The pre-war houses I grew up in......

My pal Victor Koo waxed lyrical about the Clark Quay of yore in his blog and how the old Singapore River brings back fond memories for him, memories of precious relationships, and memories of teochew minced pork noodles sold in a coffee shop at the river.

Though we're almost 8 years apart, I realise Victor and I have something in common. We love to reflect on the pasts.

I grew up in the vicinity of Chinatown, in a small lane known as Club Street. So did my Dad who is in his mid-70s. We stayed in the pre-war houses, in what was called "wu jiao jie" in Chinese or "5-foot path" houses until the government decided to develop the area and resettled us in a HDB flat at Ubi Avenue. The house (the one with the red arrow in the pix; the blue arrow on the highest level was where my family of six lived) where we used to live has been preserved for its historical value. The whole stretch of Club Street has been converted into a street of pubs, restaurant and advertising agencies. I'm glad about the preservation but some of the other buildings and landmark worth preserving have not been spared - the National Theatre is one and more recently, the National Library.

Anyway, back to my childhood in Chinatown. Life was hard then, but simple. The extended family of my father, totaling about 30 people, young and old, lived under the same roof, together with hordes of annoying and irritating rats and cats. There were only two toilets and two kitchens, one each on both level of the house. With so many people, it was hard, if not impossible, to live in harmony. I remember the squabbles, the shouting and screaming among my relatives. My grandma, the matriarch, could not keep the family intact when she was alive. It was only after her death, that Dad and his siblings started talking to each other and to these days, they remain close. My grandma would have been so happy. But I couldn't help wondering how much happier she would have been had her children bury the hatchet while she was still alive....

I remember the good times too. The whole neighborhood would be bustling with activities whenever the various dialect clans organised a wayang show to appease the gods. That means at least 4 days of wayang show staged on man-made wooden stage. When the stage was up, kids like us in the neighbourhood would start pushing wooden crates from some of the sundry shops nearby, sticking them high in the front of the stage to "chop" the area for a good view. As the days wore on, stalls after stalls would line both sides of the streets selling food, such as Char Kway Teow, satay, and stalls selling toys, and offering games such as tikam tikam.

Though we were quite poor then, we were quite happy and contented with what we've got. For a mere 30 cents, my mum could buy a bowl of prawn noodle from a cart stall on our side of the street in the afternoon. Without fail, she would order a bowl each afternoon with the 30 cents she kept on top of the kitchen cabinet. Once, my sis and I stole the money and treated ourselves to some sweets bought from the "ah por" whose cart was much further down the road. Needless to say, Mum gave us a beating we never forgot upon discovering the theft.

I know my Dad is also full of memories for that house. He told me once to drive him to Club Street just so that he could take a look at the changes made to Club Street over the years ......