The Tiger is looking at me. Green eyes (his) straight into green eyes (mine). Though at that moment I couldn’t care less about similarities. The Tiger looks big. Okay, it is a baby tiger, but a three-months old baby tiger is almost as big as a three-year old boy. Me. And right there and then, I have to walk past him. Less than a yard away. No choice. I have to pass by him that close, with his eyes straight into mine.
We lived in Cambodia at the time. Phnomh-Penh. We’d left the brown people of Pakistan who’d taught me how to walk and speak Urdu, for a place where no-one spoke Urdu. Only Khmer or Mandarin/Cantonese and some French. Store Urdu away for future occasions.
“We”, included my parents, my older brother, then ten, my little sister, barely six months and yours truly, about three years old. My very first recollections are from Cambodia. A few “snapshots” are still in my mind’s eye: the garden at dusk. The Tiger! Thi-Ba and Thi-Toy the maids cum Nannies.
When my mother hired a new maid, she would ask her her name, to which the new hiree always answered: “Just call me Thi-Ba, or Thi-Toy.” And she left it at that. It was only many years later when I commented that with a Vietnamese friend that he laughed and said: “Haha! It means First daughter and Second daughter. It is an old custom, people who enter the household never tell their own, personal name and they become part of the family: first or second daughter, third daughter if need be, and so on.” I’m not sure of the spelling but I like the concept of “entering” the family.
The year was 1956. My father was an Air France man. After eight years in Pakistan, he’d been “outsourced” to the Cambodian government to start the newly formed Cambodian airline: Royal Air Cambodge. As the general manager of the new airline, he reported almost directly to Prince Norodom Sihanouk, the new head of state. Cambodia had been a French protectorate since 1863. Though nominally autonomous since 1946, the country only became fully independent in 1953-54, roughly at the same time the French Army was defeated at Dien-Bien-Phu by Ho-Chi-Minh and Giap’s Viet-Minh and Viet-Nam was separated into South and North, a prelude to the forthcoming Viet-Nam war.
In 1956, the first Indochina war was over. For a brief time there was peace over the peninsula. Cambodia was moving forward in a newfound freedom. The heir of a long dynasty, Samdech (Prince) Norodom Sihanouk’s (full name: Preah Bat Samdech Preah Norodom Sihanouk Varman) plans to develop the country included a national airline. He struck a deal with Air France, well implanted in Indochina since before WWII, and Aigle Azur, a private airline which then transported anything in the region from military personnel, weapons, ammo to tractors and rice. Sihanouk was only 34, my father 38. I understand they got along well.
Right to left: my father, ever so elegant with a bowtie and “Samdech” Norodom Sihanouk in a dark suit at the airfield. Some kind of inauguration. I’ve always wondered how they managed the suits and ties in the Cambodian heat and humidity. A sarong is sooo much more practical.
The Phnomh Penh airport, 1956. Scan from an 8mm movie.
Right to left again: my father, and Sihanouk smiling. Though I’m not totally sure, the gentleman to the far left may have been Sam Sary, a prominent Cambodian politician, who later had a “fall out” with Sihanouk and mysteriously disappeared in 1962.
Left to right: One of Royal Air Cambodge’s first pilots, former Air France, probably former WWII French Free Forces fighter pilot, most were. Roland Manteau (I think) writing something on the pilot’s shoulder, and my father.
“What about the tiger?” Easy, easy, I’ll come to that. The Royal Air Cambodge fleet then comprised three planes, sold or leased by Air France. DC-3’s or DC-4’s:
Those were fabulous airplanes. 30-40 passengers max. Could land in a “mouchoir”, a handkerchief (at a time every gentleman always had a clean handkerchief in his breast pocket). My first flights were in those. Three to four days flight from Indochina to Paris, with stop-overs in Calcutta, Karachi, Teheran (caviar almost for free), Damascus or Beyrouth, Rome…
The company logo was an Apsara, a royal semi-divine dancer:
The Apsaras are female spirits of clouds and waters, in Hinduism and Buddhism, featured frequently on the bas-reliefs of Angkor. A fitting symbol for Royal Air Cambodge. I understand there are 44 types of Apsaras. ‘Don’t know which one the airline logo was. They are still very present even in to-day’s Cambodia, in the traditional dances:
Source: Cambodiasnapshots. Sheer beauty. Note the hands and feet. The sarongs. The headdress. There’s an elephant in the background painting hanging on the wall.
