards
the end of this period we were given a concession and could
be seen in green if we wished to. If a mother had died, the
mourning period for the children was extended by a short
period known as the tua ha tetek (breast mourning) as a sign of
further respect to her for having weaned the children. It was the
GROWING UP 169
lot of daughters-in-law to observe this ritual as well. Sons and

sons-in-law mourned in a slightly different manner. Each wore
a blachu material arm-band on the left arm for the first year and
discarded it for a black one the next six months.
During the mourning period the house itself showed the
same sign of grief for twelve months. All curtains were removed
from doorways and windows to indicate a state of mourning.
A year later, the coloured curtains made their reappearance.
New Year was again celebrated in the house but under certain
restrictive conditions. It was a dull and uninspiring affair and
we were not allowed to visit others and they in turn could not
come to our home. My tally for ang pows was nothing to crow
about that year. The one memorable aspect of this occasion
was the quantity of kueh bakol we received from friends and
relatives. It was customary for Babas not to present this cake to
any household except one that was in mourning. We received
so much that it took us months to finish eating them all.
I was rather unhappy during the period of heavy mourning
because black never appealed to me. On top of this all the gold
jewellery which I wore was replaced with silver ones. Grandma
purchased them from the Teochew haberdasher who carried
a good selection of silver hair pins, belts, earrings, necklaces,
bangles and kerosangs (brooches). Where silver jewellery was
concerned this trader permitted a certain amount of barter.
Grandma thus exchanged a number of used and slightly
damaged silver items and a cash payment for the new jewellery.
This form of trading was not confined strictly to the mourning
period; it was a daily service provided by this trader. Typical
of a trader who dealt in such a transaction, this Teochew
haberdasher habitually ridiculed the quality of what was offered
for exchange commenting that they were ‘macham tok po’ (like
rags). From the business point of view this was to give him
170 A NYONYA MOSAIC
an excuse for giving us a poor deal for our goods. For this he
naturally became known as Si Tok Po (the ragged one).
Other than selling jewellery, Si Tok Po also undertook repair
jobs as a sideline. Pins and clasps of silver brooches and other
parts of silver jewellery in general did not seem to be made to
withstand wear and tear and they tended to give way easily and
frequently. Whenever one of my pins broke, I dared not bring it
to grandma’s attention for fear that I would be scolded for not
having been careful with them. I would quietly arrange for their
repair out of my pocket money.
The complete outfit of a Nyonya in heavy mourning
included footwear in sombre black and white. Such footwear
and other plain, coloured ones were sold by a Cantonese lady
who was a favourite with womenfolk young and old. Hanging
from one end of the wooden pole she carried on her shoulder,
was a stack of cardboard containers filled with colourful paper
flowers of many designs and sizes. These paper flowers were
arranged in a semi-circular or circular pattern and were used
as a hair decoration around our sanggols (buns). I normally
decorated my sanggol with the coloured ones but during the
mourning period I had to change to the white variety. I did
not mind this very much, at least it broke the monotony of my
black outfit. These paper flowers were said to have originated
in Penang and were made with a special thin paper known as
kertas ambong ambong.
At the other end of the wooden pole hung a small cupboard
with several layers of aluminium trays in which were stored hair
nets, special thread for use in combing a bun and a substance
known in Chinese as lah tao. These three items were popular
with Cantonese ladies but the last named also sold well among
us Nyonyas. Lah tao was a translucent piece of vegetable
material. When soaked in water it formed a sticky solution
GROWING UP 171
which we used on our sanggol Nyonya. This resulted in a glossy

and stiff coiffure which was a must during outings and at
social gatherings. About two days after treatment with lah tao
the hair must be washed without delay for by then it would
start to smell obnoxiously. Another contributory factor was the
coconut oil we used on our hair. Although it was the fragrant
type, when combined with lah tao the result was an awful stink
one or two days later.
Another item this lady offered for sale was slippers of
cloth and plain velvet. Mourners were expected to wear black
slippers with white toe-covers. She also sold a range of cheap
slippers for daily wear which were said to be from Penang.
Her command of the Baba language was above par and her
trade call was not surprisingly ‘Bunga, kasot’ (flowers, shoes).
Patronising her was a pleasant experience for she charged
reasonable prices for her goods.
Not long after father’s death I began to mature into
adulthood. Eldest sister-in-law wasted no time in pushing
me to perform more and more chores for myself rather than
continue to allow me to rely on her. She began by urging me to
comb my hair without any help. My first few attempts ended
in dismal failure. She just smiled and encouraged me to better
my efforts the next time. The combing of the sanggol Nyonya
required a certain amount of skill and posed difficulty for a
beginner. Nearly all the Nyonyas, young and old, combed
their hair in the sanggol Nyonya fashion. Grandma was so
fussy about her sanggol that Auntie Chye had to comb her hair
several times a day.
Eldest sister-in-law then urged me to learn to sew my own
baju panjang (long dress) even before I had fully mastered doing
my hair. Not comprehending the reason behind her sudden
reluctance to help me, I concluded that she was punishing me
172 A NYONYA MOSAIC
for some reason. One morning, in a fit of frustration, when

my hair refused to cooperate with my fingers, I burst into
tears and protested that it was not fair that I had to do things
myself while sister Puteh need not have to do likewise. Eldest
sister-in-law immediately chided me and reminded me that
I was growing up and would soon be a child no longer. She
added that any girl who could not perform up to expectations
had only herself to blame in future and it would be too late
then. I could not see her logic and felt that my time to marry
was still very far in the future. Fortunately, where sewing was
concerned I did not face difficult problems. In a short time I
was able to sew my own baju panjang and my workmanship
when stitching a sarong earned me such respect that several
of our relatives gave me their sarongs to stitch. Spurred on by
this show of confidence in me I went on to attempt to sew the
baju nona which we know today as the baju kebaya. At that
time the baju nona had recently made its appearance and a
few of us had started to discard our long dress for this shorter
type of apparel. This early version with its simple embroidered
border was a far cry from the present day’s richly embroidered
baju kebaya.
My next assignment was in the kitchen where I was urged to
spend as much time as possible. On reflection I am sure eldest
sister-in-law must have made some sort of prior arrangement
with Ah Pok for me to frequent his domain because he did not
raise any objection although I was more a hindrance than a
help in the beginning. It was also not improbable that Ah Pok
himself had mellowed and passing on his culinary expertise was
his way of repaying the kindness he had received while working
for our family. In general, I had a pleasant time in the kitchen
where the once moody and temperamental Ah Pok had become
an understanding tutor.
GROWING UP 173
Among the first dishes I learned to prepare during my tenure

in the kitchen was fish ball soup. With Ah Pok guiding me I cut
away the flesh on each side of the ikan tenggiri (mackerel) after
which I scraped the flesh from the skin. While preparing the fish
balls with the flesh I boiled the skin together with the skeleton
of the fish. When the fish balls were ready to go into the pot I
removed the skin and the skeleton. Ah Pok then whispered a
tip to me and pointed out that the skin and the skeleton with
the bits of flesh on them need not necessarily go to waste. He
mentioned that they would go down well with black sauce, a
little sugar and fresh green chilli. Being somewhat of a glutton I
did not hesitate to give it a try. It turned out as he had said and
this simple dish of fish skin and bones became a. favourite side
dish of mine whenever we had occasion to prepare fish ball soup.
Eldest sister-in-law joined us in the kitchen whenever
possible to contribute her expertise in the art of cooking.
Among the favourite dishes of most Baba families was sayor
keladi masak titek. This dish was made up of the stems of the
yam plant cooked in a gravy containing chilli, onions, shrimp
paste and candlenuts. Unfortunately many people suffered
from itchy throats after consuming it. In order to overcome this
problem an unusual ritual was required to be performed during
the preparation of this otherwise delightful dish. Sister-in-law
revealed to me the age-old secret. First, the stems were put into
a pot of boiling water and cooked until they became soft. While
they were on the boil, a piece of burning charcoal or a piece of
burning firewood (depending on which was used as the fuel)
was removed from the stove upon which the food was cooked.
If it was charcoal, it was dropped into the pot followed by an
incantation but if it was a burning piece of firewood, only the
burning end was dipped into the boiling liquid for the duration
of the short verse to be recited aloud:
174 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Lu Keladi
Gua babi.
Lu gatair
Gua selair.
The incantation was a threat to the yam stems. An elaborate

