But Pansy is determined not to allow the past to spoil present time. She is so happy to be out with her granddaughter. The years of separation had taken some toll on their closeness but now they are bridging the gap rapidly. She relaxes back in the passenger seat as she becomes confident of her granddaughter’s competence in handling the car. Goldie leaves the small road and gets onto the ECP expressway.
“All this is reclaimed land…” Pansy says, half to herself and half to Goldie.
From her position, Pansy can see glimpses of the sea on her right, the sunlight dappling through the parachute-like canopy of the rain trees, topped with delicate pink flowers in some, yellow in others. All along the expressway, the rows of mauve bougainvillea bushes send out vibes of good cheer. Other cities in the world might have buildings with historic character but here in Singapore, she has her garden. I guess I have you to thank, Mr LKY? she says mentally. Pansy watches with admiration her granddaughter’s driving skill. This is a different Goldie. It’s as if she has shed her mother’s shadow and, being herself, is less inhibited and more vocal, chatting about her travels, scuba diving in the seas around Pulau Tioman, Lombok, Koh Samui, the Red Sea, the Caribbean. Despite the severity of her hair cut, her face is feminine and soft. There is something about the girl’s profile and looks which reminds Pansy of someone again, and again she can’t place it.
“It’s a milestone, you know,” Pansy says.
“What is?” Goldie asks, keeping her expert eyes on the road.
“To be in a car for the first time with your grandchild driving. I feel the same pride as when I first sat in the car after Anthony got his licence in the UK. I’m very proud of you.”
“Oh that’s nice of you to say so, grandma. I hardly get any compliments from mum,” Goldie says, then as if she regrets badmouthing her mother, she quickly continues. “I know mum wants the best for me. I just wish she’d realise that we can’t all be like her, efficient, driven and so successful.”
“Don’t forget that there is not just one measure of success.”
Goldie turns the Mercedes off from the ECP onto Bayshore Road. Two sprawling condominiums about twenty stories high greet them. She stops the car at the lights, before turning right into Upper East Coast Road. Another high-rise condominium is on the left, followed a by a row of terraced houses. On the right is a private hospital and more condominiums. But wedged between them is an original, early twentieth century concrete seaside house, called a bungalow here, with raised concrete pillars, white walls and red tiled roof. A restaurant signboard says ‘Sea View Seafood’.
“Oh my goodness,” Pansy says. “Look at that! I remember it when it was a family home. Your grandpa and I used to stand on the beach behind it, right on the sea’s edge. We used to walk all the way from my village, Kampong Tepi Laut, to this place when we were picking cockles, gong-gong, mussels and clams when the tide was low. Just near here were two pillboxes that the British army had built, thinking that the Japs were going to invade Singapore by sea. But they came through the causeway so the pillboxes were never used. We also harvested seaweeds all around this area to make agar-agar. We were naughty really. Unmarried maidens were always chaperoned and supervised, so we pretended to be so absorbed in our search for the gong-gong, but we artfully strayed from my mother’s watchful eyes…”
“Grandma! I can’t imagine you as a naughty, wilful girl!”
“I guess young people can never imagine their parents or grandparents ever being young,” Pansy says, smiling. “I was like that at your age.”
“I guess we modern girls are really lucky to have so much freedom. Gosh, I wish that I had the opportunity to pick stuff from the sea for food,” Goldie says. “It must have been amazing to have done that. How sad it is for my generation not to know such an experience. At the most, we pick our food from the shelves of supermarkets! And worse, they’re not really fresh or natural anymore. So much of our food is imported, cultivated and manufactured from elsewhere, genetically modified blah blah blah! Oh, we do have some farms around here, but they’re token farms rather than real ones which feed thousands. That’s another reason why I enjoy going scuba diving. We sometimes catch fresh lobsters and fresh seafood to eat.”
“Let us stop and have lunch there.”
Goldie pulls into the restaurant’s car park.
“Table in air-con upstairs, or outdoors at the back?” the waitress asks.
“I know it’s hot but is it okay if we sit at the back?” Pansy asks Goldie. “I want to see what it’s like now. It will definitely take me back a bit though I know we can’t see the sea anymore from here.”
“Sure.”
Round tables are set in the courtyard behind the house. Umbrellas provide shade for diners. But there is no longer any sea behind the house. It had been pushed back a mile away. The first prime minister was more powerful than King Canute who had tried to command the waves in West Sussex. Without the sea breeze, it is much warmer than Pansy remembers. Instead of opening out to the beach and sea, the back gates now open out to a small copse of trees, coconut palms, casuarinas, and sea apples. Pansy is thankful that condominiums haven’t taken its place yet. But in Singapore, this is not a guarantee that the situation will last.
“Well, I’ll be blessed…” Pansy says.
“What, grandma?”
“This view. Your granddad and I used to stand just there, on the beach where the trees are now, and look upon this beautiful, imposing house.”
It seems appropriate now, and because Goldie is interested,