“Okay. We’re here for the tiger. The bl…y tiger. What happened?” Getting to that. We lived in a small two-storey house in Phnomh-Penh. A French Doctor lived on the ground floor. The tiger was his. We lived on the first floor. The garden was shared. With the Tiger…
With my little sister. Note the locally-made bamboo park/corral.
My brother Richard, with his last pair of spectacles. He’d already broken two and my mother had threatened him: “This is your last pair of glasses. Break them? I don’t care. I’m not replacing them”. Of course, two days after this picture was taken, Richard took his glasses of. Put them somewhere. Then sat on a chair and heard a loud “crack”. My mother kept her word. My brother never used glasses.
Obviously I don’t “remember” all those details. Those are “recycled” memories. I do remember the garden vividly though. In particular, the late afternoon I split my knee open falling on a discarded tin can in the garden. And I do clearly remember the Doctor neighbour sewing me up (three stitches). I don’t recall much anesthesia being applied. 😦
Before the tin can…
With the cook. A neighbour’s bitch had just had a litter. I was not allowed to keep a puppy, much to my dismay (and to the puppys’ relief). Note the sarong the cook wore and the “Asian squat”. I used to squat like that all the time as a child. Most restful position ever invented by (hu)mankind.
My friend “Petit-Ami”. The neighbours were Cambodian. They had a son roughly my age who came to play almost every day. We never knew his name. My mother called him Little Friend, “Petit-Ami”. He spoke no French, I spoke no Khmer, yet we were the best buddies. No language between us, just play. Food for thought: is language indispensable? Or does it – almost always – lead to misunderstandings?
I’ve always wondered what happened to “Petit-Ami”. The Khmers Rouges took Phnomh Penh in 1975. He would have been around twenty. A bourgeois or a Khmer Rouge? Most likely the former. The Khmers Rouges deported, starved, executed millions of their “elite”, sometimes, wearing glasses was enough to qualify for reeducation camps. An estimated 1.7 million Cambodians died at the hands of the Khmers Rouges. I hope “Petit-Ami” managed to survive and is now a happy grandfather with lots of “Petit-Amis” grandchildren running around.
The Tiger? It is a sad story. The Doctor living on the ground floor had adopted this baby tiger. In the hottest hours of the day, after lunch, during siesta time (why did stuff always happen to me at siesta time?), the tiger rested in the shade on a landing in the staircase going up to our apartment. Obviously, I was always very busy playing in the garden, but at times I had to go upstairs. Through the staircase. Where the tiger was. A big, large, (three months) (baby) tiger. But if you are three years old, you don’t know the difference and the baby tiger was as long as I was tall. So I would tiptoe on the first flight to the last stair just below the landing. Where the tiger generally dozed. My heart raced more at each step. Then of course the tiger would wake up, turn his head, and bore his green eyes into mine. Freeze. Is it absolutely indispensable to go upstairs? Yes. Tiger is chained? Yes. But the chain is long. Hmmm. I would then try to blend into the wall opposite the tiger, slowly make my way around the landing and then run upstairs for my life. Felt very brave each time.
A few years later, under other – African – skies, as my mother was showing us the Cambodia 8 mm movies, duly mounted and with sound added, I saw a small part on the baby tiger and I told my mother the story. She looked at me and said with a wry smile: “I’m surprised you remember that poor baby tiger. You were so little. And sorry to hear he scared you so. You should have told me.” (Mothers!)
