My beloved song book by Edward Williams

My beloved song book has traveled approximately 7,600 km with me in the late 70s, from Singapore to Melbourne, then to Sydney and back to Melbourne within a month. In the early years of my stay in Melbourne, it sat in my suitcase while I moved around a dozen places – from shared accommodation to pensioner boarding houses, rented flatettes and apartments, looking for work. I lived the life of a nomad, but my song book never complained. Once I had a room with a little bookshelf which could hold several books. My song book would share the bookshelf with my other books.

The song book was purchased in the late 60s, an era before the arrival of the CD, DVD and computer. For most beginners on the guitar, song books like these were the only source where chords of songs could be found.

My song book has over 650 pages, divided in several categories: folk, pop, yuletide and rock songs. In the middle section, there are several pages of chord diagrams, for the guitar, ukulele and banjo as well. There are music sheets at the end of the book for the more advanced musician.

As a beginner I relied completely on the chords which sat on the top of each line of the lyrics. Years later, I learnt that not all the chords were correct. However, I was not in a position to question the accuracy of the chords; if it didn’t sound right, I’d blame my strumming, or perhaps I was singing out of tune.

One afternoon I was shopping in Chapel Street, South Yarra, with my friend Anne. I stood outside a music shop, looking through its glass window at the guitars on display. I pointed to Anne the guitar that I liked. Later she surprised me with the guitar while I was sitting on the chair of the hairdresser having a hair trim. That was the early 80s, five years after I left Singapore. Now that I had a guitar, my old song book once again became my regular companion during the many nights when I would serenade myself while imagining I was one of the Gibb brothers (Bee Gees) or the Everly Brothers. My song book was no longer tucked away in my suitcase. It now sat on my study desk, coffee table or sofa. It was a familiar and comforting sight, a constant reminder of the times I had first struggled with learning the guitar back home in Singapore.


One night I was enjoying a few beers in my rented room of a boarding house, strumming the guitar with my old song book. Most of the residents in the makeshift rooms built at the back of the house were aged pensioners. As the night wore on, the more I drank the louder I sang and the more off-key my strumming became. It wasn’t long before Don, the ex-Korean War veteran from next door, popped his head into my room and asked if I was alright. He was probably concerned with my mental state as I was doing a Janis Joplin act, wailing on “Will the circle be unbroken”. Or was it “Me and Bobby McGee”? Yeah, we shared a few beers and a good laugh. That was in 1983.


In recent years I discovered the internet – lyrics and chords of songs are now readily available and you can hear most songs on YouTube. My song book has since been relegated to the top shelf of my wardrobe. Each time I open the wardrobe door, it looks at me with forlorn eyes from its state of exile. Occasionally it’ll be taken out of the wardrobe when, in a nostalgic mood, I feel the need to look at all the old songs I used to play.


My old song book will never be forgotten. It will always have its special place in my heart for being my faithful companion throughout the vicissitudes my early years in Melbourne. With the passage of time, my song book has aged, lost its front and back covers and several pages. Many of its remaining pages have faded to a yellowish hue, fallen apart and dog-eared. Its physical deterioration makes it so much like us. Of all the things I’ve brought with me from Singapore, only two remain ... a brown suit case, and my beloved song book.

The bars of Sembawang Hills Estate – Edward Williams

During the 60’s and 70’s, Sembawang Hills Estate had 3 bars which catered to the British and later ANZUK servicemen: the Sembawang Café, Kasbah and another which I cannot remember its name.

1983 map of this part of Sembawang Hills Estate

Sembawang Café stood at the corner of Jalan Batai and Jalan Leban, at the end of a row of two-storey shop houses along Jalan Leban. It served very good sizzling t-bone steak on a large wooden plate at $4 each. The café was a popular hangout for the Maoris from the early 70’s onwards. On one of its glass doors a kiwi sticker was stuck there, as a sign of their territorial claim.

Present day photo of corner of Jalan Batai and Jalan Leban

Kasbah, an Indian bar and restaurant was situated along the row of shop houses in Jalan Kuras. This bar was run by a Sikh family who lived in the village not far from Sembawang Hills Drive. Mrs Singh managed the day to day operations of the bar with the help of her daughter Muni. I think the owner of the bar was an English woman who was related to Mrs Singh. The bar served a wide range of Indian cuisines. Of the three bars Kasbah was the “late comer”. It started in 1970 or 1971.

