Goodbye My Kampong

sewed all our curtains and our clothes, including my sisters’ and my panties, as we could not afford store-bought ones. She loved floral prints for the curtains because she said they made her feel that our humble attap hut was a garden. As money was limited, more often than not, instead of buying the fabric from the High Street shops, which were more expensive, she would buy a bolt from the vendors at Sungei Road. This market was called Thieves’ Market or Robinsons Petang, Afternoon Robinsons, to parody the posh department store where we could not afford to shop. The vendors lining their stalls along the Rochor River, which gave the place its Malay name, got their wares from secondhand dealers, or surplus production goods manufacturers. In some lean years, when Mak did not have enough cash to buy fabric for our clothes, she took down the previous year’s curtains to make our clothes out of them. The reasoning was that as the clothes were newly sewn, they could be considered new, thus fulfilling the Chinese New Year obligation. What it meant was that all of us siblings would be dressed in exactly the same fabric. Even Third Elder Brother’s shirt was made out of the floral fabric!

“If there’s some money left over, can I please buy panties from Metro?” I asked.

It had been such an old desire and dream of mine. Metro was the department store on High Street in town. I was 19 and I had never owned a pair of store-bought knickers. Though Mak was a good seamstress, sewing panties was an art she did not quite refine, so that my sisters and I ended up with badly fitted knickers which rucked up between our legs or over-exposed our groins.

“Metro too expensive,” Mak said, with a frown. “We’ll go to the Chinese Emporium to get you a pair lah.”

I was so excited! Store-bought panties! It was not the moon landing but it would be a mini-historic moment for me!

Two enterprising Teochew brothers came from Swatow; Lim Tow Seng in 1935, and later his younger brother, Lim Tow Yong, in 1940. They created Emporium Holdings and their niche department stores catered to the middle and low income population. In fact, their first flagship store was opposite Robinsons Department Store, where the majority of the populace could not afford to shop. Whether this was an intentional strategy or not was unclear. The brothers bought their goods, like singlets, undergarments, clothes, as well as basic necessities like pillows, bedsheets, blankets and towels from China, and sold them in what they named their Chinese Emporium. The popular, thin Good Morning towel, with the eponymous words in English and Chinese characters, was one of the products they imported. With a stroke of brilliance, Lim Tow Yong sited three of his department stores in the three Worlds of entertainment, Gay World, New World and Great World as that was where the ordinary folks would go for their leisure activities. Very rapidly, they became a huge success. The Emporiums also sold Chinese dry goods like dried mushrooms, herbs and bird’s nest, and canned items, like tinned abalone, luncheon meat, longans and lychees. It was the first time that ordinary locals could buy such luxury items.

Mak chose to take my sisters and me to the Chinese Emporium at Orchard Road with its entrance via Claymore Hill, walking distance from Lido Cinema, whilst Third Elder Brother looked after Robert. How an uneducated, illiterate woman could find her way about still puzzled me. After all, she could not read road or directional signs. I had wondered about that even as a small child, when I was about seven and she was dragging me from school to school to get me admitted in mid-term. My father had not approved of me getting an education since he said it would poison my mind. So, it was up to Mak to fund my schooling and to find a school for me. How on earth did a non-English speaking, illiterate woman manage to discuss my prospects with school principals? And yet she succeeded. I considered my mother a quiet heroine.

The Chinese Emporium store was located at the back of the International Building on Orchard Road, which was a two-way street at this point in time. We had to climb the slight slope of a hill and were pleasantly surprised when we stepped inside, as it was air-conditioned! The air was so cool, sliding over our skin luxuriously. This was our first delight. The second was to see the huge plethora of things, piled high in baskets and bins, on the floor and on counters. Everything had large Chinese characters written on them which I could not read, as I had failed Chinese miserably and had been transferred to a Malay class in Primary One. We felt we were in China, with the cool air, and leather and fur coats on display. Mak cautioned us that we didn’t have a lot of money, so we could look but not buy. But we were already happy enough with the experience of being there. We did not have very high expectations.

“Since it’s New Year, maybe we can buy one can of abalone…”

“What does abalone taste like?” I asked.

I could see that my question took Mak back to her halcyon days in Malacca, when her businessman father could afford to buy abalone regularly. She had that faraway look in her eyes momentarily. I admired her enormously. It is easier for a poor person to cope with becoming rich than for a wealthy person to cope with becoming poor. Yet Mak had remained regal, uncomplaining, and was always positive and smiling.

She never let on to our neighbours that she once had servants and that her only task in life had been to show them how to cook whilst she embroidered beaded Peranakan kasut manet or slippers, or played the piano and violin.

“It has a distinct taste and texture,” she said wistfully. “You will love it when