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)

Lost Singapore childhood: 03 (Catching razor clams) (Singapore)

 

Grandma’s coconut plantation in Tampines, being close to the estuary in the north east of Singapore (facing Pulau Ubin in the Johor Strait), had a mangrove swamp on its edge.

    At low tide, one could go and catch razor clams in the drained mangrove swamp.

    Equipment:

• your own hand(s) if you’re not a suburban wuss like me — my cousins (who lived on the plantation) had fingers of steel for digging into the mud and yanking out the razor clam that had burrowed into the mud as the water receded;
• OR:  a blade for the above.  The ones my cousins had were homemade: a strip of bamboo, 1”– 1.5” wide, 6” long at least to hold at one end and to dig deep enough into the mud as the razor clams are ever so quick at diving deeper and deeper when they sense the intrusive (and life-threatening) human presence;
• a wicker basket or similar kind of container (e.g., a bucket) to put the clams in.

The process:

• walk along the muddy bed of the drained mangrove swamp, looking carefully at the surface of the mud for signs of the location of the razor clams;
• when the razor clam dives into the mud as the water recedes, it will leave behind a hole in the mud that’s its cross-sectional shape — takes a bit of practice at first to tell which holes are razor clam holes, and which ones are just holes, i.e., not the right shape.  My cousins were experienced enough to even reject clam holes that were too small for their trouble, so the size of the holes also mattered to them — whereas I was such a townie and a greenhorn that I was just happy to find any razor clams at all at all;
• the main skill is not so much identifying the holes, but the speed of plunging the fingers (or bamboo strip) in, to beat the razor clam in its escape.  I would often find the right holes and dive in with my bamboo strip, only to see the top end of the razor clam sinking down as it burrowed deeper, away from me, and lose it.

    In hindsight, it’s frightening now to think how dangerous it could’ve been:  walking in the mud in bare feet without knowing what lay beneath — might’ve been broken glass.  Children are so fearless — or the ignorance of youth and lack of life experience.

    It was muddy work, which children have no qualms about — most kids, in fact, love mucking about.  It was cool respite from the tropical humidity and heat, having your legs immersed in mud up to the knees.  Above all, it was really satisfying to have a dish of razor clams stir-fried in chopped-up garlic and fresh red chilli served up at the dinner table that evening.  Freshly caught by yourself!

    The hurdle to anticipate was how to explain the appearance of the clams, as we were not allowed to go and run around, but expected to stay at home and do our homework and revision.  We often had to say our cousins had caught them and given us a share — a white lie that was, luckily, never challenged.  

    The trickier bit was not to arrive home, all muddy, at the same time as my uncle whose day trip into town was the window that gave us the opportunity to leave our studies and go into the mangrove swamps.  We had to make sure we were all hosed down before he got back.  So, arriving home was a precarious undertaking, sidling round the side and back of the house where the well and bathroom were, to wash off the mud, making sure not to run into my uncle should he already have got back, but it was worth it every single time.  

    Especially now, some 60 years later, looking back, with nowhere in Singapore like it to go to.  

    I’d love to hear from any Singapore readers who might be able to tell me I’m wrong.

(Singapore, 1960s)

*wuss: (MBP dictionary) a weak or ineffectual person (often used as a general term of abuse)