Simple folk remedies: 04 (minor burns and scalds) (Singapore)

A Chinese household will always have dark soya sauce.  In my house, we used it for treating minor burns and scalds as well.  

The principle behind it, according to how I was taught: 

1. the burned/scalded area will be hot, which will create a temperature differential, so air from the atmosphere will be drawn towards it;
2. the viscosity of dark soya sauce seals the surface of the burned/scalded area, preventing moisture in the air from getting in, thus preventing a blister from developing; 
3. Westerners’ way of holding the burned/scalded area under a cold running tap to cool it down is a big no-no in my house, because this will let water in and create a blister.

An alternative to dark soya sauce is butter — for the same reasons listed above.  Butter is a common enough item in the Western kitchen, so it’s a convenient substitute.

I have my own first-hand experience to testify to the effectiveness of the butter treatment.

I was staying at my grandma’s coconut plantation as a 12-year-old during the school holidays.  A bonfire had been going for a while, with the middle reduced to a heap of burned-down wood, and the outer rim the unburned stubs.  I decided to move the unburned stubs into the centre for them to carry on burning.  In the strong mid-day sunlight, I couldn’t see any flames or smoke, so I grabbed one of the stubs fully in my hand.  It turned out to be a smouldering stub, so my whole palm got burned.

Straightaway, I smeared the palm with butter, then sat down to wait.  The pain subsided within a few minutes.  Half an hour later, I wiped off the butter.  

There was not a trace of the injury I’d sustained: no pink palm, no pain, and certainly no blisters.  I was back to normal.  Just like that.  Half an hour.

When I was working in the pub, if I happened to be in the kitchen when a colleague burned/scalded their hand/arm, I’d ask them to apply butter on the affected area.  It was always effective in stopping the pain within a short time.  No burn marks either.

(Singapore, 1960s; London, 2016–18)

It never rains but it pours (London)

I was cycling home after work one Friday evening.  

The office had lots of surplus milk, so I was given two pints to take home.  I’d also just bought a bottle of dark soya sauce earlier that day, so I put them in a plastic bag, and strapped them to the rear rack.  

It started to drizzle.  

Came to a halt at a set of traffic lights.  Heard glass shattering behind me.  Thought, “Oh dear, some driver’s run into the back of someone’s car.”  

For some reason, I decided to turn round and look.  What I saw, in the glare of the headlights of the car behind me, was my plastic bag sitting on the road, with a trail of white liquid and a trail of black liquid oozing out of it, running on the road.  

No time to do anything as the lights were about to change to green, so I just picked up the bag and re-strapped it onto the rear rack.  Cycled off when the lights turned green.

Came to another halt at the next set of lights.  Another shattering of glass behind me.  Yes, that plastic bag had come off again.  

By now, the rain had become a heavy drizzle.  

Grabbed the bag, re-strapped it a second time, and cycled off, with a trail of white liquid and a trail of black liquid dripping off the rear rack.  

At the next set of lights, the bicycle chain came off.  The heavy drizzle had now turned into a steady downpour.  I just wanted to sit down on the pavement and cry.

I finally arrived home, drenched from head to toe, with a plastic bag with lots of holes and three broken bottles inside, by now sans contents, and a pair of hands all black and greasy from putting the chain back on — in the pouring rain.

(London, 1983)