LWE Chapter 11: Year-end Reminisces 2

The importance of keeping in touch

My Mum was born in Hong Kong. Her mother was the daughter of a court interpreter, an educated man. My Por-por went to school, carried on the back of a servant girl, it seems.

When she’d grown up, she met and fell for the sweet-talk of my Kong-kong who was then a merchant seaman. She married him and had a daughter, my Mum.

They sailed to Malaya in 1929, when my Mum was 3. Por-por had been sold the idea that Kong-kong was a man of some means I think and so when she arrived along with chests full of classic Chinese literature, she was shocked to find the reality quite different from the sales pitch.

Still, she set about to run the home and take care of the ever expanding family as best she could. Por-por became ashamed of her lot in life, my Mum told me, and didn’t write back home much and eventually lost touch with her family. The war disrupted communications too and though they received a letter from the old village from someone claiming to be a relative, asking for money to rebuild, they didn’t get a reply to their request for more information and that was that.

Mum met Dad and they were married in 1950 and over the next 15 years had the 7 of us. Most of us went overseas to complete our studies. Just how my parents managed, I don’t know. Dad didn’t earn a lot, and neither did Mum. In a way, us being roughly 2 years apart (except for me and the brother before me - I was the accident child born 5 years after him) worked for us as the strain of getting us all educated on 2 government servants’ salaries was thus spaced out.

Margaret went off to do her nursing in London in 1969 and Joe went to Sydney 2 years later. As Margaret finished, finances loosened up a little and Tony could then study in London. And so it went on down the line.

I left for Australia in 1986 to take up permanent residence there. By this time most of my siblings were done with their education and were working, and I was fortunate to be able to work for a year and be supported by my eldest brother, Joe, who put me up in his house for that first year. I worked and saved enough to put myself through college for the following two years.

I remember a few things from when I left Malaysia in March 1986. One was my Mum telling me a number of times to write. Keep in touch, she said, and she mentioned how she wished Por-por had kept in touch with the relatives in China. By not doing so, they’d cast off and sailed away in more ways than one. As Mum grew up, their little nucleus was all their universe. The offspring of Augustin Wong and Leong Mei Yoke were their own little family, bereft of cousins and aunts and uncles. It would have been so different had they corresponded with those in China.

Dad was a man of fewer words than his schoolteacher wife, but he too told me to write. He also told me to be thrifty and save on the luxuries but never to stint on food. ‘Make sure you’re never hungry. Take care of your health. And if you need anything, you have your brother there and you have us here. Write, let us know how you’re doing and if you need anything.’

And that was their farewell.

And I wrote. I was lonely, of course, but even so, we’d grown up appreciating the value of correspondence. Even when young, I had written to Margaret and Joe and Tony (whom I was closest to, for some reason) and we all eagerly awaited their letters and read them more than once.

So as I settled in to life down under, I wrote to friends and relatives. Aerogrammes were cheap but their front-and-back structure was simply inadequate for my loquacity and so I wrote sheets and sheets on Onion Skin instead, to 2 or 3 people a week. And though as I settled more and my correspondence tapered off a little, I never stopped.

Writing to keep in touch is still very important to me. I have kept many of the letters I received. I have letters from my mother telling me about what was going on in her newly-retired life, or the dog at home, or her worries about my brothers and sisters.

Late in 1986, I even received a letter from my father, neatly typewritten, detailing a reply to my request for him to help me check prices for a flash for my camera (they were cheaper in KL and a cousin would bring it over).  He reminded me to make sure I was eating enough…

Mr brothers and sisters wrote too, each in their own style, all appreciated greatly to this day.

I think though, one card I received from a friend sums it all up quite nicely. I had arrived in Sydney early one morning and was met at the airport by Joe. He drove us back to his house - and my new home for the next year - in Drummoyne and I looked out at all the unfamiliar streets, signs, cars, buildings whizzing by... We finally arrived and he parked on the street in front of a single-storey red-brick house with a little gate you could almost just step over at the front. I walked in after him then paused at the door and asked in the most Malaysian of ways ‘Err, Joe, where do I put my shoes?’

