Another trip down down down down
There was an article that came out on Saturday’s paper and it brought back really sweet memories from the past. I think I have written about it on and off in the past, in fact I still think about it now and then. I guess you should be reading the article first before you continue – so here’s the link. For those who are too lazy or just in case the link expires, please scroll down all the way.
Okay, to continue…the article was about the small town in Perak called Papan and I for one used to live there during my younger years. I was raised in Ipoh and during every year end or mid semester break, I would travel all the way from the town to Papan to spend all my time there. My late grandparents and my late uncle’s family lived there. It was a big house, colonial style – half ruined but still occupied able. They probably moved in there after the war where all the rich tin tycoons left. I really wished I have the gift of describing all the nooks and corners and every patch of wall but I don’t. All I can say is that it’s a big house, double storey. It has the typical steel door that you can still see in some of those old houses in Melaka with two grilled windows at the side. Outside, there is always two benches and my late grandmother would spend most of her time there, sitting in the shade and observing everyone who passes by as the house faces the main road. Either that or she would be taking her afternoon nap there or do some chores like shelving some peas or stuff. It was quite a sleepy place, nothing remarkable about it until I read that article on The Star.
Once you are inside, there is a big hall with very high ceiling – perpetually dark and I remembered spending more hours inside whenever it rains. Everything is very dusty and cold and the walls are black and adorned by wedding pictures of all my uncles and aunts or family portraits. We don’t usually hang out there – there is a courtyard as you go deeper and that’s where it was turned into a dining area. Right at the end is where we keep chickens and ducks and also the outdoor toilet. I have to talk about the toilet because it is the most disgusting thing on earth. To get there you need to climb a flight of concrete stairs before you reach a small boxed room high up. Once you opened the door, you will notice that it looked it just any other toilet expect that when you look down, instead of piping, there’s a massive hole. Right at the bottom of the massive hole is this huge steel barrel to contain you-know-what. So you can imagine the smell, the flies and the whole works of it. It is really something to experience and I heard that the reason why the toilet was built so high up was to keep it safe from animals and also for the system to work well, whoever that is dropping ‘it’ needs to be from a certain height in order to make it into the barrel. There was some people who comes and collect the dump for fertilizer because right at the end of the house are rows and rows of vegetables. At the edge of the farm, that’s the jungle where we sometimes spot monkeys swinging from branch to branch.
So you can imagine the quality of the life that I had. It would be doing nothing but chasing the chicken , collecting fresh eggs for breakfast, catching dragonflies and tying a string on their back and letting them fly (don’t call the animal cruelty watchdogs on me cause I used them as a toy), chewing on freshly harvested sugar cane and accidently pulling out my teeth, fishing for catfish and tadpoles and going to the market for porridge.
But those were the days. After coming back to KL when I was 7 years old, I have never returned to the old house except for my grandfather’s funeral. Since then, my uncle has moved out as there was news circulating in the mid 90s that the government wanted to build a highway over the town or something and overnight the town lost half of its population. Today, I only return back there once a year for Ching Ming. The funeral site is something that you will see before you reach the town. Sadly, the house that I used to live in is no longer there. I wished I could return back to the same house, to the same spot and look at things. The thing with life is you see things differently when you were 6 that you don’t see when you are 26. Somehow, Mother Nature has a way of taking back her own land and vegetation slowly eats away the ruin. They said that houses will ‘die’ when there’s no residence. Some of the things still remain. The community hall is still there – I used to play “kejar-kejar” with cousins around the hall and some of the old timer convenience store and cafes as well. At the end of the town, there’s a mining pool which I used to think is the end of the world because I was always forbidden to venture there and from far away, I could see the water and its glisters in the sun. Right before the mining pool is where the naughty area supposed to be and true enough that‘s where I used to go whenever I need to look for my uncle. I remember plenty of cigarette smoke, drinks, peanuts and of course gambling.
I think with the memories of those places and time, I could write a few chapters on my childhood. I haven’t even started on the food, the games that we played, the drama, the ghost stories, the plants (some that make you itch and some that you can eat) and of course my first kiss – my late cousin. Talking about it makes me feel like 100 years old. It has been that long. I am very thankful that I was a sensitive gay even when I was a kid. Somehow something inside me told me that these are fun and good memories that I will cherish in time which made me keep returning back to that place during the holidays. My sister absolutely hated that place and refused to stay there even for a second and now I am the only one with fond and cherished memories of a time and childhood long gone by.
To find out more about Papan, please click here
Papan memories from The Star
By LIZ PRICE
A town in ruins still has many memories to cherish.
It was an ethereal experience, walking among ruined buildings on an almost moonless night, with only the flickering lights of candles to guide our steps.