“Why do you say ‘poor tiger’ ?” I asked.
“Oh, dear, the poor thing couldn’t have done anything to you. He was paralyzed from the hips down. Couldn’t walk, couldn’t jump or eat little boys.”
Text and illustrations © BMO and Equinoxio unless otherwise mentioned.
The tiger sketch is by my father, Cyril.
PS. Obviously I felt a bit foolish. But then isn’t bravery always tinted with a twist of foolishness? The lesson I learned? No matter what or who you are facing, real or imaginary? No fear.
Have a fearless week-end.
75 thoughts on “The little boy and the Tiger”
So, Brian… If Thi-Toy means first daughter, how is the second brother like you called?
The puppy’s relief? Hahaha! Sorry for you. No puppy! Do you have one now?
No French, no khmer with Little Friend. No words, just play? Wow! For how long?
So, no news from Petit-Ami? I hope he’s alive and well 🙂
Interesting post, Brian 🙂
If Thi-Toy means second daughter…
Understood. I never was quite sure who was “first”? Thi-Bâ or Thi-Toy?
Haha! I don’t know what second brother would be in Khmer or Vietnamese.
many people from Indochina visits my posts, but they never say a word.
Maybe someone can help? Hey! How do you say second brother? (Actually third, we have another, much older brother)
We have a cat now. “Inherited” from my father who passed away a few years ago.
The cat’s name is Miao-Tse-Tung.
Have a nice week-end Monica
Miao-Tse-Tung… Cool name for a cat 🙂
Sunday I’ll go to mountains (for 3 days) with my dad, so will be a tremendous week-end. I wish you one like mine xoxo
A cool and fitting name: she is a (lovely) dictator. 🙂
Enjoy your long week-end with your Dad, (my regards to him) and the mountains’ peace and beauty.
All pets are dictators :)) Thanks for your words. Have a nice weekend, too! I will tell to my Dad, Bryan. Thanks.
Intriguing, interesting, funny, sad. That’s how the story went on as I was reading. I too hope your Petit Ami is safe and sound or at least had a decently long life. That is one of the sad parts, with all those murders in Cambodia at the time. 😦 I also feel sorry for the tiger cub, it’s a cruel destiny for such beautiful animal.
Other than that I’m speechless. Not everyone has a VIF (Very Important Father 🙂 ) to take them around the world for such wonderful adventures. 😉
Oh and although I’m not particularly attracted to cambodian music (sorry ), their dance moves are very interesting and the costumes as well. And speaking of dancers, guess there’s a misspell up there: ‘Asparas’ instead of ‘Apsaras’. No big deal, happens to me all the time. 🙂
Alors, merci beaucoup pour l’histoire et les photos et bon weekend a vous, Brieuc!
Thank you Dragos. All the above were intended as I wrote.
VIF? That is funny. He had his ups and downs as V.I. But we did travel a lot. Nice.
And yes the baby tiger’s story was sad.
Thanks for noting the typo. I am quite hysterical about that, but one seems to creep in every post.
(I’ll correct it right away)
Good week-end to you too.
Such a tender story and heart-warming memories! Thank you for sharing!
Merci Julie et bon week-end.
C’est fascinant tout ça 🙂
Ça faisait longtemps que je voulais écrire l’histoire du bébé tigre.
Chose faite, avec qqs détails en plus.
Bon weekend à toi aussi – Nathalie
Great post! The idea of the Asparas is a lovely one. The spirits are certainly needed to lift the airplanes and keep them up and delicately hold them as the plane is landing.
I love the vintage travel poster. It has great graphics and content.
And I love that people would introduce themselves as second sister or the like. It is a wonderful sentiment to think everyone is immediately family.
Thank you Jenny. Happy you liked the post. So many things in there are already history now. A vintage childhood. 🙂
Maybe so but interesting none the less.
And about “second sister or daughter”, the fact is that to-day many would frown on “having so many servants”! Because they don’t know how the relationships really were. “Servants” were part of the household. And still are… 😉
Happy Weekend HUGS!