translation of the incantation would be: You are yam but I am
pig (that means I can eat you because you are my food). You
cause me to itch, thus I intimidate you (with burning charcoal
or firewood). Others added a few pieces of areca nut into the
preparation to prevent the itchy effect.
Eldest sister-in-law did not acquire the reputation of an
expert cook without good reason, People used to say that the
ikan buntal (puffer fish) tasted almost like chicken if properly
cooked. This fish had a reputation of being difficult to cook
successfully. It seemed that while cutting the fish the gall bladder
must not be damaged. Once the flesh was contaminated with
gall it would no longer be edible. Similarly, while being cooked
extreme care must be exercised to prevent soot from dropping
into the pot for this would also render the fish inedible. In both
instances consumption of the fish would bring about death.
It was said that even if the fish had been properly cut and no
soot had contaminated the dish it was necessary to perform a
test before attempting to eat the preparation. This test involved
the dipping of a clean unused wick from an oil lamp into the
gravy. Should the wick undergo a change in colour it was an
indication that it was not safe to consume the dish. The word
‘death’ had instilled so much fear that except for eldest sister-in-
law, I rarely heard of a Nyonya who had cooked and eaten this
fish. Unfortunately, I had never seen her actually preparing it in
our home for grandma would have none of it. She was reputed
to have prepared it successfully on several occasions in her
GROWING UP 175
mother’s home. Even though I hadn’t actually seen her cooking

it, I firmly believed that if there was anyone in our family circle
who could do it she would be that person. This was one recipe
she did not teach me. She told me that it was not worth the risk
just for the sake of a fish dish.
It was unfortunate that when I had such an incomparable
tutor to coach me in the kitchen I was not mature enough to
fully appreciate it. Whenever I was taught to do something
which I deemed had no practical importance, I tended to allow
that knowledge to slip out of my mind. One example was the
wrapping of ketupats (rice wrapped in coconut leaves). These
days, satay sellers wrap their ketupats into cubes. These are
called ketupat pasair (market), but there were other methods of
wrapping them. In the days when expectations were high and
skills were impressive in the field of domestic sciences, knowing
only one or two ways to wrap a ketupat was not enough. Eldest
sister-in-law knew several ways. She had picked them up from
her mother and her Malay lady friends. She taught me the
intricate folding of many but I am sorry to say that I forgot
them all. There were:
Ketupat pasair (the ordinary type)
Ketupat kekek (another squarish type with one side curved)
Ketupat bawang (a rounded type)
Ketupat kueh chang (pyramid shaped)
Ketupat jantong (heart shaped)
Ketupat kuching (like a eat’s head)
Ketupat mangis (like the mangosteen fruit)
Ketupat burong (bird-like in shape)
The last named was not filled with rice. It was a dummy and
it looked like a bird. It was meant as a plaything for children.
My cooking lessons in the kitchen under the tutelage of
Ah Pok and eldest sister-in-law stopped short of Nyonya cake
176 A NYONYA MOSAIC
making. Ah Pok was a man of many talents but making Nyonya

cakes was not one of them. Had he the know-how he would
not have hesitated to pass it on to me. As for sister-in-law, her
other commitments left her little time to start me on something
that might require her personal attention and presence right
through the project as many a Nyonya cake was tedious and
time-consuming in its preparation. Thus, the few Nyonya cakes
that I was finally able to make were learned through observation
while she was preparing them rather than actual step-by-step
lessons from her.
I was not the only one whose life went through a big
change after father was no more around. When he was alive,
eldest brother was known to be reckless in his business ventures
which often ended in failure and father had to make good
his ensuing financial problems. Without father, he began to
exercise more care in his ventures and started to show profits
for a change. Among his successful ventures was the import
of pedigree dogs for sale. He would import about five young
dogs at a time and as soon as they arrived he advertised them
for sale in the newspapers. Within the next couple of days all
his dogs would be sold to predominantly European customers.
Because his imports were not puppies, some of the animals
were not friendly and we were strictly reminded to keep our
distance from them. On his part he kept them locked in their
individual kennels until they were sold. On one occasion one of
the animals managed to get loose and was prowling around the
garden when a visitor unexpectedly arrived.
We were all inside the house and were unaware that the dog
had escaped. Suddenly we heard a piercing scream followed by
growling and barking. We rushed out as quickly as we could
and found our cousin Tengah crying at the doorstep and the
dog nowhere to be seen. In between sobs she told us that the
GROWING UP 177
A 1950 studio portrait of myself.

178 A NYONYA MOSAIC
dog had bitten her. Gradually we learned that she had come in
with a tiffin carrier full of food which her mother had instructed
her to bring to grandma. After she had opened the gates and
walked into the garden, the dog charged her. In her panic she
turned her back on the animal and attempted to run out of
the house. In the excitement she dropped the tiffin carrier. The
crashing sound further infuriated the dog who caught up with
her and bit her on the left calf. Uppermost in our minds was
that the dog might be mad and that it might only be a matter
of time before poor cousin Tengah succumbed to rabies. Her
father naturally sought the best medical attention available at
that time and the dog was kept under close observation for any
sign of abnormal behaviour. In the meantime grandma quickly
resorted to an age-old remedy to counter the shock cousin
Tengah had suffered. Grandma cut a bit of the dog’s hair and
burned it to ashes. She then rubbed the ashes along cousin
Tengah’s eye lashes, behind her ear lobes and on her chest. A
few days later we were informed that the dog was not mad and
were told to treat the case as an ordinary dog bite.
Father’s absence did not affect my opportunities of going out
very much. Whenever eldest sister-in-law visited her mother she
took me along with her. Her mother’s residence was on Lorong
Ong Kiat, a lane off Kreta Ayer Road. The people living there
were mostly Cantonese with a small number of Baba families
among them. Sister-in-law’s mother was a widow who lived all
by herself in a modest house. It was indeed a sharp contrast
to the palatial mansions of some of grandma’s contemporaries.
A few doors away lived her mother’s sister whose house was
furnished only with the barest necessities. The reason for her
regular visits to her mother and aunt was to give the old ladies
their monthly cash allowance. On my visits to these houses I
was rarely permitted out-of-doors. Luckily most of the visits
GROWING UP 179
were brief ones for there was nothing to amuse me at all. In

her mother’s house my only source of amusement was a very
tame white cat with the proverbial bell around her neck. I often
cuddled the cat and when it was time to go home it took quite
a while to dust off all the cat’s white hair from my black dress. It
was necessary that every strand of hair was dusted off because it
was generally believed that ingestion of cat’s hair led to asthma.
Besides visits to eldest sister-in-law’s mother and aunt,
cousin Tengah frequently came to bring me for car rides.
Although she was closer to sister Puteh’s age she preferred my
companionship because of sister Puteh’s sullen temperament.
Nevertheless she rarely failed to include sister Puteh on
our outings. Cousin Tengah’s grandmother was grandma’s
cousin. They had contrasting temperaments; where grandma
was fierce and fastidious her cousin was sweet natured and
simple. The one common trait they shared however was that
both of them were without sons. Grandma’s cousin adopted
a boy who grew up to become cousin Tengah’s father. Cousin
Tengah was born under a lucky star because she was her
parents’ favourite daughter and was well-liked by her own
grandmother as well as grandma. Her father had three wives:
her mother being the first, a Teochew lady the second and a
lady named Bongsu the third. The third wife wore Nyonya
attire and spoke the Baba language fluently but I was told that
she was part Siamese. She too doted on cousin Tengah and
frequently invited her favourite stepdaughter to her seaside
home at Pasir Panjang. Whenever cousin Tengah wanted to
visit Pasir Panjang her parents allowed her the use of their car.
On her way to visit her third mother she usually dropped in
at our place to seek permission from grandma to allow sister
Puteh and I to accompany her. Grandma never turned down
her request for two reasons: firstly, cousin Tengah was her
180 A NYONYA MOSAIC
favourite grandniece and secondly, sister Puteh, her favourite

granddaughter was also involved in the outing.
Cousin Tengah was the second of three daughters in
her family. She had four brothers. Her eldest sister was the
unfortunate one. Both her parents disliked her and she was
frequently physically assaulted by her mother who made
her do all the household chores and treated her not like a
daughter but almost like a servant. One sad feature in Baba
homes of the past was the unequal treatment of children
by parents. Those who were not loved had either been born
with physical defects or were suspected of having brought ill
fortune to the family. In the case of cousin Tengah’s eldest
sister it was because she was born an unattractive child. Every
time I visited their home it was pathetic to see the eldest sister
poorly dressed with misery clearly written all over her face.
She rarely smiled and hardly had any opportunity to talk to
me as she was perpetually busy with the many household
chores imposed upon her. I could not help detecting that she
was treated with disrespect even by her brothers and sisters
and her parents appeared to condone it.
Third aunt Bongsu’s Pasir Panjang house was fashioned
after stilted wooden kampong houses. But her house was of
bricks, the roof tiled, and built on brick columns. The sea was
a couple of metres away from the back door. When the tide
was high we frolicked in the water. In the days before girls
were emancipated enough to be seen in swimming costumes
we tied our sarongs a la Dorothy Lamour when we played in
the water. The surrounding scenery of kampong huts, coconut
trees and a hill or two in the distance completed the picture
of tropical paradise when one looked shorewards. When the
tide was low we just strolled along the beach looking for
hermit crabs and tiny fish caught in pools of water left by
GROWING UP 181
the receding tide. At other times we waited on the shore for