Present day photo of Jalan Kuras

A few doors away from Kasbah, at the end of this row of shops, sat the third bar whose name escapes me. This bar was located at the corner of Jalan Kuras and Jalan Gelenggang. It was an “open plan” bar – people walking along the street could see right inside. Like Sembawang Café the bar was more western oriented where fish and chips and steaks were served. Since this was an “open plan” bar it was bathed in full sunlight during the day. Obviously there was no air conditioning here and ventilation was not an issue. I observed that this bar had a family atmosphere with a more sober crowd. I supposed being an exposed “open plan” bar it tended to discourage the rowdier groups.

Present day photo of corner of Jalan Kuras and Jalan Gelenggang

In contrast the interior of Sembawang Café was always dark, mysterious and intimidating, particularly late at night. The brightest spot in the café was the dart board, lighted by one solitary lamp above. It took about a minute or two to get accustomed to the interior once you stepped inside. Kasbah’s interior was bright enough during the day, with sunlight streaming through the glass window which formed the front façade of the bar.

There was one common item which could be found in all 3 bars – a dart board. In fact I dare say that all bars frequented by servicemen had dart boards as this was a game everybody played, mostly for fun but sometimes for money or drinks.

According to Freddy Neo, “From 1958 to about 1969, about 25% of the houses in the estate were rented to British Servicemen and their families.” During this period the corner bar and Sembawang Café were patronised mainly by British servicemen and their families. In the early 70’s the British presence was scaled down and was replaced by the ANZUK forces. At this stage Kasbah came into existence. The Maoris from the New Zealand contingent made their presence felt especially in Kasbah and Sembawang Café. They practically “colonised” Sembawang Café.

Amongst the British, Australian and NZ servicemen, the Maoris (from the NZ contingent) were the wildest of the three. I recall one Maori wedding celebration at Kasbah. They booked the entire bar that afternoon and by the evening everybody was drunk (as usual) and the bar sustained quite a “trauma”. All of the brass ornaments that decorated the bar’s interior became objects of souvenir hunters. So the bar was stripped bare and the Military Police was called and order was eventually restored. Many of the servicemen ended up in the guard room (military lockup) and some compensation was paid to the bar. Within a week the incident was forgotten and hardly spoken about. Bar owners generally accepted such incidents and the occasional fights as a part of the life cycle of their businesses, and as long as the incidents did not go overboard they were tolerated. If you ban one customer from your bar you lose the patronage of that person and his mates as well.

The Maoris also enjoyed communal singing. Give them a guitar and they’ll have a hearty sing-a-long. It doesn’t matter if they played or sang well. They were prepared to give it a go and everybody seemed to enjoy themselves tremendously. Once I even saw a Maori strumming a guitar with only 2 or 3 strings left. Nobody seemed to mind, or perhaps they couldn’t tell the difference after a number of drinks!

I think Thursday was pay day for the servicemen. They’d go on a “pub crawl” starting from Sembawang, then to Nee Soon and finally ending up in Sembawang Hills Estate. By the time they reached our estate, most would be inebriated. However this did not stop them from partying through the night. Sometimes they drank till the early hours of the morning, on the night before a major exercise. Of course some would end up in the lockup the next day.

In the early 70’s Kasbah was my favourite weekend hangout. I played 301 and Micky Mouse with anybody who cared to have a game of darts. It was mostly for fun although some of the patrons would insist on having a wager. There were 2 legendary dart players at Kasbah whose reputations were entrenched in the bars as far as Nee Soon and Sembawang. One was a local at the estate (from Jalan Lanjut) and the other hailed from Nee Soon. It was not uncommon to see one of them “splitting” the darts, so deadly accurate were his aims. Most players demanded a big handicap to play them, unless it was a “friendly” game i.e. no bets involved. On rare occasions when these 2 played against each other, everybody watched in awe as the game of 301 usually ended within a few minutes.

Jason, another weekend regular at Kasbah, was a commando sergeant who taught me how to ride his motor bike one night after the bar closed. We were both not quite sober but I was having the ball of my life. I remember racing uphill along Jalan Kuras with Jason frantically chasing after me, yelling at me to slow down. I wasn’t sure if he was more afraid for his precious motor bike or me! One night he said to me, “Hey these guys (the ANZUK servicemen) are supposed to defend our country. How can they be, in that state? Tomorrow many of them would be too drunk to participate in our joint military exercise. So they’ll do time in the lockup.” I guess seeing the servicemen in such a drunken state the day before a major exercise does not inspire much confidence!