‘In your room’ he replied, a little surprised I had asked. And then added ‘Oh, yeah we walk in with our shoes. And oh, you have a letter’ and picked up a beige envelope lying on the sideboard and passed it to me.

‘Who on earth?…’ I thought as I put my things down and opened the envelope. Inside was a card filled with words from a very dear friend, Yuen Mei, whom I had kept in touch with regularly. She had just graduated and would be leaving Melbourne for home in Malaysia in a couple of weeks. She wrote to me to say she hoped I was settling in better than she did in her first few months. And she remembered how lost she felt and then thought that it would be so nice if I, on my first day in a new and bewildering environment, would have something familiar to greet me - a letter from a friend.

It remains one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me and I still have that card. I’m so glad she kept in touch.

Now with our instant communication, it saddens me that so many of us forget how precious a few words of greetings can be. In an age when it takes such little effort to ask after someone, or to send a note telling a loved one how your day went, it seems we now find it harder to correspond than 30 years ago when I wrote in long hand, on Onion Skin paper, put it all in an envelope and addressed it, affixed a few stamps and walked down the road to stick it in a letter box. Those words, carrying all my thoughts and feelings would take days to get to their destination and a reply would take a similar time to arrive.

But when it did, I’d devour it, then savour it a second time. They weren’t just words. They were a person’s most intimate thoughts, ideas, feelings. They were a connection, and a way of expressing ‘I care for you, my son/brother/cousin/friend…’

And though now WhatsApp and emails have replaced Onion Skin and video calls are so easy to make, I still regularly make the effort. I keep in touch. Like Mum and Dad always told me to.

LWE Chapter 10: Year-end Reminisces #1

Pedal Café Lessons

On this day in 2014, we opened Pedal Café to the public for the first time.

Over the next one and three-quarter years, we learnt a lot and though the journey ultimately ended, it was an experience rich with blessings and rewards.

We made mistakes along the way and struggled with some tough issues. We had to deal with the darker side of humanity in some ways and simple corporate selfishness and narrow-mindedness in others - we endured staff who cheated, friends who reneged on promises, a property developer who practiced questionable ethics and more. We came through it with our hearts and souls very much intact, even if the business ultimately had the shutters pulled down permanently.

Part of the reason the journey was so meaningful and enriching was because we enjoyed the company of some really nice people who started as customers and became friends.

We were also fortunate to have some very good suppliers who understood the concept of partnership and who continue to engage with us as we start new journeys.

So right now, as we prepare for another year, I’d like to indulge in a little reminiscing and look back to this time 4 years ago and thank some of the people who made that journey especially good and meaningful.

Johann: whose idea it was back when we ran Chronicle People in SIngapore, to run a bicycle-themed cafe. And who then began all the calculations that made us think it was viable.

Joe Nathan who sat with us as we prepared for the opening, stringing wires into my bicycle rim lights and putting together Ikea furniture.

Choy Yoong, my dear cousin who was drafted in on her holiday to Penang, to run around and do things like pick up a bottle of mustard on her way to Balik Pulau by bus from Georgetown.

Debbie and Hannes, two of my most special and enduring friends who made it a point to come up for my exhibition in 2013 which laid the foundation for the idea to move up to Penang. And who then made it a point to come for the opening day and were indeed our very first customers.

Eric, Bryan, David, Joanne, Jeffrey, Wei Yen, Mei, who formed the partnership and made it possible.

Jeremy Chan and Solomon. It was Jeremy who first gave me 2 hours of his time to talk about coffee to this tea drinker. He began my education in coffee and was indeed the one who suggested we do drip brewed (pour-over) coffee, something that other places in Penang have now emulated. Solomon made it a point to continue my education and the education of some of our staff.

Julie, who did two things that were very special - she made the famous Pedal Cafe licence plate as a gift, and she donated books which became our little community library, Angels' Project.

Patsy, who has never ceased supporting whatever I do, whether it was to cycle through Malaysia and write about it, or to do a photography exhibition in Penang, or to open a cafe.

Lusy, who, despite being served a cold pie on her first visit, stayed on to be a loyal customer, friend, mural-painter, band-finder and more.