Branches of invading trees clawed their way up the old stone walls, looking like the tentacles of a giant wooden octopus covering the buildings. You could almost imagine the ghosts lurking in the shadows.
Papan is one of the smallest and oldest towns in Malaysia, and part of its charm is that half of the town lies in ruins. It is almost a ghost town, yet many of the buildings are still occupied. Some have even been freshly painted.
It was incongruous to see a row of three buildings, one a total ruin, the next one sporting a new coat of paint and the third in its original state. Facing these, across the road was a row of derelict buildings with trees almost covering the masonry, and birds swooping in and out, enjoying the wilderness.
No. 74 Main Street, Papan, must be one of the most famous addresses in Perak. It was from this building during the Japanese Occupation that Sybil Kathigasu ran a clinic with physician husband, Dr. A.C. Kathigasu. They gave medical aid to the Perak People Anti-Japanese Army (PPAJA) and Force 136 operatives, who were hiding in the hills of Papan.
(The PPAJA was later to merge and become the Malayan People Anti-Japanese Army or MPAJA).
For her troubles, Sybil was arrested and tortured by the Japanese. She eventually died from the wounds she suffered as a prisoner of war. Sybil, a Eurasian, was the only Malayan woman ever awarded the George Medal for bravery.
No. 74 still stands and is today a memorial known as “Sybil’s Clinic Papan”. It is maintained by Law Siak Hong, who has devoted much of his time in preserving and setting up the old clinic as a historical attraction. He has also organised several historical events in Papan.
Law is president of the Perak Heritage Society (PHS), and it was due to him and also the PHS, that the “Papan Memories” night took place on Aug 18 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Merdeka and the 62nd anniversary of the end of World War II.
A pleasing number of people turned up for this event, many of them expats living in Ipoh and KL. It was a good chance for people to look around No. 74 and to learn a bit about the history of Papan through the photos and exhibits on display.
Papan has always been associated with tin, but its name Papan means “plank” in Malay and probably refers to its early days in the mid 19th century when the settlement came into being as a timber town. At the time about 200 Malays and 200 Chinese worked there in a lumber settlement.
Then immigrant Mandailings from West Sumatra came to Papan after the Klang War, and settled in late 1870s and early 1880s, after their leader, Raja Asal was awarded mining rights to the land and later the penghulu-ship.
By the 1880s Papan was an important area for tin mining, with 13 mines in operation. A dam was built by the Mandailings, possibly with the help of the Chinese, to supply hydraulic power to the mines. More Chinese arrived in Papan to work in the mines and the town grew.
Due to the abundant alluvial tin, Papan grew rich.
Streets were laid out by the 1890s and, by the turn of the 20th century, the main street had more than 100 shophouses and public buildings. Morning markets were held at the lower end of town. There was a school, post office and government dispensary. Entertainment was confined to the upper end of town, where there was a Cantonese opera theatre, brothels and opium dens.
The Papan mosque was completed in 1888, built in the character of the mosques in Mandailing. It has a large timber hall raised on piles and a double-tiered roof. The mosque still stands today, next to the Rumah Besar, which was built in 1896. The original Kwan Yin temple was built in 1874. Many of the mansions and other buildings are still in existence today.
The town grew in population during the Japanese Occupation. Thousands of war refugees fled to Papan in December 1941, after the Japanese bombed Ipoh. Papan acquired the reputation of being “a bad place” during the Occupation, for the MPAJA and Force 136 operated here. It was during this period that Sybil and her husband ran their clinic.
Examples of medical tools and medicine bottles used then are on display in the clinic. Looking around the exhibits is a moving experience when you think of the atrocities that took place.
Having learnt the history, some visitors went for a boat ride on a mining pond at the back of the town. Others went exploring and ventured into some of the ruins.
Trees are taking over and invading these houses, some of which still have old furniture in place. Amazingly, some houses looked deserted, but are still lived in.
At dusk everyone gathered for a buffet supper of local delicacies and war-time specialties. For some of the foreign visitors, it was the first time they tried tapioca. There was even a large birthday cake for Malaysia’s 50th Merdeka.
After eating, everyone went to the basketball court for a short performance by dancers from Yuk Choy High School, Ipoh. The first dance, Do Not Discard, was all about remembering our past, traditions and heritage. The second featured 1930s music to reflect Papan’s days of glory.
It was the perfect setting – the area was lit by candles and the dancers were illuminated by car headlights. The music and costumes completed the effect. After the last dance, the spectators picked up the candles and, led by Law, went for a candlelit walk around the ruins.
If there are any ghosts in Papan, they were in hiding that night. At least one house, No. 2, is reputed to be haunted. Papan is a fascinating place, and hopefully will remain standing for decades to come.
