My Longkang

I read on quachee’s blog on a contest for bloggers - the theme is love for the country. I would like to share that many of the younger generation take it for granted that our country is an independent nation. Appreciate it or not – our country is free of the yoke of colonization.

Many have forgotten our country was once ruled by among others the British and the Japanese. We have to love our country for it is all we have. Try bringing your passport to other countries and start applying for PR and you will find it is a next to impossible task for most Malaysians.

Today I have recycled a long ago story to share with you a story about how it was during the Japanese occupation for one individual, Ah San. He loved the country. His best friends were literally Singh, Omar and Bakar. They were the young generation during the independence struggle era. He never failed to exercise his right to vote until his health and old age failed him..

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I just want to comment that my world war ll stories has been getting me feedback from readers and has piqued interests especially from the west and also Penang based readers. The latest inquiries from endroog. I just want to categorically state that the main story line is itself historically correct and accurate including most of the dialogue.
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This is the conclusion of Ah San stories. To get the flow it is recommended that you start from the first story - stories category :World War 2:Part 1 - 3, then After the execution 1-3 ). Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense.

Pic courtesy of www.hbp.usm.my/conservation/imagesJPG

Just some kopitiam stories from Bengbeng here. Read only if you have leisure time

Conclusion :

Just one more, another, another. Ah San thought to himself as he nailed clogs to be sold. But his heart wasn’t in it. “How am I going to find the money for marriage?” He knew he had a tough task ahead. Read more »

A continuation :

There were lots of stuff going on in Penang at that time. According to Ah San, many people were going to the New World Park. It was air-conditioned and the people were amazed that it could be winter in Penang. The populace used to go to cool off as well as enjoy themselves. It was like a never-ending fun-fair.

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There was optimism in the air. The Japanese were no longer in control. The British were back. The people of Penang generally did not gripe much. They were just relieved the war was over.

For Ah San, it was a time of opportunity. Every day was a day of opportunity to earn money. After a hard day’s work selling clogs, he would don the one shirt that he had and take a walk in the evenings…along present day Penang Road to Sri Bahari Road junction. It was a time to ’see and be seen’. Most of the time he would be wearing a white singlet and big baggy pants which reach just below the knee.

The highlight of his life was when he had a little taste of heaven. Ice shavings shaped and crushed to form a ball and then black and red syrup poured over it. It was absolutely delicious. For a little more money, Ah Pek would put crushed red beans into the ice balls. Ah………simply wonderful. Of course the hands would get sticky as the ice melts, but no body cared. Every body loved an ice ball. I would like to describe it as a precursor of the ice kacang that we eat today.

He was happy as he had never been before. He was financially independent. He could even afford a plate of ‘sar hor fun‘ if he wished : a plate of deep fried flat noodles soaked in a clear soup with pork pieces and vegetables and green chillies. Come on, if a friend asked him to, he could afford to treat a friend to red bean soup at the stall in Sua Tau Kei…..Ah San was contented.

To save time, he ran about whenever he could. To move around in a trishaw would be desirable of course but very expensive. He used to look at the ladies traveling in trishaws behind veiled curtains and knew his prospects were poor. He did not dream about owning a bicycle…only the loaded could afford a bicycle.

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A continuation from Part 3

It was about 2 a.m. when Ah San finally reached his home. He remembered he was so afraid he stained his trousers as he waited for nightfall to come before he dared move. After that he waited some more.

The execution!

He could hardly breathe but he clung on to life. Even when the Japanese soldiers were prodding the victims he grit his teeth and pretended to be dead.

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(Illustration borrowed from http://www.sendai-shi.com/don_hammel/a_peddler.htm)

Ah San remembered walking together with a group of men and women along Jalan Datuk Keramat. He remembered crying, begging, pleading to be released. Many men and women were openly crying and wailing too. It all seemed so hopeless. Many people saw this curious procession as they walked to what is today called Jalan Batu Gantung.

He told me he was once at a friend’s flat at F Block Rifle Range Flats and looked down from the balcony and became choked with emotion. From this , I presume the site is visible from F Block Rifle Range Flats or in its immediate vicinity.

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At The Japanese School

It was lessons the whole morning. The language of instruction was Japanese. The teachers were soldiers or so it seemed to Ah San. I cannot verify the truth. I only have Ah San’s tale. They were good. They enforced discipline. No one dared to steal.

The Japanese expected the boys to live a very regimented life. The Japanese expected the same of themselves. Ah San said the Japanese soldiers were very particular about ‘face’. Each time the students saw them they had to bow or be given a blow or kicked.

He recalled an incident where a soldier who had committed an infraction was asked to kill himself With a sword.

The soldiers were not happy to be in the school as it was a humiliation to be there and not on the battle fields. As time went on, the soldiers started to trust the boys more.

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I first met this old uncle when he was selling second hand books and bric-bracs An interesting enough character. Well dressed in a pressed long sleeved shirt, he did not seem the type to be sitting along the roadside selling nothing.

After watching him for a while, I went over to talk to him. On some days, he sold nothing, he said. At least 70 years old, he still bore glimpses of being a handsome man. He was charming and spoke a smattering of English words, which led me to believe he was an educated man.

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