It was cool while it lasted and will forever be a reminder of two things:
You can start some pretty darned amazing things that you may have thought were beyond you.
You can then let go of those things and move on when you need to.

#BringOn2019

LWE Chapter 9: My Dad could be a Badass

I first published this on Facebook in 2017 but as it’s Father’s Day I thought it’d be nice to republish it here.

Is your Dad a real badass?

My Dad never really lost his cool in public - or even at home as far as I can remember. There was one time, however, when I thought he came close but ended up doing something so cool I've never forgotten it.

It was a holiday period and my brothers were in town from overseas. We went for a walk to my Uncle's nearby, and spotted some coconuts trees growing by the drain outside someone's compound. We used to have our own tree in the garden and as my brother Joe had not had any in some time, we decided to come back later to pluck some.

Which we did.

Midway through our chopping away, a voice called out from the house 'What do you boys think you're doing?'

Cheongs are Cheongs, whether they've lived in Australia, England or Malaysia and so my brother, parang in one hand and a coconut in the other, calmly replied 'Chopping down coconuts.'

The lady of that house then launched into a tirade, accusing us of stealing, etc etc. We protested, saying the trees were on no man's land as it were. She said that land was hers and it was no business of ours whether she wanted to put a fence up there or not.

We offered to return the coconuts but she refused, saying she'd make sure we got in trouble, so we said 'Ok then.' took the coconuts and left.

Early the next morning that lady's husband came calling at our gate. It must have been 7am and he'd driven around the neighbourhood just looking for the car his wife had seen us drive off in. It was my aunt's car and was parked in our driveway so he came to complain to my dad, and he did so in a loud, boastful and arrogant manner.

My Dad explained that his sons (us) had not known it was his property, and had even offered to return the coconuts, but this chap went on and on. Dad listened then said, 'look, they're here from overseas and are returning later today, so let's not make a fuss OK?'

To which Arrogant Man said 'Overseas? If I'd known I would have called the authorities to stop them from flying off today!'

That was it. My Dad, calm as ever said 'OK. Do what you want. But right now you are standing on MY property. Please leave immediately or I shall call the police.'

And that was it. Boastful Man left immediately, matter never went beyond that, we still talk about the day we stole coconuts from Loud Man's compound.

I, alas, lack my father's equanimity. I think I take after Mum more.

Or Attila the Hun.

[Pic of coconut from https://www.istockphoto.com/my/photo/green-fresh-coconut-peeling-gm505065330-83486477]

LWE Chapter 8: The White Moth cometh

Here's a spiritual story I'd like to share with you.

Dad passed away in 1988. He had lung cancer and the downhill run took only 3 months from diagnosis until the finish line.

During that time, he and my Mum were in touch with their good friends in Penang, Johnny Cardosa and his wife, Yee Hah. Johnny was a cancer survivor and was actively helping with a cancer society, so when he heard my Dad had cancer, he made sure to keep in constant contact with his old friend.

My Dad passed away early on the morning of 30th April 1988, flanked by Mum and my sister and her husband and my brother. When the rest of us heard the news, we all bought our air tickets or filled our petrol tanks, packed our bags and got back to the family home as quickly as we could. I flew back from Australia with my brother Joe.

A little later that morning, Mum received a call from Johnny who said quietly ‘Mary, I had a dream about Pak Yik last night, and in my dream he appeared to me and said “Johnny, I’m happy now”. So I thought I’d better call you to suggest you prepare for the worst.’

‘But you don’t understand, Johnny,’ Mum replied. ‘Pak Yik passed away a short while ago…’

If you're really happy, let me know.

Dad’s body lay in a coffin in our living room that night and as is the custom with Catholic families, the neighbourhood church group - the BEC - gathered, along with family and friends, to run through a prayer service. We had all arrived by that time, I think, and after everyone had gone, we eventually settled down in the house to rest. Some of us indeed slept in the hall near Dad. Bear in mind there are 7 of us so you can imagine that our house was rather packed.