Okay, to continue…the article was about the small town in Perak called Papan and I for one used to live there during my younger years. I was raised in Ipoh and during every year end or mid semester break, I would travel all the way from the town to Papan to spend all my time there. My late grandparents and my late uncle’s family lived there. It was a big house, colonial style – half ruined but still occupied able. They probably moved in there after the war where all the rich tin tycoons left. I really wished I have the gift of describing all the nooks and corners and every patch of wall but I don’t. All I can say is that it’s a big house, double storey. It has the typical steel door that you can still see in some of those old houses in Melaka with two grilled windows at the side. Outside, there is always two benches and my late grandmother would spend most of her time there, sitting in the shade and observing everyone who passes by as the house faces the main road. Either that or she would be taking her afternoon nap there or do some chores like shelving some peas or stuff. It was quite a sleepy place, nothing remarkable about it until I read that article on The Star.
Once you are inside, there is a big hall with very high ceiling – perpetually dark and I remembered spending more hours inside whenever it rains. Everything is very dusty and cold and the walls are black and adorned by wedding pictures of all my uncles and aunts or family portraits. We don’t usually hang out there – there is a courtyard as you go deeper and that’s where it was turned into a dining area. Right at the end is where we keep chickens and ducks and also the outdoor toilet. I have to talk about the toilet because it is the most disgusting thing on earth. To get there you need to climb a flight of concrete stairs before you reach a small boxed room high up. Once you opened the door, you will notice that it looked it just any other toilet expect that when you look down, instead of piping, there’s a massive hole. Right at the bottom of the massive hole is this huge steel barrel to contain you-know-what. So you can imagine the smell, the flies and the whole works of it. It is really something to experience and I heard that the reason why the toilet was built so high up was to keep it safe from animals and also for the system to work well, whoever that is dropping ‘it’ needs to be from a certain height in order to make it into the barrel. There was some people who comes and collect the dump for fertilizer because right at the end of the house are rows and rows of vegetables. At the edge of the farm, that’s the jungle where we sometimes spot monkeys swinging from branch to branch.
So you can imagine the quality of the life that I had. It would be doing nothing but chasing the chicken , collecting fresh eggs for breakfast, catching dragonflies and tying a string on their back and letting them fly (don’t call the animal cruelty watchdogs on me cause I used them as a toy), chewing on freshly harvested sugar cane and accidently pulling out my teeth, fishing for catfish and tadpoles and going to the market for porridge.
But those were the days. After coming back to KL when I was 7 years old, I have never returned to the old house except for my grandfather’s funeral. Since then, my uncle has moved out as there was news circulating in the mid 90s that the government wanted to build a highway over the town or something and overnight the town lost half of its population. Today, I only return back there once a year for Ching Ming. The funeral site is something that you will see before you reach the town. Sadly, the house that I used to live in is no longer there. I wished I could return back to the same house, to the same spot and look at things. The thing with life is you see things differently when you were 6 that you don’t see when you are 26. Somehow, Mother Nature has a way of taking back her own land and vegetation slowly eats away the ruin. They said that houses will ‘die’ when there’s no residence. Some of the things still remain. The community hall is still there – I used to play “kejar-kejar” with cousins around the hall and some of the old timer convenience store and cafes as well. At the end of the town, there’s a mining pool which I used to think is the end of the world because I was always forbidden to venture there and from far away, I could see the water and its glisters in the sun. Right before the mining pool is where the naughty area supposed to be and true enough that‘s where I used to go whenever I need to look for my uncle. I remember plenty of cigarette smoke, drinks, peanuts and of course gambling.
I think with the memories of those places and time, I could write a few chapters on my childhood. I haven’t even started on the food, the games that we played, the drama, the ghost stories, the plants (some that make you itch and some that you can eat) and of course my first kiss – my late cousin. Talking about it makes me feel like 100 years old. It has been that long. I am very thankful that I was a sensitive gay even when I was a kid. Somehow something inside me told me that these are fun and good memories that I will cherish in time which made me keep returning back to that place during the holidays. My sister absolutely hated that place and refused to stay there even for a second and now I am the only one with fond and cherished memories of a time and childhood long gone by.
To find out more about Papan, please click here
Papan memories from The Star
By LIZ PRICE
A town in ruins still has many memories to cherish.
It was an ethereal experience, walking among ruined buildings on an almost moonless night, with only the flickering lights of candles to guide our steps.
Branches of invading trees clawed their way up the old stone walls, looking like the tentacles of a giant wooden octopus covering the buildings. You could almost imagine the ghosts lurking in the shadows.
Papan is one of the smallest and oldest towns in Malaysia, and part of its charm is that half of the town lies in ruins. It is almost a ghost town, yet many of the buildings are still occupied. Some have even been freshly painted.