When Jimmi Cliff’s “Vietnam” was released in 1970 it immediately became Muni’s favourite song. She’d play this song on a little portable cassette recorder during the bar’s quiet moments and danced her home-made reggae steps together with her cousin. Some of the boys would join in as the steps were pretty simple to follow. So the waitress Muni acted unofficially as the bar’s dancer when business was slack. Her mother Mrs Singh did not mind this unlicensed addition to the bar’s services as it kept the local boys happy and out of mischief.

One colourful character in Kasbah was Ah Kow (not his real name) who was also from the SAF commando battalion. Ah Kow had tattoos all over his body and arms right down to his wrists, which explained why he always wore a long-sleeved shirt buttoned at the wrists to conceal his tattoos. A short story of his life was tattooed on his back. I was told that Ah Kow was a boxer and when took off his coat in the ring his opponent freaked out at the sight of the tattoos! Now wasn’t he literally a “colourful” character?

During the early days in Singapore it was mostly the secret society members who spotted tattoos, as a symbol of membership and allegiance to their gangs. Apparently Ah Kow had a tattoo on his left shoulder which was a gang insignia. I heard that he ran away from home when he was a kid, slept in the streets and ended up joining a gang for protection and survival. Anyway I knew he was a reformed character after he joined the army and I noticed the he had a strong sense of loyalty to his friends. The army provided the much needed comradeship and security to his previously unsettled life.

Kasbah closed at midnight but the Sembawang Café was opened till the early hours of the morning. They did a roaring trade with the Maoris. One night after Kasbah closed a group of us went to the Sembawang Café. Imagine the shock we felt when we pushed open the glass door and saw the bar packed with Maoris in various stages of inebriation. The worst affected ones were asleep on the sofa and floor. The air was hazy with thick cigarette smoke by this late hour. The Maoris were generally big men and one was nicknamed Buddha. I suspect this was because he was shaped like a Buddha, somewhere around his belly. One of the guys from our group proceeded straight to the dart board and played a few games for drinks. Buddha was still standing (unlike some of his friends) and he cheerfully obliged. We won several free drinks which kept our spirits high. Of course the more our friend drank the quicker his skills deteriorated but the more he was convinced of his invincibility. Fortunately for him, his opponents were usually in a worse state of sobriety! I staggered home around 5 in the morning. That was my last memory of Sembawang Café.

It has been almost 4 decades since I last saw Sembawang Café, Kasbah or the corner bar at Jalan Kuras. Sometimes I wonder if they still exist today. Most likely they’d have given way to other shops many years ago. These bars thrived during the colonial and post colonial era, up to the mid 70’s. As the ANZUK contingent was scaled down businesses in these bars would have been increasingly less viable. It will come as no surprise to me if all the bars, including those in Nee Soon and Sembawang, have long been confined to the historical past.

Footnote: My thanks to Chun See for taking the photos of Sembawang Hills Estate to go with this story. Now I know the answer to that last question above.

The pastimes of the older generation and stereotyping kampong lads - Edward Williams

What did the old folks in my neighbourhood (Sembawang Hills Estate, Phase 2) do to pass away their time while their children are at work? A group of them in the estate went for morning walks at Pierce Reservoir. One old man had a morning ritual in his front garden which I observed for many years before setting off to school. He stood near the fence, pressed one of his nostrils closed with his finger, and sneezed out hard, expelling mucus from the open nostril. Then he repeated the process with the other nostril. I assumed the mucus from both nostrils landed on or near the same spot. After this he cleared his throat by letting off a loud rolling sound and spat out some phlegm. I never knew if this landed on the same spot as the mucus. Once he was finished with this morning ritual, his wife would join him on a walk to Pierce Reservoir. On the way there they were joined by their friends, usually of the same dialect group. I noticed there were many Hainanese in this group.

Of all the Chinese dialect groups, the Hainanese is the loudest. Their conversations seemed lively and often sounded like an argument. That’s just the way they talked. But the Hainanese is the closest knit group amongst the Chinese. They consider each other as brothers and sisters. If a Hainanese has a problem, all the other Hainanese in the neighbourhood helped out. For example, if someone passed away in a Hainanese household, all their own kind will be there helping with the funeral arrangements, cooking, serving the guests and washing up after. There is an unmistakably strong familial bond amongst the Hainanese who considers each other as “kar ki nun” (own people).