Late that night, Mum, who couldn’t find the comfort of sleep, came out from her bedroom and into the hall. She sat quietly among us, rosary in one hand, silently praying. 

In her prayers she said to Dad ‘if you’re really happy, please don’t go around telling others. Let me know directly instead.’

The Chinese have a belief that a white moth is the spirit of a deceased one. And a short while after Mum prayed those words, a white moth flitted into the hall from the dark night outside. Mum saw it and followed it with her eyes as it flew around the casket, then flitted around each of our slumbering selves in turn before settling on the floor next to Mum.

Reassured and suddenly very tired, she fell asleep in the chair. 

The next day, she told us about this moth and at first, as is the Cheong way, we responded with skepticism and some downplaying. Still, Mum was convinced it was a sign.

No one really believed the story of the white moth

Nightly prayers are often conducted for a week straight - from the first day the body returns to the home until after the funeral. So on the second evening, everyone gathered again and Mum told a few about the previous night’s visitor. Patient and comforting though slightly disbelieving smiles were the most common response though no one outright pooh-poohed her story.

And soon they would have no reason too, for for the second night in a row, a white moth appeared as we all went through the prayer service.

This one did the same as the one before, or was it the same moth? It flew around each of us, the casket, and Mum, before flying up to the ceiling where it clung.

‘You see it? You see it?’ Mum whispered to all of us. 

‘Yes, Mum’ we nodded back. And so as prayers went on, that moth stayed put. And then, suddenly, one of the many house lizards that roamed our walls and ceilings put in an appearance. It spied this delectable morsel and crawled towards the moth in little bursts of speed. 

With each advance, Mum grew more anxious… ‘Aiyoh…’ was in her eyes, and on her lips. And well, to be honest, we were by this time all transfixed upon this mounting drama unfolding 10 feet above the murmuring prayers.

The lizard finally reached the moth which amazingly still stayed put. It sniffed the moth a bit and as Mum watched anxiously, it suddenly turned around and scurried off. Uninterested in dinner, it seemed, much to Mum’s relief.

The moth survived the night and by the next morning had flown off somewhere.

On the third night, as we prayed, who do you think put in an appearance? Yes, another (or was it the same one) white moth.

One white moth a month is already fairly unusual. 3 on 3 consecutive nights is beyond belief. And on each night, for it to be left alone by predators raises eyebrows ceiling-high.

Make that 4 in 4. For on the fourth night, it came again. And the lizard left it alone yet again. Oh wait, 5 in 5. Yes, 5 nights in a row, we had a white moth visitor.

On this 5th night, though, something else happened. This time, the lizards gathered more menacingly and as we watched anxiously, this time the end was different. The lizard came, sniffed… and chomped. 

‘Ayoh!’ Mum exclaimed. And I think we all gasped too. Prayers continued, then a few minutes later, something happened that raised all the hairs on our necks a little skyward.

For the second time that night, a white moth flew in. A second white moth. In one night.

Chomp!

Prayers were automatic at this time, led unhesitatingly by (if I remember correctly) my uncle Albert Rozario who had his eyes closed as he recited the Our Fathers and Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s… The rest of us? We had eyes only for the moth as it flew around us then settled on the ceiling.

Chomp!

The lizards were fast making up for their earlier fasting, it seemed.

And then…. a third white moth of the night came in. The lizards were, by this time, satiated, so this fella survived to fly another night.

And so, for the rest of the prayers, we had a white moth for company.

What do we make of this? Well, I am neither very Chinese (more a Banana than a Cantonese, as I tell people) nor very religious. And I am quite removed from knowledge and practice of Chinese customs and traditions.

But I am convinced the moths were a visual message of reassurance, the answer to Mum’s request of Dad. ‘Let me know…’ she’d asked of him. And so he did, using a device he was more familiar with than I was, but one we all could understand.

Dad died too soon. Just shy of his 65th birthday, he’d finally retired and was looking forward to spending even more time tending his plants and going fishing. He and Mum would have been able to do things with a freedom they’d not quite had before. 

It’s good that even beyond his earthly existence, he found some way to still keep in touch and let us know he was watching over us.

