nostalgia – Winking at Life

I was dozing in my easy chair, when I suddenly smelt something familiar – a baking cake! What was it? Butter cake? Sugee cake? Fruit cake? Memories of preparations for Christmas flooded in. Mum would start the Christmas baking about the beginning of December, the second week of the Advent season. She would be baking into the early hours of the morning.

During the day we, kids would be hauled in to help out with mincing dried mixed fruit, raisins, preserved winter melon, cherries, almonds and everything else that needed mincing and cutting. Our Ah Ee (Aunty) who was our housekeeper and nanny, would be preparing and making the pineapple jam for the jam tarts. As she stirred the grated pineapple and sugar, over the hot stove, the smell of cinnamon and cloves would also emanate from the thick bubbling sweet mixture. When that was done, the baking would start in earnest.

Dad would take leave from work a week before Christmas, which was also during our school holidays. His job was to make the pastry for the jam tarts. Mum would pour in the ingredients following her recipe and Dad would mix them together and knead the dough. Mum was always very precise about the measurements of ingredients, as she wanted a perfectly consistent result.

We’d set up our jam tart ‘factory’ when the dough was ready. Each of us kids had a specific job. I often cut the pastry for the tart bases and the topping decorations. My sisters would be greasing the patty tins and filling in the jam and my brother would be managing the oven. Mum would be the supervisor and overseer of these proceedings. Those were the days when this was our pre-Christmas family activity. It was fun, haggling, shouting, playing with the dough and eating up the rejects that didn’t turn out right. There was, of course, the tasting, which was an excuse to eat some of the good ones before time, as many of the cakes and jam tarts would go to neighbours and friends first.

We always looked forward to the cake making in anticipation of being allowed to lick the spoon and bowl off remnants of raw cake mix, after the cake tins were filled and put into the oven to bake. The smell of baking cakes and tarts was the smell of Christmas!

It also evokes memories of ‘pau'(Chinese steamed buns) suppers after mid-night mass, which in the 1960’s and 70’s actually started at 10.00pm on Christmas eve and ended about 12.00am on Christmas morning with everyone wishing each other ” Merry Christmas!” after the service. It was a jolly time and we even smiled at and greeted people we didn’t know! This rarely happens nowadays when people often only greet the people they know or talk to. Some of the joy seems to have been lost over time, or perhaps as adults we have lost the wonder of childhood in our electronic and scientific less sociable virtual world.

One day I thought of “Sardine sandwiches” and remembered the taste of them. Tinned sardines, mashed in tomato sauce, mixed in with raw purple onion rings, a squeeze of lime sprinkled in, salt and pepper to taste. Perhaps with a bit of sliced red chillie thrown into the mix to give a spicy ‘kick’. Spread on buttered bread and sandwiched with a slice of fresh crunchy cucumber.

This evoked memories of sunny days at the beach, digging for clams at the water’s edge where the waves crashed in foamy dissolution with great sighs of relief. Splashing in the shallows, braving the wave swells into deeper water. Floating on my back, looking up into the wide sky and watching the sea kites and gulls winging overhead. Swimming further out and looking back at the land with its dark tree line. Sitting on an inner car tyre tube we used as a float. I was then small enough to find it a comfortable seat, just floating out and paddling with my hands and legs in the water to propel me in any direction I chose.

We took the public bus to the beach, a noisy, excited bunch of teenagers and children, so care free and happy to be alive. However well prepared we were with skin creams and oils, we always got sun-burned into various shades of brown, from the nut brown to the over-baked cake.

The aftermath of this wonderful time on a sunny beach in Batu Ferringh was felt a day or two later. With smarting burnt skin on face, neck, arms, legs and all areas exposed for hours to the sun. Lying down was painful, especially if our backs were sun-burned.

This symptom was treated with olive or gingerly oil, and various cold creams. Then came the ugly part. The burnt skin would start peeling off when the smarting subsided. We’d look like “lepers” with skin coming off our noses, shoulders, backs etc. leaving a two toned giraffe like effect on our skins for a few days. We would suffer then but go back for more when the school holidays came round again.

Waking from this reverie, my main complaint was that tinned sardines from supermarket shelves today are a far cry from the wonderful tinned sardines we used to enjoy. There’s less fish and too much tomato sauce to make up the stated weight of the product. They don’t make them like they used to!

Fewer families go on picnics by the sea nowadays. The sea is also polluted and many of the younger generation prefer virtual reality to the real McCoy. Sad isn’t it?