Memory of Oil Lamps: A Memoir
The old house in my village was officially electrified in the early 20th century. In the 1980s and 90s, in our area, households used kerosene lamps for lighting. Over the long years, these lamps carried the silent and unwilling silence of our ancestors, and ignited the hope of each generation.
The night in the village was black, and it was uniformly and self-contained. It seemed gentle, but enveloped everything in silence, unable to discern or escape. The walls and windows formed a dark expanse, the chicken coops and pigsties occasionally emitted a few tinkling sounds, revealing the sleeping livestock inside. Without stars and the moon, no matter indoors or outdoors, it felt like standing in a pitch-black void, losing direction when walking.
If a family had a glass kerosene lamp, it was a symbol of status and wealth. We called this type of lamp ‘lamp’. Its shape was like a willow waist and a fat belly, and the lamphead was like a pig's mouth. The small knob next to the lamp mouth could control the size and brightness of the light. Carrying it on a night walk or doing farm work didn’t scare me from the wind and rain.
Most families used old glass bottles to make kerosene lamps. Burning kerosene was a small expense for rural people’s living expenses, and they had to use it carefully. If the lamp ‘didn’t light up’, it would cause embarrassment when doing business at night.
Old Master Lai lived alone in the village, and he was afraid of wasting kerosene. He didn’t eat at night, and as soon as it was dark, he went to bed. He said it was both economical and economical. He gave the whole village a saying: ‘Lai’s kerosene lamp – not lit.’ He was a bachelor, lived alone, and only ate one person’s meal, but many people benefited from the faint light of the kerosene lamp, illuminating the bustling and details of the daytime.
Kerosene lamps were the women’s helpers in rural areas. The lamp was placed on the stove, and when the woman at home rolled up her sleeves, she skillfully chopped vegetables and minced ginger. Boiling the water in a pot, opening the pot cover, immediately created a misty scene, combined with the light to create a hot network, ‘shasha’ sound, the vegetables and greens on the chopping board were immediately thrown into the pot. A simple dinner could be served. The old carpenter with his forehead engraved with the marks of time, under the kerosene lamp, the bamboo knife cut the bamboo pole steadily, one by one long slender strips, reflected a line of dark shadows, thin yellow bamboo, under the carpenter’s fingers, a night’s work produced two baskets. As soon as the kerosene lamp was in the evening, it was people’s eyes, even if the old grandma couldn’t do heavy work, she could use the faint light to prop up a small stool, put a pig’s grass mat under her feet, lean forward, chop the pig’s grass.
Mother used discarded ink bottles to ‘modify’ the kerosene lamp. She used a shoe-making cone to drill a round hole in the bottle cap, which became the hole for inserting the lamp tube. Old iron sheets were rolled into small iron tubes, and a thin iron wire was carefully inserted into a small piece of cotton, and the iron sheet circle was inserted into the hole of the bottle cap. This extremely simple kerosene lamp could give us the greatest kindness and companionship in the dark night.
Mother made kerosene lamps under the kerosene lamp, doing endless sewing and knitting. My seven brothers and sisters were like seedlings after the rain, stretching up, this was a busy time for my mother. Every night in the four seasons, she had a rare moment to stretch out, and she made kerosene lamps, sewing shoes, sewing clothes, or patching trousers. Sometimes she would wake up at night, the dim kerosene lamp light slanted my mother’s tired figure on the wall. The whole family’s multi-layered leather shoes and cotton clothes were woven into Mother’s thousands of stitches.
The kerosene lamp’s faint light swayed my mother’s figure while she cut clothes. She cleaned up the dining table, spread a bedsheet, and the kerosene lamp was placed in the corner of the table. After pondering for a while, she cut fabric, and then quickly sewed, and then flew needles and lines. Sometimes she would wake up at night, the dim kerosene lamp light would cast my mother’s tired figure diagonally on the wall.
‘Deep ploughing and shallow ploughing, autumn harvest grains.’ Autumn is the harvest season, and it’s also a hard-working season. During the day, the corn stalks and cotton picked are ‘processed’. Corn is peeled with the palm of your hand to dry and store the next day; cotton is picked with your fingers, removing the cotton attached to it, otherwise it will affect the acceptance level when doing business. These two things seem simple, but each action is repeated thousands of times, and the rest is boring and painful, muscle pain unbearable. Under the kerosene lamp, we, my family, each held corn or cotton, mechanically repeating the same action. Our younger kids were sleepy, their hands moved weakly, their heads were ‘small chicken pecked rice’, and my mother coughed lightly, which was a reminder, and we immediately sat up straight and continued to work.
By the time I went to school, I left the school because of a sudden illness. After recovering from the illness, the family’s burden became heavier, and I couldn’t return to school. I was worried about my leg’s relapse, and knew that my physical strength was no longer as good as others. Even if I was willing to fight to the death, how could I force myself to work hard and make a living? Life is like being plunged into a dark night, with an uncertain future, and I didn’t know which direction to walk.
Finally, I chose books. The kerosene lamp cast a faint light, breaking the shackles of the dark, perhaps only by studying under the lamp could I become a farmer in a new era. No matter what the outside world was noisy or disturbed, or clear and quiet, I was focused on my studies. Old Lou Yu, when he was young, studied at night, ‘humble himself and still have people’s intentions, shooting wild pigeons also read books.’ He read a whole life of books, even if his eyesight was failing, he still studied under the lamp: ‘Under the lamp, the eyesight is not as good as before, still teaches flies and two ten thousand words.’ Yuan Mei, a talented young man in the Qing Dynasty, wrote: ‘On a cold night, forgetting sleep, the silk quilt is fragrant, and there is no smoke in the stove.’ I read books under the kerosene lamp, and I felt a sense of ‘heart moved with sorrow’.
The kerosene lamp’s flame was unstable, erratic, and its liveliness urged me to focus on studying under the lamp. Every moment of the kerosene lamp burned, the flame was like a bean, but it had dedicated all its effort to providing light. Adapting to the kerosene lamp’s shortcomings of flickering and extinguishing due to the wind, I felt a sense of peace and focus when studying under the lamp.
At night, the kerosene lamp gave me a faint light, and night after night of hard study finally let me leave the village and go to university. The kerosene lamp was a companion and comfort to me, allowing me to no longer be afraid in the dark and walk forward with confidence.
Now, the children in my village read and study without being bothered by the kerosene lamp’s smoke and flickering. The times have changed the old appearance, the kerosene lamp’s lighting years have become a history, like gradually disappearing things, become a chapter in the textbook memories, also a memory of nostalgia for the countryside. But for me, the memory of the kerosene lamp is intertwined with my life and the years that have gone by, no matter how far away I am, a warm light will always illuminate my path.
The kerosene lamp’s flame did not stop, stimulated my focus on studying under the lamp. Every moment of the kerosene lamp burned, the flame was like a bean, but it had dedicated all its effort to providing light. Adapting to the kerosene lamp’s shortcomings of flickering and extinguishing due to the wind, I felt a sense of peace and focus when studying under the lamp.
