“Shushhhhhhh... Ba will hear!” the hissed command slices through the silence blanketing the vast inner courtyard of the house. Somewhere in the spacious kitchen at the back, the incessant pounding of belachan continues unabated. You know it’s belachan because there’s a slight whiff of it wafting in the air.
“But... he’s not here!” a plaintive wail from a tiny voice shoots back in response, causing a riotous peal of childish laughter to ensue. And just like that, efforts at restraint are abandoned as one by one, the children begin to wheel their bicycles with gay abandon around the courtyard air well that’s bathed in a golden shimmer from the sunlight filtering in from an opening in the roof.
With eight children in this magnificent homestead, including family members as well as numerous household help, it was inevitable that house no: 48 and 50, home to four generations of a Peranakan Chinese family, located on Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock (formerly Heeren Street and also known as ‘Millionaire’s Row) in Melaka would always be full of life. The walls would reverberate with the lively chatter and laughter of members of the Chan family who resided here before and after World War II. The servants meanwhile, had their quarters at house number 52.
Today, the family’s lavish home, built by Baba Chan Cheng Siew (1865-1919) in 1896 and comprising a combination of three terraced lots acquired by the Chan family in 1861, has been converted into the Baba & Nyonya Heritage Museum; its doors opened to the public in 1985 by brothers Chan Kim Lay, Harry Chan Kim Tee and Harold Chan Kim Sinn.
Entering the inner sanctum of this opulent living museum, with its Dutch, Portuguese, Malay and Colonial-inspired interior, is akin to stepping back in time. It’s hard not to gawk at the lavish furnishing – the Blackwood furniture from China, inlaid with mother of pearl and marble that greet visitors in the formal reception hall; the tall panels of exquisite Chinese silk-embroidery reflecting the Straits-born family’s roots to homeland China, and a set of stairs leading to the second floor made of solid cenggal wood with intricately-woven gold leaf carvings along the back portion. The staircase, I later discover, is reputed to be the first of its kind seen in South East Asia.
“Lovely isn’t it!” a soft female voice remarks from somewhere behind me. I turn and the beaming face of Melissa Chan, fifth generation Chan family member floats into view. Looking a vision in her traditional Nyonya kebaya top worn over a long pleated light grey skirt, Melissa is accompanied by a distinguished-looking gentleman, her father, Henry Chan Kim Cheng, and his elegant wife (her mother), Nancy.
Both father and daughter are the authors of the recently published Stories of One Malaccan Family, a beautifully illustrated tome that pays tribute to the four generations of the Chan family whose former home I’ve found myself wandering into on this scorching hot Malacca afternoon.
The book, which covers the periods before the war (1918 to 1942), during the war (1942 to 1945) and after the war (1945 to 1953) is a charming collection of simple, anecdotal stories gleaned from the memories of the different members of the family, and offers a poignant glimpse into how this one family in the Straits Settlements lived, survived the war, and held on to their roots as new identities began to develop over the passage of time.
“Shall we go upstairs for our chat,” suggests Melissa, pointing towards the handsome wooden stairs to my left, the very same cenggal masterpiece that had charmed me earlier. I nod enthusiastically and in single file, we make our tentative climb up, the stairs sighing softly under our steps.
NOSTALGIC JOURNEY
The sparsely-furnished room that we arrive at on the first floor, with its high ceiling and a single window filtering in light from outside, seems to be a make-shift office. Or temporary store room, judging from the piles of items strewn around the room. Taking my seat across from the family members, a glass table separating us, I train my recorder towards Melissa before gently asking her to share with me about her labour of love – the book.
“There was actually another book before this one – on the house itself, which I’d put together in 2015,” begins Melissa, who was previously in advertising for 10 years. “I’d been contemplating doing something about the family for quite a while. If you put everything together, from the initial idea, to research, to the interviews and finally realising the book… well, it took me about seven years!”
The initial idea to document the family’s stories actually came from her father. But, shares Melissa, he hadn’t envisaged for it to be anything more than just something that the family could have for their keepsakes. Nodding, Henry chips in: “I certainly didn’t think that we could have it published for public consumption. I mean, why would the public want to read about our story?”
But Melissa glimpsed something greater in the undertaking. She confides: “Having done the rounds and heard their stories, I realised that although they were simple stories, they were meaningful. Their stories could have been the stories of other families too. I thought it was universal enough to talk about the culture and also the values of families during this particular period.”
Gathering the memories and compiling them were pretty challenging, recalls Melissa. She’d sit with each one of the family members and encourage them to recollect precious fragments of their life stories. “Dad also went with me to talk with my uncles because we discovered that just by having dad talk to them, it helped to trigger more memories compared to just me asking.”
One family member in particular was very forthcoming with his recollections. It was her uncle, Kim Tee or Harry, as he was fondly known, a soldier during the war. “He was a very colourful person,” recalls Melissa, smiling broadly. “He had the most interesting stories. In fact, there are three or four stories in this book based around his stories.”
