Water Rationing (by Freddy Neo)

In 1962, Singapore and Southern Johore suffered a severe drought. Rain did not fall for months. At that time, Singapore had only three open reservoirs. MacRitchie was the biggest and Seletar (now upper Seletar) was the smallest. Peirce Reservoir (now Lower Peirce) was the third reservoir.

I grew up in a house near to the Peirce Reservoir. I often went to the reservoir with my father and siblings during weekends to walk or fish and we could see the dwindling water stock. The shoreline was receding. With each passing day, the shoreline was further and further away. All around, the dry bed was baked solid dry and cracking.

Peirce Reservoir was created from the damming of the Kallang River. It was completed in 1909. My maternal grandfather had a hand in its construction. He was a bullock cart driver who was engaged to transport granite blocks to the construction site. I suppose he would be today's equivalent of a lorry driver. Before it was built, there were villages on the banks of the river. The 1962 drought revealed some house sites. They were easily identifiable from the house foundations and relics of human habitation. In one of our walks we picked up a clay water pitcher that was in fairly good condition. Unfortunately, my little brother who was then about 6 years old, dropped it while carrying it home and it broke into many pieces.

When the situation became critical, water rationing was introduced. There was water from the tap only for a few hours a day. If I remember correctly, water supply was turned off from 8.00 am to 8.00 pm. Before the tap ran dry, we collected as much water as we could. Every pail, basin, pot and earthen jar was used as a receptacle to store water for the day. We would use the water in these containers for cooking or washing utensils only. For our daily showers, we have to wait until the water supply was restored in the evening. For some of us boys who did not want to wait until evening, we proceeded to a natural spring outside the Peirce Reservoir for our bath. I remember that there was water flowing even at the height of the drought. As the drought continued, I remember that there was talk of cloud seeding. I don't know if this was eventually carried out. To store even more water, my father went to buy an enormous oil drum. At the end of the day, my family used more water in spite of the rationing. If my family was typical, then water rationing did not really work.

Perhaps it didn't rain that year from about March or April and lasted to September or October. Water rationing only ceased when the year end monsoon came and filled up our reservoirs and the Tebrau River in Southern Johore.

Catching crabs and fish in the forest streams (by Freddy Neo)

Recent photo of Pierce Reservoir

I grew up in a house near to the Pierce Reservoir (now called Lower Pierce Reservoir). I attended Sembawang Hills Estate Primary School until 1964. The school was along Old Upper Thomson Road near to Sembawang Hills Circus. It was at the edge of the forest reserve. Pierce Reservoir and the forest reserve were our playgrounds. We went fishing in the Pierce Reservoir and caught various species of tropical fish and fresh water crabs in the forest streams.

When I was in primary six, I was in the afternoon session. The afternoon session was from 1.00 pm but at one stage, we would go to school early so that we could go crabbing or fishing before school. Even on examination days, we still went. On one of the days, I remember we boys were late for the English test and our teacher, Mr. Vasegar (he is now in his 70s) was waiting for us at the entrance to the classroom. He was fuming. He lined us, came around and gave each of us a tight slap. Only then were we allowed to go into the classroom to take our test. In those days, teachers could issue corporal punishment on the spot and none of us would complain. Anyway, if we did tell our parents, we will probably have gotten another beating at home for being naughty.

But Mr. Vasegar could also be quite kind hearted and understanding. There was one afternoon when we were trying to hide our haul of barbs in a powder milk tin container under my desk. In the midst of his maths lesson, he saw the container. This time instead of getting punished, we were allowed to keep the fishes in the classroom. Not only that, he berated us for being so cruel as to put the fishes in such a small container and ordered me to get a big pail from the school janitor to put the fishes. He joined in as we transferred the fishes from the milk tin to the pail.

Usually, I got to keep our haul of crabs or fish because none of my classmates wanted them. One of them, who was my closest friend, was an expert in digging the crab holes to catch the crabs but would not bring any home. He told me that his mother will cane him if she found out that he had gone crabbing in the forest. By the way, the crabs were about the size of a 50 cent coin and I put all of them in my fish tank at home. Away from the pristine water of the jungle stream, none of them survived more than a few days.

Recent photo of Pierce Reservoir

But fishing in the reservoir was our favourite pastime. We used home-made rods or just lines. Our baits were big fat earthworms which we dug at the forest edge. Not to be caught by the rangers, we had to go really deep into the forest. We walked to the opposite bank of the reservoir, away from the park area. There we will be sheltered by the thick foliage and the rangers patrolling in their boat will not be able to see us. When we saw them approaching or coming close in their boat, we will lie low and wait for them to pass before resuming. Anyway, the rangers in those days were quite lenient to us children. Even when they saw us, all they did was to tell us to stop and go home, often leaving us intact with our catch and our equipment.

In those days, the reservoir was teeming with fishes. In one afternoon (3 hours of fishing), each of us could catch about 5 to10 fishes. The fishes were mainly tilapias, red eye barbs which the Hokkiens call "ang bak Jit" and a sharp jaw, long and slender fish of about a foot long (don't know the name, in Hokkien it is just "chiam chwee Hee"). When we took the fishes home, we normally fried them or cooked them in sambal. But they were not nice to eat. I remember them as being quite fishy. I suppose the fun was in the fishing not the eating. Some hot afternoons, we even went skinny dipping in the water.

The forest streams Freddy mentions must have looked like this one near Venus Drive (Lam Chun See)

Being keen aquarists, my elder brother (3 years older) and I liked to catch ornamental fishes in the forest streams or remote forest ponds in the hope of catching some yet-to-be discovered species. He will ride his bicycle and I will ride on the cross bar carrying the punyi as we traveled from our home to the forest. We knew all the streams and ponds at the back of our hands. We knew the pond in the forest near to the water pipe, directly from Devil's Bend junction, will yield us the six zone tiger barbs and the stream where we will catch the two spot rasboras and the clown barbs. We worked as a pair. My brother will go into the water with the punyi and I will be the spotter on the bank telling him where the fishes were for him to scoop up. We were quite familiar with the popular species because we had read them up in the encyclopaedia of tropical fishes. One day we managed to catch a fish (a barb species) not found in the encyclopaedia which we promptly christened as the Neoson barb. Many years later we saw this species for sale in the aquarium shop and it was labeled as the Golden Barb. But to me, that species shall always be Neoson barb.

My elder brother passed away in an accident in 1978.

Related post by Chun See:
The humble punki – a symbol of toil and fun

Freddy Neo remembers living next door to British families in Sembawang Hills Estate

I grew up in Sembawang Hills Estate. Our family moved there in 1958 when I was 6 years old and we moved out on Deepavali Day (sometime in October) in 1979. Our house was a one storey terrace house facing the Pierce Reservoir. The estate was developed by the Bukit Sembawang Group, parceled out from its vast rubber plantation in central Singapore. My father paid $11,000 for the house. Today after 51 years, a similar house (unrenovated and un-redeveloped) is going for about $900,000.

From 1958 to about 1969, about 25% of the houses in the estate were rented to British Servicemen and their families. They were mainly the lower ranking servicemen up to the rank of corporal, mainly from the Army and Royal Marine. Occasionally, you might see a sergeant and his family staying in one of the houses but they were mainly new arrivals on transit until they can find better accommodation.

The terrace house we stayed in was really quite small and quite badly constructed. There was a small living room and three bedrooms at the side. In the centre of the house there was an airwell where the bathroom and toilet were situated. A small kitchen completed the build-up of the house. There were some open spaces in front and behind the house. Many families including mine, brought in the back area to make the kitchen bigger. I remember that ventilation was quite poor. Until my siblings got married and moved out (from1964 onwards), there were 12 of us in the house, my parents, my nine siblings and I.

Up to late 1968 when the UK Government started winding down their military presence, the house to the right of our house was always rented out to a British Serviceman and his family. In the beginning it was quite a novelty for us who had just moved from a kampong in Sembawang, to see them at such close proximity. You could always tell the FOBs (fresh-off-the-boats) from those who had been here for some time but had just moved in from another house in Singapore. The FOBs were the ones who had pale (sometimes freckled) faces, and initially would spend many hours in our hot tropical sun. Not knowing the intensity of the heat, they (especially the wives) spent many hours lying around in the small garden in front of the house sunbathing. We locals thought that only the Englishmen were crazy enough to sun-bathe in the middle of the day. This is particularly true in the Singapore context. After two days, as they turned lobster red and felt the pain from the peeling skin, they would learn that the tropical sun is not the same as the sun back home. It was not something to be trifled with. Even locals who are properly acclimatised will collapse from heat stroke if they stayed too long in our hot sun. Soon, the FOBs would learn and they would not be seen outdoor sunbathing under the noon sun again.

Then there was the culture shock which I think cut both ways. The FOBs had to have a breaking-in period, I suppose, and get over the culture shock. Nothing like going through it on the ground. First, the FOBs find the smell (we call it fragrance) from our Asian cooking quite repulsive. Many times when my mother was frying salted fish or blachan, we would get queries about that "terrible smell". And one of us had to explain to the enquirer about what we were going to have for lunch or dinner. After a while, the smell will be tolerated. No more complaints or queries. But we too have our adjustments to make initially. In those days, the local Chinese do not take much mutton and beef. These meats were seldom featured in our family's diet. We ate mainly fish/pork and vegetables and have poultry (duck and chicken) only during major festivals like Chinese New Year. My mother, in fact, abhorred mutton and beef. The smell (fragrant?) when these meats were being grilled was repulsive to her. Our British neighbours grilled these meats practically every day and the smell as the meat was being cooked, permeated into our house which caused my mother much discomfort. I remember she often complained about the smell. She said that people who ate these meats after a while also acquired the smell. I think that this is cultural prejudice.

Then there was the noise. The servicemen and their families had to tolerate the noise from our big family. But come Chinese New Year, things got worse. They could not stand the loud noise from the firing of firecrackers over the Chinese New Year. Those that have been here for some time will close their doors and windows and ride out the holidays. It must have been quite hot and stuffy for them because the house had no air-conditioning. Or they would take the opportunity to go away on a holiday. Some FOBs tried to take matters into their own hands. I remember there was a serviceman (a FOB) who demanded of my father that we stop immediately the firing of crackers. This was at the stroke of midnight of CNY's eve. He said that he and his wife were trying to sleep and their baby was crying. He made the demand rather aggressively. At that time (in the early sixties), firing of crackers during Chinese New Year was a cultural thing so he was running smack against local culture which his own commander would not have approved. My father told him that we and our neighbours would not stop until all the crackers have been lit and advised him firmly to lock themselves in the house, close all doors and windows and stuff cotton wools in their ears. For the rest of the Chinese New Year holidays he would not bother us again knowing that we were not so easily intimidated.

But the noise was not all one way. We also tolerated some noise from our neighbours. Some of the servicemen have regular Saturday evening parties where there would be a lot of music and booze. At that time, the local population was not familiar with this kind of house parties. Then there was the horseplay. It was quite an eye opener to see adults engaging in boisterous horseplay. I remember a corporal and his friend who were playing hide and seek with their wives. They climbed to the roof top of our house to hide and broke a few tiles. At that time I was already in secondary school and I was assigned the task of telling this corporal about the broken tiles. He gave me $20 for the broken tiles which in 1967 was sufficient compensation.

At that time, the local population was a conservative lot. For example, I don't ever remember seeing my parents kissing each other in the children's presence. Thus, it was quite amusing to see the open display of affection between the couples.

Some of the servicemen families went out of the way to engage us socially. I remember this sergeant who would bring us children to places in his Vauxhall. Once he brought my sister, younger brother and I with his family to Johore Zoo and ended the afternoon at a milk bar at Jalan Kuras where we had banana split. At that time, it was quite a big deal to eat ice cream in a milk bar. This was sometime in 1960 and I would have been about 8 years old. Another elder sister was then in secondary school and he would coach my sister maths on some evenings. I cannot recall his name but I can remember his son, then about 5 years old, was called Barry. Barry loved coffee and would come over every afternoon for coffee when he smelled the coffee brewing from my mother's pot. I have posted a picture of Barry here. He is seen with my sister, younger brother and me. Barry would be in his early 50s today. There was another sergeant who came over one Chinese New Year's eve to celebrate the festivities with us. When told by my elder brother (who was only pulling his leg) that the Chinese believe that the later one goes to sleep on Chinese New Year's eve, the longer one's life would be, he accepted the challenge and stayed up the whole night with him. He liked my mother's chicken curry so much, that thence on until he moved away, whenever he had a party, he would asked my mother to cook a pot of chicken curry for him.

Compared to the locals, the servicemen and their families were living a life of luxury. While we lived quite frugally, they spent quite freely. Hence, around where they lived, businesses were set up to cater to them. Near our house at Jalan Leban and Jalan Kuras, there was a pub, three provision shops (Ang Mo Chup in Hokkien), a general shop (selling things like toys, bicycles), a radio shop, a milk bar, all catering to the servicemen and their families. The people who ran these businesses made it clear to us that the locals were not welcome to patronise. Once my maternal grandmother went to buy a packet of chocolate biscuit from one of the shops and complained about the steep price to the shopkeeper. She was told straightaway that "down here we sell to the Ang Mos, so don't complain about the price if you want to buy". When this was related to my mother, she was incensed and commented that wait till the Brits go back, then these businesses will be begging for our custom. Her words were prophetic because one year later in 1965, the British PM Harold Wilson announced the British withdrawal East of Suez by 1971.

Some of the food was brought to their doorsteps. There was an ice cream truck (Datsun Pickup) which came around at least three times a day and a fish and chips truck that came around every evening. But the British would never buy vegetables or meat from our local wet markets because they said it was dangerous healthwise to buy uninspected produce.

All of them had day servants who would come in the mornings and go back home in the evenings. They were paid about $200 a month which was not bad. The servants were mainly lasses from the kampongs around the estate. Knowing that the serviceman family would prepare a lot of food which would generate much waste, some villagers make daily rounds to collect uneaten food and potato peelings which they cooked with the swirls to feed their pigs. The cries of "missy peelings" would be heard when the villager arrived for the food waste."

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I think this photo, courtesy of Peter Chan of bare-bodied British soldiers sunbathing in the midday sun in Chestnut Drive well illustrate what Freddy described above. - LCS

From My Inbox: Freddy Neo writes

Dear Chun See,

I came across your blog quite by accident through Google. Since then I've been stealing some time here and there to read your posts from way back in 2005.

Great stories of your yesteryears. I've been reliving my past through your posts. I especially enjoyed reading your account of village life at Kow Tau Kio.

There are many parallels and your stories have jolted my memories. For example, I was born in the same year as you, have nine siblings, (five elder sisters, three elder brothers and a younger brother). My father, brothers and I spent many weekend afternoons in the Pierce Reservoir fishing and roughing it out.

I was enlisted into NS on 11 January 1971 (recruit in Kilo Company across the Safti parade square from Romeo Company). By the way, we reported at CMPM, which was then in Kallang occupying the Nissan huts in front of the PA HQ, not Dempsey Road.

I was born in a kampong West Hill Road in Sembawang next to the British Naval Base. The house had no electricity, piped water or modern sanitation. My father worked in the Royal Navy in Naval Base as a Chief Clerk, so the house was quite near to his work place. But going to school for my older siblings was a real problem as the house was quite far from Sembawang Road. My father was from ACS which was then at Telok Ayer Street. He took his Senior Cambridge Examinations in 1930. My sister still has his certificate which shows that he scored distinction in Bible Knowledge (though he wasn't a Christian and remained unconverted when he died in June 1981). I was never in ACS though I've two sons who are now in the IB (International Baccalaureate) programme in ACS(I).

We moved to a terrace house at Jalan Batai in Sembawang Hills Estate in 1958 when I was 6 years old. Jalan Batai is on a hill facing the Lower Pierce Reservoir, near to the Upper Thomson Road side of Lorong Kinchir. Our immediate neighbours on the left were two spinsters, Pearl and Ruby Tan, who lived with their bedridden mother. We moved out of the Jalan Batai house in 1979. Two years ago a skeleton was found in the spinsters' house and I was quoted in the Straits Times relating about what I remembered about the sisters. Jalan Batai is in Sembawang Hills Estate.

From 1958 to about 1970, about one quarter of the houses in the estate were rented out to British Servicemen and their families. Our next door neighbour on the right were often British. Some of them were quite nice and allowed the children to play with us. Maybe I should contribute a piece on what it was like living next to them.

I remember the Thomson end of Lorong Kinchir well because my brothers and I used to visit a barber near to junction of Lorong Kinchir and Upper Thomson Road. It was near to the present AMK Ave 1 and Upper Thomson Road junction. The shop was at the left bank of Kallang River in the village the Hokkiens called Oh Kio. I am quite familiar with Oh Kio village which is at the source of Kallang River. We used to catch fishes at the streams in the forest reserve around Pierce Reservoir. I am not familiar with the Asia Fishing Pond. We fished at the Pierce Reservoir not at fishing ponds where you have to pay money.

You asked about a rubber factory in Upper Thomson Road. I know a rubber factory which was at the site of the present Thomson Plaza, next to Jasmine Road. It was dismantled in 1974 or 1975. I remember because at that time, I was in Singapore U and staying at my elder brother's house at 2D Jasmine Road. Very noisy when they were demolishing the factory. Is this the factory you were referring to?

I remember Kow Tau Kio as some of my classmates in Sembawang Hills Estate School lived there though I have never went inside Lorong Kinchir because I was warned that it was a hotbed of gangsters and any "alien" would quickly be identified by the villagers and walloped. (emphasis Chun See’s)