Every time I come to Changsha, as long as I smell two smells, it will evoke my childhood memories, and the scene of my childhood and my grandfather in Changsha will come to my eyes.
One is the taste of sugar oil. At that time, on days when there was not enough to eat, sugar oil had a seductive taste, and it would seduce people's taste buds from time to time. Whenever you smell or see it on the street, you always have to pestering grandpa to buy, helpless grandpa is shy, most of them are gambling and lost.
Grandpa is the old Changsha. In order to make a living, at the age of nine, he left his hometown with his second brother, who was only two years older than himself, and went to Changsha to learn crafts together and work as an apprentice in a grain shop. Since childhood, I have suffered a lot, suffered from the exploitation of the boss and the abuse of the boss's wife, the first few years of exhausting and tiring busy work, the meal can only eat a half full, to adulthood, but also to support the family, a large family, all rely on grandpa to earn some hard money to live a difficult life.
After liberation, the shop was adopted as public ownership, and Grandpa became a state worker, although the salary was not much, but the family life was still better.
In the early sixties, the country's economy was in difficulty, and Grandpa responded to the government's call to return to his hometown to participate in agricultural production. He worked for more than 20 years, and it was not until the early 1980s that he returned to the unit and enjoyed the treatment of retired workers.
The second is the smell of public toilets. Before the 1990s, sanitation in most cities was very backward, people did not know what a flush toilet was, and they had to go to the public toilet to go to the toilet. Every morning, people who go to the toilet and pour the toilet line up in a long line, which becomes a landscape. There is a joke: where there are toilets in Changsha, the footsteps follow the nose.
After many years, the impression of old Changsha has been blurred, but the place where my grandfather lived, and the place where my grandfather once took me, the memory is still relatively clear. The stone road of Golden Line Street, the grotto gate of the Taiping Street Mansion, the endless flow of people at the south gate, the small steamboats, wooden rows, barge boats in the Xiang River, the buns of Deyuan, and the dried incense of the sauce garden all seem to be burned in the brain and lingering. Especially in the streets and alleys, the shouts and shouts of the Xiangxiang people," "no umbrellas, repair shoes, shoes, cloth shoes," seem to be still in the ears.
