Lost Singapore childhood: 04 (Catching white clams) (Singapore)

 

The mangrove swamp on the edge of Grandma’s coconut plantation in Tampines in the north east of Singapore was not the only hunting ground for clams.

    This time, white clams on a tiny sandy beach just round the corner from that mangrove swamp.

    White clams are not only circumferentially bigger than razor clams but a very different shape as well.  When they dive into the sand as the tide recedes, they also leave a hole in the sand that is the shape of the cross section of their shorter length/width.  As they bulge out more than razor clams, the hole is much wider and much, much easier to spot.  The holes are also easier to identify as a damp sandy surface is more compact with fewer hidden/buried objects underneath, so a white clam hole stands out clearly, compared to a mangrove swamp’s muddy surface that might have holes made by stones that have sunk down, or razor clam holes that then get covered over by sliding mud.

    I’d hazard a wild guess that even my cousins’ fingers of steel wouldn’t be able to plunge into the coarse sandy soil.  Definitely a bamboo strip job.  

    Once you have your own bamboo strip, though, which I didn’t have (still kicking myself for not having got one made for my own use without having to borrow my cousins’), it takes some ten minutes or so to fill a bucket of these white clams:  walk along, look, spot the distinctive-shape hole, plunge the bamboo strip, yank it up, and up the white clams come.  Probably also because it’s harder for them to diver deeper in sand (more compacted) than in mud.

    Equally scrumptious when stir fried with chopped-up garlic and fresh red chilli.

    I don’t know why I never went back to that spot regularly.  My Wuhan friend asked me recently whether I have any regrets in life and what they might be.  This would be one of them.  So many missed opportunities, silly me, with this tiny beach being gone for good, as Singapore is all built up now.  (I blame it on not having got a bamboo-strip plunger made for myself, which would’ve allowed me to go off every time on my own, without having to borrow one from my cousins.)

(Singapore, 1960s)