Seven Old Songs, One Unforgettable Musical Journey

#2026-0815

七首老歌：一段難忘的音樂之旅

(Seven Old Songs, One Unforgettable Musical Journey)

After writing about 舊情綿綿, 車站, 雙人枕頭, 雪中紅, 離別的月台票, and 星夜的離別, I recently came across another old song that immediately caught my attention: 最後的火車站. It made me realize that these seven songs, although they were written and recorded in different periods and in somewhat different musical styles, can be listened to as a small collection of songs about love, separation, memories, and the passing of time.

What I find particularly interesting is that so many of them use very ordinary things to express deep emotions. A double pillow (雙人枕頭) is simply something two people share at night. A railway station is simply a place where trains arrive and leave. A platform ticket (月台票) is only a small ticket for entering the platform. Yet in these songs, such ordinary things become symbols of love and loss. 雪中紅 turns a red flower standing in the snow into an image of love that refuses to disappear, while the stars in 星夜的離別 become silent witnesses to the parting of two people.

The railway songs are especially fascinating when we put them together. In 車站, some people arrive happily to welcome their loved ones, while the singer is there to watch someone she loves leave. In 離別的月台票, a woman reaches the station too late and can only watch the departing train disappear. In 最後的火車站, the story moves one step further: the train has already carried the woman away, and she is left wondering where the final station will be. The railway station is therefore no longer simply a physical place. It becomes a symbol of a relationship whose destination is uncertain.

There is also an interesting musical journey behind these songs. Some were written by Taiwanese composers and lyricists and grew directly out of Taiwanese life, while others were adapted from Japanese songs and given new lyrics in Taiwanese or Mandarin. 離別的月台票 and 最後的火車站, for example, remind us of the close musical connections between Japan and Taiwan during the early decades of postwar popular music. 星夜的離別 shows how a Japanese melody could cross languages and borders and acquire different stories in different places.

What I appreciate most, however, is that these songs are not really about trains, stations, pillows, snow, or stars. These are simply the images they use to talk about something much more universal. 舊情綿綿 looks back at a love that has ended but cannot be forgotten. 雙人枕頭 reminds us of the emptiness left when the person who once shared our everyday life is no longer there. 雪中紅 suggests that love can remain alive even in the coldest circumstances. 星夜的離別 accepts separation while still wishing happiness for the person who has gone away.

Perhaps this is why these old songs continue to touch people even though the world in which they were created has changed so much. Railway stations look different today, and 月台票 has long disappeared from ordinary life. We can send a message instantly to someone on the other side of the world instead of waiting for a letter or wondering when a train will arrive. Yet the emotions expressed in these songs have not become outdated.

We still remember people we once loved. We still regret words that were left unsaid. We still wonder what might have happened if we had arrived a little earlier, spoken a little more honestly, or chosen a different path.

That may be one reason I enjoy practicing these songs on my viola. I am not simply playing melodies from an earlier generation. In a small way, I feel that I am bringing their memories into the present. The melodies may be old, but the feelings within them are not.

Seven songs, seven different stories—and yet, when I listen to them together, I sometimes feel that they are telling us essentially the same thing: people come into our lives, people leave, and the years keep moving forward. What remains are the memories we carry with us.

And perhaps that is what makes 最後的火車站 such a fitting song with which to end this little musical journey. We may never know exactly where the journey will take us, or where the final station will be. But the songs we have heard along the way can remain with us long after the train has disappeared into the night.

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相關文章 (See also)：

1)  舊情綿綿、車站、雙人枕頭、雪中紅     (2026)

2)  兩首以「離別」為主題的老歌     (2026)

3)  Exploring Viola Positions Anew     (2025)

4)  簡譜也不簡單啊！     (2023)

兩首以「離別」為主題的老歌

#2026-0814

The four songs I have previously discussed—舊情綿綿, 車站, 雙人枕頭, and 雪中紅—belong to the rich tradition of old Taiwanese popular songs that many people of an earlier generation grew up listening to. Although their stories and melodies are different, they share something in common: love, separation, longing, and memories that refuse to disappear. They also remind us of a time when songs were an important part of everyday life, and when a few simple words in Taiwanese could express feelings that were sometimes difficult to say in ordinary conversation.