Malay fishermen bringing home their day’s catch in their
koleks (small canoes). Uncle occasionally patronised them for
their fresh fish and prawns. When gerago (young shrimps) was
in season he used to purchase enough to prepare shrimp paste
and chinchalok (fermented shrimps) and still had some left to
be fried in butter as a treat.
On other occasions I was taken shopping along Arab Street
with third aunt and her family. Nyonyas from near and far
came to this area for their sarongs, and to buy or order their
embroidered or beaded slippers. I liked Arab Street for the
delicious Malay mee siam and rojak which were sold by an old
Javanese lady hawker whose stall was next to a stall selling flowers
and lime. It was a take-away service so we normally bought the
foodstuff just before going home so that it remained fresh. Sister
Puteh did not always accompany us on such shopping trips. In
fact, I noticed that grandma gradually refused her permission to
join us for outings. On enquiring, eldest sister-in-law explained
that sister Puteh was already at a marriageable age so she should
not be seen too often outside our home lest she might earn the
unwelcome reputation of being an unrestrained young lady.
One of cousin Tengah’s maternal cousins subsequently
married sister Puteh. The wedding took place not long after
we had completed our mourning for father. Since it was a
marriage between relatives no go-between was involved. It was
a straightforward case of grandma and a relative coming to an
agreement regarding all the necessary details and arrangements.
Knowing grandma’s personality one could imagine her taking
the active role in all the discussions while the younger relative
passively agreed to every idea and suggestion.
Sister Puteh had a grand wedding. She was given the best by
grandma while her husband received no less from his parents
182 A NYONYA MOSAIC
for he was their favourite son. On top of this both families

were reputedly well off financially. A scene from the wedding
that remains vivid in my memory is the amount of tears sister
Puteh shed at her cheon thau. Very few brides, or guests at this
ceremony, could withhold their tears when the bride happened
to be an orphan. What surprised me was my own reaction at
this scene. Not long ago I had witnessed the same sad tears shed
by cousin Swee Neo at her cheon thau but was not affected at all
by it. Now, at sister Puteh’s cheon thau emotions stirred within
me and I was unable to hold back my tears. Within a short
space of three years I had undergone a vast change.
After the marriage, sister Puteh and her husband lived with
us and were allotted grandma’s room on the first floor of Rumah
Tengah. Her good fortune in not having to perform household
chores before her marriage remained the same after her marriage.
It took me a little while to accustom myself to addressing her
husband as Chow (brother-in-law) because before his marriage
he was a cousin whom I addressed as Hianh (elder brother).
Because of his close relationship with our family, grandma did
not object to my being seen in his company. Normally it would
have been thought improper for an unmarried sister-in-law to
be seen near her brother-in-law, let alone being seen conversing
with him. It was not so much an act of shyness but an expected
code of behaviour for true-blue Nyonyas. Sister Puteh’s
husband was still in school and dependent on his father when
he married her. He had to continue with private tuition at our
home after his marriage. Being married while still in school was
not uncommon in those days and there were a fair number of
Babas who continued to go to school after their marriages.
Sister Puteh had married at sixteen. This early age was not
unusual but in her case, due to the fact that she still continued
to enjoy the protection of her family environment, she tended
GROWING UP 183
to continue to behave like a child and this was not acceptable.

She was expected to carry herself like a mature woman as cousin
Swee Neo did soon after her marriage.
Some of our relatives who noticed this could not contain
themselves any longer. A few of them who could address
grandma on equal terms chided her for having allowed such
a premature union to take place. Others went as far as to
accuse her of being irresponsible. Actually, they were not being
fair to grandma as she was probably worried about the two
granddaughters under her charge. She was, after all, getting
on in age and wanted to make sure that both these girls were
married into good homes before her time came.
Sister Puteh and her husband Åanked by her pengapet and his koo ya.
184 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Marrying sister Puteh to her cousin’s grandson was the best

arrangement she could make for sister Puteh. Being fully aware
of sister Puteh’s lack of domestic skills, she realised that it was
all the more important that she should not marry anyone but a
relative. If she were to marry into another family she was bound
to lose her in-laws’ respect and life would be miserable for her.
Grandma therefore had no choice but to arrange this match.
With sister Puteh’s welfare taken care of, grandma had now
only one granddaughter left on her hands.
chapter ten
New Year Preparations

AN EVENT WHICH I looked forward to as a child was
Chinese New Year. Celebrated from the first to the fifteenth day
of the first moon of the lunar calendar, this festival, is preceded
by a number of colourful and exciting celebrations.
The first was Tang Chek, the winter solstice festival. Unlike
the other Chinese festivals which were celebrated on fixed dates
on the lunar calendar, Tang Chek seemed to fall on a different
day each year. Rather than be uncertain about it, we had picked
the date 22nd December on the gregorian calendar to celebrate
this event annually and, somehow or other it always coincided
with the correct date on the lunar calendar. During this event
we ate small balls of glutinous rice flour called kueh een and we
believed that by doing so we had lived another year. Perhaps in
the distant past the chances of living through another year was
something not guaranteed.
We prepared the kueh een on the eve of Tang Chek. After the
glutinous rice flour had been made into a dough we coloured
half of it red leaving the rest uncoloured. It was a task that
I enjoyed doing very much. All of us sat together to roll the
dough into round balls of two sizes: one the size of a marble
and the other slightly larger. Depending on the quantity of
186 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the dough this rolling process could well take several hours to
complete. The womenfolk did not mind the long hours because
they could enjoy a gossip session as they worked. This gave me
the opportunity to be around, for once, while the latest gossip
was being exchanged. Also I felt a childish delight in competing
with the adults to see who could roll a rounder kueh een and at
a faster speed.
These kueh ee were kept overnight on a round bamboo tray
covered with a piece of cloth. The next morning, they were
boiled and taken with syrup when cooled. Before any of us
were allowed to consume them, we first offered them to our
household gods and our ancestors in sets of three small bowls.
We also stuck two kueh een (one of each colour) on the front
doors. I never did learn the true significance for doing this.
Grandma attached great importance to this festival and saw to
it that everyone ate at least a bowl that day. As kueh een was
my favourite I needed no prompting at all. Every year I could
consume no less than three medium-sized bowls of it in a day
and still crave for more. Less than a month later a festival of
religious significance was celebrated on the 24th day of the
12th lunar month. This was Hari Datok Naik, when all the
household gods made their annual ascent to heaven to have an
audience with the Jade Emperor, to submit their annual report
on us mortals. By virtue of the fact that the god’s altar was
situated in the kitchen and that womenfolk generally spent a
lot of their time there, this Kitchen god was obviously a silent
witness to the behaviour of the family for the best part of each
day. Knowing this we naturally took great pains to influence the
Kitchen god’s report. In order to ensure that only favourable
words would pour out of his mouth we offered sweet delectables
to send him on his way. They included kueh bakol, huat kueh
and cups of wine.
NEW YEAR PREPARATIONS 187
Kueh bakol, or basket cake, is a steamed glutinous cake which

is nowadays wrapped in polythene and steamed in aluminium
containers. In the old days they were made in banana leaf
packets and steamed in a bamboo basket.
We believed that there was a pantang involved in the
preparation of this cake. The story was that anyone who
attempted to prepare this cake but failed, ran the risk of facing
bad luck which might influence the whole family. As a result of
this belief, many of us did not make kueh bakol; we felt it was
much safer to buy it instead. At first grandma did not believe
in this pantang and continued to prepare it annually. Through
the years as more and more incidents were related to her about
strange ill-fortune that struck certain families that had failed
to prepare this cake successfully she became more and more
nervous. Ultimately she was convinced that so many incidents
could not be mere coincidence; and so she made up her mind
to leave it to other souls to prepare the cake. From then on
our specially made steamer for this cake was left unused in the
kitchen until it found its permanent resting place in the attic.
The rites involved in sending the gods off on their annual
visit to heaven were elaborate. I used to accompany sister-in-law
to the joss-stick shop or a temple to buy the hoon bay required
for the rituals. There were different varieties of hoon bay used
by each dialect group. We made use of those prepared by the
Hokkien people. It consisted of a set containing two yellow and
a red piece of paper, all with drawings on them. The yellow
pieces each bore an illustration of a horse and a sedan chair
carried by two bearers, with a goddess depicted above the sedan.
On the day of the god’s ascent to heaven, after our prayers at
the household altars were over, the two yellow pieces were burnt
as a token of sending the god off on a horse and sedan. Twelve
pieces of gold paper folded into nugget shapes also went into
188 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the flames followed by more unfolded gold paper, to complete

