On Thursday, 16 August, 36 MCG members and guests gathered at Badan Warisan to hear Balan Moses speak about Brickfields. It was a wonderful morning filled with Balan’s first person account of his childhood and teenage days spent in this unique area of KL from 1955 through 1970. His sense of humour and his great love affair with Brickfields was evident throughout the morning.
First we got a small history lesson: Brickfields got its name from the words brick and fields as the area was once the centre for brick-making in the early days when the whole area was a clay pit with cows grazing around the area. Bricks were being made here as early as 1891. *The main clay pit was where KL Sentral complex is now located.
Given that Brickfields was so close to the town center, it was the perfect location for primary government housing. The middle-rung civil servants who called Brickfields home were attached largely to the Immigration, Customs, Telecoms and Railway offices. The area was always quite Indian in character, although in the early days Tamils from Sri Lanka were prevalent. But as Balan writes ‘there were too many Indians, too few Chinese and almost no Malays living in the area when I was growing up’. This was probably due the fact that Indians preferred the safety and security of government service. The most senior of these civil servants lived in single or double story houses along Rozario Street. This area was called Hundred Quarters and if you said you lived in Hundred Quarters, you had instant recognition. You can still see a few of these houses, but who knows for how long as Brickfields changes its landscape seemingly daily.
One thing that is very evident in Brickfields even today, is the number of places of worship, whether a Protestant or Catholic Church, Buddhist and Hindu Temples, Mosques and there is even a Syrian Orthodox Church! These communities mix among one another with no problems, sharing holiday meals and more. Balan told about celebrating Wesak Day watching the many floats as they paraded down Brickfields Street, now Jalan Tun Sambanthan.
Balan shared many childhood memories with us with one of the most vivid being kite flying. This often led to ‘kite fights’ with the youths from distant Bangsar, after kites had been cut loose with the glass string. After a kite was cut loose, it was a matter of pride to try and rundown the errant kite, sometimes running five miles on bare feet.
We also learned about the Peking Hotel or “the hotel that wasn’t”. It was a sleazy joint that respectable people avoided as it was an institution in Brickfields for all the wrong reasons. It was an apparent source of a good time, complete with a bar that served up more than just alcohol.
It was also a place where many youth puffed on their first cigarette. Balan said he often walked by to see if any relatives or family friends were having a quick, secret drink. If he did happen to see someone ‘they pretended not to see me, and I them”. Interestingly, the Peking Hotel is still in business.
Balan can’t talk about Brickfields without talking about food….every kind of food! The food was varied, taking something from every community and every hour it seemed, a different hawker would cycle by the house putting all stomachs on alert. He still goes to Brickfields at least once a week to eat and meet up with friends.
Chapter after chapter, you can meet unforgettable characters and get a real feel for the days gone by. As I read the book, I was taken back to the very small town where I grew up. I mentioned this to Balan and he said ‘there is a Brickfields in everyone’s past’.
This was a morning that was really enjoyed by everyone and I feel certain that Brickfields will soon be visited by many members of the MCG….maybe looking for the toddy shop! One very notable thing that must be mentioned is that all proceeds from this book will go to Rumah Chrestus, a home for abused and neglected children. I am happy to report that we raised over RM1200 from attendance fees and book sales at this event. It will go toward building a permanent shelter for these forgotten children.
Cindy Zeier
|