Harry Hiding is one, a story recalled by her uncle Charlie Chan Kim Lay, about a time during the Japanese Occupation when the Japanese soldiers came to the family seaside home in Klebang Besair in search of Harry, who’d gone into hiding, having joined the Japanese Navy.
“The last thing he’d said to me was, “where’s your book!” That was four years ago. Now he’s no longer alive,” adds Melissa. In fact, of the eight siblings, there are only four remaining today – her father Henry, his brother Kim Sin, older sister Kim Wah, and Kim Muay, otherwise known as Bongsu.
Staying true to their memories was something Melissa aspired hard to do. “Definitely another big challenge was accuracy – which we kind of expected with oral history. We also had to look for other people who lived around that period to ask for their input just to ensure that things matched. Even our illustrator Preethi Nair found herself changing her illustrations frequently every time someone recalls something a different way!”
Chuckling, Melissa adds: “Despite the challenges, I’m just thankful that they really took their time to share what they remembered. All this while, I only saw the extended family during Chinese New Year or festivities, and most of the time, it was a case of “hi” and “bye” and eat kuaci in one corner! Doing this book enabled me to spend time with them and immerse myself in the memories they held dear.”
CHERISHED MEMORIES
Turning to Henry, who’d hitherto been listening intently to his daughter tell her story, I ask the patriarch to give me a window into his life in this magnificent family home. His smile is wistful as he recollects his thoughts.
“I’m the youngest of the eight siblings. I was born in 1934 in this very house,” begins the 84-year-old, his voice low. “But I didn’t stay here as long as some of my siblings - basically a few years before the war, and after the war. I probably had about six or seven years of my life in this house. By the time I ‘arrived’, we spent most of our time at our seaside bungalow in Klebang Besair, about five kilometres from here.”
Elaborating, Henry, who loves golf and travelling in his spare time, shares that in the old days, the Peranakans tended to have lots of children. And some of these children would sometimes be given to someone else to look after. Henry himself was under the guardianship of his aunty for more than six years, until the start of the Second World War.
His eyes dancing in recollection, Henry, who was also once a manager in the General Services department of Bank Negara, continues: “Growing up in this house, we were free to run around. Especially when Ba (father) wasn’t around. We used to have a little bicycle that we liked to cycle on around the house, manoeuvring around the furniture. We also used to roller skate in here! If my father were here, he’d never allow us!”
With the house being so grand, there were plenty of favourite nooks and crannies. But for Henry, and certainly his siblings, it was the bustling family kitchen that charmed them the most. “Our favourite spot was somewhere next to the kitchen where we used to do our school work and hang out,” recalls Henry, a small smile playing on his lips. “By the time I was born, my grandmother was no longer around. I remember we had cooks but mum would supervise proceedings, instructing them what to cook for the day. The cook would go out to the market every day and buy fish and vegetables and whatever ingredients they needed. Mother, or Nya, as we called her, enjoyed making fresh kueh or cakes for our tea-time snacks.”
LOOKING TO THE FUTURE
The ray of light filtering in from the lone window behind me seems a little subdued, denoting that much time has passed since we all trooped into this room. What have you learnt from this journey, I ask Melissa.
A pause ensues as she contemplates the question. “I realised that I really didn’t know much about the culture before,” the 38-year-old eventually replies. “The whole journey of being at the museum and writing this book was actually to understand what Peranakan culture is all about. It means a lot to my father and it has always fascinated me.”
Looking thoughtful, she adds: “What I found fascinating through all this is the fact that the Peranakan spirit is really about bridging cultures. It’s about adaptation, assimilation and crossing cultures. And a spirit of openness to learn from others and to be more inclusive. That’s what I’ve taken from this exercise.”
Melissa, who’s set to call it a day on her 5-year tenure at the Museum, shares that she’s incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to document Peranakan history. “I hope to have planted the seed for the next generation to take it on. We also have this other Stories of Malaccan Families in the pipelines. What the museum is embarking on is an oral history project, which is to document stories of families in Malacca. So much comes from Malacca; but so much is lost as well.”
Now that her book is out there on the shelves for all to see, Melissa hopes that other people – and families – too would be inspired to tell THEIR stories. Softly, she says: “There are many ways to express and learn our roots. I do feel that it’s important right now for Malaysia because we’re really very diverse. We’re interconnected with one another and there are so much more nuances than are really spoken about.”
If those stories are not told down to the next generation, we may lose the layers, believes Melissa. Her eyes flashing, she concludes: “It’s the layers that make us interesting as a culture and a nation. I do hope that the younger generation will somehow desire to want to know the stories of their roots.”
Stories of One Malaccan Family
Authors: Melissa Chan and Henry Chan
Illustrator: Preethi Nair
Price: RM130
137 Pages
Available at: KL: Kinokuniya, Ilham Gallery, CzipLee Bangsar, Badan Warisan, Silverfish
Penang: Gerakbudaya, Areca Books, Melaka: Baba & Nyonya Heritage Museum, Johor: Mebooks Asia, Singapore: Kinokuniya