the ritual. The red piece was kept aside for another ritual
performed a week later.
As soon as the gods had ascended to heaven, feverish activities
of spring cleaning for the New Year, which was only a week
away, began in earnest with plenty of temper tantrums thrown
in. With grandma at the helm everybody had to lend a hand in
the multitude of chores to be attended to before the house was
ready to welcome the first visitor on New Year’s day. The size of
our house and the decorative carvings on the furniture and the
eaves which were beautiful to look at but full of niches for dirt
and dust to settle in, kept the poor domestic helpers on their
toes, scrubbing and cleaning all day long. In her determination
to have a house with every fixture gleaming, grandma became a
slave-driver during the week and did not spare a tongue lashing
for anyone caught producing the slightest evidence of shoddy
work. In fairness to her, she did not discriminate and meted out
the same treatment to members of her own family as well.
Grandma was so thorough in her supervision that not an
inch of the house was left undusted and unscrubbed. Thus, at
any time of day someone was to be seen scrubbing the tiled floor
or perched rather precariously on the top rung of a high wooden
ladder, cleaning the dust and cobwebs from the ceiling. After
the tiled floor had been scrubbed clean, the spaces in between
the individual tiles were painted with a mixture of slaked lime,
blue indigo and vinegar with the help of a homemade brush of
coconut fibre. This was a tedious and backbreaking task requiring
a steady hand. The task certainly appeared endless because of
the floor area of our house. Incidentally all the cleaning had to
be completed before the preparation of the New Year cakes and
tit-bits as it was imperative that they should be made as close as
possible to the big event so that they would be fresh.
Typical of a true-blue Nyonya, grandma did not believe

in shortcuts. Nothing was to be simplified or modified.
Age-old traditional methods had to be strictly adhered to
otherwise results would be totally unacceptable. As far as she
was concerned these unnecessarily elaborate methods had
stood the test of time and they were essential to getting things
done right. Grandma’s policy was that our food and cakes had
reached perfection and that there could not be any other way
of preparing them. Anything produced not according to the
original method would never taste the same, she maintained.
It was therefore not surprising that grandma did not approve
of our purchasing cakes from commercial sources. Shops in
those days did not sell the low quality mass-produced stuff that
we have today. Instead they were made by Babas and were as
meticulously and skillfully prepared as they would be at one’s
home. Yet grandma would still have none of it.
In general we prepared two categories of cakes. For the New
Year guests we had ‘dry’ ones like kueh belanda, lada buntiar,
sesagoon, telor belanak, kueh tart, kueh bolu, kueh bangket and
kueh koya. The only non-Baba cake served on this occasion
was a western cake with Royal icing. This was the only cake
grandma permitted to be bought from a confectionary along
Victoria Street. Cakes meant for prayers were ‘wet’ ones which
included kueh koo, kueh kochi, kueh wajek, pulot seray kaya and
tapay pulot.
The last mentioned cake was not really difficult to make
but it carried a lot of pantangs during its preparation. Making
it merely involved steaming glutinous rice with a little yeast
and adding sugar then letting the preparation ferment for a
couple of days. In actual practice, however, there were several
‘don’ts’ that had to be diligently observed to ensure success.
For example, while the tapay was fermenting nobody should
190 A NYONYA MOSAIC
talk about it. Any mention or curiousity about whether the

fermentation was complete was supposed to immediately halt
the process. Another taboo involved menstruating women.
It was strongly believed that no woman should attempt to
make tapay pulot during menstruation because at the end of
the process the tapay was sure to have streaks of red running
through the white glutinous rice. In addition to these strictures,
the container in which the glutinous rice was fermented was
to be specially treated. It had to be scrupulously washed, dried
in the sun and then smoked with kemenian (benzoin). An
ideal container was a jar of Siamese origin which we named
Pasoh Siam. The steamed glutinous rice, individually wrapped
in small packets with tapay leaves, were then placed into the
jar. On top of this pile of tapay packets were placed a nail and
a piece of candlenut. The opening of the jar was next covered
with a tray before a gunny sack was placed above it to cover the
whole jar. It was then placed in a dark warm corner to ferment
while everybody kept their fingers crossed and mouths shut.
Woe betide the person who failed to produce the tapay in
time for prayers. Grandma would insist that the unfortunate
person had not taken the full necessary precautions. Nothing
could convince her that the yeast might have been of poor
quality, insufficient in quantity, or the fermentation was
incomplete. I have heard on more than one occasion that,
in the days long past, some ladies had even gone as far as to
strip themselves to a state of complete undress while preparing
tapay. They believed strongly that this was a prerequisite for
the production of a very sweet cake.
Well-made tapay with the resultant wine was the favourite
of Babas and Nyonyas, young and old. All these cakes, with
their elaborate and time consuming methods of preparation,
were always made far in excess of our household needs. It was
our policy to prepare enough for our relatives and close friends
as well. We enjoyed giving so much, in spite of the cost, time,
and effort involved.
Two days before the big day we invited the souls of our
ancestors to join us for the New Year. We began by taking down
their photographs from the ancestral altar to a temporary altar.
A simple offering of tea was placed on the altar together with a
pair of lighted candles. When father was alive we burned two
joss-sticks at the altar to invite mother’s soul. After father had
passed away four joss sticks were burned to invite both of them.
I was assigned all the duties of this ritual, under the watchful
eyes of eldest sister-in-law. The task was mine for two reasons.
As a girl I was obligated to be familiar with all aspects of our
culture, especially those involving domestic life. It was a matter
of time when I would be expected to perform all the necessary
prayers in my future in-laws’ home and my family would be
in disgrace if I was found ignorant of what to do. Secondly,
everybody knew I was very attached to father and it was only
natural that I should be the one to invite him home. I took
this assignment very seriously and firmly believed that both my
parents would hear my invitation and respond accordingly.
The next day, several dishes of cooked food were offered
at the ancestral altar. These, I personally carried from the
kitchen. There were three dishes of meat which included a
whole chicken, a whole duck and a piece of lean pork. These
we collectively called sam seng. The name indicated that it
came from three living creatures. This was followed by eight
other secondary dishes, tea, wine, a basin of water for washing
the face, a towel, a glass of water to rinse the palate and a silk
handkerchief for wiping the hands and mouths.
When all these dishes had been properly arranged we
performed the pak puey to find out whether father and mother
192 A NYONYA MOSAIC
had arrived to partake of the food. Essentially, pak puey involved