[picture of moth from: http://bristolwood.net/2012/05/26/quite-the-collection]

LWE Chapter 7: Bar Tales #3

A pub with no name

Singapore called. Well, a guy I’d done freelance work for in Singapore called. Said he’d left the PR firm where he’d been working when I freelanced for him when I first got back from Australia in ‘88, and was now on his own. Would I like to work for him? At that point, my best friend, Gan, was living in Singapore and I had had quite enough of working for the altitudinally-challenged emperor-wannabe at McCann so I said ‘yes’ and right at the end of ‘89 I found myself in Singapore.

Within a few years, I was married and even became a father. During this time I used to hang out at a pub within a restaurant along Orchard Road. The pub itself had no name (though it was sometimes referred to as The Cellar even though there was no signage bearing that name as far as I recall) - it simply sat beside the Jack’s Place Restaurant and might even have been the only entertainment venue that that F&B group ever managed.

And a band with no name...

We simply called it Jack’s Place when we needed to name it and it was in the basement of Yen San Building along Orchard Road. Besides the pub not having a name, it also had a band that didn’t have a name! Terry Mortimer, Hans Vernie and Philip Teo sang together, usually under the moniker ‘Terry, Hans and Philip’ though that wasn’t really the band’s name. Every now and then there’d be a joke and a half-hearted attempt to name the band, but nothing came of it.

Like I did at Rennie’s, I used to hang out there quite a lot at some point. Jack’s Place was completely different though - it had live music for one thing, and lots of people coming in an out. A much busier and noisier place than Rennie’s which didn’t even have piped music if I remember correctly. To get to Jack’s Place, you walked down a set of stairs and turned left into a short corridor. To the right was the restaurant and to the left the entrance to the pub.  The pub had, like most other pubs, subdued lighting. A large central bar faced you when you walked in the door. Some seats ringed the bar, and more tables and chairs were to your right, between the bar and the stage. On the left of the stage was another seating area.

The place was just right for me as I started a new chapter in Singapore. The music was great and the ambience likewise. And the pubgoers who came in groups, kinda knew each other as well. My own group - Gan, my then-girlfriend Jessica, Andrew Chan (who used to phone me at Rennie’s) and one or two others used to go regularly. We got quite close to the band, to William the bartender, and to the waiting staff, many of whom had worked for Jack’s Place for some time.

This picture ©SPH via NLB and is part of an article published in the Straits Times on 18 August 1989. The article can be accessed at the link below.

Jack Daniels at Jack's Place

William poured a mean JDCoke (Jack Daniels + Coke for those unfamiliar with rocket fuel terminology). Thinking back now, perhaps some cosmic influence dictated that my favourite drink at my favourite watering hole of the late 80s and early 90s would share the same first name…  

The band would start playing around 9 (I think) and played a lot of 70s and 80s stuff. They were good musicians - make no mistake about that. I reckon Terry Mortimer is one of Singapore’s best bassists. He had pedigree too, having been part of the contest-winning trio Tony and Terry with Spencer. Hans played lead guitar and usually did all the other fandanglingly stuff with diskettes (remember those?) and drum beats etc, on some machine, and he sang. Really well. He also loved to talk about new age stuff and would often mention Shirley MacLaine… Philip Teo played guitar and sang as well, sometimes in a falsetto even. They served up a lot of rock and roll, some britpop, some 70s classics and more. There was music from America, The Eagles, Kansas, Alan Parsons Project, CCR, The Beatles... Much of it we could sing along to, most of it we preferred to let the pros do it. And they did it well. 

A year or so later, when Jessica and I were preparing to get married, we met Nigel Tan and his fiancée Anna at a marriage preparation course we all attended. Turns out Nigel was also a frequent customer at Jack’s Place and he and his bunch of friends used to sit on the left of the stage. We knew there was a bunch of guys there often though we hadn’t introduced ourselves. But finally became friends - lifelong friends as it turned out.

Nothing much happened here, someone said.

Someone once said that nothing much happened at this pub without a name. Well, perhaps - I never saw a fight, for one thing. I never saw someone pass out drunk. I also never saw an unhappy face. So what did I see?

