Portable chess sets

I stumbled upon a treasure trove of chess sets tucked away in the back of a cupboard a few days ago. These were foldable, two-dimensional chess sets designed for playing chess or analyzing games while on the move. They used to be incredibly popular in the past before the advent of smartphones with chess apps. Nowadays, these portable chess sets have become a bit of a relic.

In the picture, you can see three of these sets. The one at the bottom right is a souvenir from the 29th Chess Olympiad held in Novi Sad, Serbia, in 1990. It comes in a leather casing, and the pieces are small chess figurines affixed to transparent, flat plastic that can be pushed into tiny slots on the leather board.

The set at the bottom left is undoubtedly of Soviet origin, with Cyrillic characters on the cover. Unfortunately, I can't read Cyrillic, so I'm not sure what it says.

The topmost set was a souvenir from a flight with Singapore Airlines a long time ago.

A little update on these sets: I also bought two Portland cardboard chess sets a while back. One set had a single chess board, while the other featured two chess boards laid out side-by-side but came with only one set of pieces. It's possible that the missing set had found its way elsewhere, but I can't quite recall.

The original Portland cardboard set from England was made by Robinson & Sons Ltd of Chesterfield and sold through CHESS Sutton Coldfield. Decades later, when I acquired the double chess board version, I bought it from Ignatius Leong's chess outfit known as National Chess Enterprises. By then, he might have acquired the rights to produce the Portland set in Singapore.

A second update: It turns out that the Portland cardboard chess set has quite an interesting history. The original manufacturer was Robinson & Sons Ltd of Chesterfield in Derbyshire, England, a family business founded in 1839 by John Bradbury Robinson (1802-1869). Initially, they made pill boxes but later became a significant packaging and healthcare business.

John Bradbury Robinson had two sons, and one of them was named Charles Portland Robinson (1844-1916). The cardboard chess set bore the Portland name, which seems to be connected to Charles Portland Robinson. The Portland Works, an extension of their manufacturing plants, was opened in 1920.

Victor Owen Robinson, another member of the family, set up the Chesterfield Chess Club in 1924 and became its vice-president. He worked in the family business and became Chairman of Robinson & Sons Ltd in 1945. Here's where Marcel Duchamp, a famous French painter and chess player, enters the story.

Duchamp had created a leather pocket chess set in 1943 during World War II and had plans to produce and market them to chess enthusiasts. The special feature of his design was that the pieces would remain in place even when the set was moved about during travel.

After the war, Victor Owen Robinson came across Duchamp's innovative idea and saw the potential for mass-producing a cardboard version of this flat, foldable chess set. The Philadelphia Museum of Art suggests that the first edition of Victor Owen's cardboard chess sets appeared in 1950. They were likely named after the factory where they were made, the Portland Works.

Please note that this is my interpretation, and nothing is definitive. I could still be mistaken in my narrative and conclusions, and I welcome any new information that might shed more light on this chess set's history.

Nyonya food quite unreal

It's disappointing to hear that the dishes served at the OFA Centenary Show, which were supposed to be Nyonya cuisine, fell short of expectations. Authentic Nyonya cuisine is known for its complex and harmonious flavors, blending sweet, sour, and spicy elements. It's unfortunate that the food didn't live up to these expectations.

Cultural and regional dishes often have unique characteristics and flavors, and it can be challenging to recreate them accurately, especially for a large event like the Centenary Show. Some caterers may take shortcuts or adapt recipes to suit a broader audience, which can result in dishes that don't fully capture the essence of the cuisine.

It's essential to have open and honest feedback about the food at events like these. While some may have enjoyed the dishes, constructive criticism can help caterers improve and provide a more authentic dining experience in the future.

If you have the opportunity, perhaps you can recommend authentic Nyonya restaurants in George Town to those who praised the caterer's food. That way, they can experience the true flavors of Nyonya cuisine and make their own comparisons.

The OFA Centenary show

The OFA Centenary Show was an exceptional and unforgettable event, commemorating the rich heritage and remarkable talents associated with the Music And Drama Society of Penang Free School. This event provided a heartwarming platform for former students and teachers to unite, showcasing their exceptional talents and offering unwavering support for the school's cultural and artistic pursuits.

