REMEMBERING WO AND THE SON HE LOST

Wo, pronounced as ‘war‘, was my paternal grandfather who lived in Sungai Baru, a village near the town of Mesjid Tanah, Malacca. I understand that a grandaunt from Alor Gajah who had married a gentleman from Sungai Baru had been instrumental in the marriage of my parents. It appeared that the grandaunt had married my dad’s older brother. The marriage of my mother was, amongst other considerations,  also a security need as it was then during the Japanese occupation. I understand that for the pre-wedding consultations by the male side, travel was done on bullock carts. However, for the wedding, the groom’s boss, a Japanese, had lent him his motorcar for use.

I understand that many locals were made to serve under the new government in those days. My father, being fair in complexion, might have easily be mistaken for a Chinese. As such he was not allowed to loiter around after work. 

With that marriage, mum’s schooling ended decisively. She must have been about 14 or 15 years old at that time. She used to be rather nostalgic about it. She had always felt that if it had not been for the war, she would have been able to complete her schooling and wondered what difference that would have made. After all, she reckoned that she was quite a smart person. 

The grandaunt’s fate had taken a turn earlier. Her husband, my uncle Abu Bakar whom I had never met, died during the early part of the war in Singapore while serving in the army. I understand that he and his fellow soldiers were executed and buried in a mass grave there. This news was brought back by an escapee who feigned death before the firing round got to him. He managed to crawl out into the forest after that and walked  all the way back to Mesjid Tanah to tell his story. It appeared that Wo was never the same after the loss of his eldest son. The change in Wo's demeanor  was related to me by my dad’s former teacher, Mr. Muir, a Scotsman whom I had the pleasure of visiting during my sojourn in the UK in the mid-70's. According to Mr Muir, Wo would on occasion visit him in High School, Malacca to just look at him. You see Mr Muir and my uncle Abu Bakar were such close friends. I reckon, Wo had taken a long time to deal with the loss of his eldest son. Al-Fatihah and may his soul find peace.

Uncle had left behind a widow, Mak Ngah Tijah and three children. The eldest went on to become a lebai (religious man) leading the congregation at a nearby surau. I remember Abang Mat as a religious person and very respectful of my parents. He was semi-blind but he was an expert in the dark provided you do not shine the torch light in his face. He could find his way even across the padi field at night.  I remember having him as a guide many times to take us across the padi field in the late evenings to visit an aunt across the Sungai Baru riverlet. His other two siblings became teachers. I remember my parents relationship with the grandaunt-cum-aunt was one of most respect. Whenever we visited Sungai Baru dad never failed to visit this dear lady. In fact dad would visit all his sisters in Sungai Baru whenever he was there. He only had a brother in Sungai Baru. We visited him too until he built a new house up another hill,  further up. The route to his new house would take you on foot across meandering footpath through the rubber plantation that he tended. When it rained, the path became impassable. The visit there then became lesser as there was no way to take the car to his house.  Now there is already a road and there are many houses around there too. 

Another uncle, Abdul Rahman, had married a lady from Kuala Pilah, Negeri Sembilan and therefore, as is customary with the Minangkabaus of the place, settled there where his wife had a house. I remember dad taking us there once. As his family had grown up in Kuala Pilah we were not so familiar with them. After his wife’s demise he became much of a traveler of sorts, usually on his bicycle, they said. One fine day, he ended up in Sabah where he lived for a while and  expired. I am told that he might have a wife there as he had once told his son not to claim his EPF monies after his demise. 

I met his eldest son, my cousin, Bujang, which is really his nickname, for the first time when he came to visit us in Johore Bahru. It was after his Form 5, Senior Cambridge Examination. His frequent visits to Sungai Baru later on had succeeded in cementing better relationship with relatives there. I never know of his other siblings. I believe he had an elder uterine sister. Uncle took me to her house once when I was in College in Seremban. 