I saw friends having a good time. I saw staff whom we knew by name and who knew our favourite drinks so much so that we never even had to order a drink - it would arrive at our table when we came in. I saw a bunch of musicians who played with talent and heart and who gave us hours of entertainment. I saw guys and girls singing along with the band and feeling darned good. In fact, I think that, contrary to what that fellow said, quite a bit actually happened at Jack’s Place. 

Like many good things though, it all came to an end eventually. Jack’s Place decided they didn’t want to run a pub anymore so took back the space to expand the restaurant.

The band moved on to Europa at International Plaza and some of us went with them - including William the bartender. I walked in for the first time there, and waved to that familiar face behind the bar. I found myself a table and scarcely had I put my book down (yes, some habits die hard) when the waitress brought me a JDCoke. ‘What’s this?’ I asked ‘I haven’t ordered yet…’

She replied ‘JDCoke. William saw you walk in and asked me to serve you this.’

Those were the days…

Note: The article referenced above is available at:
http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/newspapers/Digitised/Article/straitstimes19890818-1.2.77.3.1?ST=1&AT=search&k=%22Hans%20Vernie%22&QT=%22hansvernie%22&oref=article

LWE Chapter 6: Bar Tales #2

From a Hungry Go Where review - see below for link

Contrary to popular belief, pubs and bars are not places where you get drunk, behave boorishly, get into fights, pick up girls or whatnots. Pubs are places where you have a quiet little makan, where you read books on spirituality or new age thinking, where you have deep philosophical conversations with your closest friends, and where you receive phone calls from schoolmates living 400km away… Well, OK, maybe not all people or pubs, but for me, Rennie’s was this.

In those days, my daily routine was simple - an early start at McCann (I would get in around 6 - 6:30 in the morning) then work until about 6 or 7, go home for dinner then after a short rest, off to Rennie’s, usually armed with a book. On the days when Existential Crisis dogged me, I would often ring Yew Leong and Michael and we’d meet for a beer and a chat. And often, Oxtail Soup too. There were others I would meet up with, but this was the regular group I had.

I would go to Rennie’s maybe 3-4 times a week and each time stay until midnight or so then head home for a 5 hour nap before repeating the process the next day. I have, fortunately, never needed much sleep and 5-6 hours a night has often sufficed.

I wasn’t very close to Rennie and Trudy and preferred to sit quietly in the back portion of the pub. There was a bubbly waitress/cashier named Rose whom I did get along with. She was a diminutive thing, often partially hidden behind the L shaped bar counter, but she would often call out a greeting when I arrived and that was nice. There was also a waiter named Zul I believe (or was it ‘Joe’? My memory fails me) who will feature in anther story soon.

The Phone Call Thing.

It was not uncommon to receive phone calls at the pub and I was one of those who’d sometimes have my name shouted out a few moments after the jangling of the phone. No modern technology? Hey, we got by…

One of my oldest friends is Andrew Chan who then lived and worked in SIngapore. One night as I sauntered in, book in hand, Rose looked up and immediately called out ‘Hi, John! Your friend Andrew called from Singapore. I told him to call back at 10:30!’

‘Thanks, Rose!’ I called back and as I walked in past and acknowledged the regulars who preferred the front portion of the pub, I glanced at my watch. It was almost precisely 10:30…

Even I had not realised my routine was quite so fixed or obvious that the waitress in my local pub knew of my comings and goings...

The Ming Thing

Besides work, Yew Leong, Michael and I often lamented the lack of female companionship in our lives. Typical young-guy stuff lah. One night, we were sitting at our usual place, bemoaning our lot, when suddenly Yew Leong said ‘Hey there’s a good looking chick sitting at the bar!’ Now as I said, the bar is an L-shaped thing. The long part of the counter was parallel to the wall and the short part of the L had its back to the inside part of the pub, which is where we usually were. The wall between the two had a large aperture in it which in later years was covered with a clear perspex window. Back then it was a unrestricted opening. Just at the curve of the bar sat an Anchor Beer barrel, a decorative item that right then, obscured the sight of this goddess from me. Both Michael and Yew Leong could see her but her beauty was elusive to me, without any obvious craning or standing up.