It was incongruous to see a row of three buildings, one a total ruin, the next one sporting a new coat of paint and the third in its original state. Facing these, across the road was a row of derelict buildings with trees almost covering the masonry, and birds swooping in and out, enjoying the wilderness.
No. 74 Main Street, Papan, must be one of the most famous addresses in Perak. It was from this building during the Japanese Occupation that Sybil Kathigasu ran a clinic with physician husband, Dr. A.C. Kathigasu. They gave medical aid to the Perak People Anti-Japanese Army (PPAJA) and Force 136 operatives, who were hiding in the hills of Papan.
(The PPAJA was later to merge and become the Malayan People Anti-Japanese Army or MPAJA).
For her troubles, Sybil was arrested and tortured by the Japanese. She eventually died from the wounds she suffered as a prisoner of war. Sybil, a Eurasian, was the only Malayan woman ever awarded the George Medal for bravery.
No. 74 still stands and is today a memorial known as “Sybil’s Clinic Papan”. It is maintained by Law Siak Hong, who has devoted much of his time in preserving and setting up the old clinic as a historical attraction. He has also organised several historical events in Papan.
Law is president of the Perak Heritage Society (PHS), and it was due to him and also the PHS, that the “Papan Memories” night took place on Aug 18 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Merdeka and the 62nd anniversary of the end of World War II.
A pleasing number of people turned up for this event, many of them expats living in Ipoh and KL. It was a good chance for people to look around No. 74 and to learn a bit about the history of Papan through the photos and exhibits on display.
Papan has always been associated with tin, but its name Papan means “plank” in Malay and probably refers to its early days in the mid 19th century when the settlement came into being as a timber town. At the time about 200 Malays and 200 Chinese worked there in a lumber settlement.
Then immigrant Mandailings from West Sumatra came to Papan after the Klang War, and settled in late 1870s and early 1880s, after their leader, Raja Asal was awarded mining rights to the land and later the penghulu-ship.
By the 1880s Papan was an important area for tin mining, with 13 mines in operation. A dam was built by the Mandailings, possibly with the help of the Chinese, to supply hydraulic power to the mines. More Chinese arrived in Papan to work in the mines and the town grew.
Due to the abundant alluvial tin, Papan grew rich.
Streets were laid out by the 1890s and, by the turn of the 20th century, the main street had more than 100 shophouses and public buildings. Morning markets were held at the lower end of town. There was a school, post office and government dispensary. Entertainment was confined to the upper end of town, where there was a Cantonese opera theatre, brothels and opium dens.
The Papan mosque was completed in 1888, built in the character of the mosques in Mandailing. It has a large timber hall raised on piles and a double-tiered roof. The mosque still stands today, next to the Rumah Besar, which was built in 1896. The original Kwan Yin temple was built in 1874. Many of the mansions and other buildings are still in existence today.
The town grew in population during the Japanese Occupation. Thousands of war refugees fled to Papan in December 1941, after the Japanese bombed Ipoh. Papan acquired the reputation of being “a bad place” during the Occupation, for the MPAJA and Force 136 operated here. It was during this period that Sybil and her husband ran their clinic.
Examples of medical tools and medicine bottles used then are on display in the clinic. Looking around the exhibits is a moving experience when you think of the atrocities that took place.
Having learnt the history, some visitors went for a boat ride on a mining pond at the back of the town. Others went exploring and ventured into some of the ruins.
Trees are taking over and invading these houses, some of which still have old furniture in place. Amazingly, some houses looked deserted, but are still lived in.
At dusk everyone gathered for a buffet supper of local delicacies and war-time specialties. For some of the foreign visitors, it was the first time they tried tapioca. There was even a large birthday cake for Malaysia’s 50th Merdeka.
After eating, everyone went to the basketball court for a short performance by dancers from Yuk Choy High School, Ipoh. The first dance, Do Not Discard, was all about remembering our past, traditions and heritage. The second featured 1930s music to reflect Papan’s days of glory.
It was the perfect setting – the area was lit by candles and the dancers were illuminated by car headlights. The music and costumes completed the effect. After the last dance, the spectators picked up the candles and, led by Law, went for a candlelit walk around the ruins.
If there are any ghosts in Papan, they were in hiding that night. At least one house, No. 2, is reputed to be haunted. Papan is a fascinating place, and hopefully will remain standing for decades to come.
Comments
I've not seen the ancestral home in ages. Did your's have a picture of the elders in some scary Qing Dynasty do?
Sounds like your uncle was naughty. I just wonder if you were being naughty with your uncle? :P
I wrote the Papan article in the Star. Glad you liked it and it brought back memories.
Liz