In the afternoons some of the old folks played mah-jong. The games were played for money and I heard that you could lose up to $30 per day (or night) if you had a bad run. That was a lot of money in those days. Sometimes they played at night, even into the early hours of the morning. It was usually the women who played mah-jong. It was almost like a “Mothers’ Club”. My mother sometimes joined them, but only during the afternoon. Usually she played in her own mah-jong group.

In the evening it was not uncommon to see a family enjoying a stroll around the estate in their pyjamas accompanied by their dog (no pyjama for this one). If the weather was warm, the men and boys donned pyjama trousers and a singlet.

The old folks also enjoyed listening to Rediffusion, especially the storytelling programmes in Chinese dialects. A series (covering one complete story) could last several weeks. Households who could not afford a radio set in the old days subscribed to Rediffusion for only a few dollars each month.

When television was introduced into Singapore in the early 60s not many families could afford one. By the late 60s almost every home had a television set. It was, of course, black and white television. Colour television was only introduced in 1974. Anyway, the ethnic Chinese programmes, such as the Wong Fei Hong movies (that Chun See mentioned in his article on open-air cinemas), were very popular with the entire family. Chinese comedians like Wong Sar and Yah Fong were the oldies’ favourites. Although the comedians spoke Hokkien, I noticed that every dialect group enjoyed their shows.

The grandparents have an important role in looking after their grandchildren. For the little ones who stayed at home, Ah Kong and Ah Por would be their constant source of companion. Primary school children in their early years were often escorted to school by grandparents. This approach allowed the parents to be gainfully employed.

One day an old man passed away in the next street. As is common with Chinese custom the coffin was brought home. The family had a temporary canvas shelter built at the side of the house (it was a corner house) and the coffin and an altar were placed at the front end. Anyone was welcome to come in and pay their respect to the deceased. This was done by lighting an incense and saying a prayer at the altar. After that they could sit on one of the many tables and food and drinks will be served. I cannot remember how many days the coffin was kept there but the “open house” funeral preparations went on throughout the night. One night a group of men from the kampong at the back of our estate came into this house, paid their respects and sat down on the table. When the host asked if they’d like some refreshments, they requested a set of mah-jong. She obliged and brought them the mah-jong set. They played mah-jong till quite late. She came to my home and spoke to my mother about the guys from the kampong, afraid that they were gangsters who could cause trouble. My mother then went to her house and saw the kampong lads who called out to her “Ah Sor” (“aunty” in Hokkien) as they knew her. My mother then reassured the lady that they were not trouble makers from the kampong, just young men enjoying a game of mah-jong. She was relieved to hear that. Of course, the night ended with no incident.

The funeral incident illustrates a fairly common attitude of the estate residents towards the village lads. Village or kampong people were sometimes stereotyped as either gangsters or potential trouble makers, uncouth and prone to anti-social behaviour. Admittedly, many kampong men often punctuated their sentences with excessive expletives that sounded more threatening than is the actual case.

I have made many trips to the kampong at the back of our estate for fishing trips (to Asia and Cathay fishing ponds, for example) and to buy groceries from the local shop. It was just behind Jalan Lanjut and Jalan Mengkudu, not far from Lorong Kinchir. My neighbours and I have fished in their muddy streams for cat fish and once a group of us joined some of the kampong boys to smoke out a bee hive on a tree. I have worked in a provision shop run by the villagers, ate communal lunch with them and got to know some of them quite well. Thankfully I never had any trouble with the village lads. The most terrifying experience I had was being nearly attacked by a flock of aggressive red nose geese (“hor ark”). The pigs usually ignored me, preferring to lie in their muddy haven while the chickens and ducks were too timid to be a threat. Stories of gangsters and secret societies in the villages have in part contributed to the negative stereotyping of villagers. The snobbishness of some of the estate residents was another contributing factor. How often have I heard derogatory references made to villagers (e.g. “sum par loh”), such attitudes born of deeply ingrained prejudices.

Singaporeans are now better educated and have more comfortable lifestyles. I do not know if the society is more egalitarian or whether such prejudices still prevail given that the kampong environment is vanishing.

