Greetings from Adelaide!
I started to write my memoirs of life in a kampong
more than fifteen years ago but had put it on the back burner numerous times.
However through Facebook I was fortunate to become friends with persons with
similar interest in Singapore’s nostalgic past. On my visits back to Singapore
I was privileged to meet and chat with two bloggers who have inspired me not
only to contribute with posts and comments on fb but also rekindled my interest
to finish what I had started. I like to extend a big THANK YOU to Jerome Lim
and Lam Chun See. I also found Chun See’s book “Good Morning Yesterday” an
inspiration. Here is a snippet that I penned recently that I like to share on
their blogs.
For the past
month or so I have been watching an interesting TV series – “The Brain”. This
series from China showcases the unbelievable potential of the mental abilities
of the contestants. Witnessing their
mental recall capabilities was jaw dropping for me! Fast approaching seventy my memory recall does
pale in comparison – only a slight fraction of theirs indeed.
Often I do
question my memories of the “old days”.
I deliberately left out the adjective “good”. I acknowledge that life
was simple but challenging then, especially for those of us from humble
beginnings. Reading the many posts and comments on the various Facebook group
pages, I realised that there are many out there who remember their own “rustic”
years. However nostalgic emotions sometimes do tend to colour our memories.
Maybe we were young and saw things through childhood innocence.
Perhaps too as
kids we were protected by our parents, who in their little ways tried their
best, as we were growing up, not to make us feel that we were poor. I may be wrong but I also feel that the
society then was different. I don’t recall being snubbed by “the rich”. Maybe
we knew our places and accepted each other. A leveller at that time if I recall correctly
was the beach. The rich would drive their
cars right up to the beaches like Tanah Merah, Changi etc . The other families
would arrive by bus with their home cook meals and simple unchilled drinks
etc. But all the kids would have the
time of their lives till it was time to return home either by car or bus, all
sunburnt.
Having spent
twelve years in the same school I should have more vivid memories of my school
days. But all I have are snippets here and there and a few photographs as
reminders. But what I clearly remember is that the majority of my schoolmates
came from similar “rustic” backgrounds. Personally I was taught not to feel
sorry for the limited “pocket money” I took to school each day being often
reminded that some of my classmates had to contend with so much less. Looking
back I often chuckle when I recall that if you dropped your coins through the
holes in your pocket that were caused by the marbles you carried – the response
would be “tough”. You learnt the hard way to cherish the few coins you were
given. When the time came for school fees to be paid, the notes were carefully
wrapped in a knot tied at the corner of a handkerchief. This was to ensure we
did not lose the money easily.
For sure there would have been more memorable
moments of those carefree schooldays but I cannot recall as much as I would
like to. However there is one incident that has always been dominant in my mind
and I am reminded of it whenever I witness poverty either first hand or on TV.
This occurred while
I was in primary school. It was a normal “recess” break and the “monitors” or
prefects were diligently performing their duties to ensure order and that we
were safe in getting our hot meals to the tables in the tuck shop / canteen. We were all having our meals when suddenly
there was a shout followed by a commotion.
Looking out we saw the prefects running out and chasing a student. They
soon caught him and brought him back to the canteen. Then we realised what had
happened.
The student was
a classmate and his family, if I remember correctly, had a farm in Ponggol. On
that day he did not have any money for a meal and probably did not even have
breakfast at home. Unknown to us, this perhaps could have been the norm for him
for most of his school days. But on that day the pangs of hunger overcame him
and drove him to snatch a large triangular “curry puff” from the Indian stall
that also sold bread, Indian cookies and of course our favourite “kachang puteh”.
As he was brought back to the
canteen I witnessed the humiliation on his face and that expression I
will never never forget! He was made to face the Indian stallholder probably to
apologise and perhaps make arrangements for reimbursement for the curry puff.
This was witnessed by everyone in the canteen.
What ensued always stands out from this unfortunate incident. I
witness compassion. The Indian kachang puteh man, who possibly was by no means
rich, looked at the poor unfortunate boy and saw the anguish on his face. Then
in a typical Indian manner with a slanted twist of his head and a wave of his
flat palm rolling at the wrist he signalled that it was okay – he did not want
any payment and allowed the boy to keep the curry puff. The boy was then
marched to the principal’s office and what happen after I cannot recall.
These are two
striking lessons I learnt from this unfortunate incident that I will always
remember. Firstly how hunger can drive good
persons to do things in desperation. I can understand when I read about people
doing things they normally would not do, when they become desperate especially on
seeing their children crying in hunger.
On the other
side I also learnt that day that you do not have to be rich to be
compassionate, understanding and benevolent. Perhaps this is in fact the
essence of the “kampong spirit” that in our memories was prevalent in those
days. I must confess that I often chuckle when I read of attempts to recreate
this spirit which I feel was lost with the eradication of kampongs. It was the
environment of the rustic surrounds and firsthand observation of the everyday
struggles of most families that were the basis of this spontaneous compassion. Observing
the elders of the household – our parents, grandparents etc. and their empathy
for the neighbours perhaps also does flow down and shape
our own behaviour towards others. In addition experiencing the kindness our
neighbours extended to our own family completes the cycle of goodwill.
The whole world
has changed and with the current abundance of affluence and affordability the
plight of those in need are often not obvious. The average person cannot relate
to this and thus perhaps the spontaneous responses that were around in the past
are not forthcoming. These are my perceptions. I may be right or completely wrong
so I will leave you, the reader to make your own judgement. In my heart I will
always cherish the lessons I learnt in the tuck shop.