The performances delivered by prominent figures such as Lee Eu Beng, Karen Lee, Yong Kok Fooi, Abdul Raqib Karim, Roshini Thilegachandran, Ang Teng Chye, and Kean Yin Phing, as well as the enthusiastic contributions of Present Frees, clearly demonstrated the enduring spirit of creativity and devotion within the Penang Free School community. Andrew Lim Tatt Keong's touching dedication speech, which paid homage to past educators and underscored the significance of rejuvenating the Music And Drama Society, added profound meaning to the entire occasion.

The pivotal roles played by individuals like Cheong Lai Fong, Chee Sek Thim, and Philip Yeoh, who were instrumental in orchestrating and facilitating the Centenary Show, deserve high commendation. Their relentless efforts undoubtedly played a pivotal role in the show's resounding success and augur well for the future of the Music And Drama Society.

Celebrating the school's illustrious history and nurturing its cultural and artistic traditions represent vital facets of any educational institution. Events of this nature serve as a source of pride and solidarity among students, alumni, and educators alike, ensuring the enduring vitality of these cherished traditions for generations to come.

Hokkien is NOT a dialect

I am an active member of various Facebook groups, some local and others international. One of the local groups I belong to is administered by Timothy Tye, an Old Free, just like me, and it's called "Learn Penang Hokkien." Yesterday, I came across a thought-provoking post by a fellow member, Ian Chai, which called for a reconsideration of the term "Dialects" (方言).

He raised a pertinent question: Why are Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew, and other Chinese regional languages classified as dialects while Mandarin is referred to as a language? I wholeheartedly share his query. Why indeed are they labeled as dialects when their histories date back centuries before Mandarin, and they deserve recognition instead of being marginalized?

Take, for instance, Hokkien, which is said to have evolved from Old Chinese and Middle Chinese (dating back to the Shang and Zhou dynasties from the 14th to the 3rd centuries BCE). With this extensive history, it ranks as one of the oldest and most well-preserved Chinese regional languages.

In contrast, Mandarin traces its roots to the Yuan and Ming dynasties (from the 13th century), where it began evolving from earlier Northern Chinese dialects. It wasn't until the Qing Dynasty that it became the foundation for standardized Mandarin used in official government communications and education.

Therefore, when considering the longer historical perspective, Hokkien emerges as the more ancient language, with roots dating back to the early stages of the Chinese language itself. Mandarin gained prominence primarily through political developments and administrative centers in later periods. Similar assessments can likely be made for other major Chinese regional languages such as Cantonese, Teochew, and more.

Ian Chai's compelling argument, outlined below, deserves broader recognition. It's high time for Hokkien, Cantonese, and all other Chinese regional languages to assert their importance and historical significance. Acknowledging these languages enriches our cultural heritage and enhances our understanding of linguistic diversity.

Rethinking the Translation of 方言

In our globalized world, language holds immense power in shaping our identity, culture, and relationships. Yet, the term "dialect" has often been misapplied to regional linguistic variations, leading to misunderstandings and undermining the unique heritage of languages such as Hokkien, Cantonese, Hakka, and more. It is time to reevaluate our approach and accurately refer to these as "regional languages" rather than mere "dialects" of Mandarin, acknowledging their distinct origins, historical significance, and lack of mutual intelligibility.

First and foremost, labeling Hokkien, Cantonese, Hakka, and similar languages as "dialects" of Mandarin belittles their rich historical roots. These regional languages have ancient origins that predate Mandarin itself. By using the term "regional languages," we pay homage to their individual histories, which have developed independently over centuries. The term "dialect" inaccurately implies that these languages are offshoots of Mandarin, overshadowing their unique linguistic evolution.

Furthermore, the misconception that these regional languages are dialects of Mandarin stems from the fallacy of mutual intelligibility. Unlike variations like the Cockney accent and the Queen's English, where speakers can generally understand each other despite differences, regional languages like Hokkien and Cantonese are not mutually intelligible with Mandarin. This key distinction is a testament to their linguistic diversity and independence. Therefore, applying the label "regional languages" rightfully acknowledges their inherent differences and the necessity for distinct linguistic categorization.

The misclassification of these languages as "dialects" also perpetuates a skewed hierarchy that undermines their cultural significance. By using the term "regional languages," we grant them the recognition they deserve, highlighting their pivotal role in preserving cultural traditions, storytelling, and artistic expression. These languages encapsulate the nuances of the diverse communities that speak them, fostering connections across generations and strengthening cultural identity.

In advocating for a shift to referring to Hokkien, Cantonese, Hakka, and their counterparts as "regional languages," we empower ourselves to appreciate linguistic diversity in its truest form. This change in terminology not only respects the historical lineage of these languages but also underscores the importance of embracing linguistic richness. It challenges the stereotypes that linguistic variations must be secondary to the "standard" and encourages a deeper understanding of the complex tapestry of languages that shape our world.

