One scene that left a more lasting impact was that of live chickens being slaughtered. There were two stalls selling chicken right across the street from our house. The live chickens were kept in compartmentalised coops on wheels. These coops were pushed into place each morning and pushed away in the late afternoons. I had never questioned where they were moved to at the end of the day.
Because of the bulk of the coops, these stalls were usually set up earlier than the others. When the chicken stallholders were late, we would hear cries of “gwan sooi, gwan sooi” ((hot water) as they tried to manoeuvre between the other stalls. It was equivalent to shouting, “Give way, take care”.
The chicken stalls were most fascinating. When a customer asked for a chicken, the vendor would pick one from the crowded pen. The pitiful bird would squawk loudly while its legs held it, and its wings would be lifted for the customer to examine. Supposedly, that was to judge whether the chicken was a ‘good’ one.
The process was repeated until the customer was satisfied. The chicken was then trussed and weighed on a hand-held balance with a metal rod with scaled markings. At one end was a bell-shaped metal weight and a metal pan at the other. It was called daching.
Then, the haggling over the price began. We could hear every word when the vendor and customer got animated and gesticulated. Once the price was agreed on, it was the death knell for the poor bird. A tag was tied to one of its legs, and a similarly numbered tag was issued to the customer. The customer would return for the purchase after completing her marketing for the morning, and the tag was her means of identification.
The vendor held the bird in one hand, keeping its head back and exposing its neck. With a sharp knife, he slit the neck, and blood would spout. The blood was let into a porcelain bowl to coagulate. The bird was then thrown into an empty oil can and covered. Even from where we were, we could hear the poor bird struggling and making a lot of noise. When we could hear no more, it meant that it was dead. It was then put into a wooden tub, and boiling was poured over it to make it easier for its feathers to be plucked. When it was fully ‘naked’, another slit with the sharp knife was made on the lower end of its underside, and the entrails were removed. The heart, liver, giblets and intestines, and coagulated blood would be taken home by the customer and turned into tasty dishes, too. Finally, the legs were neatly tucked into the body slit, and a piece of straw was used to string up the cleaned fowl, ready for collection.
The process of slaughtering a live fowl at home was similar. The sight and sound of the slaughter did not put us off eating the meat because we had chicken only on special occasions like Chinese New Year and birthdays. Even then, we were rationed about how many pieces we could have, for the chicken was meant to last a few meals. It was an honour bestowed when someone offered to “slaughter a chicken” to invite you for dinner.
Carena Chor
Carena Chor is a retired ITE lecturer interested in drama, reading, writing and craft work.
