This food stall in Pasir Pinji, Ipoh, beneath the iconic trees. Photos: Gary Lit Ying Loong
“One bowl of porridge!”, shouted one customer.
Another called out, “Yong Tau Foo with noodles!”
Yet another ordered, “Char Koay Teow with see ham (cockles)”.
Situated at the entrance of Pasir Pinji village in Ipoh, business at this well-known food stall is roaring.
Besides the good food, the patrons also enjoyed the cool atmosphere under the big shady trees. Judging by the size of its trunks and the long roots, the trees must have been around for more than half a century. If the trees could speak, they would tell us about the chequered past of Pasir Pinji village.
During the Emergency period, hundreds of innocent Chinese folks were forcibly relocated to the village. The majority of them were farmers tilling their land in the surrounding hillsides or jungles of Ipoh.
Many of them were given short notice to move. In their haste, they could only bring with them the bare essentials. They had to abandon their homes and all the fruits of their labour – the flowering mango and durian trees as well as the pigs and poultry they had so painstakingly raised. Those who refused to move would have their houses torn down and their wells poisoned.
The new resettlement area was given the nice-sounding name of Pasir Pinji New Village. However, it was neither new nor a village. Surrounded by a double layer of barbed wire and patrolled round the clock by armed guards, it was more like a concentration camp. The residents had to face daily curfews and rations as well as surveillance and many other restrictions.
Subjected to fear and anxiety constantly, the villagers were denied some of the most basic rights of a human being. The deprivations and difficulties suffered by them caused severe strain on their mental and physical health.
The Emergency period was a dark and dangerous time in the nation’s tumultuous history. One of the villagers, 85-year-old Poon, related how his family was forced to move to Pasir Pinji village.
Suspected to be a communist sympathiser, his father was rounded up during one of the operations by the British soldiers. Knowing how dire the consequences would be, Poon’s father dashed into the dense and tall “elephant” grass to hide. The British soldiers gave chase. However, the soldiers failed to locate him.
The next day, the British returned with their guard dogs. Hearing the sound of the barking dogs approaching, Poon's father had no choice but to jump into a nearby tin mining lake and swim underwater to escape them.
Thankfully, the lotus plants helped to provide cover and protection for his father. The local Chinese believe sincerely that their Goddess Guan Yin like to sit and meditate on the lotus flower. Hence, after his narrow escape, his father became a devout worshipper of Guan Yin and set up her deity on his altar at home.
In the new villages, the residents had to find their own building materials and build the houses with their own bare hands. The houses had attap roofs and wooden walls.
Some old houses in Pasir Pinji New Village.
In some New Villages, there was a central kitchen for the residents. On paper, it was a grand and caring gesture. However, it turned out to be a ruse by the British to control the food consumption and distribution to all residents. As one Cantonese villager described to me, “Dai Wok Fan, Dai Wok (literally translated as 'big wok of rice, big trouble')!”
Through this method, the British imposed their subtle but draconian control over the basic necessities and lives of the residents and their offspring.
Ever since the first Merdeka, the barbed wires and control gates have been removed. All that remains are the big trees standing as a witness to the chequered past of Pasir Pinji New Village.
Today, it is a thriving place, full of eateries and shops. Sadly, the new residents and patrons visiting Pasir Pinji today seem to care more for the food than its rich history.