Thank you for sharing these experience with us, a glimpse into your very fascinating life! Hugs, mon ami.
Merci. I don’t know if mine is a fascinating life. I just always felt I was lucky to be in certain places at a certain time. 🙂 True not everyone has a tiger in his staircase, but that is just luck. 😉
I really enjoyed reading this story and the accompanying photos as well. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, dankje wel my dear. It is an old almost forgotten story, only my brother and I now remember. 🙂 Browsing through your blog again, may I ask: “Are you feeling better? Less… homesick”? I’ve lived in NL, and I remember vividly the dreary winters… 😉
Take care of yourself.
Nice to hear from you!
Knowing that the temperature has dropped to minus 20 back home these days definitely helps with easing the homesickness 😉
Yeah. I heard the north/north east was hit by snoo pretty bad. Don’t remember too much snow in Holland. 😥😇
You are a born storyteller, what a story you shared with us. I loved every line of it, and thanks for the pictures too 🙂 What a travel in time .. Poor tiger, yes, but I was so into your story, in the little boys feelings, that I actually had a big smile when I reached the last line 😉 (je sais, c est pas super sympa pour le tigre, mais bon ..)
So touching to see you with your little Ami, you are right, words dont mean much at this age. Things are so much easier and natural ..
Again, thanks for this beautiful post!
Thank you, my dear “Etoile”. Yours is great feedback. Your smile on the last line tells me the story works… Tiger’s long gone, I hope he lived as happily as he could. Why does it work? Because you smile at the little boy’s Semi-imaginary fear. (J’avais la trouille quand même). If you liked this one, and haven’t yet read it, you might like “The monkey incident”:
C’est vraiment fascinant…
Et j’adore ton idée de partager photos et souvenirs. Vraiment.
Merci infiniment. 🙂 (Mission accomplie)
Tout va bien chez toi?
Oui, bien occupée! – et un temps affreux, hélas….
Navré. La “douceur angevine” n’etait que du marketing avant l’heure? 😉
You are a great story teller, Brian. I wonder, what changes would it make in your life if you shared your fear with your mother and she told you the sad truth.
Thank you my dear. ‘Guess we will never know. Maybe I did know something was “wrong” with the baby tiger. But then, at three, sometimes, you don’t take chances. The landing was fairly small and – I thought – the tiger was too big and too close for comfort. Like walking past a large striped mastiff. 🙂
You were a very brave boy.
Haha! I was scraping the paint of the wall with my back.
A beautiful story Brian, and fascinating photos. What an extraordinary childhood! Not many people get to be terrified by a real life tiger. Your story prompted me to think of Calvin and Hobbes, Hobbes being the fictional tiger and best friend of Calvin and who legitimises all sorts of mayhem.
Hope all’s well, Paul
You’re right. I’d forgotten about calvin and hobbes (man is a wolf to man?) a very nice cartoon. 👍😼
Bitter sweet memories. Boy, you were adorable! And your papa too 🙂 I am sad when I see animals paralysed or missing limbs. Merci d’avoir partage ces souvenirs, B.
A cet age la on est toujors “mignon” 😇
Ravi que ca t’ai plu.
Beautiful photos and a beautiful write up. You have some amazing memories. 🙂
Thank you. It is true that not everyone is faced with a (baby) tiger. I’m doubly fortunate to have been there and to remember it vividly. Hence the pleasure to share it with all of you. Take care.
You have such vivid memories I can hardly remember last week yet along 20/30 or more years ago. I agree with Dragos it must have been fun to have a VIP for a father. But I also imagne that it was difficult for you and your siblings to keep moving. But I think the good outweighed the bad.
It is a shame that you never said anything to your mother sooner. You could have possibly been the Tigers buddy instead of his potential meal.
I too like the idea of Nannies entering the famiy. The have so much influence with the chidren.
