Childhood In The Thirties 3
There was a nest of bees almost as big as a sack of rice, hanging in a tree near the house. That would make a nice dish of baby bees said my aunts and mother.
Don’t you be prejudiced as it really was delicious after having eaten it. Isn’t there a delicious dish of frogs, of shrimps in a restaurant? What if it were scorpions instead? When there was an invasion of laron, crickets, jati pupae, village people at that time ate them and say it’s very delicious, but I didn’t dare to eat them as I imagined eating laron or crickets and I remembered the “Fear factor” show on TV, of those who compete eating live insects(!).To survive in critical conditions as being lost in the mountains or forests one ate lizards or any other creature uncooked. During war time, snails, mice, rats, cats, dogs, were hunted and eaten.
So my granddad (he was a rich and respected landlord) one day ordered one of his subordinates to pluck the bee-nest from the tree in the evening. All lights were turned off. There only was one torch fastened to a long bamboo pole. We, all the family, the village children and their parents, servants of his household were standing, sitting, watching excitedly in the dark. We just heard their shouts, orders, comments, as the pole torch was raised nearing the nest. Bees came out angrily and charged the fire and fell. Then after some time as there were no more flying bees left, a hero was chosen, persuaded to climb the tree in the dark. He got an empty bag with him, and accompanied by encouraging shouts, blessings and prayers of the onlookers he climbed the tree. “Hurrah” we cried as he succeeded to cover the nest with the sack, tied it and cut the nest from the tree and it was lowered down with a rope.
I don’t remember how the bag was opened for it must be very dangerous if there were still potential bees in it. There was no honey in the intricate, cleverly build structure of the combs. Some of the combs were still closed with a thin cover and in it were white larvae. It was taken out and collected on a large plate. And with delight my aunts, my mother worked relaxed together, sitting on the tapang in soft light till late in the evening and I fancied the happiness of a family sitting, cozy around the fireplace in winter.
You can’t imagine what a delight it was to sit and work or play on a tapang, or to sit on the floor, on the steps, to walk barefoot, in shorts without a shirt, to cook by burning wood or coal, have your meal in the garden and eat with your fingers on a banana leaf and it still is when you’re not in a hurry, lazy or ashamed.
There was a nest of bees almost as big as a sack of rice, hanging in a tree near the house. That would make a nice dish of baby bees said my aunts and mother.
Don’t you be prejudiced as it really was delicious after having eaten it. Isn’t there a delicious dish of frogs, of shrimps in a restaurant? What if it were scorpions instead? When there was an invasion of laron, crickets, jati pupae, village people at that time ate them and say it’s very delicious, but I didn’t dare to eat them as I imagined eating laron or crickets and I remembered the “Fear factor” show on TV, of those who compete eating live insects(!).To survive in critical conditions as being lost in the mountains or forests one ate lizards or any other creature uncooked. During war time, snails, mice, rats, cats, dogs, were hunted and eaten.
So my granddad (he was a rich and respected landlord) one day ordered one of his subordinates to pluck the bee-nest from the tree in the evening. All lights were turned off. There only was one torch fastened to a long bamboo pole. We, all the family, the village children and their parents, servants of his household were standing, sitting, watching excitedly in the dark. We just heard their shouts, orders, comments, as the pole torch was raised nearing the nest. Bees came out angrily and charged the fire and fell. Then after some time as there were no more flying bees left, a hero was chosen, persuaded to climb the tree in the dark. He got an empty bag with him, and accompanied by encouraging shouts, blessings and prayers of the onlookers he climbed the tree. “Hurrah” we cried as he succeeded to cover the nest with the sack, tied it and cut the nest from the tree and it was lowered down with a rope.
I don’t remember how the bag was opened for it must be very dangerous if there were still potential bees in it. There was no honey in the intricate, cleverly build structure of the combs. Some of the combs were still closed with a thin cover and in it were white larvae. It was taken out and collected on a large plate. And with delight my aunts, my mother worked relaxed together, sitting on the tapang in soft light till late in the evening and I fancied the happiness of a family sitting, cozy around the fireplace in winter.
You can’t imagine what a delight it was to sit and work or play on a tapang, or to sit on the floor, on the steps, to walk barefoot, in shorts without a shirt, to cook by burning wood or coal, have your meal in the garden and eat with your fingers on a banana leaf and it still is when you’re not in a hurry, lazy or ashamed.
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