After all, when Anthony did his NS, they were only in their thirties, still active, and England offered them beautiful walks, woods, hills, rivers, lakes, open spaces and seasons, which were lacking in Singapore. Pansy could take herself off to the Lake District whenever she desired, and visit Wordsworth’s former home in Hawkshead. So, they stayed on.
Subsequently, Anthony had met Emily Yip, a fellow undergraduate, studying Finance and Business, and they had fallen in love. George and Pansy had returned for the graduation and wedding. As Anthony now had his own life and commitments, they felt it was fine for them to stay on in England, although Pansy had initially wanted to return when their grandchildren were born.
In retrospect, George felt he should have bought a small apartment for them to retire to in Singapore. Property prices were not as astronomical as they had become lately. But the apartments had all looked so cramped and tiny, unlike their beautiful house in Bracklesham Bay, with its front and back garden, and a lovely glass conservatory where they could sit under the weak, wintry sunlight, and yet be warmed by the electric radiators. Their conservatory had French windows which opened out to their back garden with its low hedge, affording them a glorious view of the bay and the expanse of clear sea, horizon and sky which stretched all the way to France. There was something spiritually uplifting about large, open space unadulterated by any buildings. At night, the moon and stars became intensely bright twinkling jewels against a dark canopy of sky. When the January tides were high, the giant roiling white waves would rain pebbles onto the beach, and the rattling sound they made gave them great pleasure. Pansy would definitely miss all of that.
“Find her a nice apartment that’s not too far from you in Newton so that you can drop in regularly, yes? There’s enough money to provide her with a maid to care for her, if her condition should worsen,” George said weakly, concerned that he himself was not going to be around to take care of his beloved wife. “Get her one of those ground-floor apartments in a luxurious condo, where there is a small garden or patio. You know how she loves her garden. Maybe one with a water feature as well, as she’s going to miss the sea. I know that it’ll be too costly to buy an apartment by the sea in Singapore…”
“Don’t worry, dad. I’ll see to it,” Anthony had vowed.
The recently opened Gardens by the Bay is a godsend. If Pansy had returned from England earlier, before the gardens were opened, maybe she would have been more disillusioned with Singapore’s frenetic city life, a complete contrast to the countryside where she had spent so much of her adulthood. One of the first things she did upon her return was to visit the Botanic Gardens so that she can see old tembusu and kapok trees, familiar flowers and plants. She was pleased to discover that they had a section called the Healing Garden, reminiscent of the one she and her mother had cultivated in their seaside kampong with common kitchen herbs, roots and vegetables that could be used for healing: lemongrass, ginger, galangal, garlic, onions, pepper, pandan and many others. She had stood in their midst, breathing in their different fragrances and recalled standing in their garden by the sea, with butterflies flitting all around her, the Painted Jezebel with its lovely colours being her favourite. She imagined Kim Guek smiling at her, beautiful as ever in her sarong kebaya, eternally youthful. She never even reached fifty.
The Singapore Pansy returned to was not even remotely like the Singapore she had left. The old attap-thatched villages had been expunged; huge tracts of forest and fields had been uprooted and cleared, concrete and more concrete poured in their place.
As it is, she has already missed a whole spring in England which makes her edgy, as if something is missing; she somehow feels unfulfilled, waiting for something to happen which doesn’t—and cannot. Much as she loves the local flowers, bougainvillea, bunga santan, chempaka, bunga melor, orchids and other species, their continual sameness of presence all year round doesn’t create the same sense of urgency or delight as that of a flower which has a transient, short-lived life. There is a kind of magic to watch a bud pushing to burst forth, folded leaves starting to unfurl, a bare tree with bare branches suddenly acquiring a crown of foliage like in a time-accelerated photo sequel. This movement in nature seems less obvious here.
Anthony had brought her back soon after her accident.
“I want to stay here,” Pansy had said tearfully after George’s funeral in England, resisting Anthony’s initial suggestion to go back with him. “This is where the memory of your father is for me. This was where we spent nearly fifty years of our lives together. Every piece of furniture we bought together, every plant that is in the garden has his touch!”
“Mum, you can’t live here on your own lah!” Anthony had said. “You’re nearly eighty. If anything happens to you, I’m too far away to deal with it immediately. It’s not a hop in a taxi to get here, you know. It will take almost a whole day of air travel before I can even see you! And then it’s another two hours from Heathrow…”
“Why is your mother being so difficult? Really stubborn leh!” Emily said.
“Honey…”
Later, Goldie said to her, “I’d love for you to be in Singapore, grandma, so we can see more of each other. But I know it will be a wrench for you to leave this place. Because of grandpa and because there can