the throwing of two objects while standing before an altar and
interpreting the message from the way the objects had landed
on the ground. Some families used two Chinese coins for the
purpose. I was taught that if one of the coins landed heads up
while the other was tails up it indicated cheo puey, meaning
the souls had responded cheerfully to the invitation and had
arrived. If they both landed heads up it indicated that the souls
were displeased and it was necessary to throw the coins again.
Both coins with tail side up meant the souls were in a good
frame of mind but had not arrived. In our household, we did
not use coins. Instead we used two wooden pieces each having
a flat base and a convex body akin to a bun cut into two. The
convex surface represented the heads side while the flat surface,
the tail side. For this particular prayer we did not allow it to
be said after noon for it would have meant that the appeal had
been stretched to another day. We therefore scheduled the ritual
well in the morning to give ample allowance for the souls to
take their time to come, partake the offerings and to take their
leave. In the course of this prayer I poured wine into the wine
cups three times; once before the arrival of the souls, then the
moment they had indicated their arrival, and again while they
were having their meal. Each time I poured only a little leaving
enough space in the cups for subsequent fillings.
At the conclusion of this prayer my parents’ souls were
given a ceremonial send-off. A sprig of tua chye (Chinese
cabbage) was initially soaked in hot water before being placed
in a bowl of water into which a pinch of each item of food and
drink that had been offered at the altar had been added. Silver
paper was burned and meanwhile the cabbage leaves were
used to stir the contents of the bowl. The leaves were then cast
into the flames after three circular motions were made with
them over the burning offering. Soon the contents of the bowl
also joined the leaves in the fire, thus ending the prayer to our
ancestors.
By the afternoon of New Year’s Eve all the cleaning, cooking
and baking was over and everything was ready. All the furniture
had been polished until it gleamed and on some of the chairs
were beautiful white lace covers tied with red ribbons. An
important event was only a matter of hours away. This was
the New Year’s Eve dinner, which was a very important meal
for us. It is better known as the family reunion dinner for on
this occasion every member of the family was to be present
and those who were married and lived away from home were
expected to make it a point to come home for a family get-
together. This naturally resulted in married ones having to be
present at two dinners on the same night, one at the parents’
and the other at the in-laws’ house.
Immediately after sunset all the lights were switched on so
that the house was bright and welcoming. Upon the Kitchen
god’s altar we placed cups of tea, teh leow (prayer tit-bits), and
three bowls of cooked rice into which an ixora flower and a
stem of spring onion together with its roots were pressed. There
was always a scramble for the bathroom so that everybody
would be dressed for dinner at seven. We started our reunion
dinner at the same hour every year. This strict demand for
punctuality and proper dressing continued to be observed by
our family even after father was no longer around. Grandma,
inspite of her temper could have faced problems in maintaining
the same discipline when she became head of the household
because, by then, most of my brothers were married and might
have resented being treated like children. Nothing of this sort
however ever took place because our upbringing taught us that
we should never stop being obedient and filial to our elders.
194 A NYONYA MOSAIC
In fact with maturity there was even less likelihood of anyone

going against custom and tradition.
Before commencing dinner we all raised our glasses of soft
drinks and wished all the elders a long life. They reciprocated
with the same blessing. An elderly person like grandma usually
added several more felicitous remarks when she returned her
grandchildren’s best wishes. Most importantly she would bless
us with prosperity and health as she said ‘Lu boleh untong
untong, boleh kuat kuat.’ (you will be prosperous and healthy)
In the case of the very young she usually added ‘Lu boleh kuai
kuai’ (be good) as a blessing as well as advice to be obedient.
Being the youngest in the family I had to wish everybody at
the table including all my brothers and sister. Even after some
of them had replied to my wishes and had already commenced
eating I would still be holding my glass of lemonade and
wishing my elders a long life.
I never failed to enjoy the reunion dinner, not so much
because there was a lot to eat as for the atmosphere. It was
customary that everybody was expected to be at his or her best
mood and so there was always a lot of laughter and jokes during
this meal.
The cheery atmosphere continued after dinner was over.
Usually we had a spot of gambling as brief entertainment.
Father was inevitably the banker and on this one night of the
year he literally encouraged gambling even among the youngest
members of his family. The game was a modified form of Chap
Ji Kee where, instead of twelve numbers, only four numbers
were used. We called it Si Kee. The stake involved was very low
and in order that as many members of the family as possible
could participate, father used to give us children a fistful of 1¢
copper coins as stakes. This gambling continued to be a part
of our reunion after father had passed away. In his place eldest
brother became the banker. The gambling session could not

last more than an hour because the adult members had other
important tasks to attend to. As soon as the session was over
they all went into their respective rooms to ready their clothes
and jewellery for the next day, as well as to wrap ang pows.
Before going back to his room father normally wrapped a lot of
1¢ ang pows for beggars who would call on us in the next few
days. I was allowed to assist him to prepare these ang pows but
when he wrapped those meant for the family he worked behind
closed doors.
Around 10 pm the domestic staff was summoned and
instructed to close the main doors, windows and to switch
off the lights of the two main lanterns hanging outside the
main door. This closing of doors and switching off of lights
symbolised that we had closed the old year. Once the doors
were closed they would not be opened under any circumstance
until the auspicious hour that had been picked to welcome the
New Year. To the best of my recollection not a single member
of the household ever dared to step out of the house on New
Year’s Eve in order to avoid the predicament of coming home
to locked doors.
The exact time to welcome the New Year was flexible among
the Babas. Some families welcomed it at the stroke of midnight
while others consulted the temples for the auspicious time to
do so. In general the hour was never before midnight or after
5 am the next morning. Father had chosen the midnight hour
to perform the rite and the habit persisted in our family for a
long time. This dispensed with the need to consult a temple
which might give a different time each year. About ten minutes
before midnight the windows were opened and the lanterns
switched on. At midnight the two front doors were thrown open
and, in the absence of father, eldest brother strode out with a
196
A NYONYA MOSAIC
Bringing in the New Year was a boisterous event that left the streets a festive red.
(Courtesy of Archives and Oral History Department, Singapore)
bunch of joss sticks to pray and sambot taon (welcome the year).
Several packets of firecrackers were then lit to sambot jereki
(welcome good fortune). Eldest brother had taken over this
responsibility even while father was alive because father realised
that it was a matter of time before the next generation must
take over the responsibility to uphold traditions. After father’s
death, grandma, being the head of the household should have
performed the ritual but in our family we also believed that it
was more appropriate for a man to do it.
There were many others who welcomed the New Year
at the same hour. However, as clocks and watches were not
synchronised, minutes before our clocks registered midnight,
sounds of cracker firing could already be heard. We however
never allowed this to affect our timing in opening the doors.
We relied resolutely on our own clocks. Similarly, after we had
welcomed the year, sounds of fresh cracker firing were heard
indicating that there were others who considered our clocks
to be fast. And so, for many minutes around midnight the
whole neighbourhood resounded to a continuous bursting of
firecrackers. After welcoming the year we never closed our doors
and our whole house remained brightly lit right up to daylight.
The excitement associated with the festival commenced
right after we had bade welcome to the new year. Not half an
hour later a group of bandsmen carrying their brass instruments
and drum made their call on us. It was rather late at night but
with so much excitement in the air none of us felt sleepy. Even
had I wanted to sleep it would have been impossible, what
with the sounds of firecrackers exploding, and the brass band
playing in the sitting room. In order to visit as many houses as
possible the band normally did not play a complete tune. But
they could be flexible under certain circumstances. From their
annual visits they knew which households would reward them
198 A NYONYA MOSAIC
more substantially. Thus, at such homes they naturally lingered