Dragos has a lot of humour. My parents were VIP: Very Important Parents… to us. 😉 The rest is not important. 🙂 have a lovely week-end Robin. How’s the house “restoration” going?
Thank you Brian and Robin! Humo(u)r is a VIP (Very Important Part) of keeping our sanity. 😉
You are quite right, Dragos. There are days when I feel I am going insane. Or is it the world around me?
Tricky question. 😉
Obviously it is the world, right? 😉
Maybe, sometimes… 😛 XD
The restoration is going…..I just finished cleaning out the apartment today. Now my focus will be on thehouse.
It takes time but then the results are always rewarding. 🙂
Such a great post! 🙂
Thank you Victoire. I take it you hadn’t read it? I’m very glad you liked it. Those are my first memories… 🙂
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Lovely story, airplanes and baby tigers, misunderstandings and little friends… 🙂 I can understand why the memory of that tiger stands out, paralyzed or not!
Ah? Glad you’ve read it. It is one of my favourite stories. My first (accessible) memory in a way.
I am sure I’ve read this before but anyhoo what a story!
We probably don’t need language – we might even fare better as creatures without it because we would expect misunderstandings so wouldn’t make such a frigging big deal when they occur and the main things that actually matter would still go on, as with life.
Your friend Petit-Ami’s possible plight is just the standard male-led savagery that I mentioned in another conversation. Run of the mill, everyday stuff.
I like the lesson learned but of course you were right to fear the tiger and act accordingly. You could have been his supper in any other circumstance…and poor thing, surely he could still move via his front paws or why keep him alive? Lots of lower paralysed dogs and cats get about by dragging.
I don’t care if it’s years ago I want answers on my desk 0200 GMT tomorrow.
it’s 1:20 MMT ma’am. 0200 GMT I am still sleeping.
The baby tiger apparently could drag himself with front paws. I have a video which I need ot check how to upload.
Male-led savagery is a constant. (I’m not sure female-led savagery will be any less. We shall see) I sometimes come to think that the destiny of mankind is war… man-kind? Nothing kind about man…
Glad you (re)liked the story.
Bon week-end mon amie.
‘I have a video which I need ot check how to upload.’ – oh gosh how exciting! Let’s see it! Let’s see it!
You could put it on YouTube and embed it onto your post as I believe uploading direct to WordPress.com will attract a fee and you already owe me for my lost items.
Women can be a special kind of worst re savagery, so it’s just animals really if you want some form of pure spirit.
Bon w/e Tiberius. 🙂
Youtube? Good idea. It does work with WP.
Thank you Anastasia.
You are welcome Leonard. We are merely the home of good ideas, at your service. *Low bow.*
Did you see The darkest hour? With the women doing courtesy to Churchill?
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Lovely. I’d missed this one. So glad you reposted. Thank you.
My pleasure. Glad you enjoyed it Janet. Hope all is well?
Wow! This story really took my breath away. What a story. Thanks for sharing it with me.
My pleasure. 🙂 That (and the tin can) are my oldest memories. 😉
Brilliant memories brilliantly told, I loved reading this! I could really picture you creeping up the stairs past the poor tiger. As for Petit-Ami, I hope he survived the later dreadful years in Cambodia. I’ve often observed while travelling how small children can make friends when they have no language in common, perhaps because they’re not long past the age when they didn’t use language to communicate? It’s a skill we rapidly lose, unfortunately 😦
Thanks for visiting. And I do recall very visually that staircase.
As for Petit-Ami, we shall never know. My father worked for Sihanouk. On some of the official pictures with him and staff, I suspect a couple of officials are future Khmer Rouges.
And yes, kids communicate very well.
It seemed from all I learned there that anyone could have had the potential to join the Khmer Rouge, brainwashed into accepting their distorted views and atrocities – even the very young.
The young are always vulnerable to fanaticism… Need to believe in something… In that case it appears to be a future high ranking Khmer Rouge official. I’m not a 100% sure.