Related posts:

1) Days of black and white TV
2) Rediffusion and Big Fool Lee
3) Chun Chew’s article about gangsters in his school days

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate - The churches and shops in Phase 1

Phase 1 of Sembawang Hills Estate is the area bounded by Casuarina Road, Seraya Crescent and Old Upper Thomson Road. I assumed that this sector was built first before the homes across Thomson Road, which stood on a hill. The latter part of Sembawang Hills Estate where Freddy and I lived is generally known as Phase 2.

1963 Map of Sembawang Hills Estate (Phase 1)

The Sembawang Baptist Church was situated on the end of Casuarina Road where it met Old Upper Thomson Road. In this two-storey building sermons and hymns were conducted in Mandarin. The cobbler of Jalan Leban was one of the regulars here. I suspected that he only attended the night services, due to his work commitments. Large pieces of white paper hung on a simple wooden stand where the words of hymns were written. The lay preacher used a long stick to guide the congregation along the sheet, as they sung. I cannot remember if musical instruments accompanied the hymns being sung. I have a vague recollection of an organ being played. Lay preachers taught Sunday school in two rooms upstairs. During Christmas Eve, parishioners go carolling in a lorry, visiting many homes in nearby villages and the estate till the early hours of the morning. They returned to the church at about 5 am, were fed a simple hot meal and slept on the floor of the rooms upstairs and on the hall downstairs. It was a lot of fun for the young ones especially, spending the night away from home.

The terrace house at the corner of Nemesu Avenue and Old Upper Thomson Road was used as a Presbyterian Church. Sermons and hymns were conducted in English in this church, led by Pastor Heng who sung with a soprano voice. The church had a small organ and I believe a guitar was occasionally used to accompany the hymns being sung. Many of the estate locals attended this church. Services were often conducted at the front of the house, under an extension. The parishioners here were generally younger than those at the Sembawang Baptist Church. Because it wasn’t a “standard” church building, the informal atmosphere in this terrace house was more like a Sunday school which suited the younger crowd here.

A row of shop houses were congregated in a strip besides the Sembawang Baptist Church. I can only remember 2 of the shops here – a coffee shop (kopi tiam) and a provision shop. At the back of this row of shops, facing Thomson Road stood a number of hawker stalls. Two of the stalls were operated by the son and daughter of the cobbler of Jalan Leban. Their stalls sold ice ball, ice kachang and tahu goreng.

In the Chinese provision shop the usual household goods were retailed but I remember it for another reason. At the back of this shop was a slot machine which my friends and I had many attempts at trying to beat the odds. If you enter by the rear of the shop and asked for the machine the owner would remove the gunny sack which covered it. The back of the shop was the storage area for sacks of dry goods like rice, flour and sugar. It was dimly lit and had a distinct musty smell. The slot machine was, of course, illegal in those days. It cost 10 cents for each pull of the lever. Three reels would be spun and if the pictures were all the same when the reels stopped, then you won. You could win from 30 cents up to 70 cents if you hit the jackpot. It was a great thrill to hear the coins hitting the tray for every win. The 70 cent payoff was rare; most times you won 30 cents and occasionally 50 cents. It took only several minutes before we lost all our money to the machine. The next weekend we’d be back again for another go. We were convinced that there was a way to pull the lever which would deliver the jackpot. We tried everything possible – from slow motion pulling to a fast quick jerk of the handle. Nothing seemed to work. After several weeks we decided that it was a scam!

The coffee shop was a typical Chinese kopi tiam of the 50s and 60s with ceiling fans and spittoons under the tables. There was an Indian stall inside which sold curry, rice, roti prata, chapatti and murtabak . The most unforgettable thing about this kopi tiam was its toilet. Only once did I attempt to use it but when I pushed the door opened, what I saw was simply too revolting to describe. So I‘ll spare you the details. There was no lighting and the stench was so overpowering. This toilet was the worst I’ve ever seen; one quick glance was enough to eliminate any pressing reason for you to be there.

I took this photo of an old coffee shop in Kelapa Sawit, Kulai, recently. The ceiling and ceiling fan that Edward mentioned above must have looked like this – Chun See.

