Cascading down the years - a Cradle Song
From: Rosa - 7
Date: 7/5/00
Time: 9:04:22 PM
Comments
My early childhood echoed with the many songs
from Mamma. This cradle song I learned from her from my earliest infancy,
indeed, when I was still nestling in her womb. She would have sung it each time
she carried one-year old Dai-Ga-Je to get her to sleep, day or night, and I,
dormant in her, would have caught the faint strains of the tune. This tune
filled out with the words, softly seeping through my infant ears as it became my
turn to be rocked to sleep. Later, when I heard the song over and over again,
sung for my four meimeis and two didis, and understood the words, they evoked a
lasting image in my mind. More than the other lullabies that I knew, this struck
me as specially tender. The image of a mother, her baby in her arms, crooning
her to sleep, looking down at her child and, studying the delicate details of
her features, seeing in them reminders of herself and the baby’s father. An
encapsulation of a mother’s love and also of the love that brought forth the
child. I also love the closing lines as they describe the links with our Popo,
the times when we were taken to her home on regular visits and on special
occasions.
And it was Papa’s song as well, as in
handing each of their children to him, Mamma also handed him the legacy of this
song. Papa sang it to us, many many times, I remember. The both of them sang it
too for all their twelve grandchildren. Papa, the proud and indulgent
Koong-Koong, with baby Johanna in his arms, pacing between the sitting room and
dining room of our house in Tiger Lane, Ipoh, whispering the song to her.
Johanna was his first grand-child and the fact that she was a ngoi-syun
(‘outer grandchild’ – maternal grandchild) and not a noi-syun (‘inner
grandchild’ – paternal grandchild) made no difference at all. As with Mamma
as they both loved all their grandchildren, regardless.
The music of this song, if not all the words,
cascaded down the years. We sang it to our meimeis and didis. It was picked up
again by all the mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles that we became to the next
generation of the family. It flowed on to those who have joined the family. Many
a time I caught strains of it hummed by Saam-Mui-Fu Cheng Hai and the others.
The words were getting lost, we came to refer to it as Feng ya, but the refrain
carries still.
4 July 2000
