Tribute to an Old Man and his Sea

A continuation of my fascination with the older men and the sea and as TV chefs would say, "Here's one I made earlier":

OVER the years, my collection of audiotapes, videotapes, VCDs has increased somewhat alarmingly. Some are work-related. Others are mere documented observation of everyday life, like the kittens being fed or the children's first day at school.

Others are tapes of events and meetings with people with interesting stories to tell.

These tapes are now competing for space with other collection of photographs and even reel-to-reel tapes, relics from my old BBC days. These are personal archives of events that document our life abroad.

Attempting to catalogue the tapes recently, I came across one that was labelled simply "Pak Cik Hamzah". It was only quite recently that I learnt of his death at the ripe old age of 85. Pak Cik Hamzah was one of the many Malay sailors who left "Malaya" in the 50s and never returned.

I met Pak Cik Hamzah, perhaps six years ago, when I was doing a Hari Raya special for a television company. I tracked down old Malay sailors and travellers and featured them in the programme.

As a result, the feature on Pak Cik Hamzah caught the attention of relatives back home, who recognised him as the "Pak Busu" whose adventures around the world they had only heard about from their elders. They contacted me and made arrangements for me to bring him back. Along with this message they also sent some dodol and other Malay kuih.

After our return to London, we visited him in Cardiff where he lived alone. His children, I was told, visited him regularly. Otherwise, he lived in a sparse one-bedroom flat in a council estate populated only by Somali immigrants.

My second meeting with Pak Cik Hamzah was duly recorded on video. I watched this video recently and saw him eagerly tearing open the package of goodies. He gave a toothless grin when told that some relatives still remembered him and wanted him to go home.

"I do want to go back before I die," he says, looking straight into the lens. He had already packed three big suitcases and asked me whether that was enough.

He was eager to go back and see the Malaya that he heard had prospered; that now boasts of the tallest building in the world. And I had failed him. Sadly, before any arrangements could be made for him to fly back, I was told that his children had persuaded him to abandon the idea.

After that I lost track of him, only to learn of his demise a few months later. But Pak Cik Hamzah, like other old sailors such as Hamid Carpenter, Pak Man Tokyo who died years before him, lives on in my archives.

It has become a joke among my friends that I go chasing after old men. I am not the slightest bit annoyed for I am a strong believer that once these old dears go, their rich experiences go with them and we are left a lot poorer for not being able to share them.

Pak Cik Hamzah had told me of his life as a young rascal back in Malacca. Although he came from a well-to-do family, he yearned for adventure. He once sailed across to Indonesia in darkness to sell rubber illegally.

For all his autumn years, there was still a mischievous look about him. His quest for adventure took him further when he decided to sail with the merchant navy. Without any money, he pawned his father's land title and set off on a voyage that took him around the world.

He had been to China, Russia and even to the North Pole. He recalled being woken up one morning and told to jump into the sea as his ship was under attack. It was a bitterly cold experience that he was not likely to forget. At the age of 80, his memory was still good.

Accompanying us on this visit was a young law student, also from Malacca. It was interesting watching the two in conversation, each from a different era in time.

He enquired about the padi field and an asam tree that remained fresh in his memory. I watched his face crumple in disappointment when told the place had been developed now, with lots of hotels. He asked about a local shop, which had long gone even before the birth of the would-be lawyer, and again he found it hard to believe that a shopping complex had replaced it.

Cardiff is not an unfamiliar ground for Malayans or Malaysians. Even before Pak Cik Hamzah's arrival, there were Malay sailors residing there.

One even owned hostels for the seamen. Now, Malaysian students are abundant in the seaside town, pursuing their studies at Welsh universities. Proudly, he told us how he'd gone to a nearby hotel upon hearing news that a new batch of Malaysian students had arrived.

"Eh, kau orang dari Malaya?" he would enquire before proceeding to tell them his adventures. Nothing would please him more than to be surrounded by these lads, young enough to be his grandsons. He'd tell them again and again how he survived the storms at sea.

I asked why he never returned. Pak Cik Hamzah had maintained contact with his sisters for a while until he got married to a German. He sent back a wedding photograph but he got word that the family had objected to the union to the extent of accusing him of not being a Muslim anymore, especially when they heard that he had assumed the name of Hamzah (his father's name)or Hemze as the locals called him.

He was very proud of Malaya. He had heard of the tallest building in the world being built and proudly told his neighbours so. The day we visited him, he called out to friends to tell them his niece and nephew had come to see him.

Pak Cik Hamzah never lost his fluency in Malay. In fact, I was almost knocked off my chair when he asked, "Anak kau berapa ekor?" And he reserved some of the most delicious expletives for his then estranged wife.

We took him to the seafront of Cardiff and his tired old eyes took in the vastness of the sea that had once brought him such pleasure and excitement. He was already quite frail. He struggled on with the aid of his walking stick as the cold sea breeze caressed his wrinkled face. This was his playing field, but for many of his friends, it was their burial ground.

Pak Cik Hamzah's life was indeed enriched in a way that no university education could. Personally, being able to share just a fragment of his adventure was a valuable education and a humbling experience for me. Like Pak Man Tokyo, Pak Mid Carpenter and many others, he has taken his memories with him but somewhere on the shelves of my disorganised life, they had kindly allowed me into their world, if only for a while.

And for this, I am thankful.