All I remember of Wo is he had white beard and moustache and put on a red fez with a black tassel that cascaded down on one side, like an Ottoman, whenever he went out. Some people said  that the way the fez was worn, whether sideways, over the forehead or on the back of the head, could indicate wealth or morals. Well, this may be so in the Ottoman Empire, but here I guess one  just put it on in any way comfortable.  He must have been a Tok Sidang, a minor official of the village once as he was often referred to as Sidang Omar. He and grandma Enchom lived in a typical wooden Malacca Malay house atop a little hill about a hundred meters away from the main road. It has a long verandah (anjung) in front and a bench in front of the wooden steps.  To get to the house dad had to park the car on the roadside and walked pass the compound of a cousin’s house, then up a simple gradiented foot-path. 

Whenever we went visiting in the evening, my brothers and I loved to play with the kerosene oil lamps used to illuminate kampong homes at night. I would take along the lamp everywhere. Hurricane lamps were also much in use. Both grandparents were already aged, so I would think lighting up the hurricane lamps would have been quite a challenge. But then their neighbors were all family members. They would drop by so often to check on them. 

Whenever we visited them, the other relatives would come and gather around. That was why dad would often stop by at the market first to buy fish and vegetables for cooking. My aunt would come over to help with the cooking. Once a while my mum would also help out though not often enough, perhaps to be in the good book of my uncle, so it seemed. This my mum told me was the reason why there had been an uneasy air between the two of them. Both grandparents however were supportive of her by insisting that they had not been in need of a cook when they married off dad. 

I liked to help out in the kitchen especially with maintaining the fire. I would blow through a hollow bamboo stick to aid the firing of the wood on the para. It is a kind of  “stove” in the form of a four-legged table with an earth-filled top. On it were sets of stone - three to a set to perch cooking pots, woks or kettle . Later they were replaced with metal tripod stands. For fire wood, chopped old rubber tree trunks or coconut shell were used depending on the nature of the cooking. 

I would look forward to bath time. It meant that I had to put on a sarong and with a towel in hand make a beeline down the foot-path for the well  was at the edge of a paddy field right across the main road. After bath I would fill up a pail with water to wash my feet later before entering the house. Needless to say that I must make sure that the pail had no leak to withstand the trek back.

The Betel Plant(Creeper)

Grandma ate sireh (betel leaves). A quid of sireh  consist of the betel leaf, betel nut  (pinang),  gambir and lime (kapur)  either all wrapped up in the leaf or for those lacking in masticating abilities, have it pounded in a gobek. .  I was ever ready to pound it in her gobek to make it softer to chew. The gobek was a six inches long copper sheath with along enough pounder with a knife edge at one end, much like a screw driver. A stick was used to push the content out. Sometimes we helped ourselves with a small portion of it but minus the  rest of the condiments. This way we would not get the bloody juice and bitter taste in the mouth, the cause of red teeth amongst old ladies those days. 

The Gobek

When we were once living in Kota Bharu, Kelantan, dad had bought Wo a plane ticket for him to accompany my elder brother, Kha to Kota Bahru during his schoolbreak. It was his first plane ride and from his beaming face we knew that he was mighty pleased and proud of it. He was not much of a talker but we just simply knew. We were told that there was such a farewell party sending him off at the Malacca Airport. Well , those days we only had the foker which made such a loud sound especially when the air hostess opened the door to the cockpit  The trick was to continuously suck sweets to assist with the equilibrium in the ears. I was told the captain had invited my brother into the cockpit. It was rather customary then when a young passenger was on board. I don't think they'd do it now.

Wo passed away when dad was serving in Ipoh. For some strange reason uncle had not sanctioned to wait for dad to arrive. Dad was very disappointed to arrive just minutes after the last lumps of earth over Wo‘s grave was placed. He cried as I had never seen him did before. 

As for grandma, she was a petite old lady of very few words. I have no recollection of her passing on.