“Better hold tight-tight, huh,” Ah Huat the lorry driver cautioned us. Malays and Chinese have a habit of repeating a word for emphasis or to make it plural. “Back of lorry okay for carrying barang-barang ah, but for people, must jaga-jaga hor!”
He was right, as the lorry was for ferrying goods, not passengers. When he negotiated turns on the village road, we swung in the direction the vehicle was going, all of us gripping the edge of the boards till our knuckles showed white, as we exclaimed in fright. When he hit a pothole, our bottoms jumped from our seats and thumped down again with a painful thwack. Fortunately, the road into town was metalled and fairly straight, so we began to relax, and felt safe enough to chat and sing.
“Chan mali chan, oi! oi!” we sang the chorus as Karim’s strong voice took over the folk song. “Di mana dia, anak kambing saya…”
It was such a happy and memorable ride. We passed the fire station, which was opposite the National Aerated Water factory. This factory, sitting on the banks of the Kallang River, manufactured Sinalco, a fizzy reddish drink, our treat at Chinese New Year together with F&N’s Orange, Sarsi and Ice Cream Soda. If we had the drinks with some ice cubes, it would be considered a very, very special treat, as no one except Uncle Krishnan, the civil servant, had an ice box in the kampong!
After we crossed the river, we passed the site of Mr Whampoa’s famous house. From there, attap houses gave way to brick houses, then four-storey flats. We passed Petain Road, where my rich cousins lived. Then we passed the football stadium at Jalan Besar. Electric street lamps began to appear on posts lined up on either side of the road, their overhead cables sagging from the heat. Grander buildings came into view. When we reached Dhoby Ghaut, we knew we were in town. Dhoby was Hindi for laundry. Large bed sheets and washing were fluttering on lines strung across a small copse of trees facing Cathay Cinema. We passed the magnificent white colonial building which housed Rendezvous Restaurant and Hotel. Next to this, along Bras Basah Road was a low-rise row of terraced shophouses, which was one of my favourite places, as they were all bookshops; books were stacked in every corner and space.
Then we passed the iconic colonial building of St Joseph’s Institution. Thousands of people were already at the Padang, as many had started queueing before sunrise. We could not stay in one large group and had to disperse. My father kept my siblings and me close to him. Ah Gu came with us.
The Prime Minister, Mr Lee Kuan Yew, and his cabinet, all dressed in white, were seated on the steps of City Hall. The red and white national flag of Singapore flew with pride. It had been designed in 1959, the year Singapore became self-governing, whilst still part of the British Commonwealth. The then Deputy Prime Minister Toh Chin Chye and his team had created the design of a crescent moon and five stars, basing it on the idea of a young nation striving to be an exemplary society. The red and white flag was buried when we became Malaysians, as we had to share a communal flag with the other Malaysian states. But after we were ousted from Malaysia on 9 August 1965, the old flag was resurrected as our independent country’s national flag.
“Here comes President Yusof Ishak!” someone exclaimed excitedly, as the cavalcade drew up at City Hall.
Many of us village folks felt that it was appropriate that our first president should be Malay, as our island was originally the home of indigenous Malays. We saw a tall, slim and handsome man in a songkok and traditional Malay ceremonial costume of elegant brocade, step out of the limousine, to inspect the parade of soldiers. People applauded and cheered. Then a thundering sound exploded into the air as the 21-gun salute went off from nearby Raffles Institution on Bras Basah Road.
For an hour and a half, we watched with rapt attention as an explosion of colour marched past us whilst the brass band played. Contingent after contingent, striding proudly with straight arms and legs, first the military then the uniformed groups, then dance performances by students of the major Malay, Chinese, Tamil and English schools representing our four main cultures. Next marched the PAP contingent, followed by the National Trades Union Congress’s (NTUC) contingent. Then it was the turn of the colourful lion dancers, who pranced around in joyous abundance to the drums and cymbals. Altogether 23,000 people participated in our first National Day Parade. The atmosphere was electrifying and emotions ran high. We had gone through so much in the last 10 years, particularly the previous year when we were ejected from Malaysia and compelled to become our own nation. But we had made it through and were celebrating the nation’s first birthday.
When the National Anthem started, we stood up with pride, right arms crossing our breasts. Our people had sung other anthems before, ‘God save the King’ when King George was on the British throne, then we were forced to mouth the Japanese national anthem ‘Kimigayo’, when we were occupied during the war. After that, we sang ‘God save the Queen’ when Elizabeth II became Queen upon her father’s death. In 1963 when we became part of Malaysia, we sang ‘Negara Ku’. This time, we were singing a national anthem that was uniquely ours, ‘Majulah Singapura’, composed by our own citizen, Zubir Said. We were finally singing for ourselves and for our independent country. As we sang, our throats tightened and tears streamed