What I find particularly fascinating about these old songs is the way they preserve not only romantic stories but also something of the atmosphere of their time. 車站, for example, turns a railway station into a place of farewell and remembrance, while 雙人枕頭 evokes the intimacy of two people sharing a life that may no longer exist. 舊情綿綿 looks back at a love that has ended but not been forgotten, and 雪中紅 creates a particularly poignant picture of love and sorrow against a wintry background. Listening to these songs today is therefore rather like opening an old photograph album: the people and circumstances may belong to another era, but the emotions still feel remarkably familiar.

離別的月台票

Among old Taiwanese songs, 離別的月台票 is especially interesting because its very existence tells us something about the close musical relationship between Japan and Taiwan during the 1960s. The song was adapted from the Japanese song 別れの入場券, recorded by the well-known Japanese enka singer 松山恵子 in 1963. The Japanese lyrics were written by 松井由利夫, with music by 袴田宗孝. In Taiwan, it was sung in Taiwanese by 洪第七, and the Taiwanese version became one of his best-known songs.

The story is simple but deeply dramatic. A woman realizes that she has hurt the man she loves by pretending to be cold and uncaring. She wants to see him once more and explain her true feelings, so she hurries to the railway station. But when she arrives, the night train has already left. She can only stand on the platform, holding the 月台票—the platform ticket—and watch the rear light of the departing train disappear into the darkness. The repeated feeling is painfully simple: it is too late.

The song also has a remarkable connection with the early Taiwanese recording industry. 洪第七's album 洪弟七歌唱集：離別的月臺票 was issued around 1963–64, and the song became his signature hit. A film with the same title was released at the end of 1964 and helped make the song widely known. Interestingly, although the record credits 洪換秋 as lyricist, 洪第七 later said that he himself had written most of the Taiwanese lyrics.

What makes 離別的月台票 so moving to me is the combination of a very ordinary object—a platform ticket—and an irreversible moment in life. Once the train has gone, the ticket is useless. It becomes almost a symbol of regret: something that was supposed to allow a person to enter the platform, but cannot bring back the person who has already departed.

星夜的離別

星夜的離別 takes us into a somewhat different musical world. Unlike 離別的月台票, which is a Taiwanese-language song, this is the Mandarin version of a Japanese song, 星影のワルツ (Hoshikage no Warutsu, “The Waltz in the Starlight”). The Japanese original was composed by 遠藤実, with lyrics by 白鳥園枝, and was first recorded by 千昌夫 in 1966. It did not become an immediate sensation, but after being promoted again, it rose dramatically in popularity in Japan and became a major hit in 1968.

The melody is particularly memorable because it is actually a waltz, giving the song a gentle three-beat movement. Beneath that graceful rhythm, however, lies a very sad story. Two people love each other, but circumstances force them to separate. The singer does not blame the other person; instead, he wishes for her happiness from far away and asks the stars to bring her comfort. The stars therefore become silent witnesses to their farewell.

The song traveled widely across East and Southeast Asia and produced several different versions in Taiwan. The Mandarin 星夜的離別, with lyrics by the celebrated lyricist 慎芝, was recorded by singers including 青山; another Mandarin adaptation, 星月淚痕, was written by 林煌坤. There was also a Taiwanese version, 星夜離別, associated with 郭金發, whose Taiwanese lyrics tell a somewhat different story: the lovers are forced apart because their parents oppose their relationship.

This makes 星夜的離別 especially fascinating. The same Japanese melody could cross languages and cultures and acquire different stories while retaining the same fundamental emotion: two people who love each other but cannot remain together.

A final thought

Looking at these six songs together, I am struck by how often the old songs return to the same few images: a railway station, a departing train, a pillow once shared by two people, snow, stars, and the memories of a love that has already passed. Yet they never seem completely repetitive. Each song finds its own way of expressing the sadness of separation.

Perhaps that is one reason these old songs have survived for so many decades. The world around us has changed enormously. We now have telephones, text messages, and countless ways to remain in contact with someone far away. But the essential feelings have not changed very much. We still regret words left unsaid, remember people who have gone away, and wonder whether things might have been different if we had arrived a little earlier—or spoken a little more honestly.