Instead I summoned Zul who was leaning against the wall at the end of the bar. He immediately popped through the open doorway into the back and came to us. We got on very well with Zul so I chose to jestingly berate him. ‘Zul, how can you do this to us?…’

The poor guy looked genuinely shocked and asked ‘What happened, guys? What’s wrong?’

I looked at him in mock sterness and replied ‘There’s this beautiful chick sitting by herself at the bar, and you know the three of us guys are lonely, and you don’t even introduce her to us? How can?…’

Zul visibly relaxed and said she used to come to Rennie’s every now and then and he would introduce her. And he did. And that’s how I came to meet Kuan Ming Ying, or Ming, as she introduced herself when Zul dragged her to us.

It’s been close to 30 years since that meeting and I can’t even remember her face now, though I do know the guys weren’t wrong in their initial description. She worked for Schering, the pharma company and we stood around chatting for a short while. I did call her a day or two later. And we went out for dinner and drinks. And then again the day after. And the day after that… And almost every day for the next 2 weeks, in fact. Each night was a wonderful few hours of eating, drinking, chatting, laughing, joking and connecting. 

It was on the 2nd date I think that she said she was actually leaving to go overseas at the end of the the following week. She’d been transferred to the Berlin office. And so we went out every night, kind of to make up for the fact that we’d only had that short period of time before she left. 

We talked about life, the weniverse and everything. We talked about her work (contraceptive products, mainly), my work (trying to be subservient to a head with Napoleon-Syndrome - and failing), the world, Richard Bach, destiny, fate, who God is, where we go after we leave this life, and more. It seems we could go on and on for hours and not be bored. And yet we had that travel date looming over us.

And so I saw her off at the airport the next week, we wrote each other for awhile and I know she eventually hooked up with someone, and I eventually left McCann and went to work in Singapore. 

And I never saw her again.

From a Hungry Go Where review. See below for link.

The Lat Thing

A few years later, I was in PJ again with my (now-ex) wife, Jessica, and we popped in to Rennie’s for some Oxtail Soup and beer. There were only a few other people in the pub at the time and lo and behold, one of them was Lat! The world-famous cartoonist, whose work I absolutely adore, was sitting at the bar with another man having some drinks and a quiet chat.

I explained who it was to Jessica and we agreed an autograph would be essential so we wandered over and interrupted him.

‘Err… sorry. Excuse me for the interruption, but we saw you and we’re huge fans (a little exaggeration was in order I thought) and I wonder if we could impose on you for an autograph, please?’

Lat and his friend both smiled at us, not at all put out by the interruption. Lat chuckled and said ‘Oh, fans! ha ha OK sure…’ and reached for a paper napkin. He borrowed a pen, then looked at me with a glint in his eye and said ‘I’ll only charge you one ringgit…’

I replied with a laugh ‘Oh my wife has come all the way from Singapore you know…’

Without skipping a beat, Lat said ‘Singapore? Oh then it’ll be TWO ringgit!’

And we all had a merry laugh as he sketched out a little Mamat for us on that napkin. And no, I didn't have to pay a thing...

I kept that napkin for years, and hope it’s still with me. Years of shifting houses and the divorce has meant some stuff may now be hidden somewhere or even left behind so I’m not sure it is still in amongst my piles of mementoes. I’ll probably check for it when I have some free time. It’ll be a little yellowed, I’m sure, but the memory of that short encounter is still very much with me.

I have a few more memories of Rennie’s to share and maybe will compile them into another post. Whether I do or not though, those memories remain within me and the sharp edge of the pub’s closing cuts a painful tear in those memories. Not blood, but tears, almost, pour out from the wounds. As I said at the start, pubs are not just about beer and whisky, they’re about friendships, conversations, growing up, growing closer, even growing apart. Rennie’s was this and more. I shall miss it.

