A recipe for generosity

This man's helping hand extended to relatives, pupils – and even his homemade ngoh hiang

Ho Eng Chin

IN his own way, my father was a philanthropist.

At age 12, Papa sailed from China to Singapore and, like many in those days, it was to seek a better life.

With little education, he slogged hard, working first in coffee shops and, later, at St Hilda's School tuckshop.

He was a firm believer in healthy living. From a young age, every Sunday, all of us children had to be up early to start the day with a dose of taiji, a practice which continued until we had to relocate from our kampung to an HDB flat.

Papa was also an extremely good cook and, to supplement the household expenses, he would take catering orders for weddings during the school holidays.

My nieces and nephews still fondly remember his trademark sharks fin soup served every first day of the New Year. His other favourite dish was fish maw cooked in various ways — even as a dessert using fresh orange juice!

Papa was as generous with ingredients as he was in spirit. His ngoh hiang (meat roll) was not the ordinary type made with turnip; he used water chestnut steamed to crunchy perfection.

Our mother's health was not strong. She had pneumonia, kidney and other medical problems. Papa had to look after his five young children, making sure there was food on the table and that we had a good education — but the more difficult part was to look after Mother.

We remember how he had to call for a private taxi to see the doctor, and each time, he would carry Mother on his back out to the taxi. Papa insisted she be given the best, no matter what the sacrifice — so she was treated by an English doctor at Drs Thompson & Thompson Clinic at Raffles Place. Each visit was a costly affair.

I remember, vividly, how Mother was so weak she could not even lift a finger. Papa had to feed her spoonful by spoonful. Even the food he cooked for her had to be the freshest and healthiest. Mother eventually passed away three years ago, at age 85 — surviving so long partly because of her careful diet.

Papa was not only generous and kind to his family. Fondly known as Ah Chek to the pupils of St Hilda's, Papa paid the school fees for some of the needy pupils. Often, he refused to collect money from poor pupils who needed food and drinks.

Although we had little ourselves, Papa helped relatives in need — giving them small sums to help them get by, never asking for the money to be returned. To him, it was a blessing to give than to receive.

He even helped relatives in Hainan. His rationale was that our cousins in China did not have the good fortune of having their parents around at a young age, so it was his responsibility. He saved long and hard to send what he could, once a year.

In the early 1980s, Papa returned to his hometown by the sea several times. At that time, some of us had started working so his life was a little easier, and he could afford to be more generous with my cousins.

He sponsored a well for the village and the usual dinners for relatives he had not seen since childhood. He donated to the village school. Learning that one relative had to give up her baby girl for adoption due to China's one-child policy, Papa paid the fine so that the family could keep the baby.

Our childhood days were a mix of strict upbringing and a fair amount of freedom. We all had to be home for dinner, and there was no compromise on that rule.

But he let us make our own choices, be it over career or over friends. He was always by our side quietly supporting us.

Papa was a man of integrity. He taught us to honour our promises. He coined sayings such as: "Eat people's things, spoil your stomach". He believed we should be self-reliant and not greedy.

A man full of zest, even in his later years, Papa went to the market, visited friends and played mahjong. He was in his early 80s when his eyesight deteriorated so badly that he stayed home most of the time.

After Mother died, he lost interest in activities. His health became worse and he had to be hospitalised. It was a difficult time for the family as he resisted — he did not want to be a burden and he was not comfortable having nurses tend to him.

To convince him, we promised that we would be by his side day and night, and we did, taking turns to ensure one of us was always with him. Even our cousins came from Hainan to see him.

On Jan 10 last year, Papa died peacefully at home, at a ripe old age of 89, with my sister singing and recalling all his past good and generous deeds, and relating to him the places that he had visited.

Suffering was at an end and harmony came at last to the man we called Papa.