That is why, when we listen to these old Taiwanese and Mandarin songs today, we are not merely listening to music from another era. We are hearing old melodies carrying very old human feelings—feelings that, in spite of the passing of time, still belong to us.

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相關文章 (See also)：

1)  托塞利《小夜曲》聆聽札記     (2025)

2)  兩首老歌 -- Old Taiwanese Songs     (2025)

3)  A Song of Living Love     (2026)

4)  舊情綿綿、車站、雙人枕頭、雪中紅     (2026)

舊情綿綿、車站、雙人枕頭、雪中紅

#2026-0811

I've started practicing these four Taiwanese songs on my viola.

Here is some background information about these songs that I've gathered from the Internet and would like to share with you.

1. 舊情綿綿

舊情綿綿 is one of the classic Taiwanese songs of the late 1950s. The lyrics were written by 葉俊麟 and the melody by 洪一峰, and the song became widely popular around 1959. It tells a simple but deeply emotional story: a man cannot let go of an old love, even though he knows the relationship has ended. (tcmb.culture.tw)

What makes the song especially interesting is that its story was connected to 葉俊麟's own experience. According to historical records, while he was married, he became emotionally involved with a woman who worked in a tea house. The relationship eventually ended, but the experience inspired 舊情綿綿. Thus, the song's intense longing was not simply a fictional love story. (tcmb.culture.tw)

The song became so popular that, in 1962, it was made into a Taiwanese-language film of the same name, starring 洪一峰 himself. The film included ten popular Taiwanese songs and was promoted as the first Taiwanese musical film. (tcmb.culture.tw)

舊情綿綿 therefore represents an important period in Taiwanese popular music, when personal experience, simple language, and memorable melodies spoke directly to the emotional world of ordinary people.

2. 車站

車站 is a later Taiwanese popular song, written and composed by 林垂立 and made famous by 張秀卿. It became one of 張秀卿's signature songs, and she won the 1993 Golden Melody Award for Best Female Singer for her performance of it. (cna.com.tw)

The setting is wonderfully simple: a railway station. A train arrives, and people happily wait for their loved ones. But the singer is there for the opposite reason—to see someone she loves leave. The same station therefore contains two completely different emotions: reunion for some, separation for another.

The song also has a personal connection to 林垂立's life. He grew up in 瑞芳, near the mining towns of 九份 and 金瓜石. As a child, he took trains from 瑞芳 Station to school. Later, when he left his hometown to make a living, the station once again became a place of departure. These memories eventually inspired 車站. (cna.com.tw)

That background gives the song an authenticity that is easy to miss. The station is not merely a romantic setting; it represents leaving home, going away to work, and saying goodbye—experiences familiar to many Taiwanese people.

In this sense, 車站 is both a love song and a small portrait of Taiwanese life.

3. 雙人枕頭

雙人枕頭 is a later Taiwanese love song closely associated with 王識賢. It was created by 王登雄 and his teacher 羅又華, with the melody by 張錦華, and became popular in the early 1990s.

What is particularly interesting is the idea behind the song. The writers wanted to create a modern Taiwanese love song that moved away from the strong Japanese influence found in much earlier Taiwanese popular music. Instead, they used familiar things from everyday life.

And what could be more ordinary than a pillow and a quilt?

The song turns these household objects into symbols of companionship. A pillow is meant for two people, and a quilt may keep the body warm—but when the beloved is absent, neither seems quite complete. Love is therefore not presented as some grand romantic adventure. It is simply about having someone beside you in the ordinary routines of life.

That may be one reason the song remains so appealing. Its sentimentality is intimate and domestic rather than dramatic.

There is also a sad story behind it. 王登雄 died only a few years after beginning his songwriting career. Knowing this gives the apparently simple song an additional sense of poignancy.

4. 雪中紅

雪中紅 was written by 胡曉雯, composed by 吳嘉祥, and originally sung as a duet by 王識賢 and 陳亮吟. Released in 1991, it became especially well known as the ending theme of the Taiwanese television drama 草地狀元. It later reached an even wider audience through the popular drama 意難忘. (newton.com.tw)

The title gives us the song's central image: a rose remaining red in the snow. The lyrics speak of separation, cold wind and rain, memories, and a love that cannot simply disappear. The rose suggests that even when everything around it has become cold, love can remain alive.