a little longer in the hope that the host would be even more
generous that year. Father enjoyed the music of the band and
was generous with his ang pows. The end of the first tune earned
each of the musicians an ang pow and father normally requested
them to play one or two more of his favourite tunes. They
happily complied because further rounds of ang pows never
failed to follow. They were also rewarded by eldest brother, who
was himself no less a lover of music. After wishing us the best
for the year ahead they strode out to the next house to render
their service.
Hardly had the blast of this band faded from our ears then
another group of musicians would arrive. This was the seroni
band, so important at Baba events. This band with its more
oriental music affected me differently from the western oriented
brass band. I was engulfed by mixed feelings: joy mingled with
memories of moments of tears and parting, a feeling that I
experience even today when I hear recorded seroni music.
chapter eleven
A New Beginning
THE CHINESE NEW Year celebration of 1926 was a
memorable one. In every way it was typical of others but that
year it marked the end of my innocent childhood.
Even after father was no longer around all our New Years’
festivities were celebrated in the same splendour that we had
been accustomed to. Grandma deserved full credit for this.
Father had left her a sizeable fortune which she increased
through sheer efficiency. Therefore, on this particular New
Year’s Eve our family reunion dinner was as sumptuous as the
ones before.
The next morning, as a result of having slept late the previous
night I woke up well past my normal waking time. As always,
the morning of the first of the fifteen days’ festivities found
me in a dilemma. It was customary in our house for only the
menfolk to go out visiting on the first day. The womenfolk were
required to stay at home to serve the unbroken stream of visitors
who came to pay their annual respects to grandma. However,
where I was concerned grandma would not have minded it if I
had decided to go visiting on this day. My problem was that I
could not make up my mind. Going out on the very first day
of the New Year was a different experience from going on the
200
second day. The excitement on the first day was decidedly more
intense whereas the enthusiasm was somewhat less on the next
day due perhaps, to the fatigue brought about by the gruelling
pace of the day before. Staying at home on the first day could
be hazardous in that not only would I have to join in serving
the guests but all the walking and sweating would naturally
result in a crumpled dress. There was nothing I abhorred and
dreaded more than a crumpled dress on New Year’s day. On the
other hand, the many visitors would mean a bigger tally of ang
pows at the day’s end.
What finally influenced me to stay at home was the
scheduled visit of eldest brother’s musical groups. Unfailingly
on every New Year’s day at least one of the groups he belonged
to would tum up, especially the Malay boria group. I was very
fond of boria presentations and enjoyed their renditions of both
eastern and western songs. The members of the group were all
gifted musicians who played by ear and not by reading scores.
Their rendering of old time keronchongs and stamboels left us
craving for more. The moment they started to play my three
brothers would take out their instruments to join in. It was very
memorable.
In one of these boria groups was the well-known Abdul
Razak. He was a living legend in his time. Armed with his violin
he was a familiar figure at Baba homes during festivals, weddings
and birthday celebrations. He had a unique presentation. He
was able to compose and sing pantons at the spur of the moment
with words that flattered or denoted blessings and rhymed with
the host’s name. He never failed to leave a very happy and
satisfied patron who rewarded him handsomely at the end of
his song. Normally after he had finished singing for the host
he would stroll among the other guests and offer the same
entertainment to several of them after requesting their names.
A NEW BEGINNING 201
He was very careful with his choice of words and jokes with
the adults but he was always clowning and using teasing words
on us children. Sometimes he would pick on a child with, say,
a missing tooth and proceed to sing a comical song about the
toothless child much to the amusement of everyone, including
the ‘victim’. He was always humorous but never offensive.
Whenever I was around he was sure to end his visit with a song
about me. In our view he was an entertainer par excellence, the
likes of which have not come our way since.
In keeping with the tradition that only menfolk were
encouraged to go out on the first day, the steady stream of
visitors who came throughout the day consisted mostly of
males. While it was only natural for my brothers’ friends to be
men, it was surprising that grandma’s guests were mostly males
too. They were made up of our relatives as well as her friends
with whom she had business dealings. Among them was the
owner of a pawnshop in Arab Street in which grandma had
invested some money. This gentleman was more than a business
friend; he had been adopted by grandma not long before as a
son. Grandma had another adopted son who lived in Tanjong
Pagar. I was rather frightened of him. He was a heavy boozer
who did not set a limit to his drinking during his New Year
visits. By the time he reached our home he was already unsteady
on his feet. He was the rare exception who brought his wife
along with him on the first day. It was pretty obvious that he
wanted her around merely to help him when he was drunk.
The other exception was a middle aged lady who came
with her teenage son who was her only child. She was ever
grateful to grandma for a favour done on her behalf. At that
time her husband had walked out on her and the boy, and
when summoned for maintenance, he had denied that they
were married. It seemed that this lady had tried desperately to
202 A NYONYA MOSAIC
get witnesses to testify in the suit but to no avail. In the days

when the average woman was an uneducated and shy creature,
getting one to voluntarily attend court to give evidence was
very difficult. But when grandma was approached for help, she
responded positively, without hesitation. In the courtroom,
speaking in the Baba language and not showing the slightest
sign of nervousness grandma revealed that she had taken an
active part in the couple’s wedding as one of the lady guests
who had accompanied the wedding procession. And as for the
child, grandma was reputed to have requested the magistrate to
put the boy next to the errant husband to show the resemblance
between them. The lady won the maintenance suit and since
then she demonstrated her gratitude by her yearly visit with her
son to pay respects to grandma on the first day of Chinese New
Year. Such court cases were a reality because traditional Baba
weddings did not involve any official marriage certificate. In a
case like this one there was not even a photograph to show the
wedding.
Another male business colleague who came was a certain
moneylender part of whose capital had come from grandma.
He was effeminate. He used his hands to gesture like a female
when he talked and walked with a feminine gait. Surprisingly
he was a married man with several children to his credit.
The non-stop serving the women had to do on the first day
found them an exhausted lot on the second day. As I was not
kept very busy on the first day I was up and about early raring
to go visiting as early as possible. Eldest sister-in-law exercised
the utmost patience as she helped me to dress, what with my
constantly urging her to hurry. It was not a simple matter to
dress me because I was to go visiting in a pengapet’s costume.
Grandma and several of her contemporaries took special pride
in dressing their granddaughters up in the bridal page girl’s
A NEW BEGINNING 203
costume for their New Year visits. It was a yearly affair for us to
wear this costume until we attained our teens. Grandsons were
similarly dressed as koo yas (page boys).
I skipped breakfast that morning because there would be
no shortage of things to eat at the homes we visited. They were
more or less the same variety of cakes we had prepared for the
festival but as they were homemade and had been prepared
with the utmost care, nobody could tire of eating them. For my
visits I had Ah Sum to accompany me. She was ever ready to
come along because for every ang pow given to me she collected
one for herself. Had it not been for this incentive she might not
have condescended when called upon to work on a festival day.
Most of the houses I visited were palatial buildings but it
took a lot to equal the sheer grandeur of the building that once
stood where the Cathay Building now stands. The lady of the
house was grandma’s adopted daughter and she was known
as Tatt Poh Hoo Lye. Her name was Tatt Poh and Hoo Lye
was her husband’s name. His full name was Teo Hoo Lye. A
very neat and tidy person by nature she kept her home spick
and span. Coupled with its size and the expensive furniture
and decorations that were so exquisitely maintained it was
altogether a dream palace she had for a home.
By sharp contrast was the seaside home of one of grandma’s
close friends at Pasir Panjang. This house was as grand and
as palatial but the furnishing was totally unlike the mostly
Chinese furniture found in a typical Baba home. All the chairs,
tables, and cupboards in this house were modern in design and
western in origin. I can still vividly recall the unusual long table
with a mirror as its top. The chairs round it which also had
mirrors as backrests awed me no end. When the lady of this
household celebrated her seventy-first birthday she had people
talking about it long after it was all over. In the daytime a boat
204 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Left: The martiach Tatt Poh Hoo Lye.

Right: Myself in pengapet Änery for a New Year outing.
race was organised in front of her house while at dinner she

had as her guests a dozen newly wedded brides who had been
married less than a month all resplendent in their twelfth day
costumes. Grandma had played an important role in helping
her assemble these brides, each of whom was rewarded with a
big solid gold coin.
The third day of the New Year was unique. It was customary
for the majority of people to stay indoors on this day. Yet there
was a steady stream of visitors to every house. This was because
it was a day when professional beggars went visiting. On this
day they came out in full force. It was apparent that by their
particularly large turnout that a fair number of them were
not regular beggars. They could have been rickshaw pullers or
odd job labourers who had decided to take advantage of the
day when everybody was generous. Starting from early in the
A NEW BEGINNING 205
morning they went to every house either singly or accompanied

by one or more companions.
Standing near the main door they called out a short festive
greeting and stood waiting for their reward. At our house we
gave them the 1¢ ang pows that had been specially wrapped
for them on New Year’s eve. Young children were normally
assigned the duty of handing the ang pows to them. I did not
mind this day-long chore for I felt amply rewarded by their
profuse thanks and blessings.
This must have been the reason for not going out on the
third day as to do so might put us in the same class as the
beggars. There were probably other reasons but having seen the
number of beggars out in the streets on this day I could not
help but believe that this must be the main reason we preferred
to stay at home. There was no racial or religious barrier on this
day. Beggars of all races took advantage of the festival and came
for their red packet. Nobody was turned away. We believed that
on an auspicious occasion like this we should show kindness
and charity to the less fortunate and not begrudge anyone a
token ang pow. In fact it was our family policy never to tum
any beggar away any time or day throughout the year. The 1¢
copper coins were always within reach, though not wrapped in
red packets except during the New Year festival. Being charitable
to beggars was an obligation that was religiously observed by us
and many other families I knew of.
The following day was the Kitchen gods’ homecoming from
their annual visit to the Jade Emperor. Just as they were well
feted when they departed ten days before, they were similarly
welcomed home ceremoniously. There were prayer offerings at
their altars and when gold paper was burned after the prayers,
the red piece of hoon bay paper reserved from their departure
ritual went into the flames.
206 A NYONYA MOSAIC
Although no special activities ensued for the next couple