The owner of the coffee shop was a Chinese man who wore a singlet, pyjama shorts and slippers. He had huge lumps on his shoulders and back which looked like benign tumours. He was obviously not concerned about the effect of its appearance on his customers. One day my friend and I dropped into this kopi tiam for a cold drink after a jog along Old Upper Thomson Road. The kopi tiam owner chipped a block of ice on a container with an ice pick and then plunged his bare hands into the container, scooped up some ice and filled two glasses with it. Soft drinks were poured into each glass. The cooled drinks tasted most refreshing, and we silently hoped that his hands were clean. As we were enjoying our drinks and conversation, he stood in front of us, 2 tables away, leaning against the counter and … to our horror he slipped his hand under his pyjama shorts, and casually scratched his scrotum, seemingly oblivious to those around him. My friend and I looked at each other and a thousand thoughts must’ve flashed across our minds. Thoughts like “will we survive this episode?”, “what deadly diseases will we be afflicted with in the next 24 hours?” etc. This old chap obviously wasn’t concerned about personal grooming or habits, or its impact on his customers. Of course what he did was socially unacceptable because it was done in public, rather than in the privacy of one’s home. We made a note that in future we would order our drinks without ice or glass. Just drink it straight from the bottle with a straw.

Clearly the standards of hygiene at this coffee shop were appalling. The revolting toilet was used by the coffee shop staff as well as the Indians who operated the curry corner. This scenario was quite typical of the 50s and 60s – unclean toilets (an understatement) coupled with unhygienic practices (personal habits and food handling). Many hawkers were just as guilty, especially where the washing of their dishes and cutleries were concerned. A basin of water could sometimes be used for a long time, until the colour of the water turned greyish with remnants of food floating about. This usually occurred when the hawker does not have easy access to clean water. Of course the advent of the food centre brought about vast improvements in food hygiene.

Food handling practices improved from the late 60s on, mainly in response to the government’s initiatives. Today all food handlers have legislative obligations to fulfil, such as typhoid inoculation, chest X-ray and a basic food hygiene course which includes personal hygiene and grooming, cleaning and sanitation. This is a giant leap forward, and no longer should we fear the ghastly toilets or being served by staff with poor personal habits.

Edward Williams also remembers the Pierce Reservoir

When we were young our parents brought us to Pierce Reservoir as an afternoon or evening outing. Sometimes our dog would come along too. It was good for the kids to run around the lawn where rows of canna plants stood. The canna plants were grown in “plots” with each having a colour of its own. It was such a pretty sight to behold. There were many varieties of trees at the reservoir, but the one that we liked best was the Frangipani. We picked the sweet smelling Frangipani flowers and made letters and words with them on the lawn. Although there are several colours of Frangipani flowers, we only saw the white ones. The fragrance of the flowers permeated the lawn where we played hide and seek, using the plots of canna plants as a shield.

Walking along the water’s edge, stopping to peer into the clear water for signs of little fishes … these were the simple things that were a treat for us. Sometimes we sat by the water’s edge, ate dry plums, and threw the seeds into the water, just to watch the ripple effect on the surface.

Photo of a family at Lower Pierce Reservoir courtesy of Flickr member Soapstar

I have seen people fishing at the front of the reservoir. I gather that they had a license for that. In later years I believed fishing in the reservoir was disallowed.
We walked to the front end of the reservoir towards the part where huge pipes stood. These pipes seemed to come out of the ground and spanned across a man-made channel about 25 to 30 yards wide. Most times the channel was empty but I assumed that they will be filled with water during a heavy rainfall. To a little child, these pipes were massive structure that must have carried huge amounts of water from the reservoir to another place. The older kids and adults were able to walk on these huge pipes across the channel to the other side.

As we grew older our parents no longer took us to the reservoir. We went there with our friends in the neighbourhood. We’d fish there, which was illegal in those days. Twice we were chased by the forest ranger. We don’t know if forest rangers were employed in the 60s but he certainly looked like one – dressed in khaki shorts and a matching shirt with a topi hat. Well that was official enough for us, and we ran for our dear lives! He could be one of the locals jealously guarding the reservoir out of a sense of civic duty. Later on we found another route to the interior of the reservoir, from Old Upper Thomson Road, close to 8 mile stone. This part of the reservoir was more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the public front entrance.

Besides fishing we climbed the trees and fantasised ourselves as Tarzan. I was a scrawny kid then but it did not stop me from thumping my chest with my fists and calling out like Tarzan in the movies. Of course no wild animals heeded my calls and I was left to fend off the bad guys on my own.