Pictures above taken from: http://www.hungrygowhere.my/dining-guide/tried-and-tested/best-oxtail-soup-in-the-state-rennie-s-house-of-oxtail-pj-*aid-4f803101/

LWE Chapter 5: Bar Tales #1

I went for a cup of coffee a couple of days ago and walked past an old haunt of mine. In the late 80s, when I still worked in KL, I used to hang out at a pub near my home - Rennie’s House of Oxtail. Yes it was a pub, and yes it served the most amazing Oxtail Soup. 

A quiet, dingy place, frequented by newspaper types, it was a great place for me to have a beer (RM3.10 in those days!), grab a bite (Sambal Sandwiches were really nice and spicy, and the Oxtail was heavenly), do some reading or catch up with friends.

As a young, insecure and not-especially-talented bigmouth in advertising, I used to meet up with some friends sometimes, just to blow some steam or to cry on each others’ shoulders. In those days in KL I used to be close to a couple of guys, one of whom was Yew Leong, who went on to amazing things with LeoBurnett and who of course, married Yasmin Ahmad. He is an amazing talent who deserves all the accolades he’s received and continues to receive.

Another friend I hung out with was Michael Choo who was in IT and he and I shared a passion for Macintosh computers. It was in fact the Mac that was the focus of my work at McCann-Erickson at that time.

And it was my work and the people I didn’t enjoy working with there which was often the focus of my discontent.

So on the days that I felt a mismatch - and this was a frequent occurrence - with my work environment or the world in general, I would often give these two guys a call and we’d meet at Rennie’s, have a few beers, lament the stresses and unhappiness of our lot and talk about our dream jobs. Yew Leong’s was to sell fish. I thought the life of a security guard would be better suited to me… No worries, no stress, just bliss. Or so it seemed.

When I felt a mismatch with the world, I wanted to be a security guard and Yew Leong wanted to sell fish.

To be fair, there were many days I felt all was right with the world and in those pre-mobile phone and pre-internet days, I often turned up at Rennie’s with a book in one hand and sat in the inside section where it was quieter, had my beer and whatever makan, and did some quiet reading.

Rennie’s was eponymously named after Rennie Klaassen. I didn’t know him well though we did exchange a few words every now and then. He passed on some years ago and his widow, Trudy, continued to serve up good Oxtail Stew and nice cold beers for some time. She passed away last year and we had hopes their son might continue the business…

And so as I parked the car just in front of Rennie’s on the way to the coffee place just a few doors up to meet with my old friends Debbie and Hannes, I had a close look at Rennie’s and noticed a couple of things. The sign that hung at an angle near the front door was gone. There was a ‘For Sale’ banner hung at the first floor though whether that was for the upstairs unit or not was not certain. So as Mei and I stepped onto the five foot way, I was looking for more telltale signs that would reveal if my old almost-daily haunt was still operating.

And I pulled on that door knob for the last time and peeked inside...

Some binging and banging from inside filled me with dread. The door was unlocked and I pulled on the door knob like I had done countless times in the past. The scene that met my eyes confirmed my fears - the place was gutted, the tables and chairs all gone. The signs on the walls had disappeared and 3 young chaps were poking and jabbing at the false ceiling, making it fall in pieces onto a growing pile on the floor.

Turns out they’d taken over and this was to be an Italian restaurant. ‘Come and support us, yah?’ one of them called to me as I slowly closed the door. I smiled at him but as the door shut on Rennie’s for the last time for me, my mind was silently saying ‘Hell, no.’

Not that I wished ill for their business. Being in F&B, I actually hope very much that new ventures are successful. It’s just that for me this space would forever be Rennie’s. I could not walk in and not remember the signs behind the bar, the staff who knew me by name, the same faces on many days of the week, driving home after a few hours, feeling a little refreshed or rejuvenated, with a little more hope for a better day on the morrow.

This place just has too many memories and I will forever hear the echoes of them if I sat down to a dinner of pasta and prosecco. 

Photo from TimeOut.

Photo from CiliSos.

I’ll share some of those memories here soon, and maybe if you’ve never been a patron of the place, you’ll then have a better idea of why the closing means what it means to me.

Note: A few weeks before this, my favourite pub of my Singapore years also closed. I’ll write about that separately.