of days, father, when he was alive, would take us on evening
joy rides during this period. We travelled as far as Tanah
Merah which seemed to me like another part of the world.
The beach was then rich with remis, a small edible bivalve
found just below the surface close to the water’s edge at low
tide. The moment we reached the beach we wasted no time in
digging for them and an evening’s haul was about half a paper
bag full. After washing them clean with sea water the remis
were marinated in salt for a couple of days before being eaten
with a dash of vinegar. At other times we drove to the opposite
side of the island to the West Coast where we stopped at a
Malay village along Pasir Panjang Road for a drink of tuak or
palm juice. This was the liquid exudate obtained from tapping
the growing shoot of a coconut tree. When freshly collected
in a bamboo container it was a sweet refreshing drink. This,
after a night’s fermentation turned to toddy, an intoxicating
wine that was officially sold at various designated centres to
cater to the lower income group as their evening drink. It was
fairly recently that the government finally closed all the toddy
shops. I must confess that a cupful of tuak made me a little
heady but I never admitted it in case father forbade me to
drink anymore.
After the fourth day when the New Year’s activities had
somewhat slowed down there was still a trickle of visitors who
continued to visit grandma. They were our relatives who lived
far away and could not make it on the first few days or they
were distant relatives for whom grandma was not on their
priority list. There were also friends of my elder brothers or
relatives of my sisters-in-law and even distant relatives from
Malacca who paid us surprise visits. Malacca to us then was a
distant land. I even thought that these people were different
A NEW BEGINNING 207
from us and so never took my eyes off them. When they took
their leave lots of tears were shed for the chance of us meeting
again was. indeed slim.
The next event of Significance was the celebration of the
birthday of the Jade Emperor which falls on the ninth day of
the New Year. However, prayers for this occasion were normally
held on the eve of the celebration. We erected the same two-
tier sam kai altar as at a wedding and placed offerings of
uncooked vegetables on it. The vegetables were the ingredients
for a chap chai dish (mixed vegetables). They included tung
hoon (transparent vermicelli), hio ko (mushroom), bok jee (tree
fungus), tau kee (dried soya bean skin), kim chiam (lotus buds)
and kobis (cabbage). Fruits were also offered on the altar and
they included the pomelo, pomegranate, pear, apple and orange
all beautifully decorated with red paper. Alongside the altar
table was a pair of sugarcanes with leaves intact. These stalks
were festooned with long strips of yellow paper. The sugarcane
stalk played an important place in our New Year celebrations.
Eldest sister-in-law once told me about a war long ago in
China when the Hokkien populace was nearly wiped out by
a conquering invading horde. They escaped what was almost
certain extermination by successfully concealing themselves in
a sugarcane plantation. Thus, the Hokkiens owed a debt to the
sugarcane plant and, in order to perpetuate the memory of the
incident, the sugarcane was given a place of importance in the
New Year celebrations. In fact, on New Year’s eve itself a stalk
of sugarcane would already have been placed behind each of the
main doors.
The sam kai altar’s attraction was further enhanced by the
presence of flowers on it. Just before sunset eldest sister-in-law
and I would go to our garden to cut jingeh ayam (coxcomb),
siantan (ixora) and kembang malam for the purpose. The
208 A NYONYA MOSAIC
last named flower bloomed at night and its lovely fragrance

coupled with the incense from the joss-sticks increased the
lovely aroma surrounding the altar. This particular prayer
began at midnight, on the dot. While in some households the
observance ended one hour later, ours continued till dawn,
when we burned gold paper to signify the end of the prayer.
Some families did not observe this prayer at home because
of financial and manpower constraints. Instead they observed
this prayer at any temple which housed the Jade Emperor
deity. Each of such temples set up an elaborate altar and tall
red candles were available for sale to devotees who lit and
placed them on a special wooden stand.
One of our aunts observed this prayer in a temple. On the
night of the prayers she never failed to come to our house first
to help us set up our sam kai altar, after which she took her
leave to visit the temple. When father was around he used to
offer her the use of his car to go to the temple. A number of us
took the opportunity to accompany her to have a look at the
rows and rows of tall flickering candles in front of the altar. It
was indeed a memorable sight to behold.
The climax of the New Year festivities took place on chap
go mei (the fifteenth day). The day began with prayers for our
ancestral spirits that had spent the New Year with us. Lots of
food was offered to them so that they had a good and satisfying
send-off. In addition to the normal eight dishes we had an
extra special dish known as nasik pulot (glutinous rice) that
day. This was steamed glutinous rice served with seraykaya
(egg jam) and pengat which was a dish of bananas and tubers
cooked in coconut milk and sugar. As this happened to be my
favourite sweet I took great pains to learn to cook it. The main
ingredients consisted of sweet potato cut into medium sized
cubes, bananas which had been earlier cooked in syrup and ubi
A NEW BEGINNING 209
wangi a fragrant yam that has not been available locally for a
long time. It was not easy to finish a bowl of pengat because
of its cloy, starchy and very sweet taste. Surprisingly, grandma’s
contemporaries did not seem to be affected by the very rich and
sweet taste and they went on to consume this pengat together
with the steamed glutinous rice and the egg jam without
seeming to feel sated. With such a taste for starchy and sweet
food it came as no surprise to me that in later life they suffered
from diabetes. Grandma usually invited her friends over on the
fifteenth day not only to enjoy the pengat but also to indulge in
a cherki session. On this occasion, the card session would end
early because our guests had to rush home to prepare for the
night’s closing ritual of the New Year celebrations.
Early in the evening we dressed up nicely for dinner and
switched on most of the lights in the house. Uncle Hong Kee
was delegated to go to the temple to amek api. This was a rite
we observed every chap go mei when a member of our family
visited the temple at Telok Ayer to burn joss sticks and pray.
Before leaving the temple three joss sticks were lit from a
lamp and taken. home. Bringing them home symbolised the
bringing home of holy light. When the joss sticks reached home
a matchstick was used to obtain a flame to light the candles on
the altar of the household gods. Subsequently every member
of the family lit his or her joss sticks from these candles which
burned with the holy light originating from the temple.
I once accompanied Uncle Hong Kee to the temple and
committed to memory what I observed because as eldest sister-
in-law had advised me, in later years I might have to shoulder
this duty of amek api when I became a married woman with a
family of my own. That night the temple was crowded mostly
with Babas and Nyonyas. Many of them knew one another
and they took the opportunity to exchange belated greetings
210 A NYONYA MOSAIC
of the season. Due to the large crowd who each carried a thick
bundle of burning and smoking joss-sticks, the temple was
smoky and many of us had tears rolling down our cheeks as a
result of the irritating smoke. The three joss-sticks that were
subsequently taken home were initially placed in the main
urn of the temple. In order to ensure that our joss-sticks were
not accidentally taken home by others I was assigned to stand
close to the urn to keep watch over them as Uncle Hong Kee
and other members of our family continued to pray before the
other deities in the temple.
After we had prayed before all our altars at home we sat
down to an early dinner. We timed ourselves so that dinner
was over just after dark. The next event was the long-awaited
finale and everyone was keyed up with excitement for it to
begin. The firing of crackers to mark the closing of the fifteen
days’ celebrations had always been traditionally observed on an
extraordinary scale by practically every person of Chinese stock
in Singapore whether Baba or non-Baba.
Unlike the day when they welcomed the New Year with a
moderate amount of cracker firing, the closing festivity saw
them going to extremes. My brothers had pooled their financial
resources to buy two crates of firecrackers but this did not come
anywhere close to what Ah Pok had bought. It was evident that
he had practically used up all his year’s savings for burning that
night. Knowing his passion for cracker firing grandma had
quietly given him money to buy more.
While we were taking dinner Ah Pok and his helpers were
already busy heating up charcoal in several small earthen stoves
to light the crackers. After this they carried the cases of crackers
outside the house. My brothers had exposed the fuse of their
crackers earlier in the day, placed them on rattan trays to dry
in the sun so that they would be dry and bum well and the
A NEW BEGINNING 211
noise of the exploding crackers would be sharper. After a couple

of hours’ sunning, the crackers were nearly stacked in their
wooden crates to await nightfall. The moment dinner was over
nobody could contain themselves and everyone was eager to
start firing. By then a number of houses in the neighbourhood
had already commenced firing their crackers to signal the start
of what was the noisiest evening of every year.
On one side of our house stood uncle Hong Kee and all my
brothers while on the other side were Ah Pok and Ah Nyiok.
Eldest brother grabbed a stack of crackers with his left hand.
From this pile he took one with his right hand and touched
the fuse on the hot glowing charcoal. The fuse began to crackle
and hiss. As it burned closer towards the crackers he flung the
packet to the roadside where it started to explode even before
it touched the ground. While the crackers were still exploding
he was already lighting the second packet so that there would
be a continuous noise. As the first packet of crackers started
to explode my other brothers started firing so that there was a
chain of exploding crackers around us.
For the young like me there was a small version of crackers.
These petas padi (small crackers) gave a less loud sound. I was
given ten packets to bum and in order to prolong the fun I
burned them with a lapse of several minutes between each
packet. The type fired by Ah Pok and Ah Nyiok was much larger
than that my brothers were firing. Instead of being packed into
neat square packets these larger crackers were strung up into
chains several metres long. Having bought several such chains
Ah Pok had earlier in the day joined them altogether and rolled
it into a large coil. He needed an assistant to hold the bundle
and to uncoil it as he held the exploding end. Before igniting
the head of the coil he wound part of it round his arm and his
body. The rest of the coil was in a wooden container and it was
212 A NYONYA MOSAIC
the responsibility of the assistant to pass him another length of