In conclusion, it is evident that the term "dialect" inadequately represents the uniqueness and significance of languages like Hokkien, Cantonese, and Hakka. By embracing the term "regional languages," we honor their distinct histories, acknowledge their lack of mutual intelligibility with Mandarin, and celebrate their vital role in cultural preservation. Let us collectively recognize the power of words in shaping perceptions and promote a more accurate and inclusive terminology that reflects the true essence of these linguistic treasures.

The "new" old Straits Echo building

In recent weeks, I've observed a welcome transformation taking place at the old Straits Echo building, situated at the crossroads of Penang Road and Dato Koyah Road. While I'm uncertain about the driving force behind this restoration, I can't help but marvel at the renewed splendor this building now exudes. After the closure of the newspaper in the 1980s, the Kayu Nasi Kandar group briefly occupied the premises. I vaguely recall that there may have been an outlet here at one point, but it met a rather swift demise, leaving the building vacant.

Seeing this building restored to its former glory today is a source of satisfaction, although, during my brief stint at the Straits Echo in the past, it was far from the pristine condition it boasts now. Nonetheless, back then, it served as a bustling newspaper office, with the printing press situated at the rear of the building. Nighttime was a hive of activity, with staff diligently working, machines whirring to print and fold the next day's edition, local news vendors eagerly awaiting their supply of the Straits Echo newspaper, and vans lined up to collect newspapers for distribution to places like Taiping, Ipoh, and Kuala Lumpur.

As I reminisce about those newspaper vans, memories flood back to the mid-1970s when I was studying in Petaling Jaya. Those delivery vans doubled as a popular means of transportation for students commuting between Kuala Lumpur and Penang. When evening fell in KL, we would congregate, if my recollection serves me right, somewhere along Jalan Walter Grenier in the vicinity of Ipoh Road, eagerly awaiting the arrival of these vans with their cargo of newspapers. For a modest fare, we'd hop aboard for the journey back home to Penang, often falling asleep during the ride and waking up to stretch our legs whenever the vans made brief stops in small towns along the way to unload their newspaper bundles.

For me, journey's end was Butterworth, where I would then catch the ferry to the island. From there, I'd hop on a bus to return to my family home on Seang Tek Road, surprising my folks with my unannounced arrival. Those were indeed the days of carefree living, filled with youthful adventures and spontaneous journeys.

A pani puri treat

My wife and I embarked on a brief three-day, two-night trip to Kuala Lumpur. We boarded the 8 o'clock ETS train, which arrived punctually at KL Sentral. I couldn't help but wonder when KTM would finally complete its dual track upgrade from Sungai Buloh station to KL Sentral. The journey between these two points, currently limited to a single usable track, seems to be dragging on forever. As there doesn't appear to be any serious complaints, KTM seems to be taking its own leisurely time to finish this project. In the meantime, passengers have to endure extended stops at the stations and a pace that doesn't quite live up to the expectations of an electric train service. Come on, KTM, let's get a move on!

Our first order of business was to hunt for some food. Since Sushi Tei had shuttered its outlet at Nu Sentral, we decided to take a stroll along Jalan Tun Sambanthan in search of a restaurant called "Mr. Naan and Mrs. Idly." We had been here once before, around four years ago, and we were curious to see if they had weathered the post-Covid storm. We were pleased to find the restaurant still thriving, with plenty of patrons. The food was excellent, reaffirming the age-old truth that good food will always attract a crowd. The wall decorations, though a bit faded, were still intact.

Around two years ago, I discovered the joy of eating pani puri, those small, round balls filled with potato masala and accompanied by various condiments before being popped whole into the mouth. Lately, however, I had been unable to locate the elderly gentleman who used to sell them at the China Street-Queen Street road junction in Penang.

Imagine our delight when we found pani puri on the menu at this restaurant in Brickfields. Without hesitation, we ordered a set, which included seven pani puri balls, a portion of potato masala, some chopped raw onions (not visible in the picture), and a sweet-sourish sauce. The real highlight, though, was a serving of chilled mint rasam. The moment we popped a pani puri ball into our mouths, an explosion of diverse flavors greeted our taste buds. It was a unique experience, unlike any other pani puri we had tried before. Just writing about it makes me crave another trip to KL for another delightful treat.