The duet format also gives the song a dramatic quality. The two singers express the feelings of the lovers from their respective perspectives, making it particularly well suited to television.

By the early 1990s, Taiwanese popular songs had become closely connected with television dramas. People encountered songs not only through radio and cassette tapes but also through memorable characters, dramatic scenes, and the closing moments of each episode.

In that sense, 雪中紅 belongs to a new era, yet its emotional theme connects it with 舊情綿綿: love may end, but the feeling of love may remain.

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相關文章 (See also)：

1)  Exploring Viola Positions Anew     (2025)

2)  兩首老歌 -- Old Taiwanese Songs     (2025)

3)  From "北国の春" to "榕樹下"     (2025)

4)  《菩提樹》：一場美麗的誤譯     (2025)

5)  十個職場人的故事 (PPT 圖檔)     (2026)

A Quiet Day to Myself

#2026-0801

Jean is in Dajia once again, accompanying her elderly mother.

James, my grandson, is at St. James' Church, where he has been taking part in a summer camp specially organized for Sunday School students. He is serving there as a xiao laoshi (小老師), one of the teachers' assistants.

As for me, I have the house all to myself. Somehow, being alone seems to give me more free time than usual. In fact, I have been completely free all day to do whatever I wanted.

For lunch, I walked to the nearby restaurant, 牛家莊, and once again enjoyed a delicious bowl of beef noodles. Instead of taking my usual afternoon nap, I spent some time practicing my favorite songs on my viola.

Later, I read through my Mandarin Conversation textbook (用拼音學說華語). Earlier this morning, Daphne had asked for a copy for Lillian Yen, who, she said, will be teaching Basic Mandarin to international students in the coming semester. She also requested another copy for her daughter, the Rev. Claire. I wanted to look through my published book once more to make sure it would be both suitable and helpful for their classes.

At around 5:40 p.m., I left home for my usual walk along the familiar trails nearby (see the map below). As I made my way up the hillside, I was treated once again to a beautiful sunset. The view was simply breathtaking. I couldn't resist taking a few more photographs, which you can see below.

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相關文章 (See also)：

1)  夕陽紅 (The Red Sunset)     (2023)

2)  乘風而行，又見彩雲飛     (2024)

3)  Night Walk on the Mountain Path     (2024)

4)  "Welcome Home" (霧峰行腳～圖解篇)     (2026)

5)  Photos by Shine, My Grandchild     (2025)

A Meal After Farewell

#2026-0722

After attending the funeral of a beloved relative, we followed the advice of the older generation and decided to stay somewhere for a while instead of returning home immediately.

We had originally planned to go straight home. However, after receiving a phone call from our non-Christian relatives reminding us of the local custom, we decided to stop at a café or coffee shop on the way. A quick Google search led us to a café with the beautiful name 巷口茉莉, which literally means Lane Corner Jasmine. Unfortunately, we were unable to find its exact location or a suitable place to park nearby.

We then thought of a hot-pot restaurant with an attractive garden at its entrance. Many years earlier, around the winter of 2013, my former students had warmly invited us to attend one of their class reunions there. The gathering had been held at 鍋仙 (Pot Immortal or Pot God). We wondered whether the restaurant, nestled in the quiet countryside, was still in business.

To our delight, it was. There it stood, surrounded by peaceful rice paddies. So we turned into the restaurant and, perhaps somewhat surprisingly, enjoyed a good meal after attending such a solemn service as a funeral.

Before and after the meal, I found myself quietly praying more than once:

"Lord, have mercy on us. We miss so deeply the one whose funeral was held this morning. Yet life must continue, and we must walk the days You have set before us. May we receive this meal with grateful hearts rather than guilty ones. Amen."

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相關文章 (See also)：

1)  A Reunion of My Former Students     (2013)

2)  I'll Get Up Early Tomorrow     (2026)

3)  A Short Visit to "Wu Lu"     (2021)