There are many fruit trees in the forest reserve. In one of my hikes, we saw several tall buah duku trees. It was by chance that we spotted remnants of the fruits on the ground, probably discarded by monkeys after they have eaten it. Once we picked chempedak fruits which we thought were almost ripe. At home I wrapped the fruits with old newspapers and put them in a cupboard. Two weeks later the smell of the fruits became evident as they ripened. However I was disappointed to discover that the fruits were not as tasty as I had hoped for.
In the 60s you don’t see many monkeys in the forest reserve, especially at the front entrance of the reservoir. If you ventured deeper into the forest you may get an occasional view of monkeys. I once spotted what appeared to be a wild boar, from a distance. I think they were virtually extinct by then. A friend of mine has seen an anteater, another animal thought to be extinct.

This photo of a monkey helping itself to the rambutans was taken by Chun See at MacRitchie Reservoir.

Spiders were the creatures that I dreaded most. I am talking about big, colourful spiders, ugly as anything, sitting on a web about 3 feet wide (91.5 cm). Twice I almost ran into the web during my cross-country run. Hornets were one of the deadliest creatures in the forest. I have read of 2 cases involving fatalities from hornet stings. Both incidences happened in hiking groups in the reservoir but I cannot recall if it was MacRitchie or Pierce (or both). I think Seletar was not a common hiking ground in the 60s. Fortunately I have never encountered any hornet nests in the years I spent in Pierce Reservoir.

As for scorpions, a little one somehow got into my haversack and hitched a ride home with me. I was fortunate not to be stung by this creature. The biggest scorpion I found was a dead one, along Old Upper Thomson Road, after a night of heavy downpour. It measured 4 inches (10 cm) in body length, but if you include its tail it’d be 9 to 10 inches long (25.4 cm). The sac at the end of its tail was about half the size of my last finger tip. We were on a hike when our group saw this black scorpion lying on the grass strip along Old Upper Thomson Road. I was told that if you were stung by a scorpion this size you have about a minute to live.

My brother and I and a couple of friends camped in the forest reserve on two occasions. In those days we had no ready-made tent or camping equipment. Our tents were simply large canvas sheets made water proof by covering it with hot wax and drying the sheets under the sun. To pitch a tent, we tied a rope between two trees and placed the waxed canvas sheet over it. For cooking we used a small aluminium stove about 5 inches (12.7 cm) square, which stood about 2½ inches (6.4 cm) above the ground. White solid fuel was used for burning. Mostly we ate canned food since there was no game to hunt and the fishes weren’t plentiful enough or were simply too smart to take our bait. We also built open fires and threw potatoes onto the embers for supper at night.

Once we hiked the entire perimeter of the reservoir, along the water’s edge. It was a tough 8-hour hike for a young teenager. Sometimes we had to cross over the water because the tracks became inaccessible. We received many cuts from the reeds in the water which had sharp edges, like the lalang grass. At the end of the long hike, when we reached the Island Club golf course, we congratulated ourselves heartily for completing the mission.

Pierce was very much undeveloped in the 60s. It was essentially a forest reserve in its “raw untamed state”. There were no developed tracks for running or cycling, exercises or trekking. Except for the front entrance, no one but the adventurous ventured into the interior. Before the construction of the new Upper Pierce reservoir, it was simply know as Pierce Reservoir (now renamed Lower Pierce Reservoir). It was this old Pierce reservoir that was the playground of my childhood days. As Freddy said, Pierce Reservoir was a place where you “roughed it out”. Only men and boys do that in those days.

Related posts:

1) Earlier article on Pierce Reservoir by Freddy Neo

2) MacRitchie Reservoir

Edward Williams remembers the Grand Prix at Old Upper Thomson Road

With all the hot action going on at the Night F1 in town, I think it is timely to post this story that Edward sent to me a couple of weeks ago.

=======================================

One exciting annual event for the residents of Sembawang Hills Estate was the Singapore Grand Prix. We had our first grand prix in 1961 and it proved to be an extremely popular event, not just for us, but for the entire country as well. By the late 60s it was estimated that over a hundred thousand spectators attended the grand prix.

I remember one hot afternoon when my aunty and I were in a long queue behind one of the ticket booths, amongst a huge crowd of several hundred impatient fans. When the tickets in our booth had sold out, the long queue of men got very agitated and started surging forward, towards the booth. The police was quick on the scene with batons drawn. As they walked towards the booth they ordered all children to leave the vicinity. I guess this was a precautionary measure, in case a riot broke out. In the end order was restored and everyone got their tickets when spare ones were issued from the other booths.