crackers as the other end exploded. Ah Nyiok, his assistant in the
kitchen, was also a good assistant to Ah Pok for cracker firing.
At the start of the firing the noise was deafening but as
the minutes ticked into hours one became oblivious of the
noise but not the smoke. As the crackers continued to burst
all around the fumes became thicker and thicker. Vehicular
traffic like rickshaws ground to a complete halt. Only the
faster moving cars could drive along the centre lane of the
road between a gauntlet of exploding crackers. The deafening
cacophony of bursting crackers did not die down until close to
midnight. When the noise finally stopped my ears rang with
its echo. After a while it was quiet. A strange, sad silence. It
was as though a heavy black curtain had suddenly closed on a
glittering fortnight.
Although chap go mei marked the end of the New Year
festivities, everyone wanted the memory of good times to linger
on and so on the next night there was yet one more tradition to
observe. That night, there was no cracker firing, no rickshaw-
puller baiting by exuberant youngsters who threw packets of
exploding crackers at their feet, and no big dinner to confine
everybody at home. It was a night of relaxation when parents
took their children out to the esplanade for a stroll, after a visit
to the temple earlier in the night.
It was a night when matchmakers crowded the temples to
observe the womenfolk with their young and not so young
daughters. To the older maidens this visit to the temple was
of vital importance. This exposure was perhaps one last chance
for being matched in marriage. Failure to attract the attention
of the many matchmakers who thronged the temple meant
another year of waiting and with each passing year the chances
of a match grew dimmer.
A NEW BEGINNING 213
The esplanade was similarly crowded with people who were

still in the New Year mood and who continued to exchange
festive greetings with one another. Many young bachelors were
out that night to ogle at girls who were normally cloistered
the rest of the year. As all the girls were strictly chaperoned by
their parents the boys had to keep at a discreet distance. For
most of the otherwise closeted girls this was a night they looked
forward to and it was altogether an exciting one albeit without
any fraternisation with any of the young bachelors who were
kept at bay.
We did not stay long at the esplanade as most of us were
feeling tired and sleepy. After reaching home, as I trudged
upstairs my heart was as heavy as my weary legs. Exhaustion
prevented me from falling to sleep immediately and, as I lay
tossing, my thoughts unavoidably went through the events
of the last two glorious weeks. They were exciting memories.
Mingled with them was a particular statement which intruded
itself into the joyful New Year celebrations in a mildly nagging
way. ‘Amboey, lu sudah bukan anak dara kachuak lagi. Lu sudah
jadi anak dara betol!’ (My, you are no longer a cockroach
maiden but a true one!) Many elderly relatives and friends had
said this when they were told that I was fifteen. The message
was all too clear. I was no longer considered a child but a
marriageable young lady. Word of my eligibility would soon
be spread round the island. It would not have to wait long
before being snatched from the shelter and protection of my
family to a new way of life I had not been tutored in. How
much of the unknown would eldest sister-in-law discuss with
me? What would he be like? There were too many unknowns
and uncertainties. I did not want to think about it for the
moment but just succumbed myself to sleep as he slowly
embraced me in his soothing arms.
214 A NYONYA MOSAIC
My wedding portrait.
About the Author
William Gwee Thian Hock, a fifth-generation Singapore Baba,

is regarded as an authority on Baba Peranakan culture for good
reason. The author of Mas Sepuloh, Baba Conversational Gems
(1993), A Baba-Malay Dictionary (2006) and A Baba Boyhood:
Growing up during World War 2 (2013), he has also written
and staged 12 skits and four plays to the delight of mature
Peranakan audiences and young Singaporeans interested in
discovering more about their Baba roots.
Continuing in the strong musical tradition of the Babas, he
has also written 19 original songs.
As one of the rare keepers of the rich and complex Baba
culture, William has given numerous talks and interviews to
researchers, docents, students and journalists, as well as rendered
advice to the Gunong Sayang Association, the Peranakan
Association of Singapore, the Main Wayang Company, and the
Peranakan Museum.
Married for 50 years to his true love, Rosie Tan Chwee Neo,
Gwee continues to live in the Joo Chiat-Katong area where
his family has lived since he was a boy of six. He spends his
days committing Baba traditions to paper for the sake of future
generations, reading, curating his verdant garden of fruit trees,
and enjoying the traditional sambal udang, curry and chutney
Rosie cooks with their regular harvests of fruit and belimbing.
By the same author
WILLIAM GWEE SHARES his experience

on growing up as an innocent boy during
the Japanese Occupation of Singapore from
1942 to 1945. Gwee’s engaging text discusses
the challenges faced in a difficult time and
how, despite the hardships of war, traditions
and taboos continued to be practised. What
sets this book apart from others on similar
subject matter are the vivid vignettes of Singapore life in the
early 1940s as seen through the ingenuous eyes of a child, as
well as strong references to the Peranakan community, whose
ethos and culture were forever changed by the war.
Both refreshing and poignant, A Baba Boyhood will appeal to

those who have lived through the wartime period, as well as
younger readers who seek to understand their place in checkered
Singapore history.

A Nyonya Memoir

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A Nyonya Mosaic

Memoirs of A Peranakan Childhood

William Gwee Thian Hock

William Gwee Thian Hock

© 2013 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Pte Ltd

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or

The publisher makes no representation or warranties with respect to the contents

Other Marshall Cavendish Ofﬁces: Marshall Cavendish Corporation. 99 White

Marshall Cavendish is a trademark of Times Publishing Limited

National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Printed in Singapore by Times Printers Pte Ltd

My wife, Rosie Tan Chwee Neo

NOTE TO 2013 EDITION 8

William Gwee Thian Hock

in ﬁfteenth-century Malacca, and many of whom in the early

Abdullah, Mrs Lim Cheng Choon, Rita Balachander and Miss

Gwee Thian Hock

Like all expectant mothers of that era, mother did not go

All these taboos were strictly observed by mother for more

the tendency to feel sleepy during the ﬁrst couple of months.

I was getting my daily bath from the midwife, mother was

at the age of forty-nine was already a successful businessman.

session arranged at home he would be back at the earlier hour.

or through persistent pressure from relatives and friends they

and one daughter. They were grown-ups when she adopted

Grandma, Mdm Low Tuan Neo, the matriach.

at our home. An elaborately designed piece sometimes required

Typical of a Nyonya, grandma found cherki, the Baba

the wooden crates and was invariably rewarded with a box or

general term we attached to anybody of Indian origin. Like my

for the purpose of cutting the thread of their opponents’ kites,

popular at the many social gatherings at home. Third brother’s

general term cheong. Unlike his musically gifted elder brothers,

Staff and Surroundings

male teacher would have been allowed anywhere near us even

undertaker and he used one house to store imported marble. He

chamber and grandma gladly moved to another room. The hall

Eldest brother and eldest sister-in-law occupied the front

Before the advent of bamboo chicks (blinds) a piece of thick

of pek kway (gingko nut). Whenever we prepared a soup dish

for everyone in the house to seek grandma’s blessing before

Ah Sim was concerned it was a baby a year until we ﬁnally

Our ﬁrst watchman was Bola. He was actually employed to

The front facade of our house.

Social gatherings of the day were held at home rather than

ahead of us. Grand-aunt was seated on her favourite armchair

out to help me up. Imagine my feelings when she proceeded to

(a card game) groups were formed. All guests were considered

The tempat sireh is still well-utilised today.

Since the table could seat a total of only twenty people at

who were her friends and had successfully persuaded them

grandma had decided to arrange Swee Neo’s marriage, she was

eldest sister-in-law’s help and advice. Her reaction puzzled me;

The conversation in the adjoining room was genteel and

made about the young man’s background. There had been

law’s expectations? Fat people were generally supposed to have

deposit did not crop up at all. Afterall, it was grandma who

The celebrated sangkek um Ah Bee and a well-known female

At this stage of her career sangkek um Ah Bee was already

Eldest sister-in-law was kept very busy sewing not only

to arrive grandma became noticeably tense as time wore on.

few days before this I discovered that the beautifully carved

strategically placed that for anybody entering the room they