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Lam Pin near the original village of Cha Sai to start a business. Upon his death, the 17th generation ancestor like those of the 13th to 16th generations was buried near his heung-ha of Tso Po. Not long after getting married, however, the 18th generation ancestor (my father's father) decided to emigrate overseas, leaving the family business to his four brothers in Lam Pin. My grandfather never returned to China and was buried overseas, where the rest of his family continued to live. The four brothers of this 18th generation ancestor died, unfortunately without male survivors and were buried near Lam Pin. Our house in Lam Pin has since been occupied by close (affinal) relatives, and the old house in Tso Po was eventually abandoned, remnants of which still stand. I was told also that those family members living overseas are now the only living survivors of that fong beginning from the 13th generation ancestor in Tso Po. Despite the many generations, there were a few other descendants from the 13th generation once or twice removed, but they too died without male survivors, leaving us therefore with the task of tending to their graves. These graves now include all those from the 13th to 17th generation ancestors at Tso Po and those of the 18th generation at Lam Pin. The funny thing about this explicitly genealogical account, however, is that my father never knew we had ancestors at Tso Po." He had likewise passed on to me the firm impression that we were Cha Sai villagers, and we usually address ourselves as Cha Sai villagers living at Lam Pin. According to elders, there was no question that our heung-ha was Tso Po. Bad fortune was probably what led the 17th generation ancestor to move to Lam Pin, but it was the 18th generation ancestors who began to dissociate themselves from Tso Po (due to bad fortune rather than change of residence). Thus, our change of heung-ha to Cha Sai represented less a nostalgic return to the past than a change of circumstances in an ongoing (re-)definition of that local life-situation.
If the meaning of locality is as complex as suggested by the above example, then what about the so-called "single-lineage village", one may ask? Contrary to appearance, such villages are less conscious of the fact that they live as a common descent group than of the fact they share relations of closeness (chan (C), ch'in (M)). It is easier perhaps to explain why a single-surname village remains a single-surname village than to explain how such a village came to be so in the first place. The continuity of a single-surname village has less to do with the descent principle per se than with a customary rule of marriage residence. A
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Lam Pin near the original village of Cha Sai to start a business. Upon his death, the 17th generation ancestor like those of the 13th to 16th generations was buried near his heung-ha of Tso Po. Not long after getting married, however, the 18th generation ancestor (my father's father) decided to emigrate overseas, leaving the family business to his four brothers in Lam Pin. My grandfather never returned to China and was buried overseas, where the rest of his family continued to live. The four brothers of this 18th generation ancestor died, unfortunately without male survivors and were buried near Lam Pin. Our house in Lam Pin has since been occupied by close (affinal) relatives, and the old house in Tso Po was eventually abandoned, remnants of which still stand. I was told also that those family members living overseas are now the only living survivors of that fong beginning from the 13th generation ancestor in Tso Po. Despite the many generations, there were a few other descendants from the 13th generation once or twice removed, but they too died without male survivors, leaving us therefore with the task of tending to their graves. These graves now include all those from the 13th to 17th generation ancestors at Tso Po and those of the 18th generation at Lam Pin. The funny thing about this explicitly genealogical account, however, is that my father never knew we had ancestors at Tso Po." He had likewise passed on to me the firm impression that we were Cha Sai villagers, and we usually address ourselves as Cha Sai villagers living at Lam Pin. According to elders, there was no question that our heung- ha was Tso Po. Bad fortune was probably what led the 17th generation ancestor to move to Lam Pin, but it was the 18th generation ancestors who began to dissociate themselves them from Tso Po (due to bad fortune rather than change of residence). Thus, our change of heung-ha to Cha Sai represented less a nostalgic return to the past than a change of circumstances in an ongoing (re-)definition of that local life-situation.
If the meaning of locality is as complex as suggested by the above example, then what about the so-called "single-lineage village", one may ask? Contrary to appearance, such villages are less conscious of the fact that they live as a common descent group than of the fact they share relations of closeness (chan (C), ch'in (M)). It is easier perhaps to explain why a single-surname village remains a single-surname village than to explain how such a village came to be so in the first place. The continuity of a single-surname village has less to do with the descent. principle per se than with a customary rule of marriage residence. A
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