The grand prix was held in the Thomson Road circuit. This 3 mile circuit covered the stretch of Old Upper Thomson Road from Sembawang Hills Circus to the other end where it met Upper Thomson Road and continued along this road until it reached Sembawang Hills Circus again. This bend was called “The Hairpin” or “Circus Hairpin”. It was here that one driver was killed when his car overturned. A friend of mine claimed that he witnessed this incident. Altogether 7 fatalities were recorded, which also involved road marshals. The race was discontinued from 1974 onwards, in part due to the problems of managing the increased traffic and the recent fatalities. The Thomson Road circuit was reputed to be one of the most dangerous tracks in the world.

During the 4-day event the entire Thomson Road circuit was fenced up. This meant that the roads were closed to the public and bus services did not operate or were diverted to alternative routes.

Grand stand seats cost $5 a day. For this you had the privilege of sitting on wooden benches elevated above the ground and under cover. This meant that you had shelter from the sun and rain. Some of my friends were fortunate to have complimentary grand stand tickets as one of them had an uncle who worked at Rothmans, the major sponsor of the grand prix. The $1 ticket allowed you access to the public enclosure area. You have the freedom to walk along Old Upper Thomson Road, choose your favourite spot and, if you’re early enough, sit on the ground behind the fence. Trees along the fringe of Pierce Reservoir provided some relief from the hot sun. Late comers either stood behind the front row of seated spectators, or left for another less crowded spot where they could have a “front seat” alongside the fence.

Two favourite spots along the Old Upper Thomson Road stretch were the Snakes’ Bend and the sharp V-shape Devil’s Bend. Many accidents happened at these notorious bends which account for their popularity with the spectators! The skills of the drivers who expertly manoeuvred these bends were a joy to watch.

Once I was seated behind the fence close to one of the bends watching a race in progress. Suddenly a car skidded in front and crashed against a barrier. A number of people behind me scrambled to the front, climbed over the fence to get to the crashed car. A few of us “front row spectators” received knocks on our heads from the mad rush as they leapt the fence over us. I was quite shocked at such a display of “blood thirsty” behaviour. Clearly they were impatient to see the gory sight of an accident. Their shouts, excitement and eagerness betrayed their savage instinct. It was also a foolish and dangerous thing to do, running onto the track.

For a young child the experience of the grand prix was awesome. I remember how the deafening roar of the cars and the smell of the racing fumes would send my heart beating rapidly as they approached. The race was called over a loud speaker which reverberated through the air. As the sound got louder and louder, heads were turned in anticipation of the approaching cars and suddenly everyone stood up and in a matter of seconds one or several cars would whizzed past. Occasionally the crowd cheered loudly or clapped, especially if a popular driver went past.

There were several categories of races for motorcycles, saloon cars, vintage cars, sports cars and the main Gran Prix event for motorcycles and racing cars. The highlight of the 4 day event, the Formula 2 Grand Prix race was a 60 lap race but this was changed to a 40 and later 50 lap race from 1969. Overseas participants hailed from the UK, Hong Kong, Japan, Australia, New Zealand etc.

Albert Poon (from Hong Kong) was one of the well known drivers. He won the Sports and GT Cars event twice in a Lotus, in 1963 and 1965. Singapore’s Yong Nam Kee won in 1962. Japanese riders dominated motorcycle events for many years. In 1968, for example, all three motorcycle events were won by Japanese riders. I still remember the names of riders like Motohashi and Hasegawa. Two of our local drivers won the Grand Prix in 1966 (Lee Han Seng) and 1967 (Rodney Seow). They became household names, much sought after by the media, treated with the awe and respect that champions deserved. Every kid in town seemed to know their names and spoke of them with reverence.

At the end of each day thousands of spectators streamed out of the front entrance at the Upper Thomson Road end of Sembawang Hills Circus, tired but still happy and excited over the day’s events. For most it was either a drive home or travel by public transport. For the locals of Sembawang Hills Estate it was only short walk home. It would not be an exaggeration to say the Grand Prix, which was a major sporting event in Singapore, placed Sembawang Hills Estate on the country’s “map”.

Youtube video of the 1966 Grand Prix



Related post:

Motor racing in Singapore

** Special thanks to John Hake of Memories of Singapore for the two 1966 photos.