Lost Singapore childhood: 05 (Catching pond-bred fish) (Singapore)

 

Grandma’s coconut plantation in Tampines in the north east of Singapore also had two fish ponds.  Two harvests a year, which were like Xmas to me, the tomboy who loved (still does) mucking about, catching things.  I’d arrive the night before, to stay over, ready to pitch in first thing the next day.

    One corner of the pond would be opened up to let the water run away.  This was a night-long process.

    Once drained, the pond would be like a mangrove swamp at low tide:  one big muddy surface.

    There would be big wicker / bamboo baskets dotted about for each person to reach without having to wade through too much mud, and drop our catch.

    As the water level drops, the fish is stuck in the mud, unable to swim freely, yet having enough water to survive.  Their dorsal fins would be clearly visible in the mud, so it’s easy to spot them and catch them (they can’t swim away).  

    The tricky bit is how to grab them without hurting your hands:  if you grab them wrongly, say plunging your hands straight ONTO the fish from the top (which an inexperienced catcher, a child to boot, might do), then you get pricked by the spines.

    The way I was taught was to grab the mouth area with one hand, and the tail with the other, pick up the whole fish that way, and throw it into the basket.  (Don’t know how professionals do it.)

    Catfish were the trickier prey left to the grown-ups.

    On one edge of the pond were earthen pots (with the mouth smaller than the body), planted firmly into the bank at an angle (mouth slightly higher / upwards).  When the pond was full, the catfish could go in and out of these earthen pots at ease — for some reason, it was catfish that liked to go and hide in these pots.  With the pond drained, the mouth of the earthen pots would be a few inches above the mud, so those catfish that had gone into the pots the night before would be stranded by the day of the harvest.  This made them easy to catch:  just stick your hand inside and pull them out.  

    It was a job for the grown-ups, though, and for the men specifically, because catfish are long and slippery, so they require strength:  to grip them (inside the earthen pot, therefore only one hand), pull them out (with one hand), and hold on to them without letting them wriggle out of your hands.

    Every fish harvest (twice a year) made me feel most grown-up and useful, being able to contribute towards Grandma’s business, as well as learning little tricks (even though I wasn’t planning on going on to becoming a fisherwoman).

(Singapore, 1960s)