Singapore, 1960s – Joo Hen (by Tim Light)

We needed to eat, so we had to go shopping. I can remember shopping trips to Cold Storage and Fitzpatricks, but pretty soon my parents settled on Joo Hen (that might not be the right spelling). Joo Hen’s was a small grocer at Sembawang Hills Estate. I’m struggling to remember the exact location, but I seem to remember just off Sembawang Hills Circus, near the junction with Old Thompson Road, there was a group of shops surrounding a small car park. The other shops included a newsagent (where we bought our Superman comics) and a toy shop that had very desirable but unaffordable Hornby Dublo train sets. My best guess is that Joo Hen’s was near where the Shibly Muslim Food shop is today, on Casuarina Road. I walked past there in 2001, and was unable to recognise anything. It looked like everything had been rebuilt, although memory can play tricks.



I imagine someone must have tipped my parents off about Joo Hen’s. It’s not the sort of place you would find by accident. From outside it was a small, unpretentious shop with Chinese owners. Inside it was well stocked, and clearly had everything that we needed. I don’t remember if they sold local products, but there was everything that we were familiar with. Persil, Corn Flakes, Spam … you name it. I was fascinated to see familiar boxes like the Corn Flakes box, with Chinese writing.


Outside was the delivery van. It was lettered with Joo Hen’s name in both European and Chinese writing, and was covered with pictures of some of the products they sold. If I’m not mistaken, 555 Filter King cigarettes was one of the products. Vans decorated with advertising images were a feature of Singapore at that time. Back in England, delivery vans would carry the grocer’s name, but there would be no illustrations. Sadly I don’t have a picture of Joo Hen’s van, but I’ve found a few that were similarly decorated.

After a while, we started to have our groceries delivered in the van. My mother would telephone in the morning, and the delivery would be made that afternoon. We still went out to Sembawang Hills once a month to settle our account. I always liked that place. It was friendlier and quieter than the big supermarkets.

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

Elephants @ Seraya Crescent

Yesterday, I received a pleasant surprise in my email. Mr Robin Brewster sent me some 1965/66 photos of Singapore. Among them were two that my guest bloggers Freddy Neo and Edward Williams, and other old timers familiar with Sembawang Hills Estate would love – photos of an elephant strolling along Seraya Crescent.

According to Robin, the animals (yes, more than one) were being exercised, and it was a fairly regular affair. Unfortunately I don’t have any other details to share. Hopefully Edward and Freddy can shed more light on this interesting sight that we are unlikely to ever witness again in 21st century Singapore.


Hehee ….. maybe that bare-chested kid in the photos is our friend Freddy? Naa …. in 1966 he would be around 14 already.

PS - If you do not know where is Seraya Crescent, please refer to our previous post.

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 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.

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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.

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate Part 5 - The Story of Mr Lim and Joseph

Here is a story of two men, although not residents of Sembawang Hills Estate, nevertheless had some connections to the estate.

I used to fish at a number of ponds around Sembawang Hills Estate and Yio Chu Kang Road. One of the ponds was “Cathay Fishing Pond” (hope I got the name right). I walked there from Sembawang Hills Estate, past the junction of Lorong Kinchir and Upper Thomson Road, for short distance more, then turn left into a road that leads to this fishing pond. I never knew the name of this kampong. I can vaguely recall the barber shop at the junction that Freddy mentioned. There were 2 ponds at Cathay.

* The fishing pond that Edward is referring to must have looked like this one which was called Ng Tong Choon's Fishing Pond in Sembawang (Photo from National Archives Collection)

Mr Lim CE and his neighbour were both co-owners of this pond. He was then about 30, had a big family (at least 6 children) and his mother lived with him too. He was a very nice gentleman, always considerate and forever cheerful. What struck me most was his constant hearty laughter. He only spoke Hokkien.

Besides this fishing pond he also owned an “open air” cinema. I cannot remember where this cinema was, but I have been there on several occasions. For the benefit of the younger generation, an “open-air” cinema is just what it implies – it is open (no roof top) and you get lots of fresh air! Hence the name “open air”. There were no cushioned seats, just long wooden benches, so you sat anywhere you like. When it rained, most of the patrons would move to the side walls for shelter. I don’t think there was a money-back guarantee for inclement weather.

* For the younger readers who have never seen an open-air theatre before, this is a photo of one such theatre in Somapah (from the National Archives Collection)

I believe the cinema and the fishing pond wasn’t doing well enough. Mr Lim then decided to venture into real estate. He first bought a house in Jalan Lanjut (Sembawang Hills Estate) and rented it to a British family. Sometime later he bought another house in Sembawang Hills Drive (still in the same estate). Years later he bought a third house in Adelphi Park, an estate along Upper Thomson Road, a few miles from Sembawang Hills Estate. These houses were originally bought for investment purposes. He continued to live in his kampong house with his extended family. In the boom years ahead each of these houses would be worth almost a million each. When Mr Lim first bought the houses in Sembawang Hills Estate he’d have paid about $20K to $25K for each of the houses. This is only my rough estimate. Mr Lim will be in his 70s today

The second person in this story is Joseph. He lived in a kampong somewhere off Upper Thomson Road, further away from Mr Lim’s area. Joseph operated a pirate taxi service (pa hong chia), fetching kids to school in the morning and back home after school, in his Mercedes Benz 280D. His customers included some kids from Sembawang Hills Estate, a couple of whom were my friends. Joseph also supplied Marymount Convent School with fresh vegetables, meat and fish every morning. This was actually meant for the boarding house of the school. One morning his car broke down and my friend and his brother had to carry a basin of fish up the hill to the boarding house. Joseph also ran a food stall outside his home. Here fresh meat and fish were sold on makeshift tables in the morning.

Joseph bought his first bus in the 60s and operated it for the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus (CHIJ). The bus was painted blue with the name of the school on its sides. My friend told me that he was in this bus when Joseph drove it to the convent on its maiden trip. A couple of nuns came abroad, prayed and blessed the bus. Joseph was obviously a staunch Catholic. He did not stop at one bus. In the years ahead he continued to expand his fleet. He had over 20 buses by the late 60s. These buses would be parked along Old Upper Thomson Road, near the entrance to Pierce Reservoir, in the evenings.

Like Mr Lim, Joseph also had a cheerful disposition. My friend said he was quite a funny man. Why am I telling you the story of these men? Both Mr Lim CE and Joseph hailed from our local kampongs, had no formal education, yet were very successful. Their successes were inspirational for me and many others. What were the ingredients of their achievements? First and foremost let me state the obvious – hard work. Nothing succeeds like hard work. They worked hard, had foresight, business acumen and seized opportunities they saw in their own ways. Mr Lim went into real estate while Joseph chose the transport business. They had ideas and an action plan, and most important of all, they acted on their ideas. They lived exemplary lives and were good role models for those who knew them.

For privacy reasons I have not given Mr Lim’s full name. If any of their children or grandchildren are reading this blog, let me say to them: “I am fortunate to have met Mr Lim and Joseph when I was a kid in Sembawang Hills Estate”.

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate Part 4

Freddy Neo wrote that during the period 1958-1970 about 25% of the houses in Sembawang Hills Estate were rented out to British servicemen and their families. I don’t think his family’s experiences with their British neighbour were typical of the social relationship between the British and the locals. From my observation, most of the British families kept to themselves. I cannot recall any social interaction between them and the locals in the estate. I think Freddy was fortunate to have a neighbour who is keen to socialise with the locals.

It was true that the British families were quite intolerant of us during our Chinese New Year celebrations. At the stroke of midnight we used to let off firecrackers to herald the advent of the New Year. One family in our street would set off between 20 to 30 rows of fire crackers, so the noise would go on for about 45 minutes. This was obviously a very expensive extravaganza. We were told that the man of the house was a very superstitious person (and, of course, rich as well). So what were the typical reactions from the British families? They always rang the police to complain. The patrol car would come and go. There was nothing the police could do – after all it was Chinese New Year and firing crackers were one of the many ways we celebrated the event.

I remember a few noisy parties hosted by the British families. They carried on way past midnight, singing and yelling loudly in an intoxicated state, in the garden (outside the house). Yet none of the locals in our street would complain to the authorities. I don’t think this was because we were more tolerant. This could be partly explained by the hangover from the colonial days when the British were our masters.

The English seemed to like our hot weather. I have seen the women lying on the front lawn in their bikinis, reading a book, under the hot sun. Sometimes they had their tops off, but lying on their front and facing towards the front of the house, so the locals could only see their bare backs. At least they were sensitive to our feelings about nudity (or partial nudity) in public.

One English man who lived alone in Jalan Lanjut would create a scene every evening when he returned home drunk. You could hear him from a distance as he walked down Jalan Chengam, calling out loudly. The commotion caused all the dogs in the nearby homes to bark. As he approached his house, his dog would dash out to greet him. It was an amusing scene, to watch him sitting on the pavement with his dog licking all over his face. That’d always give us a good laugh.

We had the same experience at the provision shop as Freddy’s maternal grandmother. This shop, located at or near the corner of Jalan Leban and Jalan Kuras, catered mostly to the British families and treated the locals with some disdain. I think both of us remember the name of this shop, but we’re discreet enough not to publish it.

It’s true that many of the British families had servants to do the domestic work in the house. Even some of the locals also had live-in servants. I realise we used the term “servant” in the old days, but I still find it somewhat derogatory. I’d have preferred “domestic hand”. Many o f the local homes had their laundry done by a woman from the village. An old lady called “Ah Sim” used to come in every morning (except on weekends) to wash our clothes. I remember the brown jagged plank that Ah Sim would scrub our clothes on. She used 2 large basins, one of which had a continuous flow of water. Once the clothes were washed, they were hung on bamboo poles (tek koh) to dry.

The practise of collecting leftover food, vegetable peelings etc was not confined to the British families. My mother used to have a tin of leftovers hanging outside our gate. Someone from the village would collect it every evening. I am sure other locals did likewise. The collected stuff was fed to the pigs and poultry. Once or twice a year we received gifts of eggs from the villager as a thank-you response, which I thought was very nice and generous. Ah Sim also brought us Chinese cakes during festivities. As a Christian my mother would only accept the cakes that have not been offered to the gods in prayers. Ah Sim always made sure that the cakes she brought conformed to my mother’s wishes.

I must relate one almost-tragic incident that happened in the 60s. One afternoon, during a heavy downpour, an English woman was running down Jalan Chengam, screaming frantically. When it rained heavily, the monsoon drain was filled with a torrent of gushing water. Apparently her child was missing, or had fallen into the monsoon drain. I think she was following the flow of the water down the drain, towards the end of the street. At the point where Jalan Chengam meets Jalan Lanjut, both monsoon drains connect to a short tunnel which runs across the road and opens up at the other side of Jalan Lanjut, continuing towards Jalan Mengkudu. A Chinese woman came out of her house and looked at the drain where the tunnel began. I was there with one or two others, witnessing the whole spectacle under the pouring rain. The distraught English woman could only stand there helplessly, crying her heart out. At the entrance of the tunnel was a mesh of branches that must’ve been dumped in the drain by some locals. These had collected at the entrance of the tunnel. Tangled in this mesh of branches was a tiny English child, probably about 1 year old. The Chinese woman carefully waded in the drain towards the front of the tunnel and grabbed the child. The flow of the water in the drain was still quite strong. The child was handed over to the English woman, who was still sobbing uncontrollably. She was clearly engrossed by the shock of almost losing her child. She hugged the child and left immediately. The child had only suffered minor cuts and bruises.

How lucky it was that the entrance of the tunnel was blocked by a few branches. The branches could have been easily pushed into the tunnel and out towards the other end. Who knows what the fate of the child would be if this was the case.

I was told that the English woman returned in the evening to thank the Chinese woman who had braved the gushing water in the drain to retrieve her child. If my memory is correct, the drain would be at least 4 feet deep. The English woman would be about 70 today. That lucky boy would be in his late 40’s. We were all relieved that the outcome was a happy ending.

Lam Chun See continues …

If I may, I would like to make a comment regarding our relationships to our “servants”. I think generally the British families seem to treat their ‘amahs’ as they called them with more love and respect. I have come across many cases where British kids, now all grown up, tried so hard to reconnect with their amahs. A very good example is of how Lynn Copping she flew all the way to Singapore just to meet her long lost Amah.

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate Part 3

When we first moved into Sembawang Hills Estate in 1958, the newly built homes had the old style “squatting” toilet. It wasn’t until about 10 years later that we installed the modern toilet, which allowed users to be comfortably seated while “doing their business”.

The houses had no hot water system. I was told that today most homes in Singapore have a hot water system installed. To shower with warm water, we had to boil a kettle of hot water and pour it into a plastic pail of cold tap water. This mixture of warm water is then poured over your head with a cup or bowl. As kids, whenever we come home drenched by the rain, my mother always insisted that we immediately shower with warm water. If you are recovering from an illness, you’d probably prefer a warm shower too.

The middle of the house was not covered by the roof. It was an exposed, open top which allowed sunlight and ventilation through. In the event of rain, the top is covered by pulling a rope which dragged a sliding corrugated zinc panel into the “closed position”. In its “open position” the panel is allowed to slide backwards to the end, where it is now seated above the toilet and shower. We call this part of the house the “air well”.

A small drain ran through the “air well”. This drain is connected to a bigger drain outside the house. The exterior drain leads to a large monsoon drain along the boundary of the property. In the event of heavy rainfall, water could be seen gushing along the small drain in the “air well”. Occasionally, the drain overflowed and the floor of the “air well” is filled with rain water. However the surrounding areas (the hall, kitchen and rooms) were never flooded as they were elevated about 4 inches above the “air well” floor.

All the windows had grills on them as a safety feature. The front door of most houses had a door and a collapsible gate as well. Most of the terraced homes in the estate do not have space within their property for parking. The local residents parked their cars along the streets, outside their homes. The homes have either terrazzo or mosaic tiled floors. It is not uncommon for the hall and perhaps the kitchen to be tiled, while the rest of the house has plain cement floors.

Most homes had ceiling fans in the hall and in one or two rooms. I cannot remember any homes with air conditioning. I do recall a house that was "converted" into a barber salon which had air conditioning. This was in the early 60s. I think this salon was situated in Jalan Leban. I liked this place because it was so cool inside. As a kid this was probably the only place where I experienced air conditioning. There were 3 or 4 barber seats in the hall of this house which fronted as the parlour. I also liked the smell of the shaving cream. At the end of your haircut the barber would give you “cracks” or “slaps” on your back of your shoulder with clapsed palms. This was supposed to relax your shoulder muscles.

Related posts:

1) Tribute to a humble profession

2) Another humble profession

3) Our first kampong barber

4) Our kampong house (1)

5) Our kampong house (2)

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate Part 2

Today many families buy their fresh food from supermarkets. In the 60’s we got our meat, fish and vegetables from Hum Min who lived in the village at the back of our estate. Each morning he’d push his 3-wheel cart along the estate selling not only fresh meat but also some preserved foodstuffs like tan chye or chye poh. Everything you purchased was wrapped in old newspaper. My mother loved to haggle with Hum Min over his prices. It was a friendly “battle” between vendor and customer each day. Hum Min also operated on a credit system – all transactions were noted in a small notebook and payments were made at the end of the month.

Early one morning Hum Min was robbed by 2 knife-wielding men on his way to the market to buy fresh supplies. He suffered some cuts on his hand – I can’t remember how serious his injury was. After this incident Hum Min “retired”. It was a sad end to many years of service to our estate. However Hum Min still had his shop in the village. Occasionally my mother would send me on errands to buy sugar, msg (bee cheng) or salt from his village store.

Hum Min’s business was taken over by another villager. The new vendor drove a van around the estate with his fresh supplies, stopping at street corners for his morning trade. You could say that this was progress in the high tech direction – from pushing a 3-wheel cart to driving a van. I still miss Hum Min and his push cart. As a kid I particularly enjoyed it when he bent over to push the door of the cart open, to bring out more food stuffs. The inside of his cart always held some mysterious connotations for me. I’d strain my eyes to peer into the dark interior, to see what treasures were in store.

We had other street vendors touring the estate too. The knife and scissors sharpener who’d call out loudly “Chin char koh ah boh kar tay” as he pushed his bicycle along. The cockle shell (chee hum) man with a big basket on his bicycle, who walked bare footed in spite of the hot bitumen road. The ice cream and lollies van, the otak man with his nonya cakes. Otak is grilled fish in coconut leaf. There was also an Indian who carried his cakes (e.g. pakoras) and spicy nuts on a circular tray balanced on his head. At night the mee goreng, satay and chestnut (kow luck) vendors paid us regular visits. The satay man lived in Old Upper Thomson Road. The mee goreng seller parked his cart on the street and knocked his wok with the frying spade to signal his presence. I always enjoyed watching them cook. In the early 60’s we even had a “fish and chips” van that toured the estate. This business was run by a family in Jalan Rukam. It didn’t last long though. It was probably geared towards the British servicemen and their families in the estate.

Related post: Itinerant food vendors of yesteryears

Edward Williams remembers Sembawang Hills Estate and Upper Thomson Road

Edward is a new reader of Good Morning Yesterday. He recently posted some very detail descriptions of his memories of the Sembawang Hills Estate in the comments section of Freddy Neo’s article about this area. Since they are quite lengthy, I thought it would be more appropriate to post them here as a separate article.

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I lived in Sembawang Hills Estate for 2 decades. Like you (referring to Freddy Neo), my family shifted there in 1958. I remember Jalan Batai well – it is situated on the top of a hill, so you could go down a slope to get to Upper Thomson Road. Jalan Batai connects with Jalan Leban where a row of shops operated. One of them is Radiant Store, which sold shoes, comics and magazines. There was a bar at the corner called Sembawang Café, which was a popular hangout for the Maoris, British and Australian servicemen (members of the ANZUK forces). Besides Radiant Store (which was owned by the Chia family), there was also a store selling fishing rods, reels, hooks, etc. I used to buy my fishing gear from this store. A coffee shop (kopi tiam) is yet another shop in this strip. I remember a cobbler who had his little space outside this coffee shop. He sat on the ground and mended shoes on that spot. He was a very religious man and I have seen him at the Sembawang Baptist Church at night when I happened to go past. Once I saw him having his lunch – which was just one piece of tau pok (a square of fried tofu) with soya sauce. He was obviously very poor and had a large family to feed. A taxi stand** operated outside this row of shops.

There were some hawker stores opposite this strip. Ah Seng was the noodle vendor and Ah Tiam the coffee seller. I loved Ah Seng’s chilli noodles. Another store sold char kuay teow. In the early 70’s this area was converted into a hawker centre.

There were stores selling rojak, gnow hiam, char hor fan etc. You had to pay 5 cents to use the public toilet in this hawker centre. Further up, towards Jalan Kuras there was yet another row of shops. At the corner is the provision store called “Soon Huat”. A few stores away stood a bar called “Kasbah” and yet another bar is situated at the corner end (can’t remember its name). Kasbah was owned by a Sikh family. Mrs Singh ran the bar in the early 70’s, assisted by her daughter Muni. This bar served Indian cuisines. The corner end bar was more western oriented where fish and chips and steaks were mainly served. I also recall a Bak Kut Teh restaurant here. I am not sure if this was the same store where Kasbah used to be.

This part of Sembawang Hills Estate would have many fond memories for the local residents. In the early years the noodle seller would send a kid walking around the estate knocking 2 small bamboo sticks to call out for orders. Tik tok tik tik tok …

I also remember an old lady from the village who wore a sharp pointed straw hat and carried 2 huge pots at the opposite end of a long bamboo pole. One of the pots had soon kwei (steamed bamboo shoots) and the other had char bee hoon. Everyone liked her soon kwei. It costs 10 cents each. This old woman would walk along the estate and call out “tan kwei kwei!” All the kids would rush to their parents for money, to buy her soon kwei. It was so yummy, especially with chilli sauce. I don’t know if she ever ventured far out to Jalan Leban or Jalan Batai.

One of the highlights of the week for us was our Sunday night market or pasar malam. On Sunday night temporary stores stretched for over a mile along Upper Thomson Road. The market offered toys, textile, clothing, footwear, jewellery, records, cooked food etc. Most of the stores were simply wooden tables and makeshift stands where goods were displayed. It was a magical experience, to walk the entire stretch lit by hurricane lamps and immersed yourself in the spirit of the environment. I can still remember “Silver Thread & Golden Needles” sung by Susan Lim as I strolled along the stores. This was one of the popular hits of the time and the record was played repeatedly throughout the night. Of course there were other well-known groups as well, such as Naomi and the Boys, Rita Chao, Sakura Teng, the Crescendos, Thunderbirds and the Quests. This trip down memory lane is making me so nostalgic. Those were the days (no I’m not doing a Mary Hopkins) when only the record existed (EP and LP). The tape recorder was not yet invented.

Our favourite snacks were han chee pang and tutu. Tutu is a small circular steamed cake filled with either peanuts or coconut stuffing. You could also get hot “soup” like chin tung, ang tao tung (red bean soup) and tao swan (usually served with yew char kwey).

A number of gurkhas sold jewellery, seated on the ground with their precious stones placed on a piece of cloth. You could always see a kris-like dagger on the cloth. People knew that the gurkhas were not to be trifled with. There were rumours that the vendors paid protection money to the local gangsters but the gurkhas were left alone.

Most of the vendors traveled there by van. So they were like a “caravan of traders” who moved in on a Sunday evening, set up their stores, traded and broke camp around midnight.

In later years the pasar malam shifted to Old Upper Thomson Road (correct me if I am wrong). I cannot remember how long the Sunday night market lasted. I think it was still operating in the early 70s.

** YG sent me this photo of the of the Sembawang Hill Estate Taxi Stand and wonders if it's the same one that Edward talked about. Edward, are you reading this?

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)