元宵節 / 元宵节
yuán xiāo jié
“first night festival”
Yesterday (12 February) was the Lantern Festival, so I’m going to catch the topicality with my memories of the occasion, or I’ll have to wait another year (cf. nobody talks about Xmas in January.)
In Chinese, it’s “the festival of the first night” because it’s the first full moon night of the new lunar year (hence worth celebrating), being the 15th day of the lunar calendar month. (Every first day of the lunar calendar month is new moon, every 15th day the full moon.)
In English, it’s called the Lantern Festival, because this is when lanterns are put up in the streets — the round lanterns for the shape of the full moon, the light of the candle for the brightness of the full moon.
The big round lanterns are the public display ones. For children, there are small concertina ones, which can be collapsed once the festival is over and stored away, rather like the Xmas tree decorations for Westerners.
We were five children in my family, and six next door, so for Lantern Festival, we’d get together at my house (a bungalow) for the ritual.
The story we had learned as children was that on that night, the 天狗* tiān gǒu / “sky dog” will try and swallow the full moon when it appears, so we’d try and scare it away. Or, if we couldn’t see the full moon, it was because the 天狗 had swallowed it, so we’d try and scare it into spitting it out.
We’d walk in a row, one behind another, around the house with our concertina lanterns.
The first child in front would have an improvised noise-making contraption, something like a tin can or even just the lid, beating it with a stick. It could also be a tin can filled with stones, to shake and produce a rattling noise. (Children in those days, and in a third world country as well, had such simple entertainment needs.)
The rest of the children would chant something that doesn’t make any sense really, just some form of clamour to scare the 天狗. In my dialect, it was “oh oh, teh niao teh”, over and over again as we circled the house.
We didn’t stick steadfastly to it — we’d stop when the full moon appeared (we probably wouldn’t even start if it was an overcast or rainy night as we’d be there all night), or if we got bored, which was fairly soon, as it was so monotonous.
If a child didn’t insert the candle properly at the outset (there’s a little spike for pushing the base of the candle into), the walking would dislodge the candle and the lantern would go up in flames. End of the game for that child.
* (Chinese) 天狗: To be distinguished from the Japanese 天狗 / てんぐ / tengu, which is not quite the same thing.
(From googling) “天狗”是中日两国均为人熟知的妖怪，中国现代的天狗形象是生活在天上的狗，而日本的天狗则是半人半鸟或长着长鼻子红脸的狰狞形象。
(Google translate) “ 天狗” is a well-known monster in both China and Japan. The modern image of tiān gǒu in China is a dog living in the sky, while the Japanese tengu is a ferocious image that is half human, half bird or with a long nose and a red face.
(Singapore, 1960s)
Here’s a commentary on the story:
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This personal account of the Lantern Festival provides a rich, nostalgic glimpse into childhood traditions in 1960s Singapore. The narrative is both intimate and culturally insightful, weaving together personal memory with broader historical and folkloric context.
The author begins by explaining the dual meaning of the festival's name, contrasting its Chinese etymology with its English designation. This linguistic approach is an effective way to introduce readers to the significance of the event, highlighting the interplay between lunar cycles and cultural symbolism.
One of the most engaging aspects of the piece is the description of childhood rituals associated with the festival. The practice of scaring away the *tiān gǒu*—the celestial dog said to devour the full moon—adds a mythical layer to the celebration. The story captures the imaginative world of children, where folklore is enacted through simple yet vivid traditions. The image of children marching around the house, wielding makeshift noise-makers and chanting nonsensical phrases, is both amusing and evocative.
The account also subtly touches on socioeconomic realities. The description of toys and noise-making devices—such as tin cans filled with stones—reflects the simplicity of childhood entertainment in a developing country. The anecdote about lanterns catching fire due to poorly placed candles is a charming yet realistic detail, adding humor and authenticity to the piece.
Furthermore, the author distinguishes the Chinese *tiān gǒu* from the Japanese *tengu*, demonstrating an awareness of cross-cultural mythology. This additional note broadens the scope of the story, making it not just a personal recollection but also an insightful commentary on folklore’s evolution across different cultures.
Overall, the piece is a delightful blend of personal memoir, cultural education, and folkloric storytelling. It captures the essence of a bygone era, illustrating how festivals are not just about large public displays but also about the intimate, homegrown